Act III, Scene 4, line 98}

Produced by Hugh C. MacDougal. HTML version by Al Haines.

AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A POCKET-HANDKERCHIEF

by

James Fenimore Cooper

{This text has been transcribed, corrected, and annotated from its

original periodical appearance in Graham's Magazine (Jan.-Apr. 1843),

by Hugh C. MacDougall, Secretary of the James Fenimore Cooper Society

(jfcooper@wpe.com), who welcomes corrections or emendations.}

{Introductory Note: "Autobiography of a Pocket-Handkerchief" was James

Fenimore Cooper's first serious attempt at magazine writing, and

Graham's Magazine would publish other contributions from him over the

next few years, notably a series of biographic sketches of American

naval officers, and the novel "Jack Tier; or The Florida Reef"

(1846-1848). Though hardly one of Cooper's greatest works,

"Autobiography" remains significant because of: (1) its unusual

narrator--an embroidered pocket-handkerchief--that is surely the first

of its kind; (2) its critique of economic exploitation in France and of

the crass commercial climate of ante-bellum America; and, (3) its

constant exploration of American social, moral, and cultural issues.

This said, it must be admitted that the telling of Adrienne's sad

plight in Paris becomes a bit overwrought; and that the inept wooing of

Mary Monson by the social cad Tom Thurston is so drawn out and

sarcastic as to suggest snobbery on Cooper's part as well as on that of

his elite hanky. Finally, the heroine-handkerchief's protracted failure

to recognize her maker, when she has proved so sensitive to her

surroundings in every other fashion, is simply unbelievable. Still,

there is enough to reward today's reader, if only in the story's unique

"point of view" and in the recognizable foibles of Henry Halfacre and

his social-climbing daughter.}

{The text is taken from the novelette's original appearance in Graham's

Magazine, Vol. XXII, pp. 1-18, 89-102, 158-167, 205-213 (January-April)

1843. "Autobiography" was simultaneously issued as a separate number of

Brother Jonathan magazine (March 22, 1843), under the title "Le

Mouchoir: An Autobiographical Romance." Also in 1843 it was published

in London by Richard Bentley as "The French Governess; or, the

Embroidered Handkerchief." A German translation quickly followed, as

"Die franzosischer Erzieheren, oder das gestickte Taschentuch"

(Stuttgart: Lieschning, 1845, reprinted 1849). Interest in the book

then lapsed. The Brother Jonathan and Bentley editions divided the

story into 18 chapters (as we have in this transcription).}

{At the end of the century a limited scholarly edition (500 copies)

appeared, edited by Walter Lee Brown, the first scholarly treatment of

any Cooper work, noting variations between the original manuscript and

the various published texts: "Autobiography of a Pocket-Handkerchief"

(Evanston, IL: The Golden-Booke Press, 1897). Another edition,

unannotated and taken from the Graham's Magazine version, was printed

half a century later as a Festschrift (farewell testimonial) for

retiring Cooper scholar Gregory Lansing Paine of the University of

North Carolina: "Autobiography of A Pocket-Handkerchief" (Chapel Hill:

Privately printed, 1949). "Autobiography" was never included in

published collections of James Fenimore Cooper's "Works," and this

scarcity is an important reason for making it available to scholars

everywhere through the Gutenberg Project.}

{Because of the limitations imposed by the Gutenberg Project format,

italics used by Cooper to indicate foreign words are ignored, as are

accents; while italics Cooper used for emphasis are usually indicated

by ALL CAPITALS. Unless otherwise indicated, translations are from the

French. The spelling and punctuation of the Graham's Magazine

periodical text have generally been followed, except that certain

inconsistent contractions (e.g., "do n't" or "do'nt" for "don't") have

been silently regularized.}

{I have annotated the edition--identified by {curly brackets}--to

translate most of the French words and expressions which Cooper

frequently employs, to define occasional now-obsolete English words,

and to identify historical names and other references. Cooper

frequently alludes, in the beginning of the work, to events and persons

involved in the French Revolution of 1830, which he had witnessed while

living in Paris, and about which the beginning of the plot revolves.}

AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A POCKET-HANDKERCHIEF

CHAPTER I.

{Chapter numbers inserted from non-periodical editions of

"Autobiography."}

Certain moral philosophers, with a due disdain of the flimsy

foundations of human pride, have shown that every man is equally

descended from a million of ancestors, within a given number of

generations; thereby demonstrating that no prince exists who does not

participate in the blood of some beggar, or any beggar who does not

share in the blood of princes. Although favored by a strictly vegetable

descent myself, the laws of nature have not permitted me to escape from

the influence of this common rule. The earliest accounts I possess of

my progenitors represent them as a goodly growth of the Linum

Usitatissimum, divided into a thousand cotemporaneous plants,

singularly well conditioned, and remarkable for an equality that

renders the production valuable. In this particular, then, I may be

said to enjoy a precedency over the Bourbons, themselves, who now

govern no less than four different states of Europe, and who have sat

on thrones these thousand years.

{Linum Usitatissimum = Linum usitatissimum (Cooper's capitalization

varies) is the botanical name for the variety of flax from which linen

is made}

While our family has followed the general human law in the matter just

mentioned, it forms a marked exception to the rule that so absolutely

controls all of white blood, on this continent, in what relates to

immigration and territorial origin. When the American enters on the

history of his ancestors, he is driven, after some ten or twelve

generations at most, to seek refuge in a country in Europe; whereas

exactly the reverse is the case with us, our most remote extraction

being American, while our more recent construction and education have

taken place in Europe. When I speak of the "earliest accounts I possess

of my progenitors," authentic information is meant only; for, like

other races, we have certain dark legends that might possibly carry us

back again to the old world in quest of our estates and privileges.

But, in writing this history, it has been my determination from the

first, to record nothing but settled truths, and to reject everything

in the shape of vague report or unauthenticated anecdote. Under these

limitations, I have ever considered my family as American by origin,

European by emigration, and restored to its paternal soil by the

mutations and calculations of industry and trade.

The glorious family of cotemporaneous plants from which I derive my

being, grew in a lovely vale of Connecticut, and quite near to the

banks of the celebrated river of the same name. This renders us

strictly Yankee in our origin, an extraction of which I find all who

enjoy it fond of boasting. It is the only subject of self-felicitation

with which I am acquainted that men can indulge in, without awakening

the envy of their fellow-creatures; from which I infer it is at least

innocent, if not commendable.

We have traditions among us of the enjoyments of our predecessors, as

they rioted in the fertility of their cis-atlantic field; a happy

company of thriving and luxuriant plants. Still, I shall pass them

over, merely remarking that a bountiful nature has made such provision

for the happiness of all created things as enables each to rejoice in

its existence, and to praise, after its fashion and kind, the divine

Being to which it owes its creation.

{cis-atlantic = this side of the Atlantic (Latin)}

In due time, the field in which my forefathers grew was gathered, the

seed winnowed from the chaff and collected in casks, when the whole

company was shipped for Ireland. Now occurred one of those chances

which decide the fortunes of plants, as well as those of men, giving me

a claim to Norman, instead of Milesian descent. The embarkation, or

shipment of my progenitors, whichever may be the proper expression,

occurred in the height of the last general war, and, for a novelty, it

occurred in an English ship. A French privateer captured the vessel on

her passage home, the flaxseed was condemned and sold, my ancestors

being transferred in a body to the ownership of a certain agriculturist

in the neighborhood of Evreux, who dealt largely in such articles.

There have been evil disposed vegetables that have seen fit to reproach

us with this sale as a stigma on our family history, but I have ever

considered it myself as a circumstance of which one has no more reason

to be ashamed than a D'Uzes has to blush for the robberies of a baron

of the middle ages. Each is an incident in the progress of

civilization; the man and the vegetable alike taking the direction

pointed out by Providence for the fulfilment of his or its destiny.

{Milesian = slang for Irish, from Milesius, mythical Spanish conqueror

of Ireland; Evreux = town in Normandy, France; a D'Uzes = a member of

an ancient noble family in southern France}

Plants have sensation as well as animals. The latter, however, have no

consciousness anterior to their physical births, and very little,

indeed, for some time afterwards; whereas a different law prevails as

respects us; our mental conformation being such as to enable us to

refer our moral existence to a period that embraces the experience,

reasoning and sentiments of several generations. As respects logical

inductions, for instance, the linum usitatissimum draws as largely on

the intellectual acquisitions of the various epochas that belonged to

the three or four parent stems which preceded it, as on its own. In a

word, that accumulated knowledge which man inherits by means of books,

imparted and transmitted information, schools, colleges, and

universities, we obtain through more subtle agencies that are

incorporated with our organic construction, and which form a species of

hereditary mesmerism; a vegetable clairvoyance that enables us to see

with the eyes, hear with the ears, and digest with the understandings

of our predecessors.

{epochas = archaic Latinized spelling of epochs}

Some of the happiest moments of my moral existence were thus obtained,

while our family was growing in the fields of Normandy. It happened

that a distinguished astronomer selected a beautiful seat, that was

placed on the very margin of our position, as a favorite spot for his

observations and discourses; from a recollection of the latter of

which, in particular, I still derive indescribable satisfaction. It

seems as only yesterday--it is in fact fourteen long, long years--that

I heard him thus holding forth to his pupils, explaining the marvels of

the illimitable void, and rendering clear to my understanding the vast

distance that exists between the Being that created all things and the

works of his hands. To those who live in the narrow circle of human

interests and human feelings, there ever exists, unheeded, almost

unnoticed, before their very eyes, the most humbling proofs of their

own comparative insignificance in the scale of creation, which, in the

midst of their admitted mastery over the earth and all it contains, it

would be well for them to consider, if they would obtain just views of

what they are and what they were intended to be.

I think I can still hear this learned and devout man--for his soul was

filled with devotion to the dread Being that could hold a universe in

subjection to His will--dwelling with delight on all the discoveries

among the heavenly bodies, that the recent improvements in science and

mechanics have enabled the astronomers to make. Fortunately, he gave

his discourses somewhat of the progressive character of lectures,

leading his listeners on, as it might be step by step, in a way to

render all easy to the commonest understanding. Thus it was, I first

got accurate notions of the almost inconceivable magnitude of space, to

which, indeed, it is probable there are no more positive limits than

there are a beginning and an end to eternity! Can these wonders be, I

thought--and how pitiful in those who affect to reduce all things to

the level of their own powers of comprehension, and their own

experience in practice! Let them exercise their sublime and boasted

reason, I said to myself, in endeavoring to comprehend infinity in any

thing, and we will note the result! If it be in space, we shall find

them setting bounds to their illimitable void, until ashamed of the

feebleness of their first effort, it is renewed, again and again, only

to furnish new proofs of the insufficiency of any of earth, even to

bring within the compass of their imaginations truths that all their

experiments, inductions, evidence and revelations compel them to admit.

"The moon has no atmosphere," said our astronomer one day, "and if

inhabited at all, it must be by beings constructed altogether

differently from ourselves. Nothing that has life, either animal or

vegetable as we know them, can exist without air, and it follows that

nothing having life, according to our views of it, can exist in the

moon:--or, if any thing having life do exist there, it must be under

such modifications of all our known facts, as to amount to something

like other principles of being." "One side of that planet feels the

genial warmth of the sun for a fortnight, while the other is for the

same period without it," he continued. "That which feels the sun must

be a day, of a heat so intense as to render it insupportable to us,

while the opposite side on which the rays of the sun do not fall, must

be masses of ice, if water exist there to be congealed. But the moon

has no seas, so far as we can ascertain; its surface representing one

of strictly volcanic origin, the mountains being numerous to a

wonderful degree. Our instruments enable us to perceive craters, with

the inner cones so common to all our own volcanoes, giving reason to

believe in the activity of innumerable burning hills at some remote

period. It is scarcely necessary to say, that nothing we know could

live in the moon under these rapid and extreme transitions of heat and

cold, to say nothing of the want of atmospheric air." I listened to

this with wonder, and learned to be satisfied with my station. Of what

moment was it to me, in filling the destiny of the linum usitatissimum,

whether I grew in a soil a little more or a little less fertile;

whether my fibres attained the extremest fineness known to the

manufacturer, or fell a little short of this excellence. I was but a

speck among a myriad of other things produced by the hand of the

Creator, and all to conduce to his own wise ends and unequaled glory.

It was my duty to live my time, to be content, and to proclaim the

praise of God within the sphere assigned to me. Could men or plants but

once elevate their thoughts to the vast scale of creation, it would

teach them their own insignificance so plainly, would so unerringly

make manifest the futility of complaints, and the immense disparity

between time and eternity, as to render the useful lesson of

contentment as inevitable as it is important.

I remember that our astronomer, one day, spoke of the nature and

magnitude of the sun. The manner that he chose to render clear to the

imagination of his hearers some just notions of its size, though so

familiar to astronomers, produced a deep and unexpected impression on

me. "Our instruments," he said, "are now so perfect and powerful, as to

enable us to ascertain many facts of the deepest interest, with near

approaches to positive accuracy. The moon being the heavenly body much

the nearest to us, of course we see farther into its secrets than into

those of any other planet. We have calculated its distance from us at

237,000 miles. Of course by doubling this distance, and adding to it

the diameter of the earth, we get the diameter of the circle, or orbit,

in which the moon moves around the earth. In other words the diameter

of this orbit is about 480,000 miles. Now could the sun be brought in

contact with this orbit, and had the latter solidity to mark its

circumference, it would be found that this circumference would include

but a little more than half the surface of one side of the sun, the

diameter of which orb is calculated to be 882,000 miles! The sun is one

million three hundred and eighty-four thousand four hundred and

seventy-two times larger than the earth. Of the substance of the sun it

is not so easy to speak. Still it is thought, though it is not certain,

that we occasionally see the actual surface of this orb, an advantage

we do not possess as respects any other of the heavenly bodies, with

the exception of the moon and Mars. The light and warmth of the sun

probably exist in its atmosphere, and the spots which are so often seen

on this bright orb, are supposed to be glimpses of the solid mass of

the sun itself, that are occasionally obtained through openings in this

atmosphere. At all events, this is the more consistent way of

accounting for the appearance of these spots. You will get a better

idea of the magnitude of the sidereal system, however, by remembering

that, in comparison with it, the distances of our entire solar system

are as mere specks. Thus, while our own change of positions is known to

embrace an orbit of about 200,000,000 of miles, it is nevertheless so

trifling as to produce no apparent change of position in thousands of

the fixed stars that are believed to be the suns of other systems. Some

conjecture even that all these suns, with their several systems, our

own included, revolve around a common centre that is invisible to us,

but which is the actual throne of God; the comets that we note and

measure being heavenly messengers, as it might be, constantly passing

from one of these families of worlds to another."

I remember that one of the astronomer's pupils asked certain

explanations here, touching the planets that it was thought, or rather

known, that we could actually see, and those of which the true surfaces

were believed to be concealed from us. "I have told you," answered the

man of science, "that they are the Moon, Mars and the Sun. Both Venus

and Mercury are nearer to us than Mars, but their relative proximities

to the sun have some such effect on their surfaces, as placing an

object near a strong light is known to have on its appearance. We are

dazzled, to speak popularly, and cannot distinguish minutely. With Mars

it is different. If this planet has any atmosphere at all, it is one of

no great density, and its orbit being without our own, we can easily

trace on its surface the outlines of seas and continents. It is even

supposed that the tinge of the latter is that of reddish sand-stone,

like much of that known in our own world, but more decided in tint,

while two brilliant white spots, at its poles, are thought to be light

reflected from the snows of those regions, rendered more conspicuous,

or disappearing, as they first emerge from a twelvemonths' winter, or

melt in a summer of equal duration."

I could have listened forever to this astronomer, whose lectures so

profoundly taught lessons of humility to the created, and which were so

replete with silent eulogies on the power of the Creator! What was it

to me whether I were a modest plant, of half a cubit in stature, or the

proudest oak of the forest--man or vegetable? My duty was clearly to

glorify the dread Being who had produced all these marvels, and to

fulfil my time in worship, praise and contentment. It mattered not

whether my impressions were derived through organs called ears, and

were communicated by others called those of speech, or whether each

function was performed by means of sensations and agencies too subtle

to be detected by ordinary means. It was enough for me that I heard and

understood, and felt the goodness and glory of God. I may say that my

first great lessons in true philosophy were obtained in these lectures,

where I learned to distinguish between the finite and infinite, ceasing

to envy any, while I inclined to worship one. The benevolence of

Providence is extended to all its creatures, each receiving it in a

mode adapted to its own powers of improvement. My destiny being toward

a communion with man--or rather with woman--I have ever looked upon

these silent communications with the astronomer as so much preparatory

schooling, in order that my mind might be prepared for its own avenir,

and not be blinded by an undue appreciation of the importance of its

future associates. I know there are those who will sneer at the

supposition of a pocket-handkerchief possessing any mind, or esprit, at

all; but let such have patience and read on, when I hope it will be in

my power to demonstrate their error.

{avenir = future; esprit = soul or vital spirit}

CHAPTER II.

It is scarcely necessary to dwell on the scenes which occurred between

the time I first sprang from the earth and that in which I was

"pulled." The latter was a melancholy day for me, however, arriving

prematurely as regarded my vegetable state, since it was early

determined that I was to be spun into threads of unusual fineness. I

will only say, here, that my youth was a period of innocent pleasures,

during which my chief delight was to exhibit my simple but beautiful

flowers, in honor of the hand that gave them birth.

At the proper season, the whole field was laid low, when a scene of

hurry and confusion succeeded, to which I find it exceedingly painful

to turn in memory. The "rotting" was the most humiliating part of the

process which followed, though, in our case, this was done in clear

running water, and the "crackling" the most uncomfortable. Happily, we

were spared the anguish which ordinarily accompanies breaking on the

wheel, though we could not be said to have entirely escaped from all

its parade. Innocence was our shield, and while we endured some of the

disgrace that attaches to mere forms, we had that consolation of which

no cruelty or device can deprive the unoffending. Our sorrows were not

heightened by the consciousness of undeserving.

{"rotting" was... = to prepare flax for weaving as linen it is softened

(technically, "retted") by soaking in water, separated from its woody

fibers by beating ("scutched"--this seems to be what Cooper means by

"crackling"), and finally combed ("hatcheled")}

There is a period, which occurred between the time of being "hatcheled"

and that of being "woven," that it exceeds my powers to delineate. All

around me seemed to be in a state of inextricable confusion, out of

which order finally appeared in the shape of a piece of cambric, of a

quality that brought the workmen far and near to visit it. We were a

single family of only twelve, in this rare fabric, among which I

remember that I occupied the seventh place in the order of arrangement,

and of course in the order of seniority also. When properly folded, and

bestowed in a comfortable covering, our time passed pleasantly enough,

being removed from all disagreeable sights and smells, and lodged in a

place of great security, and indeed of honor, men seldom failing to

bestow this attention on their valuables.

