No. CXXI.

We were about to exhibit those three objections of the young disciple, to his marriage, with the widow of Chuang-tsze, when we were summoned away, by professional duties. Let us proceed--"The first of my master's objections," said the old domestic, "is this--the coffin of Chuang-tsze is still in the hall of ceremony. A sight, so sad and solemnizing, is absolutely inconsistent with the nuptial celebration. The world would cry out upon such inconsistency. In the second place, the fame of your late husband was so great--his love for you so devoted--yours for him so ardent and sincere, and founded, so obviously, upon his learning and wisdom--that my master fears it will be impossible for him, to supply the place of so good, and so great, a man; and that you will, ere long, despise him, for his inferiority; and that your affections will be entirely and unchangeably fixed, on the memory of the great defunct. The third and last objection, named by my master, whose pa.s.sion for you knows no bounds, is serious indeed. Though of lofty pedigree, he is very poor. He has neither money nor lands; and has not the means of purchasing those marriage gifts, which custom requires him to offer."

"And are these the only objections?" said she. "There are no others," he replied; "if it were not for these insurmountable objections, the happiness of my master would be complete, and he would openly manifest that pa.s.sion, by which he is now secretly consumed."

"They are, by no means, insurmountable," said the young widow, with animation. "As for the coffin, what is it? A mere sh.e.l.l, containing the remains of poor Chuang-tsze. It is not absolutely necessary, that it should remain in the hall, during these one hundred days. At the farther end of my garden is an ancient smoke-house. It is quite dilapidated, and no longer in use. Some of my people shall carry the coffin thither, without farther delay. So you may inform your sweet, young master, that his first objection will be instantly removed. And why should he distress himself so needlessly, in regard to the second? Chuang-tsze certainly pa.s.sed, with the world, for a great philosopher, and a wonderful man. The world sees from a distance. A sort of haze or mist impedes its vision.

Minute particulars escape its observation. That, which is smooth and fair, seen from afar, may appear full of inequalities to one, who is near at hand. G.o.d forbid, that I should undervalue the dead; but it is well known, that Chuang-tsze repudiated his second wife, because she did not precisely suit his humor, and then married me. His great reputation induced a certain sovereign, to appoint him his chief minister. But the philosopher was not deficient in shrewdness--he knew his incapacity, and resolved to hide himself, in that solitude, where we have vegetated, so long."

"About a month ago, he encountered a young widow, who, with a large fan, was endeavoring to dry up her husband's grave, because she could not marry again, under the condition her husband had imposed upon her, until this was done. Chuang-tsze, if you will believe it, made the acquaintance of this shameless woman; and actually a.s.sisted her, in drying up her husband's grave. She gave him a fan, as a keepsake; and he valued it highly. I got possession of it however, and tore it to tatters. You see how great my obligations are to this wonderful philosopher; and you may judge of the real affection, which I must feel, for the memory of such a man."

"The last objection," continued the widow, "is easily disposed of. I will furnish your master with all the means he can desire. Chuang-tsze, to do the man justice, has left me the absolute mistress of an ample fortune--here, present these twenty taels to your master, from me, with such expressions of devotion, as may befit the lips of one, whose heart is all his own; and say to him, unless he himself is desirous of a longer delay, that, as the whole of life is not too long for love, I shall be happy, if he desires it, to become his bride, this very day."

Thus far the course of true love, in despite of the proverb, certainly ran smooth.

"Here," said the young disciple, upon sight of the twenty taels, as he turned them over, "is something substantial--run back immediately to the widow, and tell her my pa.s.sion will endure the curb no longer. I am entirely at her disposal." The widow was quite beside herself, upon receiving these tidings; and, casting off her garments of heaviness, she began to embellish her fine person. The coffin of Chuang-tsze, by her directions, was immediately transferred to the old smoke-house.

The hall was made ready, for the approaching nuptials. If murmurs occasionally arose, among the old, faithful domestics of Chuang-tsze, the widow's pa.s.sion was more blind than moonless midnight, and deafer than the time-stricken adder. A gorgeous feast was made ready. The shades of evening drew on apace--the lanterns were lighted up, in all directions--the nuptial torch cast forth its bright beams from an elevated table.

