The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 05, No. 30, April, 1860

"Make yourselves at home, ladies and gentlemen," said the Colonel; "good things were made to eat, and you're welcome to all you see before you."

So saying, he attacked a huge turkey which stood at the head of the table; and his example being followed first by the bold, then by the doubtful, and lastly by the timid, the clatter soon made the circuit of the tables. Some were shocked, however, as the Colonel had feared they would be, at the want of the customary invocation. Widow Leech, a kind of relation, who had to be invited, and who came with her old, back-country-looking string of gold beads round her neck, seemed to feel very serious about it.

"If she'd ha' known that folks would begrutch cravin' a blessin' over sech a heap o' provisions, she'd rather have staid t' home. It was a bad sign, when folks wasn't grateful for the baounties of Providence."

The elder Miss Spinney, to whom she made this remark, assented to it, at the same time ogling a piece of frosted cake, which she presently appropriated with great refinement of manner,—taking it between her thumb and forefinger, keeping the others well spread and the little finger in extreme divergence, with a graceful undulation of the neck, and a queer little sound in her throat, as of an m that wanted to get out and perished in the attempt.

The tables now presented an animated spectacle. Young fellows of the more dashing sort, with high stand-up collars and voluminous bows to their neckerchiefs, distinguished themselves by cutting up fowls and offering portions thereof to the buxom girls these knowing ones had commonly selected.

"A bit of the wing, Roxy, or of the—under limb?"

The first laugh broke out at this, but it was premature, a sporadic laugh, as Dr. Kittredge would have said, which did not become epidemic. People were very solemn as yet, many of them being new to such splendid scenes, and crushed, as it were, in the presence of so much crockery and so many silver spoons, and such a variety of unusual viands and beverages. When the laugh rose around Roxy and her saucy beau, several looked in that direction with an anxious expression, as if something had happened,—a lady fainted, for instance, or a couple of lively fellows came to high words.

"Young folks will be young folks," said Deacon Soper. "No harm done. Least said soonest mended."

"Have some of these shell-oysters?" said the Colonel to Mrs. Trecothick.

A delicate emphasis on the word shell implied that the Colonel knew what was what. To the New England inland native, beyond the reach of the east winds, the oyster unconditioned, the oyster absolute, without a qualifying adjective, is the pickled oyster. Mrs. Trecothick, who knew very well that an oyster long out of his shell (as is apt to be the case with the rural bivalve) gets homesick and loses his sprightliness, replied, with the pleasantest smile in the world, that the chicken she had been helped to was too delicate to be given up even for the greater rarity. But the word "shell-oysters" had been overheard; and there was a perceptible crowding movement towards their newly discovered habitat, a large soup-tureen.

Silas Peckham had meantime fallen upon another locality of these recent mollusks. He said nothing, but helped himself freely, and made a sign to Mrs. Peckham.

"Lorindy," he whispered, "shell-oysters!"

And ladled them out to her largely, without betraying any emotion, just as if they had been the natural inland or pickled article.

After the more solid portion of the banquet had been duly honored, the cakes and sweet preparations of various kinds began to get their share of attention. There were great cakes and little cakes, cakes with raisins in them, cakes with currants, and cakes without either; there were brown cakes and yellow cakes, frosted cakes, glazed cakes, hearts and rounds, and jumbles, which playful youth slip over the forefinger before spoiling their annular outline. There were moulds of blo'monje, of the arrowroot variety,—that being undistinguishable from such as is made with Russia isinglass. There were jellies, that had been shaking, all the time the young folks were dancing in the next room, as if they were balancing to partners. There were built-up fabrics, called Charlottes, caky externally, pulpy within; there were also marangs, and likewise custards,—some of the indolent-fluid sort, others firm, in which every stroke of the teaspoon left a smooth, conchoidal surface like the fracture of chalcedony, with here and there a little eye like what one sees in cheeses. Nor was that most wonderful object of domestic art called trifle wanting, with its charming confusion of cream and cake and almonds and jam and jelly and wine and cinnamon and froth; nor yet the marvellous floating-island,—name suggestive of all that is romantic in the imaginations of youthful palates.

"It must have cost you a sight of work, to say nothin' of money, to get all this beautiful confectionery made for the party," said Mrs. Crane to Mrs. Sprowle.

