A more capricious coquette than the beautiful Kate Crossley never played
with hapless hearts. She is now a sober matron, the wife of an elegant
husband, and the mother of two beautiful children. We hate to rake up
the ashes of bitter remembrances; (for, believe us, gentle reader, this
story, though short, is nevertheless true; and we know one young
gentleman at least who will recognise the unhappy hero of it.) But we
cannot pass over in silence the last episode in the unmarried life of
Kate. It may be a warning to future unfortunate lovers, and afford a
striking instance of that utter heartlessness which a beautiful flirt
alone can feel.
Kate was an heiress, that is, a moderate fortune of two hundred thousand
had been accumulated expressly for her use—for she was an only child.
She had a much larger fortune, however, in her face; and that evening
never passed, that the threshold of her father’s comfortable dwelling
was not crossed by half a score of elegant beaux, all bloods, and some
of them men of fortune. Kate amused herself by making these young
gentlemen jealous. A beautiful flirt, who can command even the small sum
of two hundred thousand dollars, is a dangerous creature in the
community of Philadelphia; and already on Kate Crossley’s account, had
two parties of the aforesaid young gentlemen crossed over to Camden with
sanguinary intentions. Fortunately, however, we have the most vigilant
police in the world, and a mayor, whose instinct is so keen, that it has
been known to forewarn him of the time and place of a duel, the
arrangements of which had been kept religiously secret from all but the
principals and their seconds.
By such efforts of genius on the part of our worthy mayor, had the
chivalrous lovers of our heroine been spared the pain of blood-letting,
and having purchased the pleasing reputation of courage, they were bound
over, and thus procured the sweet privilege of frowning at each other
hereafter without the necessity of fighting for it.
Matters were progressing thus; lovers were alternately sighing, and
smiling, and scowling, when the elegant Augustus Nob returned from his
European tour, bringing with him, of course, a foreign mustache, and a
_decidedly_ foreign accent. Nob was an only son of one of the _first_
families. He had been left an independent fortune by his parents,
(deceased,) most of which he had contrived to spend in Paris and London.
This, however, was still a secret, and Nob was welcome every where.
But under no mahogany did Mr. Augustus Nob stretch his limbs more
frequently than under the hospitable board of Mrs. Crossley. We say
_Mrs._ Crossley, for although her good husband still lived, he was only
identified in the house as a piece of its plainest furniture.
Crossley had served his purpose in this world—he had made the two
hundred thousand—had retired from business, and was no longer of any
value. It was now Mrs. C.’s turn to play her part, which consisted in
practically proving that two hundred thousand can be spent almost as
fast as it can be made. Balls, soirées, and suppers, followed each other
in quick succession. Morning levees were held, attended by crowds of
bloods. The elegant Augustus was always present, and always dressed in
the most fashionable rig. A party at the house of Mrs. Crossley and the
elegant Augustus not present? Who could bear the idea? Not Mrs. C.
herself who was constantly exclaiming,
“My dear Augustus—he is the very life and soul of us; how charming, how
handsome, and how fashionable; just the air that traveling always gives.
How much I long to call him my dear son;” and in fact Mrs. C. was
leaving no stone unturned to consummate this maternal design. She was
not likely to find much opposition on the part of the “elegant” himself.
Not only would the two hundred thousand have been particularly
acceptable at that time, but the heart of the young gentleman, or, in
other words, his vanity, had become greatly excited, and he felt much
disposed to carry off the coquette in triumph, in spite of the agony and
disappointment of at least a score of competitors.
But where is our heroine, Kate, all this time? Flirting, of course, with
a dozen beaux, each at one moment thinking himself most favored, and the
next spurned and despairing. Now she smiles upon Mr. Fitz-rush, and
compliments him upon the smallness of his foot. Fitz blushes, simpers,
and appears not at all vain of his feet—in fact, stammers out that they
are “large, very large, indeed;” to which candid acknowledgment on his
part, should the company appear to assent, he carelessly adds that “they
are small for a man of his size,” insinuating that it is nothing out of
the way to find small men with little feet, and little credit should
therefore be attached; but when a man of large dimensions is found with
elegant little feet like his, the credit out to be quadrupled or tripled
at least.
