 | CHAPTER V. Home as found |  |
5. CHAPTER V.
And never gives to truth and virtue, that
Which simpleness and merit purchaseth.”
Much ado about Nothing.
Mrs. Houston was what is termed a fashionable
woman in New-York. She, too, was of a family of
local note, though of one much less elevated in the
olden time than that of Mrs. Hawker. Still her claims
were admitted by the most fastidious on such points,
for a few do remain who think descent indisputable to
gentility; and as her means were ample, and her tastes
perhaps superior to those of most around her, she kept
what was thought a house of better tone than common,
acquaintance with her; but in Grace's eyes, Mrs. Houston's
was the place of all others that she thought might
make a favourable impression on her cousin. Her
wish that this should prove to be the case was so
strong, that, as they drove towards the door, she could
not forbear from making an attempt to prepare Eve
for what she was to meet.
“Although Mrs. Houston has a very large house for
New-York, and lives in a uniform style, you are not
to expect ante-chambers, and vast suites of rooms,
Eve,” said Grace; “such as you have been accustomed
to see abroad.”
“It is not necessary, my dear cousin, to enter a
house of four or five windows in front, to see it is not
a house of twenty or thirty. I should be very unreasonable
to expect an Italian palazzo, or a Parisian
hotel, in this good town.”
“We are not old enough for that yet, Eve; a hundred
years hence, Mademoiselle Viefville, such things
may exist here.”
“Bien sûr. C'est naturel.”
“A hundred years hence, as the world tends, Grace,
they are not likely to exist any where, except as
taverns, or hospitals, or manufactories. But what
have we to do, coz, with a century ahead of us? young
as we both are, we cannot hope to live that time.”
Grace would have been puzzled to account satisfactorily
to herself, for the strong desire she felt that neither
of her companions should expect to see such a
house as their senses so plainly told them did not
exist in the place; but her foot moved in the bottom
of the carriage, for she was not half satisfied with her
cousin's answer.
“All I mean, Eve,” she said, after a pause, “is, that
one ought not to expect in a town as new as this, the
improvements that one sees in an older state of
society.”
“And have Mademoiselle Viefville, or I, ever been
so weak as to suppose that New-York is Paris, or
Rome, or Vienna?”
Grace was still less satisfied, for, unknown to herself,
she had hoped that Mrs. Houston's ball might be
quite equal to a ball in either of those ancient capitals;
and she was now vexed that her cousin considered
it so much a matter of course that it should not be.
But there was no time for explanations, as the carriage
now stopped.
The noise, confusion, calling out, swearing, and rude
clamour before the house of Mrs. Houston, said little for
the out-door part of the arrangements. Coachmen are
nowhere a particularly silent and civil class; but the
uncouth European peasants, who have been preferred
to the honours of the whip in New-York, to the usual
feelings of competition and contention, added that particular
feature of humility which is known to distinguish
“the beggar on horseback.” The imposing
equipages of our party, however, had that effect on
most of these rude brawlers, which a display of wealth
is known to produce on the vulgar-minded; and the
ladies got into the house, through a lane of coachmen,
by yielding a little to a chevau de frise of whips, without
any serious calamity.
“One hardly knows which is the most terrific,” said
Eve, involuntarily, as soon as the door closed on them
—“the noise within, or the noise without!”
This was spoken rapidly, and in French, to Mademoiselle
Viefville, but Grace heard and understood it,
and for the first time in her life, she perceived that
Mrs. Houston's company was not composed of nightingales.
The surprise is that the discovery should
have come so late.
“I am delighted at having got into this house,” said
Sir George, who, having thrown his cloak to his own
servant, stood with the two other gentlemen waiting
the descent of the ladies from the upper room, where
uncloak and to put aside their shawls, “as I am told it
is the best house in town to see the other sex.”
“To hear them, would be nearer the truth, perhaps,”
returned John Effingham. “As for pretty women, one
can hardly go amiss in New-York; and your ears
now tell you, that they do not come into the world to
be seen only.”
