Our youthful debutantes were plunged into the maelstrom of a
fashionable season; a whirl which, in its outermost circles, was as
gratifying to the feverish energy of Ida as to the vanity of her more
grovelling-minded associate. The rapidly shortening days seemed longer
instead, so uneventful and wearisome were they. Life commenced when the
evening's thousand lamps were lit. The mingling perfumes; the crush
and flutter; the wave-like roar of the assembly-room, were delicious
excitement to the emancipated school-girl; and to the astonishment
of those who had known her then, the reserved student bloomed into
the dashing wit and belle; beauties and heiresses sitting, uncourted
by, while "eligibles" contended for the honor of her preference. Her
newness was a part of the secret. The spectacle of a wild Zingara,
unreined, and glorying in the fullness of its freedom, scorning bit
and spur, amongst a pack of jaded hackneys, who have been trotted and
paced and galloped, year after year, until their factitious animation
and oft-repeated gambols create pity and contempt, would cause a
sensation akin to that awakened by her appearance. Her lightest words
were jeux d'esprit; her laugh, a chime of silver wedding-bells;
(things by the way, of which every body talks, but nobody we have
questioned, ever heard,) her singing seraphic; her ballads lyric gems;
herself a Corinne. Josephine was latest to perceive, first to resent
this sudden accession of popularity. Rivalry from this source was
as unexpected as unbearable. Her glass showed her a form, airy as a
summer cloud; a set of features more delicate and regular than Ida's
characteristic-physiognomy; and in dress, she certainly bore off the
palm; her maid being invariably rung up an hour and a half before
Rachel's services were demanded. She fought, as long as she could, with
the conviction that this pre-eminence was as though it had not been to
the world; and when it made a violent entrance into her circumscribed
intellect, how was the milk of her nature curdled to vinegar! And how
like nitre to vinegar, were the happily-chosen congratulations of her
attendant beaux, upon her good fortune in inhabiting the same house
with "her charming friend, Miss Ross;" or, "Miss Ida even surpasses
herself to-night;" "A remarkable girl! such vivacity! and I hear, quite
as much profundity of mind; is this so, Miss Read?" And the writhing
dissembler had to assent, and corroborate, and smile, while the yeasty
waves frothed and bubbled furiously in their confinement. To expose her
envy would damage her prospects, hinged as they were, in part, upon her
sweetness of disposition.
It might have been a salvo to her wounded vanity had she guessed by
what a length of time her jealousy outlived the triumph which aroused
it; how the feast of adulation, so daintily spread, ceased to tempt,
then nauseated; how, from the jewelled robe of society the gloss
wore away, and threadbare tatters were all that remained of what was
cloth of gold; how prevarications and oaths refused longer to shelter
falsehood; and the garlands withered and shrank from manacles which
heated with the wearing; how the earth itself was a thin, hollow ball,
that one could puff away with a breath; how, ere the fire the revel
had infused into her veins cooled, the coronal was plucked from the
brow, the costly attire crushed petulantly, a worthless rag! And at
that window, the freezing air not chilling her heated blood--the envied
one wept blistering tears of self-abhorrence and despondency--and the
night-wind sighed to the moan--"Not this! not this!" and the old prayer
for "liberty and love!" We say, had she known this, she might have felt
avenged; but the public, nor she, saw any alteration in its fondling
and her detestation. It was the middle of December. Balls, concerts,
and soirees had been given in breathless succession, and Ellen Morris
issued tickets for yet another. The appointed hour saw the house
overflowing. Ida was near the centre of the front parlor, radiant and
flattered as usual. One gentleman, with an air of easy assurance, was
inspecting her bouquet; a second, pushing a mock flirtation with all
his might; a third, a callow youngster, afraid to speak to the "bright
particular," he had so panted to behold, staring into her face in
sheepish agony; and a fourth peered over the shoulder of number one.
"The camelia, Miss Ida, what is its emblem?" asked the bouquet holder.
"Beauty without wit;" rejoined she, but half hearing him, and then
finishing a sentence to No. 2.
"Without amiability, you mean," corrected No. 4.
"Without wit!" said Ida. "I relish an active perfume, which can be
detected without effort of mine, and do not prize a flower that must
be bruised to extract its sweetness; amiability is, at best, a passive
virtue."
