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- 1306
- text
- III.
In the fine old robust times of Pierre's grandfather, an American
gentleman of substantial person and fortune spent his time in a somewhat
different style from the green-house gentlemen of the present day. The
grandfather of Pierre measured six feet four inches in height; during a
fire in the old manorial mansion, with one dash of his foot, he had
smitten down an oaken door, to admit the buckets of his negro slaves;
Pierre had often tried on his military vest, which still remained an
heirloom at Saddle Meadows, and found the pockets below his knees, and
plenty additional room for a fair-sized quarter-cask within its buttoned
girth; in a night-scuffle in the wilderness before the Revolutionary
War, he had annihilated two Indian savages by making reciprocal
bludgeons of their heads. And all this was done by the mildest hearted,
and most blue-eyed gentleman in the world, who, according to the
patriarchal fashion of those days, was a gentle, white-haired worshiper
of all the household gods; the gentlest husband, and the gentlest
father; the kindest of masters to his slaves; of the most wonderful
unruffledness of temper; a serene smoker of his after-dinner pipe; a
forgiver of many injuries; a sweet-hearted, charitable Christian; in
fine, a pure, cheerful, child-like, blue-eyed, divine old man; in whose
meek, majestic soul, the lion and the lamb embraced--fit image of his
God.
Never could Pierre look upon his fine military portrait without an
infinite and mournful longing to meet his living aspect in actual life.
The majestic sweetness of this portrait was truly wonderful in its
effects upon any sensitive and generous-minded young observer. For such,
that portrait possessed the heavenly persuasiveness of angelic speech; a
glorious gospel framed and hung upon the wall, and declaring to all
people, as from the Mount, that man is a noble, god-like being, full of
choicest juices; made up of strength and beauty.
Now, this grand old Pierre Glendinning was a great lover of horses; but
not in the modern sense, for he was no jockey;--one of his most intimate
friends of the masculine gender was a huge, proud, gray horse, of a
surprising reserve of manner, his saddle-beast; he had his horses'
mangers carved like old trenchers, out of solid maple logs; the key of
the corn-bin hung in his library; and no one grained his steeds, but
himself; unless his absence from home promoted Moyar, an incorruptible
and most punctual old black, to that honorable office. He said that no
man loved his horses, unless his own hands grained them. Every Christmas
he gave them brimming measures. "I keep Christmas with my horses," said
grand old Pierre. This grand old Pierre always rose at sunrise; washed
his face and chest in the open air; and then, returning to his closet,
and being completely arrayed at last, stepped forth to make a
ceremonious call at his stables, to bid his very honorable friends there
a very good and joyful morning. Woe to Cranz, Kit, Douw, or any other of
his stable slaves, if grand old Pierre found one horse unblanketed, or
one weed among the hay that filled their rack. Not that he ever had
Cranz, Kit, Douw, or any of them flogged--a thing unknown in that
patriarchal time and country--but he would refuse to say his wonted
pleasant word to them; and that was very bitter to them, for Cranz, Kit,
Douw, and all of them, loved grand old Pierre, as his shepherds loved
old Abraham.
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