University of Virginia Library

44. CHAPTER XLIV.

The love of dress is said by some to be the ruling
passion of the female soul. This is a slanderous
accusation, no doubt; and one which is to be
traced to the anxiety with which the stronger sex
would fain fasten upon the weaker the imputation
of a frivolity and feebleness of mind proportioned
to their deficiency in bodily energy; and this in
revenge for certain signal victories obtained by the
weakest of the one over the strongest of the other.
I, though no champion of “woman's rights” in a
technical sense, and even a firm and submissive
believer in the inferiority of the sisterhood in many
essential points, deny this particular imputation
entirely; and defy those who write us down popinjays
to any thing like reasonable proof. So much
by way of general protest.

A single instance proves nothing; if it did, I
should not be disposed to mention, even in this
confidential way,—“to a few friends,”—the heart-breaking
quarrel which divided pretty Candace

Beamer from her faithful swain; and which began,
as I must believe however reluctantly, in the attractions
of a string of blue glass beads, and other
seductive appendages thereunto appertaining.

The parents of Candace are the plainest of
plain people. They are of the small number—
small even here—of those who do not make the
slightest effort towards any thing beyond bare utility—who
do not seem even to wish that the banks
of life's muddy stream should be cheered by a single
flower. They toil on and on, with the single
object of acquiring an additional number of acres
on which their children may toil after them.

Candace never in her little life wore any thing
better than a shilling calico;—but truly, if all
girls wore faces like hers, silks might go out of
fashion. Yet I doubt whether her father or mother
ever noticed the exceeding beauty of that rich
cheek, with its twilight shadows of brown hair; or
the grace of a person which though petite, and
unaided by the plastic art, asked nothing from callisthenics.
They would be more likely to lament
that such little hands could not accomplish half as
much work as Nabby Gilkin's, whose fingers are
long and hard and horny as the claws of an ostrich.

It is not to be supposed that Candace could be
quite as indifferent on the subject of her own personal
appearance as were her parents. There are
some secrets that will not be kept, do what we will.
But she was a sweet-tempered and submissive lassie,

who took it for granted that father and mother
must know best, being the oldest. And besides,
Lewis Arden, who knew a good deal, had never hinted
to her that she did not look as pretty as she ought.

But light will occasionally penetrate even the
depths of the wilderness. A young lady came to
make a visit at Mrs. Flyaway's, whose aim it
seemed to be to atone for the parsimony of nature
towards her person, by loading herself with every
attainable gewgaw—giving preference to those
which would be likely to strike at the greatest distance.
This could be none other than a distinguished
guest, in our village where finery is “a
sight for sair e'en.”

Not that we have not some attempts at the beautifying
art. Some of our fair damsels will line their
straw bonnets with coarse cotton flowers, which appear
with enhanced meanness lying near such fresh,
rosebud complexions. And they are apt to be fond
of doleful caricatures of jewelry,—“whiting's eyes
for pearls”—and copper brooches set with green
glass.

When I see these sad-looking affairs, I am sometimes
tempted to ask, (being a little given to moralizing,)
wherein, after all, consists the essential
difference between mean and costly ornaments?
The one strikes us as palpably absurd;—how
much less absurd is the other? Why is a necklace
that costs fifty cents more ridiculous than one at
fifty dollars? By what standard is finery legitimated?

Should it be proportioned to the means of
the wearer? Is every woman to get as much as
she can? If so, let no smile curl the lip of the town-bred
dame as she casts her careless eye around the
humble village church. The rustic maiden only
follows her example, and she is not to blame for the
partiality of fortune. What does mere ornament do
for either? It may flush with pride a cheek otherwise
wan and lifeless, but will it smooth a harsh
skin, blanch a brown throat, or give a soft, womanly
tenderness to the light of a haughty eye?

It may not be disputed that the habit of wearing
counterfeits is of unmixed evil meaning; but here
the country girl is clearly superior. She wears
every thing in good faith, and leaves the shame of
a false outside to those who despise her.

It would require no labored argument to prove
that the country girl's longing after finery has no
inherent vulgarity that does not attach with equal
force to the more successful and costly efforts of the
city belle—but, as we were saying, or about to
say—

Miss Henrietta Duncan had been a guest at Mrs.
Flyaway's for a full fortnight, and in that time she
had had time and opportunity to make a great impression
by the elegance of her appearance. She
wore a pink bonnet with rainbow-tinted “chany-oysters”
all over it; and, depending from its very
small front, a long white veil; under which her
nose made a kind of masked sortie, as a chicken's

elbow will sometimes do in the thin cover of a paté.
Her robe was a blue mousseline, splashed with gorgeous
flowers, and this was set off by a sentimental
black scarf, and a muslin pocket kerchief, edged
with broad cotton lace, and much embroidered in
the corners. All these charms were heightened by
glistening ear-drops, four parti-colored bracelets on
one arm, a brooch large enough for a dressing-glass,
and a long string of blue glass beads;—not to
mention collars, ribbons, and all the etcetera of the
feminine armory.

