"If ye court society for pastime,--what happier recreation than
a nurseling.
Its winning ways, its prattling tongue, its innocence and mirth."
TUPPER.
_Saturday, June 6th._
Oh! Mother, if you could sit by me for an hour it would be so
delightful, for I have much to tell you, and my pen will not move fast
enough. But I will begin my story. I dressed in due time. The girls will
be pleased to know that I wore my white lisse crape, with no ornaments
but the flowers in my hair, and a small bunch in my bodice. When I
descended to the parlor, Frank was awaiting me, and his eyes expressed
satisfaction with my toilet.
We repaired to the cottage early, by mother's request. Soon after
carriages began to roll up to the door. I was presented first to the
clergyman, Mr. Munroe, who has been settled in Crawford but a short
time. He is very free and social in manner, dignified and graceful in
person; I think he will prove an agreeable friend. Mother says, he loves
the work in which he is engaged.
There was also a younger minister present, from an adjoining parish,
about whom I must make some farther inquiries. He was quite too devoted
in his attentions to my fair sister Emily; and when I asked of her an
explanation, a blush was her only reply.
I cannot begin to describe one half the persons who were present, but I
will mention a few, who, from different causes, interested me.
A tall portly man, hardly a gentleman, with a self-important air, a very
large pattern to his vest, with heavy chains and seals, which he
dangled incessantly, addressed me in a patronizing manner. He asked me
how I liked "living among Yankees," and said I must come round to his
place before I made up my mind about it. He then bowed himself away.
Emily said, in a low voice, "that is our nabob, Squire Lee."
Next came an elderly gentleman, who, in figure and conversation, formed
a striking contrast to the one who preceded him. This was Mr. Marshall,
a distinguished attorney. He was accompanied by his wife, a very
handsome lady considerably younger than her husband. They both expressed
much kind interest in the young stranger.
Then came a lovely young lady with her brother, children of Squire Lee,
the distiller. The young man seemed cast in the same mould as his
father. He was dressed in the height of fashion, but without taste, with
a flaunting neck tie, a gayly embroidered vest, and full pantaloons. He
was rather below the medium height, but of very full habit. His face was
flushed, and when he bowed the blood rushed violently to his head,
rendering his face red as crimson. But his air was so consequential, and
his talk in a style so pompous and imposing, I could scarcely suppress
my mirth. This was the more noticeable by the contrast of his whole
appearance with his sister, a very modest, amiable looking girl, who
evidently feared lest her brother, in his desire to impress me with his
_dignity_, should disgrace both himself and her.
After these, came the Mansfields, the Harrisses, Justice Wilson and
family, the Johnsons, Mr. Willard, Dr. Clapp, Mr. and Mrs. Morris
Whitney, and a great many whom I cannot remember.
When this procession had passed with a word of salutation from each,
with now a bow, and then a smile, Mrs. Marshall introduced to me a lady
whose countenance I shall never forget. I should think her near fifty
years of age, not handsome, but with a kind expression, full of mildness
and benevolence. Frank addressed her very cordially, saying to me, "Miss
Proctor is my particular friend." I gave her my hand again, and asked a
share in her friendship. She was evidently much pleased, and pressed my
hand at parting.
Near the close of the evening, I met Mr. and Mrs. Russell, a very
delightful couple. His manner reminded me of Frank's; dignified and
rather reserved, yet easy and graceful in conversation. His wife, on the
contrary, was full of life and spirits, original and witty.
While we were in the refreshment room, I overheard several persons,
talking about a woman lately deceased in the village. She was a French
woman, and by her death her child was left without protection. I became
quite interested for the poor foundling, and was glad to learn that Miss
Proctor was to pass the night, in the hope of being able with mother, to
provide for the little orphan.
It was quite late; but Frank stopped at my request to hear more of her
history. On Tuesday of this week, the day of our arrival, the French
woman called at the public house, saying, in broken English, that she
was ill and wished for a bed. The landlady attended her, and soon found
it necessary to summon a physician. She grew rapidly worse and died the
next evening. She had informed the landlady that the child was not hers,
but entrusted to her care by its mother, to be conveyed from France to
England. The vessel in which they sailed was wrecked. But they, with a
few other passengers and some of the crew, were taken on board an
American vessel and brought to New York. Beyond this nothing is known.
I have quite an idea of adopting the foundling if Frank will consent.
_Evening._
_Dear_, DEAR MOTHER.--On my way to see the little French girl, I told
Frank it would please me to take the orphan. He smiled as he replied, "I
shall certainly make no objection."
