“I do admire
Of womankind but one.”
_John Gilpin._
“So then, Julius, you are at last a lawyer, out and out?—how did you
pass your examination?”
“Just to please myself, uncle, I wasn’t stumped once.”
“Bravo! I am glad to hear it; that was exactly following my example.
Before I got through, they tried hard to pose me, but I was an overmatch
for them. I would have made a capital lawyer, Julius, had I chosen to
practise.”
“What a pity you did not, uncle!”
“Yes, that’s what all my friends say, and that, if I had not been too
rich to need it, they would have given me all the business in their
power,—every cent’s worth of it. Many of them wish that I had been
poorer, that I might have been of greater service to the public.”
“What kind friends you must have, sir!”
“You rascal! I see that you are laughing at me. However, I intend to
take you for my raw material, and make of you everything that I have
failed to be myself. In the first place, you are to rise to the height
of the profession here, in this very city, to make amends for my not
having attained the station.”
“But the opposite reason to yours will forbid my accomplishing that, my
dear sir,—too light a purse, is, in the generality of cases, a greater
obstacle than one too heavy.”
“An ingenious lawyer, to presume that, when I employ you to do my work
for me, I expect you to go upon your own means! why, my worshipful
attorney, you must live here with me, in my own house, and make use of
my own purse. It is my place to pay the expenses.”
“Dear uncle! how kind you are! how generous!—I can never be
sufficiently grateful—”
“Spare your eloquence to plead my causes for me!—we lawyers know how
much speeches ought to go for, so I want none of them here, just now. Am
I not telling you that you are to work for me in return?—and I wish you
to fulfil another of my duties towards society.”
“Anything in the world, uncle, after all the kindness—”
“Poh! it’s not any uncommon task I wish you to undertake. It is only to
marry a wife and to raise a family. You may imitate me in everything but
in being an idler, and an old bachelor.”
“Why, everybody thinks you, sir, the happiest, most independent, most
contented old bachelor in the world. Quite an enviable person.”
“I am not at all to be envied, Julius. As to being happy,—that’s all a
sham. I have never been contented since they called me an old bachelor.
No, no,—you must have a wife. I have picked one out for you.”
“Indeed! pray who is she, uncle?”
“One of the loveliest girls in the city,—your cousin Henrietta
Attwood.”
“Etty Attwood! the pretty little second-cousin who used to come
sometimes to visit us when I was a boy! I remember her well;—the most
beautiful, sweetest tempered child in the world; with bright brown eyes,
and flaxen ringlets curling over her shoulders and down to her waist! if
she is as charming a woman as she was a child, I have not the shadow of
an objection. I used to call her my little wife then, and the first
poetry I ever perpetrated, was some stanzas addressed to her on her
birthday.”
“Yes, she has shown them to me more than once; she remembers you as well
as you do her, and often inquires of me about her cousin and old
play-fellow, Julius Rockwell.”
“But do you think she would have me, uncle?”
“Why shouldn’t she?—you are plaguy good-looking,—you know that well
enough,—very much like what I was at your age; you have sense
plenty,—that is, if you are not a degenerate shoot of your family; if
you have not, you must acquire it; you have formed no bad habits, I
hope;—if you have, I must cane them out of you. And Etty will do
whatever I bid her,—I know she will. She is aware that I was looking
for you, and will expect you to call to see her immediately.”
“I shall be delighted to do so; can you take me this evening, uncle? But
how does it happen that she is in the city? Her parents, I believe,
reside in the country still.”
“She is with her aunt, Mrs. Attwood, a rich widow, who having married
off all her own daughters, has begged a share of her time for the sake
of her company. She is very much of a belle, but if you manage properly,
you and she will make a match of it in less than six months, or my name
is not Herman Holcroft. You must then live with me. I begin to feel
lonesome as I grow old, and, you perceive, I have house-room for twenty
more.”
“My dear uncle, you are too kind!”
“Stop a moment! remember it is only on condition you bring Etty with
you; I don’t know that I would like any one else. So I will go with you,
and introduce you to-night. I was afraid you would have to wait to be
provided with a new suit, but am agreeably disappointed. You look not
only genteel but fashionable. Your country tailors must be on the march
of improvement.”
“Oh! since steam-engines are so abundant, no one need be behind the
fashions, unless he chooses;—but, uncle,—look here, quick!—Ah! she
has gone around that corner!”
“Who?—what is it?” asked the old bachelor, hastily rising from his
superb, damask covered rocking chair, to approach the window.
“A young lady,—the loveliest, brightest—”
“Pho!” returned Mr. Holcroft, sinking again into his cushions with a
look of disappointment; “why I see thousands of lovely, bright-looking
girls passing here every day, and so it has been for the last twenty
years. That, I suppose, is one reason why I have not married. I never
could get one pretty face fixed in my heart, before a hundred others
presented themselves to drive it away.”
The windows of the apartment, in which the gentlemen sat, opened upon
one of the most noted thoroughfares on this side of the Atlantic, which
at that hour, was crowded by an unusually brilliant throng of the fair
and the gay, called out by the bright sunshine of a clear December
afternoon, to exhibit, each, her new assortment of winter finery. During
the foregoing dialogue, young Rockwell had not been so much occupied as
to be unable to throw an occasional glance into the street, and the one
which preceded his exclamation, had been met by a pair of radiant eyes,
with an expression so cordial and familiar, that he was quite
startled,—and the more easily, that they belonged to one of the most
beautiful faces and one of the richest costumes that he had noticed on
the crowded pavé. “I could never have seen her before,—no, I never
did,”—said he to himself, and the passage of Moore so generally known
to the sentimental and romantic youths, who sigh in our language, came
into his mind:—
“As if his soul that moment caught
An image it through life had sought;
As if the very lips and eyes,
Predestined to have all his sighs,
And never be forgot again,
Sparkled and smiled before him then.”
