LIVING AT A CONVENIENT DISTANCE.
THERE are few of us who do not feel, at some time in life, the
desire for change. Indeed, change of place corresponding, as it
does, in outward nature, to change of state in the mind, it is not
at all surprising that we should, now and then, feel a strong desire
to remove from the old, and get into new locations, and amid
different external associations. Thus, we find, in many families, an
ever recurring tendency to removal. Indeed, I have some housekeeping
friends who are rarely to be found in the same house, or in the same
part of the city, in any two consecutive years. Three moves,
Franklin used to say, were equal to a fire. There are some to whom I
could point, who have been, if this holds true, as good as burned
out, three or four times in the last ten years.
But, I must not write too long a preface to my present story. Mr.
Smith and myself cannot boast of larger organs of Inhabitativeness--I
believe, that is the word used by phrenologists--than many of
our neighbors. Occasionally we have felt dissatisfied with the
state of things around us, and become possessed of the demon of
change. We have moved quite frequently, sometimes attaining superior
comfort, and some times, getting rather the worst of, it for
"the change."
A few years ago, in the early spring-time, Mr. Smith said to me, one
day:
"I noticed, in riding out yesterday, a very pleasant country house
on the Frankford Road, to let, and it struck me that it would be a
fine thing for us, both as to health and comfort, to rent it for the
summer season. What do you think of it?"
"I always, loved the country, you know," was my response.
My heart had leaped at the proposition.
"It is such a convenient distance from the city," said Mr. Smith.
"How far?"
"About four miles."
"Do the stages pass frequently?"
"Every half hour; and the fare is only twelve and a half cents."
"So low! That is certainly an inducement."
"Yes, it is. Suppose we go out and look at the house?"
"Very well," said I. And then we talked over the pleasures and
advantage that would result from a residence in the country, at such
a convenient distance from the city.
On the next day we went to look at the place, and found much, both
in the house and grounds, to attract us. There was a fine shaded
lawn, and garden with a stock of small and large fruit.
"What a delightful place for the children," I exclaimed.
"And at such a convenient distance from the city," said my husband.
"I can go in and out to business, and scarcely miss the time. But do
you think you would like the country?"
"O, yes. I've always loved the country."
"We can move back into the city when the summer closes," said Mr.
Smith.
"Why not remain here permanently? It will be too expensive to keep
both a city and country house," I returned.
"It will be too dreary through the winter."
"I don't think so. I always feel cheerful in the country. And, then,
you know, the house is at such a convenient distance, and the stages
pass the door at every half hour. You can get to business as easily
as if we resided in the city."
I was in the mood for a change, and so it happened was Mr. Smith.
The more we thought and talked about the matters, the more inclined
were we to break up in the city, and go permanently to the country.
And, finally, we resolved to try the experiment.
So the pleasant country house was taken, and the town house given
up, and, in due time, we took our flight to where nature had just
carpeted the earth in freshest green, and caused the buds to expand,
and the trees of the forest to clothe themselves in verdure.
How pleasant was every thing. A gardener had been employed to put
the garden and lawn in order, and soon we were delighted to see the
first shoots from seeds that had been planted, making their way
through the ground. To me, all was delightful. I felt almost as
light-hearted as a child, and never tired of expressing my pleasure
at the change.
"Come and see us," said I, to one city friend and another, on
meeting them. "We're in a most delightful place, and at such a
convenient distance from the city. Just get into the Frankford
omnibus, which starts from Hall's, in Second street above Market,
every half hour, and you will come to our very door. And I shall be
so delighted to have a visit from you."
In moving from the city, I took with me two good domestics, who had
lived in my family for over a year. Each had expressed herself as
delighted at the prospect of getting into the country, and I was
delighted to think they were so well satisfied, for I had feared
lest they would be disinclined to accompany us.
About a month after our removal, one of them, who had looked
dissatisfied about something, came to me and said:
"I want to go back to the city, Mrs. Smith; I don't like living in
the country."
