University of Virginia Library

COURTING BY PROXY.
A TALE OF NEW YORK.

Young Mr. Alonzo Romeo Rush was dreadfully in love—as,
indeed, which of us is not? Everybody has a passion, though,
fortunately, the objects are infinitely various. Mr. Alonzo was
in love with himself for a year or two after he took leave of
childhood and milk-and-water; but after that his grandmamma
told him he ought to marry, and he fortwith fell violently in love
with his future wife, and vowed to allow himself no rest till he had
found her. This may be termed `love in the abstract,' which,
as we shall see, is not without its perplexities.

Mr. Alonzo was a darling boy, an orphan, and the heir of a good
Knickerbocker fortune. His grandmamma was his guardian, in
a sense beyond the cold, legal meaning of the term. She picked
the bones out of his fish, and reminded him of his pocket-handkerchief,
during all the years of his tenderer boyhood; and,
until he was full fourteen years old, he slept in her room, and had
his face washed by her own hands, in warm water, every morning.
Even after he called himself a man, she buttered his muffins and
tucked up his bed-clothes, with a solicitude above all praise.

Thanks to her care and attention, he reached the age of twenty-one
in safety, excepting that he was very subject to colds, which
alarmed his venerable relative extremely; and excepting also that
he showed an unaccountable liking for the society of a little
tailoress who had always made his clothes during his minority.

But now, as we have said, he was dreadfully in love; and what
made his situation the more puzzling was that his grandmamma, in
her various charges, had entirely omitted to specify the lady to
whom his devotions ought to be paid. She even urged him to
choose for himself. What a responsibility!

`Only remember, Alonzo,' said the good lady, `that you will
never be happy with a girl that does not like muffins, and that it is
as easy to love a rich girl as a poor one.'

`Yes,' responded Mr. Alonzo, with rather an absent air; `yes,
and as to muffins—' here he sunk into a reverie.

`Grandma!' exclaimed the darling, after some pause, `couldn't
you ask Parthenia Blinks here to tea?'

`Certainly, my dear,' said the good lady, and she rang the
bell at once, preparatory to the making of several kinds of cake, and
various other good things.

The invitation was duly sent, and as duly accepted by Miss
Parthenia Blinks, who found it politic always to accept an invitation,
that she might do as she pleased when the time came—a practice
fully adopted by many fashionables.

The time did come, and there was the tea-table, set out with four
kinds of preserves, arranged with the most exact quadrangularity;
in the centre a large basket heaped with cake, and at the sides two
mountains of toast and muffins; tea, coffee, and various accessories
completing the prospect.

The fine old Knickerbocker parlor was in its primest order, every

chair standing exactly parallel with its brother; the tea-kettle
singing on its chafing-dish, the cat purring on the hearth-rug. Two
sofas, covered with needle-work, were drawn up to the fire, and the
mandarins on the chimney-piece nodded at each other and at
the pink and azure shepherds and shepherdesses which ornamented
the space between them. Mr. Alonzo Romeo Rush stood before
the glass, giving the last twirl to an obstinate side-lock, which, in
spite of persuasion and pomatum, would obey that fate called a
cow-lick.

An impetuous ring at the door. The little tailoress, who had
been giving a parting glance at her own handy-work, slipped out of
the room, sighing softly; and Alonzo and his grandmamma seated
themselves on the opposite sofas, for symmetry's sake.

A billet in a gilded envelope. Miss Parthenia Blinks' regrets.

`What an impudent thing!' said the old lady, with a toss of
her cap. (We do not know whether she meant the act or the
young lady.) `But come, my dear, you shall eat the muffins, and
never mind her. The next time I ask Miss Blinks it will do
her good, I know.'