“That is a favorite excuse with you old bachelors,” said he, at length,
remembering that a reply might be expected to his uncle’s last
observation; “but this young lady,—_such_ a face could not be easily
driven away! I wonder who she can be?—perhaps you know her,—she is
evidently one of your _élite_, but I can’t describe her; one thing I
noticed, however, she had on a blue velvet—, what is the name of those
new articles?—neither a cloak nor a shawl;—you understand what I mean,
uncle.”
“A mantilla, you block-head!” replied the old bachelor, consequentially,
as if proud of being so far read in women’s gear.
“Yes, a mantilla,—a blue velvet mantilla, worked in yellow figures.”
“Embroidered in gold color, or straw, or canary, or lemon, the ladies
say,” returned Mr. Holcroft, in a tone of correction; “there are plenty
of blue velvet mantillas, and how am I to know which you mean?”
Julius admitted that it might be rather difficult, and looked out of the
window with renewed interest, while his uncle kept up a rambling
discourse which required no reply. In a few moments the blue mantilla
again appeared, another witching glance was thrown upon him, and
snatching up his hat, without a word of explanation or excuse, he darted
from the room. Immediately after, a fine looking young man entered, and
was saluted by the name of Elkinton, by Mr. Holcroft, who sat wondering
at his nephew’s sudden disappearance.
“Has Rockwell arrived, Mr. Holcroft?” asked the visiter.
“Yes,—did you not meet him at the door?—he reached this an hour or two
ago, and has just bolted out as if life and death depended on his speed.
I suppose he saw something wonderful in the street. These rustics, when
they come to town, are always on the stare for novelties. A fire-bell
startles them as much as an earthquake would us. But won’t you sit
down?—he will be back again in a few minutes, no doubt.”
“Thank you, I have not time to wait. I merely called in to see if he had
come. Perhaps I may find him in the street.”
Meanwhile Julius was eagerly tracing the fair unknown, and unpractised
as he was in threading the mazes of a city crowd, he found little
difficulty in gaining upon the light, quick step he followed. But at
length, as he joyfully held, his good genius befriended him. She was
stopped by a distinguished looking girl, whose tall figure, dark eyes,
and black hair, contrasted strongly with her own rather _petite_
proportions, hazel eyes and ringlets of light brown. He came up in time
to hear the lady of his pursuit say to the other, “I half expect
visiters this evening, but should they not call, I shall go certainly. I
believe it is the Vandenhoffs’ benefit, and, no doubt, a treat may be
looked for.”
Just then a carriage drew up to the curbstone, and an elderly lady
called from it, “I have half a notion to make you both walk home;—I
have been driving up and down street for an hour, expecting to meet you.
Get in,—quick!”
The steps were let down, and the black-eyed damsel was handed in. Her
companion was about to follow, when, glancing over her shoulder, she
beheld our hero. She paused, half-smiled, blushed, and springing into
the carriage, was driven off, and out of sight in a moment, while Julius
stood transfixed where she left him. He was aroused by a hand laid on
his arm, and turning, he exclaimed, somewhat abashed at being found in a
position so equivocal, “Is it possible, Elkinton!”
“My dear Rockwell! I am rejoiced to see you! I almost passed without
recognising you; I could scarcely have expected to meet you, fresh from
the country, standing in a brown study, in the most crowded square of
the city!”
The two young men had been classmates at college, and though a regular
correspondence had not been kept up between them, they were always the
warmest of friends whenever they chanced to meet. They turned to walk
together towards Mr. Holcroft’s.
“Pray, Elkinton, do you know any lady who wears a blue velvet mantilla?”
asked Julius as soon as politeness allowed him to introduce an extrinsic
subject.
“Very probably I may, but I never recollect ladies by their dress, as I
seldom pay the slightest attention to it. What sort of a lady do you
mean?”
“A young, very beautiful one, with bright complexion, clear hazel eyes
and sunny tresses.”
“I know several such,—you may see plenty of them passing any hour; but
what about her?”
“Oh, nothing! only I saw her in the street and was struck with her
appearance.”
“Pshaw! you will be struck ten times a minute if you are on the look-out
for beauty. For my part, I have given up looking at the ladies in
general.”
“Then it must be because you are engrossed by one in particular.”
“Right, and I’ll introduce you to her for old acquaintance sake. Don’t
you remember our standing argument, that neither of us would marry
without a communication to, and a consultation with, the other?”
“Of course,” replied Julius abstractedly; “I must try to find out who
she is.”
“You shall know all about her, my Julius, and become acquainted with
her; as soon as you are at leisure, I should like to have your
impression of my choice,” returned Elkinton cordially; of course
alluding to his own lady love; “but I have not time to talk longer, just
now. I’ll call to see you in the morning.”
“Stay, at which house are the Vandenhoffs to perform to-night?” asked
Julius, detaining him.
Elkinton named the theatre and hurried away.
On returning to his uncle, there being visiters present, no questions
were asked about his absence, and when they were again alone, the old
gentleman desired him to have himself in readiness to call on his
cousin, Miss Attwood, after tea. With some hesitation, he excused
himself. “Perhaps you would like to go to see the Vandenhoffs, as this
is their last night,” said Mr. Holcroft, presuming that to be his
objection; “if so, by going early to visit Etty, we may have a chance to
take her along, if she is not engaged. You need not mind being out of
etiquette, as I shall propose it myself.”
