LADY SWIGGS ENCOUNTERS DIFFICULTIES ON HER ARRIVAL IN NEW YORK.
A pleasant passage of sixty hours, a good shaking up at the hands of
that old tyrant, sea-sickness, and Lady Swiggs finds the steamer on
which she took passage gliding majestically up New York Bay. There she
sits, in all her dignity, an embodiment of our decayed chivalry, a fair
representative of our first families. She has taken up her position on
the upper deck, in front of the wheel house. As one after another the
objects of beauty that make grand the environs of that noble Bay, open
to her astonished eyes, she contrasts them favorably or unfavorably with
some familiar object in Charleston harbor. There is indeed a similarity
in the conformation. And though ours, she says, may not be so extensive,
nor so grand in its outlines, nor so calm and soft in its perspective,
there is a more aristocratic air about it. Smaller bodies are always
more select and respectable. The captain, to whom she has put an hundred
and one questions which he answers in monosyllables, is not, she thinks,
so much of a gentleman as he might have been had he been educated in
Charleston. He makes no distinction in favor of people of rank.
Lady Swiggs wears that same faded silk dress; her black crape bonnet,
with two saucy red artificial flowers tucked in at the side, sits so
jauntily; that dash of brown hair is smoothed so exactly over her
yellow, shrivelled forehead; her lower jaw oscillates with increased
motion; and her sharp, gray eyes, as before, peer anxiously through her
great-eyed spectacles. And, generous reader, that you may not mistake
her, she has brought her inseparable Milton, which she holds firmly
grasped in her right hand. "You have had a tedious time of it, Madam,"
says a corpulent lady, who is extensively dressed and jewelled, and
accosts her with a familiar air. Lady Swiggs says not so tedious as it
might have been, and gives her head two or three very fashionable
twitches.
"Your name, if you please?"
"The Princess Grouski. My husband, the Prince Grouski," replies the
corpulent lady, turning and introducing a fair-haired gentleman, tall
and straight of person, somewhat military in his movements, and
extremely fond of fingering his long, Saxon moustache. Lady Swiggs, on
the announcement of a princess, rises suddenly to her feet, and
commences an unlimited number of courtesies. She is, indeed, most happy
to meet, and have the honor of being fellow-voyager with their Royal
Highnesses--will remember it as being one of the happiest events of her
life,--and begs to assure them of her high esteem. The corpulent lady
gives her a delicate card, on which is described the crown of Poland,
and beneath, in exact letters, "The Prince and Princess Grouski." The
Prince affects not to understand English, which Lady Swiggs regrets
exceedingly, inasmuch as it deprives her of an interesting conversation
with a person of royal blood. The card she places carefully between the
leaves of her Milton, having first contemplated it with an air of
exultation. Again begging to thank the Prince and Princess for this
mark of their distinguished consideration, Lady Swiggs inquires if they
ever met or heard of Sir Sunderland Swiggs. The rotund lady, for herself
and the prince, replies in the negative. "He was," she pursues, with a
sigh of disappointment, "he was very distinguished, in his day. Yes, and
I am his lineal descendant. Your highnesses visited Charleston, of
course?"
"O dear," replies the rotund lady, somewhat laconically, "the happiest
days of my life were spent among the chivalry of South Carolina. Indeed,
Madam, I have received the attention and honors of the very first
families in that State."
This exclamation sets the venerable lady to thinking how it could be
possible that their highnesses received the attentions of the first
families and she not know it. No great persons ever visited the United
States without honoring Charleston with their presence, it was true; but
how in the world did it happen that she was kept in ignorance of such an
event as that of the Prince and Princess paying it a visit. She began to
doubt the friendship of her distinguished acquaintances, and the St.
Cecilia Society. She hopes that should they condescend to pay the United
States a second visit, they will remember her address. This the rotund
lady, who is no less a person than the distinguished Madame Flamingo,
begs to assure her she will.
Let not this happy union between Grouski and the old hostess, surprise
you, gentle reader. It was brought about by Mr. Snivel, the
accommodation man, who, as you have before seen, is always ready to do a
bit of a good turn. Being a skilful diplomatist in such matters, he
organized the convention, superintended the wooing, and for a lusty
share of the spoils, secured to him by Grouski, brought matters to an
issue "highly acceptable" to all parties. A sale of her palace of
licentiousness, works of art, costly furniture, and female wares,
together with the good will of all concerned, (her friends of the "bench
and bar" not excepted,) was made for the nice little sum of sixty-seven
thousand dollars, to Madame Grace Ashley, whose inauguration was one of
the most gorgeous _fêtes_ the history of Charleston can boast. The new
occupant was a novice. She had not sufficient funds to pay ready money
for the purchase, hence Mr. Doorwood, a chivalric and very excellent
gentleman, according to report, supplies the necessary, taking a
mortgage on the institution; which proves to be quite as good property
as the Bank, of which he is president. It is not, however, just that
sort of business upon which an already seared conscience can repose in
quiet, hence he applies that antidote too frequently used by knaves--he
never lets a Sunday pass without piously attending church.
