in the evening by the railroad. Others, who preferred making their own
time, were to come in carriages. As soon as the bell of the steamboat
gave notice of her approach, Captain Cheston, with his wife and sister,
accompanied by Lieutenants Delham and Lonsgrave, went down to the
landing-place to receive the first division of the picnic party, which
was chiefly of young people, all with smiling countenances, and looking
as if they anticipated a very pleasant little fête. The Chestons were
prepared to say with Seged of Ethiopia, "This day shall be a day of
happiness"--but as the last of the gay procession stepped from the
landing-board, Aunt Quimby brought up the rear.
"Oh! Bromley," said Mrs. Cheston, in a low voice, to her husband, "there
is our most _mal-à-propos_ of aunts--I thought she was a hundred miles
off. This is really too bad--what shall we do with her? On this day,
too, of all days--"
"We can do nothing, but endeavour, as usual, to make the best of her,"
replied the captain; "but where did she pick up that common-looking man,
whom she seems to be hauling along with her?"
Mrs. Quimby now came up, and after the first greeting, Albina and
Myrtilla endeavoured to withdraw from her the attention of the rest of
the company, whom they conducted for the present to the house; but she
seized upon the captain, to whom she introduced her companion by the
appellation of Mr. Smith. The stranger looked embarrassed, and seemed as
if he could scarcely presume to take the offered hand of Captain
Cheston, and muttered something about trespassing on hospitality, but
Aunt Quimby interrupted him with--"Oh! nonsense, now, Mr. Smith--where's
the use of being so shame-faced, and making apologies for what can't be
helped? I dare say my nephew and niece wonder quite as much at seeing
_me_ here, supposing that I'm safe and sound at Nancy Bagnell's, in
Baltimore. But are you sure my baggage is all on the barrow? Just step
back, and see if the big blue bandbox is safe, and the little yellow
one; I should not wonder if the porter tosses them off, or crushes in
the lids. All men seem to have a spite at bandboxes."
Mr. Smith meekly obeyed: and Aunt Quimby, taking the arm of Cheston,
walked with him towards the house.
"Tell me who this gentleman is," said Captain Cheston. "He cannot belong
to any of the Smiths of 'Market, Arch, Race, and Vine, Chestnut, Walnut,
Spruce, and Pine.'"
"No," replied Mrs. Quimby, "nor to the Smiths of the cross-streets
neither--nor to those up in the Northern Liberties, nor them down in
Southwark. If you mean that he is not a Philadelphia man, you've hit the
nail on the head--but that's no reason there shouldn't be Smiths enough
all over the world. However, the short and the long of it is this--I was
to have started for Baltimore yesterday morning, bright and early, with
Mr. and Mrs. Neverwait--but the shoemaker had not sent home my
over-shoes, and the dyer had not finished my gray Canton crape shawl,
that he was doing a cinnamon brown, and the milliner disappointed me in
new-lining my bonnet; so I could not possibly go, you know, and the
Neverwaits went without me. Well, the things _were_ brought home last
night, which was like coming a day after the fair. But as I was all
packed up, I was bent upon going, somehow or other, this morning. So I
made Billy Fairfowl take me down to the wharf, bag and baggage, to see
if he could find anybody he knew to take charge of me to Baltimore. And
there, as good luck would have it, we met with Mr. Smith, who has been
several times in Billy's store, and bought domestics of him, and got
acquainted with him; so that Billy, finding this poor Mr. Smith was a
stranger, and a man that took no airs, and that did not set up for great
things, got very sociable with him, and even invited him to tea. Now,
when we met him on the wharf, Mr. Smith was quite a windfall for us, and
he agreed to escort me to Baltimore, as of course he must, when he was
asked. So, then, Billy being in a hurry to go to market for breakfast
(before all the pick of the butter was gone), just bade me good-bye, and
left me on the wharf, seeing what good hands I was in. Now, poor Mr.
Smith being a stranger, and, of course, not so well used to steamboats
as our own people, took me into the wrong one; for the New York and
Baltimore boats were laying side by side, and seemed both mixed
together, so that it was hard telling which was which, the crowd hiding
everything from us. And after we got on board, I was so busy talking,
and he a listening, and looking at the people, that we never found out
our mistake till we were half-way up the river, instead of being
half-way down it. And then I heard the ladies all round talking of a nic
or a pic (or both I believe they called it), that they said was to be
held on Captain Cheston's grounds. So, then, I pricked up my ears, and
found that it was even so; and I told them that Captain Cheston was a
near relation of mine, for his wife was own daughter to Mrs. Marsden
that was, whose first husband was my sister Nelly's own son; and all
about your marrying Albina, and what a handsome place you have, and how
Mr. Smith and I had got into the wrong boat, and were getting carried
off, being taken up the river instead of down."
