We were generally besieged with visitors of all descriptions and
characters. My parents had one or two poor relations who made long stays
at every visit; and being generous, even to a fault, they loaded them
with presents at their departure, and invitations to come again. There
was one old lady, in particular, who engaged my fancy; she came to see
us quite often, and in the family went by the name of "Aunty Patton."
Aunty Patton was a widow, with very slender means; and boarded with a
married daughter, who had a large family of children, but very little to
support them on. Poor Aunty! she fared rather poorly at home, and did
_so_ seem to enjoy everything. She was particularly fond of fruit-cake;
and whenever she came, mamma took particular pains that this should be
one of the appliances of the tea-table. She possessed many wealthy
acquaintances and relations, and enjoyed visiting around among them very
much; praising everything that was set before her, and never
contradicting any one. It teemed impossible to put anything on the table
which she did not like; everything was "good," and "delightful," and
"just what she would have fancied." At length some cousin determined to
test her patience; and on one occasion, when the old lady happened to
dine there, the dishes, when uncovered, were found to contain nothing
but supaun and potatoes.
"I am really sorry, Aunty Patton," began the hostess, "to be able to
offer you nothing better for dinner--but sometimes you know"--
"O," said Aunty, with rather a rueful look, "it'll _do_."
Poor Aunty had that very day prepared herself for something uncommonly
nice in the way of dinner, and felt a little disappointed; but cousin
Emma soon restored her equanimity by a liberal display of fruit-cake and
other nice things, which presented themselves on opening the side-board
door.
Aunty Patton had mild, winning kind of manners, and became a general
favorite in the nursery; probably on account of her always noticing us,
and pronouncing us "lovely little creatures." She appeared to me the
most heavenly-minded old lady I had ever seen; and I listened, with a
species of awe, to the long stories which she loved so dearly to relate
about everybody whom she visited. She was very short--not seeming to me
much taller than myself--and the cumbrous dress of the period was
calculated to make her appear much shorter. She would sit and relate
wonderful occurrences which seemed constantly taking place in her
daughter's family; one of the children would cut his foot, and for
sometime there would be danger of amputation--another urchin would upset
a kettle of scalding water on himself, and then he would be laid up for
sometime, while mamma turned the green-ribbon room topsy-turvy in her
searches after old linen--and once the daughter fell down stairs, and
was taken up for dead. They seemed to be an unfortunate family--always
meeting with hair-breadth escapes. Aunty Patton's reticule was always
well filled with good things on every occasion of her departure; and
very often a collection of money was added to the stock.
Mamma sometimes endeavored to enlist our sympathies in benevolent
purposes. I remember, on one occasion, when I had been teasing sometime
for a new tortoise-shell comb to keep back my hair with, it suddenly
entered my head that it would be a well-disposed action to ask for some
money to give Aunty Patton.
"Are you willing, Amy, to deny yourself anything," asked mamma, after I
had made my request, "in order that I may give this money to Aunty
Patton? It is no benevolence in you to ask me to give away money, unless
you are willing to do without something in consequence. If I give Aunty
Patton the five dollars that your comb will cost, are you willing to do
without it?"
"Dear me," thought I, "being good is very expensive." I deliberated for
sometime, but finally answered, "No." My mother pressed the subject no
farther; but after a while I exclaimed with a comfortable feeling of
magnanimity; "Yes, dear mamma, you _may_ give Aunty Patton the five
dollars--and I'll get _papa_ to buy me the comb!"
Mammy was a great judge of character, and when she once made up her mind
not to like a person, it was very difficult to make her change her
sentiments. My father once brought in a travelling clergyman, who
represented himself as very devout and unfortunate; and we all made
great efforts to entertain him. He was travelling West, he said, and
endeavoring to collect on the road sufficient money to pay his expenses.
My father invited him to remain with us a month; and he seemed very much
to enjoy the good things so liberally showered upon him--contriving at
the same time to render himself so agreeable that he quite won our
hearts. Mammy alone remained proof against his insinuations; he paid
assiduous court to her, and did his best to remove this unfavorable
impression, but the old nurse remained immovable.
