Nathaniel Hawthorne
 


   Mr. Higginbotham's Catastrophe
    From Twice-Told Tales

        
    A young fellow, a tobacco pedlar by trade, was on  his  way  from  Morristown, 
where he had dealt largely with the  Deacon  of  the  Shaker  settlement,  to  the 
village of Parker's Falls, on Salmon River. He had a  neat  little  cart,  painted 
green, with a box of cigars depicted on each side  panel,  and  an  Indian  chief, 
holding a pipe and a golden tobacco stalk, on the rear. The pedlar drove  a  smart 
little mare, and was a young man of excellent character, keen at  a  bargain,  but 
none the worse liked by the Yankees; who, as I have heard them say,  would  rather 
be shaved with a sharp razor than a dull one. Especially was  he  beloved  by  the 
pretty girls along the Connecticut, whose favor he used to court  by  presents  of 
the best smoking tobacco in his stock; knowing well that the country lasses of New 
England are generally great performers on pipes. Moreover, as will be seen in  the 
course of my story, the pedlar was inquisitive, and something of a tattler, always 
itching to hear the news and anxious to tell it again.
    After an early breakfast at Morristown, the tobacco  pedlar,  whose  name  was 
Dominicus Pike, had travelled seven miles  through  a  solitary  piece  of  woods, 
without speaking a word to anybody but himself and his little gray mare. It  being 
nearly seven o'clock, he was  as  eager  to  hold  a  morning  gossip  as  a  city 
shopkeeper to read the morning paper. An opportunity seemed at  hand  when,  after
lighting a cigar with a sun-glass, he looked up, and perceived a man  coming  over 
the brow of the hill, at the foot of which the pedlar had stopped his green  cart. 
Dominicus watched him as he descended, and noticed that he carried a  bundle  over 
his shoulder on the end of a stick, and travelled with  a  weary,  yet  determined 
pace. He did not look as if he had started in the freshness of  the  morning,  but 
had footed it all night, and meant to do the same all day.
    "Good morning, mister," said Dominicus, when within speaking distance. "You go 
a pretty good jog. What's the latest news at Parker's Falls?"
    The man pulled the broad brim of a gray  hat  over  his  eyes,  and  answered, 
rather sullenly, that he did not come from Parker's Falls,  which,  as  being  the 
limit of his own day's journey, the pedlar had naturally mentioned in his inquiry.
    "Well then," rejoined Dominicus Pike, "let's have the latest  news  where  you 
did come from. I'm not particular about Parker's Falls. Any place will answer."
    Being thus importuned, the traveller - who was as ill looking a fellow as  one 
would desire to meet in a solitary piece of woods - appeared to hesitate a little, 
as if he was either searching his memory for news, or weighing the  expediency  of
telling it. At last, mounting on the step of the cart, he whispered in the ear  of 
Dominicus, though he might have shouted aloud and no other mortal would have heard 
him.
    "I do remember one little trifle of news," said he. "Old Mr. Higginbotham,  of 
Kimballton, was murdered in his orchard,  at  eight  o'clock  last  night,  by  an 
Irishman and a nigger. They strung  him  up  to  the  branch  of  a  St. Michael's 
pear-tree, where nobody would find him till the morning."
    As soon as this horrible intelligence was communicated,  the  stranger  betook 
himself to his journey again, with more speed than ever, not even turning his head 
when  Dominicus  invited  him  to  smoke  a  Spanish  cigar  and  relate  all  the 
particulars. The pedlar whistled to his mare and went up the  hill,  pondering  on
the doleful fate of Mr. Higginbotham whom he had known in the way of trade, having 
sold him many a bunch of long nines, and a great deal of  pigtail,  lady's  twist, 
and fig tobacco. He was rather astonished at the rapidity with which the news  had 
spread. Kimballton was nearly sixty miles distant in a straight line;  the  murder 
had been perpetrated only at eight o'clock the preceding night; yet Dominicus  had 
heard  of  it  at  seven  in  the  morning,  when,  in   all   probability,   poor 
Mr. Higginbotham's own family had but just discovered his corpse, hanging  on  the 
St. Michael's pear-tree. The stranger on foot must have worn seven-league boots to 
travel at such a rate.
    "Ill news flies fast, they say,"  thought  Dominicus  Pike;  "but  this  beats 
railroads. The fellow ought to  be  hired  to  go  express  with  the  President's 
Message."
