It may be out of keeping with our subject to apply the homely epithet of
a “fish out of water” to Mr. Bromwell Sutton in the rural village of
G——, but as no periphrasis suggests itself which would express his
position as well, we must fain eschew elegance for the occasion, and let
it stand. It was a sultry afternoon, in the middle of summer, when he
arrived at the Eagle Inn, and after changing his dress, stepped to the
door to see what could be seen. He looked up the street, and down and
across, and not a living thing was visible besides himself, except a few
sheep dozing in the market-house, and two or three cows silently
ruminating in the shade of the town hall, both of which edifices were
near at hand. Then having decided that there was nothing in the
architectural aspect of the straggling village worth a second look, he
concentred his scrutiny upon himself.
The result of his investigation stood thus:—that he was a very charming
young man, was Mr. Bromwell Sutton. He had a slender, well formed
figure, which was encased in a fresh suit of the finest texture and most
unexceptionable make. His features were regular, and of that
accommodating order which allows the spectator to assign them any
character he may choose. His complexion was fair and clear, his teeth
were very white and his eyes very blue. His hair was dark, daintily
glossed and perfumed with oil, and of a length, which, on so warm a day,
would have made a silver arrow or a gilded bodkin a judicious
application; and he had two elongated tufts on his upper lip, and a
round one on his chin corresponding to the space between them. He wore a
Panama hat of the most extensive circumference, and carried a pair of
white gloves, either to be drawn on his hands or slapped on his knees,
whichever circumstances might require; and the corner of a hem-stitched
handkerchief of transparent cambrick stuck out of his pocket.
A handbill pasted on the sign-post next caught his eye, and, though it
was a favorite saying with him that he “never read,” to be understood of
course, not that he never _had_ read, but that he knew enough already;
he so far conquered his disdain of literature as to step forward and
ascertain its purport. This, set forth in the interesting typographical
variety which veteran advertisers so well comprehend, of large and small
Romans, and Italics leaning some to the right and some to the left, and
some standing perpendicular, was as follows:
“Mr. Azariah Chowders, celebrated throughout the Union for his eloquent,
entertaining and instructive discourses on miscellaneous subjects,
proposes delivering a lecture on the evening of the present instant, in
the town hall of G——. The theme selected is, the Genius of the
American People, one, which, from its intrinsic importance, requires no
comment,” &c. &c.
He was interrupted by the rattle of a distant vehicle, and looking up
the street, saw a chaise approaching which contained a single
“individual,” as he mentally pronounced him. He drove a fine horse, and
drew him up before the door of the inn. The chaise was a plain, common
looking concern, full of travel-worn trunks and boxes, and its occupant
was dressed in a light summer suit, rather neat, but entirely too coarse
for gentility.
“It’s only a Yankee pedlar,” said Mr. Sutton to the landlord who was
coming out, and entirely careless of being overheard by the stranger;
and he walked up to his chamber, where he awakened a diminutive poodle,
his travelling companion, from the siesta with which it was recruiting
after its journey, and occupied himself in cracking his handkerchief at
it, until an additional stir in the house indicated the approach of
tea-time. He then came down, carrying Cupidon, for so was the animal
appellated; and found in the bar-room a young gentleman, a law-student,
to whom he had delivered a letter on his arrival, and who was a boarder
in the house. The other stranger had, meanwhile, entered the room, and
was cooling himself at an open window, with his short curling hair
pushed back from a forehead remarkable in its whiteness and intellectual
development, and crowning a face of strikingly handsome lineaments and
prepossessing expression.
“How do you contrive to exist in this stupid place?” asked our dandy of
his new acquaintance, whose name was Wallis; “they say there are some
genteel people about,—have you any pretty girls among them to flirt
with?”
“We have some pretty young ladies, but don’t use them for that purpose
exactly,” replied Wallis; “we admire them, and wait on them and try to
please them, and then, when we can afford it, we marry them, if they
don’t object.”
“Have you seen anything of a lady vagabondising in this region,—a Miss
Valeria North?”
“Miss Valeria North, the fashionable heiress of B——? the niece of the
celebrated Judge North? what should she be doing here?”
“Oh, I don’t know,—it’s beginning to be genteel for people to get tired
of society, and to go hunting up out-of-the-way places that one knows
nothing about except from the maps; I heard in the railroad cars that
she was making a tour along the river here, and was in hopes that I
might fall in with her. What do you know of her?”
“I heard a great deal about her at Saratoga last summer, where I
happened to stop for a few days. Every body was talking about her
beauty, talents and accomplishments, and in particular about her plain
and simple manners, so singular in an heiress and a belle. The young
men, mostly, seemed to have been afraid of her; regarding her as a
female Caligula who would have rejoiced in the power of decapitating all
the silliness, stupidity and puppyism in the world with one stroke of
her wit.”
“Indeed!” said Sutton, with a weak laugh that proved him not to
apprehend what he was laughing at; “I hope she’ll soon come along; I’m
prepared for a dead set at her. Girls of two or three hundred thousands
are worth that trouble; it’s a much pleasanter way to get pocket money
than to be playing the dutiful son for it.”
Wallis elevated his eyebrows, but made no other reply.
“That, I suppose, is one of your village beauties,—that one walking in
the garden with the pink dress on and the black apron,” resumed Sutton.
“No; she is a stranger boarding here,—a Miss Thompson.”
“Miss Thompson!—it might as well be Miss Blank for all the idea that
conveys. Who, or what is she?”
