"She long'd for her mother's loving kiss,
And her father's tender words,
And her little sister's joyous mirth,
Like the song of summer birds.
Her heart went back to the olden home
That her memory knew so well
Till the veriest trifle of the past
Swept o'er her like a spell."
Sarah Jones went to Manhattan at the appointed time, with a small
trunk of clothing and a large basket of provisions; for a sloop in
those days was a long time in coming down the Hudson, even with a fair
wind, and its approach to a settlement made more commotion than the
largest Atlantic steamer could produce at the present day. So the good
mother provided her pretty pilgrim with a lading of wonder-cakes, with
biscuits, dried beef, and cheese, enough to keep a company of soldiers
in full ration for days.
Besides all this plenteousness in the commissary department, the good
lady brought out wonderful specimens of her own handiwork in the form
of knit muffles, fine yarn stockings, and colored wristlets, that she
had been years in knitting for Sarah's outfit when she should be called
upon to undertake this perilous adventure into the great world.
Beyond all this, Sarah had keepsakes from the children, with a store of
pretty bracelets and fancy baskets from Malaeska, who parted with her
in tenderness and sorrow; for one more like a wild grape-vine, putting
out its tendrils everywhere for support, she was cast to the earth
again.
After all, Sarah did not find the excitement of her journey so very
interesting, and but for the presence of her father on the sloop, she
would have been fairly homesick before the white sails of the sloop had
rounded the Point. As it was, she grew thoughtful and almost sad as
the somber magnificence of the scenery unrolled itself. A settlement
here and there broke the forest with smiles of civilization, which she
passed with proud consciousness of seeing the world; but, altogether,
she thought more of the rosy mother and riotous children at home than
of new scenes or new people.
At last Manhattan, with its girdle of silver waters, its gables and its
overhanging trees, met her eager look. Here was her destiny--here she
was to be taught and polished into a marvel of gentility. The town was
very beautiful, but after the first novelty gave way, she grew more
lonely than ever; every thing was so strange--the winding streets, the
gay stores, and the quaint houses, with their peaks and dormer windows,
all seeming to her far too grand for comfort.
To one of these houses Arthur Jones conducted his daughter, followed
by a porter who carried her trunk on one shoulder, while Jones took
charge of the provision-basket, in person.
There was nothing in all this very wonderful, but people turned to look
at the group with more than usual interest, as it passed, for Sarah
had all her mother's fresh beauty, with nameless graces of refinement,
which made her a very lovely young creature to look upon.
When so many buildings have been raised in a city, so many trees
uprooted, and ponds filled up, it is impossible to give the localities
that formerly existed; for all the rural land-marks are swept away.
But, in the olden times, houses had breathing space for flowers around
them in Manhattan, and a man of note gave his name to the house he
resided in. The aristocratic portion of the town was around the Bowling
Green and back into the neighboring streets.
Somewhere in one of these streets, I can not tell the exact spot, for
a little lake in the neighborhood disappeared soon after our story,
and all the pretty points of the scene were destroyed with it--but
somewhere, in one of the most respectable streets, stood a house with
the number of gables and windows requisite to perfect gentility, and a
large brass plate spread its glittering surface below the great brass
knocker. This plate set forth, in bright, gold letters, the fact that
Madame Monot, relict of Monsieur Monot who had so distinguished himself
as leading teacher in one of the first female seminaries in Paris,
could be found within, at the head of a select school for young ladies.
Sarah was overpowered by the breadth and brightness of this door-plate,
and startled by the heavy reverberations of the knocker. There
was something too solemn and grand about the entrance for perfect
tranquillity.
Mr. Jones looked back at her, as he dropped the knocker, with a sort of
tender self-complacency, for he expected that she would be rather taken
aback by the splendor to which he was bringing her; but Sarah only
trembled and grew timid; she would have given the world to turn and run
away any distance so that in the end she reached home.
The door opened, at least the upper half, and they were admitted into
a hall paved with little Dutch tiles, spotlessly clean, through which
they were led into a parlor barren and prim in all its appointments,
but which was evidently the grand reception-room of the establishment.
Nothing could have been more desolate than the room, save that it was
redeemed by two narrow windows which overlooked the angle of the green
inclosure in which the house stood. This angle was separated by a low
wall from what seemed a broad and spacious garden, well filled with
fruit-trees and flowering shrubbery.
The spring was just putting forth its first buds, and Sarah forgot
the chilliness within as she saw the branches of a young apple-tree,
flushed with the first tender green, drooping over the wall. It
reminded her pleasantly of the orchard at home.
The door opened, and, with a nervous start, Sarah arose with her
father to receive the little Frenchwoman who came in with a fluttering
courtesy, eager to do the honors of her establishment.
Madame Monot took Sarah out of her father's hands with a graceful
dash that left no room for appeal. "She knew it all--exactly what
the young lady required--what would best please her very respectable
parents--there was no need of explanations--the young lady was fresh
as a rose--very charming--in a few months they should see--that was
all--Monsieur Jones need have no care about his child--Madame would
undertake to finish her education very soon--music, of course--an
instrument had just come from Europe on purpose for the school--then
French, nothing easier--Madame could promise that the young lady should
speak French beautifully in one--two--three--four months, without
doubt--Monsieur Jones might retire very satisfied--his daughter should
come back different--perfect, in fact."
With all this volubility, poor Jones was half talked, half courtesied
out of the house, without having uttered a single last word of
farewell, or held his daughter one moment against the honest heart that
yearned to carry her off again, despite his great ambition to see her a
lady.
Poor Sarah gazed after him till her eyes were blinded with unshed
tears; then she arose with a heavy heart and followed Madame to the
room which was henceforth to be her refuge from the most dreary
routine of duties that ever a poor girl was condemned to. It was a
comfort that the windows overlooked that beautiful garden. That night,
at a long, narrow table, set out with what the unsuspecting girl at
first considered the preliminaries of a meal, Sarah met the score of
young ladies who were to be her schoolmates. Fortunately she had no
appetite and did not mind the scant fare. Fifteen or twenty girls, some
furtively, others boldly, turning their eyes upon her, was enough to
frighten away the appetite of a less timid person.
Poor Sarah! of all the homesick school-girls that ever lived, she was
the most lonely. Madame's patronizing kindness only sufficed to bring
the tears into her eyes which she was struggling so bravely to keep
back.
But Sarah was courageous as well as sensitive. She came to Manhattan to
study; no matter if her heart ached, the brain must work; her father
had made great sacrifices to give her six months at this expensive
school; his money and kindness must not be thrown away.
Thus the brave girl reasoned, and, smothering the haunting wish for
home, she took up her tasks with energy.
Meantime Jones returned home with a heavy heart and a new assortment of
spring goods, that threw every female heart in Catskill into a flutter
of excitement. Every hen's nest in the neighborhood was robbed before
the eggs were cold, and its contents transported to the store. As for
butter, there was an universal complaint of its scarcity on the home
table, while Jones began to think seriously of falling a cent on the
pound, it came in so abundantly.