    The difficulty was solved by supposing that the narrator had made a mistake of 
one day in the date of the occurrence; so that our  friend  did  not  hesitate  to 
introduce the story at every tavern and country store along  the  road,  expending 
a whole bunch of Spanish wrappers among at least twenty  horrified  audiences.  He
found himself invariably the first bearer of the intelligence, and was so pestered 
with questions that he could not avoid filling up  the  outline,  till  it  became 
quite a respectable narrative. He met with one piece  of  corroborative  evidence. 
Mr. Higginbotham was a trader; and a  former  clerk  of  his,  to  whom  Dominicus 
related the facts, testified that the old gentleman was accustomed to return  home 
through the orchard about nightfall, with the money and  valuable  papers  of  the 
store in his pocket. The clerk manifested but little grief  at  Mr. Higginbotham's
catastrophe, hinting, what the pedlar had discovered in his own dealings with him, 
that he was a crusty old fellow, as close as a vice. His property would descend to 
a pretty niece who was now keeping school in Kimballton.
    What with telling the news for the public good, and driving bargains  for  his 
own, Dominicus was so much delayed on  the  road  that  he  chose  to  put  up  at 
a tavern, about five miles short of Parker's Falls. After supper, lighting one  of 
his prime cigars, he seated himself in the bar-room, and went through the story of
the murder, which had grown so fast that it took him half an hour to  tell.  There 
were as many as twenty people in the room, nineteen of whom received  it  all  for 
gospel. But the twentieth was an elderly farmer,  who  had  arrived  on  horseback 
a short time before, and was now seated in a corner smoking  his  pipe.  When  the
story was concluded, he rose up very deliberately,  brought  his  chair  right  in 
front of Dominicus, and stared him full  in  the  face,  puffing  out  the  vilest 
tobacco smoke the pedlar had ever smelt.
    "Will you make affidavit," demanded he, in  the  tone  of  a  country  justice 
taking an examination, "that old Squire Higginbotham of Kimballton was murdered in 
his orchard the night before last,  and  found  hanging  on  his  great  pear-tree 
yesterday morning?"
    "I tell the story as I heard it, mister,"  answered  Dominicus,  dropping  his 
half-burnt cigar; "I don't say that I saw the thing done. So I can't take my  oath 
that he was murdered exactly in that way."
    "But I can take mine," said the  farmer,  "that  if  Squire  Higginbotham  was 
murdered night before last, I drank  a  glass  of  bitters  with  his  ghost  this 
morning. Being a neighbor of mine, he called me into his store, as  I  was  riding 
by, and treated me, and then asked me to do a little business for him on the road. 
He didn't seem to know any more about his own murder than I did."
    "Why, then, it can't be a fact!" exclaimed Dominicus Pike.
    "I guess he'd have mentioned, if it was," said the old farmer; and he  removed 
his chair back to the corner, leaving Dominicus quite down in the mouth.
    Here was a sad resurrection of old Mr. Higginbotham! The pedlar had  no  heart 
to mingle in the conversation any more, but comforted himself with a glass of  gin 
and water, and went to bed where, all night long, he dreamed  of  hanging  on  the 
St. Michael's pear-tree. To avoid the old farmer (whom he  so  detested  that  his
suspension would have pleased him better than Mr. Higginbotham's), Dominicus  rose 
in the gray of the morning, put the little mare into the green cart,  and  trotted 
swiftly away towards Parker's Falls. The fresh breeze,  the  dewy  road,  and  the
pleasant summer dawn, revived his spirits, and might have encouraged him to repeat 
the old story had there been anybody awake to hear it. But he met neither ox team, 
light wagon chaise, horseman, nor foot traveller, till, just as he crossed  Salmon
River, a man came trudging down to the bridge with a bundle over his shoulder,  on 
the end of a stick.
    "Good morning, mister," said the pedlar, reining in his  mare.  "If  you  come 
from Kimballton or that neighborhood, may be you can tell me the real  fact  about 
this affair of old Mr. Higginbotham. Was the old fellow actually murdered  two  or 
three nights ago, by an Irishman and a nigger?"
    Dominicus had spoken in too great a hurry  to  observe,  at  first,  that  the 
stranger himself had a deep tinge of negro blood. On hearing this sudden question, 
the Ethiopian appeared to change his skin,  its  yellow  hue  becoming  a  ghastly 
white, while, shaking and stammering, he thus  replied:  "No!  no!  There  was  no 
colored man! It was an Irishman that hanged him  last  night,  at  eight  o'clock. 