Still Julius demurred about the visit, and added, “It was my intention
to go to the theatre, but I should prefer going alone.”
“Going alone!” repeated the old gentleman, looking at him
scrutinizingly; “that is altogether wrong, Julius. A young man should
not, if possible, appear at a place of amusement, which ladies are
sanctioned to attend, without having one along. They are a protection
from improper associations, and add greatly to the respectability of
one’s appearance. On the present occasion, your attendance on Henrietta
Attwood will establish your standing in society at once. She is
certainly one of the most admired girls in the city.”
“No doubt of it, uncle; but for my part I never admired dumpy girls.”
“Dumpy girls?—what do you intimate by that, sir? why Etty has one of
the most perfect figures I ever saw! she is a very sylph.”
“Indeed! when she was a child, she was very short and fat. At any rate,
she must have white hair,—she formerly had,—and I have no great
partiality for ‘lint white locks.’”
“White hair! what the plague has got into the fellow? she has no such
thing. An hour or two ago you were all anxiety that I should take you to
see her, and you seem ready to decline going altogether.”
“Excuse me, uncle, but really I don’t feel in the humor for ladies’
society this evening.”
“Oh, very well, sir; consult your own pleasure,” replied the old
bachelor in a tone of pique, and took his tea in silence.
Julius noticed it, but though sorry to displease him, was ashamed to
confess his motive for wishing to go alone, and, after a few minutes of
constraint, in the drawing-room, he set off for the theatre.
He arrived early, and selecting a place which commanded a view of the
whole house, he kept his eyes in constant motion from door to door, with
the purpose of scanning every group that entered, a feat not easy to
accomplish, as an unusual number were thronging the house. At length, a
round of applause, on the rising of the curtain, distracted his
attention, for a moment, and on again turning round, he beheld in a box
near him, the identical blue velvet mantilla, accompanied by an elderly
gentleman, and the tall brunette. The best acting of the season was all
lost upon him, the one object alone chaining his eyes and his thoughts.
She, too, evidently perceived him, while surveying the audience. At the
end of the first act, and several times afterward, she met his gaze with
conscious blushes, and an apparent effort to repress a smile. He also
fancied that some communication on the subject passed between her and
her companions.
The play at length was over, and the party rose to go. Julius pushed
through the crowd until he found himself beside them. In the press, the
mantilla became unfastened, and, unperceived, by its owner, a gentleman
set his foot upon it. “The lady’s mantilla, sir!” said our hero, eagerly
catching it up. She nodded her thanks with looks half downcast, and
confusedly taking it from his hand, wrapped it around her and, in a few
minutes, they had reached the door. The old gentleman handed his fair
charges into a carriage in waiting, and, saying that he would walk,
ordered the servant to drive on.
“Have a hack, sir?” asked a coachman.
“Yes,—follow that carriage,” replied Julius, and springing in, was
driven into one of the most fashionable streets of the city. The
carriage stopped before one of the handsomest houses in it, and he saw
the ladies alight and enter the door. Then discharging his coach, he
reconnoitered the house and square, to know them again, and
congratulating himself on his discovery, he returned to his uncle’s.
Mr. Holcroft had recovered, in some degree, from his displeasure against
the morning, and with a return of his usual manner, he questioned his
nephew upon the quality of the past night’s entertainment.
“I can hardly tell, sir; that is,—I believe it was good, sir;” answered
he with some incoherence.
“Why, my good fellow, I hope you are not so green as not to know whether
a theatrical performance was good or the contrary!” said the old
bachelor, staring at him, whereupon the young gentleman felt himself
necessitated to be somewhat less abstracted.
After breakfast he took up his hat with unexpressed intention to visit
the scene of his discovery, and half formed hopes, and his uncle, having
observed that in a stroll through the city he might see some books, or
other such matters, which he would like to possess, kindly proffered him
funds to purchase them.
Julius thanked him, and answered that he was provided with a sum, naming
it, amply sufficient for the expenses of the three or four weeks he had
proposed for the length of his visit.
“Don’t forget to be back again at twelve,” said Mr. Holcroft; “against
that time I shall want you to go with me to see your cousin Etty.”
“Hang my cousin Etty!” thought Julius, but he said nothing, and, with a
bow, he departed. On reaching the place where his thoughts had been all
the morning, he examined the door, but could find no name, nor could he
see a child or a servant within half a square, of whom he might have
obtained information. But, crossing the street in his disappointment, he
noticed on the first house before him, a large brass door-plate,
inscribed “Boarding,” and actuated by the first suggestion of his fancy,
he rang the bell, and inquired if he could obtain lodgings for a short
time.
“My rooms are all taken, sir,—that is, all the best apartments,”
replied the mistress of the mansion, presuming, from his appearance,
that none but good accommodations would answer.
Julius paused a moment, but having gone so far, he concluded not to draw
back. “I would be willing to put up with an inferior one, provided it is
in the front of the house,” said he.
“The small room, in the third story, over the entrance, is vacant,” said
the lady, hesitating to offer it.
“I’ll take it, madam,” he returned, and without further question or
examination, he hastened to have his baggage brought. This he executed
without the knowledge of his uncle, the old gentleman having rode out
after breakfast.
He felt half ashamed of his precipitancy, when he saw his trunks
deposited in a chamber, so filled up by a narrow bed, a washstand and a
single chair, that there was hardly space enough for them, but on
approaching the window, he beheld the blue mantilla descending from the
steps of the house opposite, and he regarded himself as fully
compensated for the sacrifice.
“Who lives in the house immediately across the way?” asked he of the
servant who was arranging the room.
“Mr. Lawrenson, sir,—that gentleman coming out.” It was the old
gentleman of the theatre.