The lady herself was of a pale brunette complexion,
deepened not a little by masses of curls, black
and shining as if they had been japanned. Her eyes
were not very bright, but they were very scornful,
which did as well, and produced a greater sensation.
She generally wore to meeting a double-flounced
apron, into one pocket of which was thrust the
central part of the mouchoir brodé before mentioned,
and into the other a scarlet hymn-book, by the aid of
which Miss Duncan performed a very high and conspicuous
part in the music. But I need not dwell
on particulars. The tout ensemble was very dashing.

Mrs. Flyaway lived near Mr. Beamer's; and being
a very busy lady, with but little to do at home, she
had time to do a good deal for other people; and
she took some pains to encourage an intimacy between
Candace and Miss Duncan, hoping, we may
suppose, that high breeding would prove contagious.

After a while, Miss Duncan, whose visit seemed

of an elastic quality, was transferred, chest and all,
to Mr. Beamer's, and so had an opportunity for
much private tuition of the guileless Candace.

We must always think the best we can; so we
will not suspect for a moment that Mrs. Flyaway
had become tired of her gay guest. It is certain
however that it was she who proposed the flitting to
Mr. Beamer's; and it is at least whispered that Mrs.
Flyaway had mentioned confidentially to several
of her neighbors that she had picked up Miss Duncan
by chance, while visiting in a neighboring district
where that young lady was teaching school.
Candace had imbibed a profound respect for Miss
Duncan's finery when she first beheld it at a distance.
Some vague notions of power and dignity,
as connected with such splendor of costume, had
then dawned upon her for the first time; and when
we consider how much this sort of impression is
counted upon in the greater world, we must make
allowance for our little rustic. And when this
bright, particular star became an acquaintance—an
inmate,—and seemed disposed, too, to treat the
humble country maiden with such marked consideration,—to
patronize her, in fact,—(for things
may be done on all scales)—her gratitude and
her deference knew no bounds. She listened to
every suggestion for the improvement of her own
appearance with a feeling of new self-importance,
and congratulated herself upon each successful
attempt to imitate the elegant airs of Miss Duncan.

“Well!” said the model, “if my hair was all
wavy like yours, and would curl every how, I
should dip my head into a pail of water twice't a
day, and see if I couldn't make it a little slicker!
You never can make it curl in the fashion!”

“That would only make it worse,” said Candace
despondingly; “when I wet it, or when the
weather is damp, it curls all over my head, so that
I can't do any thing with it. Grandfather used to
call me his almanac, because he could always tell
when it was going to rain, by my curls.”

“It is dreadful, I declare!” said Miss Duncan;
“don't you think if you should have it all shaved
off it would grow straight? I could sell it for you,
and buy you some elegant long ringlets with the
money!”

* * * * * *

Next to amending Candace's appearance, Miss
Duncan's favorite object was to induce her to break
with Lewis Arden, who did not like the gay lady,
and had treated her somewhat cavalierly, especially
after he observed her efforts to acquire an influence
over Candace. We cannot say how far the guest
was conscious of a spiteful feeling towards a handsome
young man who had shown something beyond
a decided indifference to her charms; but she
lost no occasion of depreciating him in the esteem
of his fair mistress, and for this she thought she
had sure ground. With all his manliness, his fine
eyes, noble forehead, and frank address, Lewis

Arden had one immense, undeniable, unpardonable
fault.

His father, a plain, hard-working farmer, had
toiled all his life for little more than a living for his
family. He was one of those farmers who look
neither to the right hand nor to the left—notice
nobody's plans but their own—eschew every thing
like experiment—observe no necessity for improvement
in implements or modes of tillage—feel
too poor to take an agricultural paper, and too busy
to read one—and so go on, from year to year,
plodding in circuitous paths, when a little inquiry
would have shown them short cuts equally safe;
and groaning under the unprofitableness of farming,
without a single effort to discover why this necessary
and fundamental branch of business should not be
influenced by causes identical with those which
influence all the other modes of earning a share of
this world's goods. Mr. Arden had made up his
mind that hard work was all; and most faithfully
had he acted upon this idea.

But there was another reason why his affairs had
prospered no better. Some years before the time
of which we have been speaking, he had, in a moment
of angry dispute with a friend and neighbor—
an uncle of Candace, by the way—become engaged
in a lawsuit; which, being carried from court to
court with characteristic obstinacy, had silently
devoured all the profits of the farm; and resulted
in a heavy encumbrance on the land itself, in the

shape of a mortgage given to the lawyer; who,
far from “doing it on spec,” would not go on with
the suit unless his pay was secured beforehand.

And this brings us back to that great, overshadowing
fault which was the only one to be charged
against that fine, high-spirited youth, his son.
Lewis Arden was poor.