University of Virginia Library

4. CHAPTER IV.

Cowper.

When the Wyllyses arrived at Saratoga, after having
paid their promised visit to their friends at Poughkeepsie,
the first persons they saw in the street, as they were driving
to Congress Hall, were Mrs. Creighton, Mr. Ellsworth, and
Mr. Stryker, who were loitering along together. It seemed
the excursion to Nahant had been postponed, or given up.

The brother and sister soon discovered that the Wyllyses
were among that afternoon's arrivals, and in the course of an
hour or two called at their rooms.

“Here am I, Miss Wyllys,” said Mrs. Creighton, “the
best of sisters, giving up my own private plans to gratify this
brother of mine, who would not let me rest unless I promised
to pass another week here.”

“Josephine makes the most of her complaisance; but I
don't think she was so very much averse to giving up Nahant.
I am sure at least, she did not care half so much
about going, as I did about staying.”

Mr. Stryker also appeared, to make his bow to the ladies.
This gentleman had indeed come to Saratoga, with the express
intention of making himself particularly agreeable to
Miss Elinor Wyllys. As long ago as Jane's wedding, he
had had his eye on her, but, like Mr. Ellsworth, he had
seldom been able to meet her. Mr. Stryker was a man between
forty and fifty, possessing some little property, a very
good opinion of himself, and quite a reputation for cleverness
and knowledge of the world. He was one of those men
who hang loose on society; he seemed to have neither relations
nor connexions; no one knew his origin: for years he
had occupied the same position in the gay world of New
York, with this difference, that at five-and-twenty he was

known as Bob Stryker; at five-and-thirty he was Colonel
Stryker, the traveller; and at five-and-forty he had returned
to New York, after a second long absence, as Mr. Stryker,
tout court. He prided himself upon being considered a
gentleman at large, a man of the world, whose opinion on
all subjects was worth hearing. Since his last return from
Europe, he had announced that he was looking about for
that necessary encumbrance, a wife; but he took good care
not to mention what he called his future intentions, until he
had actually committed himself more than once. He had
several times kindly offered to rich and beautiful girls, to
take charge of themselves and their fortunes, but his services
had been as often politely declined. He was not discouraged,
however, by these repulses; he still determined to
marry, but experience had taught him greater prudence—he
decided that his next advances should be made with more
caution. He would shun the great belles; fortune he must
have, but he would adopt one of two courses; he would
either look out for some very young and very silly girl, who
could be persuaded into anything, or he would try to discover
some rich woman, with a plain face, who would be flattered
by the attentions of the agreeable Mr. Stryker. While he
was making these reflections he was introduced to Elinor,
and we are sorry to say it, she appeared to him to possess
the desirable qualifications. She was certainly very plain;
and he found that there was no mistake in the report of her
having received two important legacies quite lately. Miss
Elinor Wyllys, thanks to these bequests, to her expectations
from her grandfather and Miss Agnes, and to the Longbridge
railroad, was now generally considered a fortune. It is true,
common report had added very largely to her possessions, by
doubling and quadrupling their amount; for at that precise
moment, people seemed to be growing ashamed of mentioning
small sums; thousands were invariably counted by
round fifties and hundreds. Should any gentleman be
curious as to the precise amount of the fortune of Miss
Elinor Wyllys, he is respectfully referred to William Cassius
Clapp, Attorney at Law, Longbridge, considered excellent
authority on all such subjects. Lest any one should be disposed
to mistrust this story of Elinor's newly-acquired reputation
as an heiress, we shall proceed at once to prove it, by
evidence of the most convincing character.

One morning, shortly after the arrival of the Wyllyses at
Saratoga, Mr. Wyllys entered the room where Miss Agnes
and Elinor were sitting together, with a handful of papers
and letters from the mail. Several of these letters were for
Elinor, and as she reads them we shall take the liberty of
peeping over her shoulder — their contents will speak for
themselves. The first which she took up was written on
very handsome paper, perfumed, and in an envelope; but
neither the seal nor the handwriting was known to Elinor.
It ran as follows:

Elinor read no farther: she threw the letter aside with an
expression of disgust and mortification. It was but one of
half-a-dozen of similar character, which she had received
during the last year or two from utter strangers. She took
up another, a plain, honest-looking sheet.

A business letter, it appears, to be attended to accordingly.
Now for the third—a delicate little envelope of satin paper,
blue wax, and the seal “semper eadem.”

Elinor read this note with a doubtful smile, which seemed
to say she was half-amused, half-provoked by it. Throwing
it carelessly on the sofa, she opened the fourth letter; it was
in a childish hand.

