University of Virginia Library

THE SPRINGS.

Percival.

It was in July, 1818, that Emily Woodworth
made her debut at Saratoga. She came accompanied
by her guardian, Mr. Chapman, and
his wife. Mrs. Chapman was a dyspeptic, nervous
and very particular lady. In her youth
she had been a celebrated beauty, and still felt
all that thirst for personal admiration which
had once been so lavishly bestowed upon her
charms. But alas! for the woman who has
passed her tenth lustre and yet has no claim to
the attentions of society, save what personal
beauty imparts. Such women have always a
horror of being thought at all acquainted with
Time—that unfashionable old gentleman is entirely
excluded from their conversation, and any
allusion to him, they deem, in their presence,
impertinent. It was always with a look which
seemed intended to petrify the speaker, that

Mrs. Chapman heard her increasing infirmities
attributed to increasing years; she wished
to be thought young, and yet she had neither
health nor inclination for the gayeties of youth;
and so she eagerly condemned all pleasures in
which she could not participate, as vain, frivolous
or unfashionable. In short she was always
of the opinion that those amusements,
which were inconvenient or unsuitable for her,
were either very vulgar or very sinful.

Mr. Chapman was an industrious mechanic,
a carpenter by trade; but he had an inventive
genius, and a persevering temper; and had
generally succeeded in his plans and projects,
till finally he had become not only the architect,
but proprietor of several mills and one
large cotton manufactory; and partly by labor,
partly by lucky speculation, had accumulated
a large fortune. He was a thorough Yankee,
shrewd, sensible and somewhat sarcastic; at
least his ready repartees, and the knowledge of
characters and circumstances they frequently
implied, made his wit often feared by those who
felt conscious of follies or faults they did not
wish exposed. Yet he was a good natured
man, as the uniform forbearance, and even pity
with which he listened to the peevishness and
complaints of his wife, and his constant kindness
in his own family, and the cordial civility
with which he treated his friends, except when
an occasion for a good joke occurred, sufficiently
testified.

Emily Woodworth—but I will not introduce
her formally, by telling her height, or describing

her features, or noting the color of her
complexion, eyes, lips and hair. Take a pen,
fair reader, look in the mirror, and then try
the sketch yourself. But be sure and make
Emily as handsome as your beau ideal of female
loveliness, or I shall in future draw my
own heroines. And yet it is a task in which
few succeed. The artist, proud of being complimented
with possessing the skill of a Vandike
in delineating the countenances of men,
will find it extremely difficult, if not impossible,
to paint the likeness of a beautiful woman.
To be successful he must embody sense, spirit
and modesty in that just proportion which shall
give the idea of dignity as well as delicacy to
features where passion has left no record; and
he must impart meaning and expression to the
`smoothness and sheen' of a face where neither
the ambition of pride or energy of thought
have stamped any predominating faculty of
soul. This task can only be accomplished by
one skilled in reading the heart as well as
drawing the head. There are but few descriptions
of women, even in our best poets and
novelists, that do justice to the female character.
The mistake is that mere physical
beauty, harmony of features and a fair complexion,
are generally represented as entitling
their possessor to the appellation of amiable,
interesting, elegant, &c.—it is the countenance
which is supposed to give a tone to the
mind, not that the mind inspires the countenance.
Such a mistake would never be made
by an artist who was painting men. And while
such a mistake is cherished, the portraits of
women will never be well executed. They
will never bear the impress of mind.

Milton was a little skeptical on the score of
female understanding, and hardly willing to
allow the sex that equality of reason which is
now pretty generally and generously too, acknowledged
by all civilized men; but he may
be pardoned, considering he lived in an age
so ignorant that even his own peerless genius,
was neglected or contemned, (might it not be
a retribution for the injustice he did the ladies.)
But notwithstanding the prejudice which the
bard of Paradise sometimes displayed, he has
left us the most charming description, of the
effect which a lovely, virtuous and intelligent
woman has over the minds of men, that is to
be found in the English language.

