2
!)e'ime0, New Bloomftcllr, fl)a.
Young Martin and Old Martin.
YOUNO MARTIN was the son of old
Martin. Both werablaoksmlths, and
pliod their trade In Tacktown, when there
was any demand ; when there was none,
they sat among the iron bars in tbe shop,
or on tbe timber threshold, "enjoyin' them
selves" as they Informed tlie passers-by
" most to death doin' notbln'."
, 'Old Martin-' lived in his flannel shirt
sleeves, and' wore rusty spectacles ; young
Martin and a big jack-knife were insepara
bles, lie picked his teeth with it in his
reflective . moments, and whittled with it
when lively. Old Martin was an everlast
ing talker, and drew the long bow with ex
treme good nature. With him, a lie was a
benefit to please, aino.e, or instruct. At
middle age he was seized witli a mission,
though be did not call it so packed his
goods, and with bis family moved to New
London, distant fifty mllest In five years
he returned as unexpectedly as he went,
unlocked his front door, made a Are of chips
hung over the tea-kettle, and sat down be
fore it a happy man ; and his soul hugged
the forsaken Lares and Penates. Anny,
his wife, sat dumb in a corner, taking a
vigorous pinch of snuff. -
"Anny," said old Martin, " declare
for't ; if you can tell me whatever we went
away for, I, for one, shall be obleeged to
you." '
" Needn't be under any obligation to
me. I ain't the one to calkilate the ways
of Providonce."
Those five years of absence, so to speak,
were the battle-ground of old Martin's
tremendous hair-breadth stories concern
ing the Injuns, the English meu-of-war,
the troubles in the Revolution, and the
rise and progress, sir, of the first families
in New London. Young Martin at this
time was twenty-two slight, pale, with
thin fair hair and a beardless chin; but he
had kind, honest eyes, and a strong manly
voice. Somehow, no one doubted his good
sense and good feeling. Those who laugh.
ed at him, remembering his old whittling
tricks, and his lolling against door-posts,
or the fence, began to hear, and believe,
that he was something more than a lazy
mechanic. Tacktown had advanced; there
was more work to do, and it was soon com
prehended that youug Martin "bossed"
old Martin. About this time he added to
his vocabulary of wonderful tales " What
his son could do" " What they had
thought on him when they were obleeged
to leave New London at dead o' night.
Martin was in such demand plague on
them New Londoners." Anny also doled
her praise day and night. She flitted from
neighbor to neighbor after dark, like a fat,
gray owl, or stood at her porch door of
mornings clacking like a motherly hen.
"As good a cretur as ever trod in shoe
leather" was Martin! She ' told the man
hat cause along with quinces and fall tur
nips that site knew he wasn't as pretty as
a picter, but the marrer on him was good.
When be had the scarlet fever, she thought
the Lord had called for him; but she be
lieved tlie warm baths bad saved him,
though be was a runt of a boy.
People were attracted by old Martin's
manner. Ho was strangely silent, yet be
appeared on the point of bursting ; ho
winked and nodded, went from store to
store, moving bis head from side to side,
and making mysterious grimaces, as if
some moment was at hand when every
body would be astonished. Ilts secret was
revealod the day the frame of a new shop
was raised below the ship-yard on the
shore. How he trotted up and down the
one main street of Tacktown, whore all
the stores were, and all the horses tied, and
tbe oxen swinging through with their va
rious loads 1
"My son did that," be made everybody
hear, pointing to the frame, " How New
London has missed it t But, Lord, they
couldn't keep him 2 And Tacktown is go
ing to be a big place." Old Martin's spec
tacle were dim with prido and joy.