At the appointed signal, the bridegroom entered, most skilfully and splendidly arrayed,--so that his fine, manly figure was exhibited, to the greatest advantage. The young widow soon appeared, her countenance the very tabernacle of pleasure, and her bewitching form, adorned in the most costly silks, and splendid embroidery. They placed themselves, side by side, in front of the hymeneal taper, arrayed in pearls, and diamonds, and tissue of gold. Those salutations, which custom demands, having been duly performed, and the bride and bridegroom having wished each other eternal felicity, in that manner, which the marriage rites prescribe, the bridegroom holding the hand of the bride, they proceeded to the festal hall; and having drunk from the goblet of mutual fidelity, they took their places, at the banqueting board.

The repast went joyously forward--the darkest cloud--how suddenly will it come over the smiling face of the bewitching moon! The festival had not yet pa.s.sed, when the bridegroom fell to the floor, in horrible convulsions. With eyes turned upward, and mouth frightfully distorted, he became an object of horror. The bride, whose pa.s.sion for the young disciple was ardent and sincere, screamed aloud. She threw herself, in all her bridal array, upon the floor, by his side; clasped him in her arms; covered him with kisses; and implored him, to say what she could do, to afford him relief. Miserable youth! He was unable to reply, and seemed about to expire.

The old domestic rushed into the apartment, upon hearing the noise, and taking his master from the floor, proceeded to shake him with violence.

"My G.o.d," cried the lady, "has this ever happened before?" "Yes, Madam,"

he replied, "he has a return of it about once, in every year." "And, for Heaven's sake, tell me what remedies do you employ?" she eagerly inquired.

"There is one sovereign remedy," the old man replied; "his physician considers it a specific." "And what is it? tell me, in the name of Confucius," she pa.s.sionately exclaimed, for the convulsions were growing more violent. "Nothing will restore him, but the brains of a man, recently dead, taken in warm wine. His father, who was governor of a province, when his son was last attacked, in this way, caused a criminal to be executed, that his brains might be thus employed." "Good G.o.d!" exclaimed the agonizing bride, for the convulsions, after a short remission, were returning, with redoubled violence, and the bridegroom was foaming terribly, at the mouth. "Tell me instantly, will the brains of a man who died a natural death answer as well?" "Undoubtedly," the old servant replied. "Well then," said she, in a tone somewhat subdued--"there is Chuang-tsze in the smoke-house." "Ah, Madam," said the old domestic, "I am aware of it--it occurred to me--but I feared to suggest it." "And of what possible use," she exclaimed, "can the brains of old Chuang-tsze be to him now, I should like to know?"

At this moment, the convulsions became absolutely terrific. "These returns," said the old man, "will become more and more violent, till they destroy my poor master. There is no time to be lost." The wretched bride rushed from the apartment, and, seizing a hatchet, which happened to be lying in the outer pa.s.sage, she hastily made her way to the old smoke-house. Elevating the hatchet above her head, she struck a violent blow, on the lid of the coffin.

If the whole force of the blow had descended upon a secret spring, the lid could not have risen more suddenly. It seemed like the power of magic. The bride turned her eyes upon the closed lids of the corpse--they gradually opened; and the b.a.l.l.s were slowly turned, and steadily fixed, upon her. In an instant Chuang-tsze sat, bolt upright, in his coffin! She sent forth a shriek of terror--the hatchet fell from her paralyzed hand--the cold sweat of confusion gathered thickly upon her brow.

"My beloved wife," said the philosopher, with perfect calmness, "be so obliging as to lend me your hand, that I may get out.--I have had a charming nap," continued he, as he took the lamp from her hand, and advanced towards the hall. She followed, trembling at every step, and dreading the meeting, between the old philosopher and the young disciple.

Though the air of unwonted festivity, under the light of the waning tapers, still hung over the apartment, fortunately the youth and the old servant seemed to have departed. Upon this, her courage, in some measure, revived, and, turning a look of inexpressible tenderness upon Chuang-tsze--"Dearest husband," said she, "how I have cherished your memory! My day thoughts and dreams have been all of you. I have often heard, that the apparent dead were revived, especially if not confined within closed apartments. I therefore caused your precious coffin to be removed, where the cool, refreshing air could blow over it. How I have watched, and listened, for some evidence of returning life! And how my heart leaped into my mouth, when my vigilance was at last rewarded. I flew with a hatchet to open the coffin; and, when I saw your dear eyes turned upon me, I thought I should"--"I can never repay your devotion," said the philosopher, interrupting her, with an expression of ineffable tenderness, "but why are you thus gaily apparelled--why these robes--these jewels--my love?"

