MR. MIDDLETON HAS MORE CALLERS FROM NEW YORK
The reader will now accompany us to Geneva, one of the most beautiful
villages in Western New York. On arriving at the depot we are beset by a
host of runners, who call out lustily, "Temperance House!" "Franklin
House!" "Geneva Hotel!" "Carriage to any part of the village for a
shilling!" But we prefer walking, and passing up Water Street, and Seneca
street, we soon come to Main street, which we follow until we come to a
large, elegant mansion, the property of Judge Fulton, who is that evening
entertaining a fashionable party. No matter if we are not invited, we can
enter unperceived and note down what is taking place.
Our attention is first directed toward the judge and his accomplished
lady, who are doing the honors of the evening. As we scan their looks
closely, we are struck with their features, and we feel sure that to them
wealth was not given in vain, and that the beggar never left their door
unfed or uncared for.
Mrs. Fulton’s countenance looks very familiar to us, and we wonder much
where we have seen her before, or if we never have seen her, who it is
that she so strongly reminds us of. Before we can solve the mystery, we
observe across the room a face which makes us start up and exclaim, "Is it
possible! Can that be Dr. Lacey?" A second look at the gentleman in
question convinces us that he is two inches shorter than Dr. Lacey, and
also that he wears glasses; still be bears a striking resemblance to the
doctor, and we inquire who he is. We are told that his name is Robert
Stanton. He is a graduate of Yale and a brother of Mrs. Fulton, He is
intending in a few days to start for Kentucky, in company with Frederic
Raymond, who was a classmate of his.
As we watch young Stanton’s movements, we observe a certain restlessness
in his eye, as it wanders over the crowded room, seemingly in quest of
some one who is not there. At last there is a new arrival, and Miss
Warner, a very prim lady and a teacher in the seminary, is announced,
together with three of her pupils. As the young girls enter the parlor,
Mr. Stanton seems suddenly animated with new life, and we feel sure that
one of those young ladies has a great attraction for him. Nor are we
mistaken, for he soon crosses the room, and going up to one of them, a
rosy-cheeked, blue-eyed girl, he says in a low tone, "I am glad you have
come, Nellie. I had almost given you up, and concluded you were doing
penance for some misdemeanor, and so could not come out." Then taking her
upon his arm, he kept her near him all the evening.
There was a strange history connected with Helen Ashton, or Nellie, as she
was more familiarly called, but of this we will speak hereafter. She was
formerly a member of the young ladies’ school in New Haven, where she had
become acquainted with Robert Stanton, who was in college. An intimacy
sprang up between them which at last ripened into an agreement. Stanton’s
home was near Geneva, and when he left college he suddenly discovered that
the Geneva Seminary was superior to any other, and with but little trouble
he persuaded Nellie to go there to school.
She had now been an inmate of the seminary in that place little more than
a year, during which time Robert had pursued the study of law in Judge
Fulton’s office. He had always possessed a great desire to visit Kentucky,
and had finally concluded to do so, determining if he liked it to make it
his permanent residence. He was to return the next autumn for Nellie, who
was to remain in school until that time.
As they stood together that evening conversing about Kentucky, Nellie
said, "I have an old schoolmate in Frankfort. It is Kate Wilmot. Do you
remember having seen her in New Haven?"
"Is she very beautiful?" asked Robert.
"Oh, yes, exceedingly so. She turned half the students’ heads," answered
Nellie.
"Yes, I remember her perfectly well," said Frederic Raymond, who was
standing near, "and so does Bob, but he wants to pretend he does not. By
the way, Miss Ashton," continued he, "are you not afraid that Kate’s
marvelous beauty will endanger your claim upon Robert’s heart, when he
shall be near her constantly, and can only think of your blue eyes as
’over the hills and far away?’"
Helen blushed, but did not answer, and Stanton said, "Never fear for me,
Fred, but rather keep your own heart safely locked away, for fear some of
those dark-eyed Kentucky girls will, ere you are aware, rifle you of it."
"I shall do no such thing," returned Frederic. "I am going there for the
express purpose of losing my heart, and the first Kentucky girl which
pleases me shall be my wife, any way."
"Whether she likes you or not?" asked Nellie.
"Yes, whether she likes me or not," answered Frederic, "I shall marry her
first, and make her like me afterward."
