Ver.04.29.93*END*
{This e-text was prepared from the first edition of Susan
Fenimore Cooper's "Elinor Wyllys: or, The Young Folk of
Longbridge" (Philadelphia: Carey and Hart, 1846). "Elinor Wyllys"
was also published in England (London: Richard Bentley, 1845),
but has otherwise not been reprinted.
{Text and note are by Hugh C. MacDougall (jfcooper@wpe.com).
Notes are enclosed in curly brackets { }; these include
identification of epigraphs and other quotations and allusions,
explanations of obsolete word usage, and translations of foreign
words and expressions. Quotations from Shakespeare are cited to
the Riverside Edition (adopted as standard for the MLA-approved
Cooper Edition of the works of James Fenimore Cooper). Spelling
and punctuation, including the author's idiosyncratic use of
colons and semi-colons, inconsistent use of single quotation
marks for "thoughts," and combinations of dashes with other
punctuation, have not been changed (except for occasional silent
insertion of missing quotation marks). First instances of some
unusual spellings (whether or not in accordance with the author's
usual practise), and obvious typographical errors, are followed
by {sic} to indicate that there has not been a mistake in
transcription. Because of the limitations of the .TXT format,
italicized foreign words (mostly French) are transcribed in
ordinary type, and accents are omitted; words italicized for
emphasis, or to emulate dialect or incorrect pronunciation, are
transcribed as capitals.}
ELINOR WYLLYS: OR, THE YOUNG FOLK OF LONGBRIDGE. A TALE.
BY AMABEL PENFEATHER.
{Pseudonym of Susan Fenimore Cooper (1813-1894),
daughter of James Fenimore Cooper (1789-1851)}
ELINOR WYLLYS;
OR,
THE YOUNG FOLK OF LONGBRIDGE.
A TALE.
BY
AMABEL PENFEATHER.
"Familiar matter of to-day;
Some natural sorrow, loss or pain,
That has been, and may be again."
WORDSWORTH
{William Wordsworth, English poet (1770-1850), "The Solitary
Reaper" lines 22-24}
IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. II.
EDITED BY J. FENIMORE COOPER.
CHAPTER I {would be CHAPTER XXIV, if numbered from beginning of
Vol. I}
"But there is matter for another rhyme;
And I to this would add another tale."
WORDSWORTH.
"And how do Miss and Madam do;
The little boy, and all?
All tight and well? and how do you,
Good Mr. What-do-you-call?"
COWPER.
{William Wordsworth (English poet, 1770-1850), "Poems of the
Imagination: Hart-Leap Well" lines 95-96. William Cowper (English
poet, 1731-1800), "The Yearly Distress, or, Tithing Time at Stock
in Essex" lines 33-36}
It is to be feared the reader will find fault with this chapter.
But there is no remedy; he must submit quietly to a break of
three years in the narrative: having to choose between the
unities and the probabilities, we greatly preferred holding to
the last. The fault, indeed, of this hiatus, rests entirely with
the young folk of Longbridge, whose fortunes we have undertaken
to follow; had they remained together, we should, of course, have
been faithful to our duty as a chronicler; but our task was not
so easy. In the present state of the world, people will move
about--especially American people; and making no claim to
ubiquity, we were obliged to wait patiently until time brought
the wanderers back again, to the neighbourhood where we first
made their acquaintance. Shortly after Jane's marriage, the whole
party broke up; Jane and her husband went to New-Orleans, where
Tallman Taylor was established as partner in a commercial house
connected with his father. Hazlehurst passed several years in
Mexico and South-America: an old friend of his father's, a
distinguished political man, received the appointment of Envoy to
Mexico, and offered Harry the post of Secretary of Legation.
Hazlehurst had long felt a strong desire to see the southern
countries of the continent, and was very glad of so pleasant an
arrangement; he left his friend Ellsworth to practise law alone,
and accompanied Mr. Henley, the Minister, to Mexico; and from
thence removed, after a time, to Brazil. Charlie had been
studying his profession in France and Italy, during the same
period. Even Elinor was absent from home much more than usual;
Miss Wyllys had been out of health for the last year or two; and,
on her account, they passed their summers in travelling, and a
winter in the West-Indies. At length, however, the party met
again on the old ground; and we shall take up the thread of our
narrative, during the summer in which the circle was re-united.
It is to be hoped that this break in the movement of our tale
will be forgiven, when we declare, that the plot is about to
thicken; perplexities, troubles, and misfortunes are gathering
about our Longbridge friends; a piece of intelligence which will
probably cheer the reader's spirits. We have it on the authority
of a philosopher, that there is something gratifying to human
nature in the calamities of our friends; an axiom which seems
true, at least, of all acquaintances made on paper.
"{Minister" = a diplomatic rank below that of Ambassador--a
Minister heads a Legation, an Ambassador an Embassy; prior to the
Civil War, the United States was not considered an important
enough country to send or receive Ambassadors. "Secretary of
Legation" = a diplomat serving under a Minister. "A philosopher"
= Francois, Duc de la Rochefoucauld (1618-1680), French author
famous for his maxims or epigraphs: "Dans l'adversite de nos
meilleurs amis, nous trouvons quelque chose qui ne nous deplait
pas" = In the misfortune of our best friends, we find something
which is not displeasing to us. Maxim No. 99, later suppressed.
By the 1840s, a well known expression}
We hear daily that life is short; and, surely, Time flies with
fearful rapidity if we measure his course by years:
three-score-and-ten, the allotted span of man, are soon numbered.
But events, thoughts, feelings, hopes, cares, are better marks
for the dial of life, than hours and minutes. In this view, the
path of life is a long road, full of meaning and of movement at
every step; and in this sense only is time justly appreciated;
each day loses its insignificance, and every yearly revolution of
the earth becomes a point in eternity.
The occurrences of the three years during which we have lost
sight of the Longbridge circle will speak for themselves, as our
tale is gradually unfolded. It is evident, however, at the first
glance, on returning to the old ground, that the village itself
has undergone some alterations. Though belonging to a part of the
country occasionally accused of being "unenterprising," it had
not proved insensible to the general movement felt throughout the
republic, in those halcyon days of brilliant speculation, which
commenced with the promise of good fortune to all, and ended by
bringing poverty to many, and disgrace to others. A rail-road now
runs through the principal street, and the new depot, a large,
uncouth building, stands conspicuous at its termination, looking
commercial prosperity, and internal improvement. Several new
stores have been opened, half-a-dozen "tasty mansions"--chiefly
imitations of Mr. Hubbard's--have been built, another large
tavern has been commenced, and two additional steamboats may be
seen lying at the wharf. The value of property in the village
itself, is said to have doubled, at least; new streets are laid
out, and branch rail-roads are talked of; and many people flatter
themselves that Longbridge will figure in the next census as a
flourishing city, with the full honours of a Corporation, Mayor,
and Aldermen. In the population, corresponding changes are also
perceptible; many new faces are seen in the streets, new names
are observed on the signs; others again are missed from their old
haunts, for there is scarcely a family in the place, which has
not sent its representation westward.