This last letter seemed to restore all Elinor's good humour,
acting as an antidote to the three which had preceded it.
The correspondence which we have taken the liberty of
reading, will testify more clearly than any assurance of ours,
to the fact that our friend Elinor now stands invested with
the dignity of an heiress, accompanied by the dangers, pleasures,
and annoyances, usually surrounding an unmarried
woman, possessing the reputation of a fortune. Wherever
Elinor now appeared, the name of a fortune procured her attention;
the plain face which some years before had caused her
to be neglected where she was not intimately known, was no
longer an obstacle to the gallantry of the very class who had
shunned her before. Indeed, the want of beauty, which
might have been called her misfortune, was now the very
ground on which several of her suitors founded their hopes
of success; as she was pronounced so very plain, the dandies
thought it impossible she could resist the charm of their own
personal advantages. Elinor had, in short, her full share of
those persecutions which are sure to befall all heiresses.
The peculiar evils of such a position affect young women
very differently, according to their various dispositions.
Had Elinor been weak and vain, she would have fallen into
the hands of a fortune-hunter. Had she been of a gloomy

temper, disgust at the coarse plots and manœuvres, so easily
unravelled by a clear-sighted person, might have made her
a prey to suspicion, and all but misanthropic. Had she
been vulgar-minded, she would have been purse-proud; if
cold-hearted, she would have become only the more selfish.
Vanity would have made her ridiculously ostentatious and
conceited; a jealous temper would have become self-willed
and domineering.

Change of position often produces an apparent change of
character; sometimes the effect is injurious, sometimes it is
advantageous. But we trust that the reader, on renewing
his acquaintance with Elinor Wyllys, will find her, while
flattered by the world as an heiress, essentially the same in
character and manner, as she was when overlooked and
neglected on account of an unusually plain face. If a shade
of difference is perceptible, it is only the natural result of
four or five years of additional experience, and she has
merely exchanged the first retiring modesty of early youth,
for a greater portion of self-possession.

In the first months of her new reputation as an heiress,
Elinor had been astonished at the boldness of some attacks
upon her; then, as there was much that was ridiculous connected
with these proceedings, she had been diverted; but,
at length, when she found them rapidly increasing, she
became seriously annoyed.

“What a miserable puppet these adventurers must think
me—it is cruelly mortifying to see how confident of success
some of them appear!” she exclaimed to her aunt.

“I am very sorry, my child, that you should be annoyed
in this way—but it seems you must make up your mind to
these impertinences—it is only what every woman who has
property must expect.”

“It is really intolerable! But I am determined at least
that they shall not fill my head with suspicions—and I never
can endure to be perpetually on my guard against these sort
of people. It will not do to think of them; that is the only

way to keep one's temper. If I know myself, there never
can be any danger to me from men of that kind, even the
most agreeable.”

“Take care,” said Miss Agnes, smiling, and shaking her
head.

“Well, I know at least there is no danger at present; but
as we all have moments of weakness, I shall therefore very
humbly beg that if you ever see me in the least danger, you
will give me warning, dear Aunt; a very sharp warning, if
you please.”

“In such a case I should certainly warn you, my dear.
It strikes me that several of your most disagreeable admirers—”

“How can you call them admirers, Aunt Agnes?”

“Well, several of your pursuers, then, are beginning to
discover that you are not a young lady easily persuaded into
believing herself an angel, and capable of fancying them the
most chivalrous and disinterested of men.”

This was quite true; there was a quiet dignity, with an
occasional touch of decision in Elinor's manner, that had
already convinced several gentlemen that she had more
firmness of character than suited their views; and they had
accordingly withdrawn from the field.

“Suppose, Elinor, that I begin by giving you a warning,
this morning?” continued Miss Agnes, smiling.

“You are not serious, surely, Aunt?” replied Elinor, turning
from some music she was unpacking, to look at Miss
Wyllys.

“Yes, indeed; I am serious, so far as believing that you
are at this moment exposed to the manœuvres of a gentleman
whom you do not seem in the least to suspect, and who is
decidedly agreeable.”

“Whom can you mean?” said Elinor, running over in her
head the names of several persons whom she had seen lately.
“You surely do not suspect—No; I am sure you have too
good an opinion of him.”

“I am very far from having a particularly good opinion
of the person I refer to,” said Miss Agnes; “I think him at
least, nothing better than a fortune-hunter; and although it
is very possible to do many worse things than marrying for
money, yet I hope you will never become the wife of a man
whose principles are not above suspicion in every way.”

“I am disposed just at present, I can assure you, dear
Aunt, to have a particularly poor opinion of a mere fortune-hunter.”

“Yes; you do not seem to feel very amiably towards the
class, just now,” said Miss Agnes, smiling.

“But who is the individual who stands so low in your
opinion?”

“It is your opinion, and not mine, which is the important
one,” replied Miss Agnes.

“Ah, I see you are joking, Aunt; you half frightened me
at first. As far as having no fears for myself, I am really in
an alarming state.”

“So it would seem. But have you really no suspicions
of one of our visiters of last evening?”

Elinor looked uneasy.

“Is it possible,” she said, lowering her voice a little, “that
you believe Mr. Ellsworth to be a common fortune-hunter?
I thought you had a very different opinion of him.”

“You are right, my child,” said Miss Agnes, apparently
pleased by this allusion to their friend; “I have, indeed, a
high opinion of Mr. Ellsworth; but he was not our only
visiter last evening.”