"But what is a beautiful woman without softness, tenderness,
effeminacy?" said No. 2, whose stock of words exceeded that of
ideas. "She wins us by her yielding submissiveness, her gentle
mildness. Destitute and devoid of these, she is to me without charm
or attraction. Do not understand me, however, as depreciating or
undervaluing wit in _your_ presence!" recollecting himself, with a
salaam.
"No apologies are necessary. We all agree that such depreciation would
come with a bad grace from Mr. Talbot," said Ida, pointedly, returning
a still deeper curtsey.
No. 1 nodded, as he laughed, to some one beside her. "Good evening,"
said Mr. Lacy, as she looked around.
"And he has overheard this nonsensical stuff!" thought she, with inward
disturbance. "When did you come in?" she inquired.
"About ten minutes since; most of which time has been spent in a search
for Mrs. or Miss Morris."
"I am glad to hear it."
"Glad--how?"
"I feared you had occupied your present position some time."
He understood her. "There are more people here than I expected to see,"
he said, after some general conversation.
"Almost too many," replied Ida; "I am getting tired of these great
parties."
"The heat is oppressive. Have you a liking for this stand?"
"No--my being here is accidental. It requires some effort to stand, or
walk upright, in the heart of this crowd."
"I noticed, as I came through, that the music room was more
thinly-populated--will you rest there?"
This was a mere boudoir compared with others of the suite, and the
prepossessions of the company were for music of a different kind. The
violin was discoursing its enchanting strains in the farther apartment,
and there were not above a dozen persons in the one, where slumbered
the piano and guitar.
"Are you indisposed, Miss Ross?" asked Mr. Brigham, who was fanning a
fragile-looking girl, reclining in an easy chair.
"No--only tired. You have acted wisely in shunning the press and
bustle, Miss Moore. I am happy to see you able to venture out in the
evening."
"Your climate is doing wonderful things for me," answered Miss Moore,
smiling.
"How dreadful to be deprived of health, and the hope of a long life!"
said Ida, when they were seated.
"And especially mournful in this instance, if I am not deceived!"
replied Mr. Lacy. "I pity that man! he will not believe that
bereavement is inevitable; and if death was ever branded upon human
brow, it is upon hers."
"I honor his constancy and devotion," said Ida. "The object of his
visit in the fall, was to acquaint himself with the advantages our city
possesses for invalids; then he went back for her mother and herself.
He is both brother and lover. Who would have expected this from a man
of his phlegmatic constitution?"
"Another warning of the folly of judging by appearances. It is
possible, too, that we who are pitying her are as much in want
of compassion. The highest happiness is unaffected by extraneous
influences."
"Happiness!" echoed Ida, "It is a myth."
"So says the sage of eighteen--gay, gifted and caressed! You will not
entrap me into a sermon;" said Mr. Lacy, sportively. "No! no! Miss Ida!
you will regard me as a lineal descendant of Bunyan's Mr. Law--a Giant
Grim, who frequents places of amusement to corner children, and relate
scary stories to them."
"A monster who does not exhibit himself often;" returned Ida. "This is
but the second large party at which I have seen you. Are you principled
against them?"
"No, and yes. I do not disapprove of social pleasures. They make
light, yet firm, the bands that cement our species. Their suppression
would convert the most benevolent into a morose eremite; but I do see
incipient evil in the frequency of these scenes. Setting aside the
waste of time, which may belong to matters of importance, sooner or
later they produce a disrelish for domestic duties, and an enervation,
physical and mental, like the languorous sobriety of a toper. There
is nothing nourishing to the immortal mind, in a ceaseless round of
gaiety."
"How do you know, by personal experience?"
"Even so. I once drank pretty deeply of Pleasure's cup--did not drain
it to the lees--but drew off the clear wine, and was beginning to
taste the bitter, before I would let go. I was in Mr. Holmes' studio,
yesterday, and missed your portraits. You have them?"
"I have."
"Are you pleased?"
"Entirely. I do not remember my father, but Mr. Read says the likeness
is good. The other could not be improved."
