University of Virginia Library

As you like it.

“Tell me, my dear friend, if you love the coun
“try, (to borrow your legal phrase,) per se? Here
“I am surrounded by magnificent scenery, in the
“midst of `bowery summer,' in the month of flowers,
“and singing-birds, the leafy month of June, and
“yet I am sighing for New York. It is Madame
“de Staël, I think, who says that `love and religion
“only can enable us to enjoy nature.' The first,
“alas! alas! is (for is read ought to be,) passé to
“me; and the last I have exclusively associated with
“the sick-chamber and other forms of gloom and
“misery.

“I honestly confess, I do love the town; I prefer
“a walk on a clean flagging to daggling my
“flounces and wetting my feet in these green fields.
“I had rather be waked in the morning, (if waked
“I must be) by the chimney-sweeps' cry, than by
“the chattering of martins. I prefer the expressive
“hum of my own species to the hum of insects, and
“I had rather see a few japonicas, geraniums, and

“jasmines, peeping from a parlor-window, than all
“these acres of wheat, corn, and potatoes.

“Oh, for the luxury of my own sofa, with the
“morning-paper or the `last new novel' from Good
“rich: with the blinds closed, and the sweet security
“of a `not at home' order to faithful servants.
“Country people have such a passion for prospects,
“as if there were no picture in life but a paysage;
“and for light too, they are all Persians—worship
“pers of the sun. My friends here do not even
“know the elements of the arts of life. They have
“not yet learned that nothing but infancy or such
“a complexion as Emilie's can endure the revela
“tions of broad sunshine. It would be difficult, my
“dear Roscoe, to give you an idea of the varieties
“of misery to which I am exposed. My friends
“pride themselves on their hospitality—on their de
“votion to their guests. They know nothing of
“the art of `letting alone.' I must ride, or walk,
“or sail. We must have this friend to dine, or
“that `charming girl to pass the day.' My old
“school-mate, Harriet Upton, whom in an evil hour
“I came thus far to see, was in her girlhood quite
“an inoffensive little negative. She is now a posi
“tive wife—a positive house-wife—a positive mo
“ther—and Mrs. Balwhidder, the busiest of bees,
“nay, all the bees of Mount Hymettus are not half
“so busy as Harriet Upton. She has the best din
“ners, pies, cake, sweetmeats, in the country—her
“house is in the most exact order, and no servants—
“or next to none—a house full of children too, and
“no nursery! She is an incessant talker, and no
“topic but husband and children and house-affairs.

“She is an economist too, and like most female sages
“in that line, that I have had the misfortune to en
“counter, she loses all recollection of the end in her
“eternal bustle about the means. Every thing
“she wears is a bargain. All her furniture has
“been bought at auctions. She tells me with infi
“nite naîveté (me of all subjects for such a boast)
“that she always makes her visits to town in the
“spring, when families are breaking up, and mer
“chants are breaking down—when to every tenth
“house is appended that prettiest of ensigns, in
“her eyes, a red flag, and half the shop-windows
“are eloquent with that talismanic sentence, `selling
“off at cost.' Oh Roscoe! would that you could
“see her look, half incredulous and half contemptu
“ous, when I tell her that my maid, Justine, does
“all my shopping, and confess my ignorance of the
“price of every article of my dress.

“But even Dame Upton, a mass of insipidities as
“she is, is as much more tolerable than her hus
“band, as a busy, scratching, fluttering, clucking
“motherly hen, than a solemn turkey-cock. He,
“I fancy, from the pomp and circumstance with
“which he enounces his common-places is Sir Ora
“cle among his neighbors. He is a man of great
“affairs, president of an agricultural society, colo
“nel of a regiment, justice of the peace, director of
“a bank—in short, he fills all departments, milita
“ry, civil, and financial, and may be best sum
“med up in our friend D.'s pithy sentence—`he is
“all-sufficient, self-sufficient, and insufficient.'