I expected to see a poor, disconsolate child, weeping for its mother.
Judge then of my astonishment, and delight, when I found a perfect
little fairy. She is a brilliant brunette, with magnificent eyes,
fringed with long black lashes, which rested on her cheek as she looked
timidly down when I entered. I was so impressed with her appearance that
I instinctively held out my arms, and said "_viens à moi, ma chère_!"
The blood rushed to her face, as with a bound she sprang toward me, and
laying her curly head on my breast, said, "_ma chère maman, je t'aime
beau coup, beau coup_."
This decided me; and I adopted her in my heart. Frank was desirous to
ascertain all that was known about my little protege. Mrs. Morrison, the
landlady, left me holding "Ina," as she called herself, tightly in my
arms, while she led my husband to the room where the body of the woman
was decently laid out for burial. He told me when he returned that the
child bore not the slightest resemblance to her attendant.
After looking at the corpse, the landlady gave him a small packet, which
she had found in the pocket of the deceased; also a necklace and locket
taken from the child's neck. The locket contained a miniature to which
Ina bore a close resemblance. Frank looked eagerly for an inscription,
but found only the words "_Maman à Ina_."
"I think these ought to be preserved for the child," said Mrs. Morrison.
"Who knows but they may bring out some day who her parents were?" Frank
assented, and assured her that the articles should be sacredly
preserved.
"Your wife seems to take a great liking to her."
"Yes," replied the Doctor, "as they are both strangers in this country,
she thinks the little girl has rather a claim upon her."
"Is she a Frencher too? I always heard she was English."
"Mrs. Lenox was educated in Paris," he replied.
"La now!" exclaimed the woman, covering the face of the corpse, "I
didn't think of her being so learned."
Frank then inquired whether the deceased woman left any property, and
offered to pay the expenses they had incurred. Mrs. Morrison brought
forward an old pocket-book containing a few dollars, which she said
would cover all the expenses. "As to the child," she continued, "I
couldn't think of charging anything for her. Somebody may one day have
to be looking after my little folks;" and this thought brought a tear to
her eye.
I was talking merrily with my sweet charge, when they returned to the
parlor, and having thanked the warm-hearted landlady for her kindness to
the child, we took our departure.
I was so impatient to go home, and show my treasure to mother and
sister, that I begged to be excused from a drive, Frank had promised me.
Emily was quite as enthusiastic as I wished, in her praise of my Ina,
and tried playfully to induce me to resign my _protegé_ in her favor.
The little one, however, was fully persuaded I was her mamma; and I felt
no desire to undeceive her.
She is now safely asleep in her crib; the same in which Frank and Emily
were rocked. I have crept softly into the room two or three times. The
whole affair appears like a pleasant dream. Miss Proctor has made a
night-dress; and Monday I must commence vigorously upon her wardrobe.
Emily has promised to assist me.
_Sabbath evening--June 7th._
This is my first Sabbath in America. It has been a delightful day to me;
and I think I can say, it has been blessed to my soul. Though far away
from country, home and friends, yet I could meet you all at the throne
of Grace. I prayed for every dear member of the home-circle, and for my
beloved husband, myself and my precious charge.
I went to church morning and afternoon, and was much impressed by the
services. There is a seriousness and solemnity about the audience, which
I have seldom witnessed. The sermons were chaste and in some passages
even elegant in style. But what pleased me more than all, was the fervor
with which Mr. Munroe delivered them, and the love which he manifested
for the souls of his people.
In the morning the text was 1 Cor. 15, 22: "For as in Adam all die, even
so in Christ shall all be made alive." He dwelt upon the death which
reigns in consequence of Adam's sin; and in the afternoon, upon the
resurrection-life which all receive from Christ.
The singing was performed by a choir in the orchestra, accompanied by a
variety of instruments.
When I returned from Church this morning, my little Ina was still
asleep, as I had left her. But this afternoon as I went in, she came
bounding toward me, clapping her hands, and saying "_chère maman! chère
maman!_" I had to take her to my boudoir to put off my bonnet and shawl,
for she would not leave me. She was willing while in my arms to play
with Frank; but if he attempted to take her from me, she hid her face in
my neck. I like to have her call me _mamma_ when we are alone; but it
makes Emily laugh, and I see Frank is inclined to follow her example,
only that he sees it makes me blush, and embarrasses me. Sweet child! I
wish she were my own; I cannot bear the thought of parting with her. Yet
it may be that her mother is mourning her loss.
