"Margaret, where are you?" cried a silver-toned voice from a passage
outside the drawing-room in which I had just seated myself. The next
instant a lovely face appeared at the door, its owner tripped into
the room, made a comical curtsy, and ran up to her sister.
"It is really too bad, Margaret; pa' frets and bustles about, nearly
runs over me upon the stairs, and then goes down the street as if
'Change were on fire. Ma' yawns, and will not hear of our going
shopping, and grumbles about money--always money--that horrid money!
Ah! dear Margaret, our shopping excursion is at an end for to-day!"
Sister Margaret, to whom this lamentation was addressed, was
reclining on the sofa, her left hand supporting her head, her right
holding the third volume of a novel. She looked up with a languishing
and die-away expression--
"Poor Staunton will be in despair," said her sister. "This is at
least his tenth turn up and down the Battery. Last night he was a
perfect picture of misery. I could not have had the heart to refuse
to dance with him. How could you be so cruel, Margaret?"
"Alas!" replied Margaret with a deep sigh, "how could I help it?
Mamma was behind me, and kept pushing me with her elbow. Mamma is
sometimes very ill-bred." And another sigh burst from the overcharged
heart of the sentimental fair one.
"Well," rejoined her sister, "I don't know why she so terribly
dislikes poor Staunton; but to say the truth, our gallopade lost
nothing by his absence. He is as stiff as a Dutch doll when he
dances. Even our Louisianian backwoodsman here, acquits himself much
more creditably."
And the malicious girl gave me such an arch look, that I could not be
angry with the equivocal sort of compliment paid to myself.
"That is very unkind, Arthurine," said Margaret, her checks glowing
with anger at this attack upon the graces of her admirer.
"Don't be angry, sister," cried Arthurine, running up to her,
throwing her arms round her neck, and kissing and soothing her till
she began to smile. They formed a pretty group. Arthurine especially,
as she skipped up to her sister, scarce touching the carpet with her
tiny feet, looked like a fairy or a nymph. She was certainly a lovely
creature, slender and flexible as a reed, with a waist one could
easily have spanned with one's ten fingers; feet and hands on the
very smallest scale, and of the most beautiful mould; features
exquisitely regular; a complexion of lilies and roses; a small
graceful head, adorned with a profusion of golden hair; and then
large round clear blue eyes, full of mischief and fascination. She
was, as the French say, _à croquer_.
"Heigho!" sighed the sentimental Margaret. "To think of this vulgar,
selfish man intruding himself between me and such a noble creature as
Staunton! It is really heart-breaking."
"Not quite so bad as that!" said Arthurine. "Moreland, as you know,
has a good five hundred thousand dollars; and Staunton has nothing,
or at most a couple of thousand dollars a-year--a mere feather in the
balance against such a golden weight."
"Love despises gold," murmured Margaret.
"Nonsense!" replied her sister; "I would not even despise silver, if
it were in sufficient quantity. Only think of the balls and parties,
the fêtes and pic-nics! Saratoga in the summer--perhaps even London
or Paris! The mere thought of it makes my mouth water."
"Talk not of such joys, to be bought at such a price!" cried
Margaret, quoting probably from some of her favourite novels.
"Well, don't make yourself unhappy now," said Arthurine. "Moreland
will not be here till tea-time; and there are six long hours to that.
If we had only a few new novels to pass the time! I cannot imagine
why Cooper is so lazy. Only one book in a year! What if you were to
begin to write, sister? I have no doubt you would succeed as well as
Mrs Mitchell. Bulwer is so fantastical; and even Walter Scott is
getting dull."
"Alas, Howard!" sighed Margaret, looking to me for sympathy with her
sorrows.
"Patience, dear Margaret," said I. "If possible, I will help you to
get rid of the old fellow. At any rate, I will try."
Rat-tat-tat at the house door. Arthurine put up her finger to enjoin
silence, and listened. Another loud knock. "A visit!" exclaimed she
with sparkling eyes. "Ha! ladies; I hear the rustle of their gowns."
And as she spoke the door opened, and the Misses Pearce came swimming
into the room, in all the splendour of violet-coloured silks, covered
with feathers, lace, and embroideries, and bringing with them an
atmosphere of perfume.