“She does not say;—there is the name in the register beside
you,—‘_Mrs. Thompson and daughter_’—so she entered it. She and her
mother stopped here a week or two ago, on account of the lady’s health.”
“Thompsons!—they oughtn’t to be found at out-of-the-way places; all the
genteel Thompsons that I ever heard of go to springs and places of
decided fashion; it is absolutely necessary, that they may not be
confounded with the mere Thompsons,—the ten thousand of the name. But
that is a pretty looking girl,—and rather ladyish.”
“She is a lady—a well-bred, sensible girl, as ever I met with, and very
highly educated.”
They were interrupted by the bell for tea, and, on entering the
eating-room, they found the young lady in the pink dress at the table,
with an elderly, delicate looking woman (Mrs. Thompson, of course,)
beside her. Mr. Sutton advanced to the place immediately opposite to
her, and a nearer view suggested that she might be one of the genteel
Thompsons after all. She was a spirited looking girl, rather under the
middle height, with a clear and brilliant, though not very fair
complexion; large black eyes, surmounted by wide and distinctly marked
eyebrows, and a broad, smooth forehead; a nose, (that most _difficult_
of features, if we may judge by the innumerable failures,) a nose
beautifully straight in its outline and with the most delicately cut
nostrils possible; and the most charmingly curved lips, and the whitest
teeth in the world. Having made these discoveries, Mr. Sutton decided
that if her station should forbid his admiring her, he would not allow
it to prevent her from admiring him. To afford her the benefit of this
privilege, it was necessary that he should first attract her notice, for
she had bestowed but a single glance at him on his entrance, as had her
mother, the latter drawing up her eyelids as if she had been very
near-sighted; and to affect this, he called, in a peremptory voice to
the servant attending,
“Waiter, I wish you would give my dog something to eat.”
“Your dog, sir?—where is it?” asked the colored man, looking around the
room, and then giving a loud whistle to call the invisible animal forth.
“Here,” replied Sutton, sharply; “or you may bring me a plate and I’ll
feed him myself;” and he pointed to the miniature specimen, lying like a
little lump of floss-silk, on his foot.
“That! I-I-I—he! he! ha! ha!” exclaimed the waiter, attempting at first
to restrain himself, and then bursting into a chuckling laugh; “is
it—really—a dog, sir?—a live dog!”
Cupidon, as if outraged by the suspicion, hereupon sprang into the
middle of the room, barking at the height of his feeble voice, and
showing his tiny white teeth, while his wicked little eyes sparkled with
anger. The cachinnations of the amused and astonished servant increased
at every bark, and drew a laugh from Wallis, and a smile from each of
the ladies. Sutton with difficulty silenced his favorite, and finding
that the desired impression of his consequence had not been made, he
proceeded to another essay. “Waiter,” he slowly enunciated, with a look
of disgust at the steel implement in his hand; “have you no silver
forks?”
“Sir?” said the attendant with a puzzled expression.
“Any silver forks?” he repeated emphatically.
“No, sir; we don’t keep the article.”
“Then you should not put fish on the table; they ought properly to be
inseparable,” he returned, magisterially, and rising from his seat, he
approached the stranger of the chaise, who had quietly placed himself
some distance below them, and asked, “Have you any such things as silver
forks among your commodities?—I believe that persons in your vocation
sometimes deal in articles of that description.”
The stranger looked up in surprise, and, after scanning him from head to
foot, a frown which was gathering on his face gave way to a look of
humorous complacency—“I am sorry I can’t accommodate you, sir,” said
he; “but I might probably suggest a substitute;—how would a tea-spoon
do?”
He returned to his seat, rather dubious about the smiles he detected,
and, as a third effort, addressed himself, somewhat in the following
manner, to Wallis, whose interlocutions are unnecessary. “How far did
you say it was to the Sutton Mills?—only four miles, isn’t it? I shall
have to apply to you to show me the way. I have a curiosity to see them,
as they are one of my father’s favorite hobbies. I often laugh at him
for christening them with his own name. Calling a villa, a fashionable
country seat, after one’s self, is well enough, but mills or
manufactories—it is rather out of taste. Is the fourth finished yet? I
believe it is to be the finest of all; indeed, it seems to me a little
injudicious in the old gentleman to have invested so much in a country
property—there are at least half a dozen farms, are there not? but I
suppose he was afraid to trust his funds to stocks, and he has already
more real estate in the city than he can well attend to. However, if he
had handed over the amount to me, I think I could have disposed of it
with a much better grace. He did offer me a title to them, some time
ago, but it was on condition that I should come here and manage them
myself, but I begged to be excused, and it was only on agreement that I
should have a hundred per cent. of the revenue this year, that I
consented to undergo the trouble of visiting them, or the sacrifice,
rather—there are so many delightful places to go to in the summer,” and
so forth.
Having, from these indirect explanations, made a clear case that his
society was entitled to a welcome from the best Thompson in the world,
and to that with thanks, if his fair neighbor was only a crockery
Thompson, he arose and returned to the front of the house. The village
had, by this time, awakened from its nap, and the larger proportion of
its inhabitants were bending their steps to the town hall. Numerous well
appointed carriages were also coming in from the surrounding
neighborhood, whose passengers were all bound to the same point. “Where
are all these people going?” asked Sutton.
“To the lecture announced in that handbill,” replied Wallis—and Miss
Thompson presenting herself at the door, ready bonnetted, he walked with
her in a neighborly sort of a way across the street. After a while the
throng ceased, and from some impatient expressions of the loungers about
the tavern, Sutton ascertained that the lecturer had not yet appeared.
