wood, for some years. After awhile, however, the brothers were
separated. Bob went to a large city, became a merchant, grew rich, lived
in a fine house, was a Bank Director, and an Alderman. His younger
brother, pursuing a more modest, but equally manly and elevated career,
seldom met Bob during some years, and then only briefly at their
father's house, when there was a family gathering at Thanksgiving, or on
some other similar occasion.
Once, when I chanced to see these young men together, thus, I remarked
that, while the sisters of each clung round the neck of the unassuming,
but true-hearted, right-minded Charley, at his coming, and lost no
opportunity of being with him, the repellant manner of the elder brother
held all more or less aloof, though none failed in polite observance
towards him. Egotistical and pompous, he seemed to regard those about
him as belonging to an inferior race. As his brother and I sat talking
together near a table upon which were refreshments, he actually had the
rudeness to reach between us for a glass, without the slightest word or
token of apology, with his arm so near to his brother's face as almost
to touch it! There was more of shame than indignation expressed in that
fine, ingenuous countenance when it again met my unobstructed gaze, and
I thought I detected a slight tremor in the sentence he uttered next in
the order of our conversation.
Before my visit that day was at an end, I found myself exceedingly
embarrassed as an unwilling auditor of a political discussion between
Bob and his father, which grew, at length, into an angry dispute, little
creditable to, at least, the younger of the two word-combatants.
As I stood in the hall that night, awaiting my carriage, I saw Charley
advance to the door of the library, opening near, and knock lightly. The
voice of his aged father bade him enter. Opening the door, the young
man, taking his hat quite off, and bowing almost reverentially, said
only, "I bid you good night, sir," and quietly closed it again. When
they turned towards me, there was almost a woman's softness in eyes that
would have looked undimmed upon the fiercest foe or the deadliest
peril.--Think you the Recording Angel flew up to Heaven's high Chancery
with a testimony of that day's deeds and words?
Once, after this, Charley had occasion to visit the city where Bob
resided. Breakfast over, at his hotel, he sallied forth to call on Bob,
at his own house, and attend, subsequently, to other matters.
He was shown into an elegant drawing-room, where the master of the
mansion sat reading a newspaper. Without rising, he offered his hand,
coldly, and before inviting his visitor to sit, took occasion to say
that his wife's having an engagement to spend the day out of town would
prevent his inviting his brother to dine!
As Charley descended the steps of his brother's stately mansion, at the
termination of his brief call that day, he silently registered a vow
never again to cross his threshold, unless impelled by imperative duty.
And yet Bob is not only a rich merchant, an Alderman, and a Bank
Director, but a _man of fashion_!
* * * * *
One of the most discriminating and truthful delineators of life and
manners whom we boast among our native authors, prominent among the
characteristic traits he ascribes to an old English gentleman, of whom
he gives us an exquisite portraiture, is that of such considerate
kindness towards an old servant as to make him endure his peevishness
and obstinacy with good humor, and affect to consult and agree with
him, until he gains an important practical point with "time-honored
age."
* * * * *
Illustrative of our subject is one of the anecdotes recorded of the poet
Rogers, in his recently published life:
"Mr. Rogers," said the body-servant, who had long attended him in his
helpless years, "_we_ are invited to dine with Miss Coutts." The
italicizing is mine. Is it not suggestive?
You remember the rest of the anecdote; Rogers had the habit, during the
latter years of his life, of writing, when able to use his pen, notes to
be dated and directed as occasion required, in this established form
"Pity me, I am engaged." So, on this occasion, the careful attendant
added: "The _pity-me's_ are all gone!"
* * * * *
Weather-bound during the long, cold winter of 18--, by a protracted
snow-storm and a severe cold, in the house of an old friend, I left my
comfortable private quarters one morning for a little walk up and down
the corridor into which my own apartment and those of the family opened.
By and by the active step of my hostess crossed my sauntering way.
"Perhaps it may amuse you to come into the nursery, a little while,
colonel," said she, "it will be a novelty, at least, to you, to see
behind the scenes."