{"those halcyon days" = i.e., before the economic Panic of 1837,
and the seven-year depression that followed}
Most of our old acquaintances, however, still remain on the spot,
this pleasant afternoon in June, 183-. There stands Mr. Joseph
Hubbard, talking to Judge Bernard. That is Dr. Van Horne, driving
off in his professional sulkey. There are Mrs. Tibbs and Mrs.
Bibbs, side-by-side, as of old. Mrs. George Wyllys has moved, it
seems; her children are evidently at home in a door-yard on the
opposite side of the street, adjoining the Hubbard "Park." On the
door of that bright-coloured, spruce-looking brick house, you
will see the name of W. C. Clapp; and there are a pair of boots
resting on the window-sill of an adjoining office, which probably
belong to the person of the lawyer, himself. Now, we may observe
Mrs. Hilson and Miss Emmeline Hubbard flitting across the street,
"fascinating and aristocratic" as ever.
{"sulkey" = light two-wheeled carriage, seated for one person;
usually spelled "sulky"}
Let us leave the village, however, for the more immediate
neighbourhood of Wyllys-Roof; in which, it is hoped, the reader
will feel more particularly interested. There stands the little
cottage of the Hubbards, looking just as it did three years
since; it is possible that one or two of the bull's-eye panes of
glass may have been broken, and changed, and the grey shingles
are a little more moss-grown; but its general aspect is precisely
what it was when we were last there. The snow-ball and the
sweet-briar are in their old places, each side of the humble
porch; the white blossoms have fallen from the scraggy branches
of the snow-ball, this first week in June; the fresh pink buds
are opening on the fragrant young shoots of the sweet-briar.
There is our friend, Miss Patsey, wearing a sun-bonnet, at work
in the garden; and if you look through the open door of the
house, you will see beyond the passage into the neat little
kitchen, where we catch a glimpse of Mrs. Hubbard's white cap
over the back of her rocking-chair. It is possible that you may
also see the merry, shining, black face of a little handmaiden,
whom Miss Patsey has lately taken into the family; and, as the
tea-kettle is boiling, and the day's work chiefly over, the
little thing is often seen at this hour, playing about the
corners of the house, with the old cat. Ah, there is the little
minx!--her sharp ears have heard the sound of wheels, and she is
already at the open gate, to see what passes. A wagon stops; whom
have we here? Little Judy is frightened half out of her wits: a
young man she does not know, with his face covered with beard,
after a fashion she had never yet seen, springs from the wagon.
Miss Patsey turns to look.
"Charlie!"--she exclaims; and in another moment the youth has
received the joyful, tearful, agitated embrace of his mother and
sister. The darling of their hearts is at home again; three years
since, he left them, a boy, to meet dangers exaggerated tenfold
by their anxious hearts; he returns, a man, who has faced
temptations undreamed of by their simple minds. The wanderer is
once more beneath their humble roof; their partial eyes rest
again on that young face, changed, yet still the same.
Charlie finds the three last years have passed lightly over his
mother and his sister; theirs are the same kindly faces, the same
well-known voices, the best loved, the most trusted from
childhood. After the first eager moments of greeting are over,
and the first hurried questions have been answered, he looks
about him. Has not the dear old cottage shrunk to a very
nut-shell? He opens the door of the school-room; there are its
two benches, and its humble official desk, as of old; he looks
into the little parlour, and smiles to think of the respect he
felt in his childish days for Miss Patsey's drawing-room: many a
gilded gallery, many a brilliant saloon has he since entered as a
sight-seer, with a more careless step. He goes out on the porch;
is it possible that is the garden?--why it is no larger than a
table-cloth!--he should have thought the beds he had so often
weeded could not be so small: and the door-yard, one can shake
hands across it! And there is Wyllys-Roof, half hid by trees--he
used to admire it as a most venerable pile; in reality it is only
a plain, respectable country-house: as the home of the Wyllyses,
however, it must always be an honoured spot to him. Colonnade
Manor too--he laughs! There are some buildings that seem, at
first sight, to excite to irresistible merriment; they belong to
what may he called the "ridiculous order" of architecture, and
consist generally of caricatures on noble Greek models; Mr.
Taylor's elegant mansion had, undeniably, a claim to a
conspicuous place among the number. Charlie looks with a
painter's eye at the country; the scenery is of the simplest
kind, yet beautiful, as inanimate nature, sinless nature, must
ever be under all her varieties: he casts a glance upward at the
sky, bright and blue as that of Italy; how often has he studied
the heavens from that very spot! The trees are rich in their
summer verdure, the meadows are fragrant with clover, and through
Mr. Wyllys's woods there is a glimpse of the broad river, gilded
by the evening sun. It is a pleasing scene, a happy moment; it is
the first landscape he ever painted, and it is home.
Then Charlie returns to his mother; he sits by her side, she
takes his hand in her withered fingers, she rests her feeble
sight on his bright face; while Miss Patsey is preparing all the
dainties in the house for supper.
"Well, little one, what is your name?" said Charlie, as the black
child passed him with a load of good things.
"Judy, sir," said the little girl, with a curtsey, and a
half-frightened look at Charlie's face, for the young artist had
chosen to return with moustaches; whether he thought it
professional or becoming, we cannot say.
"We shall be good friends I hope, Judy; if you mind my sister
better than you ever did anybody else in your life, perhaps I
shall find some sugar-plums for you," said Charlie, pleased to
see a black face again.
Mrs. Hubbard remarked that, upon the whole, Judy was a pretty
good girl; and the child grinned, until two deep dimples were to
be seen in her shining dark cheeks, and the dozen little
non-descript braids which projected from her head in different
directions, seemed to stand on end with delight.
"And so Mr. Wyllys and the ladies are not at home. I wish I had
known of their being in New-York; I might at least have seen them
for a moment, yesterday."
"I wonder Mrs. Hilson did not mention their being in town."
"Julianna never knows what she is talking about. But I am glad to
hear good accounts of them all."
"Yes; Miss Wyllys has come home from the West-Indies, much
better."
"Is it really true that Miss Elinor is going to be married
shortly?"
"Well, I can't say whether the story is true or not. She seems to
have many admirers now she has become an heiress."
"But I don't understand how she comes to be such a fortune."
{"a fortune" = short for a woman of fortune, an heiress}
"I don't understand it myself; Mr. Clapp can tell you all about
it. You know most people are a great deal richer now than they
were a few years ago. I heard some one say the other day, that my
old pupil's property in Longbridge, is worth three times as much
now, as it was a short time since."
