 | Clovernook, or, Recollections of our
neighborhood in the West |  |
MRS. PARKS'S PARTY.
“Pride above all things strengthens affection,” says one who
has gone through every winding of the human heart, and whether
in all instances this may find an application, it is eminently
true of particular natures. Beneath a quiet exterior there was
in the bosom of Ellie Hadly great decision and strength, with
a depth of pride which even she herself had never fathomed.
When Mr. Harmstead first came to the neighborhood of Clovernook,
he was certainly greatly superior to the general society
among which he took up his residence; not that his mental endowments
were very great, or better perhaps than those of
some of his neighbors, but his had been brought out by education,
and they found expression in graceful manners and
polished phrases, while theirs were imbedded in the clownish
fetters from which their position and circumstances of life had
in no wise tended to free them. This distinction between him
and the persons to whom she had always been accustomed,
Ellie had detected long years ago, and the consciousness that
at the time of their first acquaintance she had not the slightest
claim to equality of social position with him, still recurred with
bitterness as well as with sorrow.
Indeed, she could not but acknowledge to herself how strange
it was that he should have sought the intercourse and sympathy
of his neighbors at all—now that years had been as steppingstones
to elevate her thoughts and enlarge her vision above the
narrow prejudices which she inherited; for even she had now
to cross the circle of rural pursuits and pleasures, within which
she was born, to find any spirit congenial with her own, and
how should he, who had been accustomed always to the brilliance
through ignorance and superstition, choked by the incessant dust
of the tread of cattle or the moving of wheels. It was strange
that the current of his thoughts should have flowed so readily
into these new channels, that he should have taken so wide an
interest in the little plans of his neighbors—the cutting of a new
ditch, the painting of a fence, or the design of a cottage. By
such demeanor, however, he lost nothing of caste, but was
esteemed for it not only as a model gentleman, but also as an
example of goodness, and he exercised constantly on those
about him a refining and elevating influence. Chiefly through
his instrumentality, in the course of a few years, the neighborhood
of Clovernook had been changed from a thinly inhabited
and ill-cultivated district, to one abounding with green lawns
and spotted with vineyards and orchards, ridged with clipt
hedges, and sparkling with public edifices. His own farm of
Willowdale, with its level meadows, nicely trimmed groves,
picturesque gardens, winding walks and shrubberies, would not
be recognised by the proprietor, who, twelve or fourteen years
ago, ploughed around blackened stumps, and through patches of
briers and thistles. Friends of his have been led to build
houses and cultivate grounds, and these have induced others to do
so, till Clovernook may boast of as many attractions in point of
taste and utility as the pleasantest summer retreat in the vicinity
of any of the cities. And it has no reason to shrink from
the closest inquisition respecting the general intelligence or refinement
of its inhabitants, among whom even our old friends,
Mr. Middleton and Dr. Haywood, now find so many equals that
they rarely think of going in to town in search of society. True,
there were many persons in our village in its advanced state
whose natural pre-eminence, scholastic attainments and greater
wealth entitled them to more consideration than could justly
be given to Mr. Harmstead, but still there was no one who
received more. He had earned a distinction by being the
pioneer of elegance and refinement among the people, for his
predecessors of the same rank had lived in selfish isolation;
and no follower in his path could ever attain to the same popularity.
Mrs. Harmstead had never been so much a favorite;
they pretended to be so; she never loved the green lane
so well as the paved street, nor our kindly but coarse hospitalities
so well as the more soulless civilities to which she had been
accustomed; and before any better phase of things was perceptible,
the fretfulness induced by her ungenial transition wore
away her life. Even her dust was not permitted to mingle
with that of the villagers among whom she died, but was borne
back across the mountains to more stately repose in the vaults
of her family. For years previous to the time when Ellie
related to her sister the reminiscences in the last chapter, the
proprietor of Willowdale had been bereft of the solace and
companionship which first hallowed his new home. But his
widowhood made him none the less a man of the people, and
many fair hands plucked salvers of fruit in his vineyards and
gathered bouquets in his gardens. Nevertheless, years went and
came without his having yielded to the soft influences with
which he was constantly surrounded, and the sending the books
to Ellie was a more decided overture than he had been known
to make, for the intimacy of any woman, in his later years.
Though five-and-forty, he was still youthful in appearance, as
he was actually young at heart. There were no betraying
streaks in his brown and glossy hair, no lines along his forehead,
and no dimness in his eyes, or effort in his smile, but he
was still erect and handsome, and even to sixteen a fascinating
man. His grounds, his cottage, his library, were the admiration
of every body, Ellie not excepted, though she passed Willowdale
in her frequent visits to Clovernook, especially if the
owner were inside, as though she saw nothing there particularly
worthy her attention. If the necessity of recognition could not
be obviated, she gave it him, but as if she knew little of him,
and that little were not much to his credit.
Thus, perhaps, they might have lived forever, but for that
destiny which shapes our ends, regardless of our own determinations.