Mr. Alonzo, nothing daunted by this mortifying slight, turned
his thoughts next to Miss Justina Cuypers, a young lady who
resided with two maiden aunts in a house which had suffered
but little change since the Revolution. The first step which
suggested itself to the darling, was to ask Miss Cuypers to ride;
but to reach this golden apple the aunts must be propitiated,
and therefore it was judged best that grandmamma should make
one of the party, in order that none of the proprieties might be
violated. Alonzo was charioteer, but, as he was not much accustomed
to driving, his grandmamma felt it her duty to take the
reins out of his hands very frequently, besides giving him many

directions as to which rein he ought to pull, in meeting the
numerous vehicles which they encountered on the Harlem road.
Whether from the excess of his passion for Miss Cuypers, who
never spoke once the whole way, or whether from the confusion
incident to reiterated instructions, poor Mr. Alonzo did finish the
drive by an overturn, which did not kill anybody, but spoiled the
young lady's new bonnet, and covered her admirer with mud and
mortification.

The failure of these kindly attempts of his grandmamma to save
him the trouble of getting a wife, taught Mr. Alonzo a lesson. He
drew the astute inference that old ladies were not good proxies
in all cases. He even thought of taking the matter into his
own hands, and with this view it was not long before he set out,
like a prince in a fairy tale, to seek his fortune.

The first house he came to—that is to say, the one to which his
footsteps turned most naturally—was one belonging to a distant
connection of his grandmamma, a lady whose ancestor came over
with Hendrik Hudson, or, as the family chroniclers insisted, a little
before. Miss Alida Van Der Benschoten, the daughter of this
lady—a fresh sprout from the time-honored tree—might have been
known to Alonzo, but that he had always hidden himself when her
mamma brought her to pay her annual visit to his grandmamma.
She resided with her mother, one ancient sister, and two great rude
brothers, on the borders of the city, in one of those tempting
ruralities called cottages, built of brick, three stories high, and
furnished with balconies and verandahs of cast iron, all very
agricultural indeed, as a certain lady said of a green door. The
idea of Miss Alida being once entertained, the shrubberies about the
Van Der Benschoten cottage, consisting of three altheas, a privet
hedge, and a Madeira vine, seemed to invite a Romeo, and our

hero resolved to open his first act with a balcony scene. Not that
he had a speech ready, for if he had he would have delivered it in
the parlor; but he had heard much of the power of sweet sounds,
and conceived the idea of trying them upon the heart of Miss
Alida before he ventured upon words, as Hannibal, (was n't it?)
having rocks to soften, tried vinegar before pickaxes. Having often
encountered bands of music in the streets at night—or rather in
the evening, for his grandmamma never allowed him to be out after
ten—he concluded the business of these patrols to be serenading;
and, making great exertions to find one of the most powerful
companies, he engaged their leader to be in full force before
Mrs. Van Der Benschoten's door on a certain evening, resolved
himself to lie perdu, in a convenient spot, ready to speak if the young
lady should appear on the balcony, as he did not doubt she would.
The Coryphæus of the band was true to his promise, and he and
his followers had played with all their might for half an hour or so,
when, observing no demonstration from the house, and feeling
rather chilly, they consulted their employer as to the propriety of
continuing.

`Oh! go on, go on,' whispered Mr. Alonzo; `she is n't waked up
yet!' (The youth understood the true object of a serenade.) `Play
away till you hear something.'

And, on the word, Washington's March aroused the weary
echoes, if not Miss Alida.

This new attack certainly was not in vain. A window was softly
opened, and as the band, inspired by this sign of life, threw new
vigor into their instrumentation, a copious shower of boots, boot-jacks,
billets of wood, and various other missiles, untuned the
performers, who, in spite of the martial spirit breathed but just
before, all ran away forthwith.

Mr. Alonzo scorned to follow, particularly as he had a snug berth
under one of the three altheas; but a voice crying “Seek him—
seek him, Vixen!' and the long bounds of a dog in the back yard
dislodged him, and he made an ignominious retreat.