{cambric = a fine white linen, originally from Cambray in Flanders}

It is out of my power to say precisely how long we remained in this

passive state in the hands of the manufacturer. It was some weeks,

however, if not months; during which our chief communications were on

the chances of our future fortunes. Some of our number were ambitious,

and would hear to nothing but the probability, nay, the certainty, of

our being purchased, as soon as our arrival in Paris should be made

known, by the king, in person, and presented to the dauphine, then the

first lady in France. The virtues of the Duchesse d'Angouleme were

properly appreciated by some of us, while I discovered that others

entertained for her any feelings but those of veneration and respect.

This diversity of opinion, on a subject of which one would think none

of us very well qualified to be judges, was owing to a circumstance of

such every-day occurrence as almost to supersede the necessity of

telling it, though the narrative would be rendered more complete by an

explanation.

{Dauphine = Crown Princess; Duchesse d'Angouleme = Marie Therese

Charlotte (1778-1851), the Dauphine, daughter of King Louis XVI and

wife of Louis Antoine of Artois, Duke of Angouleme, eldest son of King

Charles X--she lost her chance to become queen when her father-in-law

abdicated the French throne in 1830--Napoleon said of her that she was

"the only man in her family"}

It happened, while we lay in the bleaching grounds, that one half of

the piece extended into a part of the field that came under the

management of a legitimist, while the other invaded the dominions of a

liberal. Neither of these persons had any concern with us, we being

under the special superintendence of the head workman, but it was

impossible, altogether impossible, to escape the consequences of our

locales. While the legitimist read nothing but the Moniteur, the

liberal read nothing but Le Temps, a journal then recently established,

in the supposed interests of human freedom. Each of these individuals

got a paper at a certain hour, which he read with as much manner as he

could command, and with singular perseverance as related to the

difficulties to be overcome, to a clientele of bleachers, who reasoned

as he reasoned, swore by his oaths, and finally arrived at all his

conclusions. The liberals had the best of it as to numbers, and

possibly as to wit, the Moniteur possessing all the dullness of

official dignity under all the dynasties and ministries that have

governed France since its establishment. My business, however, is with

the effect produced on the pocket-handkerchiefs, and not with that

produced on the laborers. The two extremes were regular cotes gauches

and cotes droits. In other words, all at the right end of the piece

became devoted Bourbonists, devoutly believing that princes, who were

daily mentioned with so much reverence and respect, could be nothing

else but perfect; while the opposite extreme were disposed to think

that nothing good could come of Nazareth. In this way, four of our

number became decided politicians, not only entertaining a sovereign

contempt for the sides they respectively opposed, but beginning to feel

sensations approaching to hatred for each other.

{bleaching grounds = open spaces where newly woven linen is spread to

whiten in the sun; legitimist.... = this paragraph refers to

controversies, before the French "July Revolution" of 1830, between

rightist ("cote droit" = right side) legitimists, who read the official

"Moniteur" newspaper and supported the absolutist Bourbon monarchy of

King Charles X, and leftist ("cote gauche" = left side) liberals, who

read "Le Temps" and argued for reform or revolution; "nothing good

could come of Nazareth" = from the Bible, John, I, 46: "Can any good

thing come out of Nazareth"}

The reader will readily understand that these feelings lessened toward

the centre of the piece, acquiring most intensity at the extremes. I

may be said, myself, to have belonged to the centre gauche, that being

my accidental position in the fabric, when it was a natural consequence

to obtain sentiments of this shade. It will be seen, in the end, how

prominent were these early impressions, and how far it is worth while

for mere pocket-handkerchiefs to throw away their time, and permit

their feelings to become excited concerning interests that they are

certainly not destined to control, and about which, under the most

favorable circumstances, they seldom obtain other than very

questionable information.

{centre gauche = center left, i.e., moderate left}

It followed from this state of feeling, that the notion we were about

to fall into the hands of the unfortunate daughter of Louis XVI excited

considerable commotion and disgust among us. Though very moderate in my

political antipathies and predilections, I confess to some excitement

in my own case, declaring that if royalty WAS to be my lot, I would

prefer not to ascend any higher on the scale than to become the

property of that excellent princess, Amelie, who then presided in the

Palais Royal, the daughter and sister of a king, but with as little

prospects as desires of becoming a queen in her own person. This wish

of mine was treated as groveling, and even worse than republican, by

the cote droit of our piece, while the cote gauche sneered at it as

manifesting a sneaking regard for station without the spirit to avow

it. Both were mistaken, however; no unworthy sentiments entering into

my decision. Accident had made me acquainted with the virtues of this

estimable woman, and I felt assured that she would treat even a

pocket-handkerchief kindly. This early opinion has been confirmed by

her deportment under very trying and unexpected events. I wish, as I

believe she wishes herself, she had never been a queen.

{daughter of Louis XVI = the dauphine, Marie Therese Charlotte,

Duchesse d'Angouleme, mentioned above; Amelie = Marie Amelie

(1782-1866), daughter of King Ferdinand IV of Naples, sister of King

Francis I of The Two Sicilies--reluctantly became queen in France when

her husband the Duke of Orleans seized the throne from Charles X on

July 31, 1830, and was proclaimed King Louis Philippe of the French}

All our family did not aspire as high as royalty. Some looked forward

to the glories of a banker's daughter's trousseau,--we all understood

that our PRICE would be too high for any of the old nobility,--while

some even fancied that the happiness of traveling in company was

reserved for us before we should be called regularly to enter on the

duties of life. As we were so closely connected, and on the whole were

affectionate as became brothers and sisters, it was the common wish

that we might not be separated, but go together into the same wardrobe,

let it be foreign or domestic, that of prince or plebeian. There were a

few among us who spoke of the Duchesse de Berri as our future mistress;

but the notion prevailed that we should so soon pass into the hands of

a femme de chambre, as to render the selection little desirable. In the

end we wisely and philosophically determined to await the result with

patience, well knowing that we were altogether in the hands of caprice

and fashion.

{Duchesse de Berri = Marie Caroline (1798-1870), wife of Charles

Ferdinand of Artois, Duke of Berry, second son of King Charles X; femme

de chambre = lady's maid}

At length the happy moment arrived when we were to quit the warehouse

of the manufacturer. Let what would happen, this was a source of joy,

inasmuch as we all knew that we could only vegetate while we continued

where we then were, and that too without experiencing the delights of

our former position, with good roots in the earth, a genial sun

shedding its warmth upon our bosom, and balmy airs fanning our cheeks.

We loved change, too, like other people, and had probably seen enough

of vegetation, whether figurative or real, to satisfy us. Our departure

from Picardie took place in June, 1830, and we reached Paris on the

first day of the succeeding month. We went through the formalities of

the custom-houses, or barrieres, the same day, and the next morning we

were all transferred to a celebrated shop that dealt in articles of our

genus. Most of the goods were sent on drays to the magazin, but our

reputation having preceded us, we were honored with a fiacre, making

the journey between the Douane and the shop on the knee of a

confidential commissionaire.

{Picardie = province of France, north of Evreux; barrieres = gates at

the edge of Paris, where local customs duties were collected; magazin =

shop; fiacre = a kind of carriage; Douane = customs house;

confidential commissionaire = special messenger}

Great was the satisfaction of our little party as we first drove down

through the streets of this capital of Europe--the centre of fashion

and the abode of elegance. Our natures had adapted themselves to

circumstances, and we no longer pined for the luxuries of the linum

usitatissimum, but were ready to enter into all the pleasures of our

new existence; which we well understood was to be one of pure parade,

for no handkerchief of our quality was ever employed on any of the more

menial offices of the profession. We might occasionally brush a lady's

cheek, or conceal a blush or a smile, but the usitatissimum had been

left behind us in the fields. The fiacre stopped at the door of a

celebrated perfumer, and the commissionaire, deeming us of too much

value to be left on a carriage seat, took us in her hand while she

negotiated a small affair with its mistress. This was our introduction

to the pleasant association of sweet odors, of which it was to be our

fortune to enjoy in future the most delicate and judicious communion.

We knew very well that things of this sort were considered vulgar,

unless of the purest quality and used with the tact of good society;

but still it was permitted to sprinkle a very little lavender, or

exquisite eau de cologne, on a pocket-handkerchief. The odor of these

two scents, therefore, appeared quite natural to us, and as Madame

Savon never allowed any perfume, or articles (as these things are

technically termed), of inferior quality to pollute her shop, we had no

scruples about inhaling the delightful fragrance that breathed in the

place. Desiree, the commissionaire, could not depart without permitting

her friend, Madame Savon, to feast her eyes on the treasure in her own

hands. The handkerchiefs were unfolded, amidst a hundred dieux! ciels!

and dames! Our fineness and beauty were extolled in a manner that was

perfectly gratifying to the self-esteem of the whole family. Madame

Savon imagined that even her perfumes would be more fragrant in such

company, and she insisted on letting one drop--a single drop--of her

eau de cologne fall on the beautiful texture. I was the happy

handkerchief that was thus favored, and long did I riot in that

delightful odor, which was just strong enough to fill the air with

sensations, rather than impressions of all that is sweet and womanly in

the female wardrobe.

{usitatissimum had been left behind = the species name of linen means

"most useful"; Madame Savon = literally, Mrs. Soap; articles = short

for "articles de Paris" or Parisian specialties; dieux! = dear me!;

ciels! = good heavens!; dames = my oh my!}

CHAPTER III.

Notwithstanding this accidental introduction to one of the nicest

distinctions of good society, and the general exhilaration that

prevailed in our party, I was far from being perfectly happy. To own

the truth, I had left my heart in Picardie. I do not say I was in love;

I am far from certain that there is any precedent for a

pocket-handkerchief's being in love at all, and I am quite sure that

the sensations I experienced were different from those I have since had

frequent occasion to hear described. The circumstances which called

them forth were as follows:

The manufactory in which our family was fabricated was formerly known

as the Chateau de la Rocheaimard, and had been the property of the

Vicomte de la Rocheaimard previously to the revolution that overturned

the throne of Louis XVI. The vicomte and his wife joined the royalists

at Coblentz, and the former, with his only son, Adrien de la

Rocheaimard, or the Chevalier de la Rocheaimard, as he was usually

termed, had joined the allies in their attempted invasion on the soil

of France. The vicomte, a marechal du camp, had fallen in battle, but

the son escaped, and passed his youth in exile; marrying a few years

later, a cousin whose fortunes were at as low an ebb as his own. One

child, Adrienne, was the sole issue of this marriage, having been born

in the year 1810. Both the parents died before the Restoration, leaving

the little girl to the care of her pious grandmother, la vicomtesse,

who survived, in a feeble old age, to descant on the former grandeur of

her house, and to sigh, in common with so many others, for le bon vieux

temps. At the Restoration, there was some difficulty in establishing

the right of the de la Rocheaimards to their share of the indemnity; a

difficulty I never heard explained, but which was probably owing to the

circumstance that there was no one in particular to interest themselves

in the matter, but an old woman of sixty-five and a little girl of

four. Such appellants, unsupported by money, interest, or power, seldom

make out a very strong case for reparation of any sort, in this

righteous world of ours, and had it not been for the goodness of the

dauphine it is probable that the vicomtesse and her grand-daughter

would have been reduced to downright beggary. But the daughter of the

late King got intelligence of the necessities of the two descendants of

Crusaders, and a pension of two thousand francs a year was granted, en

attendant.

{Rocheaimard = both the Chateau and the family are fictitious; marechal

du camp = general commanding a brigade; le bon vieux temps = the good

old days; late King = Louis XVI, guillotined in 1793; en attendant =

for the time being}

Four hundred dollars a year does not appear a large sum, even to the

nouveaux riches of America, but it sufficed to give Adrienne and her

grandmother a comfortable, and even a respectable subsistence in the

provinces. It was impossible for them to inhabit the chateau, now

converted into a workshop and filled with machinery, but lodgings were

procured in its immediate vicinity. Here Madame de la Rocheaimard

whiled away the close of a varied and troubled life; if not in absolute

peace, still not in absolute misery, while her grand-daughter grew into

young womanhood, a miracle of goodness and pious devotion to her sole

surviving parent. The strength of the family tie in France, and its

comparative weakness in America, has been the subject of frequent

comment among travelers. I do not know that all which has been said is

rigidly just, but I am inclined to think that much of it is, and, as I

am now writing to Americans, and of French people, I see no particular

reason why the fact should be concealed. Respect for years, deference

to the authors of their being, and submission to parental authority are

inculcated equally by the morals and the laws of France. The conseilles

de famille is a beautiful and wise provision of the national code, and

aids greatly in maintaining that system of patriarchal rule which lies

at the foundation of the whole social structure. Alas! in the case of

the excellent Adrienne, this conseille de famille was easily assembled,

and possessed perfect unanimity. The wars, the guillotine and exile had

reduced it to two, one of which was despotic in her government, so far

as theory was concerned at least; possibly, at times, a little so in

practice. Still Adrienne, on the whole grew up tolerably happy. She was

taught most that is suitable for a gentlewoman, without being crammed

with superfluous accomplishments, and, aided by the good cure, a man

who remembered her grandfather, had both polished and stored her mind.

Her manners were of the excellent tone that distinguished the good

society of Paris before the revolution, being natural, quiet, simple

and considerate. She seldom laughed, I fear; but her smiles were

sweetness and benevolence itself.

{conseille de famille = council of relatives, supervised by a judge,

that supervised the care of minors in France; cure = priest}

The bleaching grounds of our manufactory were in the old park of the

chateau. Thither Mad. de la Rocheaimard was fond of coming in the fine

mornings of June, for many of the roses and lovely Persian lilacs that

once abounded there still remained. I first saw Adrienne in one of

these visits, the quality of our little family circle attracting her

attention. One of the bleachers, indeed, was an old servant of the

vicomte's, and it was a source of pleasure to him to point out any

thing to the ladies that he thought might prove interesting. This was

the man who so diligently read the Moniteur, giving a religious

credence to all it contained. He fancied no hand so worthy to hold

fabrics of such exquisite fineness as that of Mademoiselle Adrienne,

and it was through his assiduity that I had the honor of being first

placed within the gentle pressure of her beautiful little fingers. This

occurred about a month before our departure for Paris.

Adrienne de la Rocheaimard was then just twenty. Her beauty was of a

character that is not common in France; but which, when it does exist,

is nowhere surpassed. She was slight and delicate in person, of fair

hair and complexion, and with the meekest and most dove-like blue eyes

I ever saw in a female face. Her smile, too, was of so winning and

gentle a nature, as to announce a disposition pregnant with all the

affections. Still it was well understood that Adrienne was not likely

to marry, her birth raising her above all intentions of connecting her

ancient name with mere gold, while her poverty placed an almost

insuperable barrier between her and most of the impoverished young men

of rank whom she occasionally saw. Even the power of the dauphine was

not sufficient to provide Adrienne de la Rocheaimard with a suitable

husband. But of this the charming girl never thought; she lived more

for her grandmother than for herself, and so long as that venerated

relative, almost the only one that remained to her on earth, did not

suffer or repine, she herself could be comparatively happy.

"Dans le bon vieux temps," said the vicomtesse, examining me through

her spectacles, and addressing Georges, who stood, hat in hand, to

hearken to her wisdom; "dans le bon vieux temps, mon ami, the ladies of

the chateau did not want for these things. There were six dozen in my

corbeille, that were almost as fine as this; as for the trousseau, I

believe it had twice the number, but very little inferior."

{dans de bon vieux temps = in the good old days; corbeille = wedding

presents from a bridegroom; trousseau = wedding outfit}

"I remember that madame," Georges always gave his old mistress this

title of honor, "kept many of the beautiful garments of her trousseau

untouched, down to the melancholy period of the revolution."

"It has been a mine of wealth to me, Georges, in behalf of that dear

child. You may remember that this trousseau was kept in the old

armoire, on the right hand side of the little door of my

dressing-room--"

{armoire = cupboard or closet}

"Madame la Vicomtesse will have the goodness to pardon me--it was on

the LEFT hand side of the room--Monsieur's medals were kept in the

opposite armoire."

"Our good Georges is right, Adrienne!--he has a memory! Your

grandfather insisted on keeping his medals in my dressing-room, as he

says. Well, Monsieur Georges, left or right, THERE I left the remains

of my trousseau when I fled from France, and there I found it untouched

on my return. The manufactory had saved the chateau, and the

manufacturers had spared my wardrobe. Its sale, and its materials, have

done much toward rendering that dear child respectable and well clad,

since our return."

I thought the slight color which usually adorned the fair oval cheeks

of Adrienne deepened a little at this remark, and I certainly felt a

little tremor in the hand which held me; but it could not have been

shame, as the sweet girl often alluded to her poverty in a way so

simple and natural, as to prove that she had no false feelings on that

subject. And why should she? Poverty ordinarily causes no such

sensations to those who are conscious of possessing advantages of an

order superior to wealth, and surely a well-educated, well-born,

virtuous girl need not have blushed because estates were torn from her

parents by a political convulsion that had overturned an ancient and

powerful throne.

CHAPTER IV.

From this time, the charming Adrienne frequently visited the bleaching

grounds, always accompanied by her grandmother. The presence of Georges

was an excuse, but to watch the improvement in our appearance was the

reason. Never before had Adrienne seen a fabric as beautiful as our

own, and, as I afterwards discovered, she was laying by a few francs

with the intention of purchasing the piece, and of working and

ornamenting the handkerchiefs, in order to present them to her

benefactress, the dauphine. Mad. de la Rocheaimard was pleased with

this project; it was becoming in a de la Rocheaimard; and they soon

began to speak of it openly in their visits. Fifteen or twenty

napoleons might do it, and the remains of the recovered trousseau would

still produce that sum. It is probable this intention would have been

carried out, but for a severe illness that attacked the dear girl,

during which her life was even despaired of. I had the happiness of

hearing of her gradual recovery, however, before we commenced our

journey, though no more was said of the purchase. Perhaps it was as

well as it was; for, by this time, such a feeling existed in our

extreme cote gauche, that it may be questioned if the handkerchiefs of

that end of the piece would have behaved themselves in the wardrobe of

the dauphine with the discretion and prudence that are expected from

every thing around the person of a princess of her exalted rank and

excellent character. It is true, none of us understood the questions at

issue; but that only made the matter worse; the violence of all

dissensions being very generally in proportion to the ignorance and

consequent confidence of the disputants.

{napoleon = French gold coin worth twenty francs}

I could not but remember Adrienne, as the commissionaire laid us down

before the eyes of the wife of the head of the firm, in the rue de

----. We were carefully examined, and pronounced "parfaits;" still it

was not in the sweet tones, and with the sweeter smiles of the polished

and gentle girl we had left in Picardie. There was a sentiment in HER

admiration that touched all our hearts, even to the most exaggerated

republican among us, for she seemed to go deeper in her examination of

merits than the mere texture and price. She saw her offering in our

beauty, the benevolence of the dauphine in our softness, her own

gratitude in our exquisite fineness, and princely munificence in our

delicacy. In a word, she could enter into the sentiment of a

pocket-handkerchief. Alas! how different was the estimation in which we

were held by Desiree and her employers. With them, it was purely a

question of francs, and we had not been in the magazin five minutes,

when there was a lively dispute whether we were to be put at a certain

number of napoleons, or one napoleon more. A good deal was said about

Mad. la Duchesse, and I found that it was expected that a certain lady

of that rank, one who had enjoyed the extraordinary luck of retaining

her fortune, being of an old and historical family, and who was at the

head of fashion in the faubourg, would become the purchaser. At all

events, it was determined no one should see us until this lady returned

to town, she being at the moment at Rosny, with madame, whence she was

expected to accompany that princess to Dieppe, to come back to her

hotel, in the rue de Bourbon, about the last of October. Here, then,

were we doomed to three months of total seclusion in the heart of the

gayest capital of Europe. It was useless to repine, and we determined

among ourselves to exercise patience in the best manner we could.