I have spoken of pride as the strengthener of affection,
and have said that in the heart of Ellie there was no want of it.
It was this that had kept her from listening with more kindness
to many an honest and thrifty wooer; for the heart must find
is a very good young man,” it was her habit to say, of one and
another who sought, with various attentions, to win her regard,
“but his preference is nothing to me.” So the years went by,
till girlish fancies kindled no more at a glance, and she had
little need of calling pride to her aid for the subduing of wayward
nature. Still, there was a sealed fountain in her bosom
that had scarcely been troubled. Perhaps she was already conscious
of the hand that could unseal it, and for this reason
fenced herself about with old and bitter memories.
A few evenings after that I have mentioned, and when the
feelings it had awakened were quite subsided, as Ellie and Zoe
sat reading the new novel, there was a rap at the door, but on
the entrance of the visitor, the crimson went down from the
cheek of the elder sister, and the momentary light faded into
more than her habitual expression of discontent. He was
greeted by Zoe as Mr. Martin, by Ellie as William. It was
our grown-up terror of schoolmasters, now a tall stripling,
whose natural awkwardness was rendered ludicrous by an
affected ease and gracefulness. Having little love for his parents,
he had, so soon as released from restraint by a sufficiency
of years, gone out to make his own way in the world, and he
was now employed as the head man of one of the wealthiest
proprietors in the neighborhood. He was well satisfied with
his position, never fancying that it might be thought doubtful
by some persons, and by others regarded as necessarily restricting
his intercourse to servants or people of situations similar to
his own.
His kindly and democratic employer admitted him to equality,
at least so far as admission to his table and conversation
went, and this gave him some vantage ground, of which he
availed himself to the utmost. He had called simply as the
bearer of a note, but protracted his stay through the entire
evening, lingering even in the open door, after having risen to
depart for at least half an hour—saying over and again, in the
most familiar way, “Now, girls, you must come; Mrs. Parks
and all of us will be so disappointed if you don't. And after
you have once been and found the way, you must come often.
fences to climb and the creek to cross—there is a big log for a
bridge—and then one corn-field to go through, and so you
are in sight of the house, and have only the meadow for the
rest of the way; so you will be sure and come often—won't
you? Mrs. Parks and all of us will be glad to have you more
sociable. Now you will be sure and remember to come; but
if you never come afterwards, you must come Wednesday
night. I expect we'll have the greatest kind of a time.”
The wind blew the flame out of the fire-place, and quite
extinguished the lamp, but heedless of either warning he remained
repeating the same phrases until the sisters having
repeatedly assured him of the acceptance of the civilities of
which he was the messenger, fell back on silence as a last resort,
and the young man finally descended the steps.
“Well,” said Zoe, laughing, when he was gone, “shall we go, Ellie?”
“Not I,” and the elder sister seated herself before the fire,
in darkness, and resting one cheek on her hand, seemed not
inclined again to break the silence.
Zoe was in high spirits, caused partly by what she termed
the kindness of Mr. Martin, and partly by the invitation from
Mrs. Parks. “ `They would meet a few friends only, and in an
informal way. Mrs. Parks hoped they would do her poor house
the honor,' &c. &c. I wonder if Mr. Harmstead will be there?”
she said, in the hope of interesting her sister in some way.
“I don't know,” replied Ellie; and for the rest of the evening
neither spoke at all.
But during the intervening day or two the expected party
was discussed, and carefully considered in all its lights and
shades, not as something from which they could excuse themselves
at pleasure, but rather as though the happiness or misery
of their lives were depending on it. And indeed to them it was
a great event.
Ellie urged the expediency of sending an apologetic note, but
Zoe's voice was still for going, and so action was delayed until
they were obliged either to go or appear disrespectful by
remaining silently away.
“What do you propose to wear?” asked Ellie, when the
morning of the day was come.
“I hardly know what will look best.”
Ellie said she could not decide for Zoe, but for herself she
had no choice, and should wear the last year's delaine. The
younger sister said something about its having been always
plain, and now, really old-fashioned; but Ellie simply repeated
that she had no choice—that if she went she must wear the old
dress—but that she preferred to remain at home, and that Zoe
should go without her.
“No, no—you must go, too,” urged Zoe; “and if you are
not pleased, I will never ask you to go with me anywhere
again.”
And so, passively, but neither pleased nor satisfied, Ellie
consented.
Scarcely was the sun set before Zoe was in readiness, and
leaving the evening tasks to her sister, she sat down to await
the hour of departure. Her dress was a simply made white
muslin one, and though worn without any ornament but her
black curls, she certainly looked pretty in it.
Punctually at seven o'clock, Mr. William Martin was on the
ground with Colonel Parks's little wagon, and after waiting
half an hour for Ellie, who had the tea things and the milk to
attend to, the party set out.
“I would have come with any one else more willingly,” said
Ellie, as she smoothed her hair and drew down her sleeves, for
they were too short, preparatory to entering the parlor, from
which sounds of mirth came annoyingly to her ears. “I
thought we should get here before any one else, or I would
not present myself, looking as I do, and with this Martin, for
all the world; and just see this old brown dress! why, Mrs.
