University of Virginia Library

34. CHAPTER XXXIV.

My near neighbour, Mrs. Nippers, whose garden
joins ours, and whose “keepin' room,” I regret to say
it, looks into my kitchen, was most cruelly mortified
that she was not elected President of the Montacute
Female Beneficent Society. It would have been an
office so congenial to her character, condition, and habits!
'T was cruel to give it to Mrs. Skinner, “merely,”
as Mrs. Nippers declares, “because the society
wanted to get remnants from the store!”

Mrs. Campaspe Nippers is a widow lady of some
thirty-five, or thereabouts, who lives with her niece
alone in a small house, in the midst of a small garden,
in the heart of the village. I have never noticed any
thing peculiar in the construction of the house. There
are not, that I can discover, any contrivances resembling
ears; or those ingenious funnels of sail-cloth
which are employed on board-ship to coax fresh air
down between-decks. Nor are there large mirrors,
nor a telescope, within doors, nor yet a camera obscura.
I have never detected any telegraphic signals from
without. Yet no man sneezes at opening his front
door in the morning; no woman sweeps her steps

after breakfast; no child goes late to school; no damsel
slips into the store; no bottle out of it; no family has
fried onions for dinner; no hen lays an egg in the afternoon;
no horse slips his bridle; no cow is missing at
milking-time; and no young couple after tea; but Mrs.
Nippers, and herniece, Miss Artemisia Clinch, know
all about it, and tell it to everybody who will listen to
them.

A sad rumour was raised last winter, by some spiteful
gossip, against a poor woman who had taken lodgers
to gain bread for her family; and when Mrs. Nippers
found it rather difficult to gain credence for her
view of the story, she nailed the matter, as she supposed,
by whispering with mysterious meaning, while her
large light eyes dilated with energy and enjoyment—
“I have myself seen a light there after eleven o'clock
at night!”

In vain did the poor woman's poor husband, a man
who worked hard, but would make a beast of himself
at times, protest that malice itself might let his wife
escape; and dare any man to come forward and say
aught against her. Mrs. Nippers only smiled, and
stretched her eye-lids so far apart, that the sky-blue
whites of her light-grey eyes were visible both above
and below the scarce distinguishable iris, and then
looked at Miss Artemisia Clinch with such triumphant
certainty; observing, that a drunkard's word was not
worth much. It is impossible ever to convince her, in
any body's favour.

But this is mere wandering. Association led me
from my intent, which was only to speak of Mrs. Nippers
as connected with the Montacute Female Beneficent

Society. This Association is the prime dissipation
of our village, the magic circle within which lies
all our cherished exclusiveness, the strong hold of caste,
the test of gentility, the temple of emulation, the hive
of industry, the mart of fashion, and I must add, though
reluctantly, the fountain of village scandal, the hot-bed
from which springs every root of bitterness among the
petticoated denizens of Montacute. I trust the importance
of the Society will be enhanced in the reader's
estimation, by the variety of figures I have been compelled
to use in describing it. Perhaps it would have
been enough to have said it is a Ladies' Sewing Society,
and so saved all this wordiness; but I like to amplify.

When the idea was first started, by I know not what
fortunate individual,—Mrs. Nippers does, I dare say,—
this same widow-lady espoused the thing warmly, donned
her India-rubbers, and went all over through the
sticky mud, breakfasted with me, dined with Mrs. Rivers,
took tea with Mrs. Skinner, and spent the intervals
and the evening with half-a-dozen other people,
not only to recommend the plan, but to give her opinion
of how the affair ought to be conducted, to what
benevolent uses applied, and under what laws and by-laws;
and though last, far from least, who ought to be
its officers. Five Directresses did she select, two Secretaries,
and a Treasurer, Managers and Auditors,—
like the military play of my three brothers, who always
had “fore-captain,” “hind-captain,” and “middle-captain,”
but no privates. But in all this Mrs. Campaspe
never once hinted the name of a Lady President.
She said, to be sure, that she should be very glad to be

of any sort of service to the Society; and that from her
position she should be more at leisure to devote time to
its business, than almost any other person; and that
both herself and her niece had been concerned in a
sewing-society in a certain village at “the East,”
whose doings were often quoted by both ladies, and concluded
by inquiring who her hearer thought would be
the most suitable president.