{faubourg = neighborhood; Rosny = Chateau of Rosny, country estate of

the Dukes of Berry at Rosny-sur-Seine; Madame = title of Princess Marie

Therese Charlotte, wife of the Dauphin Louis Antoine, heir to Charles X}

Accordingly, we were safely deposited in a particular drawer, along

with a few other favorite articles, that, like our family, were

reserved for the eyes of certain distinguished but absent customers.

These specialites in trade are of frequent occurrence in Paris, and

form a pleasant bond of union between the buyer and seller, which gives

a particular zest to this sort of commerce, and not unfrequently a

particular value to goods. To see that which no one else has seen, and

to own that which no one else can own, are equally agreeable, and

delightfully exclusive. All minds that do not possess the natural

sources of exclusion, are fond of creating them by means of a

subordinate and more artificial character.

{specialites = specialties}

On the whole, I think we enjoyed our new situation, rather than

otherwise. The drawer was never opened, it is true, but that next it

was in constant use, and certain crevices beneath the counter enabled

us to see a little, and to hear more, of what passed in the magazin. We

were in a part of the shop most frequented by ladies, and we overheard

a few tete-a-tetes that were not without amusement. These generally

related to cancans. Paris is a town in which cancans do not usually

flourish, their proper theatre being provincial and trading places,

beyond a question; still there ARE cancans at Paris; for all sorts of

persons frequent that centre of civilization. The only difference is,

that in the social pictures offered by what are called cities, the

cancans are in the strongest light, and in the most conspicuous of the

grouping, whereas in Paris they are kept in shadow, and in the

background. Still there are cancans at Paris; and cancans we overheard,

and precisely in the manner I have related. Did pretty ladies remember

that pocket-handkerchiefs have ears, they might possibly have more

reserve in the indulgence of this extraordinary propensity.

{cancans = scandals (French slang)}

We had been near a month in the drawer, when I recognized a female

voice near us, that I had often heard of late, speaking in a confident

and decided tone, and making allusions that showed she belonged to the

court. I presume her position there was not of the most exalted kind,

yet it was sufficiently so to qualify her, in her own estimation, to

talk politics. "Les ordonnances" were in her mouth constantly, and it

was easy to perceive that she attached the greatest importance to these

ordinances, whatever they were, and fancied a political millennium was

near. The shop was frequented less than usual that day; the next it was

worse still, in the way of business, and the clerks began to talk loud,

also, about les ordonnances. The following morning neither windows nor

doors were opened, and we passed a gloomy time of uncertainty and

conjecture. There were ominous sounds in the streets. Some of us

thought we heard the roar of distant artillery. At length the master

and mistress appeared by themselves in the shop; money and papers were

secured, and the female was just retiring to an inner room, when she

suddenly came back to the counter, opened our drawer, seized us with no

very reverent hands, and, the next thing we knew, the whole twelve of

us were thrust into a trunk upstairs, and buried in Egyptian darkness.

From that moment all traces of what was occurring in the streets of

Paris were lost to us. After all, it is not so very disagreeable to be

only a pocket-handkerchief in a revolution.

{Les ordonnances = four decrees establishing absolute rule, issued by

King Charles X on July 25, 1830, which touched off the July Revolution,

leading to his abdication on July 31, and the installation of the Duke

of Orleans as Louis Philippe I, King of the French--Cooper was living

in Paris during this period, though he returned there from Italy and

Germany a few days after the July Revolution itself, and he was a close

friend of the Marquis de Lafayette who played a major part in the

Revolution and its aftermath; for Cooper and many others, the ultimate

results of the Revolution were a serious disappointment, since the new

King seemed rapidly to become almost as conservative as the old}

Our imprisonment lasted until the following December. As our feelings

had become excited on the questions of the day, as well as those of

other irrational beings around us, we might have passed a most

uncomfortable time in the trunk, but for one circumstance. So great had

been the hurry of our mistress in thus shutting us up, that we had been

crammed in in a way to leave it impossible to say which was the cote

droit, and which the cote gauche. Thus completely deranged as parties,

we took to discussing philosophical matters in general; an occupation

well adapted to a situation that required so great an exercise of

discretion.

One day, when we least expected so great a change, our mistress came in

person, searched several chests, trunks and drawers, and finally

discovered us where she had laid us, with her own hands, near four

months before. It seems that, in her hurry and fright, she had actually

forgotten in what nook we had been concealed. We were smoothed with

care, our political order reestablished, and then we were taken below

and restored to the dignity of the select circle in the drawer already

mentioned. This was like removing to a fashionable square, or living in

a beau quartier of a capital. It was even better than removing from

East Broadway into bona fide, real, unequaled, league-long, eighty feet

wide, Broadway!

{beau quartier = swanky neighborhood; Broadway = in New York City, of

course}

We now had an opportunity of learning some of the great events that had

recently occurred in France, and which still troubled Europe. The

Bourbons were again dethroned, as it was termed, and another Bourbon

seated in their place. It would seem il y a Bourbon et Bourbon. The

result has since shown that "what is bred in the bone will break out in

the flesh." Commerce was at a standstill; our master passed half his

time under arms, as a national guard, in order to keep the

revolutionists from revolutionizing the revolution. The great families

had laid aside their liveries; some of them their coaches; most of them

their arms. Pocket-handkerchiefs of OUR calibre would be thought

decidedly aristocratic; and aristocracy in Paris, just at that moment,

was almost in as bad odor as it is in America, where it ranks as an

eighth deadly sin, though no one seems to know precisely what it means.

In the latter country, an honest development of democracy is certain to

be stigmatized as tainted with this crime. No governor would dare to

pardon it.

{il y a Bourbon et Bourbon = there are Bourbons and Bourbons (i.e.,

they're all the same); "What is bred in the bone...." = a possibly

deliberate misquotation of "It will not out of the flesh that is bred

in the bone" from John Heywood, "Proverbes", Part II, Chapter VIII

(1546)}

The groans over the state of trade were loud and deep among those who

lived by its innocent arts. Still, the holidays were near, and hope

revived. If revolutionized Paris would not buy as the jour de l'an

approached, Paris must have a new dynasty. The police foresaw this,

and it ceased to agitate, in order to bring the republicans into

discredit; men must eat, and trade was permitted to revive a little.

Alas! how little do they who vote, know WHY they vote, or they who dye

their hands in the blood of their kind, why the deed has been done!

{jour de l'an = New Years Day}

The duchesse had not returned to Paris, neither had she emigrated. Like

most of the high nobility, who rightly enough believed that

primogeniture and birth were of the last importance to THEM, she

preferred to show her distaste for the present order of things, by

which the youngest prince of a numerous family had been put upon the

throne of the oldest, by remaining at her chateau. All expectations of

selling us to HER were abandoned, and we were thrown fairly into the

market, on the great principle of liberty and equality. This was as

became a republican reign.

Our prospects were varied daily. The dauphine, madame, and all the de

Rochefoucaulds, de la Tremouilles, de Grammonts, de Rohans, de

Crillons, &c. &c., were out of the question. The royal family were in

England, the Orleans branch excepted, and the high nobility were very

generally on their "high ropes," or, a bouder. As for the bankers,

their reign had not yet fairly commenced. Previously to July, 1830,

this estimable class of citizens had not dared to indulge their native

tastes for extravagance and parade, the grave dignity and high breeding

of a very ancient but impoverished nobility holding them in some

restraint; and, then, THEIR fortunes were still uncertain; the funds

were not firm, and even the honorable and worthy Jacques Lafitte, a man

to ennoble any calling, was shaking in credit. Had we been brought into

the market a twelvemonth later, there is no question that we should

have been caught up within a week, by the wife or daughter of some of

the operatives at the Bourse.

{de Rochefoucaulds, etc. = various French noble families; a bouder =

silent; Jacques Lafitte = French financier (1767-1844) who supported

the 1830 July Revolution; Bourse = stock exchange}

As it was, however, we enjoyed ample leisure for observation and

thought. Again and again were we shown to those who, it was thought,

could not fail to yield to our beauty, but no one would purchase. All

appeared to eschew aristocracy, even in their pocket-handkerchiefs. The

day the fleurs de lys were cut out of the medallions of the treasury,

and the king laid down his arms, I thought our mistress would have had

the hysterics on our account. Little did she understand human nature,

for the nouveaux riches, who are as certain to succeed an old and

displaced class of superiors, as hungry flies to follow flies with full

bellies, would have been much more apt to run into extravagance and

folly, than persons always accustomed to money, and who did not depend

on its exhibition for their importance. A day of deliverance,

notwithstanding, was at hand, which to me seemed like the bridal of a

girl dying to rush into the dissipations of society.

{fleurs de lys = symbol of the Bourbon monarchs}

CHAPTER V.

The holidays were over, without there being any material revival of

trade, when my deliverance unexpectedly occurred. It was in February,

and I do believe our mistress had abandoned the expectation of

disposing of us that season, when I heard a gentle voice speaking near

the counter, one day, in tones which struck me as familiar. It was a

female, of course, and her inquiries were about a piece of cambric

handkerchiefs, which she said had been sent to this shop from a

manufactory in Picardie. There was nothing of the customary alertness

in the manner of our mistress, and, to my surprise, she even showed the

customer one or two pieces of much inferior quality, before we were

produced. The moment I got into the light, however, I recognized the

beautifully turned form and sweet face of Adrienne de la Rocheaimard.

The poor girl was paler and thinner than when I had last seen her,

doubtless, I thought, the effects of her late illness; but I could not

conceal from myself the unpleasant fact that she was much less

expensively clad. I say less expensively clad, though the expression is

scarcely just, for I had never seen her in attire that could properly

be called expensive at all; and, yet, the term mean would be equally

inapplicable to her present appearance. It might be better to say that,

relieved by a faultless, even a fastidious neatness and grace, there

was an air of severe, perhaps of pinched economy in her present attire.

This it was that had prevented our mistress from showing her fabrics as

fine as we, on the first demand. Still I thought there was a slight

flush on the cheek of the poor girl, and a faint smile on her features,

as she instantly recognized us for old acquaintances. For one, I own I

was delighted at finding her soft fingers again brushing over my own

exquisite surface, feeling as if one had been expressly designed for

the other. Then Adrienne hesitated; she appeared desirous of speaking,

and yet abashed. Her color went and came, until a deep rosy blush

settled on each cheek, and her tongue found utterance.

"Would it suit you, madame," she asked, as if dreading a repulse, "to

part with one of these?"

"Your pardon, mademoiselle; handkerchiefs of this quality are seldom

sold singly."

"I feared as much--and yet I have occasion for only ONE. It is to be

worked--if it--"

The words came slowly, and they were spoken with difficulty. At that

last uttered, the sound of the sweet girl's voice died entirely away. I

fear it was the dullness of trade, rather than any considerations of

benevolence, that induced our mistress to depart from her rule.

"The price of each handkerchief is five and twenty francs,

mademoiselle--" she had offered the day before to sell us to the wife

of one of the richest agents de change in Paris, at a napoleon a

piece--"the price is five and twenty francs, if you take the dozen, but

as you appear to wish only ONE, rather than not oblige you, it may be

had for eight and twenty."

{agents de change = stockbrokers; napoleon = gold coin worth twenty

francs}

There was a strange mixture of sorrow and delight in the countenance of

Adrienne; but she did not hesitate, and, attracted by the odor of the

eau de cologne, she instantly pointed me out as the handkerchief she

selected. Our mistress passed her scissors between me and my neighbor

of the cote gauche, and then she seemed instantly to regret her own

precipitation. Before making the final separation from the piece, she

delivered herself of her doubts.

"It is worth another franc, mademoiselle," she said, "to cut a

handkerchief from the CENTRE of the piece."

The pain of Adrienne was now too manifest for concealment. That she

ardently desired the handkerchief was beyond dispute, and yet there

existed some evident obstacle to her wishes.

"I fear I have not so much money with me, madame" she said, pale as

death, for all sense of shame was lost in intense apprehension. Still

her trembling hands did their duty, and her purse was produced. A gold

napoleon promised well, but it had no fellow. Seven more francs

appeared in single pieces. Then two ten-sous were produced; after which

nothing remained but copper. The purse was emptied, and the reticule

rummaged, the whole amounting to just twenty-eight francs seven sous.

{sou = a small coin (5 centimes)--20 sous equal one franc}

"I have no more, madame," said Adrienne, in a faint voice.

The woman, who had been trained in the school of suspicion, looked

intently at the other, for an instant, and then she swept the money

into her drawer, content with having extorted from this poor girl more

than she would have dared to ask of the wife of the agent de change.

Adrienne took me up and glided from the shop, as if she feared her dear

bought prize would yet be torn from her. I confess my own delight was

so great that I did not fully appreciate, at the time, all the hardship

of the case. It was enough to be liberated, to get into the fresh air,

to be about to fulfill my proper destiny. I was tired of that sort of

vegetation in which I neither grew, nor was watered by tears; nor could

I see those stars on which I so much doated, and from which I had

learned a wisdom so profound. The politics, too, were rendering our

family unpleasant; the cote droit was becoming supercilious--it had

always been illogical; while the cote gauche was just beginning to

discover that it had made a revolution for other people. Then it was

happiness itself to be with Adrienne, and when I felt the dear girl

pressing me to her heart, by an act of volition of which

pocket-handkerchiefs are little suspected, I threw up a fold of my

gossamer-like texture, as if the air wafted me, and brushed the first

tear of happiness from her eye that she had shed in months.

{revolution for other people = as he suggests frequently in this story,

Cooper believed that the promise of the July Revolution was betrayed,

and that the new government of King Louis Philippe proved little better

than the old reactionary one of King Charles X; in this he shared the

views of his friend the Marquis de Lafayette, the hero of the American

Revolution, who as head of the French National Guard had been one of

the leaders of the July Revolution in Paris}

The reader may be certain that my imagination was all alive to

conjecture the circumstances which had brought Adrienne de la

Rocheaimard to Paris, and why she had been so assiduous in searching me

out, in particular. Could it be that the grateful girl still intended

to make her offering to the Duchesse de d'Angouleme? Ah! no--that

princess was in exile; while her sister was forming weak plots in

behalf of her son, which a double treachery was about to defeat. I have

already hinted that pocket-handkerchiefs do not receive and communicate

ideas, by means of the organs in use among human beings. They possess a

clairvoyance that is always available under favorable circumstances. In

their case the mesmeritic trance may be said to be ever in existence,

while in the performance of their proper functions. It is only while

crowded into bales, or thrust into drawers for the vulgar purposes of

trade, that this instinct is dormant, a beneficent nature scorning to

exercise her benevolence for any but legitimate objects. I now mean

legitimacy as connected with cause and effect, and nothing political or

dynastic.

{Duchesse d'Angouleme = Marie Therese Charlotte, the Dauphine,

Adrienne's patron; her sister = her sister-in-law Marie Caroline,

Duchesse de Berry, who led an unsuccessful revolt against the new

regime}

By virtue of this power, I had not long been held in the soft hand of

Adrienne, or pressed against her beating heart, without becoming the

master of all her thoughts, as well as her various causes of hope and

fear. This knowledge did not burst upon me at once, it is true, as is

pretended to be the case with certain somnambules, for with me there is

no empiricism--every thing proceeds from cause to effect, and a little

time, with some progressive steps, was necessary to make me fully

acquainted with the whole. The simplest things became the first

apparent, and others followed by a species of magnetic induction, which

I cannot now stop to explain. When this tale is told, I propose to

lecture on the subject, to which all the editors in the country will

receive the usual free tickets, when the world cannot fail of knowing

quite as much, at least, as these meritorious public servants.

{somnambules = sleep walkers; editors = Cooper had very little respect

for the press}

The first fact that I learned, was the very important one that the

vicomtesse had lost all her usual means of support by the late

revolution, and the consequent exile of the dauphine. This blow, so

terrible to the grandmother and her dependent child, had occurred, too,

most inopportunely, as to time. A half year's pension was nearly due at

the moment the great change occurred, and the day of payment arrived

and passed, leaving these two females literally without twenty francs.

Had it not been for the remains of the trousseau, both must have

begged, or perished of want. The crisis called for decision, and

fortunately the old lady, who had already witnessed so many

vicissitudes, had still sufficient energy to direct their proceedings.

Paris was the best place in which to dispose of her effects, and

thither she and Adrienne came, without a moment's delay. The shops were

first tried, but the shops, in the autumn of 1830, offered indifferent

resources for the seller. Valuable effects were there daily sold for a

twentieth part of their original cost, and the vicomtesse saw her

little stores diminish daily; for the Mont de Piete was obliged to

regulate its own proceedings by the received current values of the day.

Old age, vexation, and this last most cruel blow, did not fail of

effecting that which might have been foreseen. The vicomtesse sunk

under this accumulation of misfortunes, and became bed-ridden,

helpless, and querulous. Every thing now devolved on the timid, gentle,

unpracticed Adrienne. All females of her condition, in countries

advanced in civilization like France, look to the resource of imparting

a portion of what they themselves have acquired, to others of their own

sex, in moments of urgent necessity. The possibility of Adrienne's

being compelled to become a governess, or a companion, had long been

kept in view, but the situation of Mad. de la Rocheaimard forbade any

attempt of the sort, for the moment, had the state of the country

rendered it at all probable that a situation could have been procured.

On this fearful exigency, Adrienne had aroused all her energies, and

gone deliberately into the consideration of her circumstances.

{Mont de Piete = traditional term for a municipal pawn shop operated to

help the poor}

Poverty had compelled Mad. de la Rocheaimard to seek the cheapest

respectable lodgings she could find on reaching town. In anticipation

of a long residence, and, for the consideration of a considerable

abatement in price, she had fortunately paid six months' rent in

advance; thus removing from Adrienne the apprehension of having no

place in which to cover her head, for some time to come. These lodgings

were in an entresol of the Place Royale, a perfectly reputable and

private part of the town, and in many respects were highly eligible.

Many of the menial offices, too, were to be performed by the wife of

the porter, according to the bargain, leaving to poor Adrienne,

however, all the care of her grandmother, whose room she seldom

quitted, the duties of nurse and cook, and the still more important

task of finding the means of subsistence.

