“But, Rogers, it’s silly.”
“Public men must humor the follies of their constituency.”
“Not my constituents, thank my stars! I am not holden to them for my
office; so I shall do them the honor to spend the evening with you,
Rogers.”
“But my dear Lumpkin, the affair was got up wholly on your account.”
“Infernally silly of them--decidedly flat.”
“They will be disappointed;” and Squire Rogers looked sad, for he
happened to think at that moment that he was a candidate for the
legislature.
“No matter.”
“But the aristocracy--bah!--will be mortally offended with me.”
“The what?”
“The affair was got up by our fashionables.”
“So much the better. If they wish to make fools of themselves, they
shall not do it at my expense.”
“But consider, my dear Lumpkin, what a terrible disappointment it
will be to them. They are even now waiting your arrival. I have been
appointed gentleman usher, to conduct you to the hall, and do the
honors.”
“Good, Rogers!” and Mr. Lumpkin, being a jolly, good natured
Congressman, laughed heartily, notwithstanding the consternation of his
legal friend, who began to fear that his want of tact would insure the
victory, at the approaching election, to his rival.
“But the ladies, Lumpkin.”
This was a fortunate hit on the part of Squire Rogers. Mr. Lumpkin
was a bachelor, and like bachelors in general, he loved the ladies
to distraction, while he kept them at a safe distance. The thought
of being the centre of attraction, amid a galaxy of bright eyes and
blushing cheeks, was rather inviting; but Mr. Lumpkin could not forgive
the Tiptopites for making fools of themselves at his expense.
The honorable gentleman was a consistent man, and having before decided
not to go, it was against his principles to change his mind. There was
a villainous rumor in circulation that Mr. Lumpkin, having unhappily
fallen asleep during the making of a certain motion, had suddenly woke
up and voted “yea,” in opposition to his colleagues, and against the
instructions of his constituents.
Having always been considered sound on the question at issue, every
body was surprised at his vote. He did not discover his mistake until
the following day; but, being a consistent man, he defended his course,
and made the longest speech he was ever known to make, on the folly
of instructing public men who are sent to Congress for the good of
their country. He would have lost his subsequent election, only that a
majority, admiring his manly independence, saw fit to give him their
suffrages.
Mr. Lumpkin had said no, and it was an exceedingly difficult thing for
him to reverse his sentiments, and say yes. But the ladies, being--as
he eloquently expressed it, in his speech on the necessity of reducing
the duty on Cashmere shawls, and making it specific, instead of _ad
valorem_--the bright particular luminaries of a republican nation,
seemed to beckon him to the ball--to be recreant to his principle of
consistency.
But Mr. Lumpkin, in the true spirit of our glorious constitution,
resolved to compromise the matter, and go. There was a codfish clique
in Tiptop, and Mr. Lumpkin considered it his duty to punish them. After
making some arrangements with his friend, whose urgent remonstrances
were all unheeded, he left the house.
_CHAPTER III._
Lyceum Hall blazed with beauty and tallow candles. All the _élite_ of
Tiptop were on tiptoe with expectation. After a long and rather stormy
discussion, it was decided that Miss Pipkin should dance first with Mr.
Lumpkin.
Eight o’clock came, and the distinguished gentleman did not make his
appearance. The less pretentious portion of the party began to grow
impatient. They cared nothing at all about Mr. Lumpkin; they came to
have a good time, and were bound to enjoy themselves, whether Mr.
Lumpkin and his admirers did or not.
Joe Maple began to get a little mad. He came with Lizzie Lee, had paid
for his ticket, and--as he expressed it to Mr. Adolphus Pipkin--he’d
like to know why they couldn’t go ahead without Mr. Lumpkin.
“Hang me if I stay or pay for my ticket if they don’t put her through
pretty soon,” said he.
“What are they waiting for?” asked a stranger by his side.