What a lovely picture! and true—but when
was the conception of the poet ever embodied
by the painter? And there is also another
sweet description, in Shakspeare, of a woman,
that I have often wished to see transferred to
canvass—

Who does not recognise in that sketch of
Desdemona, the being of soul—the beautiful,
modest, intelligent and heroic girl—who preferred
her lover only for his estimable qualities
of character—

Emily Woodworth did not exactly resemble
either of these portraits. She had not the
majestic loveliness of Milton's Eve, nor all
that tender yet ardent enthusiasm which we
may imagine characterized the victim bride of
the Moor. She had more vivacity than either.
But there was usually a covert humor in her
glance which checked the freedom her gayety
would otherwise have inspired. A lover would
have been sadly perplexed to decide whether
the sweet smile that so often dimpled her cheek
was for him or at him. In short I can think
of no heroine that Emily so much resembled
as Ellen Douglas; especially in that scene
where Fitz James so gallantly volunteered to
row her fairy bark, when

But Emily Woodworth had a guardian—Was
she rich? No matter. The gentleman who
is prompted to make the inquiry would never
have deserved her, and certainly never have
obtained her.

`We will take lodgings half a mile, at least,
from the Springs,' said Mrs. Chapman to her

husband, as their carriage passed in sight of
the crowd assembled around the Congress
fountain. `I am sure,' she continued as her
eye rested on the castle like fabric of Congress
Hall, at that time the largest and far the
most splendid building in the village, `I am
sure, the noise and bustle of that house must
be quite shocking to persons who have been
accustomed to the regular, religious and literary
society of Connecticut.'

`I was intending to board at Union Hall,'
replied Mr. Chapman. `We must not expect
it will seem exactly as quiet and regular as our
own home, but it will be more convenient for
us than remote lodgings. You, Mrs. Chapman,
intend to drink the waters; I came to see the
folks, and Emily the fashions, and I think that
Union house there, will be just the thing for
our accommodation. Congress Hall I should
like, only it looks as if it would draw a little too
largely on my purse.'

`Do you know what kind of company they
have at the Union Hall?' inquired Mrs. Chapman,
in a querulous tone. `I should like to
be with civil, well-bred people, not among
the thoughtless and fantastic, who have balls
every other evening. I wish we could go where
our own friends and acquaintances resort.
The Reverend Mr. Briley and his lady you
know started a few days before us; and then
Colonel Eastman and his two daughters are
here, and Squire Ray and his wife, and the
widow Post.'—

`Yes, yes—there's fools enough from Connecticut

here as well as we,' interrupted Mr.
Chapman hastily—and then after a short pause,
during which his good natured countenance
exhibited a little embarrassment or vexation,
such as we may suppose would naturally arise
in the mind of a thorough man of business who
felt himself, for the first time in his life, in pursuit
of that pleasure which has neither definite
name nor aim, but must be found jostling
among a crowd of strangers in a strange place,
he added,—`I think, Mrs. Chapman, we have
a pretty good chance of seeing Yankees at
home; certainly we see our friends often
enough there. Now I should like to be acquainted
with some of the southern people,
and I have been told that Union Hall was frequented
mostly by gentlemen from that part of
the country. Perhaps I may learn something
about the management of cotton that will be
of advantage to me in the way of my business;
and so, if you please, we will alight here and
stay a few days at least,'—and he stepped
from his carriage, while a waiter instantly attended
to ask his commands. Mrs. Chapman
was really fatigued, they had driven a long
stage that morning, it was almost twelve, and
so she tacitly assented to her husband's proposition.

They were soon installed in a pleasant
apartment, the windows commanding a view
of Congress Hall, with its stately pillars and
airy portico, beneath which ladies were promenading,
and gentlemen sauntering, both often
pausing in their walk, as if charmed by the

sweet music that came at intervals from the
apartment of some piano-loving votary within.