I came away at seven! His folks can't have looked for him in the orchard yet."
    Scarcely had the yellow man spoken, when he interrupted himself, and though he 
seemed weary enough before, continued his journey at a pace which would have  kept 
the pedlar's mare on a smart trot. Dominicus stared after him in great perplexity. 
If the murder had not been committed till Tuesday night, who was the prophet  that 
had  foretold  it,  in   all   its   circumstances,   on   Tuesday   morning?   If 
Mr. Higginbotham's corpse were not yet discovered by his own family, how came  the 
mulatto, at above thirty miles' distance, to know  that  he  was  hanging  in  the
orchard, especially as he had left  Kimballton  before  the  unfortunate  man  was 
hanged at all? These ambiguous circumstances, with  the  stranger's  surprise  and 
terror, made Dominicus think of raising a hue and cry after him, as an  accomplice 
in the murder; since a murder, it seemed, had really been perpetrated.
    "But let the poor devil go," thought the pedlar. "I don't want his black blood 
on my head; and hanging the nigger wouldn't unhang  Mr. Higginbotham.  Unhang  the 
old gentleman; It's a sin, I know; but I should hate to  have  him  come  to  life 
a second time, and give me the lie!"
    With these meditations, Dominicus Pike  drove  into  the  street  of  Parker's 
Falls, which, as everybody knows,  is  as  thriving  a  village  as  three  cotton 
factories and a slitting mill can make it. The machinery was not  in  motion,  and 
but a few of the shop doors unbarred, when he alighted in the stable yard  of  the
tavern, and made it his first business to order the mare four quarts of oats.  His 
second duty, of course,  was  to  impart  Mr. Higginbotham's  catastrophe  to  the 
hostler. He deemed it advisable, however, not to be too positive as to the date of 
the direful fact, and also to be uncertain  whether  it  were  perpetrated  by  an 
Irishman and a mulatto, or by the son of Erin alone. Neither  did  he  profess  to 
relate it on his own authority, or that of any one person;  but  mentioned  it  as 
a report generally diffused.
    The story ran through the town like fire among girdled trees,  and  became  so 
much the  universal  talk  that  nobody  could  tell  whence  it  had  originated. 
Mr. Higginbotham was as well known at Parker's Falls as any citizen of the  place, 
being part owner of the slitting mill,  and  a  considerable  stockholder  in  the 
cotton factories. The inhabitants felt their  own  prosperity  interested  in  his 
fate. Such was the excitement, that the Parker's  Falls  Gazette  anticipated  its 
regular day of publication, and came out with half  a  form  of  blank  paper  and 
a column of double pica emphasized with capitals,  and  headed  Horrid  Murder  Of 
Mr. Higginbotham! Among other dreadful details, the printed account  described the 
mark of the cord round the dead man's neck, and  stated  the  number  of  thousand 
dollars of which he had  been  robbed;  there  was  much  pathos  also  about  the 
affliction of his niece, who had gone from one fainting fit to another, ever since
her uncle was found hanging on the St. Michael's pear-tree with his pockets inside 
out. The village poet likewise commemorated the young lady's  grief  in  seventeen 
stanzas of a ballad. The selectmen  held  a  meeting,  and,  in  consideration  of 
Mr. Higginbotham's claims on the town, determined  to  issue  handbills,  offering 
a reward of five hundred dollars for the apprehension of his  murderers,  and  the 
recovery of the stolen property.
    Meanwhile the whole population of Parker's Falls, consisting  of  shopkeepers, 
mistresses of boarding-houses, factory girls, millmen, and schoolboys, rushed into 
the street and kept up such a terrible loquacity as more than compensated for  the 
silence of the cotton machines, which  refrained  from  their  usual  din  out  of 
respect to the deceased. Had Mr. Higginbotham cared about posthumous  renown,  his 
untimely ghost would have exulted in this tumult. Our  friend  Dominicus,  in  his 
vanity of heart, forgot his intended precautions, and mounting on the  town  pump, 
announced himself as the bearer of the authentic intelligence which had caused  so 
wonderful a sensation. He immediately became the great man of the moment, and  had 
just begun a new edition of the narrative, with a voice  like  a  field  preacher, 
when the mail stage drove into the village street. It had travelled all night, and 
must have shifted horses at Kimballton, at three in the morning.