The money thus got, through this long life of iniquity, was by Madame
Flamingo handed over to the Prince, in exchange for his heart and the
title she had been deluded to believe him capable of conferring. Her
reverence for Princes and exiled heroes, (who are generally exiled
humbugs,) was not one jot less than that so pitiably exhibited by our
self-dubbed fashionable society all over this Union. It may be well to
add, that this distinguished couple, all smiling and loving, are on
their way to Europe, where they are sure of receiving the attentions of
any quantity of "crowned heads." Mr. Snivel, in order not to let the
affair lack that _eclat_ which is the crowning point in matters of high
life, got smuggled into the columns of the highly respectable and very
authentic old "Courier," a line or two, in which the fashionable world
was thrown into a flutter by the announcement that Prince Grouski and
his wealthy bride left yesterday, _en route_ for Europe. This bit of
gossip the "New York Herald" caught up and duly itemised, for the
benefit of its upper-ten readers, who, as may be easily imagined, were
all on tip-toe to know the address of visitors so distinguished, and
leave cards.
Mrs. Swiggs has (we must return to her mission) scarcely set foot on
shore, when, thanks to a little-headed corporation, she is fairly set
upon by a dozen or more villanous hack-drivers, each dangling his whip
in her face, to the no small danger of her bonnet and spectacles. They
jostle her, utter vile imprecations, dispute for the right of carrying
her, each in his turn offering to do it a shilling less. Lady Swiggs is
indeed an important individual in the hands of the hack-drivers, and by
them, in a fair way of being torn to pieces. She wonders they do not
recognize her as a distinguished person, from the chivalric State of
South Carolina. The captain is engaged with his ship, passengers are
hurrying ashore, too anxious to escape the confinement of the cabin;
every one seems in haste to leave her, no one offers to protect her from
the clutches of those who threaten to tear her into precious pieces. She
sighs for Sister Slocum, for Mr. Hadger, for any one kind enough to
raise a friendly voice in her behalf. Now one has got her black box,
another her corpulent carpet-bag--a third exults in a victory over her
band-box. Fain would she give up her mission in disgust, return to the
more aristocratic atmosphere of Charleston, and leave the heathen to his
fate. All this might have been avoided had Sister Slocum sent her
carriage. She will stick by her black-box, nevertheless. So into the
carriage with it she gets, much discomfited. The driver says he would
drive to the Mayor's office "and 'ave them ar two coves what's got the
corpulent carpet-bag and the band-box, seed after, if it wern't that His
Honor never knows anything he ought to know, and is sure to do nothing.
They'll turn up, Mam, I don't doubt," says the man, "but it's next to
los'in' on 'em, to go to the Mayor's office. Our whole corporation, Mam,
don't do nothin' but eats oysters, drinks whiskey, and makes
presidents;--them's what they do, Marm." Lady Swiggs says what a pity so
great a city was not blessed with a bigger-headed corporation.
"That it is, Marm," returns the methodical hack-driver, "he an't got a
very big head, our corporation." And Lady Swiggs, deprived of her
carpet-bag and band-box, and considerably out of patience, is rolled
away to the mansion of Sister Slocum, on Fourth Avenue. Instead of
falling immediately into the arms and affections of that worthy and very
enterprising lady, the door is opened by a slatternly maid of all
work--her greasy dress, and hard, ruddy face and hands--her short,
flabby figure, and her coarse, uncombed hair, giving out strong evidence
of being overtaxed with labor. "Is it Mrs. Slocum hersel' ye'd be
seein'?" inquires the maid, wiping her soapy hands with her apron, and
looking querulously in the face of the old lady, who, with the air of a
Scotch metaphysician, says she is come to spend a week in friendly
communion with her, to talk over the cause of the poor, benighted
heathen. "Troth an' I'm not as sure ye'll do that same, onyhow; sure
she'd not spend a week at home in the blessed year; and the divil
another help in the house but mysel' and himsel', Mr. Slocum. A decent
man is that same Slocum, too," pursues the maid, with a laconic
indifference to the wants of the guest. A dusty hat-stand ornaments one
side of the hall, a patched and somewhat deformed sofa the other. The
walls wear a dingy air; the fumes of soapsuds and stewed onions offend
the senses. Mrs. Swiggs hesitates in the doorway. Shall I advance, or
retreat to more congenial quarters? she asks herself. The wily
hack-driver (he agreed for four and charged her twelve shillings) leaves
her black box on the step and drives away. She may be thankful he did
not charge her twenty. They make no allowance for distinguished people;
Lady Swiggs learns this fact, to her great annoyance. To the
much-confused maid of all work she commences relating the loss of her
luggage. With one hand swinging the door and the other tucked under her
dowdy apron, she says, "Troth, Mam, and ye ought to be thankful, for the
like of that's done every day."
