those highly-gifted people who are fortunate enough to possess both
sorts of sense (common and uncommon), show, nevertheless, on some
occasions, a strange disinclination to be guided by the self-evident
truth, that in all cases where the evil preponderates over the good, it
is better to reject the whole than to endure a large portion of certain
evil for the sake of a little sprinkling of probable good. I can think
of nothing, just now, that will more aptly illustrate my position, than
the practice so prevalent in the summer-months of quitting a commodious
and comfortable home, in this most beautiful and convenient of cities,
for the purpose of what is called boarding out of town; and wilfully
encountering an assemblage of almost all "the ills that flesh is heir
to," in the vain hope of finding superior coolness in those
establishments that go under the denomination of country lodgings, and
are sometimes to be met with in insulated locations, but generally in
the unpaved and dusty streets of the villages and hamlets that are
scattered about the vicinity of Philadelphia.
These places are adopted as substitutes for the springs or the
sea-shore; and it is also not unusual for persons who have already
accomplished the fashionable tour, to think it expedient to board out of
town for the remainder of the summer, or till they are frightened home
by the autumnal epidemics.
I have more than once been prevailed on to try this experiment, in the
universal search after coolness which occupies so much of the attention
of my fellow-citizens from June to September, and the result has been
uniformly the same: a conviction that a mere residence beyond the
limits of the city is not an infallible remedy for all the _désagrémens_
of summer; that (to say nothing of other discomforts) it is possible to
feel the heat more in a small house out of the town than in a large one
in it.
The last time I was induced to make a trial of the delights of country
lodgings, I had been told of a very genteel lady (the widow of an
Englishman, said to have been highly connected in his own country), who
had taken a charming house at a short distance from the city, with the
intention of accommodating boarders for the summer; and I finally
allowed myself to be prevailed on to become an inmate of her
establishment, as I had just returned from the north, and found the
weather still very warm.
Two of my friends, a lady and gentleman, accompanied me when I went to
engage my apartment. The ride was a very short one, and we soon arrived
at a white frame house with green window-shutters, and also a green gate
which opened into a little front garden with one gravel walk, two grass
plats, and four Lombardy poplar trees, which, though excluded in the
city, still keep their ground in out-of-town places.
There was no knocker, but, after hammering and shaking the door for near
five minutes, it was at last opened by a barefooted bound-girl, who hid
herself behind it as if ashamed to be seen. She wore a ragged light
calico frock, through the slits of which appeared at intervals a black
stuff petticoat: the body was only kept together with pins, and partly
concealed by a dirty cape of coarse white muslin; one lock of her long
yellow hair was stuck up by the wreck of a horn comb, and the remaining
tresses hung about her shoulders. When we inquired if Mrs. Netherby was
at home, the girl scratched her head, and stared as if stupified by the
question, and on its being repeated, she replied that "she would go and
look," and then left us standing at the door. A coloured servant would
have opened the parlour, ushered us in, and with smiles and curtsies
requested us to be seated. However, we took the liberty of entering
without invitation: and the room being perfectly dark, we also used the
freedom of opening the shutters.
The floor was covered with a mat which fitted nowhere, and showed
evidence of long service. Whatever air might have been introduced
through the fire-place, was effectually excluded by a thick
chimney-board, covered with a square of wall-paper representing King
George IV. visiting his cameleopard. I afterwards found that Mrs.
Netherby was very proud of her husband's English origin. The
mantel-piece was higher than our heads, and therefore the mirror that
adorned it was too elevated to be of any use. This lofty shelf was also
decorated with two pasteboard baskets, edged with gilt paper, and
painted with bunches of calico-looking flowers, two fire-screens ditto,
and two card-racks in the shape of harps with loose and crooked strings
of gold thread. In the centre of the room stood an old-fashioned round
tea-table, the feet black with age, and the top covered with one of
those coarse unbleached cloths of figured linen that always look like
dirty white. The curiosities of the centre-table consisted of a tumbler
of marigolds: a dead souvenir which had been a living one in 1826: a
scrap work-box stuck all over with figures of men, women, and children,
which had been most wickedly cut out of engravings and deprived of their
backgrounds for this purpose: an album with wishy-washy drawings and
sickening verses: a china writing-apparatus, destitute alike of ink,
sand, and wafers: and a card of the British consul, which, I afterwards
learnt, had once been left by him for Mr. Netherby.
