Rensselaer Union, Volume 7, Number 42, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 8 July 1875 — THE BRIDE FROM DUCKPORT. [ARTICLE]

THE BRIDE FROM DUCKPORT.

“ Are you happy, darling ?’ ’ inquired the bridegroom, after the manner of all bridegrooms. “ Veyy happy,” replied the bride with a sigh of satisfaction, glancing shyly at the world from beneath silky lashes, and claiming universal interest by reason of her modesty. “ Let us behave like an old married couple,” she added, demurely. But the fact that a very recent wedding had taken place in Duckport could ho more be concealed from the most casual observer than the pink flush in the bride’s cheeks or the roses and white ribbons of her bonnet. Was not the cup of Mrs. John Scudder, nee Blanchard, the deacon’s only daughter, filled to the brim with sparkling happiness? She had married the man of her choice, handsome John Scudder, with the military bearing which made him the admiration of all the girls. Nay, more: the inheritance of the store where Grandfather Scudder had spent so many years behind a desk in an atmosphere composed of red flannel, cheese and herring had converted John into a match equal to the deacon’s ambition for his child. To get married and visit New York on a bridal tour might well limit the aspirations of any young lady; therefore the new Mrs. Scudder signed with infinite content, only half wishing that John’s attire was not so excessively elegant, and that he did not wear the shiny silk hat with such defiant recklessness of results. Travel brings discontent in the very increase of knowledge. Our bride had not journeyed six hours before a pang of doubt assailed her as to the skill of the village dressmaker in her art; for at each station she beheld a different style, until she was wholly robbed of the complacency with which she had set out. Thus did she permit herself to be crushed by that Juggernaut car of fashion beneath which so many women of the land prostrate themselves. At last New York was reached, and the pair sought the Cosmopolitan Hotel. A marble palace received them; sumptuous drawing-rooms and corridors opened before them; French waiters flew at their bidding to obtain hitherto untasted dishes; and the little bride beheld herself reflected in so many mirrors that she was dazzled by her own image. Her interest in everything reconciled her to John’s departure on business. The young husband, assuming the dignity of authority, said: “ I may be detained until late, or even all night. Y’ou must not go out alone, as you will lose your way.” *• Kitty pouted, the day was so fine. However, she promised. From subsequent information imparted to friends at home it would appear that she spent the morning exploring the hotel, ascending to giddy heights in the elevator, and then takings base advantage of a back staircase to penetrate the mysteries of kitchen and laundry. Kitty received two indelible impressions in these lower regions. The first was produced by a small Greenland ol a refrigerator, where blocks of pellucid ice formed a grotto of delicious coolness. In hot weather Duckport suspended the butter,, in a tin pail, down the well. The second was the apparition of a French chef, in cap and apron, intrenched among copper sauce-pans and surrounded by anxious menials, who tasted a gravy, shook his head, and gazed at the ceiling for inspiration. The great man’s eye fell on the intruder, and she fled. “ The idea of a grown man spending his life cooking!” she said, indignantly, on the stairs.

Later in the afternoon she decided to find -a friend in the suburbs, somewhat as Ginevra played the prank of hiding. Why not? She was not a baby. A policeman directed her to take the first chr on a certain' route, and the first car being green instead of red—contrary to the policeman’s reckoning—she was carried up-town, miles away from the ferry she intended to cross. The car was very dirty, with an all-pervading odor of pestilence. A market-basket rested on her best dress, with the legs of ancient fowls protruding, owned by stout Mrs. Flaherty, while Mre. Malony, opposite, carried home the “wash.” Both ladies were fully aware of their rights. “ Are we near Mudflat Ferry?” asked Kitty, doubtfully. The conductor checked the car, declared his intention of not seeking any ferry, pointed out another route grimly and left her to make the best of it on the curb-stone. She went through the street indicated, considerably alarmed by the demonstrations of the inhabitants, who lounged on doer-steps mid strolled about gutters in search of amusement. This diversion she afforded them, and she was forced to run the gantlet of frank criticism, especially from upper windows, where lolled untidy foreign ladies. The second car was a shade dirtier than the first. Gas was beginning to flare in the hot streets. How gladly would she return to the hotel did she know the wav! Terror reached a chniax with the sudden influx of a crowd of rough, coarse men and tawdry women. If she had only minded John! In these creatures she recognized the burglars by daylight of her dreams, the desperadoes who revel in bloodshed and mock at justice. She was not, in tie best company. Instinctively she closed her eyes and prayed for deliverance. '