Mrs. Swiggs would like a room for the night at least, but is told, in a
somewhat confused style, that not a room in the house is in order. That
a person having the whole heathen world on her shoulders should not have
her house in order somewhat surprises the indomitable lady. In answer to
a question as to what time Mr. Slocum will be home, the maid of all work
says: "Och! God love the poor man, there's no tellin'. Sure there's not
much left of the poor man. An' the divil a one more inoffensive than
poor Slocum. It's himsel' works all day in the Shurance office beyant.
He comes home dragged out, does a dale of writing for Mrs. Slocum
hersel', and goes to bed sayin' nothin' to nobody." Lady Swiggs says:
"God bless me He no doubt labors in a good cause--an excellent
cause--he will have his reward hereafter."
It must here be confessed that Sister Slocum, having on hand a
newly-married couple, nicely suited to the duties of a mission to some
foreign land, has conceived the very laudable project of sending them to
Aleppo, and is now spending a few weeks among the Dutch of Albany, who
are expected to contribute the necessary funds. A few thousand dollars
expended, a few years' residence in the East, a few reports as to what
might have been done if something had not interposed to prevent it, and
there is not a doubt that this happy couple will return home crowned
with the laurels of having very nearly Christianized one Turk and two
Tartars.
The maid of all work suddenly remembers that Mrs. Slocum left word that
if a distinguished lady arrived from South Carolina she could be
comfortably accommodated at Sister Scudder's, on Fourth Street. Not a
little disappointed, the venerable old lady calls a passing carriage,
gets herself and black box into it, and orders the driver to forthwith
proceed to the house of Sister Scudder. Here she is--and she sheds tears
that she is--cooped up in a cold, closet-like room, on the third story,
where, with the ends of her red shawl, she may blow and warm her
fingers. Sister Scudder is a crispy little body, in spectacles. Her
features are extremely sharp, and her countenance continually wears a
wise expression. As for her knowledge of scripture, it is truly
wonderful, and a decided improvement when contrasted with the meagre
set-out of her table. Tea time having arrived, Lady Swiggs is invited
down to a cup by a pert Irish servant, who accosts her with an
independence she by no means approves. Entering the room with an air of
stateliness she deems necessary to the position she desires to maintain,
Sister Scudder takes her by the hand and introduces her to a bevy of
nicely-conditioned, and sleek-looking gentlemen, whose exactly-combed
mutton chop whiskers, smoothly-oiled hair, perfectly-tied white cravats,
cloth so modest and fashionable, and mild, studious countenances,
discover their profession. Sister Scudder, motioning Lady Swiggs aside,
whispers in her ear: "They are all very excellent young men. They will
improve on acquaintance. They are come up for the clergy." They, in
turn, receive the distinguished stranger in a manner that is rather
abrupt than cold, and ere she has dispensed her stately courtesy, say;
"how do you do marm," and turn to resume with one another their
conversation on the wicked world. It is somewhat curious to see how much
more interested these gentry become in the wicked world when it is afar
off.
Tea very weak, butter very strong, toast very thin, and religious
conversation extremely thick, make up the repast. There is no want of
appetite. Indeed one might, under different circumstances, have imagined
Sister Scudder's clerical boarders contesting a race for an extra slice
of her very thin toast. Not the least prominent among Sister Scudder's
boarders is Brother Singleton Spyke, whom Mrs. Swiggs recognizes by the
many compliments he lavishes upon Sister Slocum, whose absence is a
source of great regret with him. She is always elbow deep in some
laudable pursuit. Her presence sheds a radiant light over everything
around; everybody mourns her when absent. Nevertheless, there is some
satisfaction in knowing that her absence is caused by her anxiety to
promote some mission of good: Brother Spyke thus muses. Seeing that
there is come among them a distinguished stranger, he gives out that
to-morrow evening there will be a gathering of the brethren at the
"House of the Foreign Missions," when the very important subject of
funds necessary to his mission to Antioch, will be discussed. Brother
Spyke, having levelled this battery at the susceptibility of Mrs.
Swiggs, is delighted to find some fourteen voices chiming in--all
complimenting his peculiar fitness for, and the worthy object of the
mission. Mrs. Swiggs sets her cup in her saucer, and in a becoming
manner, to the great joy of all present, commences an eulogium on Mr.
Spyke. Sister Slocum, in her letters, held him before her in strong
colors; spoke in such high praise of his talent, and gave so many
guarantees as to what he would do if he only got among the heathen, that
her sympathies were enlisted--she resolved to lose no time in getting to
New York, and, when there, put her shoulder right manfully to the wheel.
This declaration finds her, as if by some mysterious transport, an
object of no end of praise. Sister Scudder adjusts her spectacles, and,
in mildest accents, says, "The Lord will indeed reward such
disinterestedness." Brother Mansfield says motives so pure will ensure a
passport to heaven, he is sure. Brother Sharp, an exceedingly lean and
tall youth, with a narrow head and sharp nose (Mr. Sharp's father
declared he made him a preacher because he could make him nothing else),
pronounces, with great emphasis, that such self-sacrifice should be
written in letters of gold. A unanimous sounding of her praises
convinces Mrs. Swiggs that she is indeed a person of great importance.
There is, however, a certain roughness of manner about her new friends,
which does not harmonize with her notions of aristocracy. She questions
within herself whether they represent the "first families" of New York.
If the "first families" could only get their heads together, the heathen
world would be sure to knock under. No doubt, it can be effected in time
by common people. If Sister Slocum, too, would evangelize the world--if
she would give the light of heaven to the benighted, she must employ
willing hearts and strong hands. Satan, she says, may be chained,
subdued, and made to abjure his wickedness. These cheering
contemplations more than atone for the cold reception she met at the
house of Sister Slocum. Her only regret now is that she did not sell old
Cicero. The money so got would have enabled her to bestow a more
substantial token of her soul's sincerity.
Tea over, thanks returned, a prayer offered up, and Brother Spyke,
having taken a seat on the sofa beside Mrs. Swiggs, opens his batteries
in a spiritual conversation, which he now and then spices with a few
items of his own history. At the age of fifteen he found himself in love
with a beautiful young lady, who, unfortunately, had made up her mind to
accept only the hand of a clergyman: hence, she rejected his. This so
disturbed his thoughts, that he resolved on studying theology. In this
he was aided by the singular discovery, that he had a talent, and a
"call to preach." He would forget his amour, he thought, become a member
of the clergy, and go preach to the heathen. He spent his days in
reading, his nights in the study of divine truths. Then he got on the
kind side of a committee of very excellent ladies, who, having duly
considered his qualities, pronounced him exactly suited to the study of
theology. Ladies were generally good judges of such matters, and Brother
Spyke felt he could not do better than act up to their opinions. To all
these things Mrs. Swiggs listens with delight.
Spyke, too, is in every way a well made-up man, being extremely tall and
lean of figure, with nice Saxon hair and whiskers, mild but thoughtful
blue eyes, an anxious expression of countenance, a thin, squeaking
voice, and features sufficiently delicate and regular for his calling.
His dress, too, is always exactly clerical. If he be cold and pedantic
in his manner, the fault must be set down to the errors of the
profession, rather than to any natural inclination of his own. But what
is singular of Brother Spyke is, that, notwithstanding his passion for
delving the heathen world, and dragging into Christian light and love
the benighted wretches there found, he has never in his life given a
thought for that heathen world at his own door--a heathen world sinking
in the blackest pool of misery and death, in the very heart of an
opulent city, over which it hurls its seething pestilence, and scoffs at
the commands of high heaven. No, he never thought of that Babylon of
vice and crime--that heathen world pleading with open jaws at his own
door. He had no thought for how much money might be saved, and how much
more good done, did he but turn his eyes; go into this dark world (the
Points) pleading at his feet, nerve himself to action, and lend a strong
hand to help drag off the film of its degradation. In addition to this,
Brother Spyke was sharp enough to discover the fact that a country
parson does not enjoy the most enviable situation. A country parson must
put up with the smallest salary; he must preach the very best of
sermons; he must flatter and flirt with all the marriageable ladies of
his church; he must consult the tastes, but offend none of the old
ladies; he must submit to have the sermon he strained his brain to make
perfect, torn to pieces by a dozen wise old women, who claim the right
of carrying the church on their shoulders; he must have dictated to him
what sort of dame he may take for wife;--in a word, he must bear meekly
a deal of pestering and starvation, or be in bad odor with the senior
members of the sewing circle. Duly appreciating all these difficulties,
Brother Spyke chose a mission to Antioch, where the field of his labors
would be wide, and the gates not open to restraints. And though he could
not define the exact character of his mission to Antioch, he so worked
upon the sympathies of the credulous old lady, as to well-nigh create in
her mind a resolve to give the amount she had struggled to get and set
apart for the benefit of those two institutions ("the Tract Society,"
and "The Home of the Foreign Missions"), all to the getting himself off
to Antioch.