The walls were ornamented with enormous heads drawn in black crayon, and
hung up in narrow gilt frames with bows of faded gauze riband. One head
was inscribed Innocence, and had a crooked mouth; a second was
Beneficence, with a crooked nose; and a third was Contemplation, with a
prodigious swelling on one of her cheeks; and the fourth was Veneration,
turning up two eyes of unequal size. The flesh of one of these heads
looked like china, and another like satin; the third had the effect of
velvet, and the fourth resembled plush.
All these things savoured of much unfounded pretension; but we did not
then know that they were chiefly the work of Mrs. Netherby herself, who,
as we learned in the sequel, had been blest with a boarding-school
education, and was, according to her own opinion, a person of great
taste and high polish.
It was a long time before the lady made her appearance, as we had
arrived in the midst of the siesta in which it was the custom of every
member of the establishment (servants included) to indulge themselves
during the greatest part of the afternoon, with the exception of the
bound-girl, who was left up to "mind the house." Mrs. Netherby was a
tall, thin, sharp-faced woman, with an immense cap, that stood out all
round, and encircled her head like a halo, and was embellished with an
enormous quantity of yellowish gauze riband that seemed to incorporate
with her huge yellow curls: fair hair being much affected by ladies who
have survived all other fairness. She received us with abundance of
smiles, and a profusion of flat compliments, uttered in a voice of
affected softness; and on making known my business, I was conducted
up-stairs to see a room which she said would suit me exactly. Mrs.
Netherby was what is called "a sweet woman."
The room was small, but looked tolerably well, and though I was not much
prepossessed in favour of either the house or the lady, I was unwilling
that my friends should think me too fastidious, and it was soon arranged
that I should take possession the following day.
Next afternoon I arrived at my new quarters; and tea being ready soon
after, I was introduced to the other boarders, as they came down from
their respective apartments. The table was set in a place dignified with
the title of "the dining-room," but which was in reality a sort of
anti-kitchen, and located between the acknowledged kitchen and the
parlour. It still retained vestiges of a dresser, part of which was
entire, in the shape of the broad lower-shelf and the under-closets.
This was painted red, and Mrs. Netherby called it the side-board. The
room was narrow, the ceiling was low, the sunbeams had shone full upon
the windows the whole afternoon, and the heat was extreme. A mulatto man
waited on the tea-table, with his coat out at elbows, and a marvellous
dirty apron, not thinking it worth his while to wear good clothes in the
country. And while he was tolerably attentive to every one else, he made
a point of disregarding or disobeying every order given to him by Mrs.
Netherby: knowing that for so trifling a cause as disrespect to herself,
she would not dare to dismiss him at the risk of getting no one in his
place; it being always understood that servants confer a great favour on
their employers when they condescend to go with them into the country.
Behind Mrs. Netherby's chair stood the long-haired bound girl (called
Anna by her mistress, and Nance by Bingham the waiter), waving a green
poplar branch by way of fly-brush, and awkwardly flirting it in every
one's face.
The aspect of the tea-table was not inviting. Everything was in the
smallest possible quantity that decency would allow. There was a plate
of rye-bread, and a plate of wheat, and a basket of crackers: another
plate with half a dozen paltry cakes that looked as if they had been
bought under the old Court House: some morsels of dried beef on two
little tea-cup plates, and a small glass dish of that preparation of
curds, which in vulgar language is called smearcase, but whose _nom de
guerre_ is cottage-cheese, at least that was the appellation given it by
our hostess. The tea was so weak that it was difficult to discover
whether it was black or green; but, finding it undrinkable, I requested
a glass of milk: and when Bingham brought me one, Mrs. Netherby said
with a smile, "See what it is to live in the country!" Though, after
all, we were not out of sight of Christ Church steeple.
The company consisted of a lady with three very bad children; another
with a very insipid daughter, about eighteen or twenty, who, like her
mother, seemed utterly incapable of conversation; and a fat Mrs.