{entresol = mezzanine, low-ceilinged area between between the first and

second floors}

For quite a month the poor desolate girl contrived to provide for her

grandmother's necessities, by disposing of the different articles of

the trousseau. This store was now nearly exhausted, and she had found a

milliner who gave her a miserable pittance for toiling with her needle

eight or ten hours each day. Adrienne had not lost a moment, but had

begun this system of ill-requited industry long before her money was

exhausted. She foresaw that her grandmother must die, and the great

object of her present existence was to provide for the few remaining

wants of this only relative during the brief time she had yet to live,

and to give her decent and Christian burial. Of her own future lot, the

poor girl thought as little as possible, though fearful glimpses would

obtrude themselves on her uneasy imagination. At first she had employed

a physician; but her means could not pay for his visits, nor did the

situation of her grandmother render them very necessary. He promised to

call occasionally without fee, and, for a short time, he kept his word,

but his benevolence soon wearied of performing offices that really were

not required. By the end of a month, Adrienne saw him no more.

As long as her daily toil seemed to supply her own little wants,

Adrienne was content to watch on, weep on, pray on, in waiting for the

moment she so much dreaded; that which was to sever the last tie she

appeared to possess on earth. It is true she had a few very distant

relatives, but they had emigrated to America, at the commencement of

the revolution of 1789, and all trace of them had long been lost. In

point of fact, the men were dead, and the females were grandmothers

with English names, and were almost ignorant of any such persons as the

de la Rocheaimards. From these Adrienne had nothing to expect. To her,

they were as beings in another planet. But the trousseau was nearly

exhausted, and the stock of ready money was reduced to a single

napoleon, and a little change. It was absolutely necessary to decide on

some new scheme for a temporary subsistence, and that without delay.

Among the valuables of the trousseau was a piece of exquisite lace,

that had never been even worn. The vicomtesse had a pride in looking at

it, for it showed the traces of her former wealth and magnificence, and

she would never consent to part with it. Adrienne had carried it once

to her employer, the milliner, with the intention of disposing of it,

but the price offered was so greatly below what she knew to be the true

value, that she would not sell it. Her own wardrobe, however, was going

fast, nothing disposable remained of her grandmother's, and this piece

of lace must be turned to account in some way. While reflecting on

these dire necessities, Adrienne remembered our family. She knew to

what shop we had been sent in Paris, and she now determined to purchase

one of us, to bestow on the handkerchief selected some of her own

beautiful needle work, to trim it with this lace, and, by the sale, to

raise a sum sufficient for all her grandmother's earthly wants.

Generous souls are usually ardent. Their hopes keep pace with their

wishes, and, as Adrienne had heard that twenty napoleons were sometimes

paid by the wealthy for a single pocket-handkerchief, when thus

decorated, she saw a little treasure in reserve, before her mind's eye.

"I can do the work in two months," she said to herself, "by taking the

time I have used for exercise, and by severe economy; by eating less

myself, and working harder, we can make out to live that time on what

we have."

This was the secret of my purchase, and the true reason why this lovely

girl had literally expended her last sou in making it. The cost had

materially exceeded her expectations, and she could not return home

without disposing of some article she had in her reticule, to supply

the vacuum left in her purse. There would be nothing ready for the

milliner, under two or three days, and there was little in the lodgings

to meet the necessities of her grandmother. Adrienne had taken her way

along the quays, delighted with her acquisition, and was far from the

Mont de Piete before this indispensable duty occurred to her mind. She

then began to look about her for a shop in which she might dispose of

something for the moment. Luckily she was the mistress of a gold

thimble, that had been presented to her by her grandmother, as her very

last birth-day present. It was painful for her to part with it, but, as

it was to supply the wants of that very parent, the sacrifice cost her

less than might otherwise have been the case. Its price had been a

napoleon, and a napoleon, just then, was a mint of money in her eyes.

Besides, she had a silver thimble at home, and a brass one would do for

her work.

Adrienne's necessities had made her acquainted with several jewellers'

shops. To one of these she now proceeded, and, first observing through

the window that no person was in but one of her own sex, the

silversmith's wife, she entered with the greater confidence and

alacrity.

"Madame," she said, in timid tones, for want had not yet made Adrienne

bold or coarse, "I have a thimble to dispose of--could you be induced

to buy it?"

The woman took the thimble and examined it, weighed it, and submitted

its metal to the test of the touchstone. It was a pretty thimble,

though small, or it would not have fitted Adrienne's finger. This fact

struck the woman of the shop, and she cast a suspicious glance at

Adrienne's hand, the whiteness and size of which, however, satisfied

her that the thimble had not been stolen.

{touchstone = a variety of black stone used to test the purity of gold,

by the streak it leaves when rubbed on the stone}

"What do you expect to receive for this thimble, mademoiselle?" asked

the woman, coldly.

"It cost a napoleon, madame, and was made expressly for myself."

"You do not expect to sell it at what it cost?" was the dry answer.

"Perhaps not, madame--I suppose you will look for a profit in selling

it again. I wish you to name the price."

This was said because the delicate ever shrink from affixing a value to

the time and services of others. Adrienne was afraid she might

unintentionally deprive the other of a portion of her just gains. The

woman understood by the timidity and undecided manner of the applicant,

that she had a very unpracticed being to deal with, and she was

emboldened to act accordingly. First taking another look at the pretty

little hand and fingers, to make certain the thimble might not be

reclaimed, when satisfied that it really belonged to her who wished to

dispose of it, she ventured to answer.

"In such times as we had before these vile republicans drove all the

strangers from Paris, and when our commerce was good," she said, "I

might have offered seven francs and a half for that thimble; but, as

things are now, the last sou I can think of giving is five francs."

"The gold is very good, madame," Adrienne observed, in a voice

half-choked, "they told my grandmother the metal alone was worth

thirteen."

"Perhaps, mademoiselle, they might give that much at the mint, for

there they coin money; but, in this shop, no one will give more than

five francs for that thimble."

Had Adrienne been longer in communion with a cold and heartless world,

she would not have submitted to this piece of selfish extortion; but,

inexperienced, and half frightened by the woman's manner, she begged

the pittance offered as a boon, dropped her thimble, and made a hasty

retreat. When the poor girl reached the street, she began to reflect on

what she had done. Five francs would scarcely support her grandmother a

week, with even the wood and wine she had on hand, and she had no more

gold thimbles to sacrifice. A heavy sigh broke from her bosom, and

tears stood in her eyes. But she was wanted at home, and had not the

leisure to reflect on her own mistake.

CHAPTER VI.

Occupation is a blessed relief to the miserable. Of all the ingenious

modes of torture that have ever been invented, that of solitary

confinement is probably the most cruel--the mind feeding on itself with

the rapacity of a cormorant, when the conscience quickens its activity

and feeds its longings. Happily for Adrienne, she had too many positive

cares, to be enabled to waste many minutes either in retrospection, or

in endeavors to conjecture the future. Far--far more happily for

herself, her conscience was clear, for never had a purer mind, or a

gentler spirit dwelt in female breast. Still she could blame her own

oversight, and it was days before her self-upbraidings, for thus

trifling with what she conceived to be the resources of her beloved

grandmother, were driven from her thoughts by the pressure of other and

greater ills.

Were I to last a thousand years, and rise to the dignity of being the

handkerchief that the Grand Turk is said to toss toward his favorite, I

could not forget the interest with which I accompanied Adrienne to the

door of her little apartment, in the entresol. She was in the habit of

hiring little Nathalie, the porter's daughter, to remain with her

grandmother during her own necessary but brief absences, and this girl

was found at the entrance, eager to be relieved.

"Has my grandmother asked for me, Nathalie?" demanded Adrienne,

anxiously, the moment they met.

"Non, mademoiselle; madame has done nothing but sleep, and I was

getting SO tired!"

The sou was given, and the porter's daughter disappeared, leaving

Adrienne alone in the ante-chamber. The furniture of this little

apartment was very respectable, for Madame de la Rocheaimard, besides

paying a pretty fair rent, had hired it just after the revolution, when

the prices had fallen quite half, and the place had, by no means, the

appearance of that poverty which actually reigned within. Adrienne went

through the ante-chamber, which served also as a salle a manger, and

passed a small saloon, into the bed-chamber of her parent. Here her

mind was relieved by finding all right. She gave her grandmother some

nourishment, inquired tenderly as to her wishes, executed several

little necessary offices, and then sat down to work for her own daily

bread; every moment being precious to one so situated. I expected to be

examined--perhaps caressed, fondled, or praised, but no such attention

awaited me. Adrienne had arranged every thing in her own mind, and I

was to be produced only at those extra hours in the morning, when she

had been accustomed to take exercise in the open air. For the moment I

was laid aside, though in a place that enabled me to be a witness of

all that occurred. The day passed in patient toil, on the part of the

poor girl, the only relief she enjoyed being those moments when she was

called on to attend to the wants of her grandmother. A light potage,

with a few grapes and bread, composed her dinner; even of these I

observed that she laid aside nearly half for the succeeding day, doubts

of her having the means of supporting her parent until the handkerchief

was completed beginning to beset her mind. It was these painful and

obtrusive doubts that most distressed the dear girl, now, for the

expectation of reaping a reward comparatively brilliant, from the

ingenious device to repair her means on which she had fallen, was

strong within her. Poor child! her misgivings were the overflowings of

a tender heart, while her hopes partook of the sanguine character of

youth and inexperience!

{salle a manger = dining room; salon = living room; potage = soup}

My turn came the following morning. It was now spring, and this is a

season of natural delights at Paris. We were already in April, and the

flowers had begun to shed their fragrance on the air, and to brighten

the aspect of the public gardens. Mad. de la Rocheaimard usually slept

the soundest at this hour, and, hitherto, Adrienne had not hesitated to

leave her, while she went herself to the nearest public promenade, to

breathe the pure air and to gain strength for the day. In future, she

was to deny herself this sweet gratification. It was such a sacrifice,

as the innocent and virtuous, and I may add the tasteful, who are

cooped up amid the unnatural restraints of a town, will best know how

to appreciate. Still it was made without a murmur, though not without a

sigh.

When Adrienne laid me on the frame where I was to be ornamented by her

own pretty hands, she regarded me with a look of delight, nay, even of

affection, that I shall never forget. As yet she felt none of the

malign consequences of the self-denial she was about to exert. If not

blooming, her cheeks still retained some of their native color, and her

eye, thoughtful and even sad, was not yet anxious and sunken. She was

pleased with her purchase, and she contemplated prodigies in the way of

results. Adrienne was unusually skillful with the needle, and her taste

had been so highly cultivated, as to make her a perfect mistress of all

the proprieties of patterns. At the time it was thought of making an

offering of all our family to the dauphine, the idea of working the

handkerchiefs was entertained, and some designs of exquisite beauty and

neatness had been prepared. They were not simple, vulgar, unmeaning

ornaments, such as the uncultivated seize upon with avidity on account

of their florid appearance, but well devised drawings, that were

replete with taste and thought, and afforded some apology for the

otherwise senseless luxury contemplated, by aiding in refining the

imagination, and cultivating the intellect. She had chosen one of the

simplest and most beautiful of these designs, intending to transfer it

to my face, by means of the needle.

The first stitch was made just as the clocks were striking the hour of

five, on the morning of the fourteenth of April, 1831. The last was

drawn that day two months, precisely as the same clocks struck twelve.

For four hours Adrienne sat bending over her toil, deeply engrossed in

the occupation, and flattering herself with the fruits of her success.

I learned much of the excellent child's true character in these brief

hours. Her mind wandered over her hopes and fears, recurring to her

other labors, and the prices she received for occupations so wearying

and slavish. By the milliner, she was paid merely as a common

sewing-girl, though her neatness, skill and taste might well have

entitled her to double wages. A franc a day was the usual price for

girls of an inferior caste, and out of this they were expected to find

their own lodgings and food. But the poor revolution had still a great

deal of private misery to answer for, in the way of reduced wages.

Those who live on the frivolities of mankind, or, what is the same

thing, their luxuries, have two sets of victims to plunder--the

consumer, and the real producer, or the operative. This is true where

men are employed, but much truer in the case of females. The last are

usually so helpless, that they often cling to oppression and wrong,

rather than submit to be cast entirely upon the world. The marchande de

mode who employed Adrienne was as rusee as a politician who had

followed all the tergiversations of Gallic policy, since the year '89.

She was fully aware of what a prize she possessed in the unpracticed

girl, and she felt the importance of keeping her in ignorance of her

own value. By paying the franc, it might give her assistant premature

notions of her own importance; but, by bringing her down to fifteen

sous, humility could be inculcated, and the chance of keeping her

doubled. This, which would have defeated a bargain with any common

couturiere, succeeded perfectly with Adrienne. She received her fifteen

sous with humble thankfulness, in constant apprehension of losing even

that miserable pittance. Nor would her employer consent to let her work

by the piece, at which the dear child might have earned at least thirty

sous, for she discovered that she had to deal with a person of

conscience, and that in no mode could as much be possibly extracted

from the assistant, as by confiding to her own honor. At nine each day

she was to breakfast. At a quarter past nine, precisely, to commence

work for her employer; at one, she had a remission of half an hour; and

at six, she became her own mistress.

{marchande de mode = milliner; rusee = crafty; couturiere = seamstress}

"I put confidence in you, mademoiselle," said the marchande de mode,

"and leave you to yourself entirely. You will bring home the work as it

is finished, and your money will be always ready. Should your

grandmother occupy more of your time than common, on any occasion, you

can make it up of yourself, by working a little earlier, or a little

later; or, once in a while, you can throw in a day, to make up for lost

time. You would not do as well at piecework, and I wish to deal

generously by you. When certain things are wanted in a hurry, you will

not mind working an hour or two beyond time, and I will always find

lights with the greatest pleasure. Permit me to advise you to take the

intermissions as much as possible for your attentions to your

grandmother, who must be attended to properly. Si--the care of our

parents is one of our most solemn duties! Adieu, mademoiselle; au

revoir!"

{find lights = supply candles; si = yes indeed}

This was one of the speeches of the marchande de mode to Adrienne, and

the dear girl repeated it in her mind, as she sat at work on me,

without the slightest distrust of the heartless selfishness it so ill

concealed. On fifteen sous she found she could live without encroaching

on the little stock set apart for the support of her grandmother, and

she was content. Alas! The poor girl had not entered into any

calculation of the expense of lodgings, of fuel, of clothes, of health

impaired, and as for any resources for illness or accidents, she was

totally without them. Still Adrienne thought herself the obliged party,

in times as critical as those which then hung over France, in being

permitted to toil for a sum that would barely supply a grisette,

accustomed all her life to privations, with the coarsest necessaries.

{grisette = working-class girl}

I have little to say of the succeeding fortnight. Mad. De la

Rocheaimard gradually grew feebler, but she might still live months. No

one could tell, and Adrienne hoped she would never die. Happily, her

real wants were few; though her appetite was capricious, and her temper

querulous. Love for her grandchild, however, shone in all she said and

did, and so long as she was loved by this, the only being on earth she

had ever been taught to love herself, Adrienne would not think an

instant of the ills caused by the infirmities of age. She husbanded her

money, with the utmost frugality, and contrived to save even a few sous

daily, out of her own wages, to add to her grandmother's stock. This

she could not have done, but for the circumstance of there being so

much in the house of their early stores, to help eke out the supplies

of the moment. But, at the end of a fortnight, Adrienne found herself

reduced to her last franc, including all her own savings. Something

must be done, and that without delay, or Madame de la Rocheaimard would

be without the means of support.

By this time Adrienne had little to dispose of, except the lace. This

exquisite piece of human ingenuity had originally cost five louis d'or,

and Adrienne had once shown it to her employer, who had generously

offered to give two napoleons for it. But the lace must be kept for my

gala dress, and it was hoped that it would bring at least its original

cost when properly bestowed as an ornament on a fabric of my quality.

There was the silver thimble, and that had cost five francs. Adrienne

sent for the porter's daughter, and she went forth to dispose of this,

almost the only article of luxury that remained to her.

{louis d'or = gold coin worth 20 francs}

"Un de, ma bonne demoiselle!" exclaimed the woman to whom the thimble

was offered for sale; "this is so common an article as scarcely to

command any price. I will give thirty sous, notwithstanding."

{Un de.... = A thimble, young lady!}

Adrienne had made her calculations, as she fancied, with some attention

to the ways of the world. Bitter experience was teaching her severe

lessons, and she felt the necessity of paying more attention than had

been her wont to the practices of men. She had hoped to receive three

francs for her thimble, which was quite new, and which, being pretty,

was cheap at five, as sold in the shops. She ventured, therefore, to

express as much to the woman in question.

"Three francs, Mademoiselle!" exclaimed the other--"Jamais, since the

three days! All our commerce was then destroyed, and no one would think

of giving such a price. If I get three for it myself I shall be too

happy. Cependant, as the thimble is pretty, and the metal looks good,

we will say five and thirty sous, and have no more words about it."

{Jamais = never; three days = the three days of the July Revolution;

Cependant = nevertheless}

Adrienne sighed, and then she received the money and returned home. Two

hours later the woman of the shop met with an idle customer who had

more money than discretion, and she sold this very thimble for six

francs, under the plea that it was a new fashion that had sprung out of

the Revolution of July. That illustrious event, however, produced other

results that were quite as hard to be reduced to the known connection

between cause and effect as this.

Adrienne found that by using the wine which still remained, as well as

some sugar and arrowroot, her grandmother could be made comfortable for

just ten sous a day. She had been able to save of her own wages three,

and here, then, were the means of maintaining Madame de la Rocheaimard,

including the franc on hand, for just a week longer. To do this,

however, some little extra economy would be necessary. Adrienne had

conscientiously taken the time used to sell the thimble from her

morning's work on me. As she sat down, on her return, she went over

these calculations in her mind, and when they were ended, she cast a

look at her work, as if to calculate its duration by what she had so

far finished. Her eye assured her that not more than one fourth of her

labor was, as yet, completed. Could she get over the next six weeks,

however, she would be comparatively rich, and, as her lease would be

out in two months, she determined to get cheaper lodgings in the

country, remove her grandmother, purchase another handkerchief--if

possible one of my family--and while she lived on the fruits of her

present labors, to earn the means for a still more remote day. It is

true, she had no more lace with which to decorate another handkerchief,

but the sale of this would supply the money to purchase anew, and in

this way the simple minded girl saw no reason why she might not

continue on as long as health and strength would allow--at least as

long as her grandmother lived.

Hope is as blessed a provision for the poor and unhappy as occupation.

While oppressed with present ills they struggle to obtain a fancied

existence under happier auspices, furnishing a healthful and important

lesson to man, that never ceases to remind him of a future that is to

repair every wrong, apply a balm to every wound, if he will only make a

timely provision for its wants.

Again did Adrienne resume her customary round of duties. Four hours

each morning were devoted to me. Then followed the frugal breakfast,

when her commoner toil for the milliner succeeded. The rest of the day

was occupied with this latter work, for which she received the

customary fifteen sous. When she retired at night, which the ailings

and complaints of her grandmother seldom permitted before eleven, it

was with a sense of weariness that began to destroy sleep; still the

dear girl thought herself happy, for I more than equaled her

expectations, and she had latterly worked on me with so much zeal as to

have literally thrown the fruits of two weeks' work into one.

But the few francs Adrienne possessed diminished with alarming

rapidity. She began to calculate her ways and means once more, and this

was no longer done as readily as before. Her own wardrobe would not

bear any drain upon it. Early in the indisposition of her grandmother,

all of THAT had been sold which she could spare; for, with the

disinterestedness of her nature, when sacrifices became necessary her

first thoughts were of her own little stock of clothes. Of jewelry she

never had been the mistress of much, though the vicomtesse had managed

to save a few relics of her own ancient magnificence. Nevertheless,

they were articles of but little value, the days of her exile having

made many demands on all such resources.