"It seemed to me, my dear husband," she readily replied, "that some invisible power a.s.sured me of your return to life. How, thought I, can I meet my beloved Chuang-tsze, in the garments of heaviness? No; it will be like a return of our wedding day; and thus, you see, I have resumed my bridal array, and the jewels you gave me, during our honeymoon."--"Ah,"

said the philosopher, "how considerate you are--you always had your thoughts about you." He then drew near the table. The wedding taper, which was then burning low in its socket, cast its equivocal rays upon the gorgeous bowls and dishes, which covered the festal board. Chuang-tsze surveyed them attentively, in silence; and, calling for warm wine, deliberately drained the goblet, while the lady stood near him, trembling with confusion and terror.

At length, setting down the goblet, and pointing his finger--"Look behind you!" he exclaimed. She turned her head, and beheld the young disciple, in his wedding finery, with his attendant--a second glance, and they were gone. Such was the power of this mighty master of magic. The wife slunk to her apartment; and, resolving not to survive her shame and disappointment, unloosened her wedding girdle, and ascending to the garret, hung herself therewith, to one of the cross-beams, until she was dead. Tidings were soon brought to Chuang-tsze, who, deliberately feeling her pulse, and ascertaining that she was certainly dead, cut her down, and placed her precious remains, in the coffin, in the old smoke-house.

He then proceeded to indulge his philosophical humor. He sat down, among the flickering lamps, at the solitary board, and struck up a dirge, accompanying his voice, by knocking with the chopsticks, and whatever else was convenient to his purpose, upon the porcelain bowls and dishes, which he finally broke into a thousand pieces, and setting fire to his mansion, he consumed it to ashes, together with the smoke-house, and all its valuable contents.

He then, abandoning all thoughts of taking another wife, travelled into the recesses of Latinguin, in pursuit of his old master, Laoukeun, whom, at length, he discovered. There he acquired the reputation of a profound philosopher; and lay down, at last, in the peaceful grave, where wicked widows cease from troubling, and weary widowers are at rest.

No. CXXII.

A gra.s.shopper was not the crest of Peter Faneuil's arms. I formerly supposed it was; for a gilded gra.s.shopper, as half the world knows, is the vane upon the cupola of Faneuil Hall; and a gilded gra.s.shopper, as many of us well remember, whirled about, of yore, upon the little spire, that rose above the summer-house, appurtenant to the mansion, where Peter Faneuil lived, and died. That house was built, and occupied, by his uncle, Andrew; and he had some seven acres, for his garden thereabouts. It was upon the westerly side of old _Treamount_ Street, and became the residence of the late William Phillips, whose political relations to the people of Ma.s.sachusetts, as their Lieutenant Governor, could not preserve him from the sobriquet of _Billy_.

I thought it not unlikely, that Peter's crest was a gra.s.shopper, and that, on that account, he had become partial to this emblem. But I am duly certified, that it was not so. The selection of a gra.s.shopper, for a vane, was made, in imitation of their example, who placed the very same thing, upon the pinnacle of the Royal Exchange, in London. The arms of the Faneuils I have seen, upon the silver castors, which once were Peter's own; and, upon his decease, became the property of his brother, Benjamin, from whom they descended to his only daughter, Mary Faneuil, who became, October 13, 1754, the wife of George Bethune, now deceased; and was the mother of George Bethune, Esquire, who will complete his eighty-second year, in April, 1851. From this gentleman, whose grand-uncle Peter Faneuil was, and from other descendants of old Benjamin Faneuil, of Roch.e.l.le, I have received some facts and doc.u.ments--interesting to me--possibly to others.

In conversation with an antiquarian friend, not long ago, we agreed, that very much less was generally known of Peter Faneuil, than of almost any other great, public benefactor. His name, nevertheless, is inseparably a.s.sociated, with the cradle of American liberty. Drs. Eliot and Allen, in their Biographical Dictionaries, have pa.s.sed him over, very slightingly, the former finishing up this n.o.ble-hearted Huguenot, with fifteen lines; and the latter, with eight; while not a few of their pages have been devoted, to the very dullest doctors of the drowsiest theology, and to--

"Names ign.o.ble, born to be forgot."

Mr. Farmer, in his Genealogical Register, does not seem to be aware, that the name of Faneuil existed, for he has not even found a niche for it there. His Register, I am aware, purports to be a register of the "_First Settlers_." But he has found room for the Baudouins (Bowdoins) and their descendants. They also were Huguenots; and came hither, with the Faneuils, after 1685. One of that family, as will be more fully shown, Claude Baudoin, presented Peter Faneuil in baptism. Yet, such was the public sense of Peter's favors, _when they were green_, that John Lovell--that same Master Lovell, who retired with the British army, in 1776--delivered, under an appointment of the town, an oration, to commemorate the virtues, and laud the munificence of Peter Faneuil. Such, in truth, was the very first occasion, upon which the citizens were summoned to listen to the voice of an orator, in Faneuil Hall; and then, in honor of him, who perfected the n.o.ble work, at his own proper cost, and whose death so speedily followed its completion--for a n.o.ble work a.s.suredly it was, relatively to the times, in which it was wrought.

