deep mortification at having been necessitated to accept a favour from
such a woman, was rendered still more poignant by unavoidably
overhearing (as she was dressing at her toilet-table that stood between
two open windows) the following dialogue; the speakers being two of Mrs.
Brantley's servant girls that were ironing in the kitchen porch, and who
in talking to each other of the young ladies, always dropped the title
of Miss:
"Matilda," said one of them, "don't you hear Laura's bell? Didn't she
tell you arter dinner, that she would ring for you arter a while, to
come up stairs and hook the back of her dress."
"Yes," replied Matilda--"I hear it as plain as you do, Eliza; but I
guess I shan't go till it suits me. I'm quite beat out with running up
stairs from morning to night to wait on that there Philadelphy woman, as
she takes such high airs. Who but she indeed! Any how, I'm not a going
to hurry. I shall just act as if I did not hear no bell at all--for as
to this here Laura, I guess she an't much. Augusta told me this morning,
when she got me to fix her hair, that Miss Frampton told her that Laura
axed and begged her, amost on her bare knees, to lend her some money to
pay for her frocks and bunnet."
"Why, how could she act so!" exclaimed Eliza.
"Because," resumed Matilda, "her people sent her here without a copper
in her pocket. So I guess they're a pretty shabby set, after all."
"I was judging as much," said Eliza, "by her not taking no airs, and
always acting so polite to everybody."
"Well now," observed Matilda, "Mr. Scourbrass, the gentleman as lives
with old Madam Montgomery, at the big house, in Bowdin Square, and helps
to do her work, always stands out that very great people of the rale
sort, act much better, and an't so apt to take airs as them what are
upstarts."
"Doctors differ," sagely remarked Eliza. "However, as you say, I don't
believe this here Laura _is_ much; and I'm thinking how she'll get along
at Nahant. Miss Lathersoap, the lady as washes her clothes, told me,
among other things, that Laura's pocket-handkerchers are all quite
plain--not a worked or a laced one among them. Now our Augusta would
scorn to carry a plain handkercher, and so would her mother."
"I've taken notice of Laura's handkerchers myself," said Matilda, "and I
don't see why we young ladies as lives out, and does people's work to
oblige them, should be expected to run at the beck and call of any
strangers they may choose to take into the house; let alone when they're
not no great things."
Laura retreated from the open windows, that she might hear no more of a
conversation so painful to her. She would at once have written to her
father, told him all, and begged him, if he possibly could, to send her
money enough to repay Miss Frampton, but she had found, by a letter
received the day before, that he had gone on some business to the
interior of Maine, and would not be home in less than a fortnight.
Next day was the one finally appointed for their removal to Nahant, and
our heroine felt her spirits revive at the idea of beholding, for the
first time in her life, "the sea, the sea, the open sea." They went in
Mr. Brantley's carriage, and Laura understood that she _might_ ride in
her black silk dress and her straw bonnet.
They crossed at the Winnisimmet Ferry, rode through Chelsea, and soon
arrived at the flourishing town of Lynn, where every man was making
shoes, and every woman binding them. The last sunbeams were glowing in
the west, when they came to the beautiful Long Beach that connects the
rocks of Lynn with those of Nahant, the sand being so firm and smooth
that the shadow of every object is reflected in it downwards. The tide
was so high that they drove along the verge of the surf, the horses'
feet splashing through the water, and trampling on the shells and
sea-weed left by the retiring waves. Cattle, as they went home, were
cooling themselves by wading breast high in the breakers; and the little
sand-birds were sporting on the crests of the billows, sometimes flying
low, and dipping into the water the white edges of their wings, and
sometimes seeming, with their slender feet, to walk on the surface of
the foam. Beyond the everlasting breakers rolled the unbounded ocean,
the haze of evening coming fast upon it, and the full moon rising broad
and red through the misty veil of the eastern horizon.
Laura Lovel felt as if she could have viewed this scene for ever, and at
times she could not refrain from audibly expressing her delight. The
other ladies were deeply engaged in listening to Miss Frampton's account
of a ball and supper given by her intimate friend, that lovely woman,
Mrs. Ben Derrydown, the evening before Mr. Ben Derrydown's last failure,
and which ball and supper exceeded in splendour anything she had ever
witnessed, except the wedding-party of her sweet love, Mrs. Nick
Rearsby, whose furniture was seized by the sheriff a few months after;
and the birth-night concert at the coming out of her darling pet, Kate
Bolderhurst, who ran away next morning with her music-master.