"And what did the company say to all this?" inquired Cheston.
"Why, I don't exactly remember, but they must have said something; for I
know those that were nearest stopped their own talk when I began. And,
after awhile, I went across to the other side of the boat, where Mr.
Smith was leaning over the railing, and looking at the foam flying from
the wheels, (as if it was something new), and I pulled his sleeve, and
told him we were quite in luck to-day, for we should be at a party
without intending it. And he made a sort of humming and hawing about
intruding himself (as he called it) without an invitation. But I told
him to leave all that to me--I'd engage to pass him through. And he
talked something of betaking himself to the nearest hotel after we
landed, and waiting for the next boat down the river. However, I would
not listen to that; and I made him understand that any how there could
be no Baltimore to-day, as it was quite too late to get there now by any
contrivance at all; and that we could go down with the other company
this evening by the railroad, and take a fresh start to-morrow morning.
Still he seemed to hold back; and I told him that as to our going to the
party, all things had turned up as if it _was_ to be, and I should think
it a sin to fling such good luck aside, when it was just ready to drop
into our mouths, and that he might never have another chance of being in
such genteel company as long as he lived. This last hint seemed to do
the business, for he gave a sort of a pleased smile, and made no more
objection. And then I put him in mind that the people that owned the
ground were my own niece and nephew, who were always crazy to see me,
and have me with them; and I could answer for it they'd be just as glad
to see any of my acquaintance--and as to the eatables, I was sure _his_
being there would not make a cent's worth of difference, for I was
certain there'd be plenty, and oceans of plenty, and I told him only to
go and look at the baskets of victuals that were going up in the boat;
besides all that, I knew the Chestons would provide well, for they were
never backward with anything."
She now stopped to take breath, and Cheston inquired if her son-in-law
knew nothing more of Mr. Smith than from merely seeing him in his store.
"Oh! yes; did not I tell you we had him to tea? You need not mention it
to anybody--but (if the truth must be told) Mr. Smith is an Englishman.
The poor man can't help that, you know: and I'm sure I should never have
guessed it, for he neither looks English nor talks English. He is not a
bit like that impudent Mr. Montague, who took slices out of Albina's big
plum-cake hours before the company came, at that great party she gave
for Mrs. Washington Potts."
"Pshaw!" said Cheston.
"Yes, you may well pshaw at it. But after all, for my own part, I must
say I enjoyed myself very much that evening. I had a great deal of
pleasant talk. I was sorry, afterwards, that I did not stay down stairs
to the last, to see if all the company took French leave like me. If
they did, it must have been quite a pretty sight to see them go. By the
bye (now I talk of French leave) did you hear that the Washington
Pottses have broke all to pieces and gone off to France to live upon the
money that he made over to his wife to keep it from his creditors?"
"But, Mr. Smith--" resumed Cheston.
"Why, Bromley, what makes you so fidgety? Billy Fairfowl (though I say
it that shouldn't say it) is not the man to ask people to tea unless he
is sure they are pretty decent sort of folks. So he went first to the
British Consul, and inquired about Mr. Smith, and described his look and
dress just as he would a runaway 'prentice. And the Consul knew exactly
who he meant, and told him he would answer for Mr. Smith's being a man
of good character, and perfectly honest and respectable. And that, you
know, is quite as much as need be said of anybody. So, then, we had him
to tea, quite in a plain way; but he seemed very easily satisfied, and
though there were huckleberries, and cucumbers, and dough-nuts, he did
not eat a thing but bread and butter, and not much of that, and took no
sugar in his tea, and only drank two cups. And Billy talked to him the
whole evening about our factories, and our coal and iron: and he
listened quite attentively, and seemed to understand very well, though
he did not say much; and he kept awake all the time, which was very
clever of him, and more than Billy is used to. He seems like a
good-hearted man, for he saved little Jane from pulling the tea-waiter
down upon her head, as she was coming out from under the table; and he
ran and picked up Johnny, when he fell over the rockers of the big
chair, and wiped the blood off his nose with his own clean handkerchief.