“For Mr. Stumpkins, or some sich name; but I ain’t a-going to wait
any longer. What do you say, boys--shall we back out if they don’t go
ahead?”
“Sartin; go to the managers, Joe; we’ll back you up in any thing you
say,” replied several.
“They ought to go on,” suggested the stranger.
“Tew be sure they had; so here goes for the managers. They are so darn
stuck up, they seem to think we ain’t nobody; we’ll larn ’em better;”
and Joe Maple marched for the knot of gentlemen who had charge of the
arrangements, and who were wondering why the distinguished guest of the
evening did not appear.
At this moment Squire Rogers entered the hall. In reply to the
managers’ queries, he said Mr. Lumpkin had left his house half an hour
before, promising to meet him at the festive scene.
Joe Maple said the “boys” meant to have a time, any how, and he
insisted that the dance should be immediately commenced, or the “boys”
would make tracks for “hum.”
Joe Maple’s party were in a very decided majority, and their appeal was
irresistible. The band, who were prepared to play “Hail Columbia” for
the “grand entrée” of Mr. Lumpkin, were directed to commence a cotillon.
The sets were nearly formed, when the stranger who had before
questioned him, requested Joe Maple to introduce him to a partner.
“Sartin,” said Joe, who was a good-natured, clever fellow; “but I don’t
know ye. What’s your name?”
The stranger hesitated a moment, and then said it was Smith.
“You don’t say so! You ain’t the Smith that’s just moved on to the
Pelatiah Hopkins place?”
“Just so,” replied Mr. Smith.
“Well, now, I am glad to see you;” and Joe Maple cast about him for a
suitable partner for the new proprietor.
Joe was always up to some mischief, and it seemed as though the very
demon of mischief ruled him when he glanced at Miss Araminta Pipkin,
who was impatiently waiting the arrival of her distinguished partner.
Now Mr. Smith was certainly not very prepossessing in his external
appearance. He looked very much like a country shopkeeper dressed up
in his Sunday clothes, and Joe Maple was perfectly satisfied that
Miss Pipkin would never condescend to dance with him. But there was a
prospect of some sport, and though he and the amiable leader of the
Tiptop _ton_ were not on speaking terms, he determined to present Mr.
Smith.
“I want to introduce Mr. Smith to you,” said Joe, mustering his most
elegant expression. “He wants a pardner.”
Miss Pipkin addressed a languid sneer, first to Joe Maple, and then to
Mr. Smith.
“No, I thank ye,” replied she, briefly, turning away her head from the
suppliant at her feet.
“Hadn’t ye better? This is Mr. Smith, that has bought the Pelatiah
Hopkins place.”
“You have my answer; I dance with Mr. Lumpkin;” and Miss Pipkin looked
unutterably scornful at the thought of descending from a member of
Congress even to the proprietor of the Hopkins place.
“That is very plain speech,” suggested Mr. Smith.
“Short as pie-crust; she’s right down smart. But, Mr. Smith, as you
have bought that place, you shall dance with the poottiest gal in the
hall--that’s Lizzie Lee. She engaged to dance with me----”
“I could not think of disappointing you,” interposed Mr. Smith.
“I don’t stand on trifles. The fact is, Lizzie and I understand one
another pootty well.”
Mr. Smith was introduced to Lizzie, who was all the enamoured Mr. Maple
had said she was.
But the sets were all full save one, in which had been reserved a place
for Mr. Lumpkin and the sighing Miss Pipkin, who fondly hoped to make a
conquest of the distinguished bachelor’s heart.
This set was at the head of the hall, and of course the three couples
which now composed it were the cream of the aristocracy. Mr. Lumpkin
had not come and Joe, who was all attention to the new owner of the
Hopkins place, directed Mr. Smith to lead his partner to this vacant
position.
Mr. Smith did so. He was perfectly innocent of any intention to offend,
and smilingly bowed to his pretty partner.
The three couples were aghast at the coolness and effrontery of Mr.