Pownsey, who talked an infinite deal of nothing, and soon took occasion
to let me know that she had a very handsome house in the city. The
gentlemen belonging to these ladies never came out till after tea, and
returned to town early in the morning.
Towards sunset, I proposed taking a walk with the young lady, but she
declined on account of the dew, and we returned to the parlour, where
there was no light during the whole evening, as Mrs. Netherby declared
that she thought nothing was more pleasant than to sit in a dark room in
the summer. And when we caught a momentary glimpse from the candles that
were carried past the door as the people went up and down stairs, we had
the pleasure of finding that innumerable cockroaches were running over
the floor and probably over our feet; these detestable insects having
also a fancy for darkness.
The youngest of the mothers went up stairs to assist her maid in the
arduous task of putting the children to bed, a business that occupied
the whole evening; though the eldest boy stoutly refused to go at all,
and stretching himself on the settee, he slept there till ten o'clock,
when his father carried him off kicking and screaming.
The gentlemen talked altogether of trade and bank business. Some
neighbours came in, and nearly fell over us in the dark. Finding the
parlour (which had but one door) most insupportably warm, I took my seat
in the entry, a narrow passage which Mrs. Netherby called the hall.
Thither I was followed by Mrs. Pownsey, a lady of the Malaprop school,
who had been talking to me all the evening of her daughters, Mary
Margaret and Sarah Susan, they being now on a visit to an aunt in
Connecticut. These young ladies had been educated, as their mother
informed me, entirely by herself, on a plan of her own: and, as she
assured me, with complete success; for Sarah Susan, the youngest, though
only ten years old, was already regarded as quite a phinnominy
(phenomenon), and as to Mary Margaret, she was an absolute prodigal.
"I teach them everything myself," said she, "except their French, and
music, and drawing, in all which they take lessons from the first
masters. And Mr. Bullhead, an English gentleman, comes twice a week to
attend to their reading and writing and arithmetic, and the grammar of
geography. They never have a moment to themselves, but are kept busy
from morning till night. You know that idleness is the root of all
evil."
"It is certainly the root of _much_ evil," I replied; "but you know the
old adage, which will apply equally to both sexes--'All work and no play
makes Jack a dull boy.'"
"Oh! they often play," resumed Mrs. Pownsey. "In the evening, after they
have learned their lessons, they have games of history, and botany, and
mathematics, and all such instructive diversions. I allow them no other
plays. Their minds certainly are well stored with all the arts and
science. At the same time, as I wish them to acquire a sufficient idea
of what is going on in the world, I permit them every day to read over
the Marianne List in our New York paper, the Chimerical Advertiser, that
they may have a proper knowledge of ships: and also Mr. Walsh's Experts
in his Gazette; though I believe he does not write these little moral
things himself, but hires Mr. Addison, and Mr. Bacon, and Mr. Locke, and
other such gentlemen for the purpose. The Daily Chronicle I never allow
them to touch, for there is almost always a story in every paper, and
none of these stories are warranted to be true, and reading falsehoods
will learn them to tell fibs."
I was much amused with this process of reasoning, though I had more than
once heard such logic on the subject of fictitious narratives.
"But, surely, Mrs. Pownsey," said I, "you do not interdict all works of
imagination? Do you never permit your daughters to read for amusement?"
"Never," replied this wisest of mothers; "amusement is the high-road to
vice. Indeed, with all their numerous studies, they have little or no
time for reading anything. And when they have, I watch well that they
shall read only books of instruction, such as Mr. Bullhead chooses for
them. They are now at Rowland's Ancient History (I am told he is not the
same Rowland that makes the Maccassar oil), and they have already got
through seven volumes. Their Aunt Watson (who, between ourselves, is
rather a weak-minded woman) is shocked at the children reading that
book, and says it is filled with crimes and horrors. But so is all the
Ancient History that ever I heard of, and of course it is proper that
little girls should know these things. They will get a great deal more
benefit from Rowland than from reading Miss Edgeworth's story-books,
that sister Watson is always recommending."
"Have they ever read the history of their own country?" said I.