Those who have visited Saratoga, and who
has not? know that the scenery around the
village makes no part of the attractions to that
celebrated place. It is the Springs, and the
crowd that sip the mineral waters that are the
objects of curiosity. Mrs. Chapman was not
much mistaken when, a few days after her arrival,
she declared it was by nature the most
disagreeable spot she ever saw. The street,
she remarked, was always dirt or dust, (this
was ten years since, perhaps she would now
report differently,) and if one wished to walk
out, there was nothing to be seen in any direction
but a low sunken marsh that appeared as
if it had never been drained since the deluge.
And then for the ornament of the grounds,
there was only stunted firs and other evergreens
all looking as withered, crooked or
sickly, as if they were languishing under the
curse of some sibyl.

The contrast was indeed very striking between
Saratoga, and the pleasant walks on the
banks of the Connecticut. There the turf is so
smooth and green, and the flowers woo you at
every step, and the broad beautiful trees throw
their graceful branches abroad as if rejoicing,
like a beauty surveying her image in a mirror,
to see their shadow on the green sward beneath.
And then there is the river, diffusing over the
wide meadows on its banks, a fertility unsurpassed
in our land; and the fresh invigorating
breezes from the pure waters and green hills,

which, if they cannot restore the invalid to
health, prevent the healthy from becoming invalid.
Who that has a taste for the beauties
of a rich landscape, and a heart attuned to the
music breathing from the lovely things of nature,
but would prefer a ramble on the banks
of the Connecticut to a promenade beneath the
portico of Congress Hall, where fashion and
frivolity gather their votaries, and more come
to have their dresses admired than to have
their diseases healed?

It must however be acknowledged, that much
of Mrs. Chapman's disgust and disappointment
arose from the circumstance of finding
herself but an unit among the collection of
human beings assembled around the Springs.
She would have indignantly repelled the idea
that selfishness was always her predominating
feeling, yet she never witnessed an exhibition
of any kind, or listened to a conversation, without
an immediate reference, in her own mind,
to the effect they had, or might have on herself—her
convenience, happiness or importance.

She had, at an expense that her husband, indulgent
as he was, called highly extravagant,
prepared for her own appearance at the springs
in a manner which she expected would secure
her instant notice. But, alas! she saw bonnets
there vastly richer than hers, and shawls that
made her sick with envy, and gowns with laces,
flounces and trimmings, which she decided
were absolutely wicked—only because they exceeded
the standard of her own apparel.

`It is an odious place here,' said Mrs. Chapman
to her husband, as he entered the room
where she and Emily were sitting, and inquired
if they were ready to accompany him to drink
the waters. `These southern ladies are so
stiff and formal, and as silent as though they
had always been accustomed to have their talking
as well as work done by the poor slaves.
I shall not join them in the drawing room again,
nor shall I go to the Springs this morning.
There is nothing worth seeing, and I can have
the water brought here to my chamber.'

`But you know, wife, that we came to see
the ways of the world, and at any rate I mean
to look about me while I stay. We might just
as well keep at home as confine ourselves to
our own apartments while here.'

`Do you like the society of these Southerners?'
demanded Mrs. Chapman.

`Why, yes, pretty well, only I see the cotton
growers give themselves some important airs;
but that is because they do not yet understand
about cotton manufacturing. I have endeavoured
to introduce the subject as often as possible,
for I hope the mutual benefit we derive from
each other will be the means of establishing a
confidence between us. However, I confess
they are rather reserved.'

`Reserved, do you call it,' returned Mrs.
Chapman, her countenance glowing with indignation.
`I do not pretend to know the
character of the men, but the women are absolutely
scornful. It was only yesterday I
made some inquiries of a lady respecting her

headdress, and she answered me very rudely.
But I hope I mortified her, for I soon after remarked,
when her slave came to wait upon her,
that I would not, for the universe, have a
negro wench tagging after me.'

`What do you think of your southern sisters,
Emily?' inquired Mr. Chapman, turning to his
ward.