Smith. Mr. Adolphus Pipkin felt outraged, and stepped forward to
remonstrate, suggesting to the new lord of the Hopkins place that the
head of the hall had been reserved for Mr. Lumpkin and the accomplished
Miss Pipkin.
“When _he_ comes, _I_ will go,” replied Mr. Smith, quietly.
“How rude!” exclaimed Miss Punkinton.
“What horrible impoliteness!” added Miss Pilkinton.
“Brought up in the woods,” suggested Miss Smythson.
“I declare he smells of the cow yard,” sneered Miss Punkinton.
“Will you abandon your position?” asked Mr. Pipkin, fiercely.
“No sir,” replied Smith, calmly.
“On with the dance!” shouted Joe Maple.
And on it went, for the leader of the band, knowing who his strongest
friends were, started the music.
“Sir, you are no gentleman,” continued Mr. Pipkin.
“First couple, lead up to the right!” shouted the caller.
Mr. Smith and Lizzie, being the first couple, _led_ up to the right,
and in doing so, had nearly borne the enraged Mr. Pipkin under their
feet.
“_Balancez!_”
“I demand satisfaction, sir.”
“_Chassez_ to the right!”
Mr. Smith danced furiously; but the rest of the set, horrified at the
idea of dancing with such company as the owner of the Hopkins place and
Lizzie Lee, abandoned their positions. Joe Maple instantly filled them
again, and things went on as merrily as a marriage bell.
Squire Rogers was repeatedly importuned for information in regard to
the Hon. Mr. Lumpkin, whose consistency seemed quite as prominent as it
had ever been before. The squire assured them he would come--that it
was only ten o’clock, and genteel folks never appeared till a late hour.
The Hon. Mr. Lumpkin _did_ come at last.
_CHAPTER IV._
But when he came, the proprietor of the Pelatiah Hopkins place
incontinently _vamosed_.
“Rogers,” said Mr. Smith, “_Lumpkin is come_.”
“High time,” replied Rogers.
“Please announce the fact.”
“There will be a tempest; hadn’t we better have the smelling salts
handy?”
“Ay, cod-liver oil would do as well; there is a smell of codfish in
this vicinity.”
“Ladies and gentlemen,” began Squire Rogers to the little knot of
uppercrusts that occupied the head of the hall, “I have the honor of
informing you that the Hon. Mr. Lumpkin has come.”
This announcement produced a very decided sensation. Miss Araminta
Pipkin heaved a deep sigh, and almost fainted in anticipation of the
presentation.
“Where is he?” asked Mr. Adolphus Pipkin, glancing eagerly around the
room.
“The illustrious gentleman is close at hand.”
“Band, play the grand march.”
The band struck up “Hail Columbia.”
Mr. Smith, exhibiting a most wonderful command of himself, while every
body else was excited by the event about to transpire, stood by the
side of Lizzie Lee, engaged in a familiar conversation. Joe Maple, in
view of the very marked attentions of Mr. Smith to his intended, had
begun to grow a little jealous, and half regretted that he had been so
polite to the owner of the Hopkins place.
“Mr. Lumpkin,” said Rogers, breaking in upon the pleasant conference,
“the company wait your presence.”
“Hey, squire! this is Mr. Smith,” said Maple.
“The Hon. Mr. Lumpkin,” continued Rogers.
“You will pardon the little trick I have played upon you,” said Mr.
Smith; “my name is Lumpkin, M. C.”
“You don’t say so!” exclaimed Joe Maple.
“Just so.”
“And I’ve been talking to you just as though you was a common man.”
“So I am.”
“Ain’t you one of them ’ere Congress fellers?”
“Certainly, but one of the people; and, between you and I and the barn,
as we say out west, I am no friend of such folks as these over here;”
and Mr. Lumpkin pointed significantly to the _élite_ of Tiptop.