"I feel myself honored by the permission, I assure you; the _green-room_
always has an interest for me!" returned I; and I was soon ensconced in
a large, cushioned-chair, in a cozy corner, near the open, old-fashioned
"franklin" in which blazed a cheerful wood-fire. The rosy-cheeked
juveniles among whom I found myself vied with each other in efforts to
promote my comfort. One brought her own little chair, and placed it to
support my feet; another climbed up and stuffed a soft cushion greatly
larger than his own rotund, dumpling of a figure, between me and the
chair-back, assuring me with a grave shake of the head, in which I saw
the future Esculapius, "it is so nice ven your head do ache--mamma say
so, ven I put him on her always!" and bright-eyed little Bessie, between
whom and me a very good understanding already existed, crowned the
varied hospitalities of my initiatory visit by offering me the use of
her tiny muff!
My hostess, though she kept an observant eye upon us, from her seat by
her work-table over against my arm-chair, had too much tact to interfere
with the proceedings of my ministering cherubs; except to prevent the
possibility of my being annoyed.
When I had leisure to reconnoitre a little, I discovered, among the
other fixtures in the large, well-lighted, cheerful-looking apartment,
an old woman with a good-humored face and portly person, seated near a
window, sewing, with a large, well-stored basket of unmended linen and
hosiery before her.
Presently, the eldest son, a fine manly boy of some sixteen years
entered, hat and cane in hand. Used, I suppose, to a jumble of faces and
forms, in this human kaleidoscope, he evidently did not observe the
quiet figure in the high-backed chair. "Mother," he exclaimed in a tone
in which boyish animation and the utmost affection were singularly
united, striding across the room, like the Colossus of Rhodes, suddenly
endued with powers of locomotion: "Mother, you are the most beautiful
and irresistible of your beautiful and irresistible sex!" and stooping,
he pressed his full, cherry lips gently upon her rounded cheek.
A flash of amusement, mingled with the love-light in the soft eyes that
met those of the boy. He turned quickly. A scarcely-discernible
embarrassment of manner, and a quick flush in the bright young face,
were all that I had time to note, before he was at my side with a
cordial greeting and a playful welcome to "Mother's Land of Promise."
"Land of Nod, say rather," replied the presiding genius of the scene,
pointing to the quiescent form of little Bessie, who--her curly head
pillowed on her chubby arm--was just losing all consciousness of the
world, upon the rug at her mother's feet.
"George, what an armful!" said the youth, in a sort of half undertone,
as he tenderly lifted the little lay figure, and bore it to a crib.
"Don't get up, mother, I can cover her nicely. I say, mammy [an arch
glance over his shoulder towards the ancient matron of the
sewing-basket], how heavy bread and milk is, though, eh!"
"Speaking of bread and milk, here comes lunch," continued my hero for
the nonce, rubbing his hands energetically, and only desisting to give a
table the dextrous twirl that would bring it near his mother, and assist
the labors of the servant who had entered with a tray.
"Will, you immense fellow, take yourself out of the way! Colonel, permit
me to give your sedan-chair just the slightest impulse forward, and so
save you the trouble of moving. My adorable mother, allow me the honor
of being your Ganymede. Here we are, all right! Now, let's see what
there is--ham, baked apples, cold roast beef, hot cocoa--not so bad,
'pon my word. Colonel, I hope this crispy morning has given you some
appetite, after your hard cold--allow me"--
"Mammy fust," here interposed little Will, authoritatively, "'cause she
older dan us!" and, carefully holding the heaped-up plate his mother
placed in both hands, he deliberately adventured an overland journey to
the distant object of his affectionate solicitude.
At this juncture, it was discovered that the servant-man who brought up
the tray, had forgotten the sugar, and a young nursery-maid was
dispatched for it. Upon her return she contrived, by some awkwardness in
closing the door, to spill the whole result of her mission to the
pantry upon the floor. Her arms dropped by her sides, as if suddenly
paralyzed, and I noticed a remarkable variety in the shade of her broad
Irish physiognomy.
"There is no great harm done, Biddy," said my hostess, immediately, in a
peculiarly quiet, gentle voice, "just step down to John for another
bowlful. While poor Biddy is collecting her scattered senses on the
stairs, my son, will you kindly assist Willie in picking up the most
noticeable lumps?--put them in this saucer, my dear. She is just
learning, you know and--she would not cross that Rubicon as bravely as
the classic hero you were reading of last night."
