 | CHAPTER II. Elinor Wyllys, or, The young folk of Longbridge |  |
2. CHAPTER II.
“We'll measure them a measure, and begone.”
The arrival of guests again called the ladies away; they
were followed by others, until the drawing-room was half-filled
with the young people of the neighbourhood, and their
parents. Mrs. Stanley was soon talking with Patsey Hubbard,
whom she liked particularly. The tall and thin Mrs.
Bernard, and her friend, the short and fat Mrs. Van Horne,
were regretting with Mrs. George Wyllys, that she should
think the air of Longbridge did not agree with her children;
and lamenting that she should not remain at Wyllys-Roof
until November, according to her first intention. Charlie
was deep in a volume of fine engravings. Young Taylor
was standing in a corner, looking handsome, but awkward,
and out of place. Mr. Taylor, the father, was aiming at
making himself `affable' to everybody he knew; he liked to
be called the `affable' Mr. Taylor. The last of the party to
arrive, were Mr. and Mrs. Clapp; a couple, who were by
no means equally liked by their hosts. The husband was a
Longbridge lawyer, whose views and manners were not
much admired at Wyllys-Roof; and he would probably
never have found his way there, had he not married one of
their old friends and favourites, Kate Hubbard, a younger
sister of Miss Patsey's—one who from childhood had always
been welcome among them. William Cassius Clapp had
curly hair, bright black eyes, and pink cheeks—and, consequently,
was generally thought an Adonis: his wife was a
diminutive little creature, quite pretty, and very amiable; a
sort of mixture of Miss Patsey and Charlie, without the
more striking qualities of either. Some of her friends had
thought her thrown away upon Clapp; but she seemed
perfectly satisfied after five years' experience, and evidently
run of men. Holding it to be gross injustice towards the
individuals whom we bring before the reader, to excite a
prejudice against them in the very first chapter, we shall
leave all the party to speak and act for themselves; merely
endeavouring to fill the part of a `faithful chronicler,' ourselves.
Mr. Taylor had been looking, with a mixed expression of
surprise and curiosity, at the person he had heard addressed
as Miss Patsey Hubbard, when the lady remarked his manner,
and, smiling quietly, she bowed to him. The bow was
returned; and Mr. Taylor crossed the room, to renew an
acquaintance with the woman, who, three-and-twenty years
before, had refused to become his wife. Mr. Pompey Taylor
had, however, risen too much in the world, since then—
according to his own estimation, at least—he had become too
rich and too prosperous, not to look back with great equanimity,
on what he now considered as a very trifling occurrence.
While he was addressing Miss Patsey in his most
polished manner, just marked with an extra-touch of `affability,'
for her especial benefit, he could not but wonder that
her countenance should still wear the same placid, contented
air as of old; it seemed, indeed, as if this expression had
only been confirmed by time and trials. He began to think
the accounts he had occasionally heard, of his old flame, must
have been incorrect; it was scarcely possible she should
look so calm, and even cheerful, if her father, the Presbyterian
minister, had actually left her not only penniless, but
burdened with the support of a bed-ridden step-mother, and
a house full of younger brothers and sisters. We leave him
to satisfy his curiosity as well as he could.
When was there ever an evening too warm for young
people to dance! Elinor's friends had not been in the room
half an hour, before they discovered that they were just the
right number to make a quadrille agreeable. They were
enough to form a double set; and, while they were dancing
windows, to catch the evening air, and talking over neighbourly
matters, or looking on at their young friends.
“Don't you think Elinor very graceful?” exclaimed Mrs.
Van Horne to her friend, Mrs. Bernard. “I like to watch
her, while she is dancing; her movements are all so pleasing
and easy, never, in the least, exaggerated — but, it is
in her very nature; she has always been the same, from a
little creature.”
“Yes,” replied Mrs. Bernard; “but it is a pity her face
should be so ugly; for she has rather a pretty figure—”
“Do you think her really ugly? She does not strike me,
as so very plain—there is nothing repulsive in her face. I
have known girls called pretty, who had something far nearer
coarseness in their features. It is true, I have been accustomed
to see her from the time she was four years old; and,
I know, she is always thought very plain by strangers.”
“Why, my dear Mrs. Van Horne, she has not one feature
that can be called good; and her eye-brows are so heavy,
and her complexion is so thick and dark, too!”