The Faneuils were Huguenots. The original p.r.o.nunciation of this patronymic must have been somewhat different from the present: there was an excusable _navete_, in the inquiry of a rural visitant of the city--if a well known mechanical establishment, with a tall, tubular chimney, were not _Funnel_ Hall?

After the revocation of the edict of Nantes, by Louis XIV., in 1685, the Faneuils, in common with many other Huguenots of France,--the Baudouins, the Bernons, the Sigourneys, the Boudinots, the Pringles, the Hugers, the Boutineaus, the Jays, the Laurenses, the Manigaults, the Marions, the Prioleaus, and many others, came to these North American sh.o.r.es--as our pilgrim fathers came--to worship G.o.d, in security, and according to their consciences. Many of these persecuted men conferred, upon their adopted home, those blessings, which the exercise of their talents, and the influence of their characters, and of the talents and characters of their descendants have confirmed to our common country, for many generations.

They came, by instalments, and arrived at different points. Thirty families of these expatriated Protestants came hither, and settled upon a tract, eight miles square, in the "Nipmug country," where now stands the town of Oxford, in the County of Worcester. This settlement commenced, in Gov. Dudley's time, and under his particular auspices; but continued only till 1696, when it was broken up, by the inroads of the savages. In the overthrow of this settlement, rum was a material agent, and occasioned, though upon a very small scale, a second ma.s.sacre of some of these Huguenots. There is a letter to Gov. Dudley, from M. Bondet, the Huguenot clergyman, dated July 6, 1691, complaining bitterly of the unrestricted sale, among the Indians, of this fatal fire water; and giving a graphic account of the uproar and outrage it produced.

After the failure of this attempt, many of the scattered planters collected, in Boston. For several years, they gathered, for devotional purposes, in one of the larger school-houses. Jan. 4, 1704, they purchased a piece of land, in South School Street, of John Mears, a hatter, for "110 current silver money of New England;" but, for several years, the selectmen, for some cause, unknown to us, refused their consent, that these worthy French Protestants should build their church thereon. About twelve years after the purchase of the land, the little church--the visible temple--went up. It was of brick, and very small. Monsieur Pierre Daille was their first pastor, Andre Le Mercier the second; and, if there be any truth, in tradition, these Huguenot shepherds were pure and holy men. Daille died testate, May 20, 1715. His will bears date May 15, of that year. He directs his body to be interred, at the discretion of his executor, James Bowdoin, "_with this restriction, that there be no wine at my funeral, and that none of my wife's relations have mourning cloaths_."

He empowers his executor to give them gloves; and scarfs and gloves to all the ministers of Boston. To his wife, Martha, he gives 350, Province bills, and his negro man, Kuffy. His Latin and French books he gives to the French Church, as _the nucleus of a library_. 100 to be put at interest for the use of the minister. 10 to be improved by the elders, for the use of the church, and should a meeting-house be built, then in aid of that object. To John Rawlins the French schoolmaster, 5. He then makes his brother Paul, of Armsfort, in Holland, residuary legatee. His "_books and arms_" were appraised at 2. 10. The whole estate at 274. 10.

sterling.

Le Mercier dedicated his book, on Detraction, to his people. Therein he says, "You have not despised my youth, when I first came among you; you have since excused my infirmities; and, as I did the same, in respect to yours, it has pleased our Saviour, the head of his church, to favor us with an uninterrupted peace and union in our church, for the almost eighteen years that I have preached the word of salvation to you." His book was published in 1733. He therefore became their pastor between 1715, when Daille died, and 1716. He died March 31, 1764, aged 71. He was therefore born in 1693, and ordained about the age of 22.

Le Mercier's will is dated, at Dorchester, Nov. 7, 1761. A codicil was added, at Boston, Feb. 3, 1764. He left his estate to his four children, "_Andrew, Margaret, Jane, and my son Bartholomew, if living_." He enjoins upon his heirs the payment of Bartholomew's debt to Thomas Hanc.o.c.k, for which he had become responsible, and which he had partly paid. By his will, he appointed Jane and Margaret to execute his will. In the codicil, he refers to the disordered state of Margaret's mind, and appoints Zachariah Johonnot, in her stead, requesting him to be her guardian. The whole estate was appraised at 232. 18. 6. sterling.