"While we are so literary, mother--what is it about the dolphin? If I
remember rightly Bid was a pretty good exemplification"----
"Hush!--I am glad you thought to bring up more apples, Biddy. Colonel,
here is the most tempting spitzenberg--so good for a cold, too. Take
this to mammy will you, Biddy? The one I sent you before, was not so
nice as these, mammy--your favorite kind, you know."
Amused with the new scene in which I found myself, I accepted the
assurance of the fair _home mother_, as the Germans have it, that I was
not in the way, and lingered a little longer.
By and by, John came up to tell his mistress that there was an old man
at the door with a basket of little things to sell, and that he had sent
a box of sealing-wax for her to look at.
"Poo' man! poo' man?" said little Will, running up to my knee, with such
a sorrowful look in his innocent face--"an' it so-o-o col'," he added,
catching his mother's words, as if by instinct.
"Take him down the money, John," I overheard, in the intervals between
the discourse of my juvenile instructor, "and this cup of chocolate--it
will warm him. Ask him to sit by the hall stove, while he drinks it."
Nothing was said about the exceedingly portly brace of sandwiches that
were manufactured by the busiest of fingers, and which, through the
golden veil of Willie's light curls, I saw snugly tucked in, on either
side of the saucer.
"Now, young ladies," continued my amiable friend, addressing a bevy of
her rosy-cheeked young nieces, who had just before entered the room,
"here is a stick of fancy-colored wax, for each of us--make your own
choice. Luckily there is a red stick for Col. Lunettes" (a half
deprecatory glance at me), "the only color gentlemen use. And," as she
received the box again--"there is some for mammy and me--we are in
partnership, you know, mammy!"
A pleased look from the centre of the wide cap-frills by the window, was
the only response to this appeal; but I had repeatedly observed that,
despite her industry, mammy's huge spectacles took careful cognizance of
the various proceedings around her.
As I was about, for very shame, to beat a retreat, a cheery--"good
morning, Colonel, I tapped at your door, as I came up, and thought you
were napping it," arrested my intended departure. "So wifie has coaxed
you in here! Just like her! She thinks she can take the best care of you
with"--
"With the rest of the children!" I interrupted.
"My _loving spou_," as Bessie says, when she recites John Gilpin, "may I
trouble you to tie my cravat?" And with that important article of attire
in his hand, my friend knelt upon a low foot-stool, before his household
divinity.
"Thompson," said I, "I always knew you were one of the luckiest fellows
in the whole world; but may I ask--just as a point of scientific
inquiry--whether that office is always performed for you,
'One fair spirit for your minister?'"
"Not a bit of it! No indeed, 'pon my word! only when I go to a dinner,
as to-day--or to church, or--I say, Will, you unmitigated rogue, how
dare you! you'll spoil my cravat--don't you see mamma is just tying it!"
The little fellow thus objurgated, his eyes scintillating with mirth,
now fairly astride of his father's shoulders, clung tenaciously to his
prize, and petitioned for a ride in his familiar seat.
Resorting to stratagem, where force would ill apply, the father, rising
with a "thank you, dear wifie," retired backward towards a wide bed,
and, by a dextrous movement, suddenly landed his youthful captor in a
heap in the middle.
To lose no time, the brave boy, "conquered, but not subdued," made the
best use of his lungs, while reducing his arms and legs to order, and
Bessie, opening her beaming eyes, at this outcry, stretched out her arms
to aid her pathetic appeal to papa to "p'ay one little hos" with her,
"_only but one_!"
Evidently fearful of being out-generalled, the invader beat a rapid
retreat from the enemy's camp, with the words "thank you, love, I
believe the little rascal didn't tumble it, though I came within an ace,
like a real alderman, of _dying of a dinner_--before it was eaten!"
After this initiatory visit to the nursery of my fair friend, Mrs.
Thompson, I was allowed to come and go at my own pleasure, during the
remainder of my visit beneath her hospitable roof, and I found myself so
interested and amused by what I witnessed there, as often to leave the
solitude of my own apartment, though surrounded there by every possible
"aid and appliance" of comfort and enjoyment that refinement and
courtesy could supply, to learn the most beautiful lessons of practical
wisdom and goodness from the most unpretending of teachers.
One morning when the _habitue_ had sought his accustomed post of
observation, a young lady presented herself at the door, and seeing me,
was about to retreat with something about its being very early for a
visit, when Mrs. Thompson recalled her with a "Come in, my dear, and let
me have the pleasure of presenting you to Colonel Lunettes, the friend
of whom you have heard us all speak so often."
After the usual courtesies, this lovely earth-angel, with some
hesitation, and drawing her chair nearer her friend, explained her
errand.
Making a little screen of a cherub-head, as was my wont, I regaled
myself unobserved, with the music of sweet voices and the study of
pretty faces. I caught--"my old drawing-teacher"--"her husband was a
brute in their best days"--"this long, hard winter"--"not even a
carpet"--"the poor child on a wooden-bottomed chair, with a little dirty
pillow behind her head, and so emaciated!"--here there was a very
perceptible quiver in the low tones, followed by a little choking sort
of pause.
"I am really grateful to you for coming--I have been unusually occupied
lately by the baby's illness and other duties--the weather has given me
more than one twinge of conscience"--this accompanied by a quiet
transfer from one purse to another, and then I heard, as the two ladies
bent over the crib of the sleeping infant--"is there a stout boy among
the children? There are the barrels of pork and beef, always ready in
the cellar--each good and wholesome of their kind--husband always has
them brought from the farm on purpose to give away; and we have
abundance of fine potatoes--John could not readily find the place, and
really, just now, he is pretty busy; still, perhaps, they have the
natural pride of better days--if you think it well, I will try to
send"--the gentle ministers of mercy left the room together, and I heard
no more.
Presently, the youth of whom I have before spoken, still at home
enjoying his holiday's college vacation, joined me, and, between the
exercises of an entertaining gymnastic exhibition, in which he and
Willie were the chief performers, regaled me with humorous sketches of
college adventures, anecdotes of the professors, etc., in the details of
some of which I think he had his quiet old nurse in his mind's eye, as
well as his father's guest.
When Mrs. Thompson resumed her accustomed seat at her business-table, as
it might well be called, my agreeable young entertainer slid away from
the group about the fire, and was soon snugged down, in his own favorite
fashion, with his legs comfortably crossed over the top of the chair
sustaining mammy's implements, cheek-by-jowl with the venerable genius
of the sewing-basket, dipping into a newspaper, and chatting, at
intervals, with his humble friend. Once in a while I caught a sentence
like this:
"I say, mammy, you can't begin to think how glad I am you are getting
down to my shirts! Such work as they make washing for a fellow at
college! My black washerwoman (and such a beauty as she is--such a
little rosebud of a mouth!) pretends to fasten the loose buttons--now,
there is a specimen of her performances--just look! The real truth is,
Mrs. Welch, that mother and you are the only women I know of who can sew
on a button worth a pin--just the only two, by George! Now, there's
Pierre de Carradeaux, one of our young fellows down there--his friends
all live in Hayti, or some other unknown and uninhabitable region, you
know, over the sea--I wish you could see his clothes! The way they mend
at the tailors! But the darns in his stockings are the funniest. He
rooms with me, and so I hear him talking to himself, in French. I am
afraid he swears, sometimes--but the way he fares is enough to make a
saint swear!" And then followed a detail that caused mammy to wipe her
eyes in sympathy with this strange phase of human woe, in alternation
with an occasional exclamation of amusement--like, "You'll surely be the
death of me, Master Sidney!" apparently forced spasmodically from her
lips, despite the self-imposed taciturnity which, I shrewdly suspected,
my presence created.
"Mother, my revered maternal primitive, may I read you this anecdote?
Colonel, will you allow me?"--a respectful glance at the book in my
hand. And squeezing himself in from behind, by some utterly
inconceivable india-rubber pliancy, between the fire and his
much-enduring parent, the tall form of the stripling slowly subsided
until I could discern nothing but a mass of wavy black hair reposing
amid the soft folds of his mother's morning-gown, and a bit of his
newspaper. Thus disposed, apparently to the entire satisfaction of all
concerned, he read:
"Once, while the celebrated John Kemble, the renowned actor and acute
critic, was still seated at the dinner-table of an English nobleman,
with whom he had been dining, a servant announced that Mrs. Kemble
awaited her husband in a carriage at the door. Some time elapsed, and
the impersonator of Shakspeare's mighty creations remained immovable.