Kate, the talented Kate, understands it all; and after smiling quietly
at the gentleman’s silliness, she turns her satire upon another victim.
“Ah! my dear Mr. Cressy, how your eyes sparkled last night at the
Opera—they looked like a basilisk’s.”
This gentleman’s eyes were of a very dull green color, and looked more
like a cat’s than a basilisk’s, but not “seeing them as others saw
them,” he replied that “he could not help it—the music always excited
him so.”
“Ah! the music, Mr. Cressy; but perhaps—”
She was prevented from finishing her reply by the announcement of a
gentleman who had just made his appearance in the doorway, and who was
no less a personage than the elegant Augustus Nob.
To say that Mr. Augustus Nob was a small fish in this party, would be to
speak what was not true; on the other hand, he was a big fish—in fact
the biggest in the kettle. Any one who had witnessed the sensation
produced by his announcement, would have judged so. The coquette broke
off in the middle of her satire, and running toward the door, conducted
him to the seat nearest to her own, where, after an elegant bow, he
seated himself—a full grown lion. During the continuance of this
welcome reception, various pantomimic gestures were exhibited by
different members of the company. There was a general uneasy shifting of
chairs—dark looks were shot toward the “elegant,” and conciliatory, and
even friendly glances were exchanged among the beaux, who, forgetting
for the moment their mutual jealousies, concentrated their united envy
upon their common rival. If Cressy’s eyes never sparkled before, they
certainly did upon this occasion; and the right leg of Fitz-rush was
flung violently over the left knee, where it continued to oscillate with
an occasional nervous twitching of the toes, expressive of a hardly
repressed desire on the part of its owner to try the force of those
little feet on the favored “elegant’s” handsome person. It was all in
vain, however, Nob was evidently the successful lover, for he sat close
to the graceful creature—that is, closer than any other—and chatted to
her of balls and operas; and, confident of his position, he did not care
a fig for the envy and jealousy which on all sides surrounded him.
And Kate showered all her attentions upon Nob, and Nob triumphed over
his rivals.
Matters progressed thus for several weeks, Nob still paying marked
attentions to the coquette, whose chief delight seemed to be, not only
to torment her host of other lovers, but occasionally the “elegant”
himself.
Augustus, however, still continued first in favor, and from the
attentions which he received at the hands of Mrs. Crossley, it was
conjectured by the family friends that a marriage with her daughter was
not far distant. The less aspiring of Kate’s former lovers had long
since “hauled their wind,” and only a few, among whom were Fitz-rush and
Cressy, still continued to hang on despairingly to what was evidently a
forlorn hope.
Nob openly boasted that he had run them all out of the field, and was
heard triumphantly to assert that he was breaking the heart of the “deaw
creatuw,” and that he “would be under the positive necessity of healing
it at the hymeneal altaw.” He was “very young to marry—quite a
child—but then to keep the dear sylph in suspense—oh! it would be
bawbawous—positively bawbawous!”
It is not to be supposed that the cunning, the talented Kate was
ignorant of these boasts on the part of the elegant Nob. No—no—Kate
knew every thing, and among other things she knew Mr. Augustus Nob
thoroughly; and she resolved on taking most exquisite vengeance upon
him.
* * * * *
Spring—delightful spring has returned—and all nature looks as sweet as
the lips of a lovely woman. The trees upon our side-walks, and in our
beautiful squares, are once more covered with green and shady foliage,
and from the windows of high houses hang handsome cages, from which
those warbling prisoners—the mockbird, and the troupial, and the linnet
and canary bird, send forth their dulcet notes, filling the streets with
music and melody.