“Yes, it is true, she is very dark; and that is a pity; if
she were only fairer, her features would appear to greater
advantage.”
“Just look at her now,” said Mrs. Bernard, “as she is
standing by her cousin, Jane Graham, who is dancing with
your son. Was there ever a greater contrast?”
“But Jane is so remarkably pretty—”
“Certainly, she is a perfect little beauty; and that is one
reason, perhaps, why Elinor strikes us as so plain; she is so
much with her cousin—”
“Well,” said Mrs. Van Horne, “if you are going to
quarrel so much, with my little friend's face, we had better
find something else to talk about; for she is a very great
favourite of mine.”
“And justly—I dare say.—But, I am a great admirer
lovely face.”
The conversation then turned upon the Hubbards.
“Charlie, it seems, is actually going to be a painter, observed
Mrs. Bernard. Miss Patsey tells me, he is so bent
on it, that she thinks there is no use in opposing it any
longer; though, Mr. Clapp says, it is a wretched plan.”
“I hope Charles may succeed; he is a fine boy; and I
shall be very sorry, for Patsey's sake, if he turns out badly.
She is very anxious about him, I know.”
“They have been so fortunate, with the rest of the family,
that, I hope, they will be able to keep Charlie straight. I
see Miss Patsey is talking to Mrs. Taylor; they are old
friends, perhaps. Do you know anything about these Taylors?”
“Nothing but what my husband told me. He is a merchant
in New York, and very rich;—made his money quite
lately; and the business-men think a good deal of him.”
“He seems to have a great deal to say for himself. Have
you called on Mrs. Taylor?”
“We were there yesterday. She is a quiet, plain woman.
The young man is good-looking, but very shy and
awkward. The daughter seems very lively.”
“Yes, and she is quite pretty, too. She will be a belle,
I dare say.”
“I hope Mrs. Taylor will send her younger children to
Patsey's school.”
“I wish she may; it will be a good thing for Miss Patsey,
and make up her dozen. You know, she will not take
more than twelve, as she keeps the largest room in the house
for her mother.”
“How kind and faithful Patsey has been to her step-mother!
Just as she is, though, to everybody else; and she
does it all in such a quiet, consistent way. I am glad to see
her here to-night—she enjoys a little society, once in a while;
Wyllys.”
“She has come in honour of her pupil's birthday, I suppose.
You know, Elinor Wyllys was her first scholar. By-the-bye,
do you know what I heard, the other day? They
say, in Longbridge, that Mr. Hazlehurst is engaged to one
of the young ladies here; though, to which, my informant
did not say.”
“There is no truth in it, you may be sure—they are too
much like brother and sister, to think of it. Besides, Mr.
Hazlehurst is going abroad, shortly.”
“I did not know that. Where is he going?”
“He told my son, yesterday, that he was going to Europe,
for two years, to take care of his brother, Mr. Robert Hazlehurst,
who has never recovered from the fall he had last
winter; and the physicians have ordered him to travel.”
At that moment the ladies were joined by Miss Agnes.
“I hear, Miss Wyllys,” said Mrs. Bernard, “that Mr.
Hazlehurst is going to Europe. He will be very much
missed, at Longbridge.”
“Yes, we shall miss him, here, very much,” replied Miss
Wyllys; “Harry has been with us more than ever, this summer.
But, his brother is not in a state to travel alone, nor
fit to take care of his wife and children, who go with him;
and, although the plan is a sudden one, and interferes with
Harry's law-studies, yet his friends all think a visit to Europe
may be a great advantage to him.”
The ladies agreed that it was a very good arrangement,
and some inquiries were made as to Mr. Robert Hazlehurst's
health; and a discussion of bruises and falls, nerves and
dyspepsia, followed.
Soon after, the quadrille broke up.
“Well, Miss Jane,” cried Mrs. Bernard, as several young
people drew near, “I hear that your sister, Mrs. Robert
Hazlehurst, is going to Europe; if I were you, I would not
be left behind.”
“I should like to go very well,” said the beauty, in a languid
tone; “but, I shall be at school, in New York, next
winter.”
“Oh, that is a pity! I am sure, you could learn all you
want to know, much better, in Paris. Don't you think she
ought to go, Mr. Hazlehurst?”
“Certainly, ma'am; everybody should go to Paris, if they
have a chance.”
“Miss Jane would be such a charming addition to your
party.—Two young people together, you would enjoy yourselves
more, and make it pleasanter for your friends.”