So saying he sauntered off to another part of the room, little thinking
that what he had spoken in jest would afterward prove true. At a late hour
the company began to disperse, Miss Warner keeping a watchful eye upon her
pupils, lest some lawless collegiate should relieve her from the trouble
of seeing them safely home. This perpendicular maiden had lived forty
years on this mundane sphere without ever having had an offer, and she had
come to think of gentlemen as a race of intruding bipeds which the world
would be much better without. However, if there were any of the species
which she could tolerate, it was Judge Fulton and Robert Stanton. The
former she liked, because everybody liked him, and said he was a "nice
man, and what everybody said must be true." Her partiality for the latter
arose from the fact that he had several times complimented her fine figure
and dignified manners; so when he that night asked the privilege of
walking home with Nellie, she raised no very strong opposition, but
yielded the point by merely saying something about "child’s play." She,
however, kept near enough to them to hear every word of their
conversation; but they consoled themselves by thinking that the wide-open
ears could not penetrate the recesses of their well-filled letters which
they saw in the future.
In a few days Stanton and Raymond started for Kentucky. The evening before
they left was spent by Stanton in Nellie’s company. Mrs. Fulton had
invited her to pass the night with her, as the Judge was absent from home.
About ten o’clock Mrs. Fulton very considerately grew sleepy, and retired
to her own room. But long after the town clock rang out the hour of
midnight, a light might have been seen gleaming from the windows of Judge
Fulton’s sitting room, in which sat Robert and Nellie, repeating for the
hundredth time vows of eternal constancy.
The next morning when the last rumbling sound of the eastern train died
away in the streets of Geneva, Nellie Ashton sat weeping in her little
room at the seminary. She felt that now she was again alone in the wide,
wide world. Eight years before she had in the short space of three weeks
followed both father and mother to their last resting place, and upon
their newly-made graves she had prayed the orphan’s prayer, that God would
protect one who was without father, mother, brother or sister in the
world.
The little property of her father was sold for the payment of his debts,
and Nellie, who was then but twelve years old, was obliged to labor both
early and late for her daily bread. Her father had lived near the city of
New York, and not long after his death she procured a situation in a
wealthy family of that city. She was called "the girl to do chores," which
meant that she was kept running from garret to cellar, from parlor to
kitchen, first here and then there, from earliest dawn to latest evening.
It was almost always eleven o’clock before she could steal away to her low
bed in the dark garret, and often, in the loneliness of the night, would
the desolate child pray that the God with whom her parents dwelt would
look in pity upon the helpless orphan.
Ere long her prayer was answered, for there came to the house where she
lived a gentleman and lady, who saw the "little kitchen girl." Something
there was in her sad but intelligent face which attracted their notice,
and they inquired her history of Mrs. Stanley, the lady with whom she
lived.
"She is," said Mrs. Stanley, "a good enough girl, if she would only let
books alone; but she seems to have a passion for study, quite unsuitable
for one in her station. When she is cleaning the knives she will have a
book before her; and instead of singing the baby to sleep, she will get
down and read to her, or repeat something which she has learned."
"And has she no relatives?" asked the gentleman.
"None living that I know of," said Mrs. Stanley; and then she added,
"Nellie says she had a brother who was several years older than herself,
and that three years ago he was one morning missing, and they found on his
table a letter, saying that he had gone to sea on a whaling voyage, and
would be gone three years. Her father afterward heard that the vessel in
which his son sailed was supposed to be lost with all its crew. This is
her story; but you can never tell how much to believe of the stories which
such girls tell."
"Did you ever detect her in a falsehood?" asked the gentleman.
"Why, no, I never did; but of course she will equivocate, for all such
paupers will."
"With whom did she live before she came here?" continued the gentleman.
"With a Mr. Barnard," answered Mrs. Stanley; and she continued laughingly,
"You had better inquire about her of him, as you seem so much interested
in her. He lives out a few miles in the country."
The result of the conversation was that the Mr. Barnard mentioned above
received the next day a call from a stranger, who made particular inquiry
about little Helen Ashton. He seemed satisfied with the result, and as he
had before learned that Mr. Barnard was a very good, honest man, he handed
him five hundred dollars, telling him to take Nellie home—as she called
Mr. Barnard’s house—and to send her for two years to the district school.
At the end of that time he would furnish funds for her to be educated in
New Haven.
