his pleasing manners. This morning I was really indebted to his
politeness. You know how slippery it was--well, I had been at Mrs.
S----'s reception, and was just hesitating on the top of the steps, on
coming away, afraid to call the man from his horses, and fearful of
venturing down alone, when Mr. V---- ran up, like a chamois-hunter, and
offered his assistance. He not only escorted me to the sleigh, but
tucked up the furs, gave me my muff, and inquired for your health with
such good-humor and cordiality as really quite won my heart!"
"I should be exceedingly jealous, were it not that he made exactly the
same impression upon me, a few evenings before you joined me here. It
was at Miss T----'s wedding. Of course, I had a card of invitation to
the reception, after the ceremony, but, disliking crowds as I do, and as
you were not here, I decided not to go.--The truth is, Colonel, [turning
to me] we backwoodsmen are a little shy of these grand state occasions
of ceremony and parade."--
"Backwoodsmen, as you are pleased to term them, sometimes confer far
more honor upon such occasions than they upon him," returned I.
"You are very polite, sir. Well, as I was saying, in the morning I met
the bride's father, who was one of my early college friends, in the
street, and he urged me, with such old-fashioned, hearty cordiality to
come, that I began to think the homely charm of _hospitality_ might not
be wholly lacking, even at a fashionable entertainment, in this most
fashionable city. So the upshot of the matter was my going, though with
some misgivings about my _court-costume_, as my guardian-angel had
deserted me." Really, boys, I wish you could have seen the chivalrous
courtesy that lighted the fine eye and shone over the manner of the
speaker, as, with these last words, he bowed to the fair companion of
his life for something like half a century.
"You forget, my dear," rejoined the lady, as a soft smile, and a softer
blush stole over her still beautiful face, "that Mrs. M---- wrote me you
were quite the lion of the occasion, and that half the young ladies
present, including the bride herself, were"--
"My dear! I cry you mercy!--Bless my soul!--an old fellow like me!"----
"But K----, my dear friend," I exclaimed, "don't be personal"----
"Lunettes, you were always, and still are, irresistible with the ladies,
but--you are _an exception_."
"I protest!" cried Mrs. K----, joining in our laughter, "Mr. Clay, to
his latest day, was in high favor with ladies, young and old--there was
no withstanding the _charm of his manner_. At Washington, one winter
that I spent there, wherever I met him, he was encircled by the fairest
and most distinguished of our sex, all seeming to vie with each other
for his attentions--and this was not because of his political rank, for
others in high position did not share his popularity;--it was his grace,
his courtesy, his _je ne sais quoi_, as the French say."
"Mr. Clay was as remarkable for quiet self-possession and tact, in
social as in public life," said I. "When I had the honor to be his
colleague, I often had occasion to observe and admire both. I remember
once being a good deal amused by a little scene between him and a Miss
----, then a reigning belle at Washington, and a great favorite of Mr.
Clay's. Returning late one night from the Capitol, excessively fatigued
by a long and exciting debate, in which he had borne an active part, he
dropped into the ladies' parlor of our hotel, on his way up stairs,
hoping, I dare say, Mrs. K., to enjoy the soothing influence of gentler
smiles and tones than those he had left. The room was almost deserted,
but, ensconced in one corner of a long, old-fashioned sofa, sat Miss
----, reading. His keen eye detected his fair friend in a moment, and
his lagging step quickened as he approached her. A younger and handsomer
man might well have envied the warm welcome he received. After sitting a
moment beside the lady, Mr. Clay said, abruptly:--
"'Miss ----, what is your definition of true politeness?'
"'Perfect ease,' she replied.
"'I have the honor to agree with you, madam, and, with your entire
permission, will take leave to assume the correctness of _this
position_!' As he spoke, with a dextrous movement, the statesman
disposed a large cushion near Miss ----'s end of the sofa, and
simultaneously, down went his head upon the cushion, and up went his
heels at the other extreme of the sofa! But, my dear fellow, we are
losing your adventures at the great wedding party, all this time"----
"Very true, my dear," added Mrs. K----, wiping her eyes, "you fell in
love with Mr. V----, you know"--
"Oh, yes," returned my host, "I did, indeed; but I had no adventures, in
particular. V---- was one of the _aids-de-camp_, on the occasion, as I
knew by the white love-knot (what is the fashionable name, wife?) he
wore on his breast. He was in the hall when I came down stairs, to act
in his office of groomsman. Upon seeing me, he advanced, and asked
whether he could be of any service to me. I explained, while I drew on
my gloves, that I did not know the bride, and feared that even her
mother might have forgotten an early friend. His young eyes found the
button of my glove quicker than mine, and as he released my hand, he
said, showing a sad rent in his own, "you are fortunate in not having
split them, sir,--but you _gentlemen of the old school_," he added with
a respectful bow, "always surpass us youngsters in matters of dress, as
well as everything else." As he said this, the young rogue glanced
politely over my plain black suit, and offered me his arm as
deferentially as though I had been an Ex-President, at least; and so on,
throughout the evening, with apparent _unconsciousness of self_. I
should have thought him wholly devoted to my enjoyment of everything and
everybody, had I not observed that others, equally, or more, in need of
his attention than I, shared his courtesy--from an elderly lady in a
huge church-tower of a cap, who seemed fearfully exercised less she
should not secure her full share of the wedding-cake boxes, to one of
the little sisters of the bride, who clung to her dress and sobbed as if
her heart must break--all seemed to like him and _depend_ on him."
