"They call thee rich."
COWPER.
{William Cowper (English poet, 1731-1800), "Translations of Greek
Verses: On A Miser" line 1}
WHEN the Wyllyses arrived at Saratoga, after having paid their
promised visit to their friends at Poughkeepsie, the first
persons they saw in the street, as they were driving to Congress
Hall, were Mrs. Creighton, Mr. Ellsworth, and Mr. Stryker, who
were loitering along together. It seemed the excursion to Nahant
had been postponed, or given up.
The brother and sister soon discovered that the Wyllyses were
among that afternoon's arrivals, and in the course of an hour or
two called at their rooms.
"Here am I, Miss Wyllys," said Mrs. Creighton, "the best of
sisters, giving up my own private plans to gratify this brother
of mine, who would not let me rest unless I promised to pass
another week here."
"Josephine makes the most of her complaisance; but I don't think
she was so very much averse to giving up Nahant. I am sure at
least, she did not care half so much about going, as I did about
staying."
Mr. Stryker also appeared, to make his bow to the ladies. This
gentleman had indeed come to Saratoga, with the express intention
of making himself particularly agreeable to Miss Elinor Wyllys.
As long ago as Jane's wedding, he had had his eye on her, but,
like Mr. Ellsworth, he had seldom been able to meet her. Mr.
Stryker was a man between forty and fifty, possessing some little
property, a very good opinion of himself, and quite a reputation
for cleverness and knowledge of the world. He was one of those
men who hang loose on society; he seemed to have neither
relations nor connexions; no one knew his origin: for years he
had occupied the same position in the gay world of New York, with
this difference, that at five-and-twenty he was known as Bob
Stryker; at five-and-thirty he was Colonel Stryker, the
traveller; and at five-and-forty he had returned to New York,
after a second long absence, as Mr. Stryker, tout court. He
prided himself upon being considered a gentleman at large, a man
of the world, whose opinion on all subjects was worth hearing.
Since his last return from Europe, he had announced that he was
looking about for that necessary encumbrance, a wife; but he took
good care not to mention what he called his future intentions,
until he had actually committed himself more than once. He had
several times kindly offered to rich and beautiful girls, to take
charge of themselves and their fortunes, but his services had
been as often politely declined. He was not discouraged, however,
by these repulses; he still determined to marry, but experience
had taught him greater prudence--he decided that his next
advances should be made with more caution. He would shun the
great belles; fortune he must have, but he would adopt one of two
courses; he would either look out for some very young and very
silly girl, who could be persuaded into anything, or he would try
to discover some rich woman, with a plain face, who would be
flattered by the attentions of the agreeable Mr. Stryker. While
he was making these reflections he was introduced to Elinor, and
we are sorry to say it, she appeared to him to possess the
desirable qualifications. She was certainly very plain; and he
found that there was no mistake in the report of her having
received two important legacies quite lately. Miss Elinor Wyllys,
thanks to these bequests, to her expectations from her
grandfather and Miss Agnes, and to the Longbridge railroad, was
now generally considered a fortune. It is true, common report had
added very largely to her possessions, by doubling and
quadrupling their amount; for at that precise moment, people
seemed to be growing ashamed of mentioning small sums; thousands
were invariably counted by round fifties and hundreds. Should any
gentleman be curious as to the precise amount of the fortune of
Miss Elinor Wyllys, he is respectfully referred to William
Cassius Clapp, Attorney at Law, Longbridge, considered excellent
authority on all such subjects. Lest any one should be disposed
to mistrust this story of Elinor's newly-acquired reputation as
an heiress, we shall proceed at once to prove it, by evidence of
the most convincing character.
{"tout court" = by itself; "period" (French)}
One morning, shortly after the arrival of the Wyllyses at
Saratoga, Mr. Wyllys entered the room where Miss Agnes and Elinor
were sitting together, with a handful of papers and letters from
the mail. Several of these letters were for Elinor, and as she
reads them we shall take the liberty of peeping over her
shoulder--their contents will speak for themselves. The first
which she took up was written on very handsome paper, perfumed,
and in an envelope; but neither the seal nor the handwriting was
known to Elinor. It ran as follows:
"CHARMING MISS WYLLYS:--
"It may appear presumptuous in one unknown to you, to address you
on a subject so important as that which is the theme of this
epistle; but not having the honour of your acquaintance, I am
compelled by dire necessity, and the ardent feelings of my heart,
to pour forth on paper the expression of the strong admiration
with which you have inspired me. Lovely Miss Wyllys, you are but
too well known to me, although I scarcely dare to hope that your
eye has rested for a moment on the features of your humble
adorer. I am a European, one who has moved in the first circles
of his native land, and after commencing life as a military man,
was compelled by persecution to flee to the hospitable shores of
America. Chequered as my life has been, happy, thrice happy shall
I consider it, if you will but permit me to devote its remaining
years to your service! Without your smiles, the last days of my
career will be more gloomy than all that have gone before. But I
cannot believe you so cruel, so hard-hearted, as to refuse to
admit to your presence, one connected with several families of
the nobility and gentry in the north of England, merely because
the name of Horace de Vere has been sullied by appearing on the
stage. Let me hope--"
Elinor read no farther: she threw the letter aside with an
expression of disgust and mortification. It was but one of
half-a-dozen of similar character, which she had received during
the last year or two from utter strangers. She took up another, a
plain, honest-looking sheet.