Do you remember Pauline De Lacy, my dear friend and school-mate, in
Paris? Ina looks so much like her, one would think they must belong to
the same family; indeed, sisters seldom resemble each other so exactly.
To-day, this has occurred to me so many times, that, with the consent of
all parties, I have decided to call her Pauline De Lacy Lenox. "Quite a
romantic name," Frank says, gravely; "but as you are a very romantic
lady, it will be in good taste."
I looked up quickly, intending to deny the charge, when I saw that
roguish twinkle in his eye, which I begin to understand.
After an early tea, the servants were called to family prayers, mother
and Emily being present, who are hereafter to return from church and
spend Sabbath evening with us. In addition to the usual services at the
domestic altar, the good old Puritan custom of catechising the household
is observed. It was truly a _family_ service. The scene was novel and
interesting to me. All joined in singing a hymn, and then the Doctor
expressed our individual wants in prayer. I was a little fearful that
Pauline would not be quiet; but there was a charm in Cæsar's devout face
which occupied all her attention. Perhaps a very little fear was mingled
with her wonder, as she nestled herself very close to me. But the good
man took no heed of the large eyes fixed on him with such seriousness.
His soul was drinking in the Word, while he regarded his young master
with fond respect.
When the rest of the servants retired, he remained, and the Doctor asked
him, "Well, my good Cæsar, how have you enjoyed the day?"
"Oh, Mass'r! dis yer pears like good old times when old Mass'r live. Dem
good old days, berry!" Cæsar wiped his eyes with his coat sleeve as he
left the room; and his was not the only eye moistened by this allusion
to the past.
I don't know as I told you that Cæsar and Phebe were purchased by Squire
Lenox from the south, where they were about to be sold separately. He
brought them to the north, where, of course, they are free; and they
have ever since constituted an important part of the family. Taught to
read and write, they have for many years been members of the same church
with their master and mistress.
_Monday Morning, June 8th._
Frank has just left me for his morning calls. He came in from the garden
when Cæsar brought the carriage to the door, and not finding me below,
he sprang up the stairs to bid me good bye. Pauline looked up quickly
and pointed with her finger to direct my attention, saying, "dere
Frank."
We both laughed heartily. He patted her cheek, "So little miss, she's
mamma; and I, only Frank. I rather think you'll have to take me for a
papa for want of a better;" then turning to me, "it would sound oddly
enough. Now to you the name mamma seems natural as life, only it makes
you rather rosy." He bade mother and daughter good bye, and ran away in
haste.
I am constantly haunted by the thought that she is in some way connected
with my school-mate Pauline De Lacy. I have in vain tried to remember if
she had a married sister whose child this may be.
But I must leave this subject and finish my story about Cæsar and his
wife. It was a great trial to them when mother and Emily left the old
homestead, even to go across the garden to their cottage-home, and they
desired to go with them. But mother overruled their objections and
retained Ruth, their only child, a capable girl of twenty.
I believe Cæsar trembled not a little at the idea of a new mistress, who
he feared would disturb the harmony of the family. I have, however,
gained his good will. He treats me like a toy which he is exceedingly
apprehensive of injuring.
As for Phebe, such is her pride in the glory of "our folks," that as I
am a Lenox, the wife of Mass'r Frank, nothing can be too good for me. I
think, she likes me better because I am young and inexperienced in
household affairs, and, therefore, shall not be likely to interfere in
her department. There is, indeed, no occasion for me to do so. She has
been well and thoroughly trained by mother, and is fully competent to
perform the duties of her station, while Ann, the chambermaid, is
equally so in her appropriate sphere.
To tell you the truth, I did not know exactly what was expected of me.
One day last week, I waited upon madam in the kitchen and in a very
hesitating manner began to say something about dinner, when she soon
interrupted me, "Laws, missus, don't you, honey, trouble your precious
head 'bout sich kind. I'se feel shamed to look Mass'r Frank in de face,
and den pears like make me blush to have it told down town; little young
missus spending her blessed time in de kitchen."
I presume, I looked, as I felt, delighted to be relieved, and was
running away, laughingly, when she continued, "Dere missus, go long,
please, and play on de pianny." I came gladly away, but spent the time
writing in my journal. Now I have enough to occupy me in the care of my
little Pauline.
After Ann had put her to bed last night, Frank showed us the little
parcel given him by the landlady. It contained part of a letter
addressed to a domestic, giving strict directions concerning the child.
It was written in French, in a delicate female hand, but gave no clue as
to the name or place of the writer. A mother's heart evidently dictated
it, from the numerous directions about clothing, diet, and the like. The
packet contained, in addition, a child's dress, with elaborate
embroidery upon the neck and sleeves; also a pair of coral and gold
sleeve clasps to match the necklace.