“You are a brick, squire!” and Joe hawhawed with right good will; “but
I suppose we shan’t see you again to-night, if you are going over
there?”
“Yes; Miss Lee, I claim your hand for the next dance, according to your
promise.”
“I shall be almost afraid to dance with you now,” simpered Lizzie.
“Hush, Liz! talk up to him,” whispered Joe; “a Congress chap ain’t any
better than any body else.”
“Mr. Lumpkin, your admirers will become impatient,” suggested Squire
Rogers, with an ironical smile.
“Excuse me for a few moments, Miss Lee;” and Mr. Lumpkin, taking the
arm of the squire, walked towards the head of the hall.
Joe Maple, whose keen relish for “some sport” did not permit him to
remain in the background, followed in their wake.
“Miss Pipkin, the Hon. Mr. Lumpkin,” said Squire Rogers.
The amiable lady raised her eyes, which had been fixed in maidenly
coyness upon the floor, and beheld the abominable Mr. Smith, the
abhorred owner of the Pelatiah Hopkins place!
“Why--I--yes--I declare--I have met--you before, this evening,”
stammered the leader of the female _ton_.
“Should rather think you had!” roared Joe Maple, who has since declared
that he thought “he should ha’ died a larfin’.”
“We have; I had the honor of being refused the pleasure of your
hand at the first dance,” said Mr. Lumpkin, with a full display of
congressional dignity.
“Mr. Pipkin, the Hon. Mr. Lumpkin, M. C., from the west,” continued
Squire Rogers, who, notwithstanding he felt a little nervous on account
of the seat in the legislature, was in very tolerable spirits, and
heartily enjoyed the discomfiture of the “codfish” party.
“Happy to know you, Mr. Pipkin. You demanded satisfaction of me in the
early part of the evening; should be happy to afford it.”
“You will pardon me, sir; there was some mistake; I would not of course
have spoken in that manner to a member of Congress.”
Mr. Lumpkin, not being above the infirmities of human nature, sneered
rather rudely at the Tiptop exquisite, as much as to say, “You ought to
treat every body well, whether they are public or private individuals.”
The master of ceremonies discharged the duties of his office with
punctilious formality. It seemed to the sufferers that he was
unnecessarily minute in his presentation ceremonial, permitting the
distinguished gentleman to make a home thrust at each one of the
persons who had been so rude to Mr. Smith.
The introductions were happily concluded, and a more chopfallen set
than the _élite_ of Tiptop never gathered together in the same hall.
Miss Pipkin was in an agony. She had actually turned up her nose to
a member of Congress. Of course she could no longer hope to make a
conquest of his heart; the vision of being a distinguished lady melted
quite away.
But then “it is an ill wind that blows no one any good.” If Miss Pipkin
could not have a member of Congress, she at least had the consolation
of saying that she had refused the hand of the Hon. Mr. Lumpkin, which,
to a lady of her peculiar turn of mind, was an immense satisfaction.
Mr. Lumpkin returned to the side of Lizzie Lee, who, maugre her
coyness, was tolerably sociable. Joe Maple, from the abundance of his
good nature, vowed he might dance with her just as many times as he
pleased.
About eleven o’clock, Miss Pipkin suggested to her brother that the
delicate state of her health would not permit her to endure the
excitement of the dance any longer, and when the leader of the _ton_
left, the followers went after her.
But the common folks “staid it out,” and Mr. Lumpkin confessed that he
enjoyed the ball very much indeed; for, true to his duty as a public
man, it had enabled him to administer a suitable reproof to the
pretensions of the Tiptopites.
Joe Maple and Lizzie Lee--since Mrs. Maple--have not yet forgotten the
part they acted, and perhaps they may be pardoned for a slight display
of vanity, as they relate the particulars of _The Grand Reception Ball_.
MARRYING A BEGGAR.