"MADAM:--
"If the new store, being erected on your lot in Market Street,
between Fourth and Fifth, is not already leased, you will confer
an obligation if you will let us know to whom we must apply for
terms, &c., &c. The location and premises being suitable, we
should be glad to rent. The best of references can be offered on
our part.
"Begging you will excuse this application, as we are ignorant of
the name of your agent in Philadelphia, we have the honour to be,
Madam,
"Your most obedient servants,
"McMUNNY & CO.,
"Grocers, Market, between Front and Second."
A business letter, it appears, to be attended to accordingly. Now
for the third--a delicate little envelope of satin paper, blue
wax, and the seal "semper eadem."
{"semper eadem" = always the same (Latin)}
"MY SWEET MISS ELINOR:--
"When shall we see you at Bloomingdale? You are quite too cruel,
to disappoint us so often; we really do not deserve such shabby
treatment. Here is the month of June, with its roses, and
strawberries, and ten thousand other sweets, and among them you
must positively allow us to hope for a visit from our very dear
friends at Wyllys-Roof. Should your venerable grandpapa, or my
excellent friend, Miss Wyllys be unhappily detained at home, as
you feared, do not let that be the means of depriving us of your
visit. I need not say that William would be only too happy to
drive you to Bloomingdale, at any time you might choose; but if
that plan, HIS plan, should frighten your propriety, I shall be
proud to take charge of you myself. Anne is not only pining for
your visit, but very tired of answering a dozen times a day, her
brother's questions, 'When shall we see Miss Wyllys?'--'Is Miss
Wyllys never coming?'
"I do not think, my sweet young friend, that you can have the
heart to disappoint us any longer--and, therefore, I shall
certainly look for one of your charming little notes, written in
an amiable, complying mood.
"Anne sends her very best love; William begs to be very
PARTICULARLY remembered to Miss Elinor Wyllys.
"With a thousand kind messages to your grandfather and Miss
Wyllys, I remain as ever, my dear young friend,
"Yours, most devotedly and partially,
"ARABELLA HUNTER."
{"Bloomingdale" = a fashionable and still rural area of Manhattan
Island, though technically part of New York City}
Elinor read this note with a doubtful smile, which seemed to say
she was half-amused, half-provoked by it. Throwing it carelessly
on the sofa, she opened the fourth letter; it was in a childish
hand.
"MY DEAR MISS WYLLYS:--
"My mother wishes me to thank you myself, for your last act of
goodness to us--but I can never tell you all we feel on the
subject. My dear mother cried with joy all the evening, after she
had received your letter. I am going to school according to your
wish, as soon as mother can spare me, and I shall study very
hard, which will be the best way of thanking you. The
music-master says he has no doubt but I can play well enough to
give lessons, if I go on as well as I have in the last year; I
practise regularly every day. Mother bids me say, that now she
feels sure of my education for the next three years, one of her
heaviest cares has been taken away: she says too, that although
many friends in the parish have been very good to us, since my
dear father was taken away from us, yet 'no act of kindness has
been so important to us, none so cheering to the heart of the
widow and the fatherless, as your generous goodness to her eldest
child;' these are her own words. Mother will write to you herself
to-morrow. I thank you again, dear Miss Wyllys, for myself, and I
remain, very respectfully and very gratefully,
"Your obliged servant and friend,
"MARY SMITH."
This last letter seemed to restore all Elinor's good humour,
acting as an antidote to the three which had preceded it. The
correspondence which we have taken the liberty of reading, will
testify more clearly than any assurance of ours, to the fact that
our friend Elinor now stands invested with the dignity of an
heiress, accompanied by the dangers, pleasures, and annoyances,
usually surrounding an unmarried woman, possessing the reputation
of a fortune. Wherever Elinor now appeared, the name of a fortune
procured her attention; the plain face which some years before
had caused her to be neglected where she was not intimately
known, was no longer an obstacle to the gallantry of the very
class who had shunned her before. Indeed, the want of beauty,
which might have been called her misfortune, was now the very
ground on which several of her suitors founded their hopes of
success; as she was pronounced so very plain, the dandies thought
it impossible she could resist the charm of their own personal
advantages. Elinor had, in short, her full share of those
persecutions which are sure to befall all heiresses. The peculiar
evils of such a position affect young women very differently,
according to their various dispositions. Had Elinor been weak and
vain, she would have fallen into the hands of a fortune-hunter.
Had she been of a gloomy temper, disgust at the coarse plots and
manoeuvres, so easily unravelled by a clear-sighted person, might
have made her a prey to suspicion, and all but misanthropic. Had
she been vulgar-minded, she would have been purse-proud; if
cold-hearted, she would have become only the more selfish. Vanity
would have made her ridiculously ostentatious and conceited; a
jealous temper would have become self-willed and domineering.
Change of position often produces an apparent change of
character; sometimes the effect is injurious, sometimes it is
advantageous. But we trust that the reader, on renewing his
acquaintance with Elinor Wyllys, will find her, while flattered
by the world as an heiress, essentially the same in character and
manner, as she was when overlooked and neglected on account of an
unusually plain face. If a shade of difference is perceptible, it
is only the natural result of four or five years of additional
experience, and she has merely exchanged the first retiring
modesty of early youth, for a greater portion of self-possession.
In the first months of her new reputation as an heiress, Elinor
had been astonished at the boldness of some attacks upon her;
then, as there was much that was ridiculous connected with these
proceedings, she had been diverted; but, at length, when she
found them rapidly increasing, she became seriously annoyed.
"What a miserable puppet these adventurers must think me--it is
cruelly mortifying to see how confident of success some of them
appear!" she exclaimed to her aunt.
"I am very sorry, my child, that you should be annoyed in this
way--but it seems you must make up your mind to these
impertinences--it is only what every woman who has property must
expect."
"It is really intolerable! But I am determined at least that they
shall not fill my head with suspicions--and I never can endure to
be perpetually on my guard against these sort of people. It will
not do to think of them; that is the only way to keep one's
temper. If I know myself, there never can be any danger to me
from men of that kind, even the most agreeable."
"Take care," said Miss Agnes, smiling, and shaking her head.
"Well, I know at least there is no danger at present; but as we
all have moments of weakness, I shall therefore very humbly beg
that if you ever see me in the least danger, you will give me
warning, dear Aunt; a very sharp warning, if you please."
"In such a case I should certainly warn you, my dear. It strikes
me that several of your most disagreeable admirers--"
"How call you call them ADMIRERS, Aunt Agnes?"
"Well, several of your pursuers, then, are beginning to discover
that you are not a young lady easily persuaded into believing
herself an angel, and capable of fancying them the most
chivalrous and disinterested of men."
This was quite true; there was a quiet dignity, with an
occasional touch of decision in Elinor's manner, that had already
convinced several gentlemen that she had more firmness of
character than suited their views; and they had accordingly
withdrawn from the field.
"Suppose, Elinor, that I begin by giving you a warning, this
morning?" continued Miss Agnes, smiling.
"You are not serious, surely, Aunt?" replied Elinor, turning from
some music she was unpacking, to look at Miss Wyllys.
"Yes, indeed; I am serious, so far as believing that you are at
this moment exposed to the manoeuvres of a gentleman whom you do
not seem in the least to suspect, and who is decidedly
agreeable."
"Whom can you mean?" said Elinor, running over in her head the
names of several persons whom she had seen lately. "You surely do
not suspect--No; I am sure you have too good an opinion of him."
"I am very far from having a particularly good opinion of the
person I refer to," said Miss Agnes; "I think him at least,
nothing better than a fortune-hunter; and although it is very
possible to do many worse things than marrying for money, yet I
hope you will never become the wife of a man whose principles are
not above suspicion in every way."
"I am disposed just at present, I can assure you, dear Aunt, to
have a particularly poor opinion of a mere fortune-hunter."
"Yes; you do not seem to feel very amiably towards the class,
just now," said Miss Agnes, smiling.
"But who is the individual who stands so low in your opinion?"
"It is your opinion, and not mine, which is the important one,"
replied Miss Agnes.
"Ah, I see you are joking, Aunt; you half frightened me at first.
As far as having no fears for myself, I am really in an alarming
state."
"So it would seem. But have you really no suspicions of one of
our visiters of last evening?"
Elinor looked uneasy.
"Is it possible," she said, lowering her voice a little, "that
you believe Mr. Ellsworth to be a common fortune-hunter? I
thought you had a very different opinion of him."
"You are right, my child," said Miss Agnes, apparently pleased by
this allusion to their friend; "I have, indeed, a high opinion of
Mr. Ellsworth; but he was not our only visiter last evening,"
"Is it Mr. Stryker? I have half-suspected some such thing myself,
lately; I cannot take credit for so much innocence as you gave
me. But it is not worth while to trouble oneself about Mr.
Stryker; he is certainly old enough, and worldly-wise enough to
take care of himself. If he actually has any such views, his time
will be sadly thrown away. But it is much more probable that he
is really in love with Mrs. Creighton; and it would be very
ridiculous in me, to imagine that he is even pretending to care
for me, when he is attached to some one else."