I dare say he's a good soul; but he is very humble-minded, and seems so
afraid of saying wrong that he hardly says anything. Here he comes,
trudging along beside the porter; and I see he has got all the baggage
safe, even the brown paper parcel and the calico bag. That's his own
trunk, under all the rest."
Mr. Smith now came up, and inquired of Captain Cheston for the nearest
inn, that he might remain there till a boat passed down for
Philadelphia. "Why, Mr. Smith," interrupted Aunt Quimby, "where's the
sense of being so backward? We ought to be thankful for our good luck
in getting here on the very day of the picnic, even though we _did_ come
by mistake. And now you _are_ here, it's all nonsense for you to run
away, and go and mope by yourself at a country tavern. I suppose you are
afraid you're not welcome; but I'll answer for you as well as myself."
Civility to the stranger required that Captain Cheston should second
Mrs. Quimby; and he did so in terms so polite that Mr. Smith was
induced, with much diffidence, to remain.
"Poor man!" said Aunt Quimby, in a low voice, to the captain, "between
ourselves, it's plain enough that he is not much used to being among
great people, and he's afraid of feeling like a fish out of water. He
must have a very poor opinion of himself, for even at Billy Fairfowl's
he did not seem quite at home; though we all tried to encourage him, and
I told him myself, as soon as we sat down to the tea-table, to make just
as free as if he was in his own house."
Arrived at the mansion of the Chestons, Mrs. Quimby at first objected to
changing her dress, which was a very rusty black silk, with a bonnet to
match; declaring that she was sure nothing was expected of people who
were on their travels, and that she saw no use in taking the trouble to
unpack her baggage. She was, however, overruled by the representations
of Albina, who offered to both unpack and re-pack for her. Accordingly
she equipped herself in what she called her second-best suit. The gown
was a thick rustling silk, of a very reddish brown, with a new inside
kerchief of blue-tinted book muslin that had never been washed. Over her
shoulders she pinned her Canton-crape shawl, whose brown tinge was
entirely at variance with the shade of her gown. On her head was a stiff
hard cap, trimmed with satin ribbon, of a still different brown colour,
the ends of the bows sticking out horizontally, and scolloped into
numerous points. She would not wear her best bonnet, lest it should be
injured; and fortunately her worst was so small that she found, if she
put it on, it would crush her second-best cap. She carried in one hand a
stiff-starched handkerchief of imitation-cambric, which she considered
too good to unfold; and with the other she held over her head a faded
green parasol.
Thus equipped, the old lady set out with Captain and Mrs. Cheston for
the scene of the picnic; the rest of the party being a little in advance
of them. They saw Mr. Smith strolling about the lawn, and Mrs. Quimby
called to him to come and give his arm to her niece, saying, "There,
Albina, take him under your wing, and try to make him sociable, while I
walk on with your husband. Bromley, how well you look in your
navy-regimentals. I declare I'm more and more in luck. It is not
everybody that can have an officer always ready and willing to 'squire
them"--And the old lady (like many young ladies) unconsciously put on a
different face and a different walk, while escorted by a gentleman in
uniform.
"Bromley," continued Aunt Quimby, "I heard some of the picnic ladies in
the boat saying that those which are to ride up are to bring a lion with
them. This made me open my eyes, and put me all in quiver; so I could
not help speaking out, and saying--I should make a real right down
objection to his being let loose among the company, even if he was ever
so tame. Then they laughed, and one of them said that a lion meant a
great man; and asked me if I had never heard the term before. I answered
that may be I had, but it must have slipped my memory; and that I
thought it a great shame to speak of Christian people as if they were
wild beasts."
"And who is this great man?" inquired Cheston.
"Oh! he's a foreigner from beyond sea, and he is coming with some of the
ladies in their own carriage--Baron Somebody"--
"Baron Von Klingenberg," said Cheston, "I have heard of him."
"That's the very name. It seems he is just come from Germany, and has
taken rooms at one of the tip-top hotels, where he has a table all to
himself. I wonder how any man can bear to eat his victuals sitting up
all alone, with not a soul to speak a word with. I think I should die if
I had no body to talk to. Well--they said that this Baron is a person of
very high _tone_, which I suppose means that he has a very loud
voice--and from what I could gather, it's fashionable for the young
ladies to fall in love with him, and they think it an honour to get a
bow from him in Chesnut street, and they take him all about with them.