“There are a couple of young ladies in the house, are there not?”
“Only one, sir, that I know of,—a great belle among the quality. The
gentlemen call her the _beautiful_ Miss Lawrenson.”
Julius was satisfied. He knew the family by reputation, and to have
attracted the attention, and commenced a flirtation of the eyes with a
beauty so distinguished, he felt was an adventure to be pursued without
respect to little inconveniences. He was strengthened in this sentiment
by some of the gentlemen at the dinner-table stating, that one of the
most prominent ornaments of the dress circle, at the theatre, the night
before, was the beautiful Charlotte Lawrenson.
After dinner he watched long for the return of his fair neighbor, an
occupation not the most comfortable, as there was no chimney in the
room, and therefore no possibility of his having a fire; but she did not
again appear, and recollecting that his uncle ought to be informed of
his change of quarters, he proceeded to fulfil that duty. On his way he
had some misgiving that the old gentleman would not receive his apprisal
on the best of terms, and he was projecting some plausible excuse to
satisfy him, when the result of his ingenuity was annihilated by his
encountering, face to face, the lady of his thoughts,—his heart, as he
believed. The same half-smile met him,—there might have been observed
an additional expression of familiarity;—the same blush, and he would
have turned to follow her again, but his sense of propriety had not so
far left him, as to admit of the repetition,—particularly as there was
no object to be gained by it. So, satisfied that from his close
vicinity, he could have an opportunity of seeing her daily, and of
taking advantage of any favorable accident for a better acquaintance, he
entered the drawing-room of the old bachelor, who received him with an
exclamation of “Where upon earth have you been all this day, Julius?”
“At my lodgings, sir,” replied the youth, having come to the conclusion
that it would be best to treat his desertion in the most matter of
course way possible.
“Your lodgings!” repeated Mr. Holcroft, in astonishment.
“Yes, uncle; as I don’t like to trouble my friends more than I can help,
I decided upon taking boarding, and your absence, when I came to remove
my baggage, prevented my informing you of it.”
“What, after I had proposed your taking up your residence in my house,
not only during your visit, but during my life time! I need a better
excuse than that. Where have you gone?”
Julius named the place.
“One of the most expensive establishments in the city, and one
frequented by dandies, _roués_, and _bon vivants_,—the very worst sort
of society for a young man, who aspires to attaining eminence in one of
the learned professions. You might, at least, have consulted me about a
place proper for you, even though you had decided upon mortifying me by
leaving my house. How long have you engaged to stay?”
“Only a week or two, uncle,” replied Julius, devoutly hoping that no
questions would be asked, which would compel him to confess that he had
ensconsed himself in the worst apartment in the house.
“I waited dinner for you an hour, after having expected you for two or
three to go with me to visit your cousin Etty. However, you can stay to
tea, and go with me in the evening.”
“Excuse me, dear sir,—I have a particular reason for declining.”
“What! again?—how do you intend to dispose of yourself?”
“I—I shall stay in my own room, I believe, uncle.”
“You vex and surprise me more and more, Julius. Independent of my
earnest desire that you should see your cousin, your duty as a gentleman
and as a relative requires that you should make her a visit, and the
sooner it is done, the more it will be to your credit.”
“The young lady in question being only my second-cousin, I cannot
perceive that there is any duty connected with the matter.
Second-cousins, except in cases of convenience, are seldom regarded as
relatives at all.”
“Whew! I presume that, after all that, I need not be surprised if you
should propose to dissolve the connection between me and yourself! I, a
queer, plain, old fellow, will hardly be likely to remain an
_acknowledged_ kinsman of one who declines the relationship of one of
the loveliest girls that ever the sun shone upon!”
“My dear uncle, I meant no disrespect towards Miss Attwood, much less to
you, but really, I have something to attend to, that will debar me from
the pleasure of fulfilling your wishes, to-night. I will see you again
in the morning. Good evening.”
“I must keep a sharp watch on that youngster,” said the old bachelor to
himself; “he can’t have formed an attachment at home, for he appeared
delighted, at first, with my proposition for his settlement. As to his
leaving my house, it strikes me that it was done for the purpose of
escaping my _surveillance_. I must be careful as to what sort of habits
he has formed, before I decide on carrying out my plans. I must go to
see Etty this evening myself, and as she will expect some excuse for his
not calling, I can tell her that he is diffident,—not used to ladies’
society, or something that way. She has not been here for several days,
I presume on his account; so I’ll tell her that he has taken boarding at
Mrs. W——’s. I have no notion of being cheated out of my only lady
visiter by the ungrateful scamp.” And the old gentleman carried his
resolve into execution.
Julius had really told the truth in saying that he intended to remain at
home that evening, but he would not for any thing in the world,—except,
indeed, the heart under the blue velvet mantilla,—have acknowledged his
reason for so doing. The fact was, he had concluded that no time was to
be lost in pursuing his advantage, and that, as he had been the poet of
his class at college, he might be inspired, if in solitude, to produce a
metrical accompaniment for some pretty _gage d’amour_, to be sent the
next morning. His muse not unpropitious, but cabin’d, confined, in his
fireless dormitory, his ardour would, no doubt, have abated, had he not,
by an occasional glance out of the window, been reminded, by the blue
sky and its golden embroidery of stars, of the azure mantilla. Thus
refreshed, whenever he found himself flagging, he completed his
performance to his full satisfaction, and after copying it on paper
perfumed and gilt,—with his washstand for a writing table,—he retired
to dream the night into day.