Young Hazlehurst made a civil bow to the lady; but he
looked as if he had an opinion of his own on the subject, for
a comical expression crossed his face at the moment. Jane
had turned in another direction, and was slowly lisping an
answer to a very animated question of Miss Adeline Taylor's.
“Yes; I was at Mrs. G—'s school, last year; and, I
am going there again.”
“Well, I positively think I must go there, too, for my
last winter. Mrs. G—'s school is all the fashion, now.
All the young ladies she turns out, are very lively. Miss
Howard, the great belle, was there, you know, before she
came out. Don't you think it would be an excellent plan,
Mr. Hazlehurst, for your cousin and me to be chums? I
declare, I wish you were going, too, Miss Wyllys.”
“Thank you. I have never been to school, in my life;
and, it is rather late, to begin now.”
“Never been to school! What dull times you must have
had at home! You don't know what fine fun we have, at
school; it is next to going into company. I wouldn't stay
at home, for the world. Why didn't you go?”
“Well, I really don't know why. Perhaps, I should have
wished to go, if I had thought it as pleasant as you seem to
do, Miss Taylor.”
“And, pray, if I may ask, what made it so very pleasant?”
the delights of a young ladies' boarding-school. Of course,
they must be very different from the rude enjoyments of
collegians.”
“Oh! it would take me a year, to tell you all about it.”
“I shall be most happy to listen all the evening. But,
let me find you a chair, before you commence; you must be
tired of standing,” said Harry, with a view to taking a seat
himself.
“Me? Oh, no; I never sit down, at a party; I always
stand. You lose half the fun, by sitting down.” And,
having secured Harry's attention, the half-fledged belle
turned to another youth, within hailing distance. “Now,
what do you think Mr. Hazlehurst has given me to do, for
the next hour, Mr. Van Horne?”
“I am sure, I don't know. Is it something very difficult?
Listening to his pretty speeches, perhaps,” said the other.
“Oh dear, no! I don't believe Mr. Hazlehurst can make
a tender speech; I don't believe he has got any heart,” said
Miss Adeline, looking an attempt at archness.
“And, pray, what makes you think so, Miss Taylor? Do
you judge from my savage expression?”
“Well, perhaps, you have one;” said the young lady,
looking up bewitchingly. “I suspect, though, you take
very good care of it.”
“But this is not fair; you are abusing me, instead of
giving us the delights of your school, as you promised.”
“Oh, I had forgotten that. But, I should think, you might
guess what fun we have—a set of wild girls together.”
“How should I know anything about it? Pray, be more
explicit.”
“Well, in the first place, we make a point of getting up
an excitement, at least once a week.”
“Like our unruly spirits at college, you break the windows,
and roll cannon-balls, I suppose.”
“How you talk! No, indeed. Our last excitement was
a quizzical cut, we told Mrs. A., it was morally impossible
for us to attend to the lesson, and study the problems, as
long as the man wore it.”
“It was unpardonable, in a professor of mathematics, to
wear a coat that was not cut according to rule.”
“Now wasn't it? Well, you may be sure, we can always
pitch upon something for an excitement, whenever
we're in the humour for it. And then, we have secrets to
tell about our beaux—and we quiz the new scholars—and
we eat candy—and we torment Mrs. A—; but, I shan't
tell you any more, now; for I must go out on the piazza, and
have a walk—it looks so sweet, out there. You shall have
the rest of the story, if you'll come.”
And away tripped the young lady, followed, of course,
by the gentlemen.
Mr. Taylor, who had been moving about the room, making
himself popular by a very bland smile, and, what he considered
very courtly manners, still had time to keep one eye
upon his son, who, after an awkward fashion, seemed devoting
himself to one or two of the ladies, and the other, upon
his daughter. “Adeline will make herself conspicuous,”
thought the gratified father.
“Liny seems to enjoy herself,” was the observation of her
mother, who had been sitting quietly at her daughter's elbow,
listening to the conversation just related.
“Two conquests!” thought the young lady herself.
“A lively girl!” was the opinion of young Van Horne.
“Fair game!” said Harry to himself.