"Mr. Holmes is a painter of exalted abilities, and an enthusiast in his
art. I did not know him well until our passage at arms at Mr. Dana's,
the day we dined there. We have been friends ever since. My sister
writes that his portrait of myself is a solace in the loneliness of her
sick chamber. She has the kindest of mothers and friends, but there are
times when they are unavoidably absent, and she is childish enough to
talk to the dumb semblance of one who is not worthy of her love, and
imagine that it looks back its answers."
"Have you but one sister?"
"But one at home--three are married. Annie seems nearer to me; she is
next me in age, and until a year ago was my inseparable companion."
His eye rested upon Miss Moore. "We were speaking of happiness in
affliction. If skeptical on this head, you should know her. She is
never free from pain and never impatient; her sunny, loving temper,
makes her room the resort of the neighborhood--but this does not
interest you."
"Not interest me!" said Ida, reproachfully. "Do you then think me the
heartless creature I appear? I am not wholly absorbed in self. We have
never conversed as strangers; do not let us retrograde now. True, I
have no sister, but I have a friend who is more to me, so I may listen."
"Thank you," said he sincerely. "I have feared you might deem my
informal address presumptuous; but I seem to have known you for years,
not months. I cannot wear my company manners when talking to you."
"Perhaps we have met before, in an anterior state of existence,"
replied Ida; "and lurking memories of introductions, and compliments,
and staid courtesies, render these preliminaries odious now. I could
be sure, sometimes, that my spirit had lived in this world before it
tenanted its present body."
"These are fascinating, yet dangerous speculations," he answered. "I am
tormented by them myself, but I shun them as unprofitable."
"Why so? The soul, as our nobler part, merits most study; its mysteries
are yet undiscovered. What a field expands to our contemplation! over
which the mind may rove and exult for ages, and leave unimpoverished. I
would not barter one hour of such thoughts--chimerical though they may
be--for ten years of this vapid, surface life. I had rather dive into
the ocean, to bring up nothing but valueless shells, than drift, like
dead sea-weed, upon the top of the sleepy waves."
"May I describe another mode of life and action?"
"Certainly--so you do not laugh at me."
"Do you apprehend that I shall?" fixing his clear eye upon hers. "I
would remind you of the humble mariner, steering his vessel boldly,
but carefully, through the waters, thankful in sunshine, courageous in
tempest, with one port in view, rowing past the Fairy islands that stud
the deep; keeping a straight path in a trackless waste, for he looks to
the eternal heavens for guidance."
"I must sport among the islets," said Ida. "You do not quite
comprehend me, Mr. Lacy. I have told you more than once that life has
thus far been a disappointment to me, but it is not that I have sucked
the orange dry, and would cast the tasteless pulp away. Mine has been
so acid I must hope that time and the sun of prosperity will ripen it
to lusciousness. Others tell of unknown depths of happiness I have
capacity to enjoy--am I unreasonable in trusting that my turn will
come? Have I tasted all of earth's delights at eighteen?"
"Could you quaff them at one draught, your thirst would not be
appeased. You are no nearer to contentment now than you were three
years since. The drink-offering of popular award is growing dull and
stale; you sigh at what would have chased gloom a month ago, and this
is the hey-day of pleasure. Nay," continued he, dropping his earnest
tone, and bending to look into her face, "I shall not forgive myself
if I mar your evening's entertainment by my croaking. Messrs. Talbot &
Co.'s anathemas against my impertinent monopoly do not occasion me a
hundredth part of the disquiet your very sober face does. Mr. Thornton
is coming to ask you to dance. Will you go?"
"Fatigued!" exclaimed the barrister, to her excuse. "I should as soon
admit the plea of a star for ceasing to shine upon the pretext that it
was too troublesome to continue its light."
"Has there never been such a disappearance?" questioned Mr. Lacy.
"I have seen eclipses," retorted the other. "The sun is invisible, when
the leaden moon comes between it and us. This music is too inspiriting,
Miss Ross; am I reduced to the necessity of seeking another partner?"
"I am sorry I can't say 'no,'" said she, laughingly.
Mr. Lacy was bent upon expelling the regrets reflection might beget;
and wiled into confidence by his gentle endeavors to induce a trust in
him as a friend, Ida spoke freely, though not unguardedly, of feelings
and thoughts which had been so long hushed, that their speech was slow
and imperfect; but he interpreted and prized their stammered story. As
the night wore on, exhausted couples dropped in, and there was an end
to connected conversation. It was as well, for both were forgetting
where they were. Morton relinquished his chair to Ellen, and stood by
her, and Lynn sank, playfully, upon one knee before Ida.
