I cheerfully sustained my portion of
labour, for that necessity prescribed; but the intervals were always at
my own disposal, and, in whatever manner I thought proper to employ
them, my plans were encouraged and assisted. Fond appellations, tones of
mildness, solicitous attendance when I was sick, deference to my
opinions, and veneration for my talents, compose the image which I still
retain of my mother. I had the thoughtlessness and presumption of youth,
and, now that she is gone, my compunction is awakened by a thousand
recollections of my treatment of her. I was indeed guilty of no flagrant
acts of contempt or rebellion. Perhaps her deportment was inevitably
calculated to instil into me a froward and refractory spirit. My faults,
however, were speedily followed by repentance, and, in the midst of
impatience and passion, a look of tender upbraiding from her was always
sufficient to melt me into tears and make me ductile to her will. If
sorrow for her loss be an atonement for the offences which I committed
during her life, ample atonement has been made. My father is a man of slender capacity, but of a temper easy and
flexible. He was sober and industrious by habit. He was content to be
guided by the superior intelligence of his wife. Under this guidance he
prospered; but, when that was withdrawn, his affairs soon began to
betray marks of unskilfulness and negligence. My understanding, perhaps,
qualified me to counsel and assist my father, but I was wholly
unaccustomed to the task of superintendence. Besides, gentleness and
fortitude did not descend to me from my mother, and these were
indispensable attributes in a boy who desires to dictate to his
gray-headed parent. Time, perhaps, might have conferred dexterity on me,
or prudence on him, had not a most unexpected event given a different
direction to my views. Betty Lawrence was a wild girl from the pine-forests of New Jersey. At
the age of ten years she became a bound servant in this city, and, after
the expiration of her time, came into my father's neighbourhood in
search of employment. She was hired in our family as milkmaid and
market-woman. Her features were coarse, her frame robust, her mind
totally unlettered, and her morals defective in that point in which
female excellence is supposed chiefly to consist. She possessed
super-abundant health and good-humour, and was quite a supportable
companion in the hay-field or the barnyard. On the death of my mother, she was exalted to a somewhat higher station. The same tasks fell to her lot; but the time and manner of performing
them were, in some degree, submitted to her own choice. The cows and the
dairy were still her province; but in this no one interfered with her or
pretended to prescribe her measures. For this province she seemed not
unqualified, and, as long as my father was pleased with her management,
I had nothing to object. This state of things continued, without material variation, for several
months. There were appearances in my father's deportment to Betty, which
excited my reflections, but not my fears. The deference which was
occasionally paid to the advice or the claims of this girl was accounted
for by that feebleness of mind which degraded my father, in whatever
scene he should be placed, to be the tool of others. I had no conception
that her claims extended beyond a temporary or superficial
gratification. At length, however, a visible change took place in her manners. A
scornful affectation and awkward dignity began to be assumed. A greater
attention was paid to dress, which was of gayer hues and more
fashionable texture. I rallied her on these tokens of a sweetheart, and
amused myself with expatiating to her on the qualifications of her
lover. A clownish fellow was frequently her visitant. His attentions did
not appear to be discouraged. He therefore was readily supposed to be
the man. When pointed out as the favourite, great resentment was
expressed, and obscure insinuations were made that her aim was not quite
so low as that. These denials I supposed to be customary on such
occasions, and considered the continuance of his visits as a sufficient
confutation of them. I frequently spoke of Betty, her newly-acquired dignity, and of the
probable cause of her change of manners, to my father. When this theme
was started, a certain coldness and reserve overspread his features. He
dealt in monosyllables, and either laboured to change the subject or
made some excuse for leaving me. This behaviour, though it occasioned
surprise, was never very deeply reflected on. My father was old, and the
mournful impressions which were made upon him by the death of his wife,
the lapse of almost half a year seemed scarcely to have weakened. Betty
had chosen her partner, and I was in daily expectation of receiving a
summons to the wedding. One afternoon this girl dressed herself in the gayest manner and seemed
making preparations for some momentous ceremony. My father had directed
me to put the horse to the chaise. On my inquiring whither he was going,
he answered me, in general terms, that he had some business at a few
miles' distance. I offered to go in his stead, but he said that was
impossible. I was proceeding to ascertain the possibility of this when
he left me to go to a field where his workmen were busy, directing me to
inform him when the chaise was ready, to supply his place, while
absent, in overlooking the workmen. This office was performed; but before I called him from the field I
exchanged a few words with the milkmaid, who sat on a bench, in all the
primness of expectation, and decked with the most gaudy plumage. I rated
her imaginary lover for his tardiness, and vowed eternal hatred to them
both for not making me a bride's attendant. She listened to me with an
air in which embarrassment was mingled sometimes with exultation and
sometimes with malice. I left her at length, and returned to the house
not till a late hour. As soon as I entered, my father presented Betty to
me as his wife, and desired she might receive that treatment from me
which was due to a mother. It was not till after repeated and solemn declarations from both of them
that I was prevailed upon to credit this event. Its effect upon my
feelings may be easily conceived. I knew the woman to be rude, ignorant,
and licentious. Had I suspected this event, I might have fortified my
father's weakness and enabled him to shun the gulf to which he was
tending; but my presumption had been careless of the danger. To think
that such a one should take the place of my revered mother was
intolerable. To treat her in any way not squaring with her real merits; to hinder
anger and scorn from rising at the sight of her in her new condition,
was not in my power. To be degraded to the rank of her servant, to
become the sport of her malice and her artifices, was not to be endured. I had no independent provision; but I was the only child of my father,
and had reasonably hoped to succeed to his patrimony.