"Is it possible Longbridge has improved so much?"
"And then your old play-fellow has had two legacies from
relations of her mother's; everybody in the neighbourhood is
talking of her good-luck, and saying what a fortune she will turn
out. I only hope she will be happy, and not be thrown away upon
some one unworthy of her, like her poor cousin; for it seems
young Mr. Taylor is very dissipated."
Charlie probably sympathized with this remark, though he made no
reply.
"Mr. and Mrs. Tallman Taylor are in New-York now, I hear, just
come from New-Orleans. The family from Wyllys-Roof have gone over
to see them," added Miss Patsey.
"Yes, so I understand. They will be here before long, I suppose."
"Not immediately; for they are all going to Saratoga together.
Dr. Van Horne thought Miss Wyllys had better pass two or three
weeks at the Springs."
"That is fortunate for me--I shall see them the sooner; for I
must be at Lake George before the first of July. I have an order
for three views of the Lake, which I have promised to send to
England early in the fall."
Here Charlie entered into some details of his affairs, very
interesting to his mother and sister; and they seemed to be in a
very satisfactory condition, according to his own modest views.
After a while the conversation again returned to their Longbridge
friends.
"Did you know that Mr. Hazlehurst is coming home too, this
summer?" asked Miss Patsey.
"Yes; he wrote me word he hoped we should meet before long. How
did that affair with Mrs. Creighton turn out?"
"We did bear they were engaged; but it could not have been true,
for the lady has been in Philadelphia, and he in Brazil, for some
time, you know. I used to ask about such matters once in a while,
on purpose to write you word. But I had no great opportunity of
hearing much about Mr. Hazlehurst; for after that unhappy
business at Wyllys-Roof, there was, of course, a great coolness;
for some time I never heard his name mentioned there, and Mr.
Wyllys seldom speaks of him now."
"Are they not reconciled, then?"
"Not entirely, I am afraid; but you know they have not met for
three years."
"I shall hardly know myself at Wyllys-Roof, without seeing Mr.
Hazlehurst and Miss Graham there."
"You will find a great change in that respect. Mrs. Taylor has
not been here since her marriage; Miss Van Alstyne seems to have
taken her place; she is a very pleasant young lady. When the
family is at home now, there seems often to be some strange
gentleman with them."
"Fortune-hunters, I suppose," said Charlie, with some
indignation. "Well, the course of true love never has, and never
will run quite as it ought, I suppose. And how do all the
Longbridge people come on?--How is Uncle Josie?"
"Very well, indeed; just as good as ever to us. You must go to
see him to-morrow."
"Certainly;--and what is Uncle Dozie about?"
"At work in the vegetable-garden, as usual. He sent me a fine
basket of salad, and radishes, and onions, this morning."
"Clapp has got into a new house I see."
"Yes; he is in very good business, I believe; you saw Catherine,
you say?"
"Yes, for a minute only. I ran in to kiss Kate and the children,
while they were harnessing a horse for me at the tavern. Kate
looks very well herself. The children didn't remember much of
Uncle Charlie; but they are pretty, healthy little things,
nevertheless."
The grandmother assented to the commendation of her daughter's
family; she thought them remarkably fine children. "Catherine was
a very fortunate woman," she said; "Mr. Clapp was a very superior
man, so very clever that he must do well; and the children were
all healthy--they had gone through the measles wonderfully, that
spring."
Charlie had not quite as elevated an opinion of his
brother-in-law as the females of the family; he allowed his
mother's remark to pass unnoticed, however.
"And so Mr. Taylor has given up Colonnade Manor," he continued.
"Yes; he has just sold it to Mr. de Vaux, a friend of Mr.
Wyllys," replied Miss Patsey.
"Why did he sell it, pray?"
"Well, the young ladies liked better to live about at hotels and
boarding-houses in the summer, I believe; they thought it was too
dull at Longbridge. Mr. Taylor didn't care much for the place:
you know there are some people, who, as soon as they have built a
house, and got everything in nice order, want to sell; it seems
as if they did not care to be comfortable; but I suppose it is
only because they are so fond of change."
We may as well observe, by way of parenthesis, that this fancy of
getting rid of a place as soon as it is in fine order, would
probably never occur to any man but an American, and an American
of the particular variety to which Mr. Taylor belonged.
"I don't wonder at his wanting to get rid of the house; but the
situation and the neighbourhood might have satisfied him, I
think," said Charlie, as he accepted Miss Patsey's invitation to
eat the nice supper she had prepared for him.
As he took his seat at the table, Mrs. Hubbard observed, that he
probably had not seen such short-cake as Patsey made, in Rome--to
which Charlie assented warmly. He had wished one evening, in
Florence, he said, for some of his sister's short-cake, and a
good cup of tea of her making; and the same night he dreamed that
the Venus de Medicis had made him some. He was ashamed of himself
for having had such a dream; but it could not be helped, such was
the fact.
{"Venus de Medicis" = Famous nude statue of the Goddess Venus--a
1st Century BC copy of a lost Greek statue by Cleomenes of
Athens--in the Uffizi Gallery in Florence}
Mrs. Hubbard thought no woman, Venus or not, ought to be ashamed
of making good short-cake; if they were bad, that would be a
different matter.
"Well, Charlie, now you have seen all those paintings and figures
you used to talk so much about, what do you think of them?--are
they really so handsome as you expected?" asked his sister.
"They are wonderful!" exclaimed Charlie, with animation; putting
down a short-cake he had just buttered. "Wonderful!--There is no
other word to describe them."
Mrs. Hubbard observed, that she had some notion of a painting,
from the minister's portrait in the parlour--Charlie took up his
short cake--she thought a person might have satisfaction in a
painting; such a picture as that portrait; but as for those stone
figures he used to wish to see, she could not understand what was
the beauty of such idol-like things.
"They are not at all like idols, mother; they are the most noble
conceptions of the human form."
How could they look human? He himself had told her they were made
out of marble; just such marble, she supposed, as was used for
tomb-stones.
"I only wish you could see some of the statues in Italy; the
Laocoon, Niobe, and others I have seen. I think you would feel
then what I felt--what I never can describe in words."
{"Laocoon" = A famous Greek statue, in the Vatican at Rome, of a
Trojan priest and his two sons being crushed by serpents. "Niobe"
= a famous statue, in the Uffizi Gallery in Florence (a Roman
copy of a lost Greek original attributed to Scopas), of Niobe --
in Greek mythology the daughter of Tantalus whose children were
slaughtered by Zeus and who was transformed into a weeping image
of stone}
Mrs. Hubbard said the names sounded very heathen-like to her
ears; she had never seen a statue, of any description whatever;
she didn't think she could have any satisfaction in looking at
one. If they had any colour to them, and were dressed up in
uniforms, and handsome clothes, like the wax-figures of General
Washington, Napoleon Bonaparte, and Lord Nelson, she had once
seen, they would be worth looking at, perhaps.