The baronet smiled, but he was too well bred to
contradict or to assent. Mademoiselle Viefville, unconscious
that she was violating the proprieties, walked
into the rooms by herself, as soon as she descended,
followed by Eve; but Grace shrank to the side of
John Effingham, whose arm she took as a step necessary
even to decorum.
Mrs. Houston received her guests with ease and
dignity. She was one of those females that the American
world calls gay; in other words, she opened her
own house to a very promiscuous society, ten or a
dozen times in a winter, and accepted the greater part
of the invitations she got to other people's. Still, in
most other countries, as a fashionable woman, she
would have been esteemed a model of devotion to the
duties of a wife and a mother, for she paid a personal
attention to her household, and had actually taught all
her children the Lord's prayer, the creed, and the ten
commandments. She attended church twice every
Sunday, and only staid at home from the evening lectures,
that the domestics might have the opportunity
of going (which, by the way, they never did) in her
stead. Feminine, well-mannered, rich, pretty, of a
very positive social condition, and naturally kind-hearted
and disposed to sociability, Mrs. Houston, supported
by an indulgent husband, who so much loved to see
people with the appearance of happiness, that he was
not particular as to the means, had found no difficulty
in rising to the pinnacle of fashion, and of having her
name in the mouths of all those who find it necessary
be somebodies themselves. All this contributed to
Mrs. Houston's happiness, or she fancied it did; and
as every passion is known to increase by indulgence,
she had insensibly gone on in her much-envied career,
until, as has just been said, she reached the summit.
“These rooms are very crowded,” said Sir George,
glancing his eyes around two very pretty little narrow
drawing-rooms, that were beautifully, not to say richly,
furnished; “one wonders that the same contracted
style of building should be so very general, in a town
that increases as rapidly as this, and where fashion has
no fixed abode, and land is so abundant.”
“Mrs. Bloomfield would tell you,” said Eve, “that
these houses are types of the social state of the country,
in which no one is permitted to occupy more than
his share of ground.”
“But there are reasonably large dwellings in the
place. Mrs. Hawker has a good house, and your father's
for instance, would be thought so, too, in London
even; and yet I fancy you will agree with me in thinking
that a good room is almost unknown in New-York.”
“I do agree with you, in this particular, certainly,
for to meet with a good room, one must go into the
houses built thirty years ago. We have inherited these
snuggeries, however, England not having much to
boast of in the way of houses.”
“In the way of town residences, I agree with you
entirely, as a whole, though we have some capital exceptions.
Still, I do not think we are quite as compact
as this—do you not fancy the noise increased in consequence
of its being so confined?”
Eve laughed and shook her head quite positively.
“What would it be if fairly let out!” she said. “But
we will not waste the precious moments, but turn our
eyes about us in quest of the belles. Grace, you who
are so much at home, must be our cicerone, and tell
us which are the idols we are to worship.”
“Dîtes moi premierement; que veut dire une belle à
New-York?” demanded Mademoiselle Viefville. Apparemment,
tout le monde est joli.”
“A belle, Mademoiselle,” returned John Effingham,
“is not necessarily beautiful, the qualifications for the
character, being various and a little contradictory.
One may be a belle by means of money, a tongue, an
eye, a foot, teeth, a laugh, or any other separate feature,
or grace; though no woman was ever yet a belle, I
believe, by means of the head, considered collectively.
But why deal in description, when the thing itself confronts
us? The young lady standing directly before us,
is a belle of the most approved stamp and silvery tone.
Is it not Miss Ring, Grace?”
The answer was in the affirmative, and the eyes of
the whole party turned towards the subject of this
remark. The young lady in question was about
twenty, rather tall for an American woman, not conspicuously
handsome, but like most around her of
delicate features and frame, and with such a physique,
as, under proper training, would have rendered her the
beau idéal of feminine delicacy and gentleness. She
had natural spirit, likewise, as appeared in her clear
blue eye, and moreover she had the spirit to be a belle.