“Why, that man I mistook for a Yankee pedlar must be he, I should
judge,” said he to the landlord.
“Who?—where?” said a young man, who had not heard the last clause.
“That tall fellow, in the garden, there, drest in the brown-holland
pantaloons and Kentucky jean coat.”
“Indeed!—I thought he was to stop at the other house;” and he hastened
down the street, while Sutton, finding that every body was going to the
hall, strolled there also.
Meanwhile, the stranger in the coarse jeans was enjoying himself in a
saunter through the quiet and pretty garden of the inn, which was so
hedged and enclosed as to admit of no view of the street, when a
consequential personage presented himself, and saluting him stiffly,
introduced himself as “Mr. Smith, the proprietor of the G—— Hotel.”
“I am happy to make your acquaintance, sir,” said the young stranger,
courteously.
“I have taken the liberty to call, sir, and inform you that the audience
has been waiting for some time. It is full fifteen minutes past the time
announced in the handbills;” pulling one from his pocket—“I felt a
reluctance to intrude, but, putting the best construction upon your
conduct, in not informing me of your arrival, after I had been at the
pains to prepare for you, I presumed it proceeded from a mistake; you
are at the opposition establishment.”
“There certainly is a mistake,” interrupted the stranger.
“Very well, very well, sir, as an entire stranger you can be excused,”
hastily proceeded Mr. Smith; “but there is no time to talk about it
now—we can settle it after a while. Be good enough to hurry over; the
people are getting impatient. You will have a large audience, sir; they
were afraid they would be disappointed, which would have been a bad
business, as we very seldom have lecturers from a distance. It was lucky
that you happened to be found out by one of my boarders, for some of the
gentlemen were talking about dispersing, and if that had occurred, we
would all have been up in arms against you;—we are pretty fiery, some
of us!”
“Then you would not be willing to wait another evening?”
“To wait! certainly not; I hope you have no such idea!—let me beg you
to hurry, sir!”
“Well, but—”
“My dear sir!—let me insist—you have announced a very interesting
subject—‘The Genius of the American People;’ the very thing for our
audience—American through and through—very patriotic!”
“Very well, sir—I’ll try to do my best—let me change my dress a
little, and I’ll attend you.”
To the surprise of the inmates of the Eagle, excepting, indeed, Mr.
Sutton, who paid a mental tribute to his own sagacity—in a few minutes
their fellow lodger entered and mounted the rostrum. A figure as
graceful and commanding would have struck the fastidious assemblage of a
fashionable city lecture-room. He showed some embarrassment after
casting his eyes over the really large audience, but a round of applause
gave him time to collect himself, and he commenced a modest preface,
stating that he had not had time to arrange his ideas on the subject
proposed, in such a form as he could have wished, yet as it was one that
ought to be familiar to all good citizens, he hoped he should not
entirely fail.
We regret that our space will not permit us to edify our readers with
the critique on his performance which duly appeared in the village
newspaper. Suffice it, that after an elaborate eulogium on his fine
person, captivating voice, and expressive gestures; his sparkling wit,
elevated imagination, and extensive reading, he was pronounced _ex
cathedrâ_, “a patriot, a scholar and a gentleman.”
The next morning, when they met in the breakfast room, Miss Thompson and
Wallis were fluent in commendation of the lecture. “I was most agreeably
disappointed,” said the lady; “having been prepared for nothing more
than the flippant inanities we usually hear from itinerant lecturers.
This gentleman is an orator—one that would draw crowds among the most
intellectual communities in the country. The subject was so hackneyed,
that to announce it appeared ridiculous; but he treated it like a
statesman, and made it really imposing by evidences of original thought
and profound information.”
She was interrupted by the object of her remarks entering the room—and
after he had taken his seat at the table, she turned and remarked to
him, with respectful complaisance, “you had a large and very attentive
auditory last night, sir.”
The stranger bowed and returned, “I was surprised to find an assemblage
so numerous and respectable, and had every reason to be flattered by
their reception.”
“I have no doubt you entertained them exceedingly,” interposed Sutton;
“you did very well, very well, indeed; for a plain country audience,
nothing could have suited them better. I suppose you consider yourself
as having made quite a speculation; at fifty cents a head the receipts
must have been considerable.”
Miss Thompson glanced at him with a look of irritation, which, however,
changed to one of merriment at the comic stare of the itinerant, his
only answer.
Just then there was a bustle in the entry, and the landlord was heard
saying in a tone of expostulation—“The gentleman is at his breakfast,
sir; have a little patience, and, no doubt, he will satisfy you
afterwards. The other boarders are all at the table, and it would only
cause a confusion.”
“So much the better,” returned a stentorian voice; “let me in, sir, or
you shall be exposed for harboring a swindler;” and a formidable-looking
person, large of size and exceeding fierce of countenance, entered. He
was accompanied by Mr. Smith of the rival house, who designated the
lecturer, and striding up to him, he exclaimed, in a strong Connecticut
accent, “So, sir! you are the gentleman that entertained this community
last evening with a lecture on the ‘Genius of the American People;’ you
are Azariah Chowders, are you?”
“I sir?—by no means! I rejoice in quite a different appellation.”
“No sir,—I myself am Azariah Chowders, and I hereby pronounce you an
impudent imposter. I demand to know, sir, how you could dare to avail
yourself of my name and well-earned reputation to deliver a spurious
lecture and rob the pockets of a large audience?”
“From several reasons, sir. In the first place, to relieve the
solicitude of that gentleman, Mr. Smith.”