The man who has the good fortune to see our New York belles in their
morning or home attire, must have a heart made of quartz or granite
if he resists their attractions. Their graceful forms, their
intellectual and somewhat languishing expression of countenance,
their bright and beaming eyes, their slender figures, which make one
inclined to seize and hold them lest the wind should blow them away,
their beautifully delicate hands and feet, compose a sum of
attraction perfectly irresistible. The Boston ladies are perhaps
better informed, and their features are usually more regular; but
they have something Yankeeish about them, which I could never fancy,
and, moreover, they are dreadful blue-stockings. The fair
Philadelphians are rounder, more elastic, more Hebe-like, and
unapproachable in the article of small-talk; but it is amongst the
beauties of New York that romance writers should seek for their
Julias and Alices. I am certain that if Cooper had made their
acquaintance whilst writing his books, he would have torn up his
manuscripts, and painted his heroines after a less wooden fashion. He
can only have seen them on the Battery or in Broadway, where they are
so buried and enveloped in finery that it is impossible to guess what
they are really like. The two young ladies who had just entered the
room, were shining examples of that system of over-dressing. They
seemed to have put on at one time the three or four dresses worn in
the course of the day by a London or Paris fashionable.
It was now all over with my _tête-à-tête_. I could only be _de trop_
in the gossip of the four ladies, and I accordingly took my leave. As
I passed before the parlour door on my way out, it was opened, and
Mrs Bowsends beckoned me in. I entered, and found her husband also
there.
"Are you going away already, my dear Howard?" said the lady.
"There are visitors up stairs."
"Ah, Howard!" said Mrs Bowsends.
"The workies[20] have carried the day," growled her husband.
[Footnote 20: The slang term applied to the mechanics and labourers,
a numerous and (at elections especially) a most important class in
New York and Philadelphia.]
"That horrid Staunton!" interrupted his better half. "Only think
now'--
"Our side lost--completely floored. But you've heard of it, I
suppose, Mister Howard?"
I turned from one to the other in astonished perplexity, not knowing
to which I ought to listen first.
"I don't know how it is," whined the lady, "but that Mr Staunton
becomes every day more odious to me. Only think now, of his having
the effrontery to persist in running after Margaret! Hardly two
thousand a-year "--
"Old Hickory is preparing to leave Hermitage already.[21] Bank shares
have fallen half per cent in consequence," snarled her husband.
[Footnote 21: The name of General Jackson's country-house and
estate.]
They were ringing the changes on poor Staunton and the new president.
"He ought to remember the difference of our positions," said Mrs B.,
drawing herself up with much dignity.
"Certainly, certainly!" said I.
"And the governor's election is also going desperate bad," said Mr
Bowsends.
"And then Margaret, to think of her infatuation! Certainly she is a
good, gentle creature; but five hundred thousand dollars!" This was
Mrs Bowsends.
"By no means to be despised," said I.
The five hundred thousand dollars touched a responsive chord in the
heart of the papa.
"Five hundred thousand," repeated he. "Yes, certainly; but what's the
use of that? All nonsense. Those girls would ruin a Croesus."
"You need not talk, I'm sure," retorted mamma. "Think of all your
bets and electioneering."
"You understand nothing about that," replied her husband angrily.
"Interests of the country--congress--public good--must be supported.
Who would do it if we"--
"Did not bet," thought I.
"You are a friend of the family," said Mrs Bowsends, "and I hope you
will"--
"Apropos," interrupted her loving husband. "How has your cotton crop
turned out? You might consign it to me. How many bales?"
"A hundred; and a few dozen hogsheads of tobacco."
"Some six thousand dollars per annum," muttered the papa musingly;
"hm, hm."
"As to that," said I negligently, "I have sufficient capital in my
hands to increase the one hundred bales to two hundred another year."
"Two hundred! two hundred!" The man's eyes glistened approvingly.
"That might do. Not so bad. Well, Arthurine is a good girl. We'll
see, my dear Mr Howard--we'll see. Yes, yes--come here every
evening--whenever you like. You know Arthurine is always glad to see
you."
"And Mr and Mrs Bowsends?" asked I.
"Are most delighted," replied the couple, smiling graciously.
I bowed, agreeably surprised, and took my departure. I was
nevertheless not over well pleased with a part of Mr Bowsends' last
speech. It looked rather too much as if my affectionate father-in-law
that was to be, wished to balance his lost bets with my cotton bales;
and, as I thought of it, my gorge rose at the selfishness of my
species, and more especially at the stupid impudent egotism of
Bowsends and the thousands who resemble him. To all such, even their
children are nothing but so many bales of goods, to be bartered,
bought, and sold. And this man belongs to the _haut-ton_ of New York!