Around this young creature were clustered no less
than five young men, dressed in the height of the
fashion, all of whom seemed to be entranced with the
words that fell from her lips, and each of whom appeared
anxious to say something clever in return. They all
laughed, the lady most, and sometimes all spoke at
once. Notwithstanding these outbreakings, Miss Ring
did most of the talking, and once or twice, as a young
man would gape after a most exhilarating show of
merriment, and discover an inclination to retreat, she
managed to recall him to his allegiance, by some
remark particularly pertinent to himself, or his feelings.
“Qui est cette dame?” asked Mademoiselle Viefville,
very much as one would put a similar question, on
hat on.
“Elle est demoiselle,” returned Eve.
“Quelle horreur!”
“Nay, nay, Mademoiselle, I shall not allow you to
set up France as immaculate on this point, neither—”
said John Effingham, looking at the last speaker with
an affected frown—“A young lady may have a tongue,
and she may even speak to a young gentleman, and
not be guilty of felony; although I will admit that five
tongues are unnecessary, and that five listeners are
more than sufficient, for the wisdom of twenty in petticoats.”
“C'est une horreur!”
“I dare say Miss Ring would think it a greater
horror to be obliged to pass an evening in a row of
girls, unspoken to, except to be asked to dance, and
admired only in the distance. But let us take seats on
that sofa, and then we may go beyond the pantomime,
and become partakers in the sentiment of the scene.”
Grace and Eve were now led off to dance, and the
others did as John Effingham had suggested. In the
eyes of the belle and her admirers, they who had
passed thirty were of no account, and our listeners
succeeded in establishing themselves quietly within
ear-shot—this was almost at duelling distance, too,
—without at all interrupting the regular action of the
piece. We extract a little of the dialogue, by way of
giving a more dramatic representation of the scene.
“Do you think the youngest Miss Danvers beautiful?”
asked the belle, while her eye wandered in quest
of a sixth gentleman to “entertain,” as the phrase is.
“In my opinion, she is absolutely the prettiest female
in Mrs. Houston's rooms this night.”
The young men, one and all, protested against this
judgment, and with perfect truth, for Miss Ring was
too original to point out charms that every one could
see.
“They say it will not be a match between her and
Mr. Egbert, after every body has supposed it settled
so long. What is your opinion, Mr. Edson?”
This timely question prevented Mr. Edson's retreat,
for he had actually got so far in this important evolution,
as to have gaped and turned his back. Recalled,
as it were by the sound of the bugle, Mr. Edson was
compelled to say something, a sore affliction to him
always.
“Oh! I'm quite of your way of thinking; they have
certainly courted too long to think of marrying.”
“I detest long courtships; they must be perfect antidotes
to love; are they not, Mr. Moreland?”
A truant glance of Mr. Moreland's eye was rebuked
by this appeal, and instead of looking for a place of
refuge, he now merely looked sheepish. He, however,
entirely agreed with the young lady, as the surer way
of getting out of the difficulty.
“Pray, Mr. Summerfield, how do you like the last
Hajji—Miss Eve Effingham? To my notion, she is
prettyish, though by no means as well as her cousin,
Miss Van Cortlandt, who is really rather good-looking.”
As Eve and Grace were the two most truly lovely
young women in the rooms, this opinion, as well as
the loud tone in which it was given, startled Mademoiselle
Viefville quite as much as the subjects that
the belle had selected for discussion. She would have
moved, as listening to a conversation that was not
meant for their ears; but John Effingham quietly assured
her that Miss Ring seldom spoke in company
without intending as many persons as possible to hear
her.
“Miss Effingham is very plainly dressed for an only
daughter,” continued the young lady, “though that
lace of her cousin's is real point! I'll engage it cost
every cent of ten dollars a yard! They are both engaged
to be married, I hear.”