"I suppose you mean the History of America," replied Mrs. Pownsey. "Oh!
that is of no consequence at all, and Mr. Bullhead says it is never read
in England. After they have got through Rowland, they are going to begin
Sully's Memoirs. I know Mr. Sully very well; and when they have read it,
I will make the girls tell me his whole history; he painted my portrait,
and a most delightful man he is, only rather obstinate; for with all I
could say, I could not prevail on him to rub out the white spots that he
foolishly put in the black part of my eyes. And he also persisted in
making one side of my nose darker than the other. It is strange that in
these things painters will always take their own course in spite of us,
as if we that pay for the pictures have not a right to direct them as we
please. But the artist people are all alike. My friend, Mrs. Oakface,
tells me she had just the same trouble with Mr. Neagle; in that respect
he's quite as bad as Mr. Sully."
She paused a moment to take breath, and then proceeded in continuation
of the subject. "Now we talk of pictures, you have no idea what
beautiful things my daughters can paint. The very first quarter they
each produced two pieces to frame. And Mary Margaret is such a capital
judge of these things, that whenever she is looking at a new souvenir,
her first thought is to see who did the pictures, that she may know
which to praise and which not. There are a great many artists now, but I
remember the time when almost all the pictures were done by Mr. Sculp
and Mr. Pinx. And then as to music! I wish you could hear my daughters.
Their execution is wonderful. They can play crotchets quite as well as
quivers; and they sing sollos, and dooets, and tryos, and quartetties
equal to the Musical Fund. I long for the time when they are old enough
to come out. I will go with them everywhere myself; I am determined to
be their perpetual shabberoon."
So much for the lady that educated her daughters herself.
And still, when the mother is capable and judicious, I know no system of
education that is likely to be attended with more complete success than
that which keeps the child under the immediate superintendence of those
who are naturally the most interested in her improvement and welfare;
and which removes her from the contagion of bad example, and the danger
of forming improper or unprofitable acquaintances. Some of the finest
female minds I have ever known received all their cultivation at home.
But much, indeed, are those children to be commiserated, whose education
has been undertaken by a vain and ignorant parent.
About nine o'clock, Mrs. Netherby had begun to talk of the lateness of
the hour, giving hints that it was time to think of retiring for the
night, and calling Bingham to shut up the house: which order he did not
see proper to obey till half-past ten. I then (after much delay and
difficulty in obtaining a bed-candle) adjourned to my own apartment, the
evening having appeared to me of almost interminable length, as is
generally the case with evenings that are passed without light.
The night was warm, and after removing the chimney-board, I left the
sash of my window open: though I had been cautioned not to do so, and
told that in the country the night air was always unwholesome. But I
remembered Dr. Franklin's essay on the art of sleeping well. It was long
before I closed my eyes, as the heat was intense, and my bed very
uncomfortable. The bolster and pillow were nearly flat for want of
sufficient feathers, and the sheets of thick muslin were neither long
enough nor wide enough. At "the witching time of night," I was suddenly
awakened by a most terrible shrieking and bouncing in my room, and
evidently close upon me. I started up in a fright, and soon ascertained
the presence of two huge cats, who, having commenced a duel on the
trellis of an old blighted grape-vine that unfortunately ran under the
back windows, had sprung in at the open sash, and were finishing the
fight on my bed, biting and scratching each other in a style that an old
backwoodsman would have recognised as the true rough and tumble.
With great difficulty I succeeded in expelling my fiendish visiters,
and to prevent their return, there was nothing to be done but to close
the sash. There were no shutters, and the only screen was a scanty
muslin curtain, divided down the middle with so wide a gap that it was
impossible to close it effectually. The air being now excluded, the heat
was so intolerable as to prevent me from sleeping, and the cats remained
on the trellis, looking in at the window with their glaring eyes,
yelling and scratching at the glass, and trying to get in after some
mice that were beginning to course about the floor.
The heat, the cats and the mice, kept me awake till near morning; and I
fell asleep about daylight, when I dreamed that a large cat stood at my
bed-side, and slowly and gradually swelling to the size of a tiger,
darted its long claws into my throat. Of course, I again woke in a
fright, and regretted my own large room in the city, where there was no
trellis under my windows, and where the sashes were made to slide down
at the top.