While some of the young people were flirting, others
dancing, Mr. Taylor and Mr. Clapp, whose acquaintance
had commenced on board a steamboat that very morning,
were walking together up and down the hall, which they
had pretty much to themselves. They touched on business,
which was pronounced very active; and on politics,
which were declared to be particularly dull, just then: Mr.
blind to their own interests, which always demanded
what he called a state of healthful excitement—meaning an
unreasonable excitement upon any subject whatever. There
can be no doubt that Mr. Clapp honestly believed such a
state of agitation far more conducive than quiet to his own
interest; for he was quite a fluent speaker, and very ambitious
of a seat in the State Assembly. He belonged to that
school of republicanism, which so completely identifies the
individual with the mass, that it cannot conceive of any independent
opinions, tastes, or principles; and, very possibly,
he persuaded himself the good of the nation, as well as his
personal advantage, required a fresh brand to be thrown upon
the Longbridge council-fire. Having exchanged opinions
with Mr. Clapp upon politics and the market, Mr. Taylor
proceeded to make some observations and inquiries about the
company; he evidently felt some curiosity regarding his
new neighbours, while his companion seemed well disposed
to give him all the information he desired.
“Mr. Wyllys is a man of large property, I conclude,”
said the merchant.
Mr. Clapp named the number of thousands usually
given to their host; the amount was much lower than Mr.
Taylor had supposed. He had already discovered that Mr.
Wyllys was highly respected by the Longbridge community
in general, and he had taken it for granted that he must be
the richest man in the neighbourhood; but he now found
that this was far from being the case. Mr. Wyllys, though
in easy circumstances, could not command half as much
money as several business men about him.
“There is a good fortune for you,” said Mr. Clapp, “the
lady on the sofa; her property does not lie here, though.
The real estate is mostly in Carolina and Philadelphia. Did
you see the young gentleman who has just gone out on the
piazza with your daughter—Mr. Hazlehurst? At the demise
of the widow, it all goes to him; but in the mean time
altogether, if well managed,” said Mr. Clapp, running his
fingers through the black locks which his wife thought so
handsome.
“Mrs. Stanley is the old lady's name, is it not? The
young gentleman is her grandson, I conclude.”
“Not at all; only a nephew by marriage,” replied the
lawyer, pulling up his collar. “He may feel much obliged
to Mr. Stanley for feathering his nest so well. But Hazlehurst
is a very good fellow; I always liked him from the
time he was a little shaver.”
“The testator had no children of his own to inherit, I
suppose,” remarked Mr. Taylor.
“No sir; the only child of the first wife died just before
his father—the lady in the other room had no family. Mr.
Stanley had not a single near relation in the world; he bequeathed
fifty thousand dollars to an Orphan Asylum, and
left his widow a life-estate in one-half the remainder; which,
at her death, goes in a lump, real estate and personals, to
young Hazlehurst, who is the son of an old friend, and a
nephew by marriage.”
“Some four hundred thousand dollars, I think you said;
that would make a fine capital for a young man to open
business with!”
“But show me the young man who, with four hundred
thousand to begin with, will not spend it instead of making
more! No, sir; give me a man with small means and a
sharp wit for his stock in trade, rather than a hundred thousand
down; ten to one the first winds up the better man by
a good round sum. I should not wonder at all to find myself
a richer man than Harry Hazlehurst by the time I am
fifty.”
“What splendid operations he might engage in, though!”
“If he wanted to, he could not touch the money now; it
is all in the widow's hands until he is five-and-twenty, excepting
gives him, now he is of age.”
After a little more conversation of the same nature—in
which the Van Hornes and the Bernards came in for their
share of the appraisal, Mr. Clapp concluded by the offer of
an introduction.
“Shall I introduce Mrs. Stanley to you? I am very well
acquainted. I was raised in the same part of the country she
came from. She is a very agreeable lady in conversation.”
Mr. Taylor had not the least objection to make the acquaintance
of any human being enjoying an estate of four
hundred thousand dollars. He assented, and following Mr.
Clapp into the drawing-room, the introduction took place
without farther preface. Mrs. Stanley had been conversing
with Miss Patsey and Elinor; she was rather taken by surprise
when Mr. Clapp, advancing before her, said, with a
flourish, “Mr. Taylor, Mrs. Stanley.” Both the gentlemen
were received by her with as much quiet coolness as was
consistent with civility to her friend's guests. She had lately
been often annoyed by Mr. Clapp's officious attentions, and
was at a loss to account for them, until she remembered he
might be wishing to obtain a share in the management of her
affairs.
Having succeeded in bringing about the introduction, Mr.
Clapp turned to Elinor.