“Ciel!” exclaimed Mademoiselle Viefville.
“Oh! That is nothing,” observed John Effingham,
coolly. “Wait a moment, and you'll hear that they
have been privately married these six months, if, indeed,
you hear no more.”
“Of course this is but an idle tale?” said Sir George
Templemore with a concern, which, in despite of his
good breeding, compelled him to put a question that,
under other circumstances, would scarcely have been
permissible.
“As true as the gospel. But listen to the bell, it is
ringing for the good of the whole parish.”
“The affair between Miss Effingham and Mr. Morpeth,
who knew her abroad, I understand is entirely
broken off; some say the father objected to Mr. Morpeth's
want of fortune; others that the lady was fickle,
while some accuse the gentleman of the same vice.
Don't you think it shocking to jilt, in either sex, Mr.
Mosely?”
The retiring Mr. Mosely was drawn again within
the circle, and was obliged to confess that he thought
it was very shocking, in either sex, to jilt.
“If I were a man,” continued the belle, “I would
never think of a young woman who had once jilted a
lover. To my mind, it bespeaks a bad heart, and a
woman with a bad heart cannot make a very amiable
wife.”
“What an exceedingly clever creature she is,”
whispered Mr. Mosely to Mr. Moreland, and he now
made up his mind to remain and be `entertained' some
time longer.
“I think poor Mr. Morpeth greatly to be pitied; for
no man would be so silly as to be attentive seriously
to a lady without encouragement. Encouragement is
the ne plus ultra of courtship; are you not of my
opinion, Mr. Walworth?”
Mr. Walworth was number five of the entertainees,
and he did understand Latin, of which the young lady,
He smiled an assent, therefore, and the belle felicitated
herself in having `entertained' him effectually;
nor was she mistaken.
“Indeed, they say Miss Effingham had several
affairs of the heart, while in Europe, but it seems she
was unfortunate in them all.”
“Mais, ceci est trop fort! Je ne peux plus écounter.”
“My dear Mademoiselle, compose yourself. The
crisis is not yet arrived, by any means.”
“I understand she still corresponds with a German
Baron, and an Italian Marquis, though both engagements
are absolutely broken off. Some people say
she walks into company alone, unsupported by any
gentleman, by way of announcing a firm determination
to remain single for life.”
A common exclamation from the young men proclaimed
their disapprobation; and that night three of
them actually repeated the thing, as a well established
truth, and two of the three, failing of something better
to talk about, also announced that Eve was actually
engaged to be married.
“There is something excessively indelicate in a
young lady's moving about a room without having a
gentleman's arm to lean on! I always feel as if such
a person was out of her place, and ought to be in the
kitchen.”
“But, Miss Ring, what well-bred person does it?”
sputtered Mr. Moreland. “No one ever heard of such
a thing in good society. 'Tis quite shocking! Altogether
unprecedented.”
“It strikes me as being excessively coarse!”
“Oh! manifestly; quite rustic!” exclaimed Mr.
Edson.
“What can possibly be more vulgar?” added Mr
Walworth.
“I never heard of such a thing among the right
sort!” said Mr. Mosely.
“A young lady who can be so brazen as to come
into a room without a gentleman's arm to lean on, is,
in my judgment at least, but indifferently educated,
Hajji or no Hajji. Mr. Edson, have you ever felt the
tender passion? I know you have been desperately
in love, once, at least; do describe to me some of the
symptoms, in order that I may know when I am seriously
attacked myself by the disease.”
“Mais, ceci est ridicule! L'enfant s'est sauvée du
Charenton de New-York.”
“From the nursery rather, Mademoiselle; you perceive
she does not yet know how to walk alone.”
Mr. Edson now protested that he was too stupid to
feel a passion as intellectual as love, and that he was
afraid he was destined by nature to remain as insensible
as a block.