Many conjectures were formed by Emily, respecting the parentage of the
child, after which the articles were returned to Frank to be locked up
safely among his treasures. His sister mischievously recommended him to
deposit them in a certain trunk, containing nothing but old letters,
saying, with an arch look at me, "I suppose now they are worthless."
The Doctor deigned no reply. This amused Emily so much that she
whispered to me, loud enough for him to hear, "Oh, the deceitfulness of
man! He tries, beneath that solemn look, to make you believe that he
doesn't value those letters above rubies. I'll manage very differently
if I ever get in love, which to be sure, is very unlikely. I should wish
my husband to tell me once in half an hour that I was dearer to him than
all on earth. I've no doubt Frank feels as I do, for each one of those
letters used to make him bright for a week; and he hurried the poor
carpenters and masons, as if his very life depended on our moving away
from the house as soon as possible."
"Emily," called Frank in a serious tone, looking up gravely from the
book he was reading, "did I not hear something of an exchange of pulpits
between Mr. Munroe and Mr. Benson?"
It was now Emily's turn to be silent. She hesitated, blushed, and
finally retired from the room. After she left, Frank asked mother, "Do
you think Emily loves Mr. Benson?"
She replied, "I really cannot tell. Beyond his coming often to the
house, and Emily seeming rather pleased with his visits, I know
nothing."--
Sister has just returned from town, where she has been to make purchases
for Pauline's wardrobe. Now I must drop my pen, and go to work with my
scissors and needle.
_Tuesday, June 9th._
Though very busy, I must write a few lines while Pauline is asleep.
Emily and I went to the garret this morning--the receptacle for all
things not in use, and found a great supply of playthings for Miss
Pauline. Among them are a large wax doll, and her furniture, which with
sister's permission, I shall lay by for future use. With a basket of
these toys, the dear child has amused herself on the floor, while
mother, Miss Proctor, Emily and myself have been plying our needles. We
have one suit nearly completed, and shall take her to ride in it this
afternoon. We are to go in the double carriage, and after procuring the
young Miss a suitable covering for her curly head, we are to drive as
far as Waverley, the parish of Emily's friend, though this part of our
plan has not yet been disclosed to her ladyship.
_Evening._
The doctor was summoned to a patient after tea, but will, I think, be
back soon, when I must devote myself entirely to him. Do you know, dear
mother, he is trying to make me think him jealous of the young lady I
have honored with my protection; really, he says my thoughts are so full
of Pauline that I have hardly looked at him for two days. I believe
after all he is as bad as Emily, and wants me to tell him "every half
hour what a darling he is." I must look to this, for I think I have been
to blame, and he shall see my heart is large enough for both. He knows,
however, he occupies his full share in my affections.
I remember once before my marriage hearing him say to a lady in England,
he would never accept half a heart; no, hardly one that had loved
before. He wanted the fresh and warm gushings of affection. She inquired
if he had such a heart to give in return. He answered proudly, "I shall
ask for no more than I can bestow."
I hear the carriage, and will run to meet him.
_Wednesday, June 10th._
Last evening, Frank laughed, as I stood at the door, and said jocosely
"I suppose Miss Lenox is asleep, and that you are glad even of my
company when you have no other."
Though he was laughing, the tears instantly filled my eyes, and I said,
"Oh, Frank! you know how much more I love you than all the Paulines in
the world." I spoke earnestly for I thought his words implied a distrust
of my love.
His manner changed at once, and very tenderly taking my hand, he led me
to the sofa. He turned my face to his, which I had vainly endeavored to
conceal. "Now, my love," said he, when he had kissed away the tears,
"let us have a full understanding."
"Yes, but I want you to forgive me first, if you think I have been too
much absorbed with Pauline."
"My sweet wife, you have never offended me. It is I who ought to ask
forgiveness for making you weep. Perhaps you will think me selfish; but
I want you to promise to ride with me every day when I can be at
liberty, and to leave Pauline with mother, or with Ann. When I am not
at liberty, Cæsar will take the large carriage and drive you all, Miss
Lenox junior among the rest. Will you promise this?"
"With great pleasure; but why not take her with us; she would be quiet?"
"Because, I want to take you to visit my poor patients. I have laid out
a great work for you, Cora, and if I do not mistake, you will love it.
Then it will be a good discipline for Pauline, to have you leave her
occasionally. By the way, have you settled the question with her who
shall be mistress?"