Fashionable ladies are beginning to make their appearance in the
streets, unattended by gentlemen, as it is the shopping hour, and
gentlemen would be only in the way. From the door of an elegant mansion
in the upper part of Chestnut street issues a graceful and beautiful
girl, who is proceeding down the street toward the busier part of the
city. She does not loiter nor look in at the shop-windows, as ladies
generally do at this hour, but walks nimbly along as though she came
forth upon some preconceived errand. As she nears that part of Chestnut
street which is in the neighbourhood of the State-House she lessens her
gait, and walks more leisurely. She is heard to soliloquize—
“In truth, it is as much as my courage, nay, even my reputation is
worth, to enter the studio of my sweet painter thus alone; but what can
I do, since the dear fellow has been banished from our house by the
aristocratic notions of my mother? Well, I shall risk all for him, as he
would for me, I know. How happy it will make him to hear my errand. Only
to think that I am forced to an elopement, or marry that ninny whom my
mother has chosen for me. But I shall elope—I _shall_. Henry has so
often proposed it—how happy he shall be to hear me consent; but I shall
do it in my own way—that is fixed. Henry will laugh when I tell him of
my plans. Some one may be with him at this moment, and deprive me of the
pleasure of conversing with him; but then it is all written here, and I
can see him soon again. ‘Henry Willis, Miniature Painter.’ Yes! this is
the sweet fellow’s place—no one observes me enter.” So saying, the
graceful girl entered a huge hall, the door of which stood open, and
passing up a flight of steps, she tapped gently with her small gloved
fingers upon the door of a chamber, upon which was repeated, in gold
letters, the same words that were exhibited in front of the building—
“Henry Willis, Miniature Painter.”
In a moment the door opened, disclosing within the studio of an artist,
the artist himself, a fine looking youth, with dark hair and slight
mustache, and dressed in his painter’s blouse, while in the back-ground
could be seen a prim, stiff old lady in high cap and curls, steadily and
rigidly sitting for her portrait.
At sight of the new comer the artist’s countenance became bright with
love and pleasure, and the exclamation “dearest!” that almost
involuntarily escaped him, told that they were no strangers to each
other. The young lady, on the other hand, perceiving the sitter through
the half-opened door, glided back a step or two, so as to be unperceived
by the latter, and taking from her reticule a folded paper, she held it
out to the painter, accompanying the act with these words—“A message
for you, Henry; it would have been pleasanter, perhaps, to have
delivered it verbally, but you see I have been prepared for any
emergency.” So saying, she delivered the paper—received a kiss upon her
little gloved hand—smiled—said, “good morning!” and gracefully glided
back into the street.
The artist re-entered his studio—found some excuse to dismiss the stiff
old lady, and was soon buried, with beaming face and beating heart, in
the contents of the paper he had just received.
He rose from its perusal like a man mad—mad from excess of joy—mad
from love; and hastily striding up and down his small studio, he
exclaimed, “Yes, dearest heart! any thing—any thing you wish shall be
done. One week, and she shall be mine; and such a mischievous trick—but
the fool deserves it, richly deserves it, for aspiring to the hand of
one so immeasurably his superior. Ninny! he little knew how deeply she
has loved, sweet girl! How she has deceived them—father, mother,
friends—all! How sweet and how powerful is first love!”
* * * * *
Kate Crossley had often been heard to say, that whenever she married,
there would be an elopement. She either had a presentiment that such
would be her fate, or she so despised the modern, unromantic fashion of
marrying and giving in marriage, that she was resolved that it _should_
be. Consequently, when the elegant Augustus Nob, on the first day of
May, 1842, knelt before her in the most fashionable manner, and made a
most fashionable declaration, quite confident of being accepted—who
could have refused. He was accepted, with the proviso that it should be
an elopement.
“All right!” soliloquized Augustus, as he closed the hall-door behind
him; “all right, and very simple! old lady decidedly in my
favwaw—reconciliation easy—carriage and four—private clergy—two days
in a hotel—sent for, and all right again—simple, vewy simple, and vewy
romantic, too!”
* * * * *
It was a dark night—a very dark night for the month of May—and a very
cold one, too; and under the shadow of some trees that grew upon the
side-walk in the upper part of Chestnut street, making the spot still
darker, might be seen an elegant carriage and horses drawn close up to
the curbstone.