The nten evinced jocose familiarity, the women a hard cruelty and resentment, as if they saw a violet growing far above their abyss. Matters were becoming serious. ' A bottle having circulated with visible effect on the spirits of the company it was presented insolently to Kitty, who rose to her feet, received a rude push and was relieved of her purse. Ah, port of safety! Mudflat Ferry loomed through the gathering darkaess. To her dismay the noisy persecutors followed, fairly driving her from thecabin. The low shore opposite seemed deserted.' She discovered only vacant «coalyards and shipping, wjth horrible lurking places in shadow, and tlie group approaching through the gates of the ferry-house. The poor little wanderer fled, pursued by derisive laughter, until she reached a low, broad house on the water’s edge, which bore on a signboard the “ Lamb.” A brick walk bordered with ancient box led up to the sloping stoop, where an old man stood in the door, which was painted green and divided in two halves. He was weather-bronzed arid berit, but his face, having carried the impress of honest good nature for eighty years, did not fail Kitty, who, choosing between two evils, approached timidly. The proprietor of the. “Lamb” (now far advanced in muttonhood) welcomed her, and summoned his wife, a hearty dame in a crimped cap. They could not send her home, but she might remain all night. Seated on the back porch with his pipe as the evening shadows shrouded the harbor and the great steamers surged past, gemmed with red and blue lights, the old man told Kitty of the days when the giant city over yonder was a mere infant. He had kept the tavern for forty years, since the time when green turf bordered the river and lofty trees had no warning of progress. The stubborn old “ Lamb” had not yielded an inch, although the quiet of its youth was disturbed by iron-tongued machinery. The box hedge grew trimly erect;the trumpet-vines clung to the timestained walls; twin Lombardy poplars guarded the gate as in the days when the wind came'laden only with the sweetness of clover fields. The Ixiys who used to frequent the “ Lamb” of summer evenings to bathe and refresh themselves with spruce beer and “ bolivars” (the gingerbread ancestor of the modern .“roundheart”) had grown to be care-worn men, had even sunk into quiet graves, while he sat smoking his pipe. Every eddy in the current, every inlet of the neighboring shores, was familiar to him; and his prime boasted honest yawls instead of modern light, cockle-shell craft. Thus the past, older than his century, recalled the victories of the First Consul, the evacuation of the red-coats, the hero of New’ Orleans. In this inn on the water’s brink of Mudflat Ferry Kitty was a foreign element. If the Dutch family was the smooth surface of the rock, solia and durable, she was the sharp granite edge cut into many angles. Excitement robbed her of sleep, although she had not fallen among thieves. After she had retired to a large clean chamber, with a paper fire-board in the wide chimney and a faded portrait of a Flemish cavalier on the wall, she took her lamp to examine the painted tiles of the hearth, and leaned out of a window listening to the melancholy plash of the tide, in danger of being claimed by the last peril of that eventful day—fever and ague. John hastened back to the hotel, intending to surprise Kitty by his speedy return. The bird had flown. With wonder and alarm he made inquiries. No result. A bell-boy had seen her go out at half-past four. At eight o’clock he telegraphed to the friends in the suburbs. Kitty was not there. At nine he sought the police station, and intelligence of her disappearance flew all over town. At ten a frantic bridegroom paced the floor. At twelve he sat, with head buried in his hands, the picture of despair. Patient waiting seemed the only course. Next morning John, haggard with anxiety, stood in front of the hotel. A beau, tiful carriage lined with satin drew up. It was like the chariot of fairy tales, and a delicate lady was the occupant. “ She is not half as pretty as my Kitty,” groaned John. Just then an ancient and rusty chaise, draw n by a sorry gray horse, and driven by an old man, appeared. John sprang forward. Kitty sat in the chaise beside a beaming dame, who had made the journey to New’ York in the family vehicle of the Lamb Tavern. The whole Cosmopolitan Hotel might smile superciliously, but John shook hands cordially with the old couple, “ put up” the gray horse, and insisted on inviting them to •dinner. Later, the bride from DuckpOrt laid her head on his shoulder, and sobbed: “ Take me home—where 1 can’t get lost.” —Harper's Weekly.