He once asked her for the key to the fruit-garden, when my parents were
both out; but Mammy stedfastly refused him. "She had orders," she said,
"not to let the key go out of her possession, and she didn't intend to
now." The wandering clergyman departed quite enraged; and reported
proceedings as soon as my father returned. He was very much displeased
at Mammy's obstinacy, and spoke quite warmly on the subject; but the old
nurse replied that "she didn't know but he might make off with half the
fruit in the garden--she didn't like the man's looks at any rate."
I had then in my possession a little morocco pocket-book, a treasured
article, which I valued above all my other worldly goods. Sometime
before Christmas, I had observed it in a a shop-window with passionate
admiration; and on my return home, I threw out various hints and
inuendoes--scarcely hoping that they would be attended to. They were,
however; for on examining my stocking on the eventful morning, the
long-coveted pocket-book was found sticking in the toe--and what was
still better, well supplied with contents. I was in ecstasy for
sometime after; but wishing to do something to signalize myself, I now
placed it in the hands of the Rev. Mr. Motley for safe keeping.
"Mark my words," said Mammy prophetically, "you'll never see a sign of
that pocket-book again."
Alas! her words were but too true; circumstances came to light not very
favorable to the character of our visitor; and that very night the Rev.
Mr. Motley secretly decamped--mentioning in a note left behind, that
unlooked-for events had hastened his departure. My little pocket-book
accompanied him, as he quite forgot to return it; and Mammy's triumph
was almost as provoking as the loss. She had, however, with
characteristic caution, abstracted whatever money it contained; and the
reflection that the reverend gentleman had not gained much, gave her
considerable pleasure. The lesson taught me not to trust strangers again
too readily, and my father imbibed somewhat of a prejudice against
travelling clergymen in distress. Rev. Mr. Motley was never again heard
of.
We once had a visit from a Captain Vardell, an acquaintance of my
father's, who had married a Spanish woman. This Captain had spent much
of his time at sea; roving about from place to place, until at length he
settled down for some years in Spain. He had no relations in America,
and but little money, so that of course my father's house, the usual
refuge of the needy and distressed, was at once his destination. He
appeared to us an indolent, good-natured kind of a man, and his wife
resembled him in the former quality, though quite deficient in the
latter. She could not speak a word of English, and would scold and rail
at her husband in Spanish for hours together. We did not understand what
she said, but we knew, by the flashing of those great black eyes and her
animated gestures, that her words were not words of love. She was a
large woman, with straight, black hair, that seemed to be always hanging
about her face, and rather handsome features. She spent most of her time
in playing jackstraws with us, or else lounging on the sofa; muttering
in rapid succession the words of a small prayer-book, which Captain
Vardell told us she always carried about her, as it had been consecrated
and given to her by a Spanish priest. She appeared to us very much like
a great overgrown baby; manifesting the most childish delight on winning
a game, and equally angry when defeated. Once, when in extreme
good-humor, she shewed us how to make beads resembling coral, from a
certain paste which she manufactured; but we never could extract from
her the names of the materials, and were obliged to content ourselves
with making them under her direction.
Mrs. Vardell was so extremely lazy that she would never stoop to pick up
anything she had dropped. If her handkerchief or prayer-book fell to the
floor, she made motions for us to bring them to her; and when we
sometimes mischievously pretended not to understand these signs, she
would let the article remain until some one restored it to her. She
never seemed to experience the least emotion of gratitude, and received
all favors as a natural right. She was an extremely troublesome,
exacting visitor, and we were not at all sorry when the time of her
departure arrived.
My father had exerted himself on their behalf, and at the end of their
visit handed Captain Vardell a handsome sum of money, collected from
among his merchant friends and acquaintances. People were much more
liberal then than now, and the case of the Vardells did not fail to call
forth their sympathy and generosity. The Spanish lady made her adieus,
if so they could be called, with an easy indifference--apparently
considering her fellow-mortals as machines invented for her sole use and
benefit. Captain Vardell presented us children with a handsome
collection of shells, picked up on foreign shores during his numerous
voyages; and some of them were very rare and beautiful. Most of them had
a delicate pink tinge, like the outer leaves of a just-blown rose; and
we amused ourselves fur a long time by arranging them in a glass-case
which my father gave us for the purpose.