    "Now we shall hear all the particulars," shouted the crowd.
    The coach rumbled up to the piazza of  the  tavern,  followed  by  a  thousand 
people; for if any man had been minding his own business till then, he now left it 
at sixes and sevens,  to  hear  the  news.  The  pedlar,  foremost  in  the  race, 
discovered two passengers, both of whom had been startled from a  comfortable  nap 
to find themselves in the centre of a mob. Every man assailing them with  separate 
questions, all propounded at once, the couple were struck speechless,  though  one 
was a lawyer and the other a young lady.
    "Mr. Higginbotham!  Mr.  Higginbotham!  Tell  us  the  particulars  about  old 
Mr. Higginbotham!" bawled the  mob.  "What  is  the  coroner's  verdict?  Are  the 
murderers apprehended? Is Mr. Higginbotham's niece come out of her fainting  fits? 
Mr. Higginbotham! Mr. Higginbotham!!"
    The coachman said not a word, except to swear awfully at the hostler  for  not 
bringing him a fresh team of horses. The lawyer  inside  had  generally  his  wits 
about him even when asleep; the first thing he did, after learning  the  cause  of 
the excitement, was to produce a large, red pocketbook. Meantime  Dominicus  Pike,
being an extremely polite young man, and also  suspecting  that  a  female  tongue 
would tell the story as glibly as a lawyer's, had  handed  the  lady  out  of  the 
coach. She was a fine, smart girl, now wide awake and bright as a button, and  had 
such a sweet pretty mouth, that Dominicus would almost as lief have heard  a  love 
tale from it as a tale of murder.
    "Gentlemen and ladies," said the lawyer to the shopkeepers, the  millmen,  and 
the factory girls, "I can assure you that some  unaccountable  mistake,  or,  more 
probably, a wilful falsehood, maliciously contrived to  injure  Mr. Higginbotham's 
credit, has excited this singular uproar. We passed through  Kimballton  at  three 
o'clock this morning, and most certainly should have been informed of  the  murder 
had any been perpetrated. But I have proof nearly as strong as  Mr. Higginbotham's 
own oral testimony, in the negative. Here is a note relating to a suit of  his  in 
the Connecticut courts, which was delivered me from that gentleman himself. I find 
it dated at ten o'clock last evening."
    So saying, the lawyer exhibited the date and  signature  of  the  note,  which 
irrefragably proved, either that this perverse Mr. Higginbotham was alive when  he 
wrote it, or - as some deemed the more probable case, of two doubtful  ones - that 
he was so absorbed in worldly business as to continue to transact  it  even  after 
his death.  But  unexpected  evidence  was  forthcoming.  The  young  lady,  after 
listening to the pedlar's explanation, merely seized a moment to smooth  her  gown 
and put her curls in order, and then appeared at the tavern door, making a  modest 
signal to be heard.
    "Good people," said she, "I am Mr. Higginbotham's niece."
    A wondering murmur passed through the crowd  on  beholding  her  so  rosy  and 
bright; that same unhappy niece, whom they had supposed, on the authority  of  the 
Parker's Falls Gazette, to be lying at death's door in a fainting  fit.  But  some 
shrewd fellows had doubted, all along, whether a young  lady  would  be  quite  so
desperate at the hanging of a rich old uncle.
    "You see," continued Miss Higginbotham, with a smile, "that this strange story 
is quite unfounded as to myself; and I believe I may affirm it to be equally so in 
regard to my dear uncle Higginbotham. He has the kindness to give me a home in his 
house, though I contribute to  my  own  support  by  teaching  a  school.  I  left 
Kimballton this morning to spend the vacation of commencement week with a  friend, 
about five miles from Parker's Falls. My generous uncle, when he heard me  on  the 
stairs, called me to his bedside, and gave me two dollars and fifty cents  to  pay
my stage fare, and another  dollar  for  my  extra  expenses.  He  then  laid  his 
pocketbook under his pillow, shook hands with me, and  advised  me  to  take  some 
biscuit in my bag,  instead  of  breakfasting  on  the  road.  I  feel  confident, 
therefore, that I left my beloved relative alive, and trust that I shall find  him
so on my return."