In spite of all this industrious canvassing, when the
meeting for forming the society took place at Mrs.
Skinner's, Mrs. Campaspe Nippers' name was perversely
omitted in the animated ballot for dignities. No one
said a word, but every one had a sort of undefined
dread of so active a member, and, by tacit consent,
every office which she had herself contrived, was filled,
without calling upon her. Her eyes grew preternaturally
pale, and her lips wan as whit-leather, when the
result was known; but she did not trust herself to
speak. She placed her name on the list of members
with as much composure as could be looked for, under
such trying circumstances, and soon after departed
with Miss Artemisia Clinch, giving a parting glance
which seemed to say, with Sir Peter Teazle, “I leave
my character behind me.”

A pawkie smile dawned on two or three of the sober
visages of our village dames, as the all-knowing widow
and her submissive niece closed the door, but no one
ventured a remark on the killing frost which had fallen
upon Mrs. Nippers' anticipated “budding honours,”
and after agreeing upon a meeting at our house, the ladies
dispersed.

The next morning, as I drew my window curtain, to

see whether the sun had aired the world enough to
make it safe for me to get up to breakfast,—I do
not often dispute the pas with Aurora,—I saw Mrs.
Nippers emerge from the little front door of her tiny
mansion, unattended by her niece for a marvel, and
pace majestically down Main-street. I watched her
in something of her own prying spirit, to see whither
she could be going so early; but she disappeared in the
woods, and I turned to my combs and brushes, and
thought no more of the matter.

But the next day, and the next, and the day after,
almost as early each morning, out trotted my busy
neighbour; and although she disappeared in different
directions—sometimes P. S. and sometimes O. P.—she
never returned till late in the afternoon. My curiosity
began to be troublesome.

At length came the much-desired Tuesday, whose
destined event was the first meeting of the society. I
had made preparations for such plain and simple cheer
as is usual at such feminine gatherings, and began to
think of arranging my dress with the decorum required
by the occasion, when about one hour before the appointed
time, came Mrs. Nippers and Miss Clinch, and
ere they were unshawled and unhooded, Mrs. Flyter
and her three children—the eldest four years, and the
youngest six months. Then Mrs. Muggles and her
crimson baby, four weeks old. Close on her heels,
Mrs. Briggs and her little boy of about three years'
standing, in a long-tailed coat, with vest and decencies
of scarlet circassian. And there I stood in my gingham
wrapper, and kitchen apron; much to my discomfiture,

and the undisguised surprise of the Female Beneficent
Society.

“I always calculate to be ready to begin at the time
appointed,” remarked the gristle-lipped widow.

“So do I,” responded Mrs. Flyter, and Mrs. Muggles,
both of whom sat the whole afternoon with baby
on knee, and did not sew a stitch.

“What! is n't there any work ready?” continued
Mrs. Nippers, with an astonished aspect; “well, I did
suppose that such smart officers as we have, would have
prepared all beforehand. We always used to, at the
East.”

Mrs. Skinner, who is really quite a pattern-woman
in all that makes woman indispensable, viz. cookery
and sewing, took up the matter quite warmly, just as I
slipped away in disgrace to make the requisite reform
in my costume.

When I returned, the work was distributed, and the
company broken up into little knots or coteries; every
head bowed, and every tongue in full play. I took my
seat at as great a distance from the sharp widow as
might be, though it is vain to think of eluding a person
of her ubiquity, and reconnoitred the company who were
“done off” (indigenous,) “in first-rate style,” for this
important occasion. There were nineteen women
with thirteen babies—or at least “young'uns” (indigenous,)
who were not above gingerbread. Of these
thirteen, nine held large chunks of gingerbread, or
dough-nuts, in trust, for the benefit of the gowns of the
society; the remaining four were supplied with bunches
of maple sugar, tied in bits of rag, and pinned to their

shoulders, or held dripping in the fingers of their
mammas.