Among our visitors was an aunt of my mother's who lived in Waterford,
Connecticut; and being a widow, with quite a large farm to attend to,
her visits were never of long duration. I became very much attached to
her, for she often entertained us with long stories about the Revolution
and the aggressions of the British soldiers--about which you shall hear
when I come to tell you of the long visit I made there one summer. Aunt
Henshaw was very proud of her farm and farming operations; her cattle
and vegetables had several times won the prize at agricultural fairs,
and she boasted that her land produced more than any of her neighbors';
who, being men, were of course expected to be more accomplished in such
matters. She appeared to delight in giving away things, and seldom made
us a visit without bringing something of her own raising. These little
presents my father always repaid tenfold; and Aunt Henshaw departed
without a new gown or hat, or something to show when she got home. I
believe that we generally anticipated more pleasure from her visits than
from any of the numerous friends who often favored us with
their company.
But Aunt Henshaw, I must confess, won my heart less by her own
individual merits than a present she once made me, which actually
appeared to me like a windfall from the skies. I was always
inordinately fond of reading, and my predelictions for fairy tales
amounted to an actual passion. When Mammy and Jane's ingenuity had been
exhausted in framing instances of the marvellous for my special
gratification, I would often fold my hands before my face, to shut out
all actual scenes, and thus sit and dream of wonderful adventures with
fairies, witches, and enchanted princesses. I was always happier in a
reverie than in the company of others--my own ideals I could make as I
chose--the real I must take as I found it. Castle-building is a pleasant
but dangerous occupation; had I not been so much of an enthusiast, a
day-dreamer, it would have been better for my happiness.
But to return to Aunt Henshaw and her present. Some school-mate one day
told me of the varied wonders contained in the "Arabian Kights." My
imagination, always excitable, became worked up to a high pitch by tales
of diamond caverns, flying horses, and mysterious Baloons under ground.
If I went to sleep, it was to dream of gardens more beautiful than
Paradise itself--of cooling fountains springing up at every step--of
all sorts of impossible fruits growing just where you wanted them--and
lamps and songs that gratified every wish. At length I could bear these
tantalizing visions of unattainable pleasure no longer; I put on my
bonnet and determined to go the whole rounds of the village until I met
with some success. People wondered what ailed me that afternoon; I
bolted directly into a room--asked if they had the Arabian Nights--and,
on being answered in the negative, went out as expeditiously as I had
gone in, and tried another acquaintance. I was not easily daunted, and
took each one in succession, but all to no purpose; I returned home,
fairly sick with disappointment, and hope delayed.
The very next day Aunt Henshaw came down on a visit; and placing in my
hands an old-looking, leather-covered book, observed, "I happened to
come across this stowed away in an old chest, Amy, and knowing your
fondness for fairy tales, I have brought it for you to read."
I scarcely heard what she said; I had glanced at the book, and on
seeing "Arabian Nights" traced in large gilt letters, the ground seemed
swimming before me, and I could scarcely contain my senses. Seizing the
beloved book, I made my escape as quickly as possible; and mounting up
to the cupola, a tiny room with glass sides, that commanded a view of
the country round, I effectually secured myself against interruption,
and soon became fascinated out of all remembrance. The day waned into
evening--the shadows deepened around--I remember fixing my eyes on a
brilliant star that seemed to come closer and closer, until it assumed a
strangely beautiful form, and I lost all consciousness.
In the meantime a strict search for me had been going on below. They
began to be alarmed at my continued absence; and after examining every
room, the garden, and every spot on the premises, they sent around the
neighborhood. I was known to be extremely fond of visiting, and every
acquaintance was interrogated in turn--of course, without success. No
one had thought of the cupola, and mamma was getting fairly frightened;
when Mammy took a light, and on ascending to my dormitory, discovered me
fast asleep, with the book tightly clasped to my bosom.
It afterwards yielded the boys as much delight as it had me; Fred, in
particular, had a notion of trying experiments upon the plan there laid
out. He had sat one afternoon for sometime with the book in his
hands--apparently resolving some problem in his own mind; Mammy was
stooping over the nursery fire, when she was suddenly startled by an
unexpected shower of water sprinkled over her head and neck--Fred at the
same time exclaiming, in a tone that seemed to doubt not: "I command you
instantly to turn into a coal black mare!"
"I don't know what would become of you, you good-for-naught, if I did!"
returned Mammy.
Some years later I read "The Children of the Abbey," and this opened a
new field of thought. My dreams, instead of being peopled with fairies
and genii, were now filled with distressed damsels who met with all
sorts of persecutions and Quixotic adventures, and finally ended where
they should have commenced.