"Babies are very well when they don't cry,
But when they do, I choose not to be nigh;
For of all awful sounds that can appal,
The most terrific is a baby's squall;
I'd rather hear a panther's hungry howl,
Or e'en a tiger's deep, ferocious growl,
Than sit in chimney-corner 'neath my hat,
And list the screechings of an irate brat."
We thought we would go to Mrs. Stanhope's this cold, starry, winter
evening, but on passing the parlor windows of Dea. Allen's cottage, the
curtains being yet undrawn, we distinguished, by the blazing firelight
within, the form of that good lady, and also that of her maiden sister,
Miss Martha Pinkerton, both sitting at the family table, drinking tea
with the good deacon and his amiable spouse. Amy Seaton and Charlie were
there, too, but we missed the laughing face of Jenny Andrews, and Mrs.
Allen said she was gone on a sleighing excursion, which a number of the
young people of Wimbledon were enjoying, this fine, bright evening.
"I want to know," asked Miss Pinkerton, sipping her bohea, "if you
believe there's any truth in the report of Florence Howard's engagement
with Rufus Malcome, Mrs. Allen?"
"Well, I never thought much about the matter," returned that
mild-visaged lady. "The young people's affairs don't interest me
particularly. The two families are quite intimate. We have the Malcomes
at our next door, and can't well avoid seeing a large number of their
visitors, as they come and go."
"Col. Malcome is a very gentlemanly man," remarked Mrs. Stanhope, as
they were rising from the table.
"Yes," said the good deacon, wiping his face with a yellow silk
handkerchief; "but sometimes I fear he is not the Christian he should
be. He never goes to church, and every Sunday that wicked-looking woman
of Major Howard's is there the whole day, racketing about with Rufus and
the servants. I don't think a peaceable, pious man would counsel such
doings, for my part."
"That Hannah Doliver at Col. Malcome's every Sabbath?" said Miss
Pinkerton, opening wide her large, light eyes; "I don't see what she
does there; really, the impudence of some people is astonishing. 'Tis
likely she wants to see all she can and gossip about the colonel's
affairs."
Nobody replied to this pert speech of Miss Martha's, and Mrs. Stanhope
resumed the conversation by giving a brief account of Mrs. Lawson's
discomfiting attempt to convert Mrs. Louise Edson into a reformer; she
having received an amusing description of the scene from Louise's own
lips. This was exciting considerable merriment among the group, when
there came a rap on the door, and Mrs. Salsify Mumbles entered with her
daughter, Mary Madeline; the latter carrying a bundle in her arms.
Before the salutations were fairly over, said bundle began to squeal,
and on removing several yellow flannel blankets, a baby was discovered
of nearly the same hue as the shawls which had enveloped it.
And the baby became the toast on all sides; as what baby does not, when
making its debut among strangers? Mrs. Allen said it was the image of
its grandma, whereupon Mrs. Salsify laughed and looked supremely silly.
The deacon patted its back and said, "Poor little innocent! what a world
of sin and misery it has come into!"
Mrs. Stanhope said it appeared very strong of its age, and Miss
Pinkerton gave it a hasty, expressive glance, which spoke _her_ opinion
more eloquently than words could have done.
Amy and Charlie approached in their turn, and, gazing on it, exclaimed,
innocently,
"What a _funny thing_!"
Verily, there was more truth than fiction in these words. It certainly
_was_ a funny thing. On the crown of its long, bare, peaked head, stuck
one of the little, furbelowed caps we once saw Mrs. Salsify engaged in
making, which was tied down over its flapping ears with orange-colored
ribbon. A receding forehead, little specs of eyes, a turned-up nose, and
great blubber lips, adown whose corners flowed eternally two miniature
cataracts. O, what a face! Surely, nobody but a grandmother would be
pleased to have it said to resemble theirs. 'Twas such a scowling,
uncomfortable-looking baby, and had such a shrill, piercing squeal for a
cry; for all the world like a miniature porker. Mary Madeline tossed it
up and down in her arms, trotted it on her knee, but still it squealed,
and Mrs. Salsify said it was squealing for its father; it always did so
when it was carried away from him, and they should have to take it home.
So they bundled off, and then Miss Martha spoke. "It was strange people
would carry their squalling brats into their neighbors' houses to annoy
them."
"Children are usually more trouble among strangers than at home," Mrs.
Allen remarked.
Then Charlie Seaton said, "Willie Danforth told him it was always
squealing when he passed Mr. Salsify's, which was several times a day,
on his way to and from the seminary; and he thought they kept a pig in
their parlor, till one day he saw the baby's face at the window, and
discovered the sounds proceeded from its noisy throat."
"How happens it that Willie Danforth goes to school at the seminary,
when his mother is so poor?" asked Miss Pinkerton.
"Willie says his mother found a paper on her door-sill one morning,"
answered Charlie, "and on opening it several bank-notes fell out. On the
paper was written, 'Use these for William's tuition at the seminary.' So
he is going to school till the money is spent."
"Well, I declare," said Miss Martha, "that was a strange incident. Does
Mrs. Danforth know who left the money?"
"She thinks it was the same one who leaves little bundles of sticks at
her door, every now and then," answered Charlie.
"Well, who is that?" inquired Miss P.
"O, she don't know," returned the lad.
"I am glad some kind soul remembers the poor widow," said Mrs. Allen;
"for I have often feared many of us were too neglectful of the lone
woman."
"You know, wife," said the deacon, "what sad reports we heard of her
hypocrisy; how she assumed an appearance of extreme poverty to create
sympathy and wheedle people into deeds of false benevolence. I do not
think such sinfulness should be countenanced."
"I know such reports were spread abroad concerning her," remarked Mrs.
Stanhope; "but I never could trace them to any other source than that
ranting, blustering Mrs. Pimble."
"What! that brawling, fanatical, crazy-pated, man-woman?" exclaimed the
deacon, vehemently; "pray, don't mention her. The wrath of God will fall
upon her and all the guilty brood who have desecrated His sanctuary, by
tearing down its curtains and converting them into garments to serve
Satan in." The excitable deacon was waxing warm, when his wife gave him
a conjugal nudge, and he held his peace.