"Pooh, sir," he eried into anybody's
face that was nearest, " I ain't going to
give up yet. Martin, says he to me, says
he, ' Father 'taint necessary for you to give
another blow to the anvil. Cut up your
leatlicr apron to mend the jiuts in the hen
house door, or tbe pig-sty But I'm capa
ble as ever; I won't eat my son's earnings
yet"
To describe Anny's satisfaction over the
Mew shop would be Impossible that new
shop, with stone walls and a belfry on top I
Sim perspired with acute Joy, and wiped
her face till she believed she hud tho
"chaps." No matter who went by, she
was ready; with tlie air of an orator who
fixes his eyes on a distant audience, she
began and coutinuod, the motto In her
mind, or rather its spirit being that Mar
tin must bo a living remembrance to every
body. " Never did I consider Martin a forraid
child; but I ain't surprised that ho should
come out at tbe big end of the horn at
last. Ho ain't a bright and shining light
auywhere, as I knows on; but ha' massy,
do you think that there Edgar Willis can
hold a candle to him, for vartu and good
ness to his parents?" -
The shop was finished. Old Maitin tied
oa his apron daily, and hectore d the two
apprentices with great conifort to himself.
He knew in his heart of hearts that young
Martin was the king pin; but it solaced
him to play at authority with the boys,
and the country , folks who came to the
shop to have a tire mended, or a horse shod!.
What discourses on New London horse
shoes be gave, hammer in hand, and the
hind leg of a horse ! Young Maitin busied
himself with greater things. He was for
tunate enough to ploase the first merchant
in Tacktown, who had bis ship-work
doue elsewhere " till now." Chains, ' bolts,
and all a ship's iron gear, he engaged of
young Martin,' considering' Qld. Martin a
doosed fool, and quite In the young man's
way. But he was compelled, In spite of
himself, to comparo young Marliu's filial
obedience with that of his own son the
gay Edga Willis, the beau par ' exeellenet
of Tacktown. Young Martin was not par
ticularly respectful to bis father in words,
but perfectly so in feeling and manner.
"There, old man," he often said, "dry
up your Bass; you make roe sick" accom
panying these words with a pleasant smile,
and a tap on old Martin's back, which, it
the old man had been a Frenchman, would
have made him bestow a kiss on young
Martin's face. Sometimes, when be
thought the old man tired, he said, " Oo
home, dad, and tell mother I want a short
cake for supper; you've been in the shop
long enough. Wash up, you areas black
as the ace of spades; and if you ain't white
we can't go to Mrs. Willis's party to
night. .. Which was a great joke, as they
were not invited.
Old Martin's "Ho, bo," and "Ha, ha,"
would last him the way home. Philosophers
might take a lesson from the conduct of
this foolish old pair, so devoutly believing
in young Martin's hope of the short-cake
supper.
" Father, I've a mind to cut into a ham
It is sharp to-day; he may have an edge to
his appetite."
" Well, Anny, if you'll brilo it ; other
wise Hain't worth while to cut into a whole
bam."
"See here, now. My quince jolly I do
believe you have most forgot tlie taste of
that. Besides, they tell me it is sovereign
good to clear the throat. Singing-school
to-night, you know." .
" Talking about a Tacktown band, they
bo. Where'sny old fiddle ?"
" Sho, old man."
" I was going on to say," added old Mar
tin, testily, " when you must needs put
your oar in that Martin might like it."
" No, indeed ; he is going to blow on
something an oftglide, I think he said.'.
" Why, they had 'em in New London as
thick as blackberries, a blowing away at
one time, man and boy, like like any
thing."
" Now, father," said the cunning Anny,
" Martin might not like to hear of their
being so plenty; for, says he to me, 1 Moth
er, I don't know what folks will say when
my instrument comes from BoBton I"
" You don't say," answered old Martin,
delighted. " Of course it won't do to say
a word; and mind your eye, old woman-
clack is clack."
But the next day old Ifartin wasaftlieted
with another mystery, which broke like a
boil when the stage-driver handed from his
box a huge bundle iu green flannel to
young Martin, who was in waiting. It
contained an ophiclcido a dreadful instru
ment but It filled old Martin's soul with
awe and delight.
" What ails you, father?" asked young
Martin. " You look as if you had catched
something."
"Do let It out, Martin."
And Martin did, as full of secret delight
as his father was of noisy rejoicing.