Five-and-twenty years ago he went about with a tailor's measure in
his pocket--now a leader on 'Change, and member of twenty committees
and directorships.
But then Arthurine, with her seventeen summers and her lovely face,
the most extravagant little doll in the whole city, and that is not
saying a little, but the most elegant, charming--a perfect sylph! It
was now about eleven months since I had first become acquainted with
the bewitching creature; and, from the very first day, I had been her
vassal, her slave, bound by chains as adamantine as those of Armida.
She had just left the French boarding-school at St John's. That, by
the by, is one of the means by which our mushroom aristocracy pushes
itself upwards. A couple of pretty daughters, brought up at a
fashionable school, are sure to attract a swarm of young fops and
danglers about them; and the glory of the daughters is reflected upon
the papa and mamma. And this little sorceress knew right well how to
work her incantations. Every heart was at her feet; but not one out
of her twenty or more adorers could boast that he had received a
smile or a look more than his fellows. I was the only one who had
perhaps obtained a sort of passive preference. I was allowed to
escort her in her rides, walks, and drives; to be her regular partner
when no other dancer offered, and suchlike enviable privileges. She
flirted and fluttered about me, and hung familiarly on my arm, as she
tripped along Broadway or the Battery by my side. In addition to all
these little marks of preference, it fell to my share of duty to
supply her with the newest novels, to furnish her with English
Keepsakes and American Tokens and Souvenirs, and to provide the last
fashionable songs and quadrilles. All this had cost me no small sum;
but I consoled myself with the reflection, that my presents were made
to the prettiest girl in New York, and that sooner or later she must
reward my assiduities. Twice had fortune smiled upon me; in one
instance, when we were standing on the bridge at Niagara, looking
down on the foaming waters, and I was obliged to put my arm round her
waist, for fear she should become dizzy and fall in--in doing which,
by the by, I very nearly fell in myself. A similar thing occurred on
a visit we made to the Trenton falls. That was all I had got for my
pains, however, during the eleven months that I had trifled away in
New York--months that had served to lighten my purse pretty
considerably. It is the fashion in our southern states to choose our
wives from amongst the beauties of the north. I had been bitten by
the mania, and had come to New York upon this important business; but
having been there nearly a year, it was high time to make an end of
matters, if I did not wish to be put on the shelf as stale goods.
This last reflection occurred to me very strongly as I was walking
from the Bowsends' house towards Wall Street, when suddenly I caught
sight of my fellow-sufferer Staunton. The Yankee's dolorous
countenance almost made me smile. Up he came, with the double object
of informing me that the weather was very fine, and of offering me a
bite at his pigtail tobacco. I could not help expressing my
astonishment that so sensitive and delicate a creature as Margaret
should tolerate such a habit in the man of her choice.
"Pshaw!" replied the simpleton. "Moreland chews also."
"Yes, but he has got five hundred thousand dollars, and that sweetens
the poison."
"Ah!" sighed Staunton.
"Keep up your courage, man; Bowsends is rich."
The Yankee shook his head.
"Two hundred thousand, they say; but to-morrow he may not have a
farthing. You know our New Yorkers. Nothing but bets, elections,
shares, railways, banks. His expenses are enormous; and, if he once
got his daughters off his hands, he would perhaps fail next week."
"And be so much the richer next year," replied I.
"Do you think so?" said the Yankee, musingly.
"Of course it would be so. Mean time you can marry the languishing
Margaret, and do like many others of your fellow citizens; go out
with a basket on your arm to the Greenwich market, and whilst your
delicate wife is enjoying her morning slumber, buy the potatoes and
salted mackerel for breakfast. In return for that, she will perhaps
condescend to pour you out a cup of bohea. Famous thing that bohea!
capital antidote to the dyspepsia!"
"You are spiteful," said poor Staunton.
"And you foolish," I retorted. "To a young barrister like you, there
are hundreds of houses open."
"And to you also."
"Certainly."
"And then I have this advantage--the girl likes me."
"I am liked by the papa and the mamma, and the girl too."
"Have you got five hundred thousand dollars?"
"No."
"Poor Howard!" cried Staunton, laughing.
"Go to the devil!" replied I, laughing also.