It happened, one evening when Adrienne was receiving her wages from the

milliner, that the poor girl overheard a discourse that proved she was

not paid at the rate at which others were remunerated. Her eyes told

her that her own work was the neatest in the shop, and she also saw

that she did more than any other girl employed by the same person. As

she knew her own expertness with the needle, this did not surprise her;

but she felt some wonder that more and better work should produce the

least reward. Little did she understand the artifices of the selfish

and calculating, one of the most familiar of their frauds being to

conceal from the skillful their own success, lest it should command a

price in proportion to its claims. The milliner heard Adrienne's

lady-like and gentle remonstrance with alarm, and she felt that she was

in danger of losing a prize. But two expedients suggested themselves;

to offer a higher price, or to undervalue the services she was so

fearful of losing. Her practiced policy, as well as her selfishness,

counseled her to try the latter expedient first.

"You amaze me, mademoiselle," she answered, when Adrienne, trembling at

her own resolution, ceased speaking. "I was thinking myself whether I

could afford to pay you fifteen sous, when so many young women who have

been regularly brought up to the business are willing to work for less.

I am afraid we must part, unless you can consent to receive twelve sous

in future."

Adrienne stood aghast. The very mirror of truth herself, she could not

imagine that any one--least of all any woman--could be so false and

cruel as to practice the artifice to which the milliner had resorted;

and, here, just as she saw a way opened by which she might support both

her grandmother and herself until the handkerchief was completed, a

change threatened her, by which she was to be left altogether without

food. Still her conscience was so tender that she even doubted the

propriety of accepting her old wages were she really incompetent to

earn them.

"I had hoped, madame," she said, the color coming and going on cheeks

that were now usually pale--"I had hoped, madame, that you found my

work profitable. Surely, surely I bring home as much at night as any

other demoiselle you employ."

"In that there is not much difference, I allow, mademoiselle; but you

can imagine that work done by one accustomed to the art is more likely

to please customers than work done by one who has been educated as a

lady. Cependant, I will not throw you off, as I know that your poor

dear grandmother--"

"Si--si," eagerly interrupted Adrienne, trembling from head to foot

with apprehension.

"I know it all, mademoiselle, and the dear old lady shall not suffer;

you shall both be made happy again on fifteen. To ease your mind,

mademoiselle, I am willing to make a written contract for a year; at

that rate, too, to put your heart at ease."

"Non--non--non," murmured Adrienne, happy and grateful for the moment,

but unwilling to defeat her own plans for the future. "Thank you, thank

you, madame; to-morrow you shall see what I can do."

And Adrienne toiled the succeeding day, not only until her fingers and

body ached, but, until her very heart ached. Poor child! Little did she

think that she was establishing precedents against herself, by which

further and destructive exertions might be required. But the

apprehension of losing the pittance she actually received, and thereby

blasting all hopes from me, was constantly before her mind, quickening

her hand and sustaining her body.

During all this time Madame de la Rocheaimard continued slowly to sink.

Old age, disappointments and poverty were working out their usual

results, and death was near to close the scene. So gradual were the

changes, however, that Adrienne did not note them, and accustomed as

she had been to the existence, the presence, the love of this one

being, and of this being only, to her the final separation scarce

seemed within the bounds of possibility. Surely every thing around the

human family inculcates the doctrine of the mysterious future, and the

necessity of living principally that they be prepared to die. All they

produce perishes, all they imagine perishes, as does all they love. The

union of two beings may be so engrossing, in their eyes, have lasted so

long, and embraced so many ties, as to seem indissoluble; it is all

seeming; the hour will infallibly come when the past becomes as

nothing, except as it has opened the way to the future.

Adrienne at length, by dint of excessive toil, by working deep into the

nights, by stinting herself of food, and by means of having disposed of

the last article with which she could possibly part, had managed to

support her grandmother and herself, until she saw me so far done as to

be within another day's work of completion. At such a moment as this

all feeling of vanity is out of the question. I was certainly very

beautiful. A neater, a more tasteful, a finer, or a more exquisitely

laced handkerchief, did not exist within the walls of Paris. In all

that she figured to herself, as related to my appearance, the end

justified her brightest expectations; but, as that end drew near, she

felt how insufficient were human results to meet the desires of human

hopes. Now that her painful and exhausting toil was nearly over, she

did not experience the happiness she had anticipated. The fault was not

in me; but in herself. Hope had exhausted her spirit, and as if merely

to teach the vanity of the wishes of men, a near approach to the object

that had seemed so desirable in the distance, had stripped off the mask

and left the real countenance exposed. There was nothing unusual in

this; it was merely following out a known law of nature.

CHAPTER VII.

The morning of the 14th June arrived. Paris is then at its loveliest

season. The gardens in particular are worthy of the capital of Europe,

and they are open to all who can manage to make a decent appearance.

Adrienne's hotel had a little garden in the rear, and she sat at her

window endeavoring to breathe the balmy odors that arose from it. Enter

it she could not. It was the property, or devoted to the uses, of the

occupant of the rez de chaussee. Still she might look at it as often as

she dared to raise her eyes from her needle. The poor girl was not what

she had been two months before. The handkerchief wanted but a few hours

of being finished, it is true, but the pale cheeks, the hollow eyes and

the anxious look, proved at what a sacrifice of health and physical

force I had become what I was. As I had grown in beauty, the hand that

ornamented me had wasted, and when I looked up to catch the smile of

approbation, it was found to be care worn and melancholy. Still the

birds did not sing the less sweetly, for Paris is full of birds, the

roses were as fragrant, and the verdure was as deep as ever. Nature

does not stop to lament over any single victim of human society. When

misery is the deepest, there is something awful in this perpetual and

smiling round of natural movements. It teaches profoundly the

insignificance of the atoms of creation.

{rez de chaussee = ground floor}

Adrienne had risen earlier than common, even, this morning, determined

to get through with her task by noon, for she was actually sewing on

the lace, and her impatience would not permit her to resume the work of

the milliner that day, at least. For the last month she had literally

lived on dry bread herself; at first with a few grapes to give her

appetite a little gratification, but toward the last, on nothing but

bread and water. She had not suffered so much from a want of food,

however, as from a want of air and exercise; from unremitting, wasting

toil at a sedentary occupation, from hope deferred and from sleepless

nights. Then she wanted the cheering association of sympathy. She was

strictly alone; with the exception of her short interviews with the

milliner, she conversed with no one. Her grandmother slept most of the

time, and when she did speak, it was with the querulousness of disease,

and not in the tones of affection. This was hardest of all to bear; but

Adrienne did bear up under all, flattering herself that when she could

remove Mad. de la Rocheaimard into the country, her grandmother would

revive and become as fond of her as ever. She toiled on, therefore,

though she could not altogether suppress her tears. Under her painful

and pressing circumstances, the poor girl felt her deepest affliction

to be that she had not time to pray. Her work, now that she had nothing

to expect from the milliner, could not be laid aside for a moment,

though her soul did pour out its longings as she sat plying her needle.

Fortunately, Madame de la Rocheaimard was easy and tranquil the whole

of the last morning. Although nearly exhausted by her toil and the want

of food, for Adrienne had eaten her last morsel, half a roll, at

breakfast, she continued to toil; but the work was nearly done, and the

dear girl's needle fairly flew. Of a sudden she dropped me in her lap

and burst into a flood of tears. Her sobs were hysterical, and I felt

afraid she would faint. A glass of water, however, restored her, and

then this outpouring of an exhausted nature was suppressed. I was

completed! At that instant, if not the richest, I was probably the

neatest and most tasteful handkerchief in Paris. At this critical

moment, Desiree, the commissionaire, entered the room.

From the moment that Adrienne had purchased me, this artful woman had

never lost sight of the intended victim. By means of an occasional

bribe to little Nathalie, she ascertained the precise progress of the

work, and learning that I should probably be ready for sale that very

morning, under the pretence of hiring the apartment, she was shown into

my important presence. A brief apology explained all, and Adrienne

civilly showed her little rooms.

"When does your lease end, mademoiselle?" demanded Desiree, carelessly.

"Next week, madame. I intend to remove to the country with my

grandmother the beginning of the week."

"You will do very right; no one that has the means should stay in Paris

after June. Dieu! What a beautiful handkerchief! Surely--surely--this

is not your work, mademoiselle?"

Adrienne simply answered in the affirmative, and then the

commissionaire's admiration was redoubled. Glancing her eye round the

room, as if to ascertain the probabilities, the woman inquired if the

handkerchief was ordered. Adrienne blushed, but shaking off the

transient feeling of shame, she stated that it was for sale.

"I know a lady who would buy this--a marchande de mode, a friend of

mine, who gives the highest prices that are ever paid for such

articles--for to tell you the truth certain Russian princesses employ

her in all these little matters. Have you thought of your price,

mademoiselle?"

Adrienne's bloom had actually returned, with this unexpected gleam of

hope, for the affair of disposing of me had always appeared awful in

her imagination. She owned the truth frankly, and said that she had not

made herself acquainted with the prices of such things, except as she

had understood what affluent ladies paid for them.

"Ah! that is a different matter," said Desiree, coldly. "These ladies

pay far more than a thing is worth. Now you paid ten francs for the

handkerchief itself."

"Twenty-eight," answered Adrienne, trembling.

"Twenty-eight! mademoiselle, they deceived you shamefully. Ten would

have been dear in the present absence of strangers from Paris. No, call

THAT ten. This lace would probably bring a napoleon--yes, I think it

might bring a napoleon."

Adrienne's heart sunk within her. She had supposed it to be worth at

least five times as much.

"That makes thirty francs," continued Desiree coldly; "and now for the

work. You must have been a fortnight doing all this pretty work."

"Two months, madame," said Adrienne, faintly.

"Two months! Ah! you are not accustomed to this sort of work and are

not adroit, perhaps."

"I worked only in the mornings and late at night; but still think I

worked full hours."

"Yes, you worked when sleepy. Call it a month, then. Thirty days at ten

sous a day make fifteen francs. Ten for the handkerchief, twenty for

the lace, and fifteen for the work, make forty-five francs--parole

d'honneur, it does come to a pretty price for a handkerchief. Si, we

must ask forty-five francs for it, and then we can always abate the

five francs, and take two napoleons."

{parole d'honneur = word of honor, upon my word!}

Adrienne felt sick at heart. Want of nourishment had lessened her

energies, and here came a blow to all her golden visions that was near

overcoming her. She knew that handkerchiefs similar to this frequently

sold for twenty napoleons in the shops, but she did not know how much

the cupidity of trade extracted from the silly and vain in the way of

sheer contributions to avarice. It is probable the unfortunate young

lady would have lost her consciousness, under the weight of this blow,

had it not been for the sound of her grandmother's feeble voice calling

her to the bedside. This was a summons that Adrienne never disregarded,

and, for the moment, she forgot her causes of grief.

"My poor Adrienne," whispered Madame de la Rocheaimard in a tone of

tenderness that her granddaughter had not heard for some weeks, "my

poor Adrienne, the hour is near when we must part--"

"Grand-mamma!--dearest grand-mamma!"

"Nay, love, God wills it. I am old, and I feel death upon me. It is

happy that he comes so gently, and when I am so well prepared to meet

him. The grave has views, that no other scene offers, Adrienne! Noble

blood and ancient renown are as nothing compared to God's mercy and

forgiveness. Pardon me if I have ever taught thy simple heart to dwell

on vanities; but it was a fault of the age. This world is all vanity,

and I can now see it when it is too late. Do not let MY fault be THY

fault, child of my love. Kiss me, Adrienne, pray for my soul when all

is over."

"Yes, dearest, dearest grand-mamma, thou know'st I will."

"Thou must part with the rest of the trousseau to make thyself

comfortable when I am gone."

"I will do as thou wishest, dearest grand-mamma."

"Perhaps it will raise enough to purchase thee four or five hundred

francs of rentes, on which thou may'st live with frugality."

{rentes = annuity, yearly income}

"Perhaps it will, grand-mamma."

"Thou wilt not sell the thimble--THAT thou wilt keep to remember me."

Adrienne bowed her head and groaned. Then her grandmother desired her

to send for a priest, and her thoughts took another direction. It was

fortunate they did, for the spirit of the girl could not have endured

more.

That night Madame de la Rocheaimard died, the wife of the porter, the

bon cure, and Adrienne alone being present. Her last words were a

benediction on the fair and gentle being who had so faithfully and

tenderly nursed her in old age. When all was over, and the body was

laid out, Adrienne asked to be left alone with it. Living or dead, her

grandmother could never be an object of dread to her, and there were

few disposed to watch. In the course of the night, Adrienne even caught

a little sleep, a tribute that nature imperiously demanded of her

weakness.

{bon cure = worthy parish priest}

The following day was one of anguish and embarrassment. The physician,

who always inspects the dead in France, came to make his report. The

arrangements were to be ordered for the funeral. Fortunately, as

Adrienne then thought, Desiree appeared in the course of the morning,

as one who came in consequence of having been present at so much of the

scene of the preceding day. In her character of a commissionaire she

offered her services, and Adrienne, unaccustomed to act for herself in

such offices, was fain to accept them. She received an order, or rather

an answer to a suggestion of her own, and hurried off to give the

necessary directions. Adrienne was now left alone again with the body

of her deceased grandmother. As soon as the excitement ceased, she

began to feel languid, and she became sensible of her own bodily wants.

Food of no sort had passed her lips in more than thirty hours, and her

last meal had been a scanty breakfast of dry bread. As the faintness of

hunger came over her, Adrienne felt for her purse with the intention of

sending Nathalie to a neighboring baker's, when the truth flashed upon

her, in its dreadful reality. She had not a liard. Her last sou had

furnished the breakfast of the preceding day. A sickness like that of

death came over her, when, casting her eyes around her in despair, they

fell on the little table that usually held the nourishment prepared for

her grandmother. A little arrowroot, and a light potage, that contained

bread, still remained. Although it was all that seemed to separate the

girl from death, she hesitated about using it. There was an appearance

of sacrilege, in her eyes, in the act of appropriating these things to

herself. A moment's reflection, however, brought her to a truer state

of mind, and then she felt it to be a duty to that dear parent herself,

to renew her own strength, in order to discharge her duty to the dead.

She ate, therefore, though it was with a species of holy reverence. Her

strength was renewed, and she was enabled to relieve her soul by prayer.

{liard = half-farthing, the tiniest of coins}

"Mademoiselle will have the goodness to give me ten francs," said

Desiree, on her return; "I have ordered every thing that is proper, but

money is wanting to pay for some little articles that will soon come."

"I have no money, Desiree--not even a sou."

"No money, mademoiselle? In the name of heaven, how are we to bury your

grandmother?"

"The handkerchief--"

Desiree shook her head, and saw that she must countermand most of the

orders. Still she was human, and she was a female. She could not

altogether desert one so helpless, in a moment of such extreme

distress. She reflected on the matter for a minute or two, and opened

her mind.

"This handkerchief might sell for forty-five francs, mademoiselle," she

said, "and I will pay that much for it myself, and will charge nothing

for my services to-day. Your dear grandmother must have Christian

burial, that is certain, and poor enough will that be which is had for

two napoleons. What say you, mademoiselle--will you accept the forty

five francs, or would you prefer seeing the marchande de mode?"

"I can see no one now, Desiree. Give me the money, and do honor to the

remains of my dear, dear grandmother."

Adrienne said this with her hands resting on her lap in quiescent

despair. Her eyes were hollow and vacant, her cheeks bloodless, her

mind almost as helpless as that of an infant. Desiree laid down two

napoleons, keeping the five francs to pay for some necessaries, and

then she took me in her hands, as if to ascertain whether she had done

too much. Satisfied on this head, I was carefully replaced in the

basket, when the commissionaire went out again, on her errands,

honorably disposed to be useful. Still she did not deem it necessary to

conceal her employer's poverty, which was soon divulged to the

porteress, and by her to the bourgeois.

{bourgeois = towns-people, neighbors}

Adrienne had now the means of purchasing food, but, ignorant how much

might be demanded on behalf of the approaching ceremony, she

religiously adhered to the use of dry bread. When Desiree returned in

the evening, she told the poor girl that the convoi was arranged for

the following morning, that she had ordered all in the most economical

way, but that thirty-five francs were the lowest sou for which the

funeral could be had. Adrienne counted out the money, and then found

herself the mistress of just FOUR FRANCS TEN SOUS. When Desiree took

her leave for the night, she placed me in her basket, and carried me to

her own lodgings, in virtue of her purchase.

{convoi = funeral; lowest sou = cheapest price}

I was laid upon a table where I could look through an open window, up

at the void of heaven. It was glittering with those bright stars which

the astronomers tell us are suns of other systems, and the scene

gradually drew me to reflections on that eternity which is before us.

My feelings got to be gradually soothed, as I remembered the moment of

time that all are required to endure injustice and wrongs on earth.

Some such reflections are necessary to induce us to submit to the

mysterious reign of Providence, whose decrees so often seem unequal,

and whose designs are so inscrutable. By remembering what a speck is

time, as compared with eternity, and that "God chasteneth those he

loveth," the ills of life may be borne, even with joy.

The manner in which Desiree disposed of me, shall be related in another

number.

{another number = in the Graham's Magazine periodical version, not

divided into chapters, this paragraph closed the first of the four

installments in which the story was printed; in later book versions it

was changed to read "in the next chapter"}

CHAPTER VIII.

The reader is not to infer that Desiree was unusually mercenary. That

she was a little addicted to this weakness, is true--who ever knew a

commissionaire that was not? But she had her moments of benevolence, as

well as others, and had really made some sacrifice of her time, and

consequently of her interests, in order to serve Adrienne in her

distress. As for the purchase of myself, that was in the way of her

commerce; and it is seldom, indeed, that philanthropy can overcome the

habits of trade.

Desiree was not wholly without means, and she was in no hurry to reap

the benefit of her purchase. I remained in her possession, according to

my calculation, some two or three years before she ever took me out of

the drawer in which I had been deposited for safe keeping. I was

considered a species of corps de reserve. At the end of that period,

however, her thoughts recurred to her treasure, and an occasion soon

offered for turning me to account. I was put into the reticule, and

carried about, in readiness for any suitable bargain that might turn up.

{corps de reserve = reserve corps; reticule = a large pocketbook}

One day Desiree and I were on the Boulevards Italiens together, when a

figure caught the commissionaire's eye that sent her across the street

in a great hurry. I scarcely know how to describe this person, who, to

my simple eyes, had the appearance of a colonel of the late Royal

Guards, or, at least, of an attache of one of the northern legations.

He was dressed in the height of the latest fashion, as well as he knew

how to be; wore terrible moustaches, and had a rare provision of rings,

eye-glasses, watch-guards, chains, &c.