Our party now arrived at the Nahant Hotel, which was full of visitors,
with some of whom the Brantleys were acquainted. After tea, when the
company adjourned to the lower drawing-rooms, the extraordinary beauty
of Laura Lovel drew the majority of the gentlemen to that side of the
apartment on which the Brantley family were seated. Many introductions
took place, and Mrs. Brantley felt in paradise at seeing that _her_
party had attracted the greatest number of beaux. Miss Frampton
generally made a point of answering everything that was addressed to
Laura; and Augusta glided, and flitted, and chattered much impertinent
nonsense to the gentlemen on the outskirts of the group, that were
waiting for an opportunity of saying something to Miss Lovel.
Our heroine was much confused at finding herself an object of such
general attention, and was also overwhelmed by the officious volubility
of Miss Frampton, though none of it was addressed to _her_. Mrs.
Maitland, a lady as unlike Mrs. Brantley as possible, was seated on the
other side of Laura Lovel, and was at once prepossessed in her favour,
not only from the beauty of her features, but from the intelligence of
her countenance. Desirous of being better acquainted, and seeing that
Laura's present position was anything but pleasant to her, Mrs. Maitland
proposed that they should take a turn in the veranda that runs round the
second story of the hotel. To this suggestion Laura gladly assented--for
she felt at once that Mrs. Maitland was just the sort of woman she would
like to know. There was a refinement and dignity in her appearance and
manner that showed her to be "every inch a lady;" but that dignity was
tempered with a frankness and courtesy that put every one around her
immediately at their ease. Though now in the autumn of life, her figure
was still good--her features still handsome, but they derived their
chief charm from the sensible and benevolent expression of her fine open
countenance. Her attire was admirably suited to her face and person; but
she was not over-dressed, and she was evidently one of those fortunate
women who, without bestowing much time and attention upon it, are _au
fait_ of all that constitutes a correct and tasteful costume.
Mrs. Maitland took Laura's arm within hers, and telling Mrs. Brantley
that she was going to carry off Miss Lovel for half an hour, she made a
sign to a fine-looking young man on the other side of the room, and
introduced him as her son, Mr. Aubrey Maitland. He conducted the two
ladies up stairs to the veranda, and in a few minutes our heroine felt
as if she had been acquainted with the Maitlands for years. No longer
kept down and oppressed by the night-mare influence of fools, her spirit
expanded, and breathed once more. She expressed, without hesitation,
her delight at the scene that presented itself before her--for she felt
that she was understood.
The moon, now "high in heaven," threw a solemn light on the trembling
expanse of the ocean, and glittered on the spray that foamed and
murmured for ever round the rocks that environed the little peninsula,
their deep recesses slumbering in shade, while their crags and points
came out in silver brightness. Around lay the numerous islands that are
scattered over Boston harbour, and far apart glowed the fires of two
light-houses, like immense stars beaming on the verge of the horizon;
one of them, a revolving light, alternately shining out and
disappearing. As a contrast to the still repose that reigned around, was
the billiard-room (resembling a little Grecian temple), on a promontory
that overlooked the sea--the lamps that shone through its windows,
mingling with the moon-beams, and the rolling sound of the
billiard-balls uniting with the murmur of the eternal waters.
Mrs. Maitland listened with corresponding interest to the animated and
original comments of her new friend, whose young and enthusiastic
imagination had never been more vividly excited; and she drew her out,
till Laura suddenly stopped, blushing with the fear that she had been
saying too much. Before they returned to the drawing-room, Aubrey was
decidedly and deeply in love.
When Laura retired to her apartment, she left the window open, that she
might from her pillow look out upon the moonlight sea, and be fanned by
the cool night breeze that gently rippled its waters; and when she was
at last lulled to repose by the monotonous dashing of the surf against
the rocks beneath her casement, she had a dream of the peninsula of
Nahant--not as it now is, covered with new and tasteful buildings, and a
favourite resort of the fashion and opulence of Boston, but as it must
have looked two centuries ago, when the seals made their homes among its
caverned rocks, and when the only human habitations were the rude huts
of the Indian fishers, and the only boats their canoes of bark and
skins.