"Very well," I replied. "You must do as you please. But I thought
you preferred this to the city?"
"I thought I would like it, but I don't. It's too lonesome."
I did not persuade her to stay. That error I had once or twice, ere
this, fallen into, and learned to avoid it in future. So she went
back to the city, and I was left with but a single girl. Three days
only elapsed before this one announced her intended departure.
"But you will stay," said I, "until I can get some one in your
place."
"My week will be up on Saturday," was replied. "Can you get a girl
by that time?"
"That leaves me only two days, Mary; I'm afraid not."
Mary looked unamiable enough at this answer. We said no more to each
other. In the afternoon I went to the city to find a new domestic,
if possible, but returned unsuccessful.
Saturday came, and to my surprise and trouble, Mary persisted in
going away. So I was left, with my family of six persons, without
any domestic at all.
Sunday proved to me any thing but a day of rest. After washing and
dressing the children, preparing breakfast, clearing away the table,
making the beds, and putting the house to order, I set about getting
dinner. This meal furnished and eaten, and the dishes washed and put
away, I found myself not only completely tired out, but suffering
from a most dreadful headache. I was lying down, about four o'clock,
in a half-waking and sleeping state, with my head a little easier,
when my husband, who was sitting by the window, exclaimed:
"If there isn't Mr. and Mrs. Peters and their three children,
getting out of the stage!"
"Not coming here!" said I, starting up in bed, while, at the same
moment, my headache returned with a throbbing intensity that almost
blinded me.
"Yes, coming here," replied Mr. Smith.
"How unfortunate!" came from my lips, as I clasped my hands to my
temples.
Now, Mr. and Mrs. Peters were people for whom we had no particular
friendship. We visited each other scarcely once a year, and had
never reciprocated an evening to tea. True, I had, on the occasion
of meeting Mrs. Peters, about a week before, while stopping in the
city, said to her, while praising my new country home:
"You must come and see me sometime during the summer."
The invitation was intended as a compliment more than anything else.
I didn't particularly care about a visit from her; and certainly had
no idea that she would take me at my word. So much for insincerity.
"Go down and ask them into the parlor," said I to Mr. Smith. "I will
dress myself and join you in a little while."
In about half an hour I left my room, feeling really quite unwell. I
found my visitors walking in the garden, and their children ranging
about like wild colts, to the particular detriment of choice
shrubbery and garden beds.
"Oh, what a delightful place!" exclaimed Mrs. Peters, on my meeting
her. "I really envy you! You see that I have accepted your very kind
invitation. I said to my husband to-day, says I, wouldn't it be nice
to make the Smiths a visit this afternoon. They live at such a
convenient distance; and it will be such a treat to the children.
Well, just as you like, said Mr. Peters. And so, as soon as dinner
was over, we got ready and came out. Oh, I'm delighted! What a sweet
spot you have chosen. I shall come and see you often."
And thus she ran on, while I smiled, and responded with all
due politeness, and to a certain extent, hypocritical pretence of
pleasure at the visit.
They had come to spend the afternoon, and take tea with us, of
course, and, as the last stage went by at seven o'clock, I was soon
under the necessity of leaving my guests, in order to engage in
certain preliminary acts that looked towards an early supper. Oh,
how my head did throb; and with what an effort did I drag my weary
feet about!
But, the longest trial--the most painful ordeal has an end; and the
end of this came at length. Our visitors, after spending a few
hours, and being served with tea, took their departure, assuring us,
as they did so, that they had spent a delightful afternoon, and
would be certain to come again soon.
In ten minutes after they had left the house, I was in bed.
Two whole weeks elapsed before I succeeded in getting a girl; and
six times during that period, we had friends out from the city to
take tea with us; and one young lady spent three whole days!