“I am vexed at myself for having been the dupe
“of a school-day friendship. You, Roscoe, are

“partly in fault for having kept alive my youthful
“sentimentalities. What a different story would
“Emilie tell you, were she to write! Every thing
“is couleur de rose to her; but that is the hue of se
“venteen—and besides, from having been brought
“up in a tame way with her aunt, common plea
“sures are novelties to her. From the moment we
“left New York, she had a succession of ecstacies.
“The palisades were `grand;' the highlands
“`Alps;' and the Caatskills `Chimborazo,' and
“`Himlaya.' She could have lived and died at
“West Point, and found a paradise at any of those
“pretty places on the Hudson. Albany, that little
“Dutch furnace, was classic ground to her, and she
“dragged me round at day-light to search among
“the stately modern buildings for the old Dutch
“rookeries that the alchymy of Irving's pen has, in
“her imagination, transmuted to antique gems.
“Even in traversing the pine and sandy wilderness
“from Albany to Schenectady, she exclaimed, `how
“beautiful!' and when I, half vexed, asked `what
“is beautiful?' she pointed to the few spireas and
“sweetbriars by the road-side. Alas for her poor
“mother! the kaleidescope of her imagination was
“broken long ago, and trifles will never again
“assume beautiful forms and hues to her vision.
“There are pleasures, however, for which I have
“still an exquisite relish—a letter from you, my
“dear Gerald, would be a `diamond fountain' in
“this desert.

“By the way, what do you know of the Cla
“rences of Clarenceville? They called on us a
“few days since; the father, daughter, and a young

“man by the name of Seton, an artist, who resides
“in the family and teaches the young lady paint
“ing. She, if one may judge from the poor fellow's
“blue eye and sunken cheek, has already drawn
“lines on his heart, that it will take a more cunning
“art than his to efface. He seems to regard her as a
“poet does his muse, or a hero his inspiring genius,
“as something to be worshipped and obeyed, but
“not approached. She appears a comely little body,
“amiable, and rather clever—at least she looked
“so: she scarcely spoke while she was here; once
“I fancied she blushed—and at what, do you think?
“Your name, Gerald. The father was very curious
“about you. He is a `melancholy Jacques' of a
“man, but he is a dyspeptic, which accounts for all
“moral maladies. They are evidently the lions of
“this part of the world. Harriet Upton has a con
“stitutional deference for whatever is distingué in
“any way; and she was in evident trepidation lest
“Mr. Clarence, who, she took care to tell me, was
“`very particular,' should not accord his suffrage
“to her friend. I was piqued, and determined to
“show her there was more in woman's power than
“was dreamt of in her philosophy. I succeeded so
“well that she kindly assured me she had never
“seen Mr. Clarence `take so to a stranger,' and
“`husband said so too.' `Husband says,' in Harriet
“Upton's mouth, is equivalent to `scripture says'
“from an orthodox divine.

“Mr. Clarence betrayed some surprise at my
“particular knowledge of you, and your affairs; for
“to confess the truth, I was a little ostentatious of
“the flattering fact of our intimacy. I cannot ac

“count for his curiosity about you, but on the—fe
“minine supposition, you will call it—that he has
“designs, or rather hopes, in relation to you; and
“on some accounts the thing would do remarkably
“well. But then there is your genuine antipathy
“to rich alliances to be overcome; and, Gerald, you
“are such a devotee to beauty, that this young lady
“would shock your beau-ideal; and besides, to a
“young man who is a romantic visionary in affairs
“of the heart, there is something chilling and re
“volting in the sort of exemplary, mathematical cha
“racter that I take Miss Clarence to be; and finally
“—and thank Heaven for it—you are not a marry
“ing man, Gerald.

“I wonder that any man—that is, any man of
“society—should trammel himself with matrimony,
“till it becomes a refuge from old-bachelorhood.
“An old bachelor is certainly the poorest creature
“in existence. An old maid has a conventual asy
“lum in the obscurity of domestic life; and besides,
“it is possible that her singleness is involuntary, and
“then you feel more of pity than contempt for her;
“but an old bachelor, whether he be a fidgety, cy
“nical churl, or a good-natured tool who runs of
“errands for the mamas, dances with the youngest
“girls in company, (a sure sign of dotage,) and
“feeds the children with sugar-plums; an old ba
“chelor is a link dropped from the universal chain,
“not missed, and soon forgotten.

“But to the Clarences once more. Miss Clarence
“and Emilie have taken a mutual liking, and Emilie
“has accepted an invitation, received to-day, and ex
“pressed in the kindest manner, to pass a week at Cla

“renceville. The invitation to the Uptons and me is
“limited to a dinner. If Miss Clarence were a wo
“man of the world, she would not care to bring her
“self into such close comparison with such exqui
“site beauty as Emilie's. Is it not strange that
“Emilie, Hebe as she is, should have so little influ
“ence over the imagination. She is a great deal
“more like Layton than like her poor mother. By
“the way, will you tell Layton he must remit us
“some money, and also that I shall conform to his
“wishes in respect to going to Trenton, and shall of
“course expect the necessary funds. Be kind enough
“to say I should have written to him if I had had
“time.

