and the politeness of her listeners, and placing myself beside her, I
made inquiries in a low voice about our friend in common, Mrs. Conolly.
But she was one of those people who are always best satisfied with a
numerous auditory; and punching the shoulder of Mrs. Aylmere, while she
pushed the knee of another lady, she re-commenced in a still higher key.
“I believe I didn’t tell you ladies how I happened to be in such good
company. I brought a letter of introduction to Mrs. Allanby from one of
her most particular friends, and that makes me feel quite at home with
her, and almost as if she was a blood relation. You’ll really have to
come to Tarry-town, Mrs. Allanby, to pay a visit to Mrs. Conolly. I’m
sure you’ll never repent the expense of the journey, for she is settled
very comfortably, and will introduce you to nobody but the very top of
the town. Like my young people, she’s mighty particular about her
associates. She is changed a good deal though, for looks—more, I dare
say, than you have, Mrs. Allanby; but considering the wear and tear of
married life, and the way she has to expose herself, for help is scarce
in our section; not more so, perhaps, than might be expected,
particularly when she is fixed up—which, to be sure, might be oftener,
for she began to be careless in her dress almost as soon as she was
married, and, though she has four children running about—troublesome,
dirty little limbs, I can’t help saying—some of the wedding finery she
brought out with her is quite good yet. She is a good deal more
freckled, too, than she used to be, but that is no wonder, for I’ve seen
her, many a time, out in the broiling sun in the garden cutting lettuce,
without any thing on her head—she never was proud—except, indeed, a
black bobinet cap; they are very much worn with us, as they save washing
and are economical. And she has lost her two front teeth; no, I believe
it is a front and an eye-tooth, and that, you know, always makes people
look older. Her figure, though, looks genteeler than ever, for she is
not so fat. The doctor says she is getting as poor as Job’s turkey. Did
you never see the doctor, Mrs. Allanby? he is as thin as a weasel,
himself, but a mighty money-making little man. I did a great deal to get
him into business, and he now goes along swimmingly. He first bought the
house they live in, and last year he put up a new kitchen, and this
spring he bought a handsome sofa and marble-topped table for the
parlors. I shouldn’t wonder if in a year or two he’d build an office,
and have two parlors in his house, with folding-doors between them, as
that is getting to be the fashion in Tarry-town. Some of us are pretty
stylish.”
My friends, at length, began to withdraw, and I was at last left alone
with the Dilberrys. The three repeaters struck eleven, and their
mistresses exchanged whispers, and said something about getting back to
their hotel.
“You rode, I presume?” said I.
“Not we, indeed,” returned Mrs. Dilberry; “I had enough of your
hack-riding this morning. We did not know how to find the way here, so
the landlord told us we had better take one of the hacks near the door.
Well, we tried it, and, after we got back, though we hadn’t once got
out, except to look at some balzarines and lawns at two or three stores,
the impudent black fellow had the face to charge us a dollar. This
evening we knew that we could find the place well enough, and we started
as soon as we saw the gas lighted in some of the shops, for we had to
stop by the way to buy me a cap—the girls having got a notion into
their heads, I suppose from their novels, that things intended for
evening dress ought always to be bought by candle-light. After trouble
enough I found a cap—this I have on; and was asked a pretty price, two
dollars, only I jewed the woman down to one and three-quarters. When we
came to your street we took the omnibus, and were let out down here at
the corner. We thought, that as you had invited young ladies, you would
of course provide beaux to gallant them home.”
“I can’t say,” observed Miss Esther Ann, waving her neck with much
dignity, “that it was exactly treating strangers with politeness, in
Miss Duncan and Miss Edwards to walk off with the only two beaux, and
leave us without any.”
“The young gentlemen escorted them here,” said I, “and according to
custom were privileged to see them home. If I had known however, ladies,
that you were unprovided with an escort, I should have requested my
brother-in-law to return for you. But I will see what can be done. I
have no carriage to offer you, my husband having taken our little
turn-out to the country.”
I went out to direct my man-servant to attend them, but was reminded
that I had given him permission to go to his family, in which there was
sickness, after the refreshments had been served. There was nothing now
to be done but to ask my guests to remain over night. I did so, and the
invitation was accepted with a hale-fellow-well-met jocularity quite
uncalled for.
Dinner, the next day, found me still playing the hostess to my
Tarry-town party, whose cool at-homeness seemed ominous of a still more
protracted visit. After we had left the table, George Allanby,
unsuspicious of my being so occupied, called in. He was saluted with a
bantering familiarity by the old lady, and with the most frigid reserve
by her daughters. Miss Jane Louisa walked to the front windows, upon
which she drummed perseveringly with her fingers, while her sister
slowly paced the floor with measured steps, her head elevated, and her
nostrils turned up as if they were snuffing the ceiling. Mrs. Dilberry
exchanged glances with them, and then addressed herself to my
brother-in-law:
“I suppose, Mr. Allanby,” said she, “you are very much taken by surprise
to see us still spunging on your sister-in-law, but I must make free to
tell you there’s nobody to be blamed for it but yourself. I can’t say I
would give you city young men the choice over our country beaux for good
manners, for you took yourselves off last night, and left us three
ladies in the lurch, without a single soul to see us safe back to our
tavern. I told the girls I’d speak my mind about it. I’m one of that
kind that make no bones about speaking what they think, and then it’s
all over with me.”
I hastened to interpose with an explanation to the disturbed-looking
youth, who seemed quite unconscious of the nature of his offence, but
the old lady interrupted me by continuing—
“Mrs. Allanby has done her best to make us comfortable, and, indeed, I
think myself in such good quarters, that, for my own part, I don’t feel
in any hurry to get away, but the girls have been in the dumps ever
since. Jane Louyza, as you may see, is on a pretty high horse, and
Easter Ann is sky-high, as she always is when she thinks she should
stand on her dignity,” and she nodded and winked toward them.
“I exceedingly regret if I have failed in proper politeness,” said
George. “I am ready to offer a thousand apologies, or any _amendé_ you
may suggest.”
“Well, now, that’s getting out of the scrape handsomely, after all,”
returned Mrs. Dilberry. “I knew from the way you and Jane Louyza got
along last night that you could easily make it up, and would soon be as
thick as two pick-pockets. Here, Jane Louyza, Mr. Allanby is ready to
shake hands and be friends, and he says he is willing to make any amends
you please for being impolite;” and as Miss Jane Louisa approached,
simpering and holding out her large, red hand, her mother added: “There,
now, you have him in your power. You know you always said you would jump
out of your skin to see an opera, and now’s your time. I dare say he
would think he was getting off very well to take you there to-night.”
“Certainly, ma’am,” said poor George, coloring and stammering with the
embarrassment common to his years, and turning to the daughters, he
blundered on—“I shall be happy if Miss Jane Ann—that is, if both the
young ladies will honor me with their company.”
“With the greatest of pleasure,” curtseyed the ecstatic Jane Louisa.
“The favor is to us,” rejoined the dignified Esther Ann.
“You are not to trick me that way, you young people,” exclaimed Mrs.
Dilberry. “I should like to go to the theatre as well as any of you, and
if you a’n’t civil enough to invite me, I’ll go whether or no. Let’s all
go, Mrs. Allanby, and have a jolly time of it. You and I can beau each
other.”
I excused myself with rather more energy than was necessary.
“Well, I mean to go, anyhow,” resumed the old lady, “though, of course,
I’ll pay my own way. It would be imposing upon Mr. Allanby to make him
go to the expense of paying for so many of us.”
“Not at all, ma’am,” said George, looking still redder and more
frightened, “where shall I call for you?”
There was a pause, but as I had not the grace to break it by answering
“here,” Miss Esther Ann had to reply—
“We stop at the W—— Hotel,” and the conscripted squire of dames made a
precipitate retreat.
“We’ll have to go back to the hotel, maw, at once,” said Miss Jane
Louisa, “for you know ladies must always go to the opera in full-dress.
I’ll have to press out my book-muslin dress, and take the wreath off my
bonnet to wear on my head, and Easter Ann must fix something to put on.”
“That will be quite unnecessary,” said I, anticipating all sorts of
mortifications for my inexperienced brother-in-law, “you may have seats
where you will be able to see and hear every thing, without being so
conspicuous as to make any material change in your dress necessary.
Strangers, who neither know any one nor are known themselves, generally
prefer being unobserved, and saving themselves the trouble of much
dressing. You will all do very well just as you are.”
“What do you say, girls,” said Mrs. Dilberry; “that might do well enough
for you and me, Mrs. Allanby,” giving me a wink, “but I don’t know how
these two would like to hide their light under a bushel. Girls like to
give the beaux a chance to look at them wherever they can, and I must
say it’s natural enough. As to the trouble of dressing, why we’ve got
nothing else to do here, and people that have the wherewith may as well
put it on their backs.”