`I think, sir,' answered the smiling girl, `that
they exhibit about the same qualities of the
heart and mind our northern ladies would if
placed in a similar situation. The difference
of customs, and customs must vary with climate,
and education, has made us to differ.
They complain of their servants, and we of our
help. They talk of selling the blacks because
of bad behavior, and we of turning away our
whites for similar faults. It is true in a circle
of Yankee women, there would be more attempts
at literary conversation, more books
mentioned and quotations—misapplied; but
then these ladies here have a kind of quietness
in their manner, a natural dignity that makes the
knowledge they do possess, appear very graceful;
and in canvassing fashions, they certainly
have the advantage of us. They do not seem
to feel it necessary to make the expense of a
thing an object of much conversation. Their
remarks are, therefore, more general, and consequently
do not appear so trifling as when
every yard of ribbon or lace on a dress is
measured, and the exact cost computed, as is
frequently the case among us in discussions on
the reigning modes. Do not think I advocate

thoughtless extravagance; I only believe we
may practice economy at home, without continually
puffing ourselves for our management
when abroad.'

`Then you do not feel disgusted with the society
here, nor intend to keep your chamber,'
said Mr. Chapman.

`O, no, sir, no,' replied Emily, eagerly.
`I have been highly amused with the new
scene; and I hope to reap some benefit, some
improvement from the observations I cannot
avoid making. I certainly feel much more interested
for these southern ladies, more as if
we are indeed of one country, than I should
have done had we never met.'

`That,' replied Mr. Chapman, with such
earnestness, such unaffected sincerity of manner,
as almost made his plain, practical remarks
appear like eloquence; `That will, I trust, be
usually the consequence when Americans have
an opportunity of mingling together. And if
these mineral waters are of little benefit in the
restoration of health—I, for one, think their
medicinal virtues are vastly overrated; yet they
are of importance in promoting an intercourse,
and thus strengthening the harmony between
the different sections of our vast country. People
from every quarter, will here meet and mingle,
and become acquainted; prejudices will
be, in part, overcome, and attachments formed,
till we shall feel we have friends, and therefore
a personal interest in the prosperity of every
state in our Union.'

`You and Emily may like the place and the

people too, if you choose, but I detest both;'
said Mrs. Chapman.

`Why should you, my dear, form an opinion
so different from Emily on this subject?' asked
her husband.

`The ladies are all partial to Emily,' replied
the wife, peevishly. `They converse with her
freely, but they avoid me.'

`You probably treat them coldly, and take
no pains to remove the prejudices they may
have formed against the Yankee women.'

`I care nothing for their prejudices, Mr.
Chapman. I shall take no pains to gain the
favor of those who are guilty of the monstrous
wickedness of holding their fellow creatures in
slavery. It is a sin in which I would not partake
for all the wealth of the Indies!'

`The slave system is wrong, I feel as well as
you, and an unfortunate thing for the peace and
prosperity of our country,' said Mr. Chapman,
seriously. `Yet we must not imagine, that
because in New England we have no slaves,
we are guilty of no sins. But where are those
lines you showed me the other day, Emily?
in Burns, I think.'

Emily reached the book, and Mr. Chapman
read, in a very exalted tone, to his wife:—

There, that verse contains, in my opinion, a
more excellent lesson on the necessity of self-examination

and humility than many a labored
sermon. And now, Mrs. Chapman, if you are
not intending to go out this morning, Emily
and I will walk to the Springs.'

Any person of reflection, who watches the
movements of an assembly of Americans, collected
even on their great festivals of rejoicing,
will be convinced that the pursuit of mere
amusements is incompatible with the feelings
and habits of the people. They never appear
to lay aside their cares, or give themselves up
to the enjoyment of the present pleasure.
They are not absorbed by the scene, show,
or pastime; they are remarking, reasoning,
scheming. There is a restlessness in their
movements, (a Yankee rarely sits still in his
chair,) an eagerness in their inquiries after
news, a kind of impatience as if they felt in a
hurry even when they know they have nothing
to do. They are like travellers who are looking
forward with earnestness to the next stage
in their journey, and feel quite unprepared to
rest or enjoy themselves by the way.