The band was formed, aud after a sum
mer's practice it played one quickstep, a
march, and. a Fisher's hornpipe; it then
went into severe winter quartets, to learn
cotillion music. It was a sight to behold
young Martin with his ophiclolde; as ho
was a slight, pale creature, the effeot re
minded one of a little girl toting a big doll.
He was very industrious with his practice,
playing off-nights at Ihmiwj, u; his little
room up-stairs. The groaus of the instru
ment were fearful. Its boom was so dread
ful to Anny that she tied a thick handker
chief over her ears, pretending she had the
earache; but old Martin was game to the
back-bone; he kept time with a triumphant
mien, although he could not tell one tune
from another. Anny noticed that he was
apt to go to bed in a hurried way on tbe
nights young Martin played at home, and,
contrary to his wont, buried his head be
neath the bedclothes, which proceeding
made him snore so, that one night, Anny
driven wild, exclaimed, " Why, father,
you boiler like the off pigs, and I wish
you wouldn't."
It seemed to her then as if the bed
clothes shook or wall it the vibration of
the walls ? for that night it was a dreadful
"storm and stress" period with young
Martin. He was overcoming " Hull's Vic
tory !" From the window outside he was
watched by a pair of irreverent young per
sons, who gave him up for lost, declaring
bim to be floored, after some involuntary
escape of sound. Little did he know who
was outside. . Tbe girl he adored, but of
whom ' he bad no hope, Matilda North
wood, the tallest girl in Tacktown, with a
brilliant complexion, an aquiline nose,
bright, dark eyes, a clear voice, and a gay
laugh; a violent contrast to him in every
way. She was the daughter of a rich far
mer, who lived on Tacktown Neck, three
miloa from the villnge, so secluded a place
that when Matilda came up to the Shore,
as tht village was called, she folt a metro
politan excitement there was zest in
church-going and singing-school; and a
stray Ieoture, or a dance, was just absolute
satisfaction. Young Martin had always
known her, or thought so, tilt sho burst in
upon all his awakened senses one night at
the singing-school; bnt lie had nevor ad
dressed a word to her. She know him
quite, as well, and had never bestowod ' a
thought upon him, but many a laugh,
and alas ! did he but know, she was now
laughing At him. "Edgar Willis was with
her, and he was making himself witty at
young Martin's expense. The boHise stood
in the angle of two streets; there was a'
yard in front, with a picket fence round it,
The side street was a dark, crooked road,
with houses scattered along it, and ending
in a broad field which had that very after
noon been the scenes of the performance of
a traveling circus, attended by Matilda.
The wagons were now loading, and from
timo to time one of them thundered by,
and turning tbe sharp corner by old Mar
tin's bouso, passed through the main street
fronting the harbor, and so out of the vil
lage There had been some flghtiug among
the men, and much savage swearing over
tho heavy loading of the wagons, till the
proprietor, who happened to be partially
intoxicated, lost patieuce. Ho struck with
his whip at one of the drivers, who Instant
ly jumped into his seat, and swearing he
would take no more on, lashed bis horses
into a gallop along the road. Tbe pro
prietor sprang into his buggy; and dashed
after bim, with the intention of stopping
his wagon. Martin heard the noise, opened
his window, and ran down stairs. As
short as the distance was between the door
and the gate of the little yard, he never
forgot the scene. The harbor bolow the
street lay white in moonlight, its silver
sheet unruffled by a singlo breeze. A wag
on lurched round the corner, and rolled by
He heard a scream, and saw a figure flying
over the fence, safe inside, Edgar Wil
lis, then be saw a buggy swaying toward
him, and toward Matilda; he cried out in
terror, soized her in his arms aud almost
threw her over the fonce toward Edgar.