When the season of fruits came, as we had a few apple and pear
trees, besides a strawberry bed, and a fine row of raspberry bushes,
our city friends, especially those who had children, were even more
particular in their attentions. Our own children, we could make
understand the propriety of leaving the small fruit to be picked for
table use, so that all could share in its enjoyment. But, visitors'
children comprehended nothing of this, and rifled our beds and
bushes so constantly, that, although they would have given our table
a fair supply of berries, in the season, we never once could get
enough to be worth using, and so were forced to purchase our fruit
in the city.
After a destructive visitation of this nature, during strawberry
time, I said to Mr. Smith, as he was leaving for the city one
morning--
"I wish you would take a small basket with you, and bring out two or
three quarts of strawberries for tea. I've only tasted them once or
twice, and it's hopeless to think of getting any from our garden."
Well, when Mr. Smith came home with his two or three quarts of
strawberries, we had six women and children, visitors from the city,
to partake of them. Of course, our own children, who had been
promised strawberries at tea time, and who had been looking for
them, did'nt get a taste.
And thus it happened over and over again.
As the weather grew warmer and warmer, particular friends whom we
were glad to see, and friends, so called, into whose houses we had
rarely, if ever ventured, came out to get a "mouthful of fresh air,"
and to "see something green." We lived at "such a convenient
distance," that it was no trouble at all to run out and look at us.
Twice again during the summer, I was left without a single domestic.
Girls didn't like to leave the city, where they had been used to
meeting their acquaintances every few days; and, therefore, it was
hard to retain them. So it went on.
I had poor help, and was overrun with company, at such a rate, that
I was completely worn out. I rarely heard the rumble of the
approaching stage that I did not get nervous.
Early in August, Mr. Smith said to me, one evening after returning
from the city--on that very morning, a family of four had left me,
after staying three days--
"I met Mr. Gray this afternoon, and he told me that they were coming
out to see you to-morrow. That he was going away for a while, and
his wife thought that it would be such a pleasant time to redeem her
promise of making you a visit."
"Oh dear! What next!" I exclaimed in a distressed voice. "Is there
to be no end to this?"
"Not before frost, I presume," returned Mr. Smith, meaningly.
"I wish frost would come along quickly, then," was my response. "But
how long is Mr. Gray going to be absent from home?"
"He didn't say."
"And we're to have his whole family, I suppose, during his absence."
"Doubtless."
"Well, I call that taxing hospitality and good feeling a little too
far. I don't want them here! I've no room for them without
inconvenience to ourselves. Besides, my help is poor."
But, all my feelings of repugnance were of no avail. As I was
sitting, on the next day, by a window, that overlooked the road, I
saw the stage draw up, and issue therefrom Mr. Jones, Mrs. Jones,
servant and five children--two of the latter twin-babies. They had
boxes, carpet bags, bundles, &c., indicating a prolonged sojourn,
and one little boy dragged after him a pet dog, that came also to
honor us with a visit.
Down to meet them at the door, with as good a grace as possible, I
hurried. Words of welcome and pleasure were on my tongue, though I
am not sure that my face did not belie my utterance. But, they were
all too pleased to get into our snug country quarters, to perceive
any drawback in their reception.
I will not describe my experience during the next three weeks--for,
Mr. Gray took the tour of the Lakes before returning, and was gone
full three weeks, leaving his family to our care for the whole time.
"Heaven be praised, that is over!" was my exclamation, when I saw
the stage move off that bore them from our door.
Frost at length came, and with it expired the visiting season. We
were still at a convenient distance from the city; but, our friends,
all at once, seemed to have forgotten us.
"You are not going to move back, now," said a friend in surprise, to
whom I mentioned in the following March our intention to return to
the city.
"Yes," I replied.
"Just as spring is about opening? Why, surely, after passing the
dreary winter in the country, you will not come to the hot and dusty
town to spend the summer? You are at such a convenient distance too;
and your friends can visit you so easily."
Yes, the distance was convenient; and we had learned to appreciate
that advantage. But back to the city we removed; and, when next we
venture to the country, will take good care to get beyond a
convenient distance.