“That shall not serve you! your flagitious conduct,—”
“Pray hear me out, sir! secondly, as he assured me a number of persons
would be disappointed if they should not hear a lecture—common
philanthropy—”
“A benevolent youth, upon my word!” laughed Mr. Chowders in derision;
“I’ll not listen.”
“Then for my third and last reason,—how could I resist such a capital
opportunity for showing off? A gentleman of your aspiring disposition
should not be too severe upon the ambition of others. I had no fame of
my own to procure me a welcome, and as there was no claimant for
yours,—”
“Young man, you had better confess the truth at once! you could not
resist the temptation of pocketing the dollars which you know would be
collected on my credit. I shall have redress, sir—there are such things
as indictments for swindling.”
“My good sir! you certainly would not menace me with anything so
terrific! remember how much labor I have taken off your hand,—the
exertion of your brain and lungs, besides securing for you every cent of
the admittance fees. Landlord, oblige me by bringing here the
handkerchief which I requested you last night to deposit in your desk.”
The host of the Eagle complied with alacrity, and the young stranger
unrolling his handkerchief, displayed a collection of notes and silver,
particularly inviting in these hard times. The sight of it mollified the
assailant at once. “Here, sir,” said the other, “you have the emoluments
of the lecture just as they were placed in my hands by the gentleman
beside you, Mr. Smith. My worthy host will be my voucher that I have not
seen it since; and I think I may be equally confident that it has lost
nothing by being in his possession. I beg pardon if I have incommoded
you by presuming to supply your place; but I hope your friend, Mr.
Smith, will do me the justice of attributing it in part to his mistake
and solicitations.”
“Willingly,” said Mr. Smith; “and in explanation of my share of the
business, it originated from a remark made by that gentleman,” nodding
towards Mr. Sutton.
Mr. Chowder, with some accession of graciousness, remarked that an
accident to his carriage had caused the delay on his part, and he
condescended to add, that it was well enough some one had been found to
entertain the company in his stead.
“You are lenient, sir,” said the offender, “and, in return, I give you
my word that I shall never again attempt to win a laurel leaf in your
name. The audience shall be undeceived, and all the opprobrium of my
presuming to represent your oratorical abilities shall rest on myself.
At present, I have no other security to offer than my name, which,
however, I hope will prevent similar mistakes for the future,” and he
glanced at Sutton; “it is Norman Oakley, and my occupation is that of an
artist,—a painter,” and the visiters retired.
“Rather a ferocious gentleman, that Mr. Azariah Chowders,” said Wallis
who, with Miss Thompson had witnessed the scene, much to their
amusement.
“Quite,” returned the painter, resuming his natural manner; “though I
had prepared myself for a much stronger demonstration of it;—perhaps,
because I felt that I deserved it. He could not have been more surprised
at finding himself counterfeited than I was on presenting myself in your
lecture-room. I had expected to meet with some little literary society,
or association for mutual improvement, such as are common in your
villages, and assented to the importunity of the committee-man without
explaining the mistake, in expectation that I might have some diversion
of my own from it. When I found an assemblage of the whole community, I
felt inclined, through respect for them, to make an explanation and
withdraw; but, on second thought, concluded that as I had gone so far, I
might as well remain and do my best to afford them a little
entertainment.”
“Why, that brown-holland chap seemed to think he would elevate himself a
peg by letting us know that he is a painter;—I should like to know how
much more elegant it is to stroll about painting than peddling or
lecturing,” said Mr. Sutton to Wallis, when they had left the table;
“but that Miss Thompson is an astonishingly handsome girl; what a
complexion she has!—what eyes and what teeth!—what a sensation she
would make in society—that is, if she had a fortune and somebody to
show her off!”
“You had better offer her yours, and engage in the service yourself,”
said Wallis.
“Money for money,—‘like loves like;’ it is a generally received opinion
among _us_ that a good-looking fellow, fashionable and well connected,
is an equivalent for a woman with fifty thousand dollars any day. If he
has a fortune, she should be worth dollar for dollar besides. I don’t
know what this Miss Thompson is, so I believe I’ll wait till Valeria
North comes along.”
“Valeria North! why, my dear fellow, she would annihilate you!” returned
Wallis, and he thought to himself, “this is the most ridiculous
jackanapes I have ever met with; if I must be bored with his
acquaintance, I’ll have a little fun with him;” and he added in a
significant tone, “I thought there was some sort of magnetism by which
you people of fashion found each other out. Is it possible you have not
seen into Miss Thompson yet? Between ourselves she is as great an
heiress as Miss North.”
“You don’t say so!—well, she looks as if she deserved to be. Come,
Wallis, introduce me, and Miss North may go to the dickens.”
“I am sorry I can’t oblige you; but as I have merely talked to Miss
Thompson, myself, as a fellow-boarder, I am not privileged to introduce
a stranger.”
“No matter, we men of the world can manage such things. They are in that
room, aren’t they? and by good luck Cupidon has sneaked in. I’ll go
after him.”
“I beg pardon, ladies, if I intrude,” said he bowing; “but my dog—”
“Not at all, sir, this is the common parlor of the house,” returned Mrs.
Thompson, quietly, and scarcely looking up from her work.
Thus happily possessed of the freedom of the room, Mr. Sutton turned
over some books on a table, and at length remarked, when he had caught
the eye of Miss Thompson, “These country villages are monstrously
tiresome to persons accustomed to a city life.”
“Are they?” said she, and looked again on her book.