There was great excitement in Mrs. Stanley’s family when it was known that
Nellie was to go away and be sent to school in New Haven. "I wonder," said
Mrs. Stanley, "who pays the expenses? It can’t be Judge —— (naming the
gentleman who had seemed so much interested in Nellie), for I am sure he
would not be stupid enough to take a street beggar, as it were, and
educate her." A second thought convinced her that it must be the said
gentleman, and she suddenly felt an inclination to do something herself
for the hitherto neglected kitchen girl.
Accordingly, Nellie was summoned to the parlor and the state of her
wardrobe inquired into. It was found to be lamentably deficient in even
the necessary articles of clothing. Mrs. Stanley then turned her rag bag
inside out and rummaged through several boxes in the garret which had not
seen the light for several years. The result of her search was three or
four cast-off garments, which the cook said "were so bad the rag man would
hardly buy them." Mrs. Stanley, however, thought they were quite a gift,
and gave Nellie many injunctions as to when she should wear them. Nellie
thought it doubtful whether she should wear them all; but she said
nothing, and in a few days she left Mrs. Stanley’s house for a more
pleasant home at Mr. Barnard’s.
It was a great mystery to Nellie who it could be that had befriended her;
but if Mr. Barnard knew, he kept the knowledge to himself, and Nellie was
obliged to remain in ignorance. She was, however, satisfied that the
gentleman, whoever he was, was both able and willing to carry out his
plan, for money for the payment of her school bills was regularly remitted
to Mr. Barnard. At the time when she wished to leave New Haven, she had
written to Mr. Barnard on the subject, and in due time had received from
him a letter saying that the gentleman who was educating her was not only
willing but anxious to have her sent to Geneva.
Soon after her arrival there she chanced to meet Judge Fulton and his
wife. Something in their looks seemed familiar, and also awoke a painful
reminiscence of the dark kitchen and the lone garret far off in the great
city. She could not remember ever having seen them, and so dismissed the
subject from her mind, merely wondering if they knew that she who was to
be their brother’s wife once lighted fires and cleaned potatoes as a
common servant girl.
The reader will perhaps have imagined that the gentleman who befriended
Nellie was none other than Judge Fulton. He was incited to this act of
kindness by the same benevolent feeling which prompted all his deeds of
charity. He had no daughters, and his intention was, first to see what
improvement she would make of her advantages, and if he were satisfied, he
would take her home as his adopted daughter. He was somewhat surprised
when, two years before the time of which we are speaking, he received
through Mr. Barnard a letter from Nellie addressed to, "My unknown
benefactor," and desiring his consent to an engagement between herself and
Robert Stanton. The same mail brought a letter from Robert, saying that he
had just made an offer of his hand to a Miss Helen Ashton, who was only
waiting for her guardian to sanction her choice. Judge Fulton’s consent
was given, and he wrote to Nellie that before she was married he would
make himself known to her, and give her a wedding at his own house.
A few days before Robert left for Kentucky Judge Fulton received another
letter from Nellie, saying that it was Mr. Stanton’s wish to be married
the ensuing autumn. To this the judge gave his approval and determined as
soon as Robert was gone to enlighten Nellie as to who her guardian was.
This, then, was the history of Nellie Ashton, whom we will leave for a
time, and as our readers are probably anxious to return to the bland
climate of Kentucky, we will follow young Stanton and Raymond on their
journey. Having arrived at Buffalo, they took passage in the steamboat
Saratoga, which landed them safely in Sandusky after a trip of about
twenty-four hours. At Sandusky they took the cars for Cincinnati.
As they neared the Queen City, they noticed at one of the stations a tall,
intelligent, but rather reckless-looking young man, who entered the cars
and took a seat directly opposite them. There was something peculiarly
attractive to Raymond in the confident, self-possessed manner of the
stranger, and ere long he had, to use a Yankee expression, "scraped
acquaintance" with him, and learned that his name was Henry Ashton, and
that he too was on his way to Frankfort, where he resided. As the young
man told his name, Raymond turned to Stanton and said, "I should think
that you’d feel acquainted with this gentleman, you are so partial to his
name."
Stanton did not answer, and Raymond proceeded to question Mr. Ashton about
Frankfort and its inhabitants. "By the way," said he, "are there any
pretty girls there? Substantial ones, I mean, who have a purse long enough
to pay a fellow for the trouble of marrying them?"