_CHAPTER I._
“So much for bringing poor relations into the house! I really believe
that Charles has fallen in love with the girl!” exclaimed Mrs. Mason to
her husband, a merchant in moderate circumstances in the city of Boston.
“Well, suppose he has; she is a good girl, is she not?” quickly
responded the merchant.
“I don’t know but that she is good enough; but she is a pauper!”
“Not exactly a pauper, Mrs. Mason.”
“Didn’t we take her into the family to keep her from starving?”
“I did not so understand it. You needed a young woman to assist you in
sewing, and employed her at half the usual wages.”
“Yes, and isn’t she a pauper for all that?”
“Gently, Mrs. Mason: you forget that she is my sister’s daughter,” said
the merchant, a little sternly.
“What if she is? She is a penniless girl for all that. A pretty match
for _our_ son!”
“And why not for our son? I am not a _millionnaire_. If the times don’t
come easier than they have been, I shall fail before the year is out.”
“So much the more reason why Charles should look out for himself.”
“If he loves my niece, I sincerely hope he will marry her, for I
believe she is one of the best girls in the world; certainly she is
vastly superior to the silly, affected, mincing, novel-reading misses
of fashionable society. I commend his taste and his judgment.”
“Well, Mr. Mason, I _am_ surprised!”
“Not the least occasion to be surprised.”
“Let me tell you, Mr. Mason, that I never will consent to see Charles
throw himself away on a pauper. If you haven’t the spirit to prevent so
disgraceful a match, I shall send the girl away.”
“Don’t you do it, madam,” said Mr. Mason, in a firm, decided tone.
“I _shall_ do it!” replied the lady, waxing warm at the obstinacy of
her husband, who in trivial matters, was in the habit of letting her
have her own way.
“Better not,” quietly responded the gentleman.
“The minx put on such airs and smirked so, that I really believe she
meant to catch him.”
“What, Grace? Impossible! She is a little gentle, quiet thing, and I am
sure the idea of a flirtation never entered her simple head.”
“Humph!” sneered the lady. “I know better. And now that he is really
making love to her, the provoking jade seems to look upon it as a
matter of course; thinks it just as much a proper thing that she should
be the wife of our Charles, as though she had been born a princess!”
“Poor thing! I suppose she is human, and actually loves the boy!”
“Loves him or not, I’ll make an end of it.”
“Don’t be rash, Mrs. Mason,” replied the husband, twirling in his
fingers a buff envelope, marked “Telegraph.”
“What have you got there?”
“I had almost forgot to mention that brother Joseph had arrived in New
York, and telegraphs that he shall be here to-night by the New Haven
train.”
“Just like you! Never tell of a thing till the last moment!” said the
lady, petulantly.
“I received the despatch only two hours ago.”
“Here is another kettle of fish,” continued the lady, musing. “That
everlasting niece of yours is in the way again.”
“I hope the poor girl has no more sins to answer for.”
“Where do you suppose your brother Joseph will leave his property?”
“I have not the remotest idea.”
“Don’t you suppose that angelic niece of yours will wheedle him out of
a part of it?”
“I hope so.”
“You don’t want he should leave it all in your family, then?” sneered
the lady.
“No, I hope he will do justly.”
“I wish I could get her out of the way before he comes.”
“Don’t attempt it, Mrs. Mason,” said the merchant, with very decided
emphasis.
“If she were only out of the way, Henrietta would come in for the
whole,” added the lady, as she hurried out of the room to make
arrangements for the reception of uncle Joseph.
_CHAPTER II._
Uncle Joseph was a Calcutta merchant, in which capacity he had
accumulated an immense fortune. Being a bachelor, the probable
disposition of his property became a question of considerable interest
among his relations.
The family of Mr. Mason, the merchant introduced in the last chapter,
included but two children, a son and a daughter.
Grace was the only daughter of a sister, recently deceased, who had
been for many years a widow.