In the morning, as soon as breakfast was over, he set off in quest of
his intended gift, and seeing the gorgeous display of exotics, in the
window of a celebrated florist, he stopped and selected flowers for a
bouquet, the richest and rarest, without regard to cost, and ordering
them to be sent immediately to his lodgings, he hastened to meet them
there. He was stopped, however, in his course by his friend Elkinton.
“I am glad at the accident of meeting you,” said the latter; “I called
last evening and this morning at Mr. Holcroft’s in expectation of your
coming in,—the servants having told me yesterday that you had changed
your residence. Where do you lodge?—your uncle was not at home, and,
consequently, I did not ascertain.”
Julius evaded an answer, afraid of exposing to any acquaintance how
comfortless a place he had deposited himself in, and though they had now
nearly reached it, he walked off in a contrary direction to avoid
suspicion, talking all the while with much more animation than he would
have been likely to do in his present state of feeling, if there had not
been a strong motive to prompt him.
“Have you any engagement for this evening?” asked Elkinton; “if not, I
will take you to see my _fiancée_, as I promised you the other day. I
really wish to have your congratulations on my selection. All the
fellows of my acquaintance regard me with envy;—you need not smile,—I
say it without vanity or boasting.”
Julius declined without offering an excuse.
“When will you go then?” persisted the intruder.
“I don’t know,—in truth I go very little into ladies’ society at
present,” replied Rockwell, with an air of _nonchalance_.
That his friend should be totally indifferent towards his mistress, is
little less unpardonable to a lover, than that he should attempt to
rival him in her affections; accordingly Elkinton, after replying
coolly, “very well, I hold you to no appointment,” bowed stiffly, and
walked away.
Not giving his friend’s change of deportment a thought, Julius hastened
to his room, where the flowers had arrived before him, and folded his
poetical billet-doux to send with them. How to direct it was the next
question, and determining that it would be disrespectful, without his
having an introduction, to address it to “Miss Lawrenson,” he
substituted, in place of her name, to “The Blue Velvet Mantilla.” He
then rang the bell, and giving the waiter who appeared, a liberal
douceur to carry it across the street, and leave it for Miss Lawrenson,
with the bouquet, he watched at the window until he saw it delivered to
a servant at the door.
The other boarders having left the parlors, he took possession of one of
the front windows with a newspaper in his hand, and watched every
movement across the way. In a short time the tall brunette emerged from
the doorway, but her companion of the sunny ringlets did not appear.
After dinner she really did present herself,—he was on the watch
again;—and he noticed that, before she reached the steps, she glanced
across with apparent curiosity, from which he conjectured that she had
discovered, by means of the servant, whence the offering had come. And
then, when she turned to look again, after she had pulled the bell, he
was confident that she recognised his figure at the window. Towards
evening he tore himself from his loadstone long enough to saunter out
with the object of paying his respects to his uncle, but the old
gentleman not being in the house, he did not enter, and returning to his
room, he busied himself, as the evening before, in writing verses for a
future occasion.
Thus ended one day of folly, and the next was spent in a similar manner,
except that he sent a costly English annual, as his second tribute, and,
to his surprise and ecstasy, received, in return, by his messenger, a
geranium leaf, enclosed in a sheet of rose-colored note-paper, in which
was inscribed, in a dainty female hand, the single line,—“From the Blue
Velvet Mantilla.”
The third day, he sent a present equally elegant, and employed some of
the most skilful members of a famous band to discourse their most
elegant music under her window in the night, and he felt not a little
flattered, secretly, to hear some of the boarders pronounce it the most
delightful serenade ever heard, even in the neighborhood of Miss
Lawrenson. But it would be tedious to follow him in his extravagances.
He dispensed his flowers, and books, and music, and tasteful _bijoux_ as
prodigally as if he had possessed the purse of a Fortunio, until better
than a week had passed. During this time he forced himself to call daily
on his uncle, and daily declined a visit to his cousin, until the old
gentleman, deeply offended, ceased to invite him to his house, and he
for the same reason, ceased to go. Elkinton, too, met him once or twice,
and, in remembrance of his want of courtesy, passed him with merely a
nod, but what was all that, in comparison with the compensation he
received from the lady of the mantilla?—sundry glances and blushes,
when he chanced to meet her on the street; a wave of her scarf across
the window, which could not have been accidental; and above all, two
several notes, containing, each, familiar quotations, in her own
delicate hand, as answers to some of his impassioned rhapsodies. A new
incident, however, brought him somewhat to his senses.
One morning his messenger, on returning, presented him with a note,
markedly different, from its bold penmanship, to the others, and on
opening it, he read to the following effect.—
“The person, who, for a week past, has been so liberal of his favors to
Miss C—— L——, is requested to call this afternoon, three o’clock, at
No. 26, —— Hotel, and explain his conduct to one possessed of a right
to demand it. Should he not comply, it will be presumed that he is
unworthy of being treated as a gentleman, and he shall be dealt with
accordingly.”
“From whom did you receive this?” asked he of the servant.
“From Mr. Lawrenson’s footman, sir, who always receives my messages; he
said it was given to him by a gentleman who ordered him not to tell his
name.”
“Very well; that is sufficient,” said Julius, with considerably more
self-possession than if it had contained another quotation or geranium
leaf.
What explanation should he make?—was he to meet a father, or a brother?
whom? or, what? was he to be called upon to apologize, or to fight? or
what was to be done? He could settle none of these questions to his
satisfaction, and so he concluded to remain as unconcerned as possible,
and be guided by the relative position and deportment of his challenger.
The appointed hour came, and found our hero at the house designated. He
asked to be shown to No. 26, and, on rapping at the door, to his
surprise, it was opened by Elkinton. The latter, also, looked surprised,
but presuming that he had called to atone for his former unfriendliness,
he invited him in, and seated him, with much cordiality. Julius looked
around, and perceiving no other person in the room, took the letter from
his pocket, and remarked—“There must be some mistake here. To confess
the truth, Elkinton, I did not expect to find myself in your apartment.