"I have not the pleasure of Mr. V----'s acquaintance," said I, "but I
prophesy that _he will succeed in life_!"
"Yes, and make friends at every step!" responded Mrs. K----, warmly.
"After we parted this morning, I had an agreeable sort of
half-consciousness that something pleasant had happened to me, and when
I analised the feeling, Wordsworth's lines seemed to have been
impersonated to me:--
'A face with gladness overspread!
Soft smiles, by human kindness bred!
And seemliness complete, that sways
Thy courtesies, about thee plays!'"
* * * * *
I have known few persons with as exquisite aesthetical perceptions as my
lovely friend Minnie. So I promised myself great pleasure in taking her
to see Cole's celebrated series of pictures--THE COURSE OF TIME. It was
soon after Cole's lamented death; and, as Minnie had been some time
living where she was deprived of such enjoyments, she had never seen
these fine pictures.
As we drove along towards the Art Union Gallery, the fair enthusiast was
all eager expectation. "How often my kind friend Mr. S---- B. R----,
used to talk to me of Cole," said she, "and promise me the pleasure of
knowing him. When he died I felt as though I had lost a dear friend, as
I had indeed, for all who worship art, have a friend in each child of
genius."
"Cole was emphatically one of these," returned I, "as his conceptions
alone prove."
"Yes, indeed," replied Minnie, "I always think of him as the
_poet-painter_, since I saw his first series--the 'Progress of Empire.'
Only a poet's imagination could conceive his subjects."
I placed my sweet friend in the most favorable position for enjoying
each picture in succession, and seated myself at her side, rather for
the gratification of listening to the low murmurs of delight that should
be breathed by her kindred soul, than to view the painter's skill, as
that no longer possessed the attraction of novelty for me.
We had just come to the sublime portraiture of "_Manhood_," and Minnie
seemed wholly absorbed in her own thoughts and imaginings. Suddenly a
silly giggle broke the charmed stillness. The Devotee of the Beautiful
started, as if abruptly awakened from a dream, and a slight shiver ran
through her sensitive frame.
Turning, I perceived, standing close behind us, a group of young
persons, chattering and laughing, and pointing to different parts of the
picture before us. Their platitudes were not, perhaps, especially
stupid, nor were they more noisy and rude than I have known _free-born
republicans_ before, under somewhat similar circumstances; but poor
Minnie endured absolute torture; her idealized delight vanished before a
coarse reality. I well remember the imploring and distressed look with
which she whispered: "Let us go, dear Colonel;" and one glance at her
pale face satisfied me that the spell was irrevocably broken for her,
and that her long anticipated "joy," in beholding "a thing of beauty"
had indeed been cruelly alloyed.
If my memory serves me aright, I told you something, in a former letter,
of an interesting lady, a friend of mine, whose husband was shot all to
pieces in the Mexican War, and after lying for many months in an almost
hopeless condition, finally so far recovered as to be removed to the
sea-board, to take ship for New Orleans. When informed of this, his
beautiful young wife--a belle, a beauty, and the petted idol of a large
family circle before her marriage--set out, at mid-winter, accompanied
by one of her brothers and taking with her the infant-child, whom its
soldier-father had never seen, to meet her husband on his homeward
route. This explanation will render intelligible the following incident,
which she herself related to me.
"My brother remained with us some time at New Orleans," said the fair
narrator; "but, as Ernest began to improve, I entreated him to return
home, as both his business and his family demanded his attention; and
you know, Colonel Lunettes," she added, with a sad smile, "that a
_soldier's wife_ must learn to be brave, for her own sake as well as for
his. Ernest had with him an excellent, faithful servant, who was fully
competent to such service as I could not render, and my little boy's
nurse was with me, of course. So we made our homeward journey by slow
stages, but with less suffering to my husband than we could have hoped,
and I grew strong as soon as we were re-united, and felt adequate to
anything, almost."
