 | CHAPTER XIX. Elinor Wyllys, or, The young folk of Longbridge |  |
19. CHAPTER XIX.
“Had you not lately an intent, speak truly,
To go to Paris?”
Shakspeare.
Miss Taylor paid her visit to Miss Lawrence. One
morning at breakfast she informed her parents that she intended
to make an excursion to Boston. “Whom was she
going to see?” asked her father. “Miss Lawrence, a young
lady who had passed three days at the Springs, at the hotel
where they stayed, and with whom she had become very
intimate.” “How long was she going to be absent?”
inquired her mother. “She thought of remaining a fortnight;
perhaps three weeks, if she found it very pleasant.
Mr. Powell, the young gentleman who was to be her escort,
had been introduced to her the evening previous at a ball,
and she thought him sufficiently fashionable in his appearance,
to have the honour of taking charge of herself and
her baggage.” Her father observed that he would bring a
supply of money for her, when he came home to dinner; her
mother offered to look over her stockings. Everything thus
settled, the next morning Mr. Taylor and Miss Adeline drove
to the East-River wharf, where the Boston boat lay: here
they met with a slight difficulty; the gentleman engaged as
an escort could not be found; something had interfered with
his journey. Nothing was easier than to pick up another,
however. Mr. Taylor looked about him, saw a face he
knew slightly, and remembered the name that belonged to it.
“Good morning, sir; are you going to Boston, Mr.
Hopkins?”
Mr. Hopkins bowed, and declared that he was going to
Boston.
“I have a daughter on board, sir; and the young gentleman
good as to look after her?”
Mr. Hopkins would be very happy to take charge of Miss
Taylor. But Adeline was almost in despair when she saw
him. How could one of the most dashing belles in New
York, consent to sit, in view of all the passengers, side-by-side
with such a fat, rusty, snuffy, little old gentleman, who
wore green spectacles, and had a red silk handkerchief spread
on his knee? Suppose he should ask her to walk, how
could she pace up and down the promenade-deck arm-in-arm
with such a figure? She, Adeline Taylor, whose travelling
dress was faultless, and who had expected to have a
charming flirtation with Albert Powell! What could she
do? The fates, and the warning bell, decided the question;
it was too late to look out for some better-looking escort.
Mr. Taylor had hardly time to shake hands with his daughter,
and jump on the wharf, ere the whizzing of the steam had
ceased, and the plashing of the wheels was heard. Adeline
sank on a bench beside the rusty old gentleman for a moment,
but soon fled to the ladies' cabin for refuge.
During the whole jaunt, the fat, snuffy Mr. Hopkins was
kind and good-natured to Adeline, whenever she would allow
him. He thought she must be lonely, and she had been
obliged to confess that she knew no one on board; so the old
gentleman held it incumbent on him to be sociable. He took
some pea-nuts out of his pocket, and offered her a handful;
he gave her a couple of newspapers to read; asked her
questions about her family, brothers and sisters, and seemed
to look upon her as a school-girl. He was not the least impressed
with her elegance and finery, and quite unaware of
her belle-ship; he even once called her “my dear.” Then,
the red silk handkerchief was always either on his knee, or
in his hand! It would be difficult to say whether Adeline
would have survived the mortification of such an escort, had
it not been for two circumstances, which changed the current
of her thoughts. There were several elegantly dressed
an intimacy with two of them; they exchanged cards, and
invitations to each other's houses, and through the same
means Adeline was introduced to a couple of beaux. Between
breakfast and dinner, these new bosom-friends and
herself were inseparable, but, unfortunately, they were only
going half-way. The grief of separation was, however,
somewhat assuaged with Miss Taylor by sea-sickness, which,
as every one knows, is very destructive to sentiment and
sensibility. As long as they were tossing about near Point
Judith, the snuffy old gentleman, who was not in the least
sea-sick himself, was very faithful in his inquiries after
Adeline, and proposed several remedies to her, through the
stewardess. At length they reached Boston. As they drove
to the door of Miss Lawrence's father, Mr. Hopkins asked
“how long she intended to remain in Boston?” “About a
fortnight,” Adeline replied.
“I shall be going back to New York about the same time,
my dear, and if you have not got some one more to your
taste, I'll take care of you on your way home, with pleasure,”
said the fat old gentleman, sprinkling a handful of
snuff on Miss Taylor's grey silk, and brandishing the red
handkerchief at the same time.
Adeline's thanks were very faintly uttered; but gratitude
is not a fashionable virtue. It was fortunately so dark that
the rusty old gentleman could scarcely be seen as he took
leave of the elegant Miss Taylor at Mr. Lawrence's door,
and thus the young lady's mortification was over.
At the end of the three weeks, Adeline returned home,
bringing glowing accounts of the delights of Boston, and
talking a great deal about several “delightful young gentlemen,”
and occasionally mentioning a certain Theodore St.
Leger. She had heard that the Boston people were all blue;
but it must be a calumny to say so, for she had had a very
lively time—plenty of fun and flirtation. Miss Lawrence
returned with her, and of course a party was given in her
from the shackles of matrimony, apparently to give the
Boston young lady an opportunity of meeting a representation
of her peers, the marriageable portion only of the New
York community. The evening was pronounced delightful
by Miss Lawrence; but all the guests were not of the same
opinion.