The young ladies did not give their sentiments, but exchanged glances
and whispered together, and Miss Esther Ann formally proposed going up
for their bonnets. Reiterating their hopes of being able to catch an
omnibus, to save them the fatigue of a long, warm walk, they took leave,
not forgetting to volunteer abundant assurances that they would call
every day and make themselves quite at home with me.
As soon as they were gone I wrote a note to George, instilling a little
worldly wisdom by means of advising him to go late to the theatre, when
the front seats would be filled, and to place his companions where they
would attract as little notice as possible.
The next morning whilst I was at breakfast, the young man came in.
“Well, George, how did the opera come off?” asked I.
“You mean the by-play, in which I was concerned,” said he, passing his
hand over his face. “Don’t talk to me about chivalry toward all
woman-kind again! But I’ll let you have it from the beginning. In the
first place, I took your advice, and went to the W—— Hotel rather
late. I was shown into what, I presume, was the ladies’ saloon, for
there were a couple of dozens of female faces, of all sorts, turned
toward me, as if I were something anxiously expected, and very queer
when I had come. I understood it all in a minute, though, for right in
the middle of the room, parading between two tall glasses, in which they
could see themselves back and front, were the Dilberrys, the objects of
all the nodding and tittering I had observed before I came in for my
share of attention. The old lady espied me first, and puffing out, loud
enough to be heard all over the room, ‘here he comes girls—here comes
our beau at last,’ she ran forward as if she were going to seize hold of
me, the other two following with their arms, grace-like, twined about
each other. ‘La, Mr. Allanby, you have served us a pretty trick—keeping
us waiting so long!’ exclaimed Miss Esther Ann, ‘I shouldn’t wonder if
we were not to get seats at all.’ ‘I’m ready to pout at you, I wanted so
to see every body come in,’ said the other. ‘We were almost ready to
give you up, and had all these ladies comforting us,’ said Mrs.
Dilberry; ‘here we’ve been, dressed from top to toe, for an hour or
more, Jane Louyza walking and standing about, in broad daylight, with
her arms and neck bare, for fear we shouldn’t be ready in time, for we
thought that as you had made up your mind to lay out your money, you’d
like us to get as much for it as possible.’ I escorted them to the
carriage, assuring them they would be in time enough.”
“But what about their dress, George?” said I.
“You know I never can make any thing out of describing a lady’s dress.
Mrs. Dilberry looked very choked-up, and melting and greasy, and had on
that abominable frizzly cap that struck us all so last night; and Miss
Esther Ann had on a white frock with old dark kid-gloves, and three
brown cockades stuck on top of her head that made her look full six feet
high; but Jane Louyza, as they call her, was the beauty! Her dress was
one of those stiff, thin ones, that stand out like hogsheads, and are
nearly as hard to bend. Such a crushing and pushing as there was to get
it into the carriage, and down between the seats! Her neck was—I can’t
tell you how bare, and her arms and hands ditto, only that on the latter
she had little tight mitts, that looked like the skin tatooed. She had a
wreath of artificial blue and purple roses on her head, and a quantity
of ribbon flying in tags from each shoulder and from her back and front.
But such arms and neck—so red and beefy!”
“And where did you get seats?”
“In one of the side boxes, three benches back—the very place I could
have wished—but, as my luck would have it, a lady in the front row took
sick, and her party left the theatre with her. Before I could have
thought of such a thing, my fair charges pushed forward into the three
vacant places, beckoning me to follow, and calling me by name loudly
enough to be heard half over the house. Of course it drew all the eyes
in the neighborhood upon them, and I observed that the Hallowells, and
the Sewards, and the Wilkinses were in the next box; Joe Nicols was with
them, and had the impudence to lean over and ask me, ‘Who the mischief
have you here, George? country cousins, hey?’—and there they sat
chattering and laughing at full voice, evidently greatly flattered by
being so much stared at.”
“But of course, you had a respite when the opera commenced?”