When she awoke from her dream, she saw the morning-star sparkling high
in the east, and casting on the dark surface of the sea a line of light
which seemed to mimic that of the moon, long since gone down beyond the
opposite horizon. Laura rose at the earliest glimpse of dawn to watch
the approaches of the coming day. A hazy vapour had spread itself over
the water, and through its gauzy veil she first beheld the red rim of
the rising sun, seeming to emerge from its ocean bed. As the sun
ascended, the mist slowly rolled away, and "the light of morning smiled
upon the wave," and tinted the white sails of a little fleet of
outward-bound fishing-boats.
At the breakfast table the majority of the company consisted of ladies
only: most of the gentlemen (including Aubrey Maitland) having gone in
the early steamboat to attend to their business in the city. After
breakfast, Laura proposed a walk, and Augusta and Miss Frampton, not
knowing what else to do with themselves, consented to accompany her. A
certain Miss Blunsdon (who, being an heiress, and of a patrician family,
conceived herself privileged to do as she pleased, and therefore made it
her pleasure to be a hoyden and a slattern), volunteered to pioneer
them, boasting of her intimate knowledge of every nook and corner of the
neighbourhood. Our heroine, by particular desire of Augusta and Miss
Frampton, had arrayed herself that morning in her new French muslin,
with what they called its proper accompaniments.
Miss Blunsdon conducted the party to that singular cleft in the rocks,
known by the name of the Swallow's Cave, in consequence of its having
been formerly the resort of those birds, whose nests covered its walls.
Miss Frampton stopped as soon as they came in sight of it, declaring
that it was in bad taste for ladies to scramble about such rugged
places, and Augusta agreeing that a fancy for wet, slippery rocks was
certainly very peculiar. So the two friends sat down on the most level
spot they could find, while Miss Blunsdon insisted on Laura's following
her to the utmost extent of the cave, and our heroine's desire to
explore this wild and picturesque recess made her forgetful of the
probable consequences to her dress.
Miss Blunsdon and Laura descended into the cleft, which, as they
proceeded, became so narrow as almost to close above their heads; its
lofty and irregular walls seeming to lose themselves in the blue sky.
The passage at the bottom was in some places scarcely wide enough to
allow them to squeeze through it. The tide was low, yet still the
stepping-stones, loosely imbedded in the sand and sea-weed, were nearly
covered with water. But Laura followed her guide to the utmost extent of
the passage, till they looked out again upon the sea.
When they rejoined their companions--"Oh! look at your new French
muslin," exclaimed Augusta to Laura. "It is draggled half way up to your
knees, and the salt water has already taken the colour out of it--and
your pelerine is split down the back--and your shoes are half off your
feet, and your stockings are all over wet sand. How very peculiar you
look!"
Laura was now extremely sorry to find her dress so much injured, and
Miss Frampton comforted her by the assurance that it would never again
be fit to be seen. They returned to the hotel, where they found Mrs.
Maitland reading on one of the sofas in the upper hall. Laura was
hastily running up stairs, but Augusta called out--"Mrs. Maitland, do
look at Miss Lovel--did you ever see such a figure? She has demolished
her new dress, scrambling through the Swallow's Cave with Miss
Blunsdon." And she ran into the ladies' drawing-room to repeat the story
at full length, while Laura retired to her room to try some means of
remedying her disasters, and to regret that she had not been permitted
to bring with her to Nahant some of her gingham morning dresses. The
French muslin, however, was incurable; its blue, though very beautiful,
being of that peculiar cast which always fades into a dull white when
wet with water.
Miss Frampton remained a while in the hall: and taking her seat beside
Mrs. Maitland, said to her in a low confidential voice--"Have you not
observed, Mrs. Maitland, that when people, who are nobody, attempt
dress, they always overdo it. Only think of a country clergyman's
daughter coming to breakfast in so expensive a French muslin, and then
going out in it to clamber about the rocks, and paddle among the wet
sea-weed. Now you will see what a show she will make at dinner in a
dress, the cost of which would keep her whole family in comfortable
calico gowns for two years. I was with her when she did her shopping,
and though, as a friend, I could not forbear entreating her to get
things that were suitable to her circumstances and to her station in
life, she turned a deaf ear to everything I said (which was certainly in
very bad taste), and she would buy nothing but the most expensive and
useless frippery. I suppose she expects to catch the beaux by it. But
when they find out who she is, I rather think they will only nibble at
the bait--Heavens! what a wife she will make! And then such a want of
self-respect, and even of common integrity. Of course you will not
mention it--for I would on no consideration that it should go any
farther--but between ourselves. I was actually obliged to lend her money
to pay her bills."