{Boulevards Italiens = a fashionable Paris street; attache = a

diplomat--European diplomats at this period often wore uniforms}

"Bon jour, monsieur," exclaimed Desiree, in haste, "parole d' honneur,

I scarcely knew you! I have been waiting for your return from Lyons

with the most lively impatience, for, to tell you the truth, I have the

greatest bijou for your American ladies that ever came out of a

bleaching ground--un mouchoir de poche."

{bijou = jewel; mouchoir de poche = pocket handkerchief}

"Doucement--doucement, ma bonne," interrupted the other, observing that

the woman was about to exhibit me on the open Boulevards, an expose for

which he had no longings, "you can bring it to my lodgings--"

{doucement... = not so fast, my good woman; expose = public display}

"Rue de Clery, numero cent vingt--"

{Rue de Clery... = Clery Street, number one twenty}

"Not at all, my good Desiree. You must know I have transacted all my

ordinary business--made my purchases, and am off for New York in the

next packet--"

{packet = ship sailing on a fixed schedule}

"Mais, le malle, monsieur?"

{Mais, le malle... = But, what about your trunk, sir?}

"Yes, the trunk will have a corner in it for any thing particular, as

you say. I shall go to court this evening, to a great ball, Madame la

Marquise de Dolomien and the Aide de Camp de Service having just

notified me that I am invited. To be frank with you, Desiree, I am

lodging in la Rue de la Paix, and appear, just now, as a mere traveler.

You will inquire for le Colonel Silky, when you call."

{Aide de Camp de Service = duty officer of the French royal court}

"Le Colonel Silky!" repeated Desiree with a look of admiration, a

little mingled with contempt.

"De la garde nationale Americaine," answered Mr. Silky, smiling. He

then gave the woman his new address, and appointed an hour to see her.

{De la garde nationale Americaine = of the American national

guard--Cooper is here satirizing the pretensions and gaudy uniforms of

civilians holding nominal commissions as "Colonels" of American state

militias}

Desiree was punctual to a minute. The porter, the garcons, the

bourgeois, all knew le Colonel Silky, who was now a great man, wore

moustaches, and went to court--as the court was. In a minute the

commissionaire was in the colonel's ante-chamber. This distinguished

officer had a method in his madness. He was not accustomed to keeping a

body servant, and, as his aim was to make a fortune, will ye nill ye,

he managed, even now, in his hours of pride and self-indulgence, to get

along without one. It was not many moments, therefore, before he came

out and ushered Desiree himself into his salon; a room of ten feet by

fourteen, with a carpet that covered just eight feet by six, in its

centre. Now that they were alone, in this snuggery, which seemed barely

large enough to contain so great a man's moustaches, the parties

understood each other without unnecessary phrases, and I was, at once,

produced.

{as the court was = the Royal Court of King Louis Philippe prided

itself on its simplicity and informality; garcons, bourgeois = waiters,

neighbors; salon = living room}

Colonel Silky was evidently struck with my appearance. An officer of

his readiness and practice saw at once that I might be made to diminish

no small part of the ways and means of his present campaign, and

precisely in proportion as he admired me, he began to look cold and

indifferent. This management could not deceive me, my clairvoyance

defying any such artifices; but it had a sensible effect on Desiree,

who, happening very much to want money for a particular object just at

that moment, determined, on the spot, to abate no less than fifty

francs from the price she had intended to ask. This was deducting five

francs more than poor Adrienne got for the money she had expended for

her beautiful lace, and for all her toil, sleepless nights, and tears;

a proof of the commissionaire's scale of doing business. The bargain

was now commenced in earnest, offering an instructive scene of French

protestations, assertions, contradictions and volubility on one side,

and of cold, seemingly phlegmatic, but wily Yankee calculation, on the

other. Desiree had set her price at one hundred and fifty francs, after

abating the fifty mentioned, and Colonel Silky had early made up his

mind to give only one hundred. After making suitable allowances for my

true value before I was embellished, the cost of the lace and of the

work, Desiree was not far from the mark; but the Colonel saw that she

wanted money, and he knew that two napoleons and a half, with his

management, would carry him from Paris to Havre. It is true he had

spent the difference that morning on an eye-glass that he never used,

or when he did it was only to obscure his vision; but the money was not

lost, as it aided in persuading the world he was a colonel and was

afflicted with that genteel defect, an imperfect vision. These extremes

of extravagance and meanness were not unusual in his practice. The one,

in truth, being a consequence of the other.

{management = in Cooper's time, a word suggesting conniving or

unscrupulous manipulation; Havre = le Havre, an important French port}

"You forget the duty, Desiree," observed the military trader; "this

compromise law is a thousand times worse than any law we have ever had

in America."

{compromise law = the American Tariff Act of 1832, which reduced

tariffs on some items, but retained the high customs duties on the

import of textile products}

"The duty!" repeated the woman, with an incredulous smile; "monsieur,

you are not so young as to pay any duty on a pocket-handkerchief! Ma

foi, I will bring twenty--oui, a thousand from England itself, and the

douaniers shall not stop one."

{douaniers = customs officials}

"Ay, but we don't smuggle in America," returned the colonel, with an

aplomb that might have done credit to Vidocq himself; "in our

republican country the laws are all in all."

{Vidocq = Francois Vidocq (1775-1857), a senior French police official

who was secretly a burglar, and who "investigated" his own crimes for a

long time before being exposed}

"Why do so many of your good republicans dress so that the rue de Clery

don't know them, and then go to the chateau?" demanded the

commissionaire, very innocently, as to appearance at least.

{chateau = palace}

"Bah! there are the five napoleons--if you want them, take them--if

not, I care little about it, my invoice being all closed."

Desiree never accepted money more reluctantly. Instead of making one

hundred and fifty-five francs out of the toil and privations, and

self-denial of poor Adrienne, she found her own advantages unexpectedly

lessened to fifty-five; or, only a trifle more than one hundred per

cent. But the colonel was firm, and, for once, her cupidity was

compelled to succumb. The money was paid, and I became the vassal of

Colonel Silky; a titular soldier, but a traveling trader, who never

lost sight of the main chance either in his campaigns, his journeys, or

his pleasures.

To own the truth, Colonel Silky was delighted with me. No girl could be

a better judge of the ARTICLE, and all his cultivated taste ran into

the admiration of GOODS. I was examined with the closest scrutiny; my

merits were inwardly applauded, and my demerits pronounced to be

absolutely none. In short, I was flattered; for, it must be confessed,

the commendation of even a fool is grateful. So far from placing me in

a trunk, or a drawer, the colonel actually put me in his pocket, though

duly enveloped and with great care, and for some time I trembled in

every delicate fibre, lest, in a moment of forgetfulness, he might use

me. But my new master had no such intention. His object in taking me

out was to consult a sort of court commissionaire, with whom he had

established certain relations, and that, too, at some little cost, on

the propriety of using me himself that evening at the chateau of the

King of the French. Fortunately, his monitress, though by no means of

the purest water, knew better than to suffer her eleve to commit so

gross a blunder, and I escaped the calamity of making my first

appearance at court under the auspices of such a patron.

{eleve = pupil}

There was a moment, too, when the colonel thought of presenting me to

Madame de Dolomien, by the way of assuring his favor in the royal

circle, but when he came to count up the money he should lose in the

way of profits, this idea became painful, and it was abandoned. As

often happened with this gentleman, he reasoned so long in all his acts

of liberality, that he supposed a sufficient sacrifice had been made in

the mental discussions, and he never got beyond what surgeons call the

"first intention" of his moral cures. The evening he went to court,

therefore, I was carefully consigned to a carton in the colonel's

trunk, whence I did not again issue until my arrival in America. Of the

voyage, therefore, I have little to say, not having had a sight of the

ocean at all. I cannot affirm that I was absolutely sea-sick, but, on

the other hand, I cannot add that I was perfectly well during any part

of the passage. The pent air of the state-room, and a certain heaviness

about the brain, quite incapacitated me from enjoying any thing that

passed, and that was a happy moment when our trunk was taken on deck to

be examined. The custom-house officers at New York were not men likely

to pick out a pocket-handkerchief from a gentleman's--I beg pardon,

from a colonel's--wardrobe, and I passed unnoticed among sundry other

of my employer's speculations. I call the colonel my EMPLOYER, though

this was not strictly true; for, Heaven be praised! he never did employ

me; but ever since my arrival in America, my gorge has so risen against

the word "master," that I cannot make up my mind to write it. I know

there is an ingenious substitute, as the following little dialogue will

show, but my early education under the astronomer and the delicate

minded Adrienne, has rendered me averse to false taste, and I find the

substitute as disagreeable as the original. The conversation to which I

allude, occurred between me and a very respectable looking shirt, that

I happened to be hanging next to on a line, a few days after my

arrival; the colonel having judged it prudent to get me washed and

properly ironed, before he carried me into the "market."

"Who is your BOSS, pocket-handkerchief?" demanded the shirt, a perfect

stranger to me, by the way, for I had never seen him before the

accidents of the wash-tub brought us in collision; "who is your boss,

pocket-handkerchief, I say?--you are so very fine, I should like to

know something of your history."

From all I had heard and read, I was satisfied my neighbor was a Yankee

shirt, both from his curiosity and from his abrupt manner of asking

questions; still I was at a loss to know the meaning of the word BOSS,

my clairvoyance being totally at fault. It belongs to no language known

to the savans or academicians.

{savans = scholars}

"I am not certain, sir," I answered, "that I understand your meaning.

What is a BOSS?"

{boss = Cooper was annoyed by American euphemisms, such as using the

Dutch word "boss" in place of "master"--a custom he blamed largely on

New England "Yankees"}

"Oh! that's only a republican word for 'master.' Now, Judge Latitat is

MY boss, and a very good one he is, with the exception of his sitting

so late at night at his infernal circuits, by the light of miserable

tallow candles. But all the judges are alike for that, keeping a poor

shirt up sometimes until midnight, listening to cursed dull lawyers,

and prosy, caviling witnesses."

{circuits = American "circuit judges" travelled from town to town,

holding court in each and sleeping at local inns and taverns}

"I beg you to recollect, sir, that I am a female pocket-handkerchief,

and persons of your sex are bound to use temperate and proper language

in the presence of ladies.

"Yes, I see you are feminine, by your ornaments--still, you might tell

a fellow who is your boss?"

"I belong, at present, to Colonel Silky, if that is what you mean; but

I presume some fair lady will soon do me the honor of transferring me

to her own wardrobe. No doubt my future employer--is not that the

word?--will be one of the most beautiful and distinguished ladies of

New York."

"No question of that, as money makes both beauty and distinction in

this part of the world, and it's not a dollar that will buy you.

COLONEL Silky? I don't remember the name--which of OUR editors is he?"

{Cooper is ridiculing the habit of newspaper editors of seeking

popularity by serving in the militia and thus receiving the title of

"Colonel"}

"I don't think he is an editor at all. At least, I never heard he was

employed about any publication, and, to own the truth, he does not

appear to me to be particularly qualified for such a duty, either by

native capacity, or, its substitute, education."

"Oh! that makes no great difference--half the corps is exactly in the

same predicament. I'fegs! if we waited for colonels, or editors either,

in this country, until we got such as were qualified, we should get no

news, and be altogether without politics, and the militia would soon be

in an awful state."

{I'fegs! = an obsolete, essentially meaningless exclamation, like "I

swear!", deriving from "In faith!"}

"This is very extraordinary! So you do not wait, but take them as they

come. And what state is your militia actually in?"

"Awful! It is what my boss, the judge, sometimes calls a 'statu quo.'"

{'statu quo' = in the same state as always (Latin)}

"And the newspapers--and the news--and the politics?"

"Why, they are NOT in 'statu quo'--but in a 'semper eadem'--I beg

pardon, do you understand Latin?"

"No, sir--ladies do not often study the dead languages."

"If they did they would soon bring 'em to life! 'Semper eadem' is Latin

for 'worse and worse.' The militia is drilling into a 'statu quo,' and

the press is enlightening mankind with a 'semper eadem.'"

{'Semper eadem' = the usual meaning is "ever the same"

(Latin)--presumably Cooper's talking shirt is being ironical,

suggesting that that "worse and worse" is the constant condition of the

press}

After properly thanking my neighbor for these useful explanations, we

naturally fell into discourse about matters and things in general, the

weather in America being uniformly too fine to admit of discussion.

"Pray, sir," said I, trembling lest my BOSS might be a colonel of the

editorial corps, after all--"pray, sir," said I, "is it expected in

this country that the wardrobe should entertain the political

sentiments of its boss?"

"I rather think not, unless it might be in high party times; or, in the

case of editors, and such extreme patriots. I have several relatives

that belong to the corps, and they all tell me that while their bosses

very frequently change their coats, they are by no means so particular

about changing their shirts. But you are of foreign birth, ma'am, I

should think by your dress and appearance?"

{change their coats.... = i.e., editors frequently change political

sides, but they are not very careful about their personal hygiene}

"Yes, sir, I came quite recently from France; though, my employer being

American, I suppose I am entitled to the rights of citizenship. Are you

European, also?"

"No, ma'am; I am native and to the 'MANOR born,' as the modern

Shakspeare has it. Is Louis Philippe likely to maintain the throne, in

France?"

{'manor born' = from "to the manner born" Shakespeare, Hamlet, Act I,

Scene 4, line 2--frequently misquoted in popular speech as "to the

manor born"}

"That is not so certain, sir, by what I learn, as that the throne is

likely to maintain Louis Philippe. To own the truth to you, I am a

Carlist, as all genteel articles are, and I enter but little into the

subject of Louis Philippe's reign."

{Carlist = supporter of King Charles X of France, who was deposed in

1830 by King Louis Philippe}

This remark made me melancholy, by reviving the recollection of

Adrienne, and the conversation ceased. An hour or two later, I was

removed from the line, properly ironed, and returned to my boss. The

same day I was placed in a shop in Broadway, belonging to a firm of

which I now understood the colonel was a sleeping partner. A suitable

entry was made against me, in a private memorandum book, which, as I

once had an opportunity of seeing it, I will give here.

Super-extraordinary Pocket-Handkerchief, French cambric, trimmed and

worked, in account with Bobbinet & Gull.

DR.

To money paid first cost--francs 100, at 5.25, -- $19.04

To interest on same for -- 00.00

To portion of passage money, -- 00.04

To porterage, -- 00.00 1/4

To washing and making up, -- 00.25

(Mem.--See if a deduction cannot be made from this charge.)

CR.

By cash, for allowing Miss Thimble to copy pattern--not to be worked

until our article is sold, -- $1. 00

By cash for sale, &c. --

{in account with.... = this and subsequent "accounts" are presented by

Cooper in tabular form, generally without decimal points in the

figures; we have inserted decimals and omitted zeros to make them more

readable}

Thus the account stood the day I was first offered to the admiration of

the fair of New York. Mr. Bobbinet, however, was in no hurry to exhibit

me, having several articles of less beauty, that he was anxious to get

off first. For my part, I was as desirous of being produced, as ever a

young lady was to come out; and then my companions in the drawer were

not of the most agreeable character. We were all pocket-handkerchiefs,

together, and all of French birth. Of the whole party, I was the only

one that had been worked by a real lady, and consequently my education

was manifestly superior to those of my companions. THEY could scarcely

be called comme il faut, at all; though, to own the truth, I am afraid

there is tant soit peu de vulgarity about all WORKED

pocket-handkerchiefs. I remember that, one day, when Madame de la

Rocheaimard and Adrienne were discussing the expediency of buying our

whole piece, with a view of offering us to their benefactress, the

former, who had a fine tact in matters of this sort, expressed a doubt

whether the dauphine would be pleased with such an offering.

{comme il faut = proper; tant soit peu de = ever so little of; worked =

embroidered}

"Her Royal Highness, like all cultivated minds, looks for fitness in

her ornaments and tastes. What fitness is there, ma chere, in

converting an article of real use, and which should not be paraded to

one's associates, into an article of senseless luxury. I know there are

two doctrines on this important point--"

{ma chere = my dear}

But, as I shall have occasion, soon, to go into the whole philosophy of

this matter, when I come to relate the manner of my next purchase, I

will not stop here to relate all that Madame de la Rocheaimard said. It

is sufficient that she, a woman of tact in such matters at least, had

strong doubts concerning the TASTE and propriety of using worked

pocket-handkerchiefs, at all.

My principal objection to my companions in the drawer was their

incessant senseless repinings about France, and their abuse of the

country in which they were to pass their lives. I could see enough in

America to find fault with, through the creaks of the drawer, and if an

American, I might have indulged a little in the same way myself, for I

am not one of those who think fault-finding belongs properly to the

stranger, and not to the native. It is the proper office of the latter,

as it is his duty to amend these faults; the traveler being bound in

justice to look at the good as well as the evil. But, according to my

companions, there was NOTHING good in America--the climate, the people,

the food, the morals, the laws, the dress, the manners, and the tastes,

were all infinitely worse than those they had been accustomed to. Even

the physical proportions of the population were condemned, without

mercy. I confess I was surprised at hearing the SIZE of the Americans

sneered at by POCKET-HANDKERCHIEFS, as I remember to have read that the

NOSES of the New Yorkers, in particular, were materially larger than

common. When the supercilious and vapid point out faults, they ever run

into contradictions and folly; it is only under the lash of the

discerning and the experienced, that we betray by our writhings the

power of the blow we receive.

{creaks = probably a typographical error--Cooper's manuscript read

"cracks"}

CHAPTER IX.

I might have been a fortnight in the shop, when I heard a voice as

gentle and lady-like as that of Adrienne, inquiring for

pocket-handkerchiefs. My heart fairly beat for joy; for, to own the

truth, I was getting to be wearied to death with the garrulous folly of

my companions. They had so much of the couturieres about them! not one

of the whole party ever having been a regular employee in genteel life.

Their niaisiries were endless, and there was just as much of the low

bred anticipation as to their future purchases, as one sees at the

balls of the Champs Elysee on the subject of partners. The word

"pocket-handkerchief," and that so sweetly pronounced, drew open our

drawer, as it might be, instinctively. Two or three dozen of us, all of

exquisite fineness, were laid upon the counter, myself and two or three

more of the better class being kept a little in the back ground, as a

skillful general holds his best troops in reserve.

{couturieres = dress makers; niaisiries = should read niaiseries,

French for silliness}

The customers were sisters; that was visible at a glance. Both were

pretty, almost beautiful--and there was an air of simplicity about

their dress, a quiet and unobtrusive dignity in their manners, which at

once announced them to be real ladies. Even the tones of their voices

were polished, a circumstance that I think one is a little apt to

notice in New York. I discovered, in the course of the conversation,

that they were the daughters of a gentleman of very large estate, and

belonged to the true elite of the country. The manner in which the

clerks received them, indeed, proclaimed this; for, though their other

claims might not have so promptly extracted this homage, their known

wealth would.