The fair young creature added the last word with the same mournful smile
that had before flitted over her sweet face, and as if rather in reply
to the doubtful expression she read in my countenance, than from any
remembrance of having failed, in the slightest degree, in the task of
which she spoke.
"On the night of our arrival at A----, however," pursued Mrs. V----, "we
seemed to reach such a climax of fatigue and trial, as to make further
endurance literally impossible for poor Ernest. Our little child had
been taken ill the day before, so that I could not devote myself so
entirely to him as I could have wished; and, as we drew near home, his
impatience seemed to increase the pain of his wounds, so that, on this
evening, he was almost exhausted both in body and mind. We stopped at
the D---- House, as being nearest the depot, which was a great point
with us; but such a comfortless, shiftless place!"----
"An abominable hole!" I ejaculated; "one never gets anything fit to eat
there!"
"That was the least of our difficulties," returned the lady, "as we had
to leave our man-servant to look after our luggage, it was with great
difficulty that my poor husband was assisted up stairs into the public
parlor, and he almost fainted while I gave a few hurried directions
about a room. Such a scene as it was! The poor baby, weary and sleepy,
began to cry for mamma, and nurse had as much as she could do with the
care of him. Ernest had sunk down upon the only sofa in the room--a
huge, heavy machine of a thing, that looked as though never designed to
be moved from its place against the wall. I gave my husband a
restorative, but in vain. He grew so ghastly pale that"----a sob here
choked the utterance of the speaker.
"My dear child," said I, taking her hand, "do not say another word; I
cannot forgive myself for asking you these particulars--all is well
now--do not recall the past!"
"Excuse me, dear Colonel, I _wish_ to tell you, I want you to know, how
we were treated by a brute in human form--to ask you whether you could
have believed in the existence of such a being--so utterly destitute of
common politeness, not to say humanity."
"I hope no one who could aid you, in this extremity, failed to do so."
"You shall hear. Ernest was shivering with cold, as well as exhaustion,
and whispered to me that he would try to sit by the fire until the room
was prepared. I looked round the place for an easy-chair; there was but
one, and that was occupied by a man who was staring at us, as though we
were curiosities exhibited for his especial benefit."
"'Ernest,' said I aloud, 'you are too weak to sit in one of these chairs
without arms, and with nothing to support your head.'
"'I will try, love,' he replied, 'for I am so cold!'
"'I will ask that man for his chair,' I whispered. Poor Ernest! his
eyes flashed. 'No! No!' said he, 'if he has not the decency to offer it,
you shall not speak to him!'
"Of course, I would not irritate him by opposition, but placed an
ordinary chair before the fire, and, supporting him into it, held his
head on my shoulder, while I chafed his benumbed hands. In the
meanwhile, the wail of the baby did not help to quiet us, nor to shorten
the time of waiting; and it seemed as if John would never make his
appearance, nor the room I had ordered be prepared. By my direction,
nurse rang the bell. I inquired of the very placid individual who
answered it, whether the room was ready for us, and upon being told that
they were making the fire, entreated the emblem of serenity to hasten
operations, and at once to bring me a cup of hot tea. Minutes seemed
hours to me, as you may suppose, and the dull eyes that were fastened
upon us from the centre of the stuffed chair, I so longed for, really
made me nervous. I felt as though it might be some horrid ghoul, rather
than anything human, thus looking upon our misery. 'Good G----, Lu!'
said Ernest, at last, 'isn't the bed ready yet?'
"I could bear it no longer. Gently withdrawing my support from the
weary, weary head, I flew to my boy, snatched him from nurse, and
signifying my design to her, we united our powers, and, laying baby on
the sofa, we succeeded in pushing it up to the side of the fire-place.
Then, while I hushed the child on my breast, we piled up our wrappings
and placed my husband upon the couch, so as to rest his poor wounded
frame (you know, Colonel, his spine was injured). The groan, half of
relief and half of torture, that broke from his lips, as he rested his
head, was like to be the 'last straw' that broke my heart--but the
soldier's wife! How often did I repeat to myself, during that long
journey:
'Remember thou'rt a _soldier's wife_,
Those tears but ill become thee!'