Mrs. Maitland, thoroughly disgusted with her companion, and disbelieving
the whole of her gratuitous communication, rose from the sofa and
departed without vouchsafing a reply.
At dinner, Laura Lovel appeared in her new silk, and really looked
beautifully. Miss Frampton, observing that our heroine attracted the
attention of several gentlemen who had just arrived from the city, took
an opportunity, while she was receiving a plate of chowder from one of
the waiters, to spill part of it on Laura's dress.
"I beg your pardon, Miss Lovel," said she; "when I took the soup I did
not perceive that you and your new silk were beside me."
Laura began to wipe her dress with her pocket-handkerchief. "Now don't
look so disconcerted," pursued Miss Frampton, in a loud whisper. "It is
in very bad taste to appear annoyed when an accident happens to your
dress. People in society always pass off such things, as of no
consequence whatever. I have apologized for spilling the soup, and what
more can I do?"
Poor Laura was not in _society_, and she knew that to _her_ the accident
_was_ of consequence. However, she rallied, and tried to appear as if
she thought no more of the mischance that had spoiled the handsomest and
most expensive dress she had ever possessed. After dinner she tried to
remove the immense grease-spot by every application within her reach,
but had no success.
When she returned to the drawing-room, she was invited to join a party
that was going to visit the Spouting Horn, as it is generally
denominated. She had heard this remarkable place much talked of since
her arrival at Nahant, and she certainly felt a great desire to see it.
Mrs. Maitland had letters to write, and Mrs. Brantley and Miss Frampton
were engaged in their siesta; but Augusta was eager for the walk, as she
found that several gentlemen were going, among them Aubrey Maitland, who
had just arrived in the afternoon boat. His eyes sparkled at the sight
of our heroine, and offering her his arm, they proceeded with the rest
of the party to the Spouting Horn. This is a deep cavity at the bottom
of a steep ledge of rocks, and the waves, as they rush successively into
it with the tide, are immediately thrown out again by the action of a
current of air which comes through a small opening at the back of the
recess, the spray falling round like that of a cascade or fountain. The
tide and wind were both high, and Laura was told that the Spouting Horn
would be seen to great advantage.
Aubrey Maitland conducted her carefully down the least rugged declivity
of the rock, and gave her his hand to assist her in springing from point
to point. They at length descended to the bottom of the crag. Laura was
bending forward with eager curiosity, and looking steadfastly into the
wave-worn cavern, much interested in the explosions of foaming water,
which was sometimes greater and sometimes less. Suddenly a blast of wind
twisted her light dress-bonnet completely round, and broke the sewing of
one of the strings, and the bonnet was directly whirled before her into
the cavity of the rock, and the next moment thrown back again amidst a
shower of sea-froth. Laura cried out involuntarily, and Aubrey sprung
forward, and snatched it out of the water.
"I fear," said he, "Miss Level, your bonnet is irreparably injured." "It
is, indeed," replied Laura; and remembering Miss Frampton's lecture, she
tried to say that the destruction of her bonnet was of no consequence,
but unaccustomed to falsehood, the words died away on her lips.
The ladies now gathered round our heroine, who held in her hand the
dripping wreck of the once elegant bonnet; and they gave it as their
unanimous opinion, that nothing could possibly be done to restore it to
any form that would make it wearable. Laura then tied her scarf over her
head, and Aubrey Maitland thought she looked prettier than ever.
Late in the evening, Mr. Brantley arrived from town in his chaise,
bringing from the post-office a letter for Laura Lovel, from her little
sisters, or rather two letters written on the same sheet. They ran
thus:--
"ROSEBROOK, August 9th, 18--.