“What an absurd custom it is, to have these young people
parties,” said Harry Hazlehurst, who was on one of his
frequent visits to New York at the time, and was sitting in
Mrs. Graham's drawing-room, with that lady, Jane, and Mrs.
Stanley.
“I agree with you; it is a bad plan,” observed Mrs.
Stanley.
“The first of the kind that I went to, after we came home,
made me feel ashamed of myself; though Dr. Van Horne,
I suppose, would accuse me of high-treason for saying so.”
“But most young people seem to enjoy them,” said Mrs.
Graham.
“It is paying us but a poor compliment to say so. One
would think the young people were afraid to laugh and talk
before their fathers and mothers. I really felt the other
night as if we were a party of children turned into the
nursery to play, and eat sugar-plums together, and make as
much noise as we pleased, without disturbing our elders. It
is a custom that appears to me as unnatural as it is puerile.
I hope you don't like it,” he added, turning to Jane.
“I care very little about it.”
“I am glad, at least, you do not defend it.”
“There are a few families you know, Harry, who never
give those kind of parties,” observed Mrs. Stanley.
Hazlehurst's conscience felt a twinge, for he knew she
was thinking of Elinor, whom Miss Wyllys had never allowed
to give these unmarried parties; though she went to other
houses, when asked.
“Miss Taylor had collected a tribe of Europeans of all
Frenchman,” observed Harry, by way of changing the conversation.
“I was surprised when my friend Townsend
told me he was invited; he did not know the Taylors, and
only arrived a week since.”
“Adeline invited him on purpose; Miss Lawrence is very
fond of foreigners, and you know Mr. Taylor calls on all the
strangers who arrive,” said Jane.
Harry's lip curled a little.
“How disagreeable that Captain Kockney is,” continued
Jane.
“More than disagreeable,” replied Harry. “I should not
have used so soft a word. I was not a little amused, by-the-bye,
to see how the fellow cooled off when Townsend and
Ellery came in. Your low set of English have such a
thorough awe of those a few degrees above them.”
“That Mr. Kockney is so very forward and vulgar,” said
Mrs. Graham, “that I wonder anybody can endure him. I
was disgusted with his manner on board the steamboat from
Longbridge, the other day.”
“He is beneath notice,” said Harry.
“I am not sure, either, that I like your friend, Mr. Ellery,
Harry.”
“Ellery is no friend of mine; but, pray, don't name him
in the same breath with that Kockney.”
“Oh, no, Mr. Ellery is a gentleman, evidently; but I
don't like his manners, there is something affected about him.”
“Certainly, he knows how to play the coxcomb, and condescends
to do so quite too often. But I hope you like
Townsend; he is really a fine fellow.”
“Mr. Townsend has very different manners.”
“Yes, he has the best English manner; quite natural,
and not afraid to be civil. It is only the best of the English
who are quite free from nonsense. Ellery aims at effect,
half the time; Townsend has too much sense to do so.”
“Well, I really wonder,” said Jane, “how Mrs. Hilson
can endure that Captain Kockney.”
“The silly little soul knows no better.”
“To be sure, she is quite as ridiculous as he is.”
“She is really very silly,” said Mrs. Stanley. “It is a
pity that good, worthy Mr. Hubbard should have daughters
so little like himself, and so much like their mother.”
“She is very pretty, though, and dresses very well,” said
Jane. “Would you believe it, mamma, the other day, when
she called at Adeline's she wore a collar precisely like the
prettiest of those I brought from Paris.”
“Does she visit a great deal at Mrs. Taylor's?” inquired
her mother.
“Oh, no; Adeline can't endure her. But she cannot get
rid of her entirely, because they meet in the country. Adeline
would like to drop the acquaintance altogether, but she
says Mrs. Hilson won't let her, because Mrs. Taylor's is the
only fashionable house where she visits.”
“These Taylors have really done wonders in the last few
years,” said Mrs. Stanley, smiling.
“They have been quite as persevering, I dare say, as Mrs
Hilson can be. They are a very vulgar, pushing family,”
observed Mrs. Graham.
Jane coloured, and Harry feared she would shed a tear or
two. She was quite agitated. “Dear Jane,” he thought, “what
an affectionate heart she has!” By way of consoling her,
probably, and at the same time obtaining a better view of her
downcast face, he took a seat beside her. He even refrained
from making an observation which he had in petto, upon the
volatile character and manners of Miss Taylor, reserving it
for the future; determining that when they were man and
wife, Jane should have the full benefit of his opinion of her
friend.