"Well, it cost some consid'able labor, no doubt," said Mrs. Sprowle. "Matilda and our girls and I made 'most all the cake with our own hands, and we all feel some tired; but if folks get what suits 'em, we don't begrudge the time nor the work. But I do feel thirsty," said the poor lady, "and I think a glass of srub would do my throat good; it's dreadful dry. Mr. Peckham, would you be so polite as to pass me a glass of srub?"

Silas Peckham bowed with great alacrity, and took from the table a small glass cup, containing a fluid reddish in hue and subacid in taste. This was srub, a beverage in local repute, of questionable nature, but suspected of owing its color and sharpness to some kind of syrup derived from the maroon-colored fruit of the sumac. There were similar small cups on the table filled with lemonade, and here and there a decanter of Madeira wine, of the Marsala kind, which some prefer to, and many more cannot distinguish from, that which comes from the Atlantic island.

"Take a glass of wine, Judge," said the Colonel; "here is an article that I rather think 'll suit you."

The Judge knew something of wines, and could tell all the famous old Madeiras from each other,—"Eclipse," "Juno," the almost fabulously scarce and precious "White-top," and the rest. He struck the nativity of the Mediterranean Madeira before it had fairly moistened his lip.

"A sound wine, Colonel, and I should think of a genuine vintage. Your very good health."

"Deacon Soper," said the Colonel, "here is some Madary Judge Thornton recommends. Let me fill you a glass of it."

The Deacon's eyes glistened. He was one of those consistent Christians who stick firmly by the first miracle and Paul's advice to Timothy.

"A little good wine won't hurt anybody," said the Deacon. "Plenty,—plenty,—plenty. There!" He had not withdrawn his glass, while the Colonel was pouring, for fear it should spill; and now it was running over.

–—It is very odd how all a man's philosophy and theology are at the mercy of a few drops of a fluid which the chemists say consists of nothing but C 4, O 2, H 6. The Deacon's theology fell off several points towards latitudinarianism in the course of the next ten minutes. He had a deep inward sense that everything was as it should be, human nature included. The little accidents of humanity, known collectively to moralists as sin, looked very venial to his growing sense of universal brotherhood and benevolence.

"It will all come right," the Deacon said to himself,—"I feel a joyful conviction that everything is for the best. I am favored with a blessed peace of mind, and a very precious season of good feelin' toward my fellow-creturs."

A lusty young fellow happened to make a quick step backward just at that instant, and put his heel, with his weight on top of it, upon the Deacon's toes.

"Aigh! What the d—d—didos are y' abaout with them great hoofs o' yourn?" said the Deacon, with an expression upon his features not exactly that of peace and good-will to man. The lusty young fellow apologized; but the Deacon's face did not come right, and his theology backed round several points in the direction of total depravity.

Some of the dashing young men in stand-up collars and extensive neck-ties, encouraged by Mr. Geordie, made quite free with the "Madary," and even induced some of the more stylish girls—not of the mansion-house set, but of the tip-top two-story families—to taste a little. Most of these young ladies made faces at it, and declared it was "perfectly horrid," with that aspect of veracity peculiar to their age and sex.

About this time a movement was made on the part of some of the mansion-house people to leave the supper-table. Miss Jane Trecothick had quietly hinted to her mother that she had had enough of it. Miss Arabella Thornton had whispered to her father that he had better adjourn this court to the next room. There were signs of migration,—a loosening of people in their places,—a looking about for arms to hitch on to.

The great folks saw that the play was not over yet, and that it was only polite to stay and see it out. The word "Ice-Cream" was no sooner whispered than it passed from one to another all down the tables. The effect was what might have been anticipated. Many of the guests had never seen this celebrated product of human skill, and to all the two-story population of Rockland it was the last expression of the art of pleasing and astonishing the human palate. Its appearance had been deferred for several reasons: first, because everybody would have attacked it, if it had come in with the other luxuries; secondly, because undue apprehensions were entertained (owing to want of experience) of its tendency to deliquesce and resolve itself with alarming rapidity into puddles of creamy fluid; and, thirdly, because the surprise would make a grand climax to finish off the banquet.

