XI

The tea is sweetened.

We have been going on very pleasantly of late, each of us pretty well

occupied with his or her special business. The Counsellor has been

pleading in a great case, and several of The Teacups were in the

court-room. I thought, but I will not be certain, that some of his

arguments were addressed to Number Five rather than to the jury,--the

more eloquent passages especially.

Our young Doctor seems to me to be gradually getting known in the

neighborhood and beyond it. A member of one of the more influential

families, whose regular physician has gone to Europe, has sent for

him to come and see her, and as the patient is a nervous lady, who has

nothing in particular the matter with her, he is probably in for a

good many visits and a long bill by and by. He has even had a call at

a distance of some miles from home,--at least he has had to hire a

conveyance frequently of late, for he has not yet set up his own horse

and chaise. We do not like to ask him about who his patient may be,

but he or she is probably a person of some consequence, as he is absent

several hours on these out-of-town visits. He may get a good practice

before his bald spot makes its appearance, for I have looked for it

many times without as yet seeing a sign of it. I am sure he must feel

encouraged, for he has been very bright and cheerful of late; and if he

sometimes looks at our new handmaid as if he wished she were Delilah,

I do not think he is breaking his heart about her absence. Perhaps

he finds consolation in the company of the two Annexes, or one of

them,--but which, I cannot make out. He is in consultations occasionally

with Number Five, too, but whether professionally or not I have no means

of knowing. I cannot for the life of me see what Number Five wants of a

doctor for herself, so perhaps it is another difficult case in which her

womanly sagacity is called upon to help him.

In the mean time she and the Tutor continue their readings. In fact, it

seems as if these readings were growing more frequent, and lasted longer

than they did at first. There is a little arbor in the grounds connected

with our place of meeting, and sometimes they have gone there for their

readings. Some of The Teacups have listened outside once in a while,

for the Tutor reads well, and his clear voice must be heard in the

more emphatic passages, whether one is expressly listening or not. But

besides the reading there is now and then some talking, and persons

talking in an arbor do not always remember that latticework, no matter

how closely the vines cover it, is not impenetrable to the sound of

the human voice. There was a listener one day,--it was not one of The

Teacups, I am happy to say,--who heard and reported some fragments of

a conversation which reached his ear. Nothing but the profound intimacy

which exists between myself and the individual reader whose eyes are

on this page would induce me to reveal what I was told of this

conversation. The first words seem to have been in reply to some

question.

“Why, my dear friend, how can you think of such a thing? Do you know--I

am--old enough to be your--[I think she must have been on the point of

saying mother, but that was more than any woman could be expected to

say]--old enough to be your aunt?”

“To be sure you are,” answered the Tutor, “and what of it? I have two

aunts, both younger than I am. Your years may be more than mine, but

your life is fuller of youthful vitality than mine is. I never feel

so young as when I have been with you. I don't believe in settling

affinities by the almanac. You know what I have told you more than once;

you have n't 'bared the ice-cold dagger's edge' upon me yet; may I not

cherish the”....

What a pity that the listener did not hear the rest of the sentence

and the reply to it, if there was one! The readings went on the same as

before, but I thought that Number Five was rather more silent and more

pensive than she had been.

I was much pleased when the American Annex came to me one day and told

me that she and the English Annex were meditating an expedition, in

which they wanted the other Teacups to join. About a dozen miles from us

is an educational institution of the higher grade, where a large number

of young ladies are trained in literature, art, and science, very much

as their brothers are trained in the colleges. Our two young ladies have

already been through courses of this kind in different schools, and are

now busy with those more advanced studies which are ventured upon by

only a limited number of “graduates.” They have heard a good deal about

this institution, but have never visited it.

Every year, as the successive classes finish their course, there is a

grand reunion of the former students, with an “exhibition,” as it

is called, in which the graduates of the year have an opportunity

of showing their proficiency in the various branches taught. On that

occasion prizes are awarded for excellence in different departments.

It would be hard to find a more interesting ceremony. These girls,

now recognized as young ladies, are going forth as missionaries

of civilization among our busy people. They are many of them to be

teachers, and those who have seen what opportunities they have to learn

will understand their fitness for that exalted office. Many are to be

the wives and mothers of the generation next coming upon the stage.

Young and beautiful, “youth is always beautiful,” said old Samuel

Rogers,--their countenances radiant with developed intelligence, their

complexions, their figures, their movements, all showing that they have

had plenty of outdoor as well as indoor exercise, and have lived well in

all respects, one would like to read on the wall of the hall where they

are assembled,--

Siste, viator!