Miss Patsey wished to know, if among the statues he had seen,
there were any supposed to be likenesses of the great men that we
read about in history?
"There are many statues and busts in Italy, that are undeniably
portraits of some of the greatest men of antiquity," he replied.
"Do you suppose they are really like those old Romans? I don't
mean such likenesses as the portrait of our dear father; but
still pretty good for those old times?"
"Far better than anything of the kind you ever saw," replied
Charlie, drinking off a cup of tea.
Miss Patsey thought those might be worth seeing. A conversation
followed upon the delight Charlie had felt in beholding
celebrated places, the scenes of great events in past ages; a
delight that an American can never know in his own country, and
which, on that very account, he enjoys with a far keener zest
than a European. Miss Patsey seemed to enter a little into this
pleasure; but, upon the whole, it was quite evident that all the
imagination of the family had fallen to Charlie's share. The
young man thought little of this, however: when Judy had carried
away the remains of the supper, he returned to his mother's side,
and the evening passed away in that pleasant family chat, so
interesting to those who feel alike. Sympathy of the heart is a
tie ten-fold stronger than sympathy of the head; people may think
alike, and hate each other; while those who feel together, are
often led to adopt the same opinions.
When Charlie had read the usual evening chapter in the Bible, and
had received his mother's kiss and blessing, he laid himself down
with a thankful heart, in the little garret-room, as in his
childish years. The young artist's dreams that night, were a
mingled crowd of fancies; the memories of his boyhood reviving in
their old haunts, accompanied by more recent images brought from
beyond the Ocean, and linked with half-formed plans and ideas for
the future. Among these visions of the night, were two more
distinct than the rest; one was a determination to commence, the
very next morning, a copy of his honoured father's portrait, in
which the artist's object was unusual; for it was his chief aim
to make it as little like the original before him, as possible.
Shall we reveal the fact that another image, wearing a gentler
aspect than the stern, rigid features of the minister's portrait,
seemed to flit before the young painter's fancy, coming unbidden,
and mingling more especially with recollections of the past? As a
ray of moonlight stole into the low dormer-window, the young man
turned on his humble bed, a sigh burst from his lips, followed by
the words, "No, no!"
We shall keep the secret.
CHAPTER II {XXV}
"Yonder, sure, they are coming."
As You Like It.
{William Shakespeare, "As You Like It", I.ii.147}
THE weather had been more than usually warm for several weeks,
and the morning after Charlie's return to Longbridge, when the
steamboat North America left the wharf at New-York, her decks and
cabins were filled by some five or six hundred passengers. There
were men, women, and children, of various characters, colours and
conditions. The scene on deck was pleasing and cheerful; the day
was lovely, the steamer looked neat and bright, and the great
majority of the females were gaily dressed in their summer
attire; most of the faces looked good-humoured, as if pleased to
escape from the heat and confinement of the town, to cooler air,
and a sight of the water and green woods. One might have supposed
it a party of pleasure on a large scale; in fact, Americans seem
always good-natured, and in a pleasant mood when in motion; such
is their peculiar temperament. The passengers on board the North
America soon began to collect in knots, family-groups, or parties
of acquaintance; some chatting, some reading, some meditating.
There was one difficulty, however, want of space to move about
in, or want of seats for some of those who were stationary.
After the boat had fairly begun her trip, and people had settled
themselves as well as they could, according to their different
fancies, a pretty little woman appeared at the door of the
ladies' cabin. In her light hair, and somewhat insipid face,
encased in an extremely fashionable hat, we recognise Mrs.
Hilson. Turning towards a gentleman who seemed waiting near the
door for her, she addressed him.
"Now, Monsieur Bonnet, do exert your gallantry, and find me a
seat on deck. The cabin is intolerably warm, I cannot stay
here;--where are Emmeline and the Baron?"
"You see, Madame," he said, pointing towards the couple,
"Montbrun take a tabouret at once, when we come on board, and
Mademoiselle Emmeline now has it. It was very maladroit in me not
to keep one for you; I beg a t'ousand pardons."
{"tabouret" = a stool; "maladroit" = careless (French)}
"Haven't you got a seat; that is a pity. But I dare say you can
easily find one."
"Vraiment, ma chere Madame EEL-sun, there is no sacrifice I would
not make to procure you one. I am desole it should be impossible.
I have been looking; but all the tabourets and chair are taken by
ladies and gentlemans. You have a drole de maniere of travel in
this countree; so many people together, the ladies must be
victimes sometime."
{"Vraiment, ma chere..." = truly, my dear...; "drole de maniere"
= funny way (French)}
"Oh, no; you don't know how to manage, that is all. Has not the
Baron a chair?"
"Non, Madame; you see he is debout."
{"debout" = standing (French)}
"Well, there are some gentlemen seated; I see three or four--one
quite near you. Ask him for his chair."
The Frenchman shrugged his shoulders, and looked bewildered.
"Pray, ask that gentleman for his chair," repeated the lady,
pointing with her parasol to a person sitting at no great
distance.
"But, Madame, the gentleman will not know what a charming lady
wish for the chair--he will not give it."
"Oh, no danger; if you tell him it is for a lady, of course he
will let you have it. Why, how slow you are about it; you are
almost as bad as Captain Kockney, who never did anything when he
was asked."
"Ah, Madame, de graces do not say that!--I go."
{"de graces" = please (French)}
And Monsieur Bonnet, edging his way here and there behind the
ladies, and begging ten thousand pardons, at length reached the
person Mrs. Hilson had pointed out to him.
"What did you say?" exclaimed this individual, looking up rather
gruffly, at being addressed by an utter stranger.
"Mille pardons, Monsieur," continued Monsieur Bonnet; "a lady is
very much oppressed with fatigue, and send me to beg you will be
aimable to give her your chair."
{"mille pardons" = excuse me; "aimable" = obliging enough
(French)}
"What is it?" repeated the man, who looked like an Englishman; "I
don't understand you."
Monsieur Bonnet again urged his request, in terms still more
civil. It would be rendering a very great service to the lady, he
said.
"I am not acquainted with the lady; I advise you to look for an
empty chair," replied the other, resolutely turning his face in
an opposite direction.
Monsieur Bonnet shrugged his shoulders, and was moving towards
Mrs. Hilson au desespoir, when a gentlemanly-looking man, who was
seated, reading, not far from the Englishman, rose and quietly
offered his bench for the use of the lady. Monsieur Bonnet was,
of course, all gratitude, and returned enchante to Mrs. Hilson,
who took the matter very quietly; while M. Bonnet seemed
surprised at his own success.
{"au desespoir" = in despair; "enchante" = delighted (French)}
The gentleman who had given up his seat, was obliged to continue
standing; shutting up his book, he began to look about him, among
the crowd, for acquaintances. There was a very gay, noisy party,
at no great distance, which first attracted his attention; it
consisted of two pretty young women in the centre of a group of
men. The shrill voice and rattling laugh of one lady, might be
very distinctly heard across the deck; the other was leaning back
listlessly in her chair: one of the young men was reading a paper
with a sort of family expression, as if the ladies were his near
connexions; and, on a chair, at the side of the silent lady, sat
an old gentleman, with a very rusty coat, snuffy nose, and a red
handkerchief spread on one knee, while on the other he held a
pretty little boy, about two years old.
"I tell you I know she was dead in love with him!" cried the
rattling young lady, at the top of her voice. Then, observing the
gentleman, who was looking in that direction, she bowed with a
coquettish graciousness. The bow was returned, but the gentleman
did not seem very anxious to approach the party; when the young
lady, beckoning with her finger, obliged him to draw near.
"Now, Mr. Ellsworth, you are just the man I wanted. Three of
these gentlemen are against me; I have only one on my side, and I
want you to help me to fight the battle."
"Must I enlist, Miss Taylor, before I know whether the cause is
good or bad?"
"Oh, certainly, or else you are not worth a cent. But I'll tell
you how the matter stands: you know Helen de Vaux and you were at
the Springs, last summer, when she and Mr. Van Alstyne were
there. Well, I say she was dead in love with him, though she did
refuse him."
"Was she?" replied Mr. Ellsworth.
"Why, I know she was; it was as plain as a pike-staff to
everybody who saw them together. And here, these good folks
provoke me so; they say if she refused him she did not care for
him; and here is my ridiculous brother-in-law, Mr. St. Leger,
says I don't know anything about it; and my sister Adeline always
thinks just as her husband does."
"That's quite right, my dear," said the rusty Mr. Hopkins, taking
a pinch of snuff. "I hope you will follow her example one of
these days."
"What are the precise symptoms of a young lady's being dead in
love?" asked the quiet, business-looking Theodore St. Leger.
"Oh, you know well enough what I mean. You may say what you
please about Helen de Vaux not caring for him, I know better,"
continued the young lady, in a voice that might be heard on the
other side of the boat.
"As Miss de Vaux's mother is on board, suppose you refer the
question to her," said Mr. Ellsworth, in a dry manner.
"Is she?--I hope she didn't hear us," continued the young lady,
lowering her voice half a tone. "But you need not ask her,
though; for I don't believe her mother knows anything about it."
"You are going to the Springs, I suppose," said Mr. Ellsworth, by
way of changing the conversation.
"I wish we were! No; Adeline has taken it into her head to be
romantic, for the first time in her life. She says we must go to
the Falls; and it will be a fortnight lost from Saratoga."
"But, have you no wish to see Niagara?"
"Not a bit; and I don't believe Adeline has, either. But it is no
wonder she doesn't care about the Springs, now she's married; she
began to go there four years before I did."
"Have you never been to Niagara, Mrs. St. Leger?" continued Mr.
Ellsworth, addressing the elder sister; who, from the giddy,
belleish Adeline, was now metamorphosed into the half-sober young
matron--the wife of an individual, who in spite of the romantic
appellation of Theodore St. Leger, was a very quiet, industrious
business-man, the nephew and adopted son of Mr. Hopkins,
Adeline's Boston escort. She had been sitting contentedly beside
the old gentleman, for the last half hour, leaving her unmarried
sister to entertain the beaux, according to etiquette.
"No, I have never been to the Falls; and all our party but my
sister Emma, seemed to think it would be a pleasant jaunt."
"Mr. Hopkins has entered into an engagement to supply me with at
least two beaux at a time, and a regular change all the way to
Niagara, or else I shouldn't have come," said Miss Emma.
"We are engaged at least by the day, I hope," interposed one of
the attendant young men.
"No, indeed; I should be tired to death of you, for more than an
hour at a time. I sha'n't speak to YOU again, until we have
passed West Point."
"I have had no trouble as yet, my dear, in picking up recruits,"
said Mr. Hopkins, whose attention seemed equally divided between
his snuff-box, and the little Hopkins, junior, on his knee--his
great-nephew.
"If there are two, that's all I care for; but I hate to have only
one person to talk to."
Mr. Ellsworth bit his lips, to prevent their expressing his
opinion, that the young lady must always have a large circle of
listeners.
"Have you seen Mr. Wyllys's party this morning?" inquired
Adeline.
"The Wyllyses!--Are they on board?" exclaimed Mr. Ellsworth, with
surprise and pleasure. "I thought them at Saratoga by this time."
"Oh, no; they are somewhere on the other side of the boat; my
sister-in-law, Mrs. Taylor's little girl is with them.
By-the-bye, Emma, I am going into the cabin to look after Jane;
will you go with me?"
"No, indeed; I hate the cabin of a steamboat!"
Adeline was quite satisfied to leave her sister with the prospect
of a good supply of young men to flirt with; though matrimony had
changed her in some respects, she still considered it a duty to
encourage to the utmost, all love-affairs, and flirtations going
on in her neighbourhood. Mr. Hopkins resigned the little boy to
his mother's care; Mr. St. Leger helped his wife through the
crowd; and, under cover of the movement made to allow Adeline to
pass, Mr. Ellsworth made his escape. His eye had been already
directed towards the opposite side of the boat, where he had
discovered the venerable, benevolent face of Mr. Wyllys, with
three ladies near him. Mr. Ellsworth immediately recognised Miss
Agnes, Elinor, and Mary Van Alstyne. It was several minutes
before he could edge his way through the crowd, to join them; but
when he reached the spot, he was received very cordially by Mr.
Wyllys and Miss Agnes, in a friendly manner by Mary Van Alstyne,
and possibly there was something of consciousness betrayed by
Elinor.
"I thought you already at Saratoga!" exclaimed Mr. Ellsworth.
"We were detained several days, waiting for Mrs. Taylor," replied
Elinor, to whom the remark was made.
"We shall not be at Saratoga until Monday," added Mr. Wyllys; "we
are going to pass a day or two with our friends, the V-----s, at
Poughkeepsie."
"I am very sorry to hear it," continued Mr. Ellsworth; "I have
promised to carry Mrs. Creighton to Nahant, about that time, and
shall have my usual bad luck in missing you."
{"Nahant" = sea-side resort in Massachusetts, then very popular,
just north of Boston}
"We must persuade Mrs. Creighton not to run away," said Mr.
Wyllys.
As Elinor stooped at that moment, to untie the hat of the pretty
little creature at her side, it was impossible to say whether
this intelligence were displeasing to her or not.