Mr. Ashton smiled and answered, "Yes, we have a good many, and rich ones
too; but the belle of the city when I left was a Mrs. Carrington—"
"The plague it was!" interrupted Raymond, "and can’t we get rid of her
husband somehow? Won’t he die of yellow fever, cholera or something? Or is
he a gouty old wretch, who will live forever?"
"You prevented me from telling you," said Mr. Ashton, "that Mr. Carrington
has died since I left there. But you will hardly win this fair, haughty
lady, unless you can plank about a million. But there are other faces
quite as pretty, I think. There is a Julia Middleton, who is attending
school. She is a great beauty, but, if report speaks truly, she would keep
you busily employed in curbing her high temper."
"No matter about the temper—has she got the dimes?" said Raymond.
"About one hundred thousand dollars, I think," answered Ashton; "but one
would need to be paid that much for having such a fury as she is, and such
a queer old rat as her father."
He then proceeded to enumerate some of Mr. Middleton’s oddities, at all of
which his auditors laughed heartily, and expressed their determination to
make the old man’s acquaintance as soon as possible. When the young men
reached Cincinnati, they concluded to take the stage route to Lexington
and Versailles, and to pay Mr. Middleton a visit before they proceeded to
Frankfort. Accordingly on Thursday afternoon, just as the sun was setting,
they entered Mr. Middleton’s yard, where they were received by the dogs,
with just such a demonstration of anger as had greeted Mr. Wilmot more
than a year before.
The master of the house was this time at home, and soon appearing at the
door, he called out to the negroes who were in the yard, "Ho, thar, boys!
Stuff your woolly heads down them tarnal dogs’ throats and make them stop
their yellin’! Glad to see you—walk in. Moses and Aaron! If this ain’t
Ashton from Frankfort. How d’ye do? How d’ye do?"
Mr. Ashton shook hands with him, and then introduced his companions,
saying they were from New York. The word New York seemed to thrill Mr.
Middleton’s nerves like an electric shock. He seized both hands of the
young men and exclaimed, "From New York, hey? Then thrice welcome to my
old cabin and hominy; old Josh’s door is allus wide open to folks from New
York." Then leading the way to the sitting room, he continued, "Yes, my
own noble boy was from New York, but he died (this is my old woman Nancy,
gentlemen). I don’t see why in the old Harry he couldn’t of lived. But he
died and they kivered him up while I was gone, and I never seen him no
more. Ho! Here, Tilda, fetch some hot water and make a little sling for
these chaps. It’ll do ’em good, as it’s mighty cold and raw like out o’
door."
The sling was made, and Ashton and Raymond drank readily and freely; but
when it was offered to Stanton, he modestly but firmly refused. "What upon
airth!" said Mr. Middleton, "not drink when a friend asks you? Why, boy,
just take a swaller."
Here Raymond, who was ready to adopt Mr. Middleton’s language and manners,
exclaimed, "I’ll tell you what, old boy, Bob’s left a sweetheart in New
York, and I fancy she lectured him on intemperance, for you know the women
are dead set against it."
Mr. Middleton looked first at Raymond, then at Stanton and said, "Well, he
knows good sense by not touchin’ on’t, I reckon. Got a sweetheart, hey?
That’s better than to come here and marry some of our spitfires. Poor boy!
Dick was engaged to one of ’em, and I’ve hearn that she raised a tantareen
and broke his heart. But I’ll fix her! I’ll dock off fifty thousand to pay
for that caper."
Here Mr. Ashton asked if Mr. Middleton’s daughters were still at
Frankfort. "Yes," returned Mr. Middleton, "both thar, study in’ all the
flat things you can think on, and thummin’ away on the pianner. You’ll see
’em thar; but mind me one and all, mind I say, don’t fall in love with
Sunshine, for she’s engaged, and I’ve gin my consent, and whoever meddles
in that match’ll find Josh after ’em!" By way of adding emphasis to his
words he brought his fist back against a work-stand, on which stood his
wife’s work basket. The stand was upset, and all the articles of the
basket rolled on the floor. "Great Peter!" said Mr. Middleton, "ho, Tilda,
come pick up these ’ere things!"
Tilda came at the call of her master. While she was replacing the articles
in her mistress’ basket, Raymond, who wished to show that he was ready to
adopt all the peculiarities of the State, said, "That’s a valuable looking
negro girl. I suppose your property mostly consists in such as she. I
don’t wonder that you object to give them up just to please the North.