There is something so audacious in the conception of ice-cream, that it is not strange that a population undebauched by the luxury of great cities looks upon it with a kind of awe and speaks of it with a certain emotion. This defiance of the seasons, forcing Nature to do her work of congelation, in the face of her sultriest noon, might well inspire a timid mind with fear lest human art were revolting against the Higher Powers, and raise the same scruples which resisted the use of ether and chloroform in certain contingencies. Whatever may be the cause, it is well known that the announcement at any private rural entertainment that there is to be ice-cream produces an immediate and profound impression. It may be remarked, as aiding this impression, that exaggerated ideas are entertained as to the dangerous effects this congealed food may produce on persons not in the most robust health.

There was silence as the pyramids of ice were placed on the table, everybody looking on in admiration. The Colonel took a knife and assailed the one at the head of the table. When he tried to cut off a slice, it didn't seem to understand it, however, and only tipped, as if it wanted to upset. The Colonel attacked it on the other side and it tipped just as badly the other way. It was awkward for the Colonel. "Permit me," said the Judge,—and he took the knife and struck a sharp slanting stroke which, sliced off a piece just of the right size, and offered it to Mrs. Sprowle. This act of dexterity was much admired by the company.

The tables were all alive again.

"Lorindy, here's a plate of ice-cream," said Silas Peckham.

"Come, Mahaly," said a fresh-looking young fellow with a saucerful in each hand, "here's your ice-cream;—let's go in the corner and have a celebration, us two." And the old green de-laine, with the young curves under it to make it sit well, moved off as pleased apparently as if it had been silk velvet with thousand-dollar laces over it.

"Oh, now, Miss Green! do you think it's safe to put that cold stuff into your stomick?" said the Widow Leech to a young married lady, who, finding the air rather warm, thought a little ice would cool her down very nicely. "It's jest like eatin' snowballs. You don't look very rugged; and I should be dreadful afeard, if I was you"–

"Carrie," said old Dr. Kittredge, who had overheard this,—"how well you're looking this evening! But you must be tired and heated;—sit down here, and let me give you a good slice of ice-cream. How you young folks do grow up, to be sure! I don't feel quite certain whether it's you or your mother or your daughter, but I know it's somebody I call Carrie, and that I've known ever since"–

A sound something between a howl and an oath startled the company and broke off the Doctor's sentence. Everybody's eyes turned in the direction from which it came. A group instantly gathered round the person who had uttered it, who was no other than Deacon Soper.

"He's chokin'! he's chokin'!" was the first exclamation,—"slap him on the back!"

Several heavy fists beat such a tattoo on his spine that the Deacon felt as if at least one of his vertebrae would come up.

"He's black in the face," said Widow Leech,—"he's swallered somethin' the wrong way. Where's the Doctor?—let the Doctor get to him, can't ye?"

"If you will move, my good lady, perhaps I can," said Dr. Kittredge, in a calm tone of voice.—"He's not choking, my friends," the Doctor added immediately, when he got sight of him.

"It's apoplexy,—I told you so,—don't you see how red he is in the face?" said old Mrs. Peake, a famous woman for "nussin" sick folks,—determined to be a little ahead of the Doctor.

"It's not apoplexy," said Dr. Kittredge.

"What is it, Doctor? what is it? Will he die? Is he dead?—Here's his poor wife, the Widow Soper that is to be, if she a'n't a'ready."

"Do be quiet, my good woman," said Dr. Kittredge.—"Nothing serious, I think, Mrs. Soper.—Deacon!"

The sudden attack of Deacon Soper had begun with the extraordinary sound mentioned above. His features had immediately assumed an expression of intense pain, his eyes staring wildly, and, clapping his hands to his face, he had rocked his head backward and forward in speechless agony.

At the Doctor's sharp appeal the Deacon lifted his head.

"It's all right," said the Doctor, as soon as he saw his face. "The Deacon had a smart attack of neuralgic pain. That's all. Very severe, but not at all dangerous."

The Doctor kept his countenance, but his diaphragm was shaking the change in his waistcoat-pockets with subterranean laughter. He had looked through his spectacles and seen at once what had happened. The Deacon, not being in the habit of taking his nourishment in the congealed state, had treated the ice-cream as a pudding of a rare species, and, to make sure of doing himself justice in its distribution, had taken a large mouthful of it without the least precaution. The consequence was a sensation as if a dentist were killing the nerves of twenty-five teeth at once with hot irons, or cold ones, which would hurt rather worse.