"That is Mrs. Taylor's child, is it not?" observed Mr. Ellsworth,
looking at the little girl. "She is very like Mrs. St. Leger."
"Do you really think so?--we fancy her like her mother," said
Elinor.
"How is Tallman Taylor now?--he was not well when they passed
through Philadelphia."
"He looks badly still," said Miss Agnes. "He is very imprudent,
and distresses Jane very much by his carelessness."
"Gentlemen never seem to do what is right when invalids,"
observed Mary Van Alstyne, smiling. "They are either very
reckless, and indifferent to their health, or else over-careful."
"What do you say, Mr. Ellsworth; is that account true?" asked
Miss Wyllys.
"I dare say it is--I have no doubt we are very troublesome to our
nurses. But, fortunately, women are endowed with a double stock
of patience, to make up for our deficiencies. Is Mr. Taylor on
board?--I have not seen him."
"No; he remained in town to attend to some business," replied
Miss Wyllys. "We have charge of Mrs. Taylor, however, who was
very anxious to get into the country, on account of her youngest
child."
"I see, Mr. Ellsworth, that old Ironsides has arrived at Norfolk,
bringing Mr. Henley from Rio," observed Mr. Wyllys.
{"Old Ironsides" = the United States Frigate "Constitution"; in
the early 1800s, U.S. naval ships frequently carried diplomats to
and from their stations}
"Certainly; she arrived on Tuesday."
"I saw it in the Globe, last night, grandpapa, Mr. Henley had
arrived at Washington. Harry is with him, of course," said
Elinor, in a quiet, natural tone.
"I supposed you knew of their arrival," observed Mr. Ellsworth.
"I have a letter from Hazlehurst in my pocket. He seems to have
had quite enough of Rio."
"Mr. Henley, I understand, is talked of as minister to Russia,"
said Mr. Wyllys.
"Yes; I believe that affair is settled."
"Does Hazlehurst mention whether he is going with Mr. Henley?"
"That may be a state secret," said Elinor, smiling.
"He has had an offer of the situation, I believe--but does not
seem to have made up his mind; he is coming home to look about
him, he says, having three months' vacation at any rate."
The shrill tone of Miss Emma Taylor's voice was at this moment
heard so distinctly, from the other side of the boat that Mr.
Wyllys looked up from his paper, and Mr. Ellsworth smiled. It was
very evident the young lady had inherited the peculiar tone of
voice, and all the cast-off animation of her elder sister.
"Miss Taylor seems to be in very good spirits," remarked Mr.
Ellsworth.
"Yes; she always talks and laughs a great deal," replied Mary Van
Alstyne.
"They are no longer your neighbours, I understand, sir."
"No; Mr. Taylor sold Colonnade Manor this spring; De Vaux has
purchased it, and changed the name of the place. It is now to be
called Broadlawn, which is certainly a great improvement."
"And where does Mr. Taylor's family pass the summer?"
"Why, Jane tells me he is building something he calls a cottage,
at Rockaway, within a stone's throw of the principal hotel. They
thought Longbridge too quiet."
Mrs. Taylor's little girl had, by this, time, become very sleepy,
and a little fretful; and Miss Agnes advised her being carried to
her mother. Elinor led her away, rather, it is believed, to Mr.
Ellsworth's regret.
It was no easy task to make one's way among the nurses, and
babies, and baskets, filling the ladies' cabin, which was more
than usually crowded. But at length Elinor reached Jane and
Adeline, who were sitting together.
A single glance was sufficient to show that a change had come
over these two young women, since the giddy days of their
girlhood. Jane was pale, but beautiful as ever; she was holding
on her knees a sick child, about two months old, which apparently
engrossed all her attention. What would be her system as a
mother, might be foretold by the manner in which she pacified the
little girl Elinor had brought with her.
"Give her some candy, Dinah," she said to the black nurse; whose
broad, good-natured face was soon covered with shining marks of
affection, from the hands of the pretty little charge.
Adeline was less changed in her appearance than her
sister-in-law; that is to say, she was as pretty as ever, and
neither thin nor pale. But there was something in her expression,
and a great deal in her manner, that was no longer what it had
been of old. That excessive animation which had distinguished her
as a belle, had been allowed to die away; and the restless
expression, produced by a perpetual labour to make conquests,
which was, at one time, always to be traced upon her features,
had now vanished entirely. In its place there was a touch of
matronly care and affection, more natural, and far more pleasing.
She, too, was sitting by the side of her child, driving away the
flies from the little thing, who was sleeping in a berth. Adeline
Taylor had married well, in the best sense of the word. Not that
she deserved much credit for doing so, since she had only
accidentally, as it were, become attached to the young man who
happened to be the most deserving among her suitors. Chance had
had a great deal to with the match, as it has with many matches.
She had, however, one merit--that of not rejecting him on account
of his want of fortune; although at the time, she might have
married a man who would have given her a four-story, four-window
house in Broadway. Mr. Taylor had not interfered: she had done as
she pleased in the affair. It is true, that her father rather
inclined towards the richest suitor; still, he took it for
granted, that if Theodore St. Leger had not a fortune at the
time, being a merchant, he would, of course, make one in a few
years. But Mr. Taylor's son-in-law was a man of very different
character from himself; he was a quiet, prudent, unostentatious
young man, of good abilities, who had received by education
excellent principles, and moderate views, and who had fallen in
love with Adeline's pretty face. Mr. Hopkins, his uncle and
adopted father, was a very worthy man, though a little eccentric,
and rather too much given to snuff, and old coats, and red
handkerchiefs. No one stood better on Change than John Hopkins,
whose word had been as good as his bond, throughout a long life.
He was a man of some property too, but he had only given his
nephew enough to begin life very moderately. Even with the very
liberal allowance which Mr. Taylor freely gave his children,
Adeline, when she married, was obliged to live in a much plainer
and quieter way than she had done for the last five or six years.
{"Change" = the stock exchange}
Altogether, however, the young couple seemed to agree very well,
in spite of the difference in their characters: a pretty,
good-natured wife was all the young merchant had wished for; and
Adeline was really attached to her husband, whose chief fault
seemed to be in his coats, which were rather too much after the
fashion of those of Uncle Hopkins.
Jane's fate had proved less happy than that of her friend
Adeline. Tallman Taylor's habits of extravagance had led them
into difficulties in more ways than one. He had spent far more
than his income, and his carelessness in business had proved a
great disadvantage to the house with which he was connected.
During the last year, matters had grown worse and worse; he had
neglected his wife, and lost large sums at the gambling-table.