And they say he has in his own country a castle that stands on banks of
rind, which seems a strange foundation. Dear me--now we've got to the
picnic place--how gay and pretty everything looks, and what heaps of
victuals there must be in all those baskets, and oceans of drinkables in
all those bottles and demijohns. Mercy on me--I pity the
dish-washers--when will they get through all the dirty plates! And I
declare! how beautiful the flags look! fixed up over the table just
like bed-curtains--I am glad you have plenty of chairs here, besides the
benches.--And only see!--if here a'n't cakes and lemonade coming round."
The old lady took her seat under one of the large trees, and entered
unhesitatingly into whatever conversation was within her hearing;
frequently calling away the Chestons to ask them questions or address to
them remarks. The company generally divided into groups; some sat, some
walked, some talked; and some, retreating farther into the woods, amused
themselves and each other with singing, or playing forfeits. There was,
as is usual in Philadelphia assemblages, a very large proportion of
handsome young ladies; and all were dressed in that consistent,
tasteful, and decorous manner which distinguishes the fair damsels of
the city of Penn.
In a short time Mrs. Quimby missed her protegée, and looking round for
him she exclaimed--"Oh! if there is not Mr. Smith a sitting on a rail,
just back of me, all the time. Do come down off the fence, Mr. Smith.
You'll find a much pleasanter seat on this low stump behind me, than to
stay perched up there. Myrtilla Cheston, my dear, come here--I want to
speak to you."
Miss Cheston had the amiability to approach promptly and cheerfully:
though called away from an animated conversation with two officers of
the navy, two of the army, and three young lawyers, who had all formed a
semicircle round four of the most attractive belles: herself being the
cynosure.
"Myrtilla," said Aunt Quimby, in rather a low voice, "do take some
account of this poor forlorn man that's sitting behind me. He's so very
backward, and thinks himself such a mere nobody, that I dare say he
feels bad enough at being here without an invitation, and all among
strangers too--though I've told him over and over that he need not have
the least fear of being welcome. There now--there's a good girl--go and
spirit him up a little. You know you are at home here on your brother's
own ground."
"I scarcely know how to talk to an Englishman," replied Myrtilla, in a
very low voice.
"Why, can't you ask him, if he ever in his life saw so wide a river, and
if he ever in his life saw such big trees, and if he don't think our sun
a great deal brighter than his, and if he ever smelt buckwheat before?"
Myrtilla turned towards Mr. Smith (and perceiving from his
ill-suppressed smile that he had heard Mrs. Quimby's instructions) like
Olivia in the play, she humoured the jest by literally following them,
making a curtsy to the gentleman, and saying, "Mr. Smith, did you ever
in your life see so wide a river? did you ever in your life see such big
trees? don't you think our sun a great deal brighter than yours? and did
you ever smell buckwheat before?"
"I have not had that happiness," replied Mr. Smith with a simpering
laugh, as he rose from the old stump, and, forgetting that it was not a
chair, tried to hand it to Myrtilla. She bowed in acknowledgment, placed
herself on the seat--and for awhile endeavoured to entertain Mr. Smith,
as he stood leaning (not picturesquely) against a portion of the broken
fence.
In the mean time Mrs. Quimby continued to call on the attention of those
around her. To some the old lady was a source of amusement, to others of
disgust and annoyance. By this time they all understood who she was, and
how she happened to be there. Fixing her eyes on a very dignified and
fashionable looking young lady, whom she had heard addressed as Miss
Lybrand, and (who with several others) was sitting nearly opposite,
"Pray, Miss," said Aunt Quimby, "was your grandfather's name Moses?"
"It was," replied the young lady.
"Oh! then you must be a granddaughter of old Moses Lybrand, who kept a
livery stable up in Race street; and his son Aaron always used to drive
the best carriage, after the old man was past doing it himself. Is your
father's name Aaron?"
"No, madam," said Miss Lybrand--looking very red--"My father's name is
Richard."
"Richard--he must have been one of the second wife's children. Oh! I
remember seeing him about when he was a little boy. He had a curly head,
and on week days generally wore a gray jacket and corduroy trowsers; but
he had a nice bottle-green suit for Sunday. Yes, yes--they went to our
church, and sat up in the gallery. And he was your father, was he? Then
Aaron must have been your own uncle. He was a very careful driver for a
young man. He learnt of his father. I remember just after we were first
married, Mr. Quimby hiring Moses Lybrand's best carriage to take me and
my bridesmaids and groomsmen on a trip to Germantown. It was a yellow
coachee with red curtains, and held us all very well with close packing.