Years rolled on: juxtaposition and intermarriage were Americanising these Huguenots, from month to month; and, ere long, they felt, less and less, the necessity of any separate place of worship. On the 7th of May, 1748, "Stephen Boutineau, the only surviving elder," and others, among whom we recognize the Huguenot names of Johonnot, Packinett, Boudoin, and Sigourney, conveyed their church and land to Thomas Fillebrown, Thomas Handyside Peck, and others, trustees for the "new congregational church, whereof Mr. Andrew Croswell is pastor." After a while, this church became the property of the Roman Catholics; and ma.s.s was first celebrated there, Nov. 2, 1788. The Catholics, in 1803, having removed to Franklin Place, the old Huguenot church was taken down; and, upon the site of it, a temple was erected, by the Universalists; showing incontrovertibly, thank G.o.d, that the soil was most happily adapted to toleration.

The reader fancies, perhaps, that I have forgotten Peter Faneuil. Not so: but I must linger a little longer with these Huguenots, who attempted a settlement in the Nipmug country. In the southwesterly part of Oxford, there rises a lofty hill, whose summit affords an extensive and delightful prospect. Beneath, at the distance of a mile, or more, lies the village of Oxford; and the scenery, beyond, is exceedingly picturesque. Upon this eminence, which now bears the name of Mayo's Hill, are the well-defined remains of an ancient fort. Its construction is perfectly regular. The bastions are clearly marked; and the old well, constructed within the barrier, still remains. As recently, as 1819, says the Rev. Dr. Holmes, in his able and interesting account of the Huguenots, "grapevines were growing luxuriantly, along the line of this fort; and these, together with currant bushes, roses, and other shrubbery, nearly formed a hedge around it. There were some remains of an apple orchard. The currant and asparagus were still growing there."

Such were the vestiges of these thirty families, who, in 1696, fled from a foe, not more savage and relentless, though less enlightened, than the murderers of Coligny, in 1572.

The Faneuils formed no part of these thirty families; but, not many years after the little Oxford colony was broken up, and the fugitive survivors had found their way to Boston, the Faneuils, one after another, seem to have been attracted hither, from those points of our country, where they first arrived, after the revocation of the edict of Nantes, in 1685, or from other, intermediate stations, to which they had removed.

There are not elements enough, I fear, for a very interesting memoir of Peter Faneuil. The materials, even for a brief account, are marvellously few, and far between; and the very best result, to be antic.i.p.ated, is a warp and woof of shreds and patches.

But, if I am not much mistaken, I know more of Peter Faneuil, than Master Lovell ever wot of, though he delivered the funeral oration; and, albeit the sum total is very small, it seems but meet and right, that it should be given to the world. I think it would so be decided, by the citizens, if the vote were taken, this very day--in _Faneuil Hall_.

Our _neighbors_, all over the United States have heard of _Faneuil Hall_; and, though, of late years, since we have had a race, or breed, of mayors, every one of whom has endeavored to be _worthier_ or more _conceding_ than his predecessor, Faneuil Hall has been converted into a sort of omnibus without wheels; yet the glory of its earlier, and of some, among its latter days, is made, thank G.o.d, of that unchangeable stuff, that will never shrink, and cannot fade.

No man has ever heard of Faneuil Hall, who will not be pleased to hear somewhat of that n.o.ble-minded, whole-souled descendant of the primitive Huguenots--and such indeed he was--who came, as a stranger and sojourner here, and built that hall, at his own proper cost and charge, and gave it--the gift of a cheerful giver--to those, among whom he had come to dwell--and all this, in the midst of his days, in the very prime of his life, not waiting for the almond tree to flourish, and for desire to fail, and for the infirmities of age to admonish the rich man, that he must set his house in order, and could carry nothing with him, to those regions beyond.

Faneuil Hall has been called the _Cradle of Liberty_, so long and so often, that it may seem to savor of political heresy, to quarrel with the name--but, for the soul of me, I cannot help it. If it be intended to say, that Faneuil Hall is the _birth place_ of Liberty, I am not aware of a single instance, on record, of a baby, _born in a cradle_. The proverbial use of the cradle has ever been to rock the baby to sleep; and Heaven knows our old fathers made no such use of Faneuil Hall, in their early management of the bantling; for it was an ever-wakeful child, from the very moment of its first, sharp, shrill, life cry.