“One never knows, Mr. Edson,” said the young lady,
encouragingly. “Several of my acquaintances,
who thought themselves quite safe, have been seized
suddenly, and, though none have actually died, more
than one has been roughly treated, I assure you.”
Here the young men, one and all, protested that she
was excessively clever. Then succeeded a pause, for
Miss Ring was inviting, with her eyes, a number six to
join the circle, her ambition being dissatisfied with five
entertainees, as she saw that Miss Trumpet, a rival
belle, had managed to get exactly that number, also,
in the other room. All the gentlemen availed themselves
of the cessation in wit to gape, and Mr. Edson
took the occasion to remark to Mr. Summerfield that
he understood “lots had been sold in seven hundredth
street that morning, as high as two hundred dollars a
lot.”
The quadrille now ended, and Eve returned towards
her friends. As she approached, the whole party compared
her quiet, simple, feminine, and yet dignified air,
with the restless, beau-catching, and wordly look of
the belle, and wondered by what law of nature, or of
the other's comments. Eve never appeared better than
that evening. Her dress had all the accuracy and finish
of a Parisian toilette, being equally removed from
exaggeration and neglect; and it was worn with the
ease of one accustomed to be elegantly attired, and
yet never decked with finery. Her step even was
that of a lady, having neither the mincing tread of a
Paris grisette, a manner that sometimes ascends even
to the bourgeoise, the march of a cockneyess, nor the
tiptoe swing of a belle; but it was the natural though
regulated step, of a trained and delicate woman.
Walk alone she could certainly, and always did, except
on those occasions of ceremony that demanded a partner.
Her countenance, across which an unworthy
thought had never left a trace, was an index, too, to
the purity, high principles and womanly self-respect
that controlled all her acts, and, in these particulars,
was the very reverse of the feverish, half-hoydenish,
half-affected expression of that of Miss Ring.
“They may say what they please,” muttered Captain
Truck, who had been a silent but wondering listener
of all that passed; “she is worth as many of
them as could be stowed in the Montauk's lower hold.”
Miss Ring perceiving Eve approach, was desirous
of saying something to her, for there was an éclat about
a Hajji, after all, that rendered an acquaintance, or
even an intimacy desirable, and she smiled and curtsied.
Eve returned the salutation, but as she did not
care to approach a group of six, of which no less than
five were men, she continued to move towards her
own party. This reserve compelled Miss Ring to advance
a step or two, when Eve was obliged to stop.
Curtsying to her partner, she thanked him for his
attention, relinquished his arm, and turned to meet the
lady. At the same instant the five `entertainees'
escaped in a body, equally rejoiced at their release, and
proud of their captivity.
“I have been dying to come and speak to you, Miss
Effingham,” commenced Miss Ring, “but these five
giants (she emphasized the word we have put in italics)
so beset me, that escape was quite impossible. There
ought to be a law that but one gentleman should speak
to a lady at a time.”
“I thought there was such a law already;” said
Eve, quietly.
“You mean in good breeding; but no one thinks of
those antiquated laws now-a-days. Are you beginning
to be reconciled, a little, to your own country?”
“It is not easy to effect a reconciliation where there
has been no misunderstanding. I hope I have never
quarrelled with my country, or my country with me.”
“Oh! it is not exactly that I mean. Cannot one
need a reconciliation without a quarrel? What do
you say to this, Mr. Edson?”
Miss Ring having detected some symptoms of desertion
in the gentleman addressed, had thrown in this
question by way of recal; when turning to note its
effect, she perceived that all of her clientelle had
escaped. A look of surprise and mortification and vexation
it was not in her power to suppress, and then
came one of horror.
“How conspicuous we have made ourselves, and it
is all my fault!” she said, for the first time that evening
permitting her voice to fall to a becoming tone.
“Why, here we actually are, two ladies conversing
together, and no gentleman near us!”
“Is that being conspicuous?” asked Eve, with a
simplicity that was entirely natural.