“Just wait—as the old lady says. The curtain rose in a few minutes, and
then each of them had to turn to me for explanations. ‘Dear me! is that
one of your brag singers, the great Mrs. S——!’ said Miss Esther Ann,
‘how affected she is! Did you ever see any body roll her eyes so!’ ‘And
what a mouth she has!’ said Jane Louisa, ‘you could almost jump down her
throat! I don’t see any sense in such singing—Sarah Tibbets in our
choir can go far ahead of that!’ ‘And how scandalous it is for a married
woman to be looking up that way in a young man’s face,’ put in the old
lady, ‘she surely must be painted up, such a color never was natural,
and what loads of extravagant finery! I wonder what all her spangles
cost?’
“At length there was a hiss beneath the box, and I directed their
attention to it, informing them that it was meant to command silence, it
being contrary to custom to talk during the performance. Mrs. Dilberry
rolled up her eyes, and put her tongue into her cheek by way of being
humorous, Miss Esther Ann screwed her shoulders and answered me
huffishly that she supposed they should know how to behave, and Jane
Louisa giggled, and kept her handkerchief to her mouth, every few
moments looking back at me, as if it were an excellent joke.
“When the first act was over, a gentleman who sat between them and me,
and who must have been exceedingly annoyed by their constantly leaning
past him, proposed that I should exchange seats with him, which I could
not refuse, though it made matters worse for me. ‘Why don’t you admire
my bouquet, Mr. Allanby?’ said Jane Louisa, poking in my face a great
clumsy bunch of larkspurs, ragged-robins, mallows, and those coarse,
yellow lilies that shut up at night, garnished by a foliage of
asparagus, ‘I was in despair about a bouquet for my evening-dress, when,
luckily, I came across this when we walked through the market-house on
our way from your sister’s. I do doat on bouquets.’ ‘Now do stop talking
about that borquay,’ interrupted the old lady, ‘after such nonsensical
extravagance as throwing away money for it. Why at home we could get a
wheelbarrow full of such trash out of any body’s garden for nothing. But
it seems to me you city people would be for making money out of the very
dirt in the gutters.’ ‘La, maw, they only cost a six-pence, but you are
so matter-of-fact, you don’t love flowers; we do, though, don’t we, Mr.
Allanby?’ said Miss Jane Louisa.
“‘If you had told Mr. Allanby you wanted a bouquet,’ observed Esther
Ann, ‘I dare say he would have brought you one, for we’ve heard that
city gentlemen make it a point to give bouquets to ladies they wish to
be polite to, and don’t mind how much they have to pay for them.’
“When the curtain rose again, the eye of Jane Louisa was caught by one
of the understrappers, a tall fellow with a huge false _moustache_. ‘Who
is that splendid looking young man!’ exclaimed she—not one of them
having discernment enough to make out a single performer or character
from the bill and the play; ‘isn’t he beautiful! I’m quite in love with
him, I declare; why don’t they applaud him, Mr. Allanby? he’s so
elegant!’ and greatly to my relief, she was so much taken up in looking
at her new hero, and in watching for his appearance, that she withdrew
her attention from me.
“At length, toward the finale, when S—— excelled himself in one of his
master-pieces, two or three bouquets were thrown upon the stage at his
feet. ‘What was that for?—why are they throwing their flowers away?’
asked Miss Esther Ann. I explained that it was an expression of
admiration. ‘Dear me!’ said Jane Louisa, ‘I’d be very sorry to pay such
a compliment to such an ugly fellow—he’s not fit to hold a candle to my
favorite.’ The favorite immediately made his appearance in a chorus, and
took his place not far from the box in which we sat. Just as he opened
his capacious mouth, Jane Louisa, with the confidence of a boy throwing
stones, pitched her bouquet at him. The great clumsy thing came down
_flop_ against his face, breaking his _moustache_ from its moorings, and
sweeping it to the floor. The galleries clapped, the pit hissed, one or
two of the minor actors laughed, and it was some moments before the
singing could go on. I felt, as you ladies say, like sinking through the
floor; and I believe I did crouch as low as possible among the people
around me. How I got back to the hotel with my tormentors I can’t tell,
for it appears like a vexatious dream. I remember, however, that, while
they were going up the steps, one of them said I should tell you they
would call this morning to get you to go the rounds of the dressmakers
with them.”
This was a duty for which I had no inclination, and I concluded to
dispose of myself by spending the day with a friend, knowing, from the
specimens I had had of the familiarity of my new acquaintances, that the
mere excuse of “very much engaged,” delivered by a domestic, would be
insufficient to protect me from their society. Accordingly I went out as
soon as possible after breakfast, and did not return until evening. As I
had anticipated, the “country ladies,” as the servants called them, had
inquired for me morning and afternoon, and had left a message purporting
that they would come again next day.