“They say that Saratoga is unusually thronged this year,” he resumed
after a pause; “I had the pleasure of meeting with a young lady of your
name there last summer;—indeed, I had quite a flirtation with her;
perhaps she was a relation of yours—the daughter of old General
Thompson of Virginia.”
“Not in the least,” said the young lady.
“Judge Thompson, of one of the New England states, was there, at the
same time, with his daughters. Very elegant girls all of them,—quite
belles. They are of a different family,—perhaps of yours?”
“No sir, they are not,” returned Miss Thompson, impatiently giving her
reticule a swing, which raised Cupidon off his feet, that important
character having laid siege to the tassels.
“_Laissez aller_, Cupidon! a thorough-bred Parisian animal, Miss,—he
does not understand a word of English. He was a keepsake from a
particular friend of mine, Baron Mont Tonnére. You may have met with the
baron; he was quite a lion among our _élite_? By the by, a Miss Thompson
came very near being the baroness,—she was one of the Thomas Thompsons
of New York.”
No reply.
“One of the best families in the country,—the same as the B. B.
Thompsons of Philadelphia, the Brown Thompsons of Charleston, and the
Thoroughgood Thompsons of Boston.”
“You seem quite _au fait_ to the Thompsons;” said the elder lady; and
turning to her daughter, they resumed a conversation, which he had
interrupted, about the lecture and the lecturer, Miss Thompson
expressing a wish to see some of his productions, and her confidence
that a person of his evidently cultivated taste must possess merit as a
painter. Mr. Sutton, as is common with vain people, drawing his
conclusions from his own practice, presumed, of course, that all their
fine talking was specially aimed at his favor, and when the younger
lady, in return for his occasional interpositions, gave him a disdainful
glance of her full black eyes, he admired her art in displaying their
brilliancy.
The garden of the inn commanded one of the loveliest views among the
finest river scenery in our country, an exquisite combination of glassy
water, little green islets, hills of every variety of form, and
mountains, rising one behind another till their outlines grew almost
imperceptible in the distance. This, in the light of a magnificent
sunset caught the eye of the young painter from a little summer-house in
which he had been reading, and he hastened to his room for his
portfolio. On his return he commenced sketching with such intentness
that he did not perceive that Miss Thompson had taken possession of his
former post, until she addressed him with the remark, “You have a most
admirable subject for your pencil before you, sir.”
“Beautiful, beautiful!” returned he, warmly; “I never have beheld
anything in this order of scenery to surpass it, though, indeed, this
glorious river presents, in its whole course, a panorama of views so
varied and each so perfect, that it is difficult to decide upon any one
as claiming the strongest admiration. I have been tracing it for several
months, my store of sketches accumulating every day, and the larger
number of them such as would require the hand of a master to do them
justice. I sometimes almost despair, and feel inclined to abandon my art
from the difficulties I find in attempting not to disgrace my
subjects,—such as these for instance,—they may be familiar to you.”
He laid before her several sketches, and, observing, with evident
pleasure, her expression of admiration he continued,—“This and this I
have finished in oil, if it will afford you any amusement, I shall bring
them down.”
She assented with thanks and the pictures were produced. She scanned
them over and over again, as if not new to connoisseurship, and when she
turned her eyes to the painter from his work, they sparkled with delight
that brought a flush to his face. “There is a view which you cannot yet
have found;” said she, “one but a few minutes walk from here. I would
rather see it on canvass, if executed in the spirit of these, than any
Claude I have ever heard of!—when you have seen it I am confident you
will undertake it. Will you let me point it out to you?”
The painter cast upon her one of those quick, searching looks that
belong to the profession, and was so struck with the intellectual beauty
of her glowing and earnest face, that he forgot to reply.
“In this gorgeous sunset it must be magnificent beyond imagination,” she
continued, catching up a bonnet beside her; “if we hurry we shall yet
have time to see it. Will you go now?” He merely bowed, without any
common-places about “the pleasure” or the “happiness,” and laying down
his portfolio, he closed the door of the edifice to secure his property,
and set off beside her.
“Well, what did you think of Miss Thompson?” asked Wallis of Mr. Sutton
the next morning.
“She has splendid black eyes, and how well she knows it too! but she is
quite too shy,—I couldn’t draw her out.”
“She was talking fast enough to Mr. Oakley, last evening,—I saw them
walking together.”
“Did you!” exclaimed Sutton, in surprise.
“Yes, and if you don’t take care, he’ll spoil your flirtation before you
get it rightly underweigh. He is as handsome a fellow as ever I saw, and
as gentlemanlike.”
Sutton glanced down at himself. “Oh, I don’t mind such things;” said he
magnanimously; “indeed, I should rather give her credit for encouraging
the young man. It is fashionable now to patronise such people. I intend
to give him something to do myself, particularly as it will gratify the
young lady. She expressed a wish yesterday to see some of his work, and
I promised her to employ him on myself. Do you paint portraits, Mr.
O-Oakton?—that I believe is the province of country artists;” he added
to the painter who had presented himself.
“Sometimes I do,—when I find a face worth painting.”
“Of course, of course;—I have just been saying that I intend to get you
to take mine. It may be of some service in getting you into business
here. I hope you will not bore me by making me sit often. When can you
begin?”
“Any time,—now if you choose,—it won’t require long to take _you_ off.
I have my portfolio at hand, and can do it at once. Take this seat.”
“My father,” pursued the dandy; “is noted as a patron of the fine arts.