The Deacon swallowed something with a spasmodic effort, and recovered pretty soon and received the congratulations of his friends. There were different versions of the expressions he had used at the onset of his complaint,—some of the reported exclamations involving a breach of propriety, to say the least,—but it was agreed that a man in an attack of neuralgy wasn't to be judged of by the rules that applied to other folks.

The company soon after this retired from the supper-room. The mansion-house gentry took their leave, and the two-story people soon followed. Mr. Bernard had staid an hour or two, and left soon after he found that Elsie Tenner and her father had disappeared. As he passed by the dormitory of the Institute, he saw a light glimmering from one of its upper rooms, where the lady teacher was still waking. His heart ached, when he remembered, that, through all these hours of gayety, or what was meant for it, the patient girl had been at work in her little chamber; and he looked up at the silent stars, as if to see that they were watching over her. The planet Mars was burning like a red coal; the northern constellation was slanting downward about its central point of flame; and while he looked, a falling star slid from the zenith and was lost.

He reached his chamber and was soon dreaming over the Event of the Season.

LOST BELIEFS

One after one they left us;The sweet birds out of our breastsWent flying away in the morning:Will they come again to their nests?Will they come again at nightfall,With God's breath in their song?Noon is fierce with the heats of summer,And summer days are long!Oh, my Life! with thy upward liftings,Thy downward-striking roots,Ripening out of thy tender blossomsBut hard and bitter fruits,—In thy boughs there is no shelterFor my birds to seek again!Ah! the desolate nest is brokenAnd torn with storms and rain!

THE MEXICANS AND THEIR COUNTRY

On the 21st of December, 1859, General Miramon, at the head of the forces of the Mexican Republic, met an army of Liberals at Colima, and overthrew it. The first accounts of the action represented the victory of the Conservatives to be complete, and as settling the fate of Mexico for the present, as between the parties headed respectively by Juarez and Miramon. Later accounts show that there was some exaggeration as to the details of the action, but the defeat of the Liberals is not denied. It would be rash to attach great importance to any Mexican battle; but the Liberal cause was so depressed before the action at Colima as to create the impression that it could not survive the result of that day. Whether the cause of which Miramon is the champion be popular in Mexico or the reverse, it is certain that at the close of 1859 that chief had succeeded in every undertaking in which he had personally engaged; and our own political history is too full of facts which show that a successful military man is sure to be a popular chief, whatever may be his opinions, to allow of our doubting the effect of victory on the minds of the Mexicans. The mere circumstance that Miramon is personally victorious, while the Liberals achieve occasional successes over their foes where he is not present, will be of much service to him. That "there is nothing so successful as success" is an idea as old as the day on which the Tempter of Man caused him to lose Paradise, and to the world's admission of it is to be attributed the decision of nearly every political contest which has distracted society. Miramon may have entered upon a career not unlike to that of Santa Aña, whose early victories enabled him to maintain his hold on the respect of his countrymen long after it should have been lost through his cruelties and his disregard of his word and his oath. All, indeed, that is necessary to complete the power of Miramon is, that some foreign nation should interfere in Mexican affairs in behalf of Juarez. Such interference, if made on a sufficiently large scale, might lead to his defeat and banishment, but it would cause him to reign in the hearts of the Mexicans; and he would be recalled, as we have seen Santa Aña recalled, as soon as circumstances should enable the people to act according to their own sense of right.