It was supposed that uncle Joseph would make one of his nieces his
heiress. This was the old fellow’s whim, and no one could gainsay the
whim of a bachelor. From some indications of preference which he had
bestowed upon Henrietta in her childhood, it was generally believed
that she would prove to be the fortunate one.
Henrietta had been educated to be a lady. Her delicate fingers were
never soiled by rude collision with pots and kettles, and she had been
taught to believe that it was delicate sensibility to be afraid of a
spider or a bullfrog. She played the piano with passable skill, and
lingered away half her time at full length on the sofa, poring over the
contents of a novel.
Such was the prospective heiress of uncle Joseph’s large fortune. Her
father was far from approving the education she had received, and had
used all the influence he possessed, short of quarreling, to have these
defects remedied.
Uncle Joseph came, and was welcomed as became the dignity of one who
had a fortune to bestow.
Henrietta thought he was a “dear love” of a man, and she wondered that
the ladies ever let him remain a bachelor.
Grace, by the contrivance of Mrs. Mason, was not present when her uncle
arrived; but Mr. Mason, understanding the trick, sought her in person,
and introduced her to the man of money.
The poor girl was too modest and retiring to force herself upon the
notice of uncle Joseph, who was too deeply absorbed by the unremitting
attentions of Henrietta to perceive her situation, or discover the
mental capacity in which she acted.
At tea, uncle Joseph complained of being ill, and said that he had not
been well since he landed on the previous day.
Mrs. Mason and her daughter were all sympathy. The ailing bachelor
was conducted to his apartment, and herb teas and jugs of hot water
were put in requisition. Henrietta volunteered to sit all night by his
bedside and minister to his wants; but the sick man did not deem it
necessary.
During all this confusion, Grace was not to be seen. She was not
permitted to assist in the preparations for the sick man’s comfort;
everything must be done by Henrietta’s own hand.
Notwithstanding the kind attentions lavished upon uncle Joseph, there
was no improvement in his condition; but on the contrary, he rapidly
grew worse, and at midnight the physician was sent for. Henrietta had
not left the bedside for a moment. She was the most devoted creature in
the world, and the bachelor could not but contrast her devotion with
the utter neglect of Grace, who had not once entered his room, even to
inquire how he did. Henrietta’s prospects were decidedly brilliant.
The physician came, and after feeling the pulse of the sufferer,
inquired where he resided when at home.
Uncle Joseph replied that he had no home--had just come from Calcutta.
“I see,” said the physician. “Was there any sickness on board the ship?”
“There was. I came by the overland route to Liverpool, thence by a New
York liner. There was a steerage full of emigrants on board, among whom
the fever raged fearfully.”
“Just so,” returned the physician, “and you have got the ship fever.”
“The ship fever!” exclaimed Henrietta, rushing out of the room.
The sick man turned, and witnessed her abrupt departure. With a sigh,
such as can only be wrung from a bachelor conscious of his loneliness,
he drew the bedclothes closely around him, and apparently abandoned
himself to the fate which the dreadful disease seemed to foreshadow.
The physician made up his prescription and retired. No one was left
with uncle Joseph but his brother.
“I am deserted, brother,” said the sick man.
“No, brother, I am here.”
“But there is no hand of woman here; well, it is a dreadful disease,”
and the sufferer sighed again.
Mr. Mason went down to the sitting room, whither his wife and daughter
had fled.
“How is this, wife? Is Joseph to be abandoned now that he most needs
attention?” asked he of Mrs. Mason.
“You don’t think we are going to stay in the same room with the ship
fever?” replied Mrs. Mason.
“You may as well be in the room as in the house.”
“We must leave the house immediately. Why did he not go to the
hospital? It was not very considerate of him to bring the ship fever
into the family. He might have known that he had it.”
“Heaven forgive your heartlessness! But is my brother to die with no
one to care for him?” exclaimed Mr. Mason, indignantly.
“You must hire a nurse.”
“And you will desert him?”