 | CHAPTER X. "Boarding out" |  |
11. CHAPTER X.
It is all over, and the whole company waited
upon Mr. and Mrs. Bumblefoot to the ship.
Barclay alone was missing, he having deputed
the Rev. Mr. Milnor and lady to take charge
of his wife. But he has this day secured another
house to board. It is nearer his business,
and the reputation of the house is good.
He is determined that John and Charles shall
be in the family with themselves; for, some
how, misgivings come over him that he has of
late neglected his parental duties; and he reasons
that, if he is once more with his boys, the
evening fireside will present an additional
charm, as was the case in former days.
Scarcely, however, was the process of
moving again completed, before “little Fan”
was seized with the hooping-cough! The
nursery woman, in one of her recent calls, exposed
her to this disease.
“A bad beginning again,” said Barclay;
“but, as Bumblefoot is gone, it can be borne.”
We will now look in upon the Barclays,
since they have begun to live at Mr. Durgin's.
Here is a plain man and his wife, the former
of whom was an early friend of Barclay's; but
he has “run down” in business, and “set up” a
boarding establishment. Our friends have
good accommodations at a fair price; the children
are all about them, and permitted to eat
at the same table with their parents; but (there
always is a “but” in a boarding-house) they
can not find a sufficient number of boarders to
meet their expenses; besides, they have been
much tried of late. A smart, dashing couple
have lately decamped, and left them with vacant
rooms and an empty purse, after enjoying
their hospitality for some four months! The
gentleman was a sportsman, and two hounds
have likewise been kept at Mr. Durgin's expense;
both of which were sold yesterday at
public auction.
Sally hears a great deal from another nursery
“a keeper” was put there a few days since,
because sundry articles of furniture are unpaid;
and well does this correspond with Durgin's
continued application to Barclay to “lend
him a few hundred.”
Now, had Barclay been apprised of these
facts, nothing would have induced him to leave
Ingersoll's; but it is done; and were it not for
little Fanny's cough, he would not hesitate to
make another change.
Sally seldom spoke to Mr. Barclay; but
hearing him reason thus one evening, she having
a strong inclination to leave herself, suggested
that a change of air in the hooping-cough
is often very salutary.
Mrs. Barclay now sits in a willing frame to
do just as is thought best; for, since her children
have returned, and Fanny is sick, she
yearns after a home! She would even rejoice
could she but resume housekeeping, and thinks
no complaint “of cares or ill health” should
ever again pass her lips. It is to be supposed
her mind; but he is determined she shall fully
repent before a restoration takes place; although,
to secure this end, he is almost a martyr
to the cause!
Mr. Barclay has engaged rooms at —
Hotel. All his friends have told him that a
“public house” is far preferable to a private
one, because there is so much more independence
in the former. But yesterday he met
Caleb, who informed him of a vacancy at the
above place; and, as an inducement that he
should secure it, remarked that he should commence
boarding there himself to-morrow.
This was very agreeable intelligence to Mrs.
Barclay; for all the real fun she had known
since she left her own house had been suggested
by Caleb's comical vein. Sally and
“little Fan” are put in a carriage; the latter
much wrapped in flannel, but still the cold air
gives the child a violent fit of coughing. Indeed,
Mrs. Barclay thinks she has pined, and
really feels very anxious, as she looks at her
which coughing occasions. Arrived at their
new lodgings, Mr. Barclay commences going
up stairs. At the top of the first flight Mrs.
Barclay stops; but, no! higher yet; up—up!
in fine, just sixty-five stairs above the basement
story are her rooms! To be sure, they
are pleasant when once you reach them; they
are prettily furnished, and look more inviting
than any place she has seen since she left her
own house; but the little sick child still says,
“Mamma, I want to go home.” There is something
peculiarly subduing in the tone of an innocent
sufferer not quite four years old; and
Mrs. Barclay could only weep, as she too, like
the homesick little girl, “wanted to go home.”
But there are many pleasant things about
this establishment. Her first appearance at
the lady's ordinary was so unlike the breakfast
at Mrs. Shortt's! Her husband, too, had
many business acquaintances, who, with their
families, found here what they termed “a comfortable
home,” and Mrs. Barclay, of course,
to feel once more as if she could move in society;
for, since she has been at board, no
single person has she met who has apparently
sympathized or cared for her save Caleb! He,
be it said in praise of his social friendly feelings,
has often cheered her hours of despondency.
Besides, he was a dear lover of play
with “little Fan,” and you may be assured
that her present feeble appearance is not unnoticed
by him. He carries something to her
every day, and she now moans during his absence
to see “uncle Cale” quite as much as her
father.
There is a great deal of social feeling carried
out in this establishment. The gentlemen often
give oyster suppers, and Champagne clubs are
very fashionable here, although two of the
boarders are temperance lecturers, and the
house is advertised as conducted on purely
temperance principles. But this only means,
to use Mr. Flash's expression, that “liquors
are not furnished at the board.” While the
suppers, the ladies not unfrequently get up a
dance, and before the effervescence of the
Champagne has subsided, the gentlemen are
very nimble with their feet as well as tongues;
for an adjournment always takes place to the
“ladies' sociable.”
The worthy host, in addition to all these parties,
upon the first Monday of every month
makes all welcome to an elegant supper! Now,
to most people, this is a very unfit place to
find “domestic happiness,” in the old-fashioned
sense of the word. That term once meant a
private house, a few friends at one's fireside,
a rational talk, a simple repast, and a breaking
up by ten o'clock! Now it means hot suppers,
a great crowd, sparkling wines, cards, dancing,
a few unmeaning compliments, and a separation
after midnight! The after-piece to the
former was a pleasant retrospect of the evening,
a closer bond of friendship, a clear head,
a desire for farther acquisition; that of the
latter is a bad headache, loss of appetite, a
makes us incapable of progress, and a distaste
for the sober realities of life. And yet many
people contrive to find “a comfortable home”
with a family of children in this independent
manner of living! But, alas! a day of reckoning
comes, and fearful is the account!
To Hepsy Barclay this is a new life; but
something such a one as she once fancied she
should enjoy. The ladies of the house are extremely
polite, and frequent interchanges of
little attentions are given and received. She
has already commenced taking lessons upon
the piano, and her teacher admits she has a
decided taste, although her husband much
doubts the fact. She dresses, too, with much
taste. The ornaments which were long useless
are displayed and admired; and Mrs. Bride
affirms that “the Mechlin laces which always
adorn her handkerchiefs and collars are the
richest she ever saw.” And she ought to know,
for did she not take the last of Plympton's lot
at twenty-five dollars a piece! It was a little
Bride's having just gone through bankruptcy!”
And we may now inquire, why boarding after
this sort is not exactly in accordance with
Hepsy Barclay's preconceived opinion of real
happiness. She has nearly every thing furnished
by simply asking for it; she has the advantages
of “genteel society;” of excellent
fare either in her room or at the ordinary; is
in good health, and her cares are borne by
others. But she has a sick child, a couple of
roguish, truant boys, who will coast till a late
hour, and will keep asking their mother “if
she don't mean to keep house again;” and,
more than all, she has a husband, whose clouded
brow and short stay with her betokens no
distant trouble. That near, familiar intercourse
which Robert Barclay and his wife held
together, despite of her indifference, which
sometimes chilled him, has fled! It is only at
the festive board, after freely partaking of the
exhilarating draught, that he seems tolerably
cheerful! Poor woman, she imagines no one
sets herself to work to forget it! But
these are trials which all the combined forces
of attraction can not effectually exclude from
the mind's vision; they may be smothered in
the glare of day, