The Von Toodleburgs. F. Colburn Adams

ploughed along through the drifts, they struck up a merry song, which so excited Hanz's emotions that he could not resist the temptation to put on his coat and follow them. And when they reached Titus Bright's inn that ruddy-faced host met them at the door and bade them welcome under his roof, and invited them to drink flip at his expense. Hanz was treated and complimented in steaming mugs, and the health and happiness of mother and son were not forgotten. Even the Dominie was sent for, and made to drink flip and tell a story, which he did with infinite good humor. Then the school-master, who was not to be behind any of them when there was flip in the wind, looked in to pay his compliments to Hanz, for the snow had closed up his little school-house for the day. But, in truth, the pedagogue had a weakness he could not overcome, and when invited to take flip tossed off so many mugs as completely to loose his wits, though his tongue ran so nimbly that he was more than a match for the Dominie, who declined discussing a question of religion with him, but offered to tell a story for every song he would sing. Four mugs of flip and two songs and the school-master went into a deep sleep in his chair, where he remained for the rest of the day.

      The question as to who should name the young gentleman at Hanz's house was now discussed. The names of various great men were suggested, such as George Washington and Thomas Jefferson. Hanz shook his head negatively at the mention of these. "It vas not goot to give a poy too pig a name; t-makes um prout ven da grows up," he said. It was finally agreed that the young gentleman should be called Titus Bright, after the little ruddy-faced inn-keeper. And the little man was so pleased with the idea of having his name engrafted on that of the Toodleburg family, that he promised a fat turkey and the best pig of the litter for the christening dinner. More flip was now drank, and the merry party shook hands and parted in the best of temper.

      Hanz felt that as Heaven had blessed him and Angeline with this fine boy, and so increased their joys, he must do something generous for his friends. So, on the morning following he sent the Dominie a pig and a peck of fine flour, for which that quaint divine thanked him and prayed Heaven that he might send more. He gave the school-master a big pipe and tobacco enough to last him a month. He also ordered the tailor to make the pedagogue a new suit of homespun, something the poor man had not had for many a day. School-mastering was not a business men got rich at in those days, and poor Wiggins, for such was his name, had a hard time to keep the wolf from his door. Indeed, he thought himself well paid with four dollars a week and his victuals, which he got around among the parents of his scholars. His worldly goods consisted of little else than his birch and pipe, and the shabby clothes on his back. And as the length of his engagements depended on his good behavior, which was none of the best, he was frequently seen tramping from village to village in search of a job.

      As for Doctor Critchel, Hanz felt that he owed him a debt of gratitude he could never pay, even were he to give him the farm. It was no use offering the doctor a new suit of clothes, as he was never known to wear such things. As for snuff-boxes, he had at least a dozen. Hanz sent him a goose to roast for his dinner, a fat sheep, and a bag of extra flour, just from the mill.

      I may have been too particular in describing how and when this young gentleman came into the world, but my reason for it is that there may be those among my readers who will recognize the great and very distinguished family of Von Toodleburg, which not many years ago amazed New York with its brilliancy, and be anxious to know some of the ups and downs of its early history.

CHAPTER IV.

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CHANGED PROSPECTS.

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      Twelve years have passed since that stormy night when Titus Bright Toodleburg—for the young gentleman as I have said before, was named after the inn-keeper, came into the world. Great changes have taken place since then. Tite, as the neighbors all call him, is now a bright, intelligent boy, and a great favorite in the village. Hanz and Angeline are proud of him, and he promises to be the joy of their declining years. Hanz had always held to the opinion that men with too much learning were dangerous to the peace of a neighborhood, inasmuch as it caused them to neglect their farms and take to pursuits in which the devil was served and honest people made beggars. He had, however, sent Tite to school, and now the young gentleman could read, write, and cypher; and this, he declared, was learning enough to get a man safe through the world if he but followed an honest occupation and saved his money. In addition to so much learning, the young gentleman had early discovered an enterprising spirit, and a remarkable taste for navigation. When only six years old he had his tiny sloops and schooners, rigged by himself, on every duck-pond in the neighborhood. And he could sail them with a skill remarkable in one so young. Indeed, these duck-ponds were a source of great annoyance to Angeline, for whenever one of Tite's crafts met with an accident he would wade to its relief, no matter what the condition or color of the water.

      Hanz shook his head, and felt that no good would come of this taste for the sea on the part of Tite. He intended to bequeath him the farm, so that he could spend his life like an honest man in raising good vegetables for the New York market. Following the sea, Hanz urged, was a very dangerous occupation, and where one man made any money by it, more than a dozen lost their lives by storms. But Tite was not to be put off by such arguments. The spirit of adventure was in the boy, and all other objects had to yield to his natural inclinations. And now, at the age of twelve, we find Tite a smart, sprightly cabin-boy, on board the good sloop Heinrich, making the voyage to New York and back once a week, and taking his first lessons in practical seamanship.

      Wonderful changes had been developed along the beautiful Hudson during these twelve years. People in the country said New York was getting to be a very big, and a very wicked city. Already her skirmishers, in a line of little houses, were pushed beyond the canal, and were obliterating the cow-paths. The honest old Dutch settlers shrugged their shoulders, and said it was not a good sign to see people get rich so fast. Indeed, they declared that these fast and extravagant New Yorkers, who were building great houses and sending big ships to all parts of the world, would bring ruin on the country.

      A ship of five hundred tons had been added to the old London line, and her great size was an object of curiosity. But the man who projected her was regarded by careful merchants as very reckless, and not a safe man to trust.

      That which troubled the minds of these peaceable old settlers most was Mr. Fulton and his steamboat. Steam they declared to be a very dangerous thing. And, as for this Mr. Fulton, he should be sent to an insane asylum, before he destroyed all his friends, and lost all his money in this dangerous undertaking. He might navigate the river with a big tea-kettle in the bottom of his boat, but he would be sure to set all the houses along the river on fire. And who was to pay the damages? Steam was, however, a reality, and the little Fire Fly went puffing and splashing up and down the river, alarming and astonishing the people along its banks. She could make the voyage from the upper end of the Tappan Zee to New York in a day, no matter how the wind blew. Hanz Toodleburg called the Fire Fly an invention of the devil, and nobody else. The bright blaze of her furnaces, and the long trail of fire and sparks issuing from her funnel of a dark night, gave a spectre-like appearance to her movements, that rather increased a belief amongst the superstitious that she was really an invention of the evil one, sent for some bad purpose.

      A meeting was called at Hanz Toodleburg's house to consider the dangerous look of things along the river. The Dominie and the schoolmaster, and all the wise men in the settlement, were present, and gave their opinions with the greatest gravity. If this Mr. Fulton, it was argued, could, with the aid of the evil one, build these steamboats to go to New York and back in a day, why there was an end to the business of sloops and barges. And if the honest men who owned these vessels were thrown out of business, how were they to get bread for their families? These new inventions, Hanz argued, would be the ruin of no end of honest people.

      The schoolmaster, who assumed great wisdom on all such occasions, and who had tossed off several pots of beer during the evening, put the whole matter in a much more encouraging light. He had read something about