We dare not describe the dreams of our hero that night; but we
record it to his everlasting credit that he was not disheartened by
this inauspicious conclusion of his daring adventure. He ascribed
the rude interruption, very correctly, to one of Miss Alida's brothers;
and every time he met one of them in the street he used to tell his
grandmamma of it when he came home, always adding that he only
wished he knew whether that was the one!

Music was still a good resource, and Mr. Alonzo resolved to try it
in another form. He knew a young gentleman who played the
guitar, and sang many a soft Spanish ditty to its seductive twanging;
and, as this youth happened to be a good-natured fellow, and
one who did a large amount of serenading on his own account, it
was not difficult to persuade him to attempt something for a friend.

So, when next the fair moon favored the stricken-hearted, the two
young men, choosing a spot of deepest shade, beset Miss Alida with
music of a far more insidious character than that first employed by
the inexperienced Alonzo. Few female hearts can resist the influence
of such bewitching airs as those with which good-natured
Harry Blunt endeavored to expound his friend's sweet meanings;
and, after a whole round of sentiment had rung from the guitar, and
the far sweeter tenor of its owner, a window opened once more, and
poor Mr. Alonzo scampered off incontinent.

Harry, who had not been exposed to the storm which rewarded
the previous serenade, stood his ground, and had the satisfaction of
picking up a delicate bouquet which fell just before him in the

moonlight. This he carried, most honorably, to his friend, whom he
supposed to be already in Miss Alida's good graces.

`What shall I do?' said Mr. Alonzo, who had a dim perception
of the responsibility attached to this favor from a lady.

`Do!' exclaimed Harry, laughing, `why, order a splendid one at
N—'s, and send a servant with it to-morrow, with your compliments.'

`So I will!—see if I do n't,' said Mr. Alonzo, delighted. `I'll get
one as big as a dinner-plate.'

In pursuance of this resolve, he called up an old family servant,
and, locking the door, gave him ample directions, and in the most
solemn manner.

`And mind, Moses,' said young master, `get one of the very
largest size, and give whatever they ask.' Hapless Alonzo! Why
not put on thy hat, and go forth to choose thy bouquet in person?
Moses took the ten-dollar note which Alonzo handed him, and
departed with injunctions to utmost speed and inviolable discretion.

Mr. Alonzo paced the floor, with the air of a man who, having
done his best, feels that he ought to succeed, till at length the
returning steps of his messenger greeted his ear.'

`Well, Mose! have you carried it? Did you get a handsome
one? Did you see her? What did she say?'

Poor Mose showed the entire white of his eyes.

`Why Massa,' said he, `you ax me too many questions to onst.
I got him, and I carried him to Miss Van Der Benschoten's house,
but I no see the young woman; but I tell the colored gentleman at
the door who sent him.'

`That was right,' said Mr. Alonzo; but was it large and handsome
Moses?'

`Monstrous big, Massa; big as dat stand any how! And here's
the change; I beat him down a good deal, for he ask two shillin,
and I make him take eighteen pence.'

And it was with much self-complacency that good old Moses
pulled out of his pocket a handful of money.

`Change!' said Mr. Alonzo, with much misgiving, `change—
eighteenpence—two shillings—what are you talking about? What
kind of flowers were they?

`Oh! beautiful flowers, massa. There was pi'nies and laylocks,
and paas-blumechies, and eberyting!'

We will only say that if hard words could break bones, poor old
Moses would not have had a whole one left in his body—but of
what avail?

Next day came out invitations for a large party at Mrs. Van Der
Benschoten's, and Harry Blunt, who had been spied out by one of
the belligerent brothers of Miss Alida, and recognized as the hero
of the serenade à l' Espagnol, was invited, while our poor friend,
Alonzo, was overlooked entirely, in spite of the laugh which his
elegant bouquet had afforded the young ladies.

The morning after the party, Alonzo encountered his friend
Harry, who had been much surprised at his absence.