“I am sure, Miss Effingham, one who has seen as
much of society as you, can scarcely ask that question
seriously. I do not think I have done so improper
a thing, since I was fifteen; and, dear me! dear me!
how to escape is the question. You have permitted
your partner to go, and I do not see a gentleman of
my acquaintance near us, to give me his arm!”
“As your distress is occasioned by my company,”
said Eve, “it is fortunately in my power to relieve it.”
Thus saying, she quietly walked across the room, and
took her seat next to Mademoiselle Viefville.
Miss Ring held up her hands in amazement, and
then fortunately perceiving one of the truants gaping
at no great distance, she beckoned him to her side.
“Have the goodness to give me your arm, Mr.
Summerfield,” she said, “I am dying to get out of this
unpleasantly conspicuous situation; but you are the
first gentleman that has approached me this twelvemonth.
I would not for the world do so brazen a
thing as Miss Effingham has just achieved; would you
believe it, she positively went from this spot to her
seat, quite alone!”
“The Hajjis are privileged.”
“They make themselves so. But every body knows
how bold and unwomanly the French females are.
One could wish, notwithstanding, that our own people
would not import their audacious usages into this
country.”
“It is a thousand pities that Mr. Clay, in his compromise,
neglected to make an exception against that
article. A tariff on impudence would not be at all
sectional.”
“It might interfere with the manufacture at home,
notwithstanding,” said John Effingham; for the lungs
were strong, and the rooms of Mrs. Houston so small,
that little was said that evening, which was not heard
by any who chose to listen. But Miss Ring never listened,
it being no part of the vocation of a belle to
perform that inferior office, and sustained by the protecting
arm of Mr. Summerfield, she advanced more
boldly into the crowd, where she soon contrived to
catch another group of even six “entertainees.” As
for Mr. Summerfield, he lived a twelvemonth on the
reputation of the exceedingly clever thing he had just
uttered.
“There come Ned and Aristabulus,” said John
Effingham, as soon as the tones of Miss Ring's voice
were lost in the din of fifty others, pitched to the same
key. “A present, Mademoiselle, je vais nous venger.”
As John Effingham uttered this, he took Captain
Truck by the arm, and went to meet his cousin and
the land agent. The latter he soon separated from
Mr. Effingham, and with this new recruit, he managed
to get so near to Miss Ring as to attract her
attention. Although fifty, John Effingham was known
to be a bachelor, well connected, and to have twenty
thousand a year. In addition, he was well preserved
and singularly handsome, besides having an air
that set all pretending gentility at defiance. These
were qualities that no belle despised, and ill-assorted
matches were, moreover, just coming into fashion in
New-York. Miss Ring had an intuitive knowledge
that he wished to speak to her, and she was not slow
in offering the opportunity. The superior tone of John
Effingham, his caustic wit and knowledge of the
world, dispersed the five beaux, incontinently; these
persons having a natural antipathy to every one of the
qualities named.
“I hope you will permit me to presume on an acquaintance
that extends back as far as your grandfather,
Miss Ring,” he said, “to present two very intimate
friends; Mr. Bragg and Mr. Truck; gentlemen
who will well reward the acquaintance.”
The lady bowed graciously, for it was a matter of
conscience with her to receive every man with a
smile. She was still too much in awe of the master
of ceremonies to open her batteries of attack, but John
Effingham soon relieved her, by affecting a desire to
speak to another lady. The belle had now the two
strangers to herself, and having heard that the Effinghams
had an Englishman of condition as a companion,
who was travelling under a false name, she fancied
herself very clever in detecting him at once in the
imagination, she thought Mr. Truck was his travelling
Mentor, and a divine of the church of England. The
incognito she was too well bred to hint at, though she
wished both the gentlemen to perceive that a belle was
not to be mystified in this easy manner. Indeed, she
was rather sensitive on the subject of her readiness in
recognizing a man of fashion under any circumstances,
and to let this be known was her very first object,
as soon as she was relieved from the presence of John
Effingham.