“Oh, that my friend would write—not a book—
“heaven forefend! but a letter. Do gratify my
“curiosity about the Clarences. I mean in rela
“tion to any particular interest they may have in
“you. I know generally the history of Mr. C.'s
“discovery of his father, and his law-suit.

“Adieu, dear Gerald. Believe me with as much
“sentiment as a wife and matron may indulge,

Gerald Roscoe to Mrs. Layton.

“My dear Madam—It is I believe canonical to
“answer first the conclusion of a lady's letter. My
“reply to your queries about the Clarences will ac
“count for Mr. C.'s interest in me, without involv
“ing any reason so flattering as that you have sug

“gested. My uncle, Gerald Roscoe, was one of
“that unlucky brotherhood that have fallen under
“your lash, and so far from being a `dropped link,
“not missed, and soon forgotten,' he had that
“warmth and susceptibility of heart, that activity
“and benevolence of disposition, that strengthen
“and brighten the chain that binds man to man,
“and earth to heaven. Blessed be his memory!
“I never see an old bachelor that my heart does
“not warm to him for his sake. But to my story.
“My uncle—a Howard in his charities—(you
“touched a nerve, my dear Mrs. Layton, when
“you satarised old bachelors)—my uncle, on a
“visit to our city alms-house, espied a little boy,
“who, to use his own phrase, had a certain some
“thing about him that took his heart. This certain
“something, by the way, he saw in whoever needed
“his kindness. The boy too, at the first glance
“was attracted to my uncle. Children are the
“keenest physiognomists—never at fault in their first
“loves. It suddenly occurred to my uncle, that an
“errand-boy was indispensable to him. The child
“was removed to my grandfather's, and soon made
“such rapid advances in his patron's affections that
“he sent him to the best schools in the city, and
“promoted him to the parlor, where, universal
“sufferance being the rule of my grandfather's
“house, he was soon as firmly established as if he
“had equal rights with the children of the family.
“This child was then, as you probably know,
“called Charles Carroll. He was just graduated
“with the first honors of Columbia College, when,
“within a few days of each other, my grandfather
“and uncle died, and the house of Roscoe & Son
“proved to be insolvent. Young Carroll, of course,
“was cast on his own energies. He would have
“preferred the profession of law, but he had fallen
“desperately in love with a Miss Lynford, who
“lived in dependence in her uncle's family. He
“could not brook the humiliations which, I suspect,
“he felt more keenly than the subject of them,
“and he married, and was compelled, by the actual
“necessities of existence, to renounce distant ad
“vantages for the humble but certain gains of a
“clerkship. These particulars I had from my mo
“ther. You may not have heard that at the moment
“of his accession of property he suffered a calamity
“in the death of an only son, which deprived
“him of all relish, almost of all consciousness, of
“his prosperity. He would gladly have filled
“the boy's yawning grave with the wealth which
“seemed to fall into his hands at that moment, to
“mock him with its impotence. The boy was a
“rare gem. I knew him and loved him, and hap
“pened to witness his death; and being then at the
“impressible season of life, it sunk deeply into
“my heart. It was a sudden, and for a long time,
“a total eclipse to the poor father. The shock
“was aggravated by a bitter self-reproach, for
“having, in his engrossing anxiety for the result of
“his pending lawsuit, neglected the child's malady
“while it was yet curable.

“He was plunged into an abyss of melancholy.
“His health was ruined, and his mind a prey to
“hypochondriac despondency. He languished for
“a year without one effort to retrieve his spirits.

“His physician prescribed entire change of scene,
“as the only remedy, and a voyage to Europe was
“decided on. His daughter was sent to Madame
“Rivardi's in Philadelphia, where, by the way, if
“she had been of a polishable texture, she would
“now be something very different from the unembel
“lished little person you describe. Mrs. Clarence went
“abroad with her husband. My mother, who is a
“sagacious observer of her own sex, says she was a
“weak and worldly-minded woman, quite unfit to
“manage, and certainly to rectify, so delicate an
“instrument as her husband's mind. They had
“been in Europe about eighteen months, when Mr.
“Clarence received the news of my father's death,
“the last, and bitterest of our family misfortunes.
“This event roused Mr. Clarence' generous sym
“pathies. It gave him a motive for return and ex
“ertion. He came home to proffer assistance in
“every form to my mother. He found that she
“had heroically surmounted difficulties with which
“few spirits would have struggled; that she had
“declined a compromise with my father's creditors,
“and had succeeded in paying off all his debts;
“and that we were living independently, but with
“a severe frugality almost unparalleled in our boun
“tiful country. I mention these particulars in jus
“tice to Mr. Clarence, and to do honor to my
“mother. My mother! I never write or speak
“her name without a thrill through my heart. A
“thousand times have I blessed the adversity that
“brought forth her virtue in such sweet and beau
“tiful manifestations. It was there, like the per
“fume in the flower, latent under the meridian sun,
“but exhaled by the beating tempest.

“I should not care my wife should honor my me
“mory by mausoleums, cherished grief, and moping
“melancholy, and their ostentatious ensigns. Deep
“and even unchanging weeds, do not excite my
,`imagination; but the tender, cheerful fortitude
“with which my mother endured pecuniary reverses;
“the unblenching resolution with which she met
“all the perplexing details of business, never falter
“ing till my father's interrupted purposes were
“effected, and till his memory was blessed, even by
“his creditors; this is the honor that would make
“my ghost trip lightly through elysium—shame
“on my heathenism!—that would enhance the hap
“piness of heaven.

“But to return to Mr. Clarence. He insisted
“that he owed a debt to my father's family, and that
“my mother ought not to withhold from him the
“right as he had now the opportunity to can
“cel it.

“My mother, with the scrupulousness which, if
“it is an infirmity, is the infirmity of a noble mind,
“recoiled from a pecuniary obligation. Mr. Cla
“rence, however, was not to be baffled. Inspired
“with confidence in me, as he said, by the ability
“with which I had assisted my mother in the man
“agement of our private disastrous affairs, he made
“me his man of business, and paid me a salary that
“relieved us at once from our most pressing neces
“sities. I soon after entered on my profession, and
“from that time have received a series of kindnesses,
“which, in the temper of his noble nature, he has
“bestowed as my dues, rather than as his favours.
“It is now five years since I have seen him. His

“daughter I have never seen since her childhood;
“though far less striking than her brother, she
“was then interesting. I am mortified, on her
“father's account, that she should have turned out
“such an ordinary concern. But it is a common
“case; the fruit rarely verifies the promise of the
“bud. However, I fancy her father has his conso
“lations. I infer from his letters that she is ex
“emplary in her filial duties. They have resided at
“Clarenceville ever since her mother's death, when
“Miss C. was withdrawn from school. It is cer
“tainly a merit in a girl of her brilliant expecta
“tions to remain contentedly buried alive in the
“country—a merit to point a moral, not adorn a
“tale. Is it natural depravity, my dear Mrs. Lay
“ton, or artificial perversity, that makes us during
“the romantic period of life so insensible to useful
“home-bred virtues? `A comely little body—
“amiable and rather clever!' Heavens! such a
“picture would give Cupid an ague-fit. The words
“raise the long forgotten dead in my memory and
“carry me back to good Parson Peabody's, in
“Connecticut, where I was sent to learn Latin and
“Greek, and where, even then, my wicked heart
“revolted from `a comely little body—amiable and
“rather clever,' a Miss Eunice Peabody—a pat
“tern damsel. I see her now knitting the parson's
“long blue yarn-stockings, and at the same time
“dutifully reading Rollin, Smollett, (his history!)
“and Russell's Modern Europe—knitting, and read
“ing by the mark. Many a time in my boyish
“mischief I have slipped back her mark, and seen
“her faithfully and unspectingly retrace the pages,
“though once, when I had ventured to repeat the
“experiment on the same portion of the book, she
“very sagely remarked to the admiring parson `that
“there was considerable repetition in Rollin..' How
“ever, I beg Miss Clarence' pardon, and really
“take shame to myself for any disrespect to
“one so nearly and dearly allied to my excellent
“friend, her father. The truth is, I have been a
“good deal vexed by having her seriously proposed
“to me as a most worthy matrimonial enterprise,
“by several of my friends, who flatter me by say
“ing, it would be an acceptable alliance to the
“father, and that I want nothing but fortune to
“make a figure in life. Now that is just what I
“do not want. I have my own ambition, but,
“thank God, it does not run in that vulgar channel.
“I honor my profession, among other reasons, be
“cause it does not hold forth the lure of wealth.
“I would press on in the noble career before me,
“my eye fixed on such men as Emmet and Wells,
“and if I attain eminence it shall be as they have
“attained it, by the noblest means—the achieve
“ments of the mind; and the eminence shall be
“too, like that `holy hill of the Lord, to which
“none shall ascend but those that wash their hands
“in innocency.' If you have the common prejudices
“against my profession, you may think this holy
“hill as inaccessible to lawyers, as the promised
“land was to the poor sinning Israelites. But
“allow me, by way of an apt illustration of my own
“ideas, to repeat to you a compliment I received
“from Agrippa, an old negro-servant of my fa
“ther. He came into my office and looking
“round with great complacency, said, `Well, Mas
“ter Gerald, you've raly got to be a squire.'

“`Yes, Grip; but I hope you do not think that
“lawyers cannot be good men.'

“`No, that I don't sir; clean hands must do a
“great deal of dirty work in this world.'

“I shall never undertake a doubtful cause—a ne
“cessity which I believe the best ethics include
“among our legal duties—without consoling myself
“with Agrippa's apothegm. But enough, and too
“much, of egotism. One word as to your womanly
“fancy that Miss Clarence blushed at the mention of
“my name; I never knew a woman that had not a gift
“for seeing blushes and tears. Poor Miss Clarence!
“Never was there a more gratuitous fancy than
“this.

“And now, my dear madam, for a more agreea
“ble topic. When do you return to the city? I
“am becoming desperate. My dear mother has
“been at Schooley's mountain for the last four
“weeks; and since your parting `God bless you,'
“I have not exchanged one word with `Heaven's
“last, best work.' My condition reminds me of a
“play, written by a friend of mine, which was re
“turned to him by the manager, with this comment,
“`It will not do, sir. Why there is not a woman in
“it; and if your men were heroes or angels, they
“must be damned without women.' Now I am far
“enough from being hero or angel; but there is no
“paradise to me without women—without you, my
“dear madam—and—my mother. I put her in,

“not so much for duty's, as for truth's sake. Com
“mend me to Miss Emilie; it is no wonder she
“should love the country—all that is sweet, beau
“tiful, and inspiring in nature, is allied to her.

“My temper was put to the test the other day on
“her account; or more on yours, than hers. Tom
“Reynolds joined me on the Battery. `So,' said
“he, `your friend Mrs. Layton has made a grand
“match for her peerless daughter!'

“`How? to what do you allude?'

“`Bless me! you have not heard that Emilie
“Layton is engaged to the rich Spaniard, Pe
“drillo?'

“`Pshaw! that is too absurd. Pedrillo is a fo
“reigner, unknown, and twice Miss Layton's age.'

“`Mere bagatelles, my dear sir. He is rich; and
“put what you please in the other scale, and it kicks
“the beam, that is, if fathers and mothers are to
“strike the balance.'

“`Upon my word, you do them great ho
“nor; but in this case I fancy Miss Layton's own
“inclinations will be consulted.'

“`Tant mieux. Pedrillo is a devilish genteel
“fellow, handsome enough, and has a very insinu
“ating address. What more can a girl ask for?'

“I was not, as you may suppose, my dear ma
“dam, fool enough to throw away any sentiment on
“a man destitute of the first principles on which
“sentiment is founded. So we parted; but I was
“indignant that rumor should for a moment class
“you with persons who are degraded far below the
“level of those pagan parents who abandon their

“children to the elements, or sacrifice them to their
“divinities. Of all the mortifying spectacles of ci
“vilized life, I know none so revolting as a parent
“—a mother—who is governed by mercenary mo
“tives in controlling the connubial destiny of a
“daughter! But why this to you, who are inde
“pendent, to a fault, (I should say, if the queen could
“do wrong,) of all pecuniary considerations?

“But my letter is so long, that my moral has
“little chance of being read; so here is an end
“of it. Return, I beseech you, my dear Mrs. Lay
“ton; nothing has any tendency to fill the vacancy
“you make in the life of your devoted friend and
“servant,