At length the servant, re-entering, said: 'Mrs. Kemble bids me say, sir,
that she is afraid of getting the _rheumatiz_.' 'Add _ism_,' replied the
imperturbable critic of language, and quietly continued his discourse
with his host."
"If I should ever be compelled to marry--which, of course, I never shall
unless you disinherit me, mother, or mammy insists upon leaving us to
keep house for that handsome widower, in the long snuff
overcoat--[though the respectable female thus alluded to did not even
glance up from her stitching, I plainly marked a little nod of virtuous
defiance, and a fluttering in the crimpings of the ample cap-border,
that plainly expressed desperation to the hopes of the widower
aforesaid]--but if fate _should_ decree my 'attaining knowledge under
difficulties,' upon this subject, I hope I'll be a little too decent to
keep my wife sitting out doors in a London fog (I shall make a bridal
tour to Europe, of course), while I am imbibing, even with a 'nobleman.'
Speaking of the tyranny of fate, I am, most reluctantly, compelled to
deprive you of my refreshing conversation, my dear and excellent mother.
If my dilapidated linen is restored to its virgin integrity: in other
words, if my shirt is done, I propose retiring to the deepest shades of
private life, and getting myself up, without the slightest consideration
for the financial affairs of my honored masculine progenitor, for a
morning call upon ----, the fortunate youthful beauty I, at present,
honor with my particular adoration." So saying, Sir Hopeful slowly
emerged from his 'loop-hole of retreat,' and making a profound obeisance
to his guardian spirit, and another to me, a shade less lowly, he took
himself off, with his linen over his arm, and a grand parting flourish
at the door, with his hat upon his walking-stick, for the especial
benefit of his little brother, which elicited a shout of unmingled
admiration from the juvenile spectators that need not have been despised
by Herr Alexander himself.
During dinner that day, as the varied and most bountiful course of
pastry, etc., was about to be removed, young Sidney said:
"Mother, allow me to relieve you of the largest half of that
solitary-looking piece of mince-pie. I am sorry I cannot afford to take
the whole of it under my protecting care."
"My dear son," replied my hostess, pleasantly, "let me suggest the
attractions of variety. You have already done your _devoir_ to this pie.
Your father pronounces the cocoanut excellent"--and then, as if in reply
to the look of surprise that met her good-humored sally, she added, in a
tone meant only for the ears of the youth, "this happens to be the last,
and mammy eats no other, you remember."
"No great matter, either; to-morrow will be baking-day. Now I know why
you took none yourself, mother," answered Sidney, cheerfully, in the
same "aside" manner; and the placid smile on the hospitable face of the
'home-mother' alone acknowledged her recognition of the ascription of
self-denial to her; for it is not occasionally, but always, that
"In the clear heaven of her delightful eye,
An angel guard of loves and graces lie."
Adieu!
UNCLE HAL.
LETTER V.
MANNER--PRACTICAL DIRECTIONS.
MY DEAR NEPHEWS:
Though good breeding is always and everywhere essentially the same,
there are phases of daily life, especially demanding its exhibition.
_Manner in the street_ is one of these.
Even in hours most exclusively devoted to business, do not allow
yourself to hurry along with a clouded, absent face and bent head, as if
you forever felt the foot of the earth-god on your neck! Carry an erect
and open brow into the very midst of the heat and burden of the day.
Take time to see your friends, as they cross you in the busy
thoroughfares of life and, at least by a passing smile or a gesture of
recognition, give token that you are not resolved into a mere
money-making machine, and both will be better for this fleeting
manifestation of the inner being.
During business hours and in crowded business-streets no man should ever
stop another, whom he knows to be necessarily constantly occupied at
such times, except upon a matter of urgent need, and then if he alone
is to be benefited by the detention, he should briefly apologize and
state his errand in as few words as possible.
But the habit of a cheerful tone of voice, a cordial smile, and friendly
grasp of the hand, when meeting those with whom one is associated in
social life, is not to be regarded as unimportant.
If you do not intend to stop, when meeting a gentleman friend, recognize
him as you approach, by a smile, and touching your hat salute him
audibly with--"Good morning, sir," or "I hope you are well, sir," or
(more familiarly), "Ah, Charley!--good morning to you." But don't say,
"How d' ye do, sir," when you cannot expect to learn, nor call back as
you pass, something that will cause him to linger, uncertain what you
say.