I looked at him in wonder. "I have noticed several times," said he
pleasantly, "when your wishes and hers were at variance, that you
yielded to her, instead of insisting that she should yield to you. Now,
my dear Cora, as we have taken this child, we are responsible to God for
her proper government and education. She is not a mere plaything which
can be thrown aside at pleasure. She has a soul to be fitted for
happiness or misery. Have you thought of this? Have you counted the
cost, the care, and effort, and patience which all this requires?"
"Yes, Frank, and I have prayed for wisdom to guide me. I know well I am
not fitted for such a charge."
"Then, dear wife, I have no more to say. I will do anything to cooperate
with you; and if you enter upon it with such a spirit you will have both
Divine help and reward."
I thank God, dear mother, for such a kind husband; so faithful to point
out my faults, and so ready to help me overcome them. He feared I did
not realize the care and responsibility of the work I had undertaken. I
intend at once to commence a course of reading on education. Heretofore
I have thought little upon the subject; only that children should be
taught to be obedient, truthful and affectionate. Now I understand why
Frank wished me to allow Ann to put Pauline to bed. The child cried
every time I left her, and would only be satisfied with my waiting upon
her in person. I had in two or three instances yielded to her for the
sake of peace, without realizing that the principle was wrong, or that
she was forming a bad habit. Frank saw she grew more and more imperative
in her demands and hence thought it necessary to speak to me of the
exposure.
I believe I have not given you an account of our ride to Waverley. We
were about a mile on our way, when, whom should we meet but the very Mr.
Benson on horse-back, and going to the cottage. I whispered to Emily
that we could easily return and leave her at home while we continued our
ride. But to this she would by no means consent, and turned
indifferently to the window the opposite side of the carriage, where she
was intently occupied with the prospect, which in that place consisted
of a fine growth of forest trees.
Mr. Benson addressed some words to me, and then rode round to ascertain
what was so charming in the opposite view. I really pitied the poor man,
for Emily was almost rude to him. I don't yet understand them; but I
think I can see that he is a little wanting in tact, and does not quite
understand all the crooks and turns in a woman's heart.
Frank very politely invited Mr. Benson to accompany us, who said it
would give him pleasure to do so, if agreeable to our company. He looked
at Emily; but she deigned no reply, appearing wholly engaged in a frolic
with Pauline.
I began at once to be very polite, determined to do my part toward
making amends for Emily's indifference, which I saw pained him. It is
difficult conversing from a carriage with a gentleman on horse-back; but
as we rode slowly, I endeavored to be very interesting, until after a
time the young clergyman, perceiving he had no attention from the object
of his special regard, resumed his place at my side.
I really like Mr. Benson, and should be glad of him for a brother. I
cannot help thinking sister likes him too; when he is not talking with
her; for I noticed she kept Pauline very quiet and listened with
interest to our conversation. When we returned home, I earnestly
invited the gentleman to remain and take tea with us, and had to bite my
lips to keep from laughing to see Emily's amazement at the turn affairs
had taken.
The suitor, after looking very much embarrassed, as if expecting an
invitation from another, accepted mine, and we entered the house. Mother
stood quietly by. I suppose she is determined to leave Emily to act for
herself. When he consented to remain, she said, "now you will excuse
us;" but I insisted they should fulfil their engagement to tea, when, at
least, one of the company became decidedly more cheerful. "I wish he
wouldn't speak to Emily again this evening," was my thought, as he
continually tried to engage her in conversation.
Notwithstanding all my efforts, the evening passed away slowly; the
Doctor having been called out soon after tea. The occasion ended sadly
for the poor suitor, who, toward the close of it, requested a few
moments' conversation with Emily. In this interview, she decidedly
refused him, and then cried all night after it.
Foolish girl! But I persuaded her to unburden her heart to me. She
confessed, she did not know whether she loved Mr. Benson or not. Many
traits in his character she admired; but others suggested serious
objections. The latter, however, I could not induce her to name, and
indeed, I doubt whether she had herself any distinct idea of them.
After a pause, during which I tried in vain to think of something which
would comfort her, she looked at me earnestly and said, "Cora, tell me
truly, don't you think he's rather _soft_?" "I think," I replied, trying
to conceal my mirth, "that he has a very strong affection for you; and
that sometimes it would be more pleasing to a delicate, modest girl, if
he did not exhibit it so openly."
"That is exactly my feeling, but I couldn't express it. Yet what is the
use of talking?" she asked, with a profound sigh; "the question is
settled, and there the matter rests."