But to see this locomotive trait, in the American
character, in full activity, go to Saratoga.

Those ladies and gentlemen who assemble
there to pass a few weeks in uninterrupted
pleasure, display but little of that contented
satisfaction which betokens happiness. They
manifest more uneasiness than do the valetudinarians,
because the latter think there is a necessity,
a reason for their continuance at the
Springs. But the healthy ones are in a constant

state of excitement to find pleasure which
prevents them from ever enjoying it. They
are therefore restless, and wishing for a change
of weather or a change of company, or to visit
other places, or have the season over that they
may return home.

`I don't think, Emily,' said Mr. Chapman,
as they crossed the street, and jostled their way
amid the throng that were hastening to the
fountain, `though I will not find fault with every
thing I see, as my wife does, yet I don't think
those gentlemen and ladies there are so happy
as the persons I left at work in my factory.
They do not look half as cheerful and gay.
Indeed, the observations I have made, have
convinced me that employment, some kind of
business, is absolutely necessary to make men,
or at least our citizens, happy and respectable.
This trifling away of time when there is so
much to be done, so many improvements necessary
in our country, is inconsistent with that
principle of being useful, which every republican
ought to cherish. Now I never pass
through a place without looking out the good
building spots, nor do I see a stream of water
without thinking whether it has a good site
for a mill, or factory, or something of the sort.
But here, bless me, 'tis all hurry scurry round
to gaze at the wonders, without, I fear, thinking
at all. Away they go to lake George, and
Ticonderoga, and perhaps to Niagara, and
then to their billiard tables, balls and parties;
and after all, they look fatigued and miserably
disappointed. I meet with but few that pretend

to take much satisfaction in this kind of
life, they only say it is necessary as a relaxation
—but I guess they will, the most of them, be
glad when they are safe at home again. I certainly
shall for one. Have you, Emily, seen an
object here that will make you regret leaving
Saratoga?'

The question was asked at a most unlucky
moment, for Emily, on looking up to answer
her guardian, beheld, standing almost directly
before her, his dark, penetrating eyes fastened
on her face with an expression of admiration
that seemed to send his soul in the glance, a
young man whom she had for several preceding
days perceived paying her the homage of unceasing,
yet respectful, attention, whenever
she dared note him at all.

Emily Woodworth had never loved, never
seen the man she thought she could love, and
she did not think of loving the stranger;—she
only thought that he resembled her brother
who had died at college—that dear and only
brother for whom she had shed so many tears—
and she wished the stranger was her brother.
There was no harm in such a wish, though it
was a little romantic. But now his presence
joined with her guardian's abrupt question to
embarrass her excessively. She drew her veil
as closely over her face as ever did a Turkish
lady, and declining to taste the waters, stood
with her eyes fixed on the fountain, and watched,
with an apparently absorbing interest, the
little boys that then officiated to draw up the
bubbling and airy liquid which was eagerly

drank by the fashionable—for fashion's sake.
She did not turn her head, though she knew
the young stranger was beside her and expected
he was watching for an opportunity to gain
her attention.

To a novelist the introduction of these young
people would be an easy matter. Emily would
only have to drop her handkerchief, which
the stranger might pick up and present with a
graceful bow, that she must repay with a sweet
smile, and then some tender exclamation, or
abrupt compliment from him, and their destiny
to `live and love forever,' would be at once
palpable to every reader.

But in this matter of fact sketch, no such
lucky accident occurred, and so I shall have
to write another page to tell the story. Emily
did not drop her handkerchief, or meet with
an incident of any kind that required the interference
of a stranger; but clasping her guardian's
arm with more than her usual care, she
walked home without betraying any anxiety to
know whether she was followed or observed.