“I hear strange stories in Longbridge about you, Miss
Wyllys,” said Mr. Clapp.
There was as yet no individual in the little world known
to Elinor, more trying to her temper than the husband of her
friend, Kate Hubbard. There was a smirking impertinence
in Mr. Clapp's manner, of which it seemed impossible for
him to divest himself, for it was often most conspicuous
when he wished to make himself most agreeable; and no
wonder this was the case, for it was a quality natural to him.
The simple feeling of genuine respect and deference, so
grateful to the heart where sincerely felt, was one he had
Elinor was not a little provoked with him, and something of
the feeling might have been traced in her expression. We
have heard of brilliant black eyes, that never appeared more
beautiful than when flashing with passion. Those of our
friend Elinor were small and grey; indignation, therefore,
may not have been so becoming to them.
“Scarcely worth remembering, I fancy,” she replied; and
then made some observation about Mrs. Hubbard, to turn the
conversation. The raillery and pleasantry of a man with no
more tact, or true delicacy, than William Cassius Clapp, was
more than even Elinor's sweet temper could have borne.
Mr. Wyllys had taken a seat near Mrs. Taylor.
“We have not seen all your young people yet, I believe,
Mrs. Taylor.”
“Oh, no, sir—I have six at home, besides the two here.
Thomas and Adeline are my eldest; the rest are hardly old
enough to go out to parties — though Pompey is nearly
fifteen.”
“You must bring Mr. Pompey, too, next time. Your
eldest son tells me he has just left Yale.”
“He graduated last month. I want him to stay at home
now until winter, and then go into business. But his father
has taken a notion of having him go to Europe for six months.
Thomas does not care so much about it; but husband has a
great opinion of a European journey — he talks some of
going himself. Some young men go a whaling to see the
world; but Mr. Taylor thinks Thomas had better have a
chance to go to Paris.”
“He will probably find Paris the pleasantest trip of the
two,” said Mr. Wyllys, smilling. “Young Hazlehurst is
going abroad, too; he sails next week, with his brother.
What is the name of Harry's packet, Nelly?” asked her
grandfather, taking the young girl's hand affectionately, as
she passed.
Elinor named the vessel; and, from Mrs. Taylor's answer,
it appeared, the young men were to sail in the same
ship.
“I am glad to hear that your grandson is going to France,
sir; it will be more sociable, for Thomas to have somebody
he knows, in Paris.”
“They will probably meet there. Harry is not my
grandson, however.”
“I beg your pardon; but, I understood, that the pretty
young lady, with the white flower in her hair, and the young
gentleman talking to my daughter Adeline, were your grandchildren.”
“Oh, no; Miss Graham is my great-niece; and, as for
Harry, if I remember right, he is no relation at all; though,
we call him cousin. I have a house full of little grandchildren,
here, just now, from Baltimore; but they are too
young to be out of the nursery, at this hour. Does Miss
Taylor sing?”
“No, sir; Adeline performs on the piano; but she has
not any voice for music; which, I am very sorry for, as I
like to hear young people sing.”
“Perhaps, then, you would like to hear my grand-daughter;
she sings me a song every evening, after tea,” said Mr.
Wyllys, who, indeed, seemed to think something was wanting
to an evening, in his own house, unless Elinor gave him
a little music, of which he was passionately fond; though,
like most American gentlemen, of his age, he had no knowledge
of the art, and no other guide than a good ear, and
good natural taste. Elinor's voice was a full, sweet contralto,
which had been cultivated under the best masters in
Philadelphia; and, as she never attempted what she could
not perform with ease and grace, her music always gave
pleasure. One or two of the other ladies followed her, at
the piano—Mary Van Horne, and a friend who had come
with her; but their performance was very indifferent. It
was rarely that one heard anything approaching to really
date of Elinor's seventeenth birthday.
A light supper, and a Virginia reel, concluded the evening;
when the party broke up.
“I hope you are jealous, Elinor,” said Harry Hazlehurst,
as he returned into the house, after having attended Miss
Adeline Taylor to the carriage.
“Jealous!—Of what, pray?”
“Of the heart and affections of your humble servant, to be
sure.—You must have observed the snare that Miss Taylor
laid for them.”
“Nonsense.—Good night!” and Elinor accompanied her
aunt and cousin up stairs.
| CHAPTER II. Elinor Wyllys, or, The young folk of Longbridge | |