Si uxorem requiris, circumspice!

This proposed expedition was a great event in our comparatively quiet

circle. The Mistress, who was interested in the school, undertook to

be the matron of the party. The young Doctor, who knew the roads better

than any of us, was to be our pilot. He arranged it so that he should

have the two Annexes under his more immediate charge. We were all on the

lookout to see which of the two was to be the favored one, for it was

pretty well settled among The Teacups that a wife he must have, whether

the bald spot came or not; he was getting into business, and he could

not achieve a complete success as a bachelor.

Number Five and the Tutor seemed to come together as a matter of course.

I confess that I could not help regretting that our pretty Delilah was

not to be one of the party. She always looked so young, so fresh,--she

would have enjoyed the excursion so much, that if she had been still

with us I would have told the Mistress that she must put on her best

dress; and if she had n't one nice enough, I would give her one myself.

I thought, too, that our young Doctor would have liked to have her with

us; but he appeared to be getting along very well with the Annexes, one

of whom it seems likely that he will annex to himself and his fortunes,

if she fancies him, which is not improbable.

The organizing of this expedition was naturally a cause of great

excitement among The Teacups. The party had to be arranged in such a way

as to suit all concerned, which was a delicate matter. It was finally

managed in this way: The Mistress was to go with a bodyguard, consisting

of myself, the Professor, and Number Seven, who was good company, with

all his oddities. The young Doctor was to take the two Annexes in a

wagon, and the Tutor was to drive Number Five in a good old-fashioned

chaise drawn by a well-conducted family horse. As for the Musician, he

had gone over early, by special invitation, to take a part in certain

musical exercises which were to have a place in the exhibition. This

arrangement appeared to be in every respect satisfactory. The Doctor was

in high spirits, apparently delighted, and devoting himself with great

gallantry to his two fair companions. The only question which intruded

itself was, whether he might not have preferred the company of one to

that of two. But both looked very attractive in their best dresses: the

English Annex, the rosier and heartier of the two; the American girl,

more delicate in features, more mobile and excitable, but suggesting the

thought that she would tire out before the other. Which of these did he

most favor? It was hard to say. He seemed to look most at the English

girl, and yet he talked more with the American girl. In short, he

behaved particularly well, and neither of the young ladies could

complain that she was not attended to. As to the Tutor and Number Five,

their going together caused no special comment. Their intimacy was

accepted as an established fact, and nothing but the difference in their

ages prevented the conclusion that it was love, and not mere friendship,

which brought them together. There was, no doubt, a strong feeling among

many people that Number Five's affections were a kind of Gibraltar

or Ehrenbreitstein, say rather a high table-land in the region of

perpetual, unmelting snow. It was hard for these people to believe

that any man of mortal mould could find a foothold in that impregnable

fortress,--could climb to that height and find the flower of love among

its glaciers. The Tutor and Number Five were both quiet, thoughtful: he,

evidently captivated; she, what was the meaning of her manner to

him? Say that she seemed fond of him, as she might be were he her

nephew,--one for whom she had a special liking. If she had a warmer

feeling than this, she could hardly know how to manage it; for she was

so used to having love made to her without returning it that she would

naturally be awkward in dealing with the new experience.

The Doctor drove a lively five-year-old horse, and took the lead. The

Tutor followed with a quiet, steady-going nag; if he had driven the

five-year-old, I would not have answered for the necks of the pair in

the chaise, for he was too much taken up with the subject they were

talking of, to be very careful about his driving. The Mistress and her

escort brought up the rear,--I holding the reins, the Professor at my

side, and Number Seven sitting with the Mistress.

We arrived at the institution a little later than we had expected to,

and the students were flocking into the hall, where the Commencement

exercises were to take place, and the medal-scholars were to receive the

tokens of their excellence in the various departments. From our seats we

could see the greater part of the assembly,--not quite all, however of

the pupils. A pleasing sight it was to look upon, this array of young

ladies dressed in white, with their class badges, and with the ribbon

of the shade of blue affected by the scholars of the institution. If

Solomon in all his glory was not to be compared to a lily, a whole

bed of lilies could not be compared to this garden-bed of youthful

womanhood.

The performances were very much the same as most of us have seen at

the academies and collegiate schools. Some of the graduating class

read their “compositions,” one of which was a poem,--an echo of

the prevailing American echoes, of course, but prettily worded and

intelligently read. Then there was a song sung by a choir of the pupils,

led by their instructor, who was assisted by the Musician whom we

count among The Teacups.--There was something in one of the voices that

reminded me of one I had heard before. Where could it have been? I am

sure I cannot remember. There are some good voices in our village choir,

but none so pure and bird-like as this. A sudden thought came into

my head, but I kept it to myself. I heard a tremulous catching of the

breath, something like a sob, close by me. It was the Mistress,--she was

crying. What was she crying for? It was impressive, certainly, to listen

to these young voices, many of them blending for the last time,--for

the scholars were soon to be scattered all over the country, and some of

them beyond its boundaries,--but why the Mistress was so carried away,

I did not know. She must be more impressible than most of us; yet I

thought Number Five also looked as if she were having a struggle with

herself to keep down some rebellious signs of emotion.

The exercises went on very pleasingly until they came to the awarding

of the gold medal of the year and the valedictory, which was to be

delivered by the young lady to whom it was to be presented. The name was

called; it was one not unfamiliar to our ears, and the bearer of it--the

Delilah of our tea-table, Avis as she was known in the school and

elsewhere--rose in her place and came forward, so that for the first

time on that day, we looked upon her. It was a sensation for The

Teacups. Our modest, quiet waiting-girl was the best scholar of her

year. We had talked French before her, and we learned that she was the

best French scholar the teacher had ever had in the school. We had never

thought of her except as a pleasing and well-trained handmaiden, and

here she was an accomplished young lady.

Avis went through her part very naturally and gracefully, and when it

was finished, and she stood before us with the medal glittering on her

breast, we did not know whether to smile or to cry,--some of us did

one, and some the other.--We all had an opportunity to see her and

congratulate her before we left the institution. The mystery of her six

weeks' serving at our table was easily solved. She had been studying too

hard and too long, and required some change of scene and occupation. She

had a fancy for trying to see if she could support herself as so many

young women are obliged to, and found a place with us, the Mistress only

knowing her secret.

“She is to be our young Doctor's wife!” the Mistress whispered to me,

and did some more crying, not for grief, certainly.

Whether our young Doctor's long visits to a neighboring town had

anything to do with the fact that Avis was at that institution, whether

she was the patient he visited or not, may be left in doubt. At all

events, he had always driven off in the direction which would carry him

to the place where she was at school.

I have attended a large number of celebrations, commencements, banquets,

soirees, and so forth, and done my best to help on a good many of

them. In fact, I have become rather too well known in connection with

“occasions,” and it has cost me no little trouble. I believe there is

no kind of occurrence for which I have not been requested to contribute

something in prose or verse. It is sometimes very hard to say no to

the requests. If one is in the right mood when he or she writes an

occasional poem, it seems as if nothing could have been easier. “Why,

that piece run off jest like ile. I don't bullieve,” the unlettered

applicant says to himself, “I don't bullieve it took him ten minutes

to write them verses.” The good people have no suspicion of how much a

single line, a single expression, may cost its author. The wits used to

say that Ropers,--the poet once before referred to, old Samuel Ropers,

author of the Pleasures of Memory and giver of famous breakfasts,--was

accustomed to have straw laid before the house whenever he had just

given birth to a couplet. It is not quite so bad as that with most of us

who are called upon to furnish a poem, a song, a hymn, an ode for some

grand meeting, but it is safe to say that many a trifling performance

has had more good honest work put into it than the minister's sermon

of that week had cost him. If a vessel glides off the ways smoothly and

easily at her launching, it does not mean that no great pains have been

taken to secure the result. Because a poem is an “occasional” one, it

does not follow that it has not taken as much time and skill as if

it had been written without immediate, accidental, temporary motive.

Pindar's great odes were occasional poems, just as much as our

Commencement and Phi Beta Kappa poems are, and yet they have come down

among the most precious bequests of antiquity to modern times.

The mystery of the young Doctor's long visits to the neighboring town

was satisfactorily explained by what we saw and heard of his relations

with our charming “Delilah,”--for Delilah we could hardly help calling

her. Our little handmaid, the Cinderella of the teacups, now the

princess, or, what was better, the pride of the school to which she had

belonged, fit for any position to which she might be called, was to be

the wife of our young Doctor. It would not have been the right thing to

proclaim the fact while she was a pupil, but now that she had finished

her course of instruction there was no need of making a secret of the

engagement.