`You look pale and fatigued, Emily,' said
Mrs. Chapman, as the former threw aside her
bonnet. `Do my love sit down here by the
window.'

Emily took the seat, but a deep flush instantly
passed over her cheek as her eye
caught some object in the street before her,
and she retired to her own apartment saying
she was quite well, while Mr. Chapman observed
he never saw her look better. On descending
to dinner, which Mrs. Chapman declined

joining, Emily again saw standing in a
position that commanded a view of the door at
which the ladies entered, the same young,
dark-eyed stranger. He did not, however,
offer to approach her; and whether he dined
there or not, it was impossible for her to say—
she never once looked towards the place he
must have occupied.

She was apparently engrossed in listening
to the conversation of two gentlemen who sat
opposite to her. Their whole discourse might
be comprised in this sentiment,—`that rice
was excellent food—that rice was healthy
food—that rice ought to be a constant dish at
every man's table,' and `that it was wonderful
the northern people did not make more account
of rice.'

`I have made a very valuable acquaintance,
I guess,' said Mr. Chapman, as he entered, at
a late hour, his wife's apartment. `Judge
Daggett, with whose character you know I am
acquainted, asked leave to introduce a gentleman
who, he said, wished to be acquainted
with me. It was Mr. Henry Sinclair, from
North Carolina; he is rather young, but the
most sensible and intelligent man I have met
at Saratoga. I have been conversing with
him all the afternoon, and he has told me the
whole method of cultivating cotton, and many
other things that the planters have not been
very free to talk about. I find too, that he
thinks very highly of our northern country, and
would like to see Connecticut. Indeed, he
says he intends visiting that State before returning

home; and so I have invited him to
come to our village and see my cotton factory.
I should like, Mrs. Chapman, to introduce him
to you and Emily while we are here, and that
may induce him more willingly to call on us
should he go to Connecticut.'

Mrs. Chapman eagerly assented. She fancied
she should appear to excellent advantage
when there was not a crowd of ladies around;
and she never once dreamed that the gay, and,
as she thought her, the childish Emily, would
attract the notice of a man who conversed so
sensibly and seriously with her husband about
plantations and manufactories, &c.

During Mr. Chapman's absence in quest of
his new friend, Emily Woodworth changed
her seat more than once—even Mrs. Chapman,
occupied as she was with the idea of her
own importance, observed that something agitated
the girl, and carelessly inquired what
disturbed her. But Emily, with her usual
arch smile, assured her she was not disturbed—
and it is not known to this day whether a suspicion,
that the dark-eyed cavalier was the
person her guardian would introduce, ever entered
her mind.

Mrs. Chapman was much pleased with Mr.
Sinclair, and remarked several times after he
had gone, that he was the handsomest and
most accomplished southern man she had
seen. `I think him,' said she, `a perfect gentleman,
and really hope he will come to our
village and visit us.'

`I presume he will come to our village,' said
Mr. Chapman, looking at Emily with a most
provoking glance of intelligence; `but whether,
Mrs. Chapman, he will visit you and I, is,
I think, very doubtful.'

`Pray, who will he visit then? He said he
had no acquaintances there,' exclaimed Mrs.
Chapman. `Perhaps Emily can guess,' said
Mr. Chapman. But Emily left the room immediately
without attempting to guess.

Henry Sinclair made, as he said, the tour
of Connecticut. Certainly he tarried in that
state several weeks, and was so delighted with
the climate, scenery, society, &c. that he returned
the next year, and the next—and then
persuaded Emily to accompany him to North
Carolina, where he introduced her to his friends
as Mrs. Sinclair.

The domestic happiness of this amiable
couple is often mentioned by Mr. Chapman,
and he declares that, in his opinion, the best
method of promoting harmony between, the
different sections of our Union would be to
promote intermarriages among the inhabitants.
`There is,' he remarks in his humorous manner,
`there is, I find, more affinity between
the youths and maidens of the North and
South, than between cotton growers and cotton
manufacturers.'