Then be picked up tbe proprietor, who was
thrown out, but not nearly so much injured
as bis carriage aud horse were. Anny came
to the door in perturbation, and begged
everybody to come right in, while old Mar
tin, hardly awake to the state of things,
murmured that he guessed New London
would have something to answer for arter
this. Edgar Willis declined, muttered
something about attending to the proprie
tor, and, glad to be intimate with , a cele
brated man, offered him bis services. Ma
tilda, wondering whether young Martin
had observed his cowardice, could not help
altering .a proverb for his benefit. '
have heard," she said, "about people
laughing on the wrong side of their mouth,
and now I am going to laugh on the right
siae or the lenco.
" I thought the wagon fellow did not see
us, and I sprang over without knowing it
hardly, Matilda. I could have helped you;
but, good gracious, you never could have
expected me to lift your weight over the
fence. I am not a blacksmith."
That speech killed all the riches aud
family position of the Willis family forever
with Matilda. She turned to Aniiy, young
Martin still standing beside her In silence,
and, as Edgar Will's walked slowly down
tho street, said, " I will go In, Mi's. Pell
for a few minutes. I think your son must
be used up, trying to put me over the
fence. You did it like lightning," turning
her race toward him. '
" You see, my son strikes when tho iron
is hot," said old Martin. "He did bo
when he was in New London." Young
Martin put his hand on his father's shoul
der ; the gesture was enough, old Martin
was mum from that moment. i
"Mother," asked young Martin, can't
you give Miss Northwood somo refresh
ment?" " Oil, I am so put by 1 What will you
have a cup of tea ?"
Nothing in the world, thank you. Do
you suppose that my brother William will
hear anything from Mr. Willis, and bring
the wagon for me? I expected to meet
him at Mrs. Miller's about this time.
" Martin might go around with you,"
said Anny, " I am afraid your folks 'way
down on tlie Neck will worry if you are
late. I should worry, if I had such a darter
out all alone." The sharp old woman
looked at young Martin, and he knew that
then and there she bad divined his hopeless
secret. Matilda, also, iuterceptod these
glances, and was astonished and disturbed.
Was a circus man to be thrown out of his
buggy at Mr. Pell's door, that she might
discover a seoret impossible to Icaru other
wise ? What did it mean? Young Martin,
too, was miserably flustered ; be had a
painful sense of his mean home, the home-
lessens of his mother, the commonness of
his father. Not in this fashion would he
have selected to make Matilda's acquaint
ance. A shade full upon them all. Old
Martin got up for his pipe, also embar
rassed. Young Martin tullincr him to sit
still, found it, and held a match for bim to
light it. Well, it was something to see
this .little fellow so geutlo, and through
goodness so refined, Matilda thought, ris
ing to go. She held hr hand to Mrs. Pell,
and then kissed her. There wore tears in
Matilda's eyes ; why, no mortal could
guess. ' : -
".Shall I wait upon you to Mrs.Miller's?"
asked Martin, simply.
, " If you please."
And the pair walked down the yard.
Mrs. Pell saw with a kind of dismay that
Matilda's bonnet was just above Martin's
flat cap. " I wfsli, father, he had on bis"
tall hat," she Bald., Old Martin pounded
his knee with his fist, and broke his pipe.
" Lord, I used to smash pipes in- New
London. But it's no use, Anny, we ain't
high enough up in the world for them
Northwoods. Martin must have blowed
out his wits with that'darned offclido ; he
has gone from one bis thine to another.
and now if ho ain't trying to reach up to
that Blx-loot gal."
"I'll toll you what he's got to. lie put
that gal over our fence when he thought
she was in danger, when that Edgar Willis
jumped over, and left her behind him."
Old Martin's cup was full. He could say
nothing, but stared at the fire till Anny
began to be alarmed. Then she said,
solemnly, " Suppose I go there."
"Where upon arth, father?"
" To New London, to tell 'em his cer-
cumstances, you know. There was a man
there who uted to advise me on just such
piuts. " ,.
Anny put old Martin to bed at once,
with a spoonful of picra and gin, and he
was himself next day.