“Is it Mr. Stryker? I have half-suspected some such
thing myself, lately; I cannot take credit for so much innocence
as you gave me. But it is not worth while to trouble
oneself about Mr. Stryker; he is certainly old enough, and
worldly-wise enough to take care of himself. If he actually
has any such views, his time will be sadly thrown away.
But it is much more probable that he is really in love with
Mrs. Creighton; and it would be very ridiculous in me, to

imagine that he is even pretending to care for me, when he
is attached to some one else.”

“He may flirt with Mrs. Creighton, but, if I am not mistaken,
he intends to offer himself before long to Miss Wyllys;
and I thought you had not remarked his advances.”

“I fancy, dear Aunt, that men like Mr. Stryker seldom
commit themselves unless they feel pretty sure of success.”

The conversation was here interrupted, Elinor was engaged
to ride with Mr. Wyllys, who now returned from the
reading-room for his grand-daughter. Mrs. Creighton was
also going out with her brother, and proposed the two parties
joining; an invitation which Mr. Wyllys had very readily
accepted. The horses were ordered, Elinor was soon
equipped, and on joining Mrs. Creighton at the door, she
was assisted to mount by Mr. Ellsworth. Mr. Stryker had
also been invited to ride with them by the pretty widow.

It was a lovely morning, and they moved off gaily on one
of the roads leading to Saratoga Lake; Elinor enjoying the
air and the exercise, Mr. Ellsworth at her side, doing his
best to make his society agreeable, Mrs. Creighton engaged
in making a conquest of the two gentlemen between whom
she rode. Yes, we are obliged to confess the fact; on her
part at least, there was nothing wanting to make up a flirtation
with Mr. Wyllys. The widow belonged to that class of
ladies, whose thirst for admiration really seems insatiable,
and who appear anxious to compel all who approach them
to feel the effect of their charms. Elinor would have been
frightened, had she been aware of the attack made that
morning by Mrs. Creighton, on the peace of her excellent
grandfather, now in his seventy-third year. Not that the
lady neglected Mr. Stryker—by no means; she was very
capable of managing two affairs of the kind at the same
moment. All the remarks she addressed particularly to Mr.
Wyllys, were sensible and lady-like; those she made to
Mr. Stryker, were clever, worldly, and piquant; while the
general tone of her conversation was always a well-bred

medley of much fashionable levity, with some good sense
and propriety. Mr. Stryker scarcely knew whether to be
pleased, or to regret that he was obliged to ride at her side.
He had lately become particularly anxious to advance in the
good graces of Miss Elinor Wyllys, for two reasons; he had
lost money, and was very desirous of appropriating some of
Elinor's to his own use; and he had also felt himself to be
in imminent danger of falling in love with Mrs. Creighton,
and he wished to put it out of his own power to offer himself
to her in a moment of weakness. Much as he admired the
beauty, the wit, and the worldly spirit of the pretty widow,
he was half-afraid of her; he judged her by himself; he
knew that she was artful, and he knew that she was poor;
for her late husband, Mr. Creighton, during a short married
life, had run through all his wife's property, as well as his
own, and his widow was now entirely dependent upon her
brother.

The attention of the two gentlemen was not, however,
entirely engrossed by Mrs. Creighton. Mr. Stryker was by
no means willing to resign the field to his rival, Mr. Ellsworth;
and Mr. Wyllys was not so much charmed by the conversation
of his fair companion, but that his eye could rest
with pleasure on the couple before him, as he thought there
was every probability that Elinor would at length gratify his
long-cherished wish, and become the wife of a man he believed
worthy of her. As the party halted for a few moments
on the bank of the Lake, Mr. Wyllys was particularly
struck with the expression of spirit and interest with which
Elinor was listening to Mr. Ellsworth's description of the
lakes of Killarney, which he had seen during his last visit
to Europe; and when the gentleman had added a ludicrous
account of some Paddyism of his guide, she laughed so
gaily that the sound rejoiced her grandfather's heart.

Elinor had long since regained her former cheerfulness.
For a time, Harry's desertion had made her sad, but she
soon felt it a duty to shake off every appearance of gloom,

for the sake of her grandfather and aunt, whose happiness
was so deeply interwoven with her own. Religious motives
also strengthened her determination to resist every repining
feeling. The true spirit of cheerfulness is, in fact, the fruit
of two of the greatest virtues of Christianity—steadfast faith,
and unfeigned humility; and it is akin to thankfulness, which
is only the natural consequence of a sense of our own imperfections,
and of the unmerited goodness of Providence.

“We have had a charming ride, Miss Wyllys!” said Mrs.
Creighton, as the party returned to the hotel.

“Very pleasant,” said Elinor.

“Delightful!” exclaimed Mr. Ellsworth. “I hope we
shall have such another every day.”

“Then I must try and find an animal, with rather better
paces than the one which has the honour of carrying me at
present,” said Mr. Stryker.

“But Mrs. Creighton has been so very agreeable, that I
should think you would have been happy to accompany her
on the worst horse in Saratoga,” observed Mr. Wyllys.

“Only too agreeable,” replied Mr. Stryker, as he helped
the lady to dismount, while Mr. Ellsworth performed the
same service to Elinor.