    The young lady courtesied at the close of her speech, which  was  so  sensible 
and well worded, and delivered with  such  grace  and  propriety,  that  everybody 
thought her fit to be preceptress of the best academy in the State. But a stranger 
would have supposed that Mr. Higginbotham was an object of abhorrence at  Parker's
Falls, and that a thanksgiving had been proclaimed for his  murder;  so  excessive 
was the wrath of the inhabitants on learning their mistake. The  millmen  resolved 
to bestow public honors on Dominicus Pike, only  hesitating  whether  to  tar  and 
feather him, ride him on a rail, or refresh him with an ablution at the town pump, 
on the top of which he had declared himself the bearer of the news. The selectmen, 
by advice  of  the  lawyer,  spoke  of  prosecuting  him  for  a  misdemeanor,  in 
circulating unfounded reports, to the  great  disturbance  of  the  peace  of  the
Commonwealth. Nothing saved Dominicus, either from mob law or a court of  justice, 
but an eloquent appeal made by the young lady in  his  behalf.  Addressing  a  few 
words of heartfelt gratitude to his benefactress, he mounted the  green  cart  and 
rode out of town, under a discharge of artillery from the school-boys,  who  found
plenty of ammunition in the neighboring clay-pits and mud holes. As he turned  his 
head to exchange a farewell glance with Mr. Higginbotham's niece, a ball,  of  the 
consistence of hasty pudding, hit him slap in the mouth, giving him  a  most  grim
aspect. His whole person was so bespattered with the like filthy missiles, that he 
had almost a mind to ride back, and supplicate for the threatened ablution at  the 
town pump; for, though not meant in kindness, it would now have  been  a  deed  of 
charity.
    However, the sun shone bright on poor Dominicus, and the mud, an emblem of all 
stains of undeserved opprobrium, was easily brushed off when dry.  Being  a  funny 
rogue, his heart soon cheered up; nor could he refrain from a hearty laugh at  the 
uproar which his story had excited. The handbills of the selectmen would cause the
commitment of all the vagabonds in the State; the paragraph in the Parker's  Falls 
Gazette would be reprinted from Maine to Florida, and perhaps form an item in  the 
London newspapers; and many a miser would tremble for his money bags and life,  on
learning the catastrophe of  Mr. Higginbotham.  The  pedlar  meditated  with  much 
fervor on the charms of the young schoolmistress, and swore  that  Daniel  Webster 
never spoke nor looked so like an angel as Miss Higginbotham, while defending  him
from the wrathful populace at Parker's Falls.
    Dominicus was now on the Kimballton turnpike, having all along  determined  to 
visit that place, though business had drawn him out of the most direct  road  from 
Morristown. As he approached the scene of the supposed  murder,  he  continued  to 
revolve the circumstances in his mind, and was astonished at the aspect which  the 
whole case assumed. Had nothing occurred to corroborate the  story  of  the  first 
traveller, it might now have been considered as a hoax; but  the  yellow  man  was 
evidently acquainted either with the report or the fact; and there was  a  mystery 
in his dismayed and guilty look  on  being  abruptly  questioned.  When,  to  this 
singular combination of incidents, it was added that  the  rumor  tallied  exactly 
with Mr. Higginbotham's character and habits of life; and that he had an  orchard, 
and a St. Michael's pear-tree, near which  he  always  passed  at  nightfall:  the
circumstantial evidence appeared so strong  that  Dominicus  doubted  whether  the 
autograph produced by the lawyer, or even the niece's direct testimony,  ought  to 
be equivalent. Making cautious  inquiries  along  the  road,  the  pedlar  further 
learned  that  Mr. Higginbotham  had  in  his  service  an  Irishman  of  doubtful 
character, whom he had hired without a recommendation, on the score of economy.
    "May I be hanged myself," exclaimed Dominicus Pike aloud, on reaching the  top 
of a lonely hill, "if I'll believe old Higginbotham is unhanged  till  I  see  him 
with my own eyes, and hear it from his own mouth! And as he's a real shaver,  I'll 
have the minister or some other responsible man for an indorser."
    It was growing dusk when he reached the  toll-house  on  Kimballton  turnpike, 
about a quarter of a mile from the village of this name. His little mare was  fast 
bringing him up with a man on horseback, who trotted through the gate a  few  rods 
in advance of him, nodded to the toll-gatherer, and kept on towards  the  village. 
Dominicus was acquainted with the tollman, and, while  making  change,  the  usual 
remarks on the weather passed between them.