We had been chatting in this manner for nearly a quarter of an hour,
when a coach drove out of Greenwich Street, in which I saw a face
that I thought I knew. One of the Philadelphia steamers had just
arrived. I stepped forward.
"Stop!" cried a well-known voice.
"Stop!" cried I, hastening to the coach door.
It was Richards, my school and college friend, and my neighbour,
after the fashion of the southern states; for he lived only about a
hundred and seventy miles from me. I said good-by to poor simple
Staunton, got into the coach, and we rattled off through Broadway to
the American hotel.
"For heaven's sake, George!" exclaimed my friend, as soon as we were
installed in a room, "tell me what you are doing here. Have you quite
forgotten house, land, and friends? You have been eleven months
away."
"True," replied I; "making love--and not a step further advanced than
the first."
"The report is true, then, that you have been harpooned by the
Bowsends? Poor fellow! I am sorry for you. Just tell me what you mean
to do with the dressed-up doll when you get her? A young lady who has
not enough patience even to read her novels from beginning to end,
and who, before she was twelve years old, had Tom Moore and Byron,
_Don Juan_ perhaps excepted, by heart. A damsel who has geography and
the globes, astronomy and Cuvier, Raphael's cartoons and Rossini's
operas, at her finger-ends; but who, as true as I am alive, does not
know whether a mutton chop is cut off a pig or a cow--who would boil
tea and cauliflowers in the same manner, and has some vague idea that
eggs are the principal ingredient in a gooseberry pie."
"I want her for my wife, not for my cook," retorted I, rather
nettled.
"Who does not know," continued Richards, "whether dirty linen ought
to be boiled or baked."
"But she sings like St Cecilia, plays divinely, and dances like a
fairy."
"Yes, all that will do you a deal of good. I know the family; both
father and mother are the most contemptible people breathing."
"Stop there!" cried I; "they are not one iota better or worse than
their neighbours."
"You are right."
"Well, then, leave them in peace. I have promised to drink tea there
at six o'clock. If you will come, I will take you with me."
"Know then already, man. I will go, on one condition; that you leave
New York with me in three days."
"If my marriage is not settled," replied I.
"D----d fool!" muttered Richards between his teeth.
Six o'clock struck as we entered the drawing-room of my future
mother-in-law. The good lady almost frightened me as I went in, by
her very extraordinary appearance in a tremendous grey gauze turban,
fire-new, just arrived by the Henri Quatre packet-ship from Havre,
and that gave her exactly the look of one of our Mississippi
night-owls. Richards seemed a little startled; and Moreland, who was
already there, could not take his eyes off this remarkable
head-dress. Miss Margaret was costumed in pale green silk, her hair
flattened upon each side of her forehead _a la Marguerite_, (see the
_Journal des Modes,_) and looking like Jephtha's daughter, pale and
resigned, but rather more lackadaisical, with a sort of
"though-absent-not-forgot" look about her, inexpressibly sentimental
and interesting. The contrast was certainly rather strong between old
Moreland, who sat there, red-faced, thickset, and clumsy, and the
airy slender Staunton, who, for fear of spoiling his figure, lived
upon oysters and macaroon, and drank water with a rose leaf in it.
I had brought the languishing beauty above described, Scott's _Tales
of my Grandfather_, which had just appeared.
"Ah! Walter Scott!" exclaimed she, in her pretty melting tones. Then,
after a moment's pause, "The vulgar man has not a word to say for
himself;" said she to me, in a low tone.
"Wait a little," replied I; "he'll improve. It is no doubt his modest
timidity that keeps his lips closed."
Margaret gave me a furious look.
"Heartless mocker!" she exclaimed.
Meanwhile Richards had got into conversation with Bowsends. The
unlucky dog, who did not know that his host was a violent Adams-ite,
and had lost a good five thousand dollars in bets and subscriptions
to influence the voices of the sovereign people at the recent
election, had fallen on the sore subject. He began by informing his
host that Old Hickory would shortly leave the Hermitage to assume his
duties as president.
"The blood-thirsty backwoodsman, half horse, half alligator"
interrupted Mr Bowsends.
"Costs you dear, his election," said Moreland laughing.
"Smokes out of a tobacco pipe like a vulgar German," ejaculated Mrs
Bowsends.
"Not so very vulgar for that," said blundering Moreland; "tobacco has
quite another taste out of a pipe."