"Take care!" was his whisper. "Serpents coil in rose-thickets."
"What do you mean?" inquired she, struck and chilled.
"That we are the most tenacious of that to which we have the most
meagre title."
"A masculine Sphinx! speak out!" she demanded.
"Miss Read could enact Oedipus to this riddle. Seriously, Ida, beware
of that woman! She courts Lacy's society. I do not know what the
ladies' verdict is--to us it is as plain as that he does not like
her half as well as he does you. Do not avoid him; he deserves your
favor; but do nothing to uncover her eyes--blindfolded by her egregious
conceit."
"Lynn! you confound me! What have I to do with Mr. Lacy! I have no
interests which would war with hers, were they ever so strong. Having
nothing to lose, I have nothing to fear. I am obliged to you for your
brotherly cares," she added, roguishly. "A fellow-feeling makes us
wondrous kind."
"You know it, then!" exclaimed he, his large eyes splendid in their
flash of intelligence and rapture.
"I am not insensible or indifferent, where the happiness of my friends
is concerned," she rejoined, in the same confidential tone.
Another gleam thanked her.
Ellen Morris was what is termed, a "taking girl." The high, gay spirit,
which had distinguished her among her comrades at Mr. Purcell's won
her distinction in a world willing to be amused. She had objectionable
traits, but there was also much that was admirable and loveable about
her. If her over-weening fondness for merriment offended, it was
easy to forgive one, whose lively sense of the comic was inbred and
irresistible. Still, it was a marvel that the impassioned Lynn should
recognise in her the embodiment of his poetic dream of woman. They
met before he went to Europe, and the tricksy sprite of a school-girl
was not dislodged from his memory by the lures that tried him there.
He came back to find a blooming maiden preserving the fresh, joyous
grace which had captivated him in the child--and loved! as men seldom
love--as women often do--with an abandon of affection, an upyielding
of every faculty and thought to the dominion of one sentiment--a love
that brings gladness to few hearts, and breaks many! many!
Had he asked Ida, with the disinterested equanimity, some suitors we
wot of, display, what course she would advise in this momentous matter,
she would have responded with a sister's candor, "she does not suit
you--rid yourself of your entanglement;" but it was too late;--she
must hope with, and for him. In payment for his cautionary remark,
she hinted, that, situated as they were, misconstruction and jealousy
might be formidable foes to his peace of mind:--that neither smiles nor
frowns were unerring indices of a girl's heart. He scouted the implied
suspicion.
"Jealous of these popinjays!" glancing disdainfully at the black coats
and white vests in attendance, as if he thought they contained wound-up
automata.
"The danger does not appear imminent;" said she. "See that you retain
this satisfied state of mind."
Her countenance fell, and he heard Josephine say, simperingly--
"How dramatic! pray, Mr. Holmes, is this a rehearsal, or a real
performance?"
"Most ladies are so versed in love affairs, as to understand the
symptoms at a glance;--is not your eye sufficiently practiced?" asked
he, with a curling lip.
"No, sir. I regret to say that the gentlemen of my acquaintance are not
sentimental or politic enough, to get up such scenes."
"I have no doubt you _do_ deplore it."
"Why, Mr. Holmes!" ejaculated Ellen, with her gleeful laugh; "how
ungallant!"
"You mistake. It was a skilful combination of veracity and politeness.
I must coincide with her, and am pleased that it can be done without
violence to my conscience. I wish I could propose a cure for the evil
you lament, Miss Read, but I am afraid it is irremediable. Men are
obstinate animals."
Ida, alarmed, touched his foot; and the lynx eyes saw the slight
movement. A deadly light glowed there for an instant, and was
extinguished in softness, as she assailed Mr. Lacy.
"'In what far distant region of the _hall_.'
have you kept yourself all the evening, Sir Truant?"
"Polyhymnia and Melpomene!" muttered Lynn.
"I have been a fixture in this room most of the time;" replied Morton.
"How selfish! had you no sense of duty? could you not sacrifice your
ease to secure the enjoyment of your friends?"