So we have got our romance, our love-story out of our Teacups, as I

hoped and expected that we should, but not exactly in the quarter where

it might have been looked for.

What did our two Annexes say to this unexpected turn of events? They

were good-hearted girls as ever lived, but they were human, like

the rest of us, and women, like some of the rest of us. They behaved

perfectly. They congratulated the Doctor, and hoped he would bring the

young lady to the tea-table where she had played her part so becomingly.

It is safe to say that each of the Annexes world have liked to be asked

the lover's last question by the very nice young man who had been a

pleasant companion at the table and elsewhere to each of them. That same

question is the highest compliment a man can pay a woman, and a woman

does not mind having a dozen or more such compliments to string on the

rosary of her remembrances. Whether either of them was glad, on the

whole, that he had not offered himself to the other in preference to

herself would be a mean, shabby question, and I think altogether

too well of you who are reading this paper to suppose that you would

entertain the idea of asking it.

It was a very pleasant occasion when the Doctor brought Avis over to

sit with us at the table where she used to stand and wait upon us. We

wondered how we could for a moment have questioned that she was one to

be waited upon, and not made for the humble office which nevertheless

she performed so cheerfully and so well.

Commencements and other Celebrations, American and English.

The social habits of our people have undergone an immense change within

the past half century, largely in consequence of the vast development of

the means of intercourse between different neighborhoods.

Commencements, college gatherings of all kinds, church assemblages,

school anniversaries, town centennials,--all possible occasions for

getting crowds together are made the most of. “'T is sixty years

since,”--and a good many years over,--the time to which my memory

extends. The great days of the year were, Election,--General Election on

Wednesday, and Artillery Election on the Monday following, at which time

lilacs were in bloom and 'lection buns were in order; Fourth of July,

when strawberries were just going out; and Commencement, a grand time

of feasting, fiddling, dancing, jollity, not to mention drunkenness

and fighting, on the classic green of Cambridge. This was the season of

melons and peaches. That is the way our boyhood chronicles events. It

was odd that the literary festival should be turned into a Donnybrook

fair, but so it was when I was a boy, and the tents and the shows and

the crowds on the Common were to the promiscuous many the essential

parts of the great occasion. They had been so for generations, and it

was only gradually that the Cambridge Saturnalia were replaced by the

decencies and solemnities of the present sober anniversary.

Nowadays our celebrations smack of the Sunday-school more than of the

dancing-hall. The aroma of the punch-bowl has given way to the milder

flavor of lemonade and the cooling virtues of ice-cream. A strawberry

festival is about as far as the dissipation of our social gatherings

ventures. There was much that was objectionable in those swearing,

drinking, fighting times, but they had a certain excitement for us boys

of the years when the century was in its teens, which comes back to us

not without its fascinations. The days of total abstinence are a

great improvement over those of unlicensed license, but there was a

picturesque element about the rowdyism of our old Commencement

days, which had a charm for the eye of boyhood. My dear old

friend,--book-friend, I mean,--whom I always called Daddy Gilpin (as

I find Fitzgerald called Wordsworth, Daddy Wordsworth),--my old friend

Gilpin, I say, considered the donkey more picturesque in a landscape

than the horse. So a village fete as depicted by Teniers is more

picturesque than a teetotal picnic or a Sabbath-school strawberry

festival. Let us be thankful that the vicious picturesque is only a

remembrance, and the virtuous commonplace a reality of to-day.

What put all this into my head is something which the English Annex has

been showing me. Most of my readers are somewhat acquainted with our own

church and village celebrations. They know how they are organized; the

women always being the chief motors, and the machinery very much the

same in one case as in another. Perhaps they would like to hear how such

things are managed in England; and that is just what they may learn from

the pamphlet which was shown me by the English Annex, and of which I

will give them a brief account.

Some of us remember the Rev. Mr. Haweis, his lectures and his violin,

which interested and amused us here in Boston a few years ago. Now Mr.

Haweis, assisted by his intelligent and spirited wife, has charge of

the parish of St. James, Westmoreland Street, Marylebone, London. On

entering upon the twenty-fifth year of his incumbency in Marylebone,

and the twenty-eighth of his ministry in the diocese of London, it was

thought a good idea to have an “Evening Conversazione and Fete.” We can

imagine just how such a meeting would be organized in one of our towns.