Matilda shook hands with younir Martin
at the Millers' door, and savins the sunniest
thing she could conjure up, told him that
Due tor ins impulse that night she might
have been much farther oft and showed
him tho skirt of her dress; there was a rout
in it which turned him cold to look at.
" Yes," he replied, " I thought the horse
was bearing down on you when I caught
you. Ob, heavens I" and he clapped his
hands with passion "I am all gratitude
But you mustn't thank me. Yos. von may.
, j ,
but I only did what I ought to have done
lor my helpless person."
"And Edgar Willis?"
"He is not a blacksmith, and is to be
excused. This was Martin's first sarcasm
" Well, cood nieht" and Matilda nut
out her baud again ; she only felt the tips
oi ins nngers,and could not decido whether
ins nana was rougher than her father's.
She was silent on the wav home : hor
brother entertained her with an account of
the circus trouble and upset, ne had seen
Edgar Willis with the man that had been
turned out of his buggy, and he could not
tell who looked the most scared.
Tho world went on tho same afterward.
Martin drove work like the very old eJiepi,
old Martin remarked to Anny ; but he fell
off on his musical evenings, appearing rest
less of nights, and went about more. One
night he brought home a bran new suit of
clothes, with a blue neck-tie, and told his
nis mother he hud joined the Cotillion
party. Every week thcro was -to lm nnn
and he had engaged to play in the baud
aiternaio weeks; the other nights be should
co on the floor.
Now who was that plaguy chap in New
London," said old Martin, musingly
"who used to cut such tremenjis pigcons-
wmgs V
"Martin." said his mother, sadly.
almost wiBh fatbor and I bad stayed in his
New London it might have forraded your
plans, aim you been the better for it. I
feel as if we were your drawbacks and
how could wo help being poor ignorant
creotures ? And oh, Martin, I Bee how you
are eddicatlng yourself; wo did not think
of doing so, aud I don't know how to make
things out."
"You see," interpolated old Martin,
"ho has got stammini, and status, and a
sinking fund of character, which we
haven't." i
" Never you mind, old man got bacca,
haven't you ? Smoke it. Mother, jist go
right on helping mo. It's all right, I tell
you. Where's my bilcd shirt ?"
Unfortunately, at the first nartv Martin
played, perched upon the little platform
uouina one midlo, a clarionet, and a flute,
he looked very small and his dreadful in
strument very largo. It was remarked
how very mild young Martin played that
night. Somebody told Matilda Northwood
that he was staring his head off at hor.
"My," exclaimed another, "if tlm mu
sicians are going in for staring, Tilly will
have conniptions."
" By no means," calmly renlled Matilda
turning her full regards unon Martin, wli.i
did not happen to be ulavinir at that, itiri.
nient. . His quiet, fair face was flushed,
and his fair hair, brushed off his forehead,
was curlod with the heat. He was drtiHKAfl
like a gentleman, too; she thought bis dress
us well fitting as that of Edgar Willis,
though the tailors were not the same.
Martin shivered at her glance, then he
lookod back and cave her a irrave how In
return for hew. He was melancholy. u.H
reflected upou what his mother had said ;
u was an true, i he only way her father
(meaning Matilda's) would allow him n
approach her, would be with monev. and
by tbe time he had eurued enough, somo-
oooy eise would be her husband. More
than once Matilda looked In his dliwetinn.
and perceived that bis heart was not in his
playing, lie was afraid to look at her;
he miL'ht burst into tears if he did. ha iu
so pretty, and he was o far from her. She
danced every set of course. Once, when
the company was marching round the hall,
she came with her partner close to the side
of the platform, and stood for a moment
near him. He beard her say that the was
tired, and warm, and didn't think it was so
very pleasant af ter all. Martin felt so
comforted that a great gulp came in his
throat, bo loud that the Flute looked up
and asked if that 'ere offcllde wasn't pull
ing bim down. -i ." iV I (.
" Shut up, you fool," answered Martin,'
"or I'll pitch you headlong into the middle
of the next dance."
Matilda heard this, and she felt better,
too. She admired pluck, and every time
Bhe came near this little fellow he gave her
an instance of it.