    "I suppose," said the pedlar, throwing back his whiplash,  to  bring  it  down 
like a  feather  on  the  mare's  flank,  "you  have  not  seen  anything  of  old 
Mr. Higginbotham within a day or two?" 
    "Yes," answered the toll-gatherer. "He passed the gate just before  you  drove 
up, and yonder he rides now, if you can see him through the  dusk.  He's  been  to 
Woodfield this afternoon, attending a sheriff's sale there. The old man  generally 
shakes hands and has a little chat with me; but to-night, he  nodded, - as  if  to 
say, 'Charge my toll,' and jogged on; for wherever he goes, he must always  be  at 
home by eight o'clock."
    "So they tell me," said Dominicus.
    "I never saw a man look so yellow and thin as the squire does," continued  the 
toll-gatherer. "Says I to myself, to-night, he's more like a ghost or an old mummy 
than good flesh and blood."
    The pedlar strained his eyes through the twilight, and could just discern  the 
horseman now far ahead on the village road. He seemed to  recognize  the  rear  of 
Mr. Higginbotham; but through the evening shadows, and  amid  the  dust  from  the 
horse's feet, the figure appeared dim and unsubstantial; as if the  shape  of  the
mysterious old man were faintly moulded of  darkness  and  gray  light.  Dominicus 
shivered.
    "Mr. Higginbotham has come back from the other world, by way of the Kimballton 
turnpike," thought he.
    He shook the reins and rode forward, keeping about the same  distance  in  the 
rear of the gray old shadow, till the latter was concealed by a bend of the  road. 
On reaching this point, the pedlar no longer saw the man on horseback,  but  found 
himself at the head of the village street, not far from a number of stores and two 
taverns, clustered round the meeting-house steeple. On his left were a stone  wall 
and a gate, the boundary of a woodlot, beyond which lay an orchard, farther still, 
a  mowing  field,  and  last  of  all,  a  house.  These  were  the  premises   of 
Mr. Higginbotham, whose dwelling stood beside the old highway, but had  been  left 
in the background by the Kimballton turnpike. Dominicus knew the  place;  and  the 
little mare stopped short by instinct; for he was not conscious of tightening  the 
reins.
    "For the soul of me, I cannot get by this gate!" said he, trembling. "I  never 
shall be my own man again, till I see whether Mr. Higginbotham is hanging  on  the 
St. Michael's pear-tree!"
    He leaped from the cart, gave the rein a turn round the  gate  post,  and  ran 
along the green path of the wood-lot as if Old Nick were chasing behind. Just then 
the village clock tolled eight, and as  each  deep  stroke  fell,  Dominicus  gave 
a fresh bound and flew faster than before, till, dim in the solitary centre of the
orchard, he saw the fated pear-tree. One  great  branch  stretched  from  the  old 
contorted trunk across the path, and threw the darkest shadow on  that  one  spot. 
But something seemed to struggle beneath the branch!
    The pedlar had never pretended to more courage than befits a man  of  peaceful 
occupation, nor could he account for his valor on this awful emergency. Certain it 
is, however, that he rushed forward, prostrated a sturdy Irishman  with  the  butt 
end of his whip, and found - not indeed hanging on  the  St. Michael's  pear-tree, 
but trembling beneath it, with a halter  round  his  neck  -  the  old,  identical 
Mr. Higginbotham!
    "Mr. Higginbotham," said Dominicus tremulously, "you're  an  honest  man,  and 
I'll take your word for it. Have you been hanged or not?"
    
    If the riddle be not already guessed, a few  words  will  explain  the  simple 
machinery by which this "coming event" was made to "cast its shadow before." Three 
men had  plotted  the  robbery  and  murder  of  Mr. Higginbotham;  two  of  them, 
successively, lost courage and fled, each delaying the crime one  night  by  their
disappearance; the third was in the act of perpetration, when a champion,  blindly 
obeying the call of fate, like the heroes of old romance, appeared in  the  person 
of Dominicus Pike.
    It only remains to say, that Mr. Higginbotham took the pedlar into high favor, 
sanctioned his addresses to the  pretty  schoolmistress,  and  settled  his  whole 
property on their children, allowing themselves the interest. In due time, the old 
gentleman capped the climax of his favors, by dying a  Christian  death,  in  bed, 
since which melancholy event Dominicus  Pike  has  removed  from  Kimballton,  and 
established a large tobacco manufactory in my native village.

    1834

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