Mrs. Flyter was “slicked up” for the occasion, in
the snuff-coloured silk she was married in, curiously
enlarged in the back and not as voluminous in the
floating part as is the wasteful custom of the present
day. Her three immense children, white-haired and
blubber-lipped like their amiable parent, were in pink
ginghams and blue glass beads. Mrs. Nippers wore
her unfailing brown merino, and black apron; Miss
Clinch her inevitable scarlet calico; Mrs. Skinner her
red merino with baby of the same; Mrs. Daker shone
out in her very choicest city finery,—where else could
she show it, poor thing;) and a dozen other Mistresses
shone in their “'tother gowns,” and their tamboured
collars. Mrs. Doubleday's pretty black-eyed Dolly was
neatly stowed in a small willow-basket, where it lay
looking about with eyes full of sweet wonder, behaving
itself with marvellous quietness and discretion, as did
most of the other little torments, to do them justice.

Much consultation, deep and solemn, was held as to
the most profitable kinds of work to be undertaken by
the society. Many were in favour of making up linen,
cotton linen of course, but Mrs. Nippers assured the
company that shirts never used to sell well at the East,
and she was therefore perfectly certain that they would
not do here. Pincushions and such like feminilities
were then proposed; but at these Mrs. Nippers held up
both hands, and showed a double share of blue-white
around her eyes. Nobody about here needed pincushions,
and besides where should we get the materials?
Aprons, capes, caps, collars, were all proposed

with the same ill success. At length Mrs. Doubleday,
with an air of great deference, inquired what Mrs.
Nippers would recommend.

The good lady hesitated a little at this. It was more
her forte to object to other people's plans, than to suggest
better; but after a moment's consideration she
said she should think fancy-boxes, watch-cases, and
alum-baskets would be very pretty.

A dead silence fell on the assembly, but of course it
did not last long. Mrs. Skinner went on quietly cutting
out shirts, and in a very short time furnished each
member with a good supply of work, stating that any
lady might take work home to finish if she liked.

Mrs. Nippers took her work and edged herself into
a coterie of which Mrs. Flyter had seemed till then the
magnet. Very soon I heard, “I declare it's a shame!”
“I don't know what'll be done about it;” “She told
me so with her own mouth;” “Oh but I was there
myself!” etc. etc., in many different voices; the interstices
well filled with undistinguishable whispers
“not loud but deep.”

It was not long before the active widow transferred
her seat to another corner;—Miss Clinch plying her
tongue, not her needle, in a third. The whispers and
the exclamations seemed to be gaining ground. The
few silent members were inquiring for more work.

“Mrs. Nippers has the sleeve! Mrs. Nippers, have
you finished that sleeve?”

Mrs. Nippers coloured, said “No,” and sewed four
stitches. At length “the storm grew loud apace.”
“It will break up the society—”

“What is that?” asked Mrs. Doubleday, in her sharp

treble. “What is it, Mrs. Nippers? You know all
about it.”

Mrs. Nippers replied that she only knew what she
had heard, etc. etc., but, after a little urging, consented
to inform the company in general, that there was great
dissatisfaction in the neighbourhood; that those who
lived in log-houses at a little distance from the village,
had not been invited to join the society; and also that
many people thought twenty-five cents quite too high,
for a yearly subscription.

Many looked aghast at this. Public opinion is nowhere
so strongly felt as in this country, among new
settlers. And as many of the present company still
lived in log-houses, a tender string was touched.

At length, an old lady who had sat quietly in a corner
all the afternoon, looked up from behind the great
woollen sock she was knitting—

“Well now! that's queer!” said she, addressing Mrs.
Nippers with an air of simplicity simplified. “Miss
Turner told me you went round her neighbourhood
last Friday, and told how that Miss Clavers and Miss
Skinner despised every body that lived in log-houses;
and you know you told Miss Briggs that you thought
twenty-five cents was too much; did n't she, Miss
Briggs?” Mrs. Briggs nodded.