The second party young Martin joined
as a dancer. Nobody knew where he had
learned to dance at all ; but no man went
through his paces with more grace.
"He learned on the anvil, and old
Martin made him dance on the hot iron, I
suppose," sneered Edgar Willis. ""
" Down in New London, maybe." laugh
ed another. i
"I wish," said Matilda Northwood to
Edgar Willis, "that Martin Poll hoard
your speech ; but there is no fonce for you
bore."
" Well, Tilly, if you are going' to keep
on punishing me I must bear it ; a fellow
can't always control his norves," he an
swered. " Your preserver is close by, I
see ; going to take him out?"
Matilda was stung. Martin kept aloof,
and she understood that the advance must
come from her. Martin was on the alert,
and at a motion from hor, he was bowing,
and asking her for the next set. It was an
ordeal for him. Matilda was at the head
of the hall, above the salt which divided
those " who worked for their living," and
those who had money enough to live with-
out actual labor. The male and fomale
ancestors of every person in Tacktown was
a laborer or tindesmen ol some sort; but
there was not common sence enough for
anybody to blow those airs away, till Ma
tilda and young Martin did that night.
" Where shall we take our place?" asked
Martin, very pale, and his lips shut so
tight, and his eyes so determined, that
Matilda's heart beat with pleasure. She
knew that he could be tested.
" At the head of the first set."
There they stood the first couple on the
floor all eyes upon them. Matilda kept
her face toward him, and smiled resolutely.
Her spirit passed into his. II grew. She
was fluttering her fan carelessly.
"Let me fan you," he said, and took it
from her, and no polite dandy could have
flirted it with more grace than our young
Martin ; twirled it first before her face, and
then bestowed a whiff on his own
" Well, I never !" gasp the Jeokers-oii.
" Should think his face would bum I Just
like Matilda Northwood to amine herself
so."
But Edgar Willis did not agree to this ;
and he felt Bhe was in earnest. They were
all awaro Matilda and Martin, that they
were the ejects of criticism. As tho sets
slowly formed they ventured to look into
each other's eyes. Martin's face flushed,
and he did not feel quite so self-possessed.
Matilda went pale, but each knew that tlie
look exchanged happiness. She wore a
pretty bracelet,
" How would you like to have mo forge
you one ?" he asked, and she twisted it
around hor wrist.
" I will wear it," she answered
" What If it bo of iron, and I could give
you ornaments of no other sort ?"
"Altthesamo."
" Oh, Matilda, be careful, I can bear but
little."
She took tho fan and somehow their
hands touched.
" Not from mo, Martin ? I might ask you
to bear a great deal from me."
Tho tender accent of her voice was un
mistakable She kept her face concealed
from the crowd with her fan aud handker
chief, and Martin stood very near her, al
most face to face ; iu fact, they were as
much alone as if they were in the wililni'-
ness which blossoms as tbe rose. Tho
heart alone knows how to discover that
matchless solitude where love is first re
vealed. Again he beean. and so did
violins and flutes.
" The other day when I went over it
Begham for this suit of party clothes, 1
made a resolution. I put something in
this vest pocket, and determined that if
ever you would dance with me, I would
oiler it to you, and that if you refused me.
I would never wear the suit, nor dance
again,"
He was so nervous that ho nut his hand
on his neok-tio, as if he would denude him
self of the Nessus apparel at once. . Matil
da was never so moved. Every demon-
stiation that this obsoure litttle young
Martin made pleased her more and more.
She slyly put out her hand to take his gift.
It was a ring, and he not only slipped it
into her hai d, but on her linger. "It was a .
pretty ring, too, an omerlund circled with
pearls. . ,
" You know what I mean," he whisper
ed. ,
"How becoming your suit is," slid
whisiored ; " do wear it. The next dance
is yours "Hull's Victory' and the
next"
"All, Matilda?"
"Everyone."
"Balnncoz!" shouted the conductor.
From The Akline for June.