One sunshiny morning， in the good old times of thetown of Boston， a young carver in wood， well known bythe name of Drowne， stood contemplating a large oakenlog， which it was his purpose to convert into the figureheadof a vessel. And while he discussed within his ownmind what sort of shape or similitude it were well tobestow upon this excellent piece of timber， there cameinto Drowne’s workshop a certain Captain Hunnewell，owner and commander of the good brig called theCynosure， which had just returned from her first voyage toFayal.
“Ah！ that will do， Drowne， that will do！” cried the jollycaptain， tapping the log with his rattan. “I bespeak thisvery piece of oak for the figure-head of the Cynosure. Shehas shown herself the sweetest craft that ever floated， andI mean to decorate her prow with the handsomest imagethat the skill of man can cut out of timber. And， Drowne，you are the fellow to execute it.”
“You give me more credit than I deserve， CaptainHunnewell，” said the carver， modestly， yet as one consciousof eminence in his art. “But， for the sake of the good brig，I stand ready to do my best. And which of these designswould you prefer？ Here—” pointing to a staring， halflength figure， in a white wig and scarlet coat— “here is anexcellent model， the likeness of our gracious king. Hereis the valiant Admiral Vernon. Or， if you prefer a femalefigure， what say you to Britannia with the trident？”
“All very fine， Drowne； all very fine，” answered themariner. “But as nothing like the brig ever swam theocean， so I am determined she shall have such a figureheadas old Neptune never saw in his life. And what ismore， as there is a secret in the matter， you must pledgeyour credit not to betray it.”
“Certainly，” said Drowne， marvelling， however， whatpossible mystery there could be in reference to an affairso open， of necessity， to the inspection of all the world， asthe figure-head of a vessel. “You may depend， captain， onmy being as secret as the nature of the case will permit.”
Captain Hunnewell then took Drowne by the button， andcommunicated his wishes in so low a tone， that it wouldbe unmannerly to repeat what was evidently intendedfor the carver’s private ear. We shall， therefore， take theopportunity to give the reader a few desirable particularsabout Drowne himself.
He was the first American who is known to have attempted，—in a very humble line， it is true， —that art in which we cannow reckon so many names already distinguished， or risingto distinction. From his earliest boyhood， he had exhibited aknack—for it would be too proud a word to call it genius—aknack， therefore， for the imitation of the human figure，in whatever material came most readily to hand. Thesnows of a New England winter had often supplied himwith a species of marble as dazzling white， at least， as theParian or the Carrara， and if less durable， yet sufficientlyso to correspond with any claims to permanent existencepossessed by the boy’s frozen statues. Yet they wonadmiration from maturer judges than his schoolfellows，and were， indeed， remarkably clever， though destitute ofthe native warmth that might have made the snow meltbeneath his hand. As he advanced in life， the young manadopted pine and oak as eligible materials for the displayof his skill， which now began to bring him a return of solidsilver， as well as the empty praise that had been an aptreward enough for his productions of evanescent snow.
He became noted for carving ornamental pump-heads，and wooden urns for gate-posts， and decorations， moregrotesque than fanciful， for mantel-pieces. No apothecarywould have deemed himself in the way of obtainingcustom， without setting up a gilded mortar， if not a headof Galen or Hippocrates， from the skilful hand of Drowne.
But the great scope of his business lay in the manufactureof figure-heads for vessels. Whether it were the monarchhimself， or some famous British admiral or general， orthe governor of the province， or perchance the favouritedaughter of the shipowner， there the image stood abovethe prow， decked out in gorgeous colours， magnificentlygilded， and staring the whole world out of countenance，as if from an innate consciousness of its own superiority.
These specimens of native sculpture had crossed the seain all directions， and been not ignobly noticed amongthe crowded shipping of the Thames， and whereverelse the hardy mariners of New England had pushedtheir adventures. It must be confessed， that a familylikeness pervaded these respectable progeny of Drowne’sskill—that the benign countenance of the king resembledthose of his subjects， and that Miss Peggy Hobart， themerchant’s daughter， bore a remarkable similitude toBritannia， Victory， and other ladies of the allegoricsisterhood； and， finally， that they had all had a kind ofwooden aspect， which proved an intimate relationshipwith the unshaped blocks of timber in the carver’sworkshop. But， at least， there was no inconsiderable skillof hand， nor a deficiency of any attribute to render themreally works of art， except that deep quality， be it of soul orintellect， which bestows life upon the lifeless， and warmthupon the cold， and which， had it been present， would havemade Drowne’s wooden image instinct with spirit.
The captain of the Cynosure had now finished hisinstructions.
“And Drowne，” said he， impressively， “you must lay asideall other business， and set about this forthwith. And as tothe price， only do the job in first rate style， and you shallsettle that point yourself.”
“Very well， captain，” answered the carver， who lookedgrave and somewhat perplexed， yet had a sort of smileupon his visage. “Depend upon it， I’ll do my utmost tosatisfy you.”