"DEAREST SISTER:--We hope you are having a great deal of pleasure
in Boston. How many novels you must be reading--I wish I was grown
up as you are--I am eight years old, and I have never yet read a
novel. We miss you all the time. There is still a chair placed for
you at table, and Rosa and I take turns in sitting next to it. But
we can no longer hear your pleasant talk with our dear father. You
know Rosa and I always listened so attentively that we frequently
forgot to eat our dinners. I see advertised a large new book of
Fairy Tales. How much you will have to tell us when you come home.
Since you were so kind as to promise to bring me a book, I think,
upon second thought, I would rather have the Tales of the Castle
than Miss Edgeworth's Moral Tales.
"Dear mother now has to make all the pies and puddings herself. We
miss you every way. The Children's Friend must be a charming
book--so must the Friend of Youth.
"Yesterday we had a pair of fowls killed for dinner. Of course they
were not Rosa's chickens, nor mine--they were only Billy and Bobby.
But still, Rosa and I cried very much, as they were fowls that we
were acquainted with. Dear father reasoned with us about it for a
long time; but still, though the fowls were made into a pie, we
could eat nothing but the crust. I think I should like very much to
read the Robins, and also Keeper's Travels in Search of his Master.
"I hope, dear Laura, you will be able to remember everything you
have seen and heard in Boston, that you may have the more to tell
us when you come home. I think, after all, there is no book I would
prefer to the Arabian Nights--no doubt the Tales of the Genii are
also excellent. Dear Laura, how I long to see you again. Paul and
Virginia must be very delightful.
"Yours affectionately,
"ELLA LOVEL."
* * * * *
"DEAR SISTER LAURA--I cried for a long time after you left us, but
at last I wiped my eyes, and played with Ponto, and was happy. I
have concluded not to want the canary-bird I asked you to get for
me, as I think it best to be satisfied by hearing the birds sing on
the trees, in the garden, and in the woods. Last night I heard a
screech-owl--I would rather have a young fig-tree in a tub--or
else, a great quantity of new flower-seeds. If you do not get
either the fig-tree or the flower-seeds, I should like a blue cat,
such as I have read of: you know those cats are not sky-blue, but
only a bluish gray. If a blue cat is not to be had, I should be
glad of a pair of white English rabbits; and yet, I think I would
quite as willingly have a pair of doves. I never saw a real dove;
but if doves are scarce, or cost too much, I shall be satisfied
with a pair of fan-tailed pigeons, if they are quite white, and
their tails fan very much. If you had a great deal of money to
spare, I should like a kid or a fawn, but I know that is
impossible; so I will not think of it. Perhaps, when I grow up, I
may be a president's wife; if so, I will buy an elephant.
"Your affectionate sister,
"ROSA LOVEL."
"I send kisses to all the people in Boston that love you."
How gladly would Laura, had it been in her power, have made every
purchase mentioned in the letters of the two innocent little girls! And
her heart swelled and her eyes overflowed, when she thought how happy
she might have made them at a small part of the expense she had been
persuaded to lavish on the finery that had given her so little pleasure,
and that was now nearly all spoiled.
Next day was Sunday; and they went to church and heard Mr. Taylor, the
celebrated mariner clergyman, with whose deep pathos and simple good
sense Laura was much interested, while she was at the same time amused
with his originality and quaintness.
On returning to the hotel, they found that the morning boat had arrived,
and on looking up at the veranda, the first object Laura saw there was
Pyam Dodge, standing stiffly with his hands on the railing.
"Miss Lovel," said Augusta, "there's your friend, the schoolmaster."
"Mercy upon us," screamed Miss Frampton, "has that horrid fellow come
after you? Really, Miss Lovel, it was in very bad taste to invite him to
Nahant."
"I did not invite him," replied Laura, colouring; "I know not how he
discovered that I was here."
"The only way, then," said Miss Frampton, "is to cut him dead, and then
perhaps he'll clear off."
"Pho," said Augusta, "do you suppose he can understand cutting? why he
won't know whether he's cut or not."
"May I ask who this person is?" said Aubrey Maitland, in a low voice, to
Laura. "Is there any stain or any suspicion attached to him?"
"Oh! no, indeed," replied Laura, earnestly. And, in a few words, as they
ascended the stairs, she gave him an outline of the schoolmaster and his
character.