This note directed me to number 26, but it must be a mistake of the pew.
However, as I am here, I would be very glad of your advice as a friend.
Read this.”
Elkinton glanced at the note, and, with a heightened color, returned,
“There must, indeed, be some mistake. I am the writer of this, but you,
certainly, cannot be the person for whom it was intended.”
Julius started, but commanded himself to reply coolly,—“Judging from
its import, it undoubtedly was destined for my hands.”
Elkinton paced the room once or twice, and then, seating himself beside
his visiter, remarked, “This is a delicate affair, Julius, but, as old
friends, let us talk it over quietly. That there may be no
misunderstanding, let us be certain that we both interpret these
initials alike.”
“I presumed them to be those of Miss Lawrenson,—Charlotte Lawrenson,”
answered Julius.
“She, indeed, is the person meant, and to prove to you my right to
interfere in this matter, she is the lady to whom I am engaged, of which
I informed you,—who is affianced to be my wife in a few months.”
Julius sprang to his feet, and turned pale as marble. To be thus flirted
and betrayed!
“Now,” pursued Elkinton, earnestly, “you will understand why I should
have felt indignant at any one presuming to make such advances, as you
have done, towards the lady in question, and you will not be surprised
if I ask by what you were encouraged to persist in them, so
assiduously.”
“By the lady’s own conduct,” said Julius, with his usual impetuosity;
“by her accepting my presents, which were invariably accompanied by
expressions of admiration,—nay, of passion; by her noticing those
expressions with answers, which, if not explicitly favorable, could not
have been construed otherwise, as they were not reprobatory; by tokens
of personal recognition from her house, and by conscious, and not
discouraging looks, whenever we met in the street.”
“Stay, Julius! these are serious charges, and such as no man could
patiently listen to of his affianced wife. Your presents I know she
received, for from her jestingly showing them to me, and pointing out
the house from which they came, I was led to write the note in your
hand, of which she is aware; but that a girl of Charlotte Lawrenson’s
dignity of character would answer love-letters from an entire stranger,
and exchange coquettish glances with him in the streets, is more than I
can credit.”
“That is language, Elkinton, that I cannot and will not submit to,”
retorted Julius angrily; “if you must have proofs farther than the word
of a man of honor, take these!” and he drew the notes from his bosom,
where, in the most approved fashion of lovers, he had kept them secured
day and night.
Elkinton snatched them, and after a scrutinizing examination replied, “I
can say, almost positively, that not a word here is in her handwriting.”
“No doubt, you find it very satisfactory to feel thus assured,” said
Julius, with a sarcastic smile.
“To save further dispute, by which neither of us can be convinced,”
returned Elkinton, endeavoring to be more composed, “I will go directly
to Miss Lawrenson, and ask an explanation from her, without which, I at
least, cannot feel satisfied. If you shall be at leisure, I will call on
you, or, if you prefer it, shall expect you here at eight this evening.”
For particular reasons, unnecessary to specify, Julius chose the latter,
and Elkinton, escorting him out with cold politeness, proceeded, in much
perturbation, to the mansion of Mr. Lawrenson.
Our hero was punctual to his appointment in the evening, and found
Elkinton impatiently awaiting him. “I have laid your representations
before Miss Lawrenson, and, for your sake, am sorry that she disclaims
their veracity. Though she again acknowledges having your presents in
her possession, she denies having answered your notes, or even having
opened them; denies ever having given you a mark of recognition, and
denies that, to her knowledge, she ever saw you in the street.”
Julius stood aghast. To have the truth so pointedly disowned, to have
his word so plainly doubted, it was not to be borne. “Her retaining my
love-tokens, I think, might be sufficient evidence to you that all is
not exactly as you would desire,” he replied indignantly, “a woman who
encourages the advances of a total stranger, in everything but words,
while betrothed to another, and then, to preserve his favor, denies the
whole course of her conduct, is unworthy the notice of any man who calls
himself a gentleman.”
“One thing can yet be done,” said Elkinton, repressing a furious answer;
“let me have those notes, and, through them, Miss Lawrenson may probably
be enabled to discover by whom they were produced. If that cannot be
done, I shall hold you responsible for gross misrepresentations of her
character;” and he strode out, leaving his rival in possession of his
room.
Matters now wore a serious aspect. Should the lady make no confession, a
challenge would be the consequence, and even should she vouchsafe to
explain, it would be to make him a laughing stock by proving him
quizzed, coquetted and jilted. If the first were to occur, it behoved
him to prepare to leave the world; if the latter, at least to leave the
city. And on his way homeward, he decided to put his affairs in order.
He remembered that his landlady had sent in her bill that morning,
requiring money for a pressing engagement, and that, having pretty well
exhausted his funds in his expensive outlays for his fair enchantress,
he had concluded to apply to his uncle for means to discharge it.
Accordingly he stopped to inquire for him, but not finding him at home,
he left on his secretaire a note, requesting the loan of the sum he
required, and saying he would call for it in the morning. He then
retired to his lodgings in such a state of excitement as it had not been
his lot before to experience.
In the morning, when completing his toilet, for breakfast, he heard the
sound of a stick and an unusually heavy step on the stairs, and after a
loud rap on the door, Mr. Holcroft, to his great surprise, presented
himself.
“So,” said the old bachelor, seating himself on the side of the bed, the
only chair being occupied by Julius’ collar and cravat, and looking
around in astonishment, “a pretty exchange you have made, young
gentleman, for the pleasant apartments to which I welcomed you on your
arrival!”