Mr. Bobbinet attended these customers in person. Practiced in all that

portion of human knowledge which appertains to a salesman, he let the

sweet girls select two or three dozen handkerchiefs of great beauty,

but totally without ornament, and even pay for them, before he said a

word on the subject of the claims of his reserved corps. When he

thought the proper moment had arrived, however, one of the least

decorated of our party was offered to the consideration of the young

ladies. The sisters were named Anne and Maria, and I could see by the

pleasure that beamed in the soft blue eyes of the former, that she was

quite enchanted with the beauty of the article laid before her so

unexpectedly. I believe it is in FEMALE "human nature" to admire every

thing that is graceful and handsome, and especially when it takes the

form of needle-work. The sweet girls praised handkerchief after

handkerchief, until I was laid before them, when their pleasure

extracted exclamations of delight. All was done so quietly, however,

and in so lady-like a manner, that the attention of no person in the

shop was drawn to them by this natural indulgence of surprise. Still I

observed that neither of the young lades inquired the PRICES, these

being considerations that had no influence on the intrinsic value, in

their eyes; while the circumstance caused my heart to sink within me,

as it clearly proved they did not intend to purchase, and I longed to

become the property of the gentle, serene-eyed Anne. After thanking Mr.

Bobbinet for the trouble he had taken, they ordered their purchases

sent home, and were about to quit the shop.

"Can't I persuade you to take THIS?" demanded Bobbinet, as they were

turning away. "There is not its equal in America. Indeed, one of the

house, our Colonel Silky, who has just returned from Paris, says it was

worked expressly for the dauphine, who was prevented from getting it by

the late revolution."

"It IS a pity so much lace and such exquisite work should be put on a

pocket-handkerchief," said Anne, almost involuntarily. "I fear if they

were on something more suitable, I might buy them."

A smile, a slight blush, and curtsy, concluded the interview; and the

young ladies hastily left the shop. Mr. Bobbinet was disappointed, as,

indeed, was Col. Silky, who was present, en amateur; but the matter

could not be helped, as these were customers who acted and thought for

themselves, and all the oily persuasion of shop-eloquence could not

influence them.

{en amateur = in the guise of a connoisseur}

"It is quite surprising, colonel," observed Mr. Bobbinet, when his

customers were properly out of hearing, "that THESE young ladies should

let such an article slip through their fingers. Their father is one of

the richest men we have; and yet they never even asked the price."

"I fancy it was not so much the PRICE that held 'em back," observed the

colonel, in his elegant way, "as something else. There are a sort of

customers that don't buy promiscuously; they do every thing by rule.

They don't believe that a nightcap is intended for a bed-quilt."

Bobbinet & Co. did not exactly understand his more sophisticated

partner; but before he had time to ask an explanation, the appearance

of another customer caused his face to brighten, and changed the

current of his thoughts. The person who now entered was an exceedingly

brilliant looking girl of twenty, dressed in the height of fashion, and

extremely well, though a severe critic might have thought she was OVER

dressed for the streets, still she had alighted from a carriage. Her

face was decidedly handsome, and her person exquisitely proportioned.

As a whole, I had scarcely ever seen a young creature that could lay

claim to more of the loveliness of her sex. Both the young ladies who

had just left us were pleasing and pretty; and to own the truth, there

was an air of modest refinement about them, that was not so apparent in

this new visiter; but the dazzling appearance of the latter, at first,

blinded me to her faults, and I saw nothing but her perfection. The

interest manifested by the master--I beg his pardon, the boss of the

store--and the agitation among the clerks, very plainly proved that

much was expected from the visit of this young lady, who was addressed,

with a certain air of shop-familiarity, as Miss Halfacre--a familiarity

that showed she was an habituee of the place, and considered a good

customer.

Luckily for the views of Bobbinet & Co., we were all still lying on the

counter. This is deemed a fortunate circumstance in the contingencies

of this species of trade, since it enables the dealer to offer his

uncalled-for wares in the least suspicious and most natural manner. It

was fortunate, also, that I lay at the bottom of the little pile--a

climax being quite as essential in sustaining an extortionate price, as

in terminating with due effect, a poem, a tragedy, or a romance.

"Good morning, Miss Halfacre," said Mr. Bobbinet, bowing and smiling;

if his face had been half as honest as it professed to be, it would

have GRINNED. "I am glad you have come in at this moment, as we are

about to put on sale some of the rarest articles, in the way of

pocket-handkerchiefs, that have ever come to this market. The Misses

Burton have just seen them, and THEY pronounce them the most beautiful

articles of the sort they have ever seen; and I believe they have been

over half the world."

"And did they take any, Mr. Bobbinet? The Miss Burtons are thought to

have taste."

"They have not exactly PURCHASED, but I believe each of them has a

particular article in her eye. Here is one, ma'am, that is rather

prettier than any you have yet seen in New York. The price is SIXTY

dollars."

The word SIXTY was emphasized in a way to show the importance that was

attached to PRICE--that being a test of more than common importance

with the present customer. I sighed when I remembered that poor

Adrienne had received but about ten dollars for ME--an article worth so

much more than that there exhibited.

"It is really very pretty, Mr. Bobbinet, very pretty, but Miss Monson

bought one not quite as pretty, at Lace's; and SHE payed SIXTY-FIVE, if

I am not mistaken."

"I dare say; we have them at much higher prices. I showed YOU this only

that you might see that OUR SIXTIES are as handsome as MR. LACE'S

sixty-FIVES. What do you think of THIS?"

"That IS a jewel! What IS the price, Mr. Bobbinet?"

"Why, we will let YOU have it for seventy, though I do think it ought

to bring five more."

"Surely you do not abate on pocket-handkerchiefs! One doesn't like to

have such a thing TOO low."

"Ah, I may as well come to the point at once with such a customer as

yourself, Miss Halfacre; here is the article on which I pride myself.

THAT article never WAS equalled in this market, and never WILL be."

I cannot repeat half the exclamations of delight which escaped the fair

Eudosia, when I first burst on her entranced eye. She turned me over

and over, examined me with palpitating bosom, and once I thought she

was about to kiss me; then, in a trembling voice, she demanded the

price.

"ONE HUNDRED DOLLARS, ma'am;" answered Bobbinet, solemnly. "Not a cent

more, on my honor."

"No, surely!" exclaimed Eudosia, with delight instead of alarm. "Not a

HUNDRED!"

"ONE HUNDRED, Miss Eudosia, to the last cent; then we scarcely make a

living profit."

"Why, Mr. Bobbinet, this is the highest priced handkerchief that was

ever sold in New York." This was said with a sort of rapture, the fair

creature feeling all the advantage of having so good an opportunity of

purchasing so dear an article.

"In America, ma'am. It is the highest priced handkerchief, by twenty

dollars, that ever crossed the Atlantic. The celebrated Miss Jewel's,

of Boston, only cost seventy-nine."

"Only! Oh, Mr. Bobbinet, I MUST have it. It is a perfect treasure!"

"Shall I send it, Miss Eudosia; or don't you like to trust it out of

your sight?"

"Not yet, sir. To own the truth, I have not so much money. I only came

out to buy a few trifles, and brought but fifty dollars with me; and Pa

insists on having no bills. I never knew any body as particular as Pa;

but I will go instantly home and show him the importance of this

purchase. You will not let the handkerchief be seen for ONE hour--only

ONE hour--and then you shall hear from me."

To this Bobbinet assented. The young lady tripped into her carriage,

and was instantly whirled from the door. In precisely forty-three

minutes, a maid entered, half out of breath, and laid a note on the

counter. The latter contained Mr. Halfacre's check for one hundred

dollars, and a request from the fair Eudosia that I might be delivered

to her messenger. Every thing was done as she had desired, and, in five

minutes, I was going up Broadway as fast as Honor O'Flagherty's (for

such was the name of the messenger) little dumpy legs could carry me.

CHAPTER X.

Mr. Henry Half acre was a speculator in town-lots--a profession that

was, just then, in high repute in the city of New York. For farms, and

all the more vulgar aspects of real estate, he had a sovereign

contempt; but offer him a bit of land that could be measured by feet

and inches, and he was your man. Mr. Halfacre inherited nothing; but he

was a man of what are called energy and enterprise. In other words, he

had a spirit for running in debt, and never shrunk from jeoparding

property that, in truth, belonged to his creditors. The very morning

that his eldest child, Eudosia, made her valuable acquisition, in my

person, Henry Halfacre, Esq., was the owner of several hundred lots on

the island of Manhattan; of one hundred and twenty-three in the city of

Brooklyn; of nearly as many in Williamsburg; of large undivided

interests in Milwaukie, Chicago, Rock River, Moonville, and other

similar places; besides owning a considerable part of a place called

Coney Island. In a word, the landed estate of Henry Halfacre, Esq.,

"inventoried," as he expressed it, just two millions, six hundred and

twelve thousand dollars; a handsome sum, it must be confessed, for a

man who, when he began his beneficent and energetic career in this

branch of business, was just twenty-three thousand, four hundred and

seventeen dollars worse than nothing. It is true, that there was some

drawback on all this prosperity; Mr. Halfacre's bonds, notes,

mortgages, and other liabilities, making a sum total that amounted to

the odd six hundred thousand dollars; this still left him, however, a

handsome paper balance of two millions.

Notwithstanding the amount of his "bills payable," Mr. Halfacre

considered himself a very prudent man: first, because he insisted on

having no book debts; second, because he always took another man's

paper for a larger amount than he had given of his own, for any

specific lot or lots; thirdly, and lastly, because he was careful to

"extend himself," at the risk of other persons. There is no question,

had all his lots been sold as he had inventoried them; had his debts

been paid; and had he not spent his money a little faster than it was

bona fide made, that Henry Halfacre, Esq. would have been a very rich

man. As he managed, however, by means of getting portions of the paper

he received discounted, to maintain a fine figure account in the bank,

and to pay all current demands, he began to be known as the RICH Mr.

Halfacre. But one of his children, the fair Eudosia, was out; and as

she had some distance to make in the better society of the town, ere

she could pass for aristocratic, it was wisely determined that a golden

bridge should be thrown across the dividing chasm. A hundred-dollar

pocket-handkerchief, it was hoped, would serve for the key-stone, and

then all the ends of life would be attained. As to a husband, a pretty

girl like Eudosia, and the daughter of a man of "four figure" lots,

might get one any day.

{was out = was a debutante, had been presented to society}

Honor O'Flagherty was both short-legged and short-breathed. She felt

the full importance of her mission; and having an extensive

acquaintance among the other Milesians of the town, and of her class,

she stopped no less than eleven times to communicate the magnitude of

Miss Dosie's purchase. To two particular favorites she actually showed

me, under solemn promise of secrecy; and to four others she promised a

peep some day, after her bossee had fairly worn me. In this manner my

arrival was circulated prematurely in certain coteries, the pretty

mouths and fine voices that spoke of my marvels, being quite

unconscious that they were circulating news that had reached their ears

via Honor O'Flagherty, Biddy Noon, and Kathleen Brady.

{Milesians = slang for Irish (from Milesius, a mythical Spanish

conqueror of Ireland); Miss Dosie = Miss Eudosia; bossee = humorous for

a female boss; coteries = social sets}

Mr. Halfacre occupied a very GENTEEL residence in Broadway, where he

and his enjoyed the full benefit of all the dust, noise, and commotion

of that great thoroughfare. This house had been purchased and

mortgaged, generally simultaneous operations with this great operator,

as soon as he had "inventoried" half a million. It was a sort of patent

of nobility to live in Broadway; and the acquisition of such a

residence was like the purchase of a marquiseta in Italy. When Eudosia

was fairly in possession of a hundred-dollar pocket-handkerchief, the

great seal might be said to be attached to the document that was to

elevate the Halfacres throughout all future time.

{marquiseta = presumably the residence or palace of a Marquis}

Now the beautiful Eudosia--for beautiful, and even lovely, this

glorious-looking creature was, in spite of a very badly modulated

voice, certain inroads upon the fitness of things in the way of

expression, and a want of a knowledge of the finesse of fine life--now

the beautiful Eudosia had an intimate friend named Clara Caverly, who

was as unlike her as possible, in character, education, habits, and

appearance; and yet who was firmly her friend. The attachment was one

of childhood and accident--the two girls having been neighbors and

school-fellows until they had got to like each other, after the manner

in which young people form such friendships, to wear away under the

friction of the world, and the pressure of time. Mr. Caverly was a

lawyer of good practice, fair reputation, and respectable family. His

wife happened to be a lady from her cradle; and the daughter had

experienced the advantage of as great a blessing. Still Mr. Caverly was

what the world of New York, in 1832, called poor; that is to say, he

had no known bank-stock, did not own a lot on the island, was director

of neither bank nor insurance company, and lived in a modest two-story

house, in White street. It is true his practice supported his family,

and enabled him to invest in bonds and mortgages two or three thousand

a-year; and he owned the fee of some fifteen or eighteen farms in

Orange county, that were falling in from three-lives leases, and which

had been in his family ever since the seventeenth century. But, at a

period of prosperity like that which prevailed in 1832, 3, 4, 5, and 6,

the hereditary dollar was not worth more than twelve and a half cents,

as compared with the "inventoried" dollar. As there is something, after

all, in a historical name, and the Caverleys [sic] still had the best

of it, in the way of society, Eudosia was permitted to continue the

visits in White street, even after her own family were in full

possession in Broadway, and Henry Halfacre, Esq., had got to be

enumerated among the Manhattan nabobs. Clara Caverly was in Broadway

when Honor O'Flagherty arrived with me, out of breath, in consequence

of the shortness of her legs, and the necessity of making up for lost

time.

{owned the fee...falling in from three-life leases = i.e., Mr. Caverly

owned farms in Orange County that had been leased out for long periods

(the lives of three persons named at the moment the lease was granted)

but which were now about to revert to him--such long-term leases, in

the Hudson Valley, led to the so-called anti-rent war that was breaking

out at the time Cooper wrote this book; twelve and a half cents = an

English shilling, still often used in conversation in America; nabobs =

rich men (usually businessmen of recent affluence)}

"There, Miss Dosie," cried the exulting housemaid, for such was Honor's

domestic rank, though preferred to so honorable and confidential a

mission--"There, Miss Dosie, there it is, and it's a jewel."

{preferred = promoted}

"What has Honor brought you NOW?" asked Clara Caverly in her quiet way,

for she saw by the brilliant eyes and flushed cheeks of her friend that

it was something the other would have pleasure in conversing about.

"You make so many purchases, dear Eudosia, that I should think you

would weary of them."

"What, weary of beautiful dresses? Never, Clara, never! That might do

for White street, but in Broadway one is never tired of such

things--see," laying me out at full length in her lap, "this is a

pocket-handkerchief--I wish your opinion of it."

Clara examined me very closely, and, in spite of something like a

frown, and an expression of dissatisfaction that gathered about her

pretty face--for Clara was pretty, too--I could detect some of the

latent feelings of the sex, as she gazed at my exquisite lace, perfect

ornamental work, and unequaled fineness. Still, her education and

habits triumphed, and she would not commend what she regarded as

ingenuity misspent, and tasteless, because senseless, luxury.

"This handkerchief cost ONE HUNDRED DOLLARS, Clara," said Eudosia,

deliberately and with emphasis, imitating, as near as possible, the

tone of Bobbinet & Co.

"Is it possible, Eudosia! What a sum to pay for so useless a thing!"

"Useless! Do you call a pocket-handkerchief useless?"

"Quite so, when it is made in a way to render it out of the question to

put it to the uses for which it was designed. I should as soon think of

trimming gum shoes with satin, as to trim a handkerchief in that style."

"Style? Yes, I flatter myself it IS style to have a handkerchief that

cost a hundred dollars. Why, Clara Caverly, the highest priced thing of

this sort that was ever before sold in New York only came to

seventy-nine dollars. Mine is superior to all, by twenty-one dollars!"

Clara Caverly sighed. It was not with regret, or envy, or any unworthy

feeling, however; it was a fair, honest, moral sigh, that had its birth

in the thought of how much good a hundred dollars might have done,

properly applied. It was under the influence of this feeling, too, that

she said, somewhat inopportunely it must be confessed, though quite

innocently--

"Well, Eudosia, I am glad you can afford such a luxury, at all events.

Now is a good time to get your subscription to the Widows' and Orphans'

Society. Mrs. Thoughtful has desired me to ask for it half a dozen

times; I dare say it has escaped you that you are quite a twelvemonth

in arrear."

"NOW a good time to ask for three dollars! What, just when I've paid a

hundred dollars for a pocket-handkerchief? That was not said with your

usual good sense, my dear. People must be MADE of money to pay out so

much at one time."

"When may I tell Mrs. Thoughtful, then, that you will send it to her?"

"I am sure that is more than I can say. Pa will be in no hurry to give

me more money soon, and I want, at this moment, near a hundred dollars'

worth of articles of dress to make a decent appearance. The Society can

be in no such hurry for its subscriptions; they must amount to a good

deal."

"Not if never paid. Shall I lend you the money--my mother gave me ten

dollars this morning, to make a few purchases, which I can very well do

without until you can pay me."

"DO, dear girl--you are always one of the best creatures in the world.

How much is it? three dollars I believe."

"Six, if you pay the past and present year. I will pay Mrs. Thoughtful

before I go home. But, dear Eudosia, I wish you had not bought that

foolish pocket-handkerchief."

"Foolish! Do you call a handkerchief with such lace, and all this

magnificent work on it, and which cost a HUNDRED DOLLARS, foolish? Is

it foolish to have money, or to be thought rich?"

"Certainly not the first, though it may be better not to be thought

rich. I wish to see you always dressed with propriety, for you do

credit to your dress; but this handkerchief is out of place."

"Out of place! Now, hear me, Clara, though it is to be a great secret.

What do you think Pa is worth?"

"Bless me, these are things I never think of. I do not even know how

much my own father is worth. Mother tells me how much I may spend, and

I can want to learn no more."

"Well, Mr. Murray dined with Pa last week, and they sat over their wine

until near ten. I overheard them talking, and got into this room to

listen, for I thought I should get something new. At first they said

nothing but 'lots--lots--up town--down town--twenty-five feet

front--dollar, dollar, dollar.' La! child, you never heard such stuff

in your life!"

"One gets used to these things, notwithstanding," observed Clara, drily.

"Yes, one DOES hear a great deal of it. I shall be glad when the

gentlemen learn to talk of something else. But the best is to come. At

last, Pa asked Mr. Murray if he had inventoried lately."

"Did he?"

"Yes, he did. Of course you know what that means?"

"It meant to FILL, as they call it, does it not?"

"So I thought at first, but it means no such thing. It means to count

up, and set down how much one is worth. Mr. Murray said he did THAT

every month, and of course he knew very well what HE was worth. I

forget how much it was, for I didn't care, you know George Murray is

not as old as I am, and so I listened to what Pa had inventoried. Now,

how much do you guess?"

"Really, my dear, I haven't the least idea," answered Clara, slightly

gaping--"a thousand dollars, perhaps."

"A thousand dollars! What, for a gentleman who keeps his coach--lives

in Broadway--dresses his daughter as I dress, and gives her

hundred-dollar handkerchiefs. Two hundred million, my dear; two hundred

million!"

Eudosia had interpolated the word "hundred," quite innocently, for, as

usually happens with those to whom money is new, her imagination ran

ahead of her arithmetic. "Yes," she added, "two hundred millions;

besides sixty millions of odd money!"

"That sounds like a great deal," observed Clara quietly; for, besides

caring very little for these millions, she had not a profound respect

for her friend's accuracy on such subjects.

