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 fˆtes 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.