Parks's waiting-maid looks lady-like in comparison with me.
I wish I was at home. I am not fitted for society in any way.”
And she stood in trembling apprehension of what seemed a
terrible ordeal; and as Zoe stooped to pull down the skirt, and
make it seem a little longer, she felt her tears drop on her
head. In vain she said, “You look well enough, dear Ellie,
and no one will perhaps notice at all that Billy Martin is with
one so easily lost, it is not worth much.”
Glancing at herself as though some sprite had transformed
her into an uncouth shape, Ellie said they had no position to
lose, and both descended in silence. The rooms were brilliant
with light, and filled with gay and well-dressed people—some
at the whist table, some sitting, and others standing, in little
groups, talking gaily, or in a tone which intimated the greatest
confidence. Naturally enough, many eyes were turned in the
direction of the last comers, and to Ellie it seemed that she
was the object of all the company's observation. Mrs. Parks
came forward, and said, “My dears!” with a familiar kindness,
but her manners and those of all the assembly were so new to
Ellie and Zoe, that self-possession, the basis of all grace in
behavior, quite deserted them, and they had really never appeared
so ill at ease, or so removed from their fit element.
And before they had become at all accustomed to the showy
style of the furniture, the brilliant light from the chandeliers,
and the general air of elegance and fashion all around them,
Billy Martin, or “William,” as every one was heard to call
him, seeming in no wise inclined to leave them for a moment,
completed their discomfiture by calling out, half across the
room, and with an affected familiarity, “Harmstead, here are
two of your neighbors, that you don't seem to see.”
Mr. Harmstead advanced, and bowing low, offered his compliments
to the ladies, gracefully but very briefly, and expressing
a fear that he was interrupting a tete-a-tete, withdrew to a
distant part of the room, where he was presently engaged in a
game of backgammon with a lady of sixty, who, coquettishly
tossing back her curls, thin and gray, said, after exclaiming,
“Oh, you wicked man!” on losing some point in the game,
“Is it true, Mr. Harmstead, that you have selfishly consecrated
Willowdale to yourself—all to yourself?”
He asserted that rumor did him wrong in any such reports,
but that greatly against his will, the ladies not only passed himself
but Willowdale without a glance. “True,” he added,
bringing his hand down on the board, “and my little neighbor
here can testify to the fact,” turning to Zoe, who by this time
and lily-handed gentleman, who talked of the universal
brotherhood of mankind, the tendencies of the human to
the divine, and the speedy return of paradisal times;—of all
which he made very little clear to the mind of Zoe.
Poor Ellie, now utterly deserted—for “William” left her
when Zoe was gone—sat demurely in the gloomiest corner of
the room, her ungloved hands folded together, and her face,
with its steadfast and mournful expression, looking beneath her
simply combed hair and contrasted with so much gaiety, more
plain than usual. Now and then, indeed, some kindly-disposed
old gentleman paused from his round, and conversed a little—
perhaps of the best method of making pumpkin pies, perhaps
of the superior excellence of home-made bread, or of the
attractive warmth and beauty of wood fires. Zoe, from her
more genial behavior, and it may be, too, from her more lady-like
appearance, received many attentions, and found the evening
delightful even beyond her hopes, so that she forgot her
sister—forgot every thing, in the bewildering pleasure of the
occasion.
When refreshments were announced, Ellie saw group after
group leaving the parlor, till she was finally its only occupant,
when Mr. Harmstead abruptly entered, and whether he saw her
or not, withdrew as suddenly as he came, apparently looking
for some one whom he did not see.
By this time, “William,” who had missed her from the
table, came kindly to her protection. He tried his best to
please, presenting Ellie whatever was accessible, between and
behind the half dozen persons who stood before her. Hidden
as she was, however, she could not fail to see her sister at the
opposite end of the table, smiling to the smiles of the delicatehanded
man I have mentioned, and bandying repartees with
the voluble Mr. Harmstead, almost against whose face floated
the curls that had been familiar with papers and combs for
fifty years or more.
Not vexed and with petulance merely, did she see this, but
with bitterness and something like hatred of herself and of the
world. Again in the dark corner Mr. Harmstead presented
play with him. Ignorant of the game proposed, she excused
herself with more coldness and formality than were quite
necessary, but the gentleman was determined, and she finally
yielded. But her first cast of the dice was with a needless
violence, and they went rattling across the table and over the
floor in all directions. She saw smiles, quickly suppressed
though they were, and the crimson of her cheek was followed
by pallor and by moistened eyes.
Soon after, quietly, but with a heart swelling with rebellion
against every thing, she retired, attended by the escort with
which she came; and leaving Zoe in the midst of the pastime,
she returned home to discontented reveries and sudden resolutions,
born of rage and drowned in tears.
| Clovernook, or, Recollections of our
neighborhood in the West | |