"It IS a great deal. Ma says there are not ten richer men than Pa in

the state. Now, does not this alter the matter about the

pocket-handkerchief? It would be mean in me not to have a

hundred-dollar handkerchief, when I could get one."

"It may alter the matter as to the extravagance; but it does not alter

it as to the fitness. Of what USE is a pocket-handkerchief like this? A

pocket-handkerchief is made for USE, my dear, not for show."

"You would not have a young lady use her pocket-handkerchief like a

snuffy old nurse, Clara?"

"I would have her use it like a young lady, and in no other way. But it

always strikes me as a proof of ignorance and a want of refinement when

the uses of things are confounded. A pocket-handkerchief, at the best,

is but a menial appliance, and it is bad taste to make it an object of

attraction. FINE, it may be, for that conveys an idea of delicacy in

its owner; but ornamented beyond reason, never. Look what a tawdry and

vulgar thing an embroidered slipper is on a woman's foot."

"Yes, I grant you that, but everybody cannot have hundred-dollar

handkerchiefs, though they may have embroidered slippers. I shall wear

my purchase at Miss Trotter's ball to-night."

To this Clara made no objection, though she still looked disapprobation

of her purchase. Now, the lovely Eudosia had not a bad heart; she had

only received a bad education. Her parents had given her a smattering

of the usual accomplishments, but here her superior instruction ended.

Unable to discriminate themselves, for the want of this very education,

they had been obliged to trust their daughter to the care of

mercenaries, who fancied their duties discharged when they had taught

their pupil to repeat like a parrot. All she acquired had been for

effect, and not for the purpose of every-day use; in which her

instruction and her pocket-handkerchief might be said to be of a piece.

CHAPTER XI.

And here I will digress a moment to make a single remark on a subject

of which popular feeling, in America, under the influence of popular

habits, is apt to take an exparte view. Accomplishments are derided as

useless, in comparison with what is considered household virtues. The

accomplishment of a cook is to make good dishes; of a seamstress to sew

well, and of a lady to possess refined tastes, a cultivated mind, and

agreeable and intellectual habits. The real VIRTUES of all are the

same, though subject to laws peculiar to their station; but it is a

very different thing when we come to the mere accomplishments. To

deride all the refined attainments of human skill denotes ignorance of

the means of human happiness, nor is it any evidence of acquaintance

with the intricate machinery of social greatness and a lofty

civilization. These gradations in attainments are inseparable from

civilized society, and if the skill of the ingenious and laborious is

indispensable to a solid foundation, without the tastes and habits of

the refined and cultivated, it never can be graceful or pleasing.

{exparte = should be "ex parte"--one-sided (Latin)}

Eudosia had some indistinct glimmerings of this fact, though it was not

often that she came to sound and discriminating decisions even in

matters less complicated. In the present instance she saw this truth

only by halves, and that, too, in its most commonplace aspect, as will

appear by the remark she made on the occasion.

"Then, Clara, as to the PRICE I have paid for this handkerchief," she

said, "you ought to remember what the laws of political economy lay

down on such subjects. I suppose your Pa makes you study political

economy, my dear?"

"Indeed he does not. I hardly know what it means."

"Well, that is singular; for Pa says, in this age of the world, it is

the only way to be rich. Now, it is by means of a trade in lots, and

political economy, generally, that he has succeeded so wonderfully;

for, to own the truth to you, Clara, Pa hasn't always been rich."

"No?" answered Clara, with a half-suppressed smile, she knowing the

fact already perfectly well.

"Oh, no--far from it--but we don't speak of this publicly, it being a

sort of disgrace in New York, you know, not to be thought worth at

least half a million. I dare say your Pa is worth as much as that?"

"I have not the least idea he is worth a fourth of it, though I do not

pretend to know. To me half a million of dollars seems a great deal of

money, and I know my father considers himself poor--poor, at least, for

one of his station. But what were you about to say of political

economy? I am curious to hear how THAT can have any thing to do with

your handkerchief."

"Why, my dear, in this manner. You know a distribution of labor is the

source of all civilization--that trade is an exchange of

equivalents--that custom-houses fetter these equivalents--that nothing

which is fettered is free--"

"My dear Eudosia, what IS your tongue running on?"

"You will not deny, Clara, that any thing which is fettered is not

free? And that freedom is the greatest blessing of this happy country;

and that trade ought to be as free as any thing else?"

All this was gibberish to Clara Caverly, who understood the phrases,

notwithstanding, quite as well as the friend who was using them.

Political economy is especially a science of terms; and free trade, as

a branch of it is called, is just the portion of it which is indebted

to them the most. But Clara had not patience to hear any more of the

unintelligible jargon which has got possession of the world to-day,

much as Mr. Pitt's celebrated sinking-fund scheme for paying off the

national debt of Great Britain did, half a century since, and under

very much the same influences; and she desired her friend to come at

once to the point, as connected with the pocket-handkerchief.

{Mr. Pitt's celebrated sinking-fund = Sir William Pitt "the younger"

(1759-1806), when he became Prime Minister in 1784, sought to raise

taxes in order to pay off the British national debt}

"Well, then," resumed Eudosia, "it is connected in this way. The

luxuries of the rich give employment to the poor, and cause money to

circulate. Now this handkerchief of mine, no doubt, has given

employment to some poor French girl for four or five months, and, of

course, food and raiment. She has earned, no doubt, fifty of the

hundred dollars I have paid. Then the custom-house--ah, Clara, if it

were not for that vile custom-house, I might have had the handkerchief

for at least five-and-twenty dollars lower----!"

"In which case you would have prized it five-and-twenty times less,"

answered Clara, smiling archly.

"THAT is true; yes, free trade, after all, does NOT apply to

pocket-handkerchiefs."

"And yet," interrupted Clara, laughing, "if one can believe what one

reads, it applies to hackney-coaches, ferry-boats, doctors, lawyers,

and even the clergy. My father says it is----"

"What? I am curious to know, Clara, what as plain speaking a man as Mr.

Caverly calls it."

"He is plain speaking enough to call it a ---- HUMBUG," said the

daughter, endeavoring to mouth the word in a theatrical manner. "But,

as Othello says, the handkerchief."

{Othello says... = "Fetch me the handkerchief," Shakespeare, "Othello,"

Act III, Scene 4, line 98}

"Oh! Fifty dollars go to the poor girl who does the work, twenty-five

more to the odious custom-house, some fifteen to rent, fuel, lights,

and ten, perhaps, to Mr. Bobbinet, as profits. Now all this is very

good, and very useful to society, as you must own."

Alas, poor Adrienne! Thou didst not receive for me as many francs as

this fair calculation gave thee dollars; and richer wouldst thou have

been, and, oh, how much happier, hadst thou kept the money paid for me,

sold the lace even at a loss, and spared thyself so many, many hours of

painful and anxious toil! But it is thus with human calculations, The

propositions seem plausible, and the reasoning fair, while stern truth

lies behind all to level the pride of understanding, and prove the

fallacy of the wisdom of men. The reader may wish to see how closely

Eudosia's account of profit and loss came to the fact, and I shall,

consequently, make up the statement from the private books of the firm

that had the honor of once owning me, viz.:

Super-extraordinary Pocket-handkerchief, &c., in account with Bobbinet

& Co.

DR.

To money paid, first cost, francs 100, at 5.25, -- $19.04

To interest on same for ninety days, at 7 per cent., -- 00.33

To portion of passage money, -- 00.04

To porterage, -- 00.00 1/4

To washing and making up, -- 00.25

-------------

$19 66 1/4

CR.

By cash paid by Miss Thimble, -- $1.00

By cash paid for article, -- 100.00

By washerwoman's deduction, -- 00.05

----------

101.05

----------

By profit, -- $81.39 3/4

As Clara Caverly had yet to see Mrs. Thoughtful, and pay Eudosia's

subscription, the former now took her leave. I was thus left alone with

my new employer, for the first time, and had an opportunity of learning

something of her true character, without the interposition of third

persons; for, let a friend have what hold he or she may on your heart,

it has a few secrets that are strictly its own. If admiration of myself

could win my favor, I had every reason to be satisfied with the hands

into which fortune had now thrown me. There were many things to admire

in Eudosia--a defective education being the great evil with which she

had to contend. Owing to this education, if it really deserved such a

name, she had superficial accomplishments, superficially

acquired--principles that scarce extended beyond the retenue and morals

of her sex--tastes that had been imbibed from questionable models--and

hopes that proceeded from a false estimate of the very false position

into which she had been accidentally and suddenly thrown. Still Eudosia

had a heart. She could scarcely be a woman, and escape the influence of

this portion of the female frame. By means of the mesmeritic power of a

pocket-handkerchief, I soon discovered that there was a certain Morgan

Morely in New York, to whom she longed to exhibit my perfection, as

second to the wish to exhibit her own.

{retenue = discretion}

I scarcely know whether to felicitate myself or not, on the

circumstance that I was brought out the very first evening I passed in

the possession of Eudosia Halfacre. The beautiful girl was dressed and

ready for Mrs. Trotter's ball by eight; and her admiring mother thought

it impossible for the heart of Morgan Morely, a reputed six figure

fortune, to hold out any longer. By some accident or other, Mr.

Halfacre did not appear--he had not dined at home; and the two females

had all the joys of anticipation to themselves.

"I wonder what has become of your father," said Mrs. Halfacre, after

inquiring for her husband for the tenth time. "It is SO like him to

forget an engagement to a ball. I believe he thinks of nothing but his

lots. It is really a great trial, Dosie, to be so rich. I sometimes

wish we weren't worth more than a million, for, after all, I suspect

true happiness is to be found in these little fortunes. Heigho! It's

ten o'clock, and we must go, if we mean to be there at all; for Mrs.

Caverly once said, in my presence, that she thought it as vulgar to be

too late, as too early."

The carriage was ordered, and we all three got in, leaving a message

for Mr. Halfacre to follow us. As the rumor that a "three-figure"

pocket-handkerchief was to be at the ball, had preceded my appearance,

a general buzz announced my arrival in the salle a manger-salons. I

have no intention of describing fashionable society in the GREAT

EMPORIUM of the WESTERN WORLD. Every body understands that it is on the

best possible footing--grace, ease, high breeding and common sense

being so blended together, that it is exceedingly difficult to analyze

them, or, indeed, to tell which is which. It is this moral fusion that

renders the whole perfect, as the harmony of fine coloring throws a

glow of glory on the pictures of Claude, or, for that matter, on those

of Cole, too. Still, as envious and evil disposed persons have dared to

call in question the elegance, and more especially the retenue of a

Manhattanese rout, I feel myself impelled, if not by that high

sentiment, patriotism, at least by a feeling of gratitude for the great

consideration that is attached to pocket-handkerchiefs, just to declare

that it is all scandal. If I have any fault to find with New York

society, it is on account of its formal and almost priggish quiet--the

female voice being usually quite lost in it--thus leaving a void in the

ear, not to say the heart, that is painful to endure. Could a few young

ladies, too, be persuaded to become a little more prominent, and quit

their mother's apron-strings, it would add vastly to the grouping, and

relieve the stiffness of the "shin-pieces" of formal rows of

dark-looking men, and of the flounces of pretty women. These two slight

faults repaired, New York society might rival that of Paris; especially

in the Chausse d'Autin. More than this I do not wish to say, and less

than this I cannot in honor write, for I have made some of the warmest

and truest-hearted friends in New York that it ever fell to the lot of

a pocket-handkerchief to enjoy.

{salle a manger-salons = dining rooms-parlor; GREAT EMPORIUM [capitals

in original] = New York City; Claude = Claude Lorrain (1600-1682),

French landscape painter; Cole = Thomas Cole (1801-1848), American

landscape painter; rout = evening party; Chausse d'Autin = Chaussee

d'Antin, a fashionable Parisian street and neighborhood}

It has been said that my arrival produced a general buzz. In less than

a minute Eudosia had made her curtsy, and was surrounded, in a corner,

by a bevy of young friends, all silent together, and all dying to see

me. To deny the deep gratification I felt at the encomiums I received,

would be hypocrisy. They went from my borders to my centre--from the

lace to the hem--and from the hem to the minutest fibre of my exquisite

texture. In a word, I was the first hundred-dollar pocket-handkerchief

that had then appeared in their circles; and had I been a Polish count,

with two sets of moustaches, I could not have been more flattered and

"entertained." My fame soon spread through the rooms, as two little

apartments, with a door between them that made each an alcove of the

other, were called; and even the men, the young ones in particular,

began to take an interest in me. This latter interest, it is true, did

not descend to the minutiae of trimmings and work, or even of fineness,

but the "three figure" had a surprising effect. An elderly lady sent to

borrow me for a moment. It was a queer thing to borrow a

pocket-handkerchief, some will think; but I was lent to twenty people

that night; and while in her hands, I overheard the following little

aside, between two young fashionables, who were quite unconscious of

the acuteness of the senses of our family.

"This must be a rich old chap, this Halfacre, to be able to give his

daughter a hundred-dollar pocket-handkerchief, Tom; one might do well

to get introduced."

"If you'll take my advice, Ned, you'll keep where you are," was the

answer. "You've been to the surrogate's office, and have seen the will

of old Simonds, and KNOW that he has left his daughter seventy-eight

thousand dollars; and, after all, this pocket-handkerchief may be only

a sign. I always distrust people who throw out such lures."

"Oh, rely on it, there is no sham here; Charley Pray told me of this

girl last week, when no one had ever heard of her pocket-handkerchief."

"Why don't Charley, then, take her himself? I'm sure, if I had HIS

imperial, I could pick and choose among all the second-class heiresses

in town."

{imperial = wealth (from a Russian gold coin)}

"Ay, there's the rub, Tom; one is obliged in our business to put up

with the SECOND class. Why can't we aim higher at once, and get such

girls as the Burtons, for instance?"

"The Burtons have, or have had, a mother."

"And haven't all girls mothers? Who ever heard of a man or a woman

without a mother!"

"True, physically; but I mean morally. Now this very Eudosia Halfacre

has no more mother, in the last sense, than you have a wet-nurse. She

has an old woman to help her make a fool of herself; but, in the way of

a mother, she would be better off with a pair of good gum-shoes. A

creature that is just to tell a girl not to wet her feet, and when to

cloak and uncloak, and to help tear the check-book out of money, is no

more of a mother than old Simonds was of a Solomon, when he made that

will which every one of us knows by heart quite as well as he knows the

constitution."

Here a buzz in the room drew the two young men a little aside, and for

a minute I heard nothing but indistinct phrases, in which "removal of

deposites," "panic," "General Jackson," and "revolution," were the only

words I could fairly understand. Presently, however, the young men

dropped back into their former position, and the dialogue proceeded.

{General Jackson... = President Andrew Jackson in 1833 withdrew the

federal government deposits from the Bank of the United States, leading

to a major financial panic}

"There!" exclaimed Ned, in a voice louder than was prudent, "THAT is

what I call an escape! That cursed handkerchief was very near taking me

in. I call it swindling to make such false pretensions."

"It might be very awkward with one who was not properly on his guard;

but with the right sort there is very little danger."

Here the two elegants led out a couple of heiresses to dance; and I

heard no more of them or of their escapes. Lest the reader, however,

should be misled, I wish to add, that these two worthies are not to be

taken as specimens of New York morality at all--no place on earth being

more free from fortune-hunters, or of a higher tone of social morals in

this delicate particular. As I am writing for American readers, I wish

to say, that all they are told of the vices of OLD countries, on the

other side of the Atlantic, is strictly true; while all that is said,

directly, or by implication, of the vices and faults of this happy

young country, is just so much calumny. The many excellent friends I

have made, since my arrival in this hemisphere, has bound my heart to

them to all eternity; and I will now proceed with my philosophical and

profound disquisitions on what I have seen, with a perfect confidence

that I shall receive credit, and an independence of opinion that is

much too dear to me to consent to place it in question. But to return

to facts.

{elegants = dandies}

I was restored to Eudosia, with a cold, reserved look, by a lady into

whose hands I had passed, that struck me as singular, as shown to the

owner of such an article. It was not long, however, before I

discovered, to use a homely phrase, that something had happened; and I

was not altogether without curiosity to know what that something was.

It was apparent enough, that Eudosia was the subject of general

observation, and of general conversation, though, so long as she held

me in her hand, it exceeded all my acuteness of hearing to learn what

was said. The poor girl fancied her pocket-handkerchief was the common

theme; and in this she was not far from right, though it was in a way

she little suspected. At length Clara Caverly drew near, and borrowed

me of her friend, under a pretext of showing me to her mother, who was

in the room, though, in fact, it was merely to get me out of sight; for

Clara was much too well-bred to render any part of another's dress the

subject of her discussions in general society. As if impatient to get

me out of sight, I was thrown on a sofa, among a little pile of

consoeurs, (if there is such a word,) for a gathering had been made,

while our pretty hostesses were dancing, in order to compare our

beauty. There we lay quite an hour, a congress of pocket-handkerchiefs,

making our comments on the company, and gossiping in our own fashion.

It was only the next day that I discovered the reason we were thus

neglected; for, to own the truth, something had occurred which suddenly

brought "three-figure," and even "two-figure" people of our class into

temporary disrepute. I shall explain that reason at the proper moment.

{consoeurs = fellow sisters}

The conversation among the handkerchiefs on the sofa, ran principally

on the subject of our comparative market value. I soon discovered that

there was a good deal of envy against me, on account of my "three

figures," although, I confess, I thought I cut a "poor figure," lying

as I did, neglected in a corner, on the very first evening of my

appearance in the fashionable world. But some of the opinions uttered

on this occasion--always in the mesmeritic manner, be it

remembered--will be seen in the following dialogue.

"Well!" exclaimed $25, "this is the first ball I have been at that I

was not thought good enough to have a place in the quadrille. You see

all the canaille are in the hands of their owners, while we, the elite

of pocket-handkerchiefs, are left here in a corner, like so many

cloaks."

{canaille = riff-raff}

"There must be a reason for this, certainly," answered $45, "though YOU

have been flourished about these two winters, in a way that ought to

satisfy one of YOUR pretensions."

An animated reply was about to set us all in commotion, when $80, who,

next to myself, had the highest claims of any in the party, changed the

current of feeling, by remarking--

"It is no secret that we are out of favor for a night or two, in

consequence of three figures having been paid for one of us, this very

day, by a bossess, whose father stopped payment within three hours

after he signed the cheque that was to pay the importer. I overheard

the whole story, half an hour since, and thus, you see, every one is

afraid to be seen with an aristocratic handkerchief, just at this

moment. But--bless you! in a day or two all will be forgotten, and we

shall come more into favor than ever. All is always forgotten in New

York in a week."

Such was, indeed, the truth. One General Jackson had "removed the

deposits," as I afterwards learned, though I never could understand

exactly what that meant; but, it suddenly made money scarce, more

especially with those who had none; and every body that was "extended"

began to quake in their shoes. Mr. Halfacre happened to be in this

awkward predicament, and he broke down in the effort to sustain

himself. His energy had over-reached itself, like the tumbler who

breaks his neck in throwing seventeen hundred somersets backwards.