Before considering the probable effect of Miramon's success on the policy of the United States toward Mexico, there is one point that deserves some attention. Which party, the Liberal or the Conservative, is possessed of most power in Mexico? The assertions made on this subject are of a very contradictory character. President Buchanan, in his last Annual Message, says that the Constitutional government —meaning that of which Juarez is the head—"is supported by a a large majority of the people and the States, but there are important parts of the country where it can enforce no obedience. General Miramon maintains himself at the capital, and in some of the distant provinces there are military governors who pay little respect to the decrees of either government." On the other hand, a Mexican writer, a member of the Conservative party, who published his views on the condition of his country just one month before the President's Message appeared, declares that the five Provinces or States in which the authority of Miramon was then acknowledged contain a larger population than exists in the twenty-three States in which it was not acknowledged. Of the local authorities in these latter States he says,—"It is a great mistake to imagine that they obey the government of Juarez any more than they obey the government of General Miramon, or any further than it suits their own private interest to obey him. It would be curious to know, for instance, how much of the money collected by these 'local authorities' for taxes, or contributions, or forced loans, and chiefly at the seaport towns for custom-house duties, goes to the 'national treasury' under the Juarez government." In this case, as in many others of a like nature, the truth probably is, that but a very small number of the people feel much interest in the contest, while most of them are prepared to obey whichever chief shall succeed in it without foreign aid. Of the active men of the country, the majority are now with Miramon, or Juarez would not be shut up in a seaport, with his party forming the mere sea-coast fringe of the nation. All that is necessary to convert him into a national, patriotic ruler is, that a foreign army should be sent to the assistance of his rival: and that such assistance shall be sent to Juarez, President Buchanan has virtually pledged the United States by his words and his actions.

In his last Message to Congress, President Buchanan dwells with much unction upon the wrongs we have experienced from Mexico, and avers that we can obtain no redress from the Miramon government. "We may in vain apply to the Constitutional government at Vera Cruz," he says, "although it is well disposed to do us justice, for adequate redress. Whilst its authority is acknowledged in all the important ports and throughout the sea-coasts of the Republic, its power does not extend to the city of Mexico and the States in its vicinity, where nearly all the recent outrages have been committed on American citizens. We must penetrate into the interior before we can reach the offenders, and this can only be done by passing through the territory in the occupation of the Constitutional government. The most acceptable and least difficult mode of accomplishing the object will be to act in concert with that government." He then recommends that Congress should authorize him "to employ a sufficient military force to enter Mexico for the purpose of obtaining indemnity for the past and security for the future." And he expresses the opinion that justice would be done by the Constitutional government; but his faith is not quite so strong as we could wish it to be, as he carefully adds, "This might be secured in advance by a preliminary treaty."

Thus has the President pledged the country to help Juarez establish his authority over Mexico, in words sure to be read and heeded throughout America and Europe. His actions have been quite as much to the purpose. He placed himself in communication with Juarez in 1859, and recognized his government to be the only existing government of Mexico as early as April 7th, through our envoy, Mr. McLane. That envoy floats about, having a man-of-war for his home, and ready, it should seem, to receive the government to which he is accredited, in the event of its being forced to make a second sea-trip for the preservation of the lives of its members. As the sole refuge for unpopular European monarchs, at one time, was a British man-of-war, so are feeble Mexican chiefs now compelled to rely for safety upon our national ships.

To predict anything respecting Mexican affairs would be almost as idle as it would be to assume the part of a prophet concerning American politics; but, unless Miramon's good genius should leave him, his appearance in Vera Cruz may be looked for at no very distant day, and then we shall have the Juarez government entirely on our hands, to support or to neglect, as may be dictated by the exigencies of our affairs. That base of operations, upon the possession of which President Buchanan has so confidently calculated, would be lost, and could be regained only as the consequence of action as comprehensive and as costly as that which placed Vera Cruz in the hands of General Scott in 1847. If the policy laid down by President Buchanan should be adopted and pursued, war should follow between the United States and Mexico from the triumph of Miramon; and in that war, we should be a principal, and not the mere ally of one of those parties into which the Mexican people are divided. Logically, war is inevitable from Mr. Buchanan's arguments and General Miramon's victories; but, as circumstances, not logic, govern the actions of politicians, we may possibly behold all Mexico loyal to the young general, and yet not see an American army enter that country. The President declares that in Mexico's "fate and in her fortune, in her power to establish and maintain a settled government, we have a far deeper interest, socially, commercially, and politically, than any other nation." The truth of this will not be disputed; but suppose that Miramon should establish and maintain a settled government in Mexico, would it not be our duty, and in accordance "with our wise and settled policy," to acknowledge that government, and to seek from it redress of those wrongs concerning which Mr. Buchanan speaks with so much emphasis? Once in a responsible position, and desirous of having the world's approval of his countrymen's conduct, Miramon might be even more than willing to promise as much as Juarez has already promised, we may presume, in the way of satisfaction. That he would fulfil his promises, or that Juarez would fulfil those which he has made, it would be too much to assert; as neither of them would be able, judging from Mexico's past, to maintain himself long in power.