Julius saw that his ire was aroused, but unable to conjecture why, and
somewhat abashed at the shabbiness of his surroundings, he could only
stammer something about having found it impossible to obtain the
accommodation of a better room.
“And what are your reasons, young man, for submitting to such
discomforts and inconveniences?—You need not take the trouble to
fabricate an answer. Your last night’s demand for money has given me a
full insight into your character and pursuits, and I have come to assert
my tacit right as your mother’s brother, and your nearest living
relation, to use the power of a guardian, and remove you from scenes in
which you are in a fair way to prove a disgrace to me and to the memory
of your parents. On your arrival in the city, I laid before you my plans
for your future benefit,—that you should make your home with me as my
son, and my prospective heir, an offer which almost any young man would
have considered extraordinary good fortune,—and suggested to you an
alliance which, I felt confident, would secure your happiness. I was not
such an old block-head to expect you to marry your cousin without your
own conviction that she would suit you, but merely named her to you as a
woman who, to any reasonable man, would be a treasure, such as, I fear,
you will never deserve to possess. Then, instead of calling on your
cousin, as I requested, if only through civility to me,—you displayed a
churlish indifference to female society, which young men of good
principles and education seldom feel, and to escape from the watch and
control which you supposed I would keep on your movements,—you
clandestinely left my house. To be sure, you did make a show of respect,
by coming occasionally to see me, but your abstracted manner, and entire
silence as to your engagements and mode of spending the time, confirmed
my suspicions that your amusements were such as you were ashamed to
confess them to be. On one occasion, however, you committed
yourself,—in naming the amount of funds you had brought with
you,—quite sufficient for any young man of good habits for a month,
situated as you are; and now, though I am perfectly willing to give you
the sum you require, and as much in addition, as will take you away from
temptation as far as you may choose to go, I demand in return, to know
how your own has been spent.”
Hurt, mortified and vexed at suspicions so unjust and injurious, Julius
did not attempt to interrupt him, and against he concluded, had made up
his mind to confess the whole truth, which he did, circumstantially and
minutely.
“Can it be possible that my sister’s son should have made such a fool of
himself?” exclaimed the old gentleman, raising his hands in amazement,
“that you should have given up the comforts of my house, and the
pleasures of the agreeable society you would have met there, for this
inconvenient dungeon in a boarding-house; squandered your money like a
tragedy hero, and put yourself into a situation to shoot, or to be shot
by, one of your best friends, all for the sake of a girl who was silly
and impudent enough to cast a few coquettish glances at you in the
street! truly! truly!—however, it is not quite so bad as I apprehended,
certainly less unpardonable that you should play the idiot than to have
turned out a gambler or _roué_, as I suspected. But just see how easily
all this might have been avoided!—merely by your going with me to see
your cousin, and falling in love with her, and thus putting yourself out
of danger of becoming entangled in the snares of another. It is a lucky
thing for you, my gentle Romeo, that we came to an understanding so
soon, for I had made up my mind, partly, to marry Mrs. Attwood, the
widow, right off, and as Etty would have been a sort of niece, to make
her my heiress. What d’ye think of that? But there’s your breakfast
bell, and my carriage is waiting for me. Go down, and in half an hour I
will call and take you home with me. In the meantime I will see
Elkinton, and try if the matter can’t be settled without pistols.”
At the end of the half-hour Mr. Holcroft returned, and apprising Julius
that he had made an appointment with Elkinton to meet him at eleven, he
took him away, talking all the time with much spirit, evidently to
engage and amuse the thoughts of the chagrined and disappointed lover.
This seemed to have little effect, when, thinking of another expedient,
he ordered his coachman to stop at the rooms of an eminent painter,
where, he stated to Julius, he was getting some pictures executed, which
he would like him to examine. He would take no refusal, and the young
gentleman was obliged to alight and accompany him into the gallery. When
they had reached it, he found no difficulty in recognizing the first
piece pointed out to him as the portrait of his uncle himself, and after
giving it the appropriate measure of approbation, he strolled away, on
seeing the artist approach. With occasionally a cursory glance at them,
he walked in front of a row of ladies and gentlemen, who smiled upon him
from the canvass in a manner that, to his moodiness, appeared quite
tantalizing, and, at length, an exclamation from him drew Mr. Holcroft
to his side, who found him gazing pale and breathless upon a picture,
the very counterpart, even to the blue velvet mantilla, of the one in
his heart.
“Why, what’s the matter?—whom do you recognize there?” asked the old
bachelor.
“She,—herself,—the fair cause of my late—insanity;” answered he, with
an unsuccessful effort to return the smile.
“Who?—that?—the original of that! Whew! ha! ha!” exclaimed the old
gentleman with a stare and then a boisterous laugh; “and is it she, that
you have allowed to put you on the road to Bedlam!—a dumpy little thing
like that! ha! ha! But I see that I have frustrated my own intention, in
bringing you here to compose you. Don’t stand there in such an attitude,
and looking so wo-begone, or Mr. —— will make a caricature of you; he
has his keen eye fixed on you now, come along!” and Julius followed
unwillingly down stairs, his uncle laughing all the way in a manner that
was excessively provoking.
In a few minutes they had reached home. “I’ll not get out,” said the old
bachelor, “just go in and amuse yourself, until I return, which will be
shortly. Be sure that you wait for me, as I wish to be present at your
interview with Elkinton.”
Julius did as he was requested, and in due time his uncle returned.
“Come now,” said he, “I have no doubt that the young lady will make a
confession, and that you will escape with your character untarnished
except by folly. Then after we have got over our business with Elkinton,
if it should be settled amicably, we will go to see your cousin
Henrietta.”