Poor Jane had passed some unhappy months, and traces of sorrow
were to be seen on her pale face. Towards the last of the winter,
young Taylor had been dangerously ill with a malignant fever
prevailing in New Orleans; and as a long convalescence interfered
with his dissipated habits, and confined him for some time to his
own house, his friends hoped that he would have time and leisure
to make some useful reflections. But they were deceived; sickness
and suffering only made him more selfish and irritable: poor Jane
had already paid a heavy penance for her duplicity, and her
obstinacy in marrying him. Mr. Taylor had quarrelled with his
partners; and it was the object of his present visit to New York,
to persuade his father to make some heavy advances in his behalf,
as otherwise he would be ruined. Jane, it is true, knew but
little of her husband's affairs; still, she saw and heard enough
to make her anxious for the future, and she gave herself up to
melancholy repining, while her manner lost all cheerfulness. Her
father's family were in Charleston, and she had not seen them for
more than a twelvemonth; but Mr. Robert Hazlehurst, Miss Agnes,
and Elinor had done all that was possible to supply their place,
since she had been in their neighbourhood. Adeline, too, was well
enough disposed towards her sister-in-law, but she had neither
the good sense nor the delicacy of Miss Wyllys and Elinor, and
was far less successful in her friendly efforts. The society of
her aunt and cousin seemed a relief to Jane; and it was at their
request that she was going to pass a fortnight with them at
Saratoga, where Miss Agnes had been ordered by her physician.
Elinor, on joining her cousin in the cabin, tried to persuade
Jane to have the sick child carried on deck, for the sake of the
fresh air, but she did not succeed; and not wishing to leave Mrs.
Taylor, she took off her hat, and remained some time in the
cabin--a piece of good-nature which Mr. Ellsworth seemed to think
ill-timed. As they drew near the Highlands, however, she returned
to her seat on deck; for the morning was lovely, and she did not
wish to lose the scenery. She found Mrs. Hilson sitting near her
aunt.
"Ah, Miss Elinor!--how do you do?" exclaimed the city lady. "It
is the first time I have had a chance of seeing you since you
returned from the West Indies. You have not been much in New
York, I believe, since you arrived?"
"Only for a day or two."
"And how did you like the West Indies? Is there much aristocracy
at Havana?"
"We found it very pleasant there; and the climate was of so much
service to my aunt, that I shall always remember Havana with
gratitude."
"You did not go into society, then?"
"0h, yes; we made many pleasant acquaintances."
"Well, if I go abroad, I hope it will be to England; though I
should like very well to visit the stores of Paris."
"Have you seen your cousin, Charles Hubbard, since he arrived
from Italy?" inquired Elinor.
"Yes; he called at our boarding-house. He is at Longbridge now,
but he is coming to Saratoga, shortly; for he told me he had
engaged to take several views of Lake George."
"I am sorry be did not come to see us in town; but I am delighted
to hear he is going to Saratoga. Grandpapa, Mrs. Hilson tells me
Charles Hubbard will be at Saratoga, with us!"
"I am very glad to hear it, my child; I want to see Charlie."
"Has he brought home many pictures?" continued Elinor.
"I really don't know; I did not think of asking him."
"I should suppose you would be anxious to see your cousin's
paintings."
"Oh, no; portraits are the only pictures that interest me. I
always have the 'Book of Beauty,' whenever it comes out; you know
they are likenesses of the Peeresses of the English Nobility."
{"Book of Beauty" = "Heath's Book of Beauty" an annual volume
with engravings of famous British women, sponsored by Charles
Heath (1785-1848) (London: Longmans, 1833-1847)}
Elinor bowed. "Yes, I have seen the book."
"I have the 'Children of the Nobility,' too, bound in crimson
silk; it is a very fascinating collection. My friend, Mrs.
Bagman, tells me they are excellent likenesses, particularly the
children of his Royal Highness, the Lord-Mayor."
{"Children of the Nobility" = "Portraits of the Children of the
Nobility," A similar publication, also sponsored by Charles Heath
(Longmans: London, 1838)}
Absurd as such a mistake in heraldry may seem, one might vouch
for having heard others quite as extraordinary.
"They may be like," said Elinor, smiling in spite of herself;
"but I cannot agree with you as to their beauty. I have seen the
volume, and it struck me the artists must have made caricatures
of many of the children, who, no doubt, were pretty in reality."
"I was looking at those engravings only yesterday," said Mr.
Ellsworth, anxious to engage Elinor's attention; "they almost
amount to a libel on childhood; they give the idea of mincing,
affected little creatures, at the very age when children are
almost invariably natural and interesting. I should quarrel very
much with a portrait of my little girl, in the same fashion."
"But it is very seldom you see portraits of children, that are
really child-like," observed Elinor. "And then what a trial, to
paint a pretty, innocent little creature, in full dress, starched
and trim!"
"Children are charming subjects when properly treated; I delight
in such pictures," said Mary Van Alstyne.
"You would have been often delighted then, in Italy, Miss Van
Alstyne. Raphael's cherubs are as perfect in their way, as his
men and women."
{"Raphael's cherubs" = While living in Florence in 1829, James
Fenimore Cooper and his family admired the "Madonna del
Baldacchino" (sometimes called "La Madonna del Trono") by Raphael
(Italian painter, 1483-1520), at the Pitti Palace, and especially
the two singing angels ("perhaps I should call them cherubs) at
the foot of the throne. He commissioned the American sculptor
Horatio Greenough (1805-1852) to sculpt for him a group called
"The Chanting Cherubs," based the angels or cherubs}
Mrs. Hilson, unwilling to be thrown out of the conversation,
again addressed Elinor.
"When you joined us, Miss Wyllys, we were speaking of the fire
opposite your hotel. Were you not dreadfully alarmed? I hear you
were there; although I did not find you at home when I called."
"We were disturbed, of course; but I can't say that we were
personally alarmed. The wind, you may remember, carried
everything in the opposite direction."
"Did it? Well, I was too much frightened to notice anything; you
know it was in the same block as our boarding-house."
"Yes; you were nearer the danger than we were."
"Oh, I was dreadfully frightened. There was one of our ladies
wanted to persuade me to look at Trinity Church, lighted up by
the fire; I believe she really thought it a fascinating sight.
Here comes a gentleman who was staying at your hotel, and has not
got over his fright yet; it is one of my escorts--I have two, the
Baron and this gentleman; but the Baron is not on deck now--let
me introduce you; Monsieur Bonnet, Miss Wyllys. I do believe,
Monsieur Bonnet, you were as much alarmed as I was."
"Alarm--Ah, Madame, I was ebloui by the fire. In all my life, I
never saw real incendie before; though, of course, I saw the
Panorama of the incendie de Moscou--I was not in Russie with
l'Empereur. At the spectacle we have incendies sometimes; but
never in the street. Ah, I did not see that house until the roof
fall, when light burst through my volets, and I spring to the
window."
{"ebloui" = dazzled; "incendie de Moscou" = the fire which
destroyed Moscow in 1812, while it was being occupied by the
Emperor Napoleon; "spectacle" = theater; "volets" = shutters
(French)}
"I should have thought the noise would have called you out before
that."