The widow blushed to the very centre of her pale
eyes, but, “e'en though vanquished,” she lost not her
assurance. “Why, I'm sure I only said that we only
paid twelve-and-a-half cents at the East; and as to log-houses,
I do n't know, I can't just recollect, but I did n't
say more than others did.”

But human nature could not bear up against the

mortification; and it had, after all, the scarce credible
effect of making Mrs. Nippers sew in silence for
some time, and carry her colours at half-mast for the
remainder of the afternoon.

At tea each lady took one or more of her babies into
her lap and much grabbing ensued. Those who wore
calicoes seemed in good spirits and appetite, for green
tea at least, but those who had unwarily sported silks
and other unwashables, looked acid and uncomfortable.
Cake flew about at a great rate, and the milk and water
which ought to have gone quietly down sundry
juvenile throats, was spirted without mercy into various
wry faces. But we got through. The astringent
refreshment produced its usual crisping effect upon the
vivacity of the company. Talk ran high upon almost
all Montacutian themes.

“Do you have any butter now?” “When are you
going to raise your barn?” “Is your man a going to kill,
this week?” “I ha'n't seen a bit of meat these six
weeks.” “Was you to meetin' last Sabbath?” “Has
Miss White got any wool to sell?” “Do tell if you've
been to Detroit!” “Are you out o' candles?” “Well
I should think Sarah Teals wanted a new gown!” “I
hope we shall have milk in a week or two,” and so on;
for, be it known, that in a state of society like ours, the
bare necessaries of life are subjects of sufficient interest
for a good deal of conversation. More than one
truly respectable woman of our neighbourhood has told
me, that it is not very many years since a moderate
allowance of Indian meal and potatoes, was literally all
that fell to their share of this rich world for weeks
together.

“Is your daughter Isabella well?” asked Mrs. Nippers
of me solemnly, pointing to little Bell who sat
munching her bread and butter, half asleep, at the
fragmentious table.

“Yes, I believe so, look at her cheeks.”

“Ah yes! it was her cheeks I was looking at. They
are so very rosy. I have a little niece who is the very
image of her. I never see Isabella without thinking
of Jerushy; and Jerushy is most dreadfully scrofulous!”

Satisfied at having made me uncomfortable, Mrs.
Nippers turned to Mrs. Doubleday, who was trotting
her pretty babe with her usual proud fondness.

“Do n't you think your baby breathes rather strangely?”
said the tormentor.

“Breathes! how!” said the poor thing, off her guard
in an instant.

“Why rather croupish, I think, if I am any judge.
I have never had any children of my own to be sure,
but I was with Mrs. Green's baby when it died, and—

“Come, we'll be off!” said Mr. Doubleday, who
had come for his spouse. “Do n't mind the envious
vixen”—aside to his Polly.

Just then, somebody on the opposite side of the room
happened to say, speaking of some cloth affair, “Mrs.
Nippers says it ought to be sponged.”

“Well, sponge it then, by all means,” said Mr.
Doubleday, “nobody else knows half as much about
sponging;” and with wife and baby in tow, off walked
the laughing Philo, leaving the widow absolutely transfixed.

“What could Mr. Doubleday mean by that?” was at
length her indignant exclamation.

Nobody spoke.

“I am sure,” continued the crest-fallen Mrs. Campaspe,
with an attempt at a scornful giggle, “I am sure
if any body understood him, I would be glad to know
what he did mean.”

“Well now, I can tell you;” said the same simple
old lady in the corner, who had let out the secret of
Mrs. Nippers' morning walks. “Some folks calls that
sponging, when you go about getting your dinner here
and your tea there, and sich like; as you know you
and Meesy there does. That was what he meant I
guess.” And the old lady quietly put up her knitting,
and prepared to go home.

There have been times when I have thought that
almost any degree of courtly duplicity would be preferable
to the brusquerie of some of my neighbours:
but on this occasion I gave all due credit to a simple
and downright way of stating the plain truth. The
scrofulous hint probably brightened my mental and
moral vision somewhat.

Mrs. Nippers' claret cloak and green bonnet, and
Miss Clinch's ditto ditto, were in earnest requisition,
and I do not think either of them spent a day out that
week.