I rose early with the intention of taking a walk, as was my custom when
in town, but the grass was covered with dew, and the road was ankle-deep
in dust. So I contented myself with making a few circuits round the
garden, where I saw four altheas, one rose-tree, and two currant-bushes,
with a few common flowers on each side of a grass-grown gravel walk;
neither the landlord nor the tenant being willing to incur any further
expense by improving the domain. The grape-vine and trellis had been
erected by a former occupant, a Frenchman, who had golden visions of
wine-making.
At breakfast, we were regaled with muddy water, miscalled coffee; a
small dish of doubtful eggs; and another of sliced cucumbers, very
yellow and swimming in sweetish vinegar; also two plates containing
round white lumps of heavy half-baked dough, dignified by the title of
Maryland biscuit; and one of dry toast, the crumb left nearly white, and
the crust burnt to a coal.
After breakfast, there came walking into the room a tame white pigeon,
which Mrs. Netherby told us was a turtle-dove. "Dear sweet Phebe," she
exclaimed, taking up the bird and fondling it, "has it come for its
breakfast; well, then, kiss its own mistress, and it shall have some
nice soft bread."
The pigeon was then handed round to be admired (it was really a pretty
one), and Mrs. Netherby told us a long story of its coming to the house
in the early part of the summer with its mate, who was soon after
killed by lightning in consequence of sitting on the roof close by the
conductor during a thunderstorm, and she was very eloquent and
sentimental in describing the manner in which Phebe had mourned for her
deceased companion, declaring that the widowed _dove_ often reminded her
of herself after she had lost poor dear Mr. Netherby.
Our hostess then crumbled some bread on the floor, and placed near it a
saucer of water, and she rose greatly in my estimation when I observed
the fixed look of delight with which she gazed on the pet-bird, and her
evident fondness as she caressed it, and carried it out of the room,
after it had finished its repast. "Notwithstanding her parsimony and her
pretension," thought I, "Mrs. Netherby has certainly a good heart."
I went to my own room, and could easily have beguiled the morning with
my usual occupations, but that I was much incommoded by the intense heat
of my little apartment, whose thin walls were completely penetrated by
the sun. Also, I was greatly annoyed by the noise of the children in the
next room and on the staircase. It was not the joyous exhilaration of
play, or the shouts and laughter of good-humoured romping (all that I
could easily have borne); but I heard only an incessant quarrelling,
fighting, and screaming, which was generally made worse by the
interference of the mother whenever she attempted to silence it.
Shortly before dinner, the bound-girl came up and went the rounds of all
the chambers to collect the tumblers from the washing-stands, which
tumblers were made to perform double duty by figuring also on the
dining-table. This would have been no great inconvenience, only that no
one remembered to bring them back again, and the glasses were not
restored to our rooms till after repeated applications.
The dinner consisted of very salt fried ham; and a pair of skeleton
chickens, with a small black-looking leg of mutton; and a few
half-drained vegetables, set about on little plates with a puddle of
greasy water in the bottom of each. However, as we were in the country,
there was a pitcher of milk for those that chose to drink milk at
dinner. For the dessert we had half a dozen tasteless custards, the tops
burnt, and the cups half-full of whey, a plate of hard green pears,
another of hard green apples, and a small whitish watermelon.
"What a fine thing it is to be in the country," said Mrs. Netherby,
"and have such abundance of delicious fruit! I can purchase every
variety from my next neighbour."
The truth is, that even where there is really an inclination to furnish
a good table, there is generally much difficulty and inconvenience in
procuring the requisite articles at any country place that is not
absolutely a farm, and where the arrangements are not on an extensive
scale. Mrs. Netherby, however, made no apology for any deficiency, but
always went on with smiling composure, praising everything on the table,
and wondering how people could think of remaining in the city when they
might pass the summer in the country. As the gentlemen ate their meals
in town (a proof of their wisdom), ours were very irregular as to time;
Mrs. Netherby supposing that it could make no difference to ladies, or
to any persons who had not business that required punctual attention.