Have you many such?"
"Yes, quite a heap on ’em. Why? Want to steal ’em, hey?"
Raymond reddened. His attempts at anti-abolition had not succeeded as well
as he anticipated; but he soon rallied and said, "Certainly not; I
shouldn’t know what to do with your slaves if I had them; besides I have
no inclination to interfere with your Southern institutions. I am too much
of a pro-slavery man myself."
"Likely enough," said Mr. Middleton, rather gruffly, for he did not much
like the appearance of Raymond, "likely enough. But, young man, let old
Josh give you a little advice. I’ve seen more than double your years, I
reckon, and I never seen a man come from the free states that wasn’t a
little teched with abolitionism. It’s nateral like and onnateral to change
their mind so mighty soon. So I advise you to keep your opinions to
yourself for a spell, any way. A heap on ’em come here, and are surprised
not to find a whippin’ post stuck up in a corner of every yard. I don’t
say you are one of ’em; but we don’t think no better of a body when they
jine in with us so soon."
This speech somewhat disconcerted young Raymond, who was anxious to get
into Mr. Middleton’s good graces; but his discomfiture was soon removed by
his saying, "Boy, don’t take what I’ve said in high dudgeon. Folks allus
see the roughest side of me first; I’m a friend to you, and allus will be
as long as you do well." Then chancing to think his guests were hungry, he
called out, "Saints and angels! Why don’t you bring in supper, you lazy
bones thar in the kitchen? Do you hear?"
"Yes, marster," said three or four negroes at once, "supper’ll be ready
d’rectly."
In a few moments the nicely-cooked spare-rib was smoking on the table,
together with hot coffee, boiled turnips and egg bread, which Southern
cooks know so well how to make. Besides this there was the golden-colored
butter, white flaky honeycomb, and the Sunday pitcher overflowing with
rich creamy milk. "Come, boys, set by and have some fodder!" said Mr.
Middleton.
The young gentlemen took their seats at the table and Mr. Middleton
continued, "Now lay into ’t and help yourselves. I ain’t used to perlite
strains, and if I should try you’d all larf at me—mebby you want to now.
Tempest say’s I’m enough to make a dog larf."
"Who is Tempest? One of your servants?" asked Stanton.
"Christopher Columbus! One of my servants!" answered Mr. Middleton. "How
Tempest would rar to hear that. Why, she’s my oldest gal."
"I beg your pardon," said Stanton.
"Not a bit on’t," answered Mr. Middleton. "I don’t wonder you thought so,
such an oudun name! Her real name is Julia, but I call her Tempest, ’case
that’s jist like her. She’s a regular thunderstorm of lightning, hail and
iron slugs. You’ll see her in Frankfort. Goin’ into the law thar, are
you?"
Stanton answered that he thought he should.
"Well," said Mr. Middleton, "I’ll give you all my suits, just because you
wouldn’t drink and tell a lie to that little gal at home. I despise liars.
Let me catch a body telling me a lie, I tell you—"
Here he lifted up his huge foot which was encased in a cowhide boot,
something smaller than a canal-boat. He gave the table a kick which set
all the spoons, knives and forks to dancing, spilt the milk and upset the
gravy pot.
"Why, Mr. Middleton!" interposed his wife.
"I am sorry, honey," said he, "but I’ll be hanged if that ar sling ain’t
gettin’ the better of the old man."
After supper was over and the effects of the sling had left Mr.
Middleton’s head, he inquired further into the intentions of his guests.
On learning that Mr. Raymond would teach, if he could get the chance, Mr.
Middleton said, "I reckon you can teach in Mr. Miller’s school. I’ll write
to him about you, and I reckon he can make room for you."
It was well for Raymond that Mr. Middleton did not observe his smile of
contempt at the idea of being recommended by such an "old cur," as he
secretly styled him.
At a late hour Mr. Middleton conducted the young men to their room, saying
as they entered it, "This was Dick’s room, poor dear boy! For his sake I
wish ’twas better, for it was sometimes cold like in the winter; but he’s
warm enough now, I reckon, poor fellow!" So saying, he left the room; but
Stanton noticed upon the old tin candlestick which his host had put upon
the table something which looked very much like tears, so large that he
was sure no one but Mr. Middleton could have wept them.