The driver was on the box, enveloped in a great coat, and at a short
distance from the carriage, and leaning against a tree, might be seen
the figure of a young man, fashionably and elegantly attired. He wore a
cloth cloak, loosely hanging from his shoulders, and he was evidently
waiting for some one to arrive and enter the carriage with him. There
were no passers by, however, to conjecture his motives and actions, as
it was nearly two o’clock in the morning, and the streets were quiet. He
repeatedly took out a splendid watch, and seemed impatiently waiting for
some fixed hour. Presently the great bell upon the state-house tolled
two. A light footstep was now heard in the distance, and a moment after
a graceful woman came tripping along, and approached the carriage. The
young man who had been leaning against the tree, immediately recognized
the figure, and stretched out his hand to conduct her to the carriage.
We will conceal the names of the lovers no longer—they were Augustus
Nob and Kate Crossley.
“My dear Kate,” said he, “I have been waiting for you half an hour—how
vewy cold it is!”
“No, no—not cold on such an errand as ours! But, dear Augustus,” said
Kate, changing her manner, “we must be married by the Rev. Mr. C——,
the good old man has been like a father to me, and I could not think of
anyone else; he has promised me, and is now expecting us.”
“Oh, vewy well,” replied the lover, “you are sure he expects us?”
“Yes; I will give directions to the driver.” So saying she whispered a
word in the ear of the driver, who seemed perfectly to understand her,
and entered the carriage, followed by Augustus.
The driver immediately gave the whip to his horses, and turning down
Chestnut, entered a cross street, and drove northward toward the
district of the Northern Liberties.
The carriage drew up before the door of a handsome house in the upper
part of the city, and the driver, dismounting from his box, opened the
door, let down the steps, and handed the lady to the pavement. Nob
thought that he saw the driver kiss his bride’s little white-gloved hand
as she stepped upon the curbstone; but it was so dark he could not be
sure of this. He was sure, however, that he was the most officious and
impertinent driver he had ever seen; and from the slight glimpse that he
caught of the fellow’s face, by the light of a street lamp, he saw that
he wore a mustache, and was withal a very handsome young man.
It was no time, however, to study physiognomy, or resent imaginary
insults. The door of the house was quietly opened by some one within,
and Nob and his beautiful bride entered, and were shown into the
drawing-room. The servant desired Kate to follow her to a dressing-room,
that she might take off her bonnet, and intimated to Mr. Nob that the
Rev. Mr. C—— would wait upon him in a minute.
Now it was a very strange thing that that same driver, who kissed Kate’s
little hand—for he actually had kissed it—instead of staying by his
horses, as every good driver should do, gave them up to another, and
walked into the house close after the bride and bridegroom. It was also
strange that the bride kept the elegant Mr. Augustus Nob impatiently
waiting in that front parlor for at least twenty minutes; but the
strangest thing of all was, that when she did make her appearance, she
still had her bonnet on, as when last he saw her, and was leaning on the
arm of a handsome young gentleman wearing mustaches and white kid
gloves, whom the stupified Augustus at once recognized as the
impertinent driver, and whom the reader may recognize as Henry Willis,
the artist. Mr. Willis politely thanked Mr. Nob for having kindly
attended his wife thither, and assisted him in bringing the affair to
its happy termination, and added, that as he had driven the party
thither, he hoped that Mr. Nob would condescend to reciprocate and take
the box on their return. Nob, however, having _got the sack_ in so cruel
a fashion, felt no inclination to _take the box_, and in a few moments
he was among the missing. He was never again seen in the city of
Brotherly Love.
The young artist and his beautiful bride entered the carriage and drove
to Jones’s Hotel, where they remained until sent for by Mr. and Mrs.
Crossley, which happy event occurred a day or two after. Whoever should
see the modest and matronly Kate now, with her two beautiful children,
would hardly credit the story that she had ever been a coquette. This,
however, was positively her last adventure.
* * * * *