“You must be struck with the unsophisticated nature
and the extreme simplicity of our society, Mr.
Bragg,” she said, looking at him significantly; “we
are very conscious it is not what it might be, but do
you not think it pretty well for beginners?”
Now, Mr. Bragg had an entire consciousness that
he had never seen any society that deserved the name
before this very night, but he was supported in giving
his opinions by that secret sense of his qualifications
to fill any station, which formed so conspicuous a trait
in his character, and his answer was given with an
àplomb that would have added weight to the opinion
of the veriest élégant of the Chaussée d'Antin.
“It is indeed a good deal unsophisticated,” he said,
“and so simple that any body can understand it. I
find but a single fault with this entertainment, which
is, in all else, the perfection of elegance in my eyes,
and that is, that there is too little room to swing the
legs in dancing.”
“Indeed!—I did not expect that—is it not the best
usage of Europe, now, to bring a quadrille into the
very minimum of space?”
“Quite the contrary, Miss. All good dancing requires
evolutions. The dancing Dervishes, for instance,
would occupy quite as much space as both of these
sets that are walking before us, and I believe it is now
for the legs.”
“We necessarily get a little behind the fashions, in
this distant country. Pray, sir, is it usual for ladies to
walk alone in society?”
“Woman was not made to move through life alone,
Miss,” returned Aristabulus with a sentimental glance
of the eye, for he never let a good opportunity for preferment
slip through his fingers, and, failing of Miss
Effingham, or Miss Van Cortlandt, of whose estates
and connections he had some pretty accurate notions,
it struck him Miss Ring might, possibly, be a very
eligible connection, as all was grist that came to his
mill; “this I believe, is an admitted truth.”
“By life you mean matrimony, I suppose.”
“Yes, Miss, a man always means matrimony, when
he speaks to a young lady.”
This rather disconcerted Miss Ring, who picked her
nosegay, for she was not accustomed to hear gentlemen
talk to ladies of matrimony, but ladies to talk
to gentlemen. Recovering her self-possession, however,
she said with a promptitude that did the school
to which she belonged infinite credit,—
“You speak, sir, like one having experience.”
“Certainly, Miss; I have been in love ever since I
was ten years old; I may say I was born in love, and
hope to die in love.”
This a little out-Heroded Herod, but the belle was
not a person to be easily daunted on such a subject.
She smiled graciously, therefore, and continued the
conversation with renewed spirit.
“You travelled gentlemen get odd notions,” she said,
“and more particularly on such subjects. I always
feel afraid to discuss them with foreigners, though with
my own countrymen I have few reserves. Pray, Mr.
Truck, are you satisfied with America?—Do you find
it the country you expected to see?”
“Certainly, marm;” for so they pronounced this
impressions; “when we sailed from Portsmouth, I expected
that the first land we should make would be the
Highlands of Navesink; and, although a little disappointed,
I have had the satisfaction of laying eyes on
it at last.”
“Disappointment, I fear, is the usual fate of those
who come from the other side. Is this dwelling of Mrs.
Houston's equal to the residence of an English nobleman,
Mr. Bragg?”
“Considerably better, Miss, especially in the way
of republican comfort.”
Miss Ring, like all belles, detested the word republican,
their vocation being clearly to exclusion, and
she pouted a little affectedly.
“I should distrust the quality of such comfort, sir,”
she said, with point; “but, are the rooms at all comparable
with the rooms in Apsley House, for instance?”
“My dear Miss, Apsley House is a toll-gate lodge,
compared to this mansion! I doubt if there be a dwelling
in all England half as magnificent—indeed, I cannot
imagine any thing more brilliant and rich.”