The following morning I had some business which called me from home
several hours. When I returned to dinner, I was surprised to find the
entry lumbered full of furniture, evidently from an auction—a dozen of
chairs, of the kind “made to sell,” very loose-jointed, and with flabby
seats of thin haircloth; a sofa to match; a centre-table, with its top,
as large as a mill-wheel, turned up against the wall, and a piano, which
must have had some pretensions fifteen or twenty years back, being much
ornamented with tarnished brass or gilding, and supporting five or six
disabled pedals.
“What is the meaning of this?” I exclaimed, to the servant who let me
in; “where did all these articles come from?”
“Didn’t you send them, ma’am?”
“I!—what in the world should I want with such things?”
“So we thought, ma’am; but they came in two furniture carriages, and the
man said the lady told him to bring them here—they had our number on a
card.”
“It is a stupid mistake—I know nothing about it; and upon my word, they
have broken the walls in several places, bringing their lumber in.”
“And that’s not all, ma’am—they threw over the hat-rack, turning up
that monstrous table, and knocked out two of the pins, beside breaking
the little looking-glass.”
And so they had; but there was nothing else to be done than to wait
patiently until the real proprietor appeared.
I had just finished my dinner when I heard a bustle in the hall, and
hastened out, presuming that I was to be rid of my unwelcome storage,
and desirous to superintend its removal. Who should I find but Mrs.
Dilberry and her daughters. Miss Jane Louisa had already the lid of the
piano thrown up, while her sister was trying the chairs, and the old
lady sitting, or rather bouncing herself up and down on the sofa.
“Oh, Mrs. Allanby, we’ve had the best luck this morning!” they all cried
at once; “do tell us what you think of our bargains!”
“Stop, girls, and let me talk;” said Mrs. Dilberry, peremptorily. “Well,
to begin at the beginning, Mrs. Allanby, we had laid out to buy two or
three pieces of furniture, to set off our parlors—a pyanna, for
one—ours, that the girls learnt on, that is Jane Louyza, being rather
old-timey—(it was left to me by my Aunt Easter, in her will;) so Mrs.
Scrooge, at the tavern—an uncommon sharp, sensible woman—told us we
would be fools to pay shop prices for things when we could get them at
auction, almost as good, for little or nothing. Well, this morning she
hunted up a sale for us, and took us to it, and we’ve had all these
things knocked off to us for—now could you guess what, Mrs.
Allanby?—upon my word, for what we had made up our minds to pay for a
pyanna! and the best of it is, the chairs and sofa are new, spick and
span. The auctioneer said that not a soul had ever sat on them before.
They didn’t belong to the furniture of the house at all, but to himself,
and he had just brought them there to sell, for his own convenience. But
the pyanna—just think of it!—I may as well tell you what it cost, Mrs.
Allanby, though it would never do to let it be known in Tarry-town;” and
she added in a whisper, “only sixty-one dollars!”
“Do try it, Mrs. Allanby,” said Jane Louisa; “some of the strings are
broken, to be sure, and the pedals don’t seem to work, but when it is
fixed up, it will be delightful.”
I agreed that it must have been a fine affair in its day.
“And the centre-table,” rejoined Esther Ann, “think of such a
centre-table selling for fifteen dollars—pure mahogany! when it is
varnished, and has a new castor, one being broken, it will be
beautiful—or even if it were just rubbed up with oil and turpentine;
indeed, for my part, I prefer second-hand furniture to new—it looks
more respectable, as if we had it some time. Our old furniture at home
I’m very proud of—no one that sees it can call us upstarts.”
“Yes,” added Mrs. Dilberry, “there’s the pyanna, and the book-case, and
the pair of card-tables—”
“Don’t say upstarts, sister;” said Jane Louisa, hurrying to drown her
mother’s voice; “I’m sure you know it is the fashion to call them
_parvenues_!”
“Upon my word,” resumed the old lady, still see-sawing up and down on
the sofa, to enjoy its springs, “it will make talk enough in Tarry-town,
when we get home with such lots of stylish things; they’ll call us
prouder than ever; but when people can be grand for quarter price,
they’d be gumpies to let the chance slip through their fingers.”
Still the point that most concerned me, why they had been deposited in
my charge, had not yet been broached, and I ventured to hint at it.