In those days people like us took their wedding rides to Germantown and
Frankford and Darby, and ordered a dinner at a tavern with custards and
whips, and came home in the evening. And the high-flyers, when _they_
got married, went as far as Chester or Dunks's Ferry. They did not then
start off from the church door and scour the roads all the way to
Niagara just because they were brides and grooms; as if that was any
reason for flying their homes directly. But pray what has become of your
uncle Aaron?"
"I do not know," said the young lady, looking much displeased; "I never
heard of him."
"But did not you tell me your grandfather's name was Moses?"
"There may have been other Moses Lybrands."
"Was not he a short pockmarked man, that walked a little lame, with
something of a cast in his right eye: or, I won't be positive, may be it
was in the left?"
"I am very sure papa's father was no such looking person," replied Miss
Lybrand, "but I never saw him--he died before I was born--"
"Poor old man," resumed Mrs. Quimby, "if I remember right, Moses became
childish many years before his death."
Miss Lybrand then rose hastily, and proposed to her immediate companions
a walk farther into the woods; and Myrtilla, leaving the vicinity of Mr.
Smith, came forward and joined them: her friends making a private signal
to her not to invite the aforesaid gentleman to accompany them.
Aunt Quimby saw them depart, and looking round said--"Why, Mr.
Smith--have the girls given you the slip? But to be sure, they meant you
to follow them!"
Mr. Smith signified that he had not courage to do so without an
invitation, and that he feared he had already been tiring Miss Cheston.
"Pho, pho," said Mrs. Quimby, "you are quite too humble. Pluck up a
little spirit, and run after the girls."
"I believe," replied he, "I cannot take such a liberty."
"Then I'll call Captain Cheston to introduce you to some more gentlemen.
Here--Bromley--"
"No--no," said Mr. Smith, stopping her apprehensively; "I would rather
not intrude any farther upon his kindness."
"I declare you are the shame-facedest man I ever saw in my life. Well,
then, you can walk about, and look at the trees and bushes. There's a
fine large buttonwood, and there's a sassafras; or you can go to the
edge of the bank and look at the river and watch how the tide goes down
and leaves the splatter-docks standing in the mud. See how thick they
are at low water--I wonder if you couldn't count them. And may be
you'll see a wood-shallop pass along, or may be a coal-barge. And who
knows but a sturgeon may jump out of the water, and turn head over heels
and back again--it's quite a handsome sight!"
Good Mr. Smith did as he was bidden, and walked about and looked at
things, and probably counted the splatter-docks, and perhaps saw a fish
jump.
"It's all bashfulness--nothing in the world but bashfulness," pursued
Mrs. Quimby; "that's the only reason Mr. Smith don't talk."
"For my part," said a very elegant looking girl, "I am perfectly willing
to impute the taciturnity of Mr. Smith (and that of all other silent
people) to modesty. But yet I must say, that as far as I have had
opportunities of observing, most men above the age of twenty have
sufficient courage to talk, if they know what to say. When the head is
well furnished with ideas, the tongue cannot habitually refrain from
giving them utterance."
"That's a very good observation," said Mrs. Quimby, "and suits _me_
exactly. But as to Mr. Smith, I do believe it's all bashfulness with
him. Between ourselves (though the British consul warrants him
respectable) I doubt whether he was ever in such genteel society before;
and may be he thinks it his duty to listen and not to talk, poor man.
But then he ought to know, that in our country he need not be afraid of
nobody: and that here all people are equal, and one is as good as
another."
"Not exactly," said the young lady, "we have in America, as in Europe,
numerous gradations of mind, manners, and character. Politically we are
equal, as far as regards the rights of citizens and the protection of
the laws; and also we have no privileged orders. But individually it is
difficult for the refined and the vulgar, the learned and the ignorant,
the virtuous and the vicious to associate familiarly and
indiscriminately, even in a republic."
The old lady looked mystified for a few moments, and then proceeded--"As
you say, people's different. We can't be hail fellow well met, with Tom,
Dick, and Harry--but for my part I think myself as good as anybody!"
No one contradicted this opinion, and just then a gentleman came up and
said to the young lady--"Miss Atwood, allow me to present you with a
sprig of the last wild roses of the season. I found a few still
lingering on a bush in a shady lane just above."
"'I bid their blossoms in my bonnet wave,'"
said Miss Atwood--inserting them amid one of the riband bows.
"Atwood--Atwood," said Aunt Quimby, "I know the name very well. Is not
your father Charles Atwood, who used to keep a large wholesale store in
Front street?"