"Well! by this time, John made his appearance, and, consigning his
master temporarily to his care, I took nurse with me, and went to see
what a woman's ready hand could do in expediting matters elsewhere. When
showed to the room we were expected to occupy, I found it so filled with
smoke, and so dreadfully cold, as to be wholly uninhabitable, and in
despair sent for the steward, or whoever he was, to whom I had given
directions at first. No other room with two beds could be secured. By
the glimmering light of the small lamp in the hand of the Irishman, who
was laboring with the attempt at a fire, I investigated a little; the
smouldering coals belched forth volumes of smoke into my face. Nothing
daunted by this ('twas not the 'smoke of battle,' though I felt as
though in the midst of a conflict of life and death), I bade the man
remove the blower. Behold the draught closed by the strip of stone
sometimes used for that purpose, after a hard coal fire is fully
ignited! I think, Colonel, you would have admired the laconic,
imperiously cool tone and manner with which I speedily effected the
removal of the entire mass of cold hard coal, substituted for it, light,
dry wood, and covering up my boy, as he still rested in my arms,
dissipated the smoke that contended with the close, shut-up sort of air
in the room, for disagreeability, by opening the windows, had the most
comfortable looking of the beds drawn near the fire, and opened to air
and warm, ordered up the trunks we wanted, opened them, hung a warm
flannel dressing-gown near the fire, placed his slippers and everything
else Ernest would want just _where_ they would be wanted, near the best
chair I could secure, and the table that was to receive his supper when
he should be ready for it, and, in short _put the matter through_, as
Ernest would say, with the speed of desperation. It was wonderful how
quickly all this, and more, was effected by the people about me chiefly
through my ability to tell them exactly what to do and how to do it.
Excuse me if I boast; it was the deep calmness of despair that inspired
me! _Now_ I can smile at the look of blank amazement with which Paddy
received my announcement of the necessity of taking out all the coals
from the grate, before he could hope to kindle a fire, and the stare of
the _man of affairs_ for the D---- House, as he entered upon the field
of my efforts to say that tea was ready."
"There is but one step from the sublime to the ridiculous!" I exclaimed,
laughing, in spite of my sympathy with my fair friend. "And what became
of the barbarian in the large chair?"
"Oh, when I returned to the parlor to have Ernest removed to our own
room, there he sat, still, lolling comfortably back in his chair, with
his hat on, and his feet laid up before him, and apparently as much
occupied as ever in staring at the strangers, and no more
'On hospitable thoughts intent'
than when I quitted the room, the horrid ghoul! I was so rejoiced to
escape with my treasures safe from his blighting gaze! But now for the
_moral_ of my story, dear Colonel, for every story has its moral, I
suppose,--John, Ernest's man, told nurse, who, by the way, was so highly
indignant on the occasion, as to assure me afterwards, that if she had
been a man, she'd have just pitched the selfish brute beast out of the
chair, and taken it for Mr. V----, without so much as a 'by your
leave.'"----
I could not refrain from interrupting Mrs. ---- to say that I thought I
should have been sorely tempted to some such act myself, under the
circumstances.
"Yes," pursued Mrs. V----, "nurse still recurs to that 'awful cold night
in A----' with an invariable malediction upon the '_bad speret_ as kept
the chair.' But, as I was saying, John told her afterwards that the
ghoul asked him who that sick gentleman was, and said that his wife
appeared to be in so much trouble that he should have offered to help
her along a little, but he _wasn't acquainted with her_!"
"Uncle Hal, isn't an artist _a gentleman_?" inquired Blanche of me one
morning, during a recent visit to our great Commercial Metropolis, as
the newspaper writers call it. "What do you mean, child," said I, "you
cannot mean to ask whether artists _rank as gentlemen_ in society, for
that does not admit of question." I saw there was something troubling
her, the moment she came down, for she did not welcome her old uncle
with her usual sparkling smile, though she snugged close up to me on the
sofa, and kept my hand in both of hers, while we were arranging some
matters about which I had called.
"Is not an _engraver_ an artist?" she inquired, with increased
earnestness of tone. "Does not an engraver who has a large _atelier_,
numbers of _employes_, and does all kinds of beautiful prints, heads,
and landscapes, and elegant figures, take rank in social life with other
gentlemen?"
"Certainly, my dear; but tell me what you are thinking of; what troubles
you my child?"
"Well, you remember, dear uncle, perhaps, the young orphan boy in whom
papa and all of us used to be so interested the summer you spent with
us, long ago, when we were all children at home. He is now established
in this city, after years of struggle with difficulties that would have
crushed a less noble spirit, and his sisters, for whom he has always
provided, in a great degree, though at the cost of almost incredible
self-denial, as I happen to know, are now nearly prepared for teachers.
We have always retained our interest in them all; and they always make
us a visit when they are at D----. Indeed, papa always says he knows few
young men for whom he entertains so high a regard; and I am sure he is
very good-looking, and though he may not be very fashionable,--you
needn't smile, uncle Hal, I"----
"My dear, I am charmed with your sketch, and shall go, at once, and have
my old visage engraved by your handsome artist-friend; and when I
publish my auto-biography, it shall be accompanied by a 'portrait of the
author,' superbly engraved by a 'celebrated artist.'"