Aristabulus was not a man to do things by halves,
and it was a point of honour with him to know something
of every thing. It is true he no more could tell
where Apsley House is, or whether it was a tavern or
a gaol, than he knew half the other things on which
he delivered oracular opinions; but when it became
necessary to speak, he was not apt to balk conversation
from any ignorance, real or affected. The opinion
he had just given, it is true, had a little surpassed
Miss Ring's hopes; for the next thing, in her ambition
to being a belle, and of “entertaining” gentlemen, was
to fancy she was running her brilliant career in an orbit
of fashion that lay parallel to that of the “nobility
and gentry” of Great Britain.
“Well, this surpasses my hopes,” she said, “although
I was aware we are nearly on a level with the more
little inferior to that part of the world, yet.”
“Inferior, Miss! That is a word that should never
pass your lips; you are inferior to nothing, whether
in Europe or America, Asia or Africa.”
As Miss Ring had been accustomed to do most of
the flattering herself, as behoveth a belle, she began to be
disconcerted with the directness of the compliments
of Aristabulus, who was disposed to `make hay while
the sun shines;' and she turned, in a little confusion, to
the captain, by way of relief; we say confusion, for
the young lady, although so liable to be misunderstood,
was not actually impudent, but merely deceived in the
relations of things; or, in other words, by some confusion
in usages, she had hitherto permitted herself to
do that in society, which female performers sometimes
do on the stage; enact the part of a man.
“You should tell Mr. Bragg, sir,” she said, with an
appealing look at the captain, “that flattery is a dangerous
vice, and one altogether unsuited to a Christian.”
“It is, indeed, marm, and one that I never indulge
in. No one under my orders, can accuse me of flattery.”
By `under orders,' Miss Ring understood curates
and deacons; for she was aware the church of England
had clerical distinctions of this sort, that are unknown
in America.
“I hope, sir, you do not intend to quit this country
without favouring us with a discourse.”
“Not I, marm—I am discoursing pretty much from
morning till night, when among my own people, though
I own that this conversing rather puts me out of my
reckoning. Let me get my foot on the planks I love,
with an attentive audience, and a good cigar in my
mouth, and I'll hold forth with any bishop in the universe.”
“A cigar!” exclaimed Miss Ring, in surprise. “Do
gentlemen of your profession use cigars when on
duty?”
“Does a parson take his fees? Why, Miss, there
is not a man among us, who does not smoke from
morning till night.”
“Surely not on Sundays!”
“Two for one, on those days, more than on any
other.”
“And your people, sir, what do they do, all this
time?”
“Why, marm, most of them chew; and those that
don't, if they cannot find a pipe, have a dull time of it.
For my part, I shall hardly relish the good place itself,
if cigars are prohibited.”
Miss Ring was surprised; but she had heard that
the English clergy were more free than our own, and
then she had been accustomed to think every thing
English of the purest water. A little reflection reconciled
her to the innovation; and the next day, at a
dinner party, she was heard defending the usage as a
practice that had a precedent in the ancient incense of
the altar. At the moment, however, she was dying to
impart her discoveries to others; and she kindly proposed
to the captain and Aristabulus to introduce them
to some of her acquaintances, as they must find it dull,
being strangers, to know no one. Introductions and
cigars were the captain's hobbies, and he accepted the
offer with joy, Aristabulus uniting cordially in the proposition,
as he fancied he had a right, under the Constitution
of the United States of America, to be introduced
to every human being with whom he came in
contact.
It is scarcely necessary to say how much the party
with whom the two neophytes in fashion had come,
enjoyed all this, though they concealed their amusement
under the calm exterior of people of the world.
From Mr. Effingham the mystification was carefully
concealed by his cousin, as the former would have
felt it due to Mrs. Houston, a well-meaning, but silly
woman, to put an end to it. Eve and Grace laughed,
and they danced the remainder of the evening
with lighter hearts than ever. At one, the company
retired in the same informal manner, as respects
announcements and the calling of carriages, as that in
which they had entered; most to lay their drowsy
heads on their pillows, and Miss Ring to ponder over
the superior manners of a polished young Englishman,
and to dream of the fragrance of a sermon that was
preserved in tobacco.
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