“My dear uncle! I beseech you do not propose my going to visit a lady,
in my present frame of mind! I really should disgrace both myself and
you. Make my excuses to Etty, and when I have returned to the city,
after I shall have banished the remembrance of my disappointment by a
few months in the country, I will endeavour to do everything that is
proper.”
“I forgot to tell you,” said Mr. Holcroft, “that we are not to meet
Elkinton at his lodgings, but in a private house; an arrangement made, I
suspect, that Miss Lawrenson might be present, to make an explanation of
her conduct. Here is the place, now.”
Julius started, but the carriage stopped, and he followed his uncle in
silence. They were ushered into an elegant drawing-room, and on an
ottoman, in full view of the door, sat the blue velvet mantilla.—She
bowed to Mr. Holcroft, and looked at Julius, as if quite prepared to
confront him. The sight of her convinced him that he was not yet cured
of his passion, but before he had had any time to betray it, his uncle
took him by the arm, and said as he drew him forward, “Allow me, Julius,
to present you to your cousin Henrietta Attwood.”
“The most unnecessary thing in the world, Mr. Holcroft,” returned the
lady rising, “as I would have known my cousin Julius anywhere. He,
however, I presume, would not have found it so easy to recognize me!”
and looking into his face with a merry, ringing laugh, she approached
him, and held out her hand.
Confounded by the many emotions that crowded upon him, Julius stood
speechless, and almost afraid to touch it, when her laugh was echoed
from the adjoining room and Elkinton appeared, accompanied by the
dark-eyed damsel, whom our hero had seen as the companion of his cousin,
and introduced her as Miss Lawrenson.
“My dear Rockwell,” said he, heartily grasping Julius’ hand, “I am
delighted to meet you again as one of the most valued of my friends. We
have good reason to congratulate each other that we did not fall victims
to a stratagem, planned by these cruel nymphs, as cunning as ever was
devised by Circe of old.”
“Stop, stop, Elkinton!” interrupted the old bachelor, “as the merit of
the _dénouement_ is mine, I think I am entitled to make a speech to
Julius.”
“Not now, not here, before us! dear Mr. Holcroft!” exclaimed both the
girls laughing and blushing, but as he showed signs of proceeding, they
ran away, and left the gentlemen by themselves.
According to Mr. Holcroft’s explanation, Henrietta had recognized her
cousin on the day of his arrival, which fully accounted for her pleasant
glances; and from his following her in the street, approaching her at
the theatre, and tracing her to Mr. Lawrenson’s, which that gentleman
had observed, she presumed that she was equally known to him, and, of
course, wondered that he did not avail himself of the easier method of
renewing their acquaintance by means of his uncle. But on discovering,
from Mr. Holcroft’s representations, that she was mistaken, learning his
change of residence, and receiving through Miss Lawrenson, his verses,
in which she recognized his hand, she was struck with a clearer
perception of the case, and she determined to engage in the flirtation,
and pursue it until he should make her a visit, as a relation, and then
have a laugh at his expense. Miss Lawrenson, in return for assisting
her, by receiving his communications, claimed the privilege of having
some amusement of her own out of the adventure, and to effect this, she
made use of his beautiful gifts to excite the jealousy of Elkinton; they
both, however, discovered that they had carried the game too far, and
alarmed at the turn it had taken, had sent for Elkinton, an hour or two
before, from Mrs. Attwood’s, and made a full confession. There Mr.
Holcroft had found him, when he called to inform Etty of his discovery
in the picture-room, and of his nephew’s difficulties, and there the
grand finale was projected.
“It must have been my indistinct and unconscious recollection of my old
play-fellow, after all,” said Julius, “which so attracted me, and it was
her getting out of the carriage at Mr. Lawrenson’s and being there so
often, which brought you into the drama, Elkinton.”
“Yes, she is to be our bridesmaid, and, no doubt, she and Charlotte have
a good many little matters to talk over;—that accounts for their being
so much together. She stayed over night the time in question.”
“Well, well, it is a mercy that in their confabulations they did not set
you two blowing each other’s brains out; and it would have been no
wonder, Julius, if such a catastrophe had happened, to punish you for
your disobedience,” said the old bachelor, “now, if you had obliged me,
like a dutiful nephew, by calling on your cousin, and acted a friend’s
part towards Elkinton, by going to see his sweetheart, everything would
have ended properly without any of this trouble. But it is too often the
case that people run after all sorts of shadows, and get themselves into
all sorts of scrapes, in their search after happiness, when they could
find it at once by quietly attending to their duties at home.”
The young ladies returned, and, through delicacy towards them, no
allusion was made to the subject just canvassed, but Julius, on
returning with his uncle to dinner, declared his intention of offering
himself to Etty that very evening, if he should find an opportunity.
This the old gentleman expressly forbade, giving him a fortnight as a
term of probation; but whether he was obeyed more closely in this than
in his former requisitions, was, from certain indications, a matter of
doubt.
At the end of the two weeks, there was a friendly contest between
Rockwell and Elkinton, as to which must wait to be the groomsman of the
other. It was left to the decision of Mr. Holcroft, who declared in
favor of the latter, he having determined to serve in that capacity,
towards his nephew himself.
He did so, in the course of a few months, and though Julius has not had
time to rise, as his substitute, to the height of the profession, he has
carried out the original plan so far as to have furnished the Holcroft
mansion with a boy, athletic enough already to ride on his grand uncle’s
cane, and a girl, so ingenious as to have, occasionally, made a doll’s
cradle of his rocking chair.
* * * * *