"It would argue ridiculous vanity in me, to suppose that my absence has
detracted from the pleasures of the assembly; and from the aspirants
for the smile of the reigning belles, so unimportant a personage is not
missed."
"Can he like her?" thought Ida. "There is still an air unlike other
men, but he does not act or speak as he did to me. He looks amused but
very careless. Oh! why must we have two faces?"
"Why did you stop me just now?" queried Lynn, pettishly. "I do not fear
her; I am rather anxious she should know the extent of my dislike."
"How will that benefit either of you!" inquired Ida.
"Don't play the saint! much consideration you owe her! I am a
good hater:--I cannot fawn and smile upon one,--woman though she
is--beggared in principle and heart. She is capable of anything. Mean
and tyrannical--those who deal with her, must be tools or enemies,--I
choose the latter alternative. I will not hear any justification.
Don't I know--cannot everybody see, that she is the trouble of your
life,--that she would murder you, but for the cowardly dread of
detection!"
"You will counsel me next, to sleep with pistols under my pillow;" said
she. "What an array of horrors you are manufacturing?"
"It is as true as Gospel. Why disclaim it? Charley told me of the vixen
before I saw her; he can be civil--I cannot--and what is more--_will_
not!"
"He sees, perhaps, that animosity to my friends may be an engine to
inflict suffering upon me;" answered Ida, thinking of Mr. Dermott.
Lynn coloured. "He intimated as much. I have not his self-command; he
is a better, because a more unselfish friend than I."
"I have no fault to find with you;" was the reply. "It is a comfort to
feel, that come what may, I have two brothers to depend upon."
Charley was leaning upon the back of her chair, and this remark was
made partly to him. Lynn pressed her hand, as he recovered himself from
his lowly posture, but there was as much meaning in the kind gaze of
his undemonstrative friend. Their affection was a rill of pure water,
stealing through a region of artificial light and bloom; and people
pretended to, or did misinterpret it. Josephine credited, doubted,
and was impatient by turns. One of them was the lover;--they were too
friendly to be bound upon the same errand. Lynn's manner was most
unequivocal--but his attentions to Ellen! Charley was not a marrying
man--that was settled--everybody said; but the tender respect he paid
Ida; the watchfulness that protected her from impertinence and neglect,
were weighty offsets to this popular decision;--and again, opposed to
these, were his disinterestedness in surrendering his post to Lynn, or
any agreeable companion, who sought it, and the absence of uneasiness
in his observation of her belleship.
Ida laughed at her mystification, as did those who effected
it,--frequently concerting some manoeuvre, by which to lead her
further into the labyrinth. If Charley made one of the family in the
evening, the morrow brought Lynn to drive or walk. Charley lent her
books, and imported a writing-desk from Paris, upon hearing Mrs. Dana
say that Ida had made a fruitless search through the city, for one
of a particular description;--Lynn appeared to have laid down the
brush for the spade and pruning knife, so abundant were the bouquets,
left with Mr. Holmes' compliments; and the walls of her chamber were
adorned with pictures, from subjects proposed or approved by her. But
amidst the frolicsome action of this drama, was collecting matter for
another, to be closed only with Life,--to be remembered, perchance,
with Eternity; and the chief actor danced and sang and sported, unaware
of the importance of the dawning era. All her life a dreamer, she
did not observe that the enshrined ideal was shaping itself into the
real;--that the far-off future, her hopes had sprung forward to greet,
as if to meet it half-way would hasten its lagging pace, was merging
into the brightening present. She had expected the summer to burst upon
her, with fragrance and music and sunshine, and took no note of the
swelling buds and violet perfume of Spring. And here, let not him, who
is wearied by the labors of Autumn, or numbed by the frosts of Winter,
close our humble story, with a lofty scorn, or scathing displeasure
at the prospect of a "love-tale." Rather let him unfold his shut-up
heart, and read there of his own glad May, its dancing shadows, fairer
than the oblique sun-rays that fall open his beaten track;--of the rosy
June, the redemption of its young sister's promise:--and looking sadly
upon its dust-eaten blossoms, think, with loving pity, of flower-cups
which hold the dew-drop now,--soon to fade and shrivel as these have
done!