Chapter 19

Virtue, how frail it is!
Friendship, too rare!
Love, how it sells poor bliss
For proud despair!
But we, though soon they fall,
Survive their joy, and all
Which ours we call.

SHELLEY.

Guert Ten Eyck was profoundly impressed with what he had heard, in his
visit to the fortune-teller. It affected his spirits, and, as will be seen,
it influenced all his subsequent conduct. As for myself, I will not say
that I totally disregarded what had passed; though the effect was greatly
less on me, than it was on my friend. The Rev. Mr. Worden, however, treated
the matter with great disdain. He declared that he had never before been so
insulted in his life. The old hag, no doubt, had seen us all before, and
recognised him. Profiting by a knowledge of this sort--that was very easily
obtained in a place of the size of Albany--she had taken the occasion to
make the most of the low gossip that had been circulated at his expense.
"Loping Dominie, indeed," he added; "as if any man would not run to save
his life! You saw how it was with the river, Corny, when it once began to
break up, and know that my escape was marvellous. I deserve as much credit
for that retreat, boy, as Xenophon did for his retreat with the Ten
Thousand. It is true, I had not thirty-four thousand, six hundred and fifty
stadia to retreat over; but acts are to be estimated more by quality, than
by quantity. The best things are always of an impromptu character; and,
generally, they are on a small scale. Then, as for all you tell me about
Guert; why, the hussy knew him--_must_ have known him, in a town like
Albany, where the fellow has a character that identifies him with all sorts
of fun and roguery. Jack, and Moses, too! Do you think the inspiration
of even an evil spirit, or of forty thousand devils, would lead a
fortune-teller to name any horse Moses? Jack might do, perhaps; but _Moses_
would never enter the head of even an imp! Remember, lad, Moses was the
great law-giver of the Jews; and such a creature would be as apt to suppose
a horse was named Confucius, as to suppose he was named Moses!"

"I suppose the inspiration, as you call it, sir, would lead a clever
fortune-teller to give things as they are; and to call the horses by their
real names, let them be what they might."

"Ay, such inspiration as this miserable, old, wrinkled, impudent she-devil
enjoys! Don't tell me, Corny; there is no such thing as fortune-telling;
at least, nothing that can be depended on in all cases--and this is one of
downright imposition. 'Loping Dominie,' forsooth!"

Such were the Rev. Mr. Worden's sentiments on the subject of Mother
Doortje's revelations. He exacted a pledge from us all, to say nothing