`Why didn't you go?' he asked; `it was a splendid affair. I
heard of your bouquet, but I explained, and you need not mind.
Write a note yourself—that will set all right again.'

`Would you really?' said Mr. Alonzo, earnestly.

`To be sure I would! Come, do it at once.'

But Alonzo recollected that he had not yet found much time to
bestow on his education, so that the writing of a note would be
somewhat of an undertaking.

`Can't you do it for me?' said he; you are used to these things.'

Oh, yes, certainly,' said the obliging Harry, and he dashed off a
very pretty note, enveloped it, comme il faut, and directed it to
Miss Van Der Benschoten, Humming-Bird Place.

A most obliging answer was returned—an answer requiring a
reply; and, by the aid of his friend Harry, Mr. Alonzo Romeo
Rush kept up his side of the correspondence with so much spirit,
that, in the course of a few weeks, he was invited to call at the
rural residence, with an understanding on all sides that this interview
was to be the end of protocols, and the incipient stage of definitive
arrangements which would involve the future happiness of a
pair of hearts.

It was an anxious morning, that which fitted out Mr. Alonzo
Romeo Rush for this expedition. His grandmamma washed and
combed him, and the little tailoress brushed his clothes, picking off
every particle of lint with her slender fingers, and thinking when
she had done, that he stood the very perfection of human loveliness.

`Thank you, Mary,' said he, very kindly, and, as he looked at
her, he could not but notice the deep blush which covered a cheek
usually pale for want of exercise and amusement.

However this was no time to look at tailoresses; and Mr. Alonzo
was soon on his way to Humming-Bird Place.

How his hand trembled as he fumbled for the bell-handle, and
how reminiscences crowded upon him as he saw on the step a large
dog which he knew by intuition to be the very Vixen of the serenade.
Then to think of what different circumstances he stood in
at present! Oh! it was overpowering, and Mr. Alonzo was all in
a perspiration when the servant opened the door.

`Is Miss Van Der Benschoten at home?'

`Yes, sir!' A low bow. `Walk up stairs, sir?'

Another low bow. The servant must have guessed his errand.

He was ushered into a twilight drawing-room, and sat down, his
heart throbbing so that it made the sofa-cushions quiver.

Hark!—a footstep—a lady—and in another instant Mr. Alonzo
had taken a small hand without venturing to look at the face of the
owner. He had forgotten to make a speech, so he held the little
hand and meditated one.

At length he began—`Miss Van Der Benschoten, my grand-mamma—'
and here, at fault, he looked up inadvertantly.

`What is the matter, Mr. Rush!' exclaimed the lady.

`I—am sick—' said Alonzo, making a rush for the street door.

The lady was the elder sister of Miss Alida, diminutive, illformed,
and with such a face as one sees in very severe nightmare.

Alonzo reached his grandmamma's, and the first person he met
as he dashed through the hall was the little tailoress.

We know not if he had made a Jeptha-like vow in the course of
his transit; but he caught the hand of his humble friend, and said,
with startling energy,

`Mary!' will you marry me?'

`I! I!' said the poor girl, and she burst into tears.

But Alonzo, now in earnest, found no lack of words; and the
result was that he drew Mary's arm through his, and half led, half
carried her, straight to his grandmamma's sofa.

`Grandma!' said he, `This shall be my wife or nobody. I have
tried to love a rich girl, but I love Mary without trying. Give us
your blessing, grandma, and let's have the wedding at once.'

The old lady, speechless, could only hold up both hands; but
Alonzo, inspired by real feeling, looked so different from the soulless
darling he had ever seemed, that she felt an involuntary respect
which prevented her opposing his will very decidedly. It was not

long before he obtained an absolute permission to be happy in his
own way. Wise grandmamma!—say we.

Mary was always a good girl, and riding in her own carriage has
made her a beauty, too. She is not the only lady of the `aucune'
family who flourishes within our bounds. As for our friend Alonzo,
he smiles instead of sighing, as he passes Humming-Bird Place.