Ministers, deacons, perhaps a member of Congress, possibly a Senator,

and even, conceivably, his Excellency the Governor, and a long list of

ladies lend their names to give lustre to the occasion. It is all

very pleasant, unpretending, unceremonious, cheerful, well ordered,

commendable, but not imposing.

Now look at our Marylebone parish celebration, and hold your breath

while the procession of great names passes before you. You learn at the

outset that it is held UNDER ROYAL PATRONAGE, and read the names of two

royal highnesses, one highness, a prince, and a princess. Then comes a

list before which if you do not turn pale, you must certainly be in the

habit of rouging: three earls, seven lords, three bishops, two generals

(one of them Lord Wolseley), one admiral, four baronets, nine knights, a

crowd of right honorable and honorable ladies (many of them peeresses),

and a mob of other personages, among whom I find Mr. Howells, Bret

Harte, and myself.

Perhaps we are disposed to smile at seeing so much made of titles; but

after what we have learned of Lord Timothy Dexter and the high-sounding

names appropriated by many of our own compatriots, who have no more

claim to them than we plain Misters and Misseses, we may feel to them

something as our late friend Mr. Appleton felt to the real green turtle

soup set before him, when he said that it was almost as good as mock.

The entertainment on this occasion was of the most varied character. The

programme makes the following announcement:

Friday, 4 July, 18-.

At 8 P. M. the Doors will Open.

Mr. Haweis will receive his Friends.

The Royal Handbell Ringers will Ring.

The Fish-pond will be Fished.

The Stalls will be Visited.

The Phonograph will Utter.

Refreshments will be called for, and they will come,--Tea, Coffee, and

Cooling Drinks. Spirits will not be called for, from the Vasty Deep or

anywhere else,--nor would they come if they were.

At 9.30 Mrs. Haweis will join the assembly.

I am particularly delighted with this last feature in the preliminary

announcement. It is a proof of the high regard in which the estimable

and gifted lady who shares her husband's labors is held by the people of

their congregation, and the friends who share in their feelings. It

is such a master stroke of policy, too, to keep back the principal

attraction until the guests must have grown eager for her appearance: I

can well imagine how great a saving it must have been to the good lady's

nerves, which were probably pretty well tried already by the fatigues

and responsibilities of the busy evening. I have a right to say this,

for I myself had the honor of attending a meeting at Mr. Haweis's house,

where I was a principal guest, as I suppose, from the fact of the great

number of persons who were presented to me. The minister must be very

popular, for the meeting was a regular jam,--not quite so tremendous as

that greater one, where but for the aid of Mr. Smalley, who kept open a

breathing-space round us, my companion and myself thought we should have

been asphyxiated.

The company was interested, as some of my readers maybe, to know what

were the attractions offered to the visitors besides that of meeting

the courteous entertainers and their distinguished guests. I cannot

give these at length, for each part of the show is introduced in the

programme with apt quotations and pleasantries, which enlivened the

catalogue. There were eleven stalls, “conducted on the cooperative

principle of division of profits and interest; they retain the profits,

and you take a good deal of interest, we hope, in their success.”

Stall No. 1. Edisoniana, or the Phonograph. Alluded to by the Roman Poet

as Vox, et praeterea nihil.

Stall No. 2. Money-changing.

Stall No. 3. Programmes and General Enquiries.

Stall No. 4. Roses.

A rose by any other name, etc. Get one. You can't expect to smell one

without buying it, but you may buy one without smelling it.

Stall No. 5. Lasenby Liberty Stall. (I cannot explain this. Probably

articles from Liberty's famous establishment.)

Stall No. 6. Historical Costumes and Ceramics.

Stall No. 7. The Fish-pond.

Stall No. 8. Varieties.

Stall No. 9. Bookstall. (Books) “highly recommended for insomnia;

friends we never speak to, and always cut if we want to know them well.”

Stall No. 10. Icelandic.

Stall No. 11. Call Office. “Mrs. Magnusson, who is devoted to the

North Pole and all its works, will thaw your sympathies, enlighten your

minds,” etc., etc.

All you buy may be left at the stalls, ticketed. A duplicate ticket will

be handed to you on leaving. Present your duplicate at the Call Office.

At 9.45, First Concert.

At 10.45, An Address of Welcome by Rev. H. R. Haweis.

At 11 P. M., Bird-warbling Interlude by Miss Mabel Stephenson, U. S. A.

At 11.20, Second Concert.