"He may flirt with Mrs. Creighton, but, if I am not mistaken, he
intends to offer himself before long to Miss Wyllys; and I
thought you had not remarked his advances."
"I fancy, dear Aunt, that men like Mr. Stryker seldom commit
themselves unless they feel pretty sure of success."
The conversation was here interrupted, Elinor was engaged to ride
with Mr. Wyllys, who now returned from the reading-room for his
grand-daughter. Mrs. Creighton was also going out with her
brother, and proposed the two parties joining; an invitation
which Mr. Wyllys had very readily accepted. The horses were
ordered, Elinor was soon equipped, and on joining Mrs. Creighton
at the door, she was assisted to mount by Mr. Ellsworth. Mr.
Stryker had also been invited to ride with them by the pretty
widow.
It was a lovely morning, and they moved off gaily on one of the
roads leading to Saratoga Lake; Elinor enjoying the air and the
exercise, Mr. Ellsworth at her side, doing his best to make his
society agreeable, Mrs. Creighton engaged in making a conquest of
the two gentlemen between whom she rode. Yes, we are obliged to
confess the fact; on her part at least, there was nothing wanting
to make up a flirtation with Mr. Wyllys. The widow belonged to
that class of ladies, whose thirst for admiration really seems
insatiable, and who appear anxious to compel all who approach
them to feel the effect of their charms. Elinor would have been
frightened, had she been aware of the attack made that morning by
Mrs. Creighton, on the peace of her excellent grandfather, now in
his seventy-third year. Not that the lady neglected Mr.
Stryker--by no means; she was very capable of managing two
affairs of the kind at the same moment. All the remarks she
addressed particularly to Mr. Wyllys, were sensible and
lady-like; those she made to Mr. Stryker, were clever, worldly,
and piquant; while the general tone of her conversation was
always a well-bred medley of much fashionable levity, with some
good sense and propriety. Mr. Stryker scarcely knew whether to be
pleased, or to regret that he was obliged to ride at her side. He
had lately become particularly anxious to advance in the good
graces of Miss Elinor Wyllys, for two reasons; he had lost money,
and was very desirous of appropriating some of Elinor's to his
own use; and he had also felt himself to be in imminent danger of
falling in love with Mrs. Creighton, and he wished to put it out
of his own power to offer himself to her in a moment of weakness.
Much as he admired the beauty, the wit, and the worldly spirit of
the pretty widow, he was half-afraid of her; he judged her by
himself; he knew that she was artful, and he knew that she was
poor; for her late husband, Mr. Creighton, during a short married
life, had run through all his wife's property, as well as his
own, and his widow was now entirely dependent upon her brother.
The attention of the two gentlemen was not, however, entirely
engrossed by Mrs. Creighton. Mr. Stryker was by no means willing
to resign the field to his rival, Mr. Ellsworth; and Mr. Wyllys
was not so much charmed by the conversation of his fair
companion, but that his eye could rest with pleasure on the
couple before him, as he thought there was every probability that
Elinor would at length gratify his long-cherished wish, and
become the wife of a man he believed worthy of her. As the party
halted for a few moments on the bank of the Lake, Mr. Wyllys was
particularly struck with the expression of spirit and interest
with which Elinor was listening to Mr. Ellsworth's description of
the lakes of Killarney, which he had seen during his last visit
to Europe; and when the gentleman had added a ludicrous account
of some Paddyism of his guide, she laughed so gaily that the
sound rejoiced her grandfather's heart.
Elinor had long since regained her former cheerfulness. For a
time, Harry's desertion had made her sad, but she soon felt it a
duty to shake off every appearance of gloom, for the sake of her
grandfather and aunt, whose happiness was so deeply interwoven
with her own. Religious motives also strengthened her
determination to resist every repining feeling. The true spirit
of cheerfulness is, in fact, the fruit of two of the greatest
virtues of Christianity--steadfast faith, and unfeigned humility;
and it is akin to thankfulness, which is only the natural
consequence of a sense of our own imperfections, and of the
unmerited goodness of Providence.
"We have had a charming ride, Miss Wyllys!" said Mrs. Creighton,
as the party returned to the hotel.
"Very pleasant," said Elinor.
"Delightful!" exclaimed Mr. Ellsworth. "I hope we shall have such
another every day."
"Then I must try and find an animal, with rather better paces
than the one which has the honour of carrying me at present,"
said Mr. Stryker.
"But Mrs. Creighton has been so very agreeable, that I should
think you would have been happy to accompany her on the worst
horse in Saratoga," observed Mr. Wyllys.
"Only too agreeable," replied Mr. Stryker, as he helped the lady
to dismount, while Mr. Ellsworth performed the same service to
Elinor.