He, however, seldom employs young artists, as they don’t yield him the
worth of his money. He says that after a painter gets up to a hundred
dollars a head for portraits, or for a square yard of other things, he
thinks he may trust him, as his productions may then be supposed to be
good. He had the ceilings of his drawing-rooms frescoed by Monachisi,
which was very expensive, and, besides, he has employed several other of
the popular artists;” giving an enumeration which, in accuracy, scarcely
fell short of that by the erudite hero of Fielding—“Ammyconni, Paul
Varnish, Cannibal Scratchi, and Hogarthi.”
“Please to shut your mouth, sir;” said the Painter.
“Now, don’t make a fright of me;” resumed Mr. Sutton; “try your best,
and I may, very probably, give you another job. How would you like to
paint Miss Thompson for me?—when she gets over her shyness I’ll propose
it to her, if you succeed in this. She is a confounded pretty girl,
don’t you think so?—quite as handsome as some of the portraits in the
Book of Beauty,”—
“Keep your mouth shut, if you please.”
The picture proposed by Miss Thompson was commenced, and whether it was
from the excellence of the subject, or the eloquence of her suggestions,
the painter exerted upon it his best ability. Their mutual interest in
it was a bond of acquaintance which strengthened as the work proceeded,
and every day developed some new qualities in each, which could not have
failed to endow their intercourse with attraction. He was a noble young
man, altogether,—full of talent, generous feelings and high-toned
principles; and of a buoyant, mirthful spirit and powers of adapting
himself to circumstances so rarely found with lofty intellect and so
delightful when they accompany it. His fair companion was not less
richly endowed by nature and education, but it was only by those who
could appreciate the stronger points of her character that she would
have been equally admired. These perpetually exhibiting themselves in an
ardent enjoyment of every thing beautiful in thought, sentiment or the
external world, and in an intrepid scorn of any thing like vanity,
selfishness or insincerity, gave her manners a cast that among the
conventional world would have denounced her as “odd,” yet there was a
grace in her energy, that, to those who understood her, made it an
additional charm. In short, they might have had a multiplicity of
excuses, if they had chosen to fall in love with each other, but of this
there were no indications. They walked together with perfect freedom,
entirely careless or unconscious of remark; and they talked together,
appearing pleased if they agreed in opinions, or if they differed,
opposing each other with equal firmness and politeness. Their deportment
was without coquetry on her part and without gallantry on his. All they
knew of each other was that he was a painter and a very gifted one, and
that she was a very fascinating Miss Thompson.
Meanwhile, Mr. Sutton’s flirtation with, or rather at our heroine, for
he had it all to himself, was in active progress. He made himself
intolerable by the airs and graces he assumed, to recommend himself to
her favor. He never tied his cravat, nor wrapped a _papillote_ without a
design upon her heart. He followed her about the garden, paying the most
vapid compliments, or, intruding into the parlor, while she and her
mother were reading, amused them with “easie sighs which men do breathe
in love.” She attempted at first to repel him with witty sarcasms, but
that, as Wallis remarked, “was like Queen Christina shooting at a
fly—his apprehension was so small it could scarcely be hit.” She darted
contempt at him from her bright black eyes, and curled her lip in the
most unequivocal fashion, but that only made her look prettier, and he
could see no deeper. She essayed a plain rebuff, but he thought it a
capital joke. It never entered his head that Mr. Bromwell Sutton could
be any thing but irresistible to a Miss Thompson. To get rid of him, she
at last found entirely out of the question, and wearied of her efforts,
she concluded to let him take his own course. This passiveness seemed to
him so encouraging, that one day he was on the point of making a
declaration and was only prevented by the dinner-bell.
Towards the artist he continued his patronizing condescension, with a
not unfrequent interlude of actual incivility, which, to the surprise
even of Miss Thompson, that gentleman passed over with unresisting
composure. On the present occasion the latter variation predominated,
and after they had left the table, Miss Thompson remarked “I wonder Mr.
Oakley, at your patience in submitting to the impertinences of that
popinjay!”
“You would not have me challenge him?” said the painter.
“That would be rather too heroic,—your position is as defenceless as my
own. These “gentlemen’s sons!”—if I were a man, there is no reproach I
should dread, more than being called one of them!”
“Rather a sweeping condemnation,” said the artist, smiling; “but I think
I have prepared a revenge that will reach the specimen before us;” and
having perceived the subject of their remarks approaching from the
summer-house, he called to him, “Will you step here, for a moment, Mr.
Sutton?”
“I can’t—I haven’t time;” said Sutton, hurrying on, and they both
noticed in him marks of much perturbation.
“Your portrait is finished, and I wish you to see it;” persisted Oakley.
His portrait was too closely connected with himself, not to have
influenced him under any circumstances, and, accordingly, he stopped
while the painter left the room for it, calling, as he did so, “Mr.
Wallis—landlord—gentlemen,—I wish to have your opinion of Mr.
Sutton’s portrait; oblige me by coming into the parlor.”
They complied and the picture, which was of a miniature size, was placed
in the proper light. Miss Thompson gave it a single glance, and burst
into an apparently irrepressible laugh. Mrs. Thompson, regarding her
with much surprise, drew up her eyes, and stooped forward to examine it,
and then, though she gave her daughter and the artist a deprecating
look, she also turned away to conceal a smile. Wallis turned first to
the picture, then to Sutton, and then to Cupidon, and made no effort to
restrain his mirth, in which he was joined by the party of spectators
who had accompanied him. Every one perceived that it was a correct
likeness of Sutton in features, while the expression was strikingly that
of the little poodle. The dandy himself could not fail to recognize it,
and looked around him, pale with wrath and mortification, bestowing the
fiercest of his looks on Miss Thompson.