"Du tout; when I hear cries, and people marching, I think tout
bonnement it was an emeute, and I turn round to finish my sleep;
I think myself happy not to belong to the Garde Nationale of New
York, and not be afraid of the rappel."
{"du tout" = not at all; "tout bonnement" = simply; "emeute" =
riot; "rappel" = call to arms (French)}
"What did you think it was?"
"An emeute, sans doute, say I to myself. It was un tintamarre
epouvantable."
{"un tintamarre epouvantable" = a frightful uproar (French)}
"Emeute; pray, what is that?"
"Emeute? A little revolution, as we have in Paris constamment."
"Why, my dear sir, our revolutionary war took place more than
fifty years ago. Did you expect to find us fighting now?"
"Certainement; I thought the wheel I hear was cannon. But mon ami
Eel-SUN tell me next day, there is incendie every night somewhere
in New York. Un drole de divertisement, vraiment. It is a great
desagrement, of a city otherwise so beautiful, with so many
charming ladies."
{"un drole de divertisement, vraiment" = truly, a strange form of
entertainment. "desagrement" = unpleasant feature (French)}
"Thank you, sir; you are very polite. I believe, Miss Wyllys,
that French gentlemen, no matter what they talk about, always
find an opportunity to pay a compliment."
"C'est tout naturel; cela va sans dire; it is only our devoir,
Madame, to exprimer to the ladies some of the many agreeable
things they inspire."
{"C'est tout naturel..." = it's only natural; it goes without
saying; it is only our duty, Madame, to express to the ladies...
(French)}
"Worse and worse," said Mrs. Hilson, laughing. "How different you
are from Captain Kockney; he never said a civil thing to me, all
the time he was in New York."
"Le capitaine Coquenais was an Anglais, who cannot feel the true
politesse Francaise."
"He used to say it is not aristocratic to be polite to other
people; he belongs to the English aristocracy, you know."
"L'aristocratie! Oh, that is a vile state of things. La vieille
aristocratie of France, Madame, was the cause of our revolution.
But in France now, and in America, those happy countree, the
spirit of aristocracy is extinct."
"I beg your pardon, Monsieur Bonnet," said Mrs. Hilson, quite
indignantly. "It is true there are many plebeians in this
country; but we have also many people of the highest
aristocracy."
"Ah, vous plaisantez avec tant de grace, Madame!"
{"vous plaisantez...." = You joke so gracefully, Madame (French)}
"It is pleasant, certainly, to me; though some people may not
appreciate it. I am a very aristocratic spirit."
"Ah, sans doute, Madame; you have so much esprit, you laugh at
me," said the Frenchman, who took Mrs. Hilson's protestation as a
joke.
{"esprit" = wit (French)}
"No, indeed; I never was more serious in my life. I should
suppose you would have been struck with the high state of
aristocracy at our boarding-house, for instance."
Monsieur Bonnet could only shrug his shoulders, being quite at a
loss for the lady's meaning.
"Yes; I am thoroughly patrician and aristocratic; if we only had
a despotic government, to take away all privileges from
plebeians, I should be perfectly happy. My language surprises
you, I perceive; but it is quite natural that a descendant of a
Scotch Baronet, the Duke of Percy, should have similar feelings."
More and more bewildered, Monsieur Bonnet was reduced to a bow.
Happily, as he thought, the warning bell was rung; and the usual
cry, "Passengers for West Point please look out for their
baggage!" changed the current of Mrs. Hilson's ideas, or rather
the flow of her words.
In another moment, Mrs. Hilson and Monsieur Bonnet, with a score
or two of others, were landed at West Point, and the ladies of
Mr. Wyllys's party felt it no little relief to be rid of so much
aristocracy.
The boat had soon reached Poughkeepsie, and much to Mr.
Ellsworth's regret, Mr. Wyllys and his family went on shore. Mr.
Ellsworth had been introduced to Elinor at Jane's wedding. He was
a man of thirty, a widower, with an only child, and had for
several years been thinking of marrying again. After having made
up his mind to take the step, he next determined that he would
not marry in a hurry. He was not a man of quick passions, and was
sometimes accused of being fastidious in his tastes. He thought
Elinor's manner charming, and soon discovered that she had every
recommendation but beauty, the want of which was her only
drawback; he liked her family, and probably was not sorry to hear
that she would have a large property. But, unfortunately, he
seldom met Miss Elinor Wyllys; she was a great part of her time
in the country, and he knew nobody in the immediate
neighbourhood. He had not been asked to Wyllys-Roof; nor was he,
a very recent acquaintance, on terms sufficiently intimate, to
present himself at the door, bag and baggage, without an
invitation. More than a twelvemonth intervened, in the mean time;
but he was still thinking enough of Elinor to make him wish for a
meeting, when, accidentally, they passed a few days together at
Old Point Comfort, and afterwards met again, not exactly by
accident it is believed, at the Sulphur Springs, in Virginia. His
good opinion of Elinor was not only confirmed by this
intercourse, but his admiration very much increased. It was only
natural it should be so; the more one knew Elinor, the more one
loved her; good sense, intelligence, sweetness of disposition
like her's, united to the simple grace of manner, peculiarly her
own, were best appreciated by those who saw her daily. Quite
unaware of Mr. Ellsworth's views, and unconsciously influenced at
first, perhaps, by the fact that he was an old friend of Harry's,
she soon liked him as a companion, and received him with
something more than mere politeness. "It is always pleasant to
meet with an agreeable, gentlemanly, well-informed man," thought
Elinor: a train of reflection which has sometimes carried young
ladies farther than they at first intended. Under such
circumstances, some ardent spirits would have settled the
question during a fortnight passed with the lady they admired;
but Mr. Ellsworth, though he thought Elinor's manner encouraging,
did not care to hazard a hasty declaration; he preferred waiting
a few weeks, until they should meet again in Philadelphia, where
the Wyllyses intended passing the winter. But unfortunately,
shortly after the family returned home, Miss Agnes was taken ill,
and on her partial recovery, was ordered to a warm climate before
the cold weather; and Elinor merely passed through Philadelphia
on her way to the West Indies, with her aunt and grandfather. Mr.
Ellsworth was, of course, disappointed; he expressed his regrets
as warmly as he dared, during a morning visit, in a room
half-full of company; and he hinted in terms so pointed at his
hopes of a happy meeting in the spring, that Elinor's suspicions
were for the first time excited, while those of Mr. Wyllys and
Miss Agnes were only confirmed. Since then, Mr. Ellsworth and
Elinor had only seen each other once, in the street, until they
met on board the steamboat, on their way to Saratoga.
{"Old Point Comfort" = a sea-side resort near Hampton, Virginia}