Let it not be supposed that Harry was too sure of success,
in thus looking forward to his marriage with Jane as no very
improbable event. Since he had appeared in the family as
blushes and moments of embarrassment which looked very
favourably; and had he been obliged to proclaim all his
hopes, he would have confessed that the same flattering signs
had been observed by him in Paris, and had contributed not
a little to increase the warmth of his own feelings. There
was now a rival in the field, and one by no means to be
despised; but, although young de Vaux was good-looking,
agreeable, and very much in love, Jane did not seem disposed
to smile upon him. To do her justice, she was no coquette;
she was too indolent by nature, to labour very hard to secure
several conquests at the same time. Miss Graham was very
much admired, however, and was generally proclaimed the
beauty of the season; while Harry soon began to feel the
vanity of the favoured man.
But if Jane were a beauty, Adeline was a belle; a pretty,
and a rich belle, moreover, and Miss Taylor's train of admirers
was much larger than that of Miss Graham. So
numerous, indeed, were her followers, that she was seldom
seen alone. If she visited, it was with an attendant beau;
if she were walking in Broadway, she had generally one on
each side of her; and at a party she was always talking to
half-a-dozen young men at a time. Miss Adeline was, undeniably,
a very popular belle. But all this homage was
sometimes attended with difficulties: one morning she wrote
an urgent note to her friend Jane, requesting that she would
come to see her, for she was unwell herself, and wanted
advice in a momentous affair.
The sympathising Jane had no sooner appeared, than
Adeline exclaimed,
“I am so perplexed, that I really don't know what to do!
You must decide for me.”
“How can I help you? What is the matter?” inquired
Jane.
“Why you know to-night is Mrs. Thompson's great ball,
and I am going, of course; though I have a very bad cold.”
“Yes, you are really quite hoarse.”
“No wonder! I have been so pestered by serenades for
the last fortnight, that I have not had one good night's rest.
I had to get up and show myself at the window, until I
caught one cold after another.”
“Perhaps you had better not go to-night.”
“You may be sure I shan't stay at home unless I have to
keep my bed; I am already engaged for five dances. But
just look at the centre-table.”
Jane turned her eyes towards the table, which was covered
with flowers.
“How beautiful they are!” she exclaimed, going to look
at them. “One, two, four, six bouquets!—Where did they
all come from?”
“Don't ask me; I am sick of the very sight of flowers!”
“This, with the variegated camellias, is beautiful!”
“Yes, it's pretty enough; but what shall I do with it?”
“Why, take it to the party this evening, of course.”
“No, indeed; it came from Mr. Howard, and I can't
endure him.”
`Which have you chosen, then?”
“That is the very question; I don't know how to settle it.”
“Take this one with the passion-flower.”
“No, that I shan't; for it was sent just to spite me. Mr.
Grant sent it—and I told him last night that I hated passion-flowers,
and everything else that is sentimental. What shall
I do?—It is so provoking!”
“Suppose you put them all in water, and go without any.”
“My dear Jane, how you talk! That's what I never did
in my life. Go to a ball without a bouquet!—I can't think
of such a thing!”
“We can untie them, and make up one ourselves, taking
the prettiest flowers from each.”
“That won't do, either; for it's only the gardeners that
can do up these things decently. I wouldn't, for the world,
carry one that looked as if I had made it up myself.”
“Well,” said Jane, in despair, “I really don't know what
else to advise.”
“I do believe the young gentlemen have leagued together
to provoke me! And this is not all, there are three more in
water up-stairs.”
“You might take the first that came; perhaps that would
be the best plan.”
“Would you have me take this ridiculous-looking thing,
with only one camellia in it? No, indeed;” and for a
moment the two young ladies sat down by the centre-table,
looking despondingly at each other and at the flowers.
“If I could only take the one I like best, it would be the
easiest thing in the world; but, you know, all the other
gentlemen would be offended then.”
“Which do you like best?” asked Jane.
“Why this one, with the white camellias; it came from
Theodore St. Leger; he told me he would send one with
white flowers only.” Adeline's colour rose a little as she
spoke, and as that was not a common occurrence with her,
it looked suspicious.
“Did Mr. St. Leger dance with you last night?”
“Why, no, child, he never dances; I didn't see him dance,
all the time we were in Boston.”
“I thought you liked him,” said Jane, with innocent
surprise.
“I like him well enough, after a fashion; as well as one
can like a man who never dances, and don't talk much. He
is very stupid, sometimes, and dresses very badly too.”
“Is he handsome?” asked Jane.
“No, he is as ugly as he can be; I really think he looks
just a little like that old Mr. Hopkins, his uncle.”
“What in the world makes you like him then?”
“I am sure I don't know. But don't fancy I really care
about the man. He is going back to Boston next week, and
I don't suppose I shall ever see him again; but I thought I
would take his bouquet, to-night, because he was so polite to
Boston, I have hit upon an idea!”
“Well, what is it?”
“I saw a girl at a party there—by-the-bye, it was Theodore
St. Leger's sister—who had her dress trimmed with natural
flowers; that's just the thing for me!” cried Adeline, clapping
her hands. The difficulty thus happily removed, the
young ladies ran up stairs, to determine more fully upon
trimming a certain white crape with the eight bouquets,
divided for the purpose. The white one, the offering of Mr.
St. Leger, was reserved for the place of honour, in Adeline's
hand.
| CHAPTER XIX. Elinor Wyllys, or, The young folk of Longbridge | |