“You don’t tell me what you think of my performance, Mr. Sutton,” said
Oakley, with much gravity.
“I’ll not bear your insults, sir!” exclaimed Sutton at length; “I’ll not
tolerate your libellous insolence!—what do you mean, sir?—what do you
mean?”
“Insults! I’ll leave it to this company if I have not succeeded
admirably! it reflects you as a mirror!”
“I’ll not put up with it! I’ll not pay you a cent; I’ll leave it on your
hands, and we’ll see who’ll have the best of the joke!”
“Do sir!” said the artist; “it will be then my property, and I can do
what I please with it! I’ll put it up in some exhibition labelled with
your name!”
“Your station protects you sir!” he resumed; “if you were not beneath my
vengeance, you should answer for this, but a gentleman can, with honor,
only demand satisfaction of his equals,—therefore you are safe!
Landlord,” he added with an assumption of dignified composure; “make out
my bill; I’ll go instantly to the other house;—you must be taught that
a gentleman cannot patronize an establishment where he is liable to be
insulted by any scrub that frequents it!” and again looking daggers at
Miss Thompson, who had not ceased laughing, he left the room.
In truth, had it not been for the almost insupportable ridicule that
accompanied it, Mr. Sutton would have rejoiced in the excuse to leave
the house, from a discovery that he had just made. After dinner, while
in quest of Miss Thompson, who was at that time in conversation with
Oakley, he had strolled into the summer-house, and found a letter on the
floor. It was without direction, and though closed, not sealed, and more
through blindness than curiosity he opened it. To his dismay it
commenced thus:
“_My dear, dear Miss North_—How can I give you any idea of the
gratitude I feel for the last and greatest of your many
kindnesses; you have made me so happy that I have not words to
express myself, and not only me, but my dear mother, who says
that you have done her more good than could have been effected
by a whole college of physicians, for her health, at the
prospect of a pleasant home, and freedom from incessant mental
labour, begins already to come back again. We have given up our
school, and are preparing to act upon the arrangements you have
made for us. I have received a delightfully kind letter from
your uncle,—he begs me to consider him as _mine_; in which he
says he will come for us very soon, and requests me to enclose
any communication for you to him. He speaks flatteringly of the
satisfaction our company will give him while you are on your
travels beyond the Atlantic. He little knows how impossible it
will be to supply _your_ place!” etc. etc.
Sutton read no more. It was signed L. Thompson, and that was sufficient.
He unconsciously thrust the letter into his pocket, and hurried to the
house. How was he to back out?—it now struck him that less importance
could be attached to his actions by others than himself, and he grew
nervous at the thought of how he had committed himself:—that he had
paid the most unequivocal attentions to—a schoolmistress! The artist’s
triumph indeed relieved him on that score, but a new sting was planted,
and a more miserable dandy was, perhaps, not that day in existence, than
Bromwell Sutton when he applied for lodgings at the G—— Hotel.
“Our work is finished at last!” said the painter, a few days after this
happy riddance, bringing down the piece, which had afforded them so much
enjoyment, for the inspection of Miss Thompson. She was gathering up
some books from the parlor tables with a thoughtful and pensive
countenance.
“Then I must take a ‘last lingering look’ at it,” returned she; “I may
never see it nor its original again.”
Oakley looked at her anxious and inquiringly, and she continued, “We
leave here to-day; an unexpected letter reached us this morning, urging
us to be ready at any hour.”
“And what am I to do without you?” asked the artist, in a very natural
and love-like way, and he followed the question with a short oration,
unnecessary to repeat. But before he had finished it, a carriage stopped
at the door, and in half a minute an elderly gentleman presented himself
in the entry.
“My uncle!” exclaimed Miss Thompson, running forward to conceal her
confusion, and the old gentleman, after kissing her heartily, said
quickly, “Are you ready, my dear? Where’s your mamma? I hope you have
your trunks packed, as I have hardly a minute to allow you. I have
urgent business awaiting me at home, and have only been able to fulfil
my engagement to come for you, by travelling with all the speed
possible. Quick—tell your mother, and put on your things.”
To the disappointment of her suitor, she ran up stairs, while the old
gentleman busied himself in seeing the trunks secured behind the
carriage. But immediately, with her mother, she came down, fully
equipped, and while the old lady was shaking hands with the uncle, she
had an opportunity to give him a single look, which one was sufficient:
“Good bye, Mr. Wallis,” said she holding out her hand in passing him,
“we have been such good friends, that I feel very sorry to part with
you.”
“Where shall I find you?” asked Oakley, in a low voice. She slipped a
card into his hand as he assisted her into the carriage, and was driven
away. He looked at the card. “Valeria North, B——,” he exclaimed; “Is
it possible!”
“Yes—didn’t you know that before?” said Wallis, “and that old gentleman
is the celebrated jurist Judge North. When Sutton finds it out, he’ll be
more fretted than he was at the portrait. She is a charming girl, isn’t
she? I recognized her the minute she arrived, having had a glimpse of
her before she left the Springs last summer, but as she seemed to wish
to be quiet, and to escape attention, it was not my business to blab.
I’ll go up to Smith’s and have some fun with Sutton.” He walked up
street, and the artist commenced preparations for an immediate
departure.
“Why Sutton,” said Wallis, when he reached the room of that personage;
“what possessed you to fly off, the other day, with such terrible frowns
at the pretty girl you had been courting so long? It was outrageous, and
what is the worst, you can’t have a chance to make it up,—she left town
to-day, for good.”
“Did she?—a pleasant journey to her!” said Sutton, brightening up
astonishingly.
“What!—she jilted you, did she?”
“She! I found her out in good time for that!—though if it had not been
for a lucky accident, I might have got myself into a confounded scrape;
it would have been a fine mess, if I had been deceived into proposing to
a schoolmistress!”
“Schoolmistress!—what do you mean?”
“Why, look here—you were a pretty sap to suppose her an heiress, and to
make me believe it:—read this—I found it by chance, and, somehow, it
got into my pocket.”
He handed the letter to Wallis, who, after looking over it, remarked, “I
see nothing to the contrary in that. I suppose it came enclosed in an
envelope from her uncle. Can it be possible that you presumed she had
written instead of received it! ha! ha!”
The mystified dandy gave him a stare.
“And you never suspected that it was Miss North whose acquaintance you
cut so cavalierly! It was, positively;—she gave her card to Mr. Oakley
before she went away.”
“I don’t believe it!—why would she call herself Thompson?”
“She didn’t call herself Thompson—that was inferred to be her name, as
it was her mother’s. I recollect very well of hearing at Saratoga that
the old lady had had two husbands. The last was a Mr. Thompson. What an
opportunity you have lost of making one of the greatest matches in the
country!”
“It was all the fault of that rascally painter,” said Sutton, in much
vexation; “I had commenced declaring myself the very day he excited me
by his abominable caricature, and if it had not been for that I would
have had an explanation.”
“I would make him repent it, if I were you—I’d challenge him.”
“But, you know that’s out of the question—a gentleman degrades himself
by challenging an inferior,” and he walked up and down the room in great
agitation.
“And then about that letter—does she know you found it?”
“No, no—I’m perfectly safe there—you won’t tell, will you? After all,
it is not yet too late to make it up. I can go after her to B——; she
will, no doubt, take it as a compliment to be followed, and, you know,
it will be in my favor that I was so devoted before I knew who she was,
won’t it? You might be of great service to me, my dear fellow,” he
added, thinking to prevent Wallis from informing on him by making him
his ally; “you have been in my confidence and knew how much I was
smitten with her. She is, perhaps, offended by my desertion, and if you
would go along, as she has a particular regard for you, you might help
to effect a reconciliation. If you’ll go, I’ll pay your expenses.”
Wallis, who had no objection to take a trip and see the end of the
comedy, on such easy terms, replied, “Anything to oblige you, if you can
wait two or three weeks. I have particular business on hands now, but
when I am through with it, I’ll go with pleasure.”
Sutton was obliged to submit to the delay, and in due time they arrived
at B——. After arranging their dress, they sallied out to make inquiry
about Miss North, when an acquaintance of Sutton encountered them, and
stopped them for a talk. While they stood in the street, an elegantly
dressed young man passed them, and looking back, in a familiar voice
saluted Wallis. It was Oakley. “How do you do, Mr. Sutton—happy to see
you,” said he, turning towards them, and saluting Sutton with a very low
bow. The dandy returned a nod, and the painter having ascertained their
lodgings, proceeded on his way.
“What a remarkably fine looking fellow that is,” said Sutton’s
acquaintance; “I should have been pleased if you had introduced me.”
“Oh he is not such an acquaintance as one introduces—I have merely
patronized him a little as a strolling painter.”
“Norman Oakley!—are you not under a mistake? He is the son of one of
the wealthiest gentlemen in New England—a very highly gifted young
man—a finished orator—a fine amateur painter—in every respect an
admirable and enviable fellow. By the by, it is said there is a recent
engagement between him and our belle _par excellence_, Miss North. She
has been travelling through different parts of the country, preparatory
to making a tour in Europe, and, this summer, they met accidentally
somewhere and fell in love, quite ignorant of anything relating to each
other but mutual personal attractions—so the story goes. They are to be
married shortly, so that the lady may have the pleasure of a legal
protector for her Atlantic trip.”
Sutton could bear no more, and, excusing himself, he hurried back to the
hotel at such a rate that Wallis, finding it difficult to keep up with
him, strolled off in another direction. When they met again the
disappointed lover was prepared for a retreat homeward.
“Come, Sutton, that would be outrageous!” said Wallis; “you ought to
have a settlement with Oakley, now that you find he is fully on a level
with yourself!”
“I wouldn’t dirty my fingers with him—I wouldn’t let the mynx know that
I thought her worth fighting about; for they would be sure to attribute
it to that, instead of to the picture. I am off, forthwith. Do you go
back to G——?”
“Yes, in a few days—but, the fact is, I met Oakley again, after you had
left me, and got an invitation to the wedding. He said he would take me
to see Miss North this evening if I wished it, but I declined, on the
plea that I would be only in the way. But he said there was a charming
little girl there, Miss Thompson—a relative of Valeria’s step-father,
who would appropriate my company, if I pleased. From his remarking that
she is to remain with the judge after the departure of his niece, I
presumed her to be the writer of the letter in your possession.
_Apropos_ of that letter—he questioned me as to whether you had found
it, and hinted that Miss North intended it for your hands, knowing the
effect it would have on you, from your aversion to poverty, low caste,
&c., that she even tore off the date to mislead you the more
easily—hand it here till we see if that is true.”
Sutton deigned no reply, and before Wallis was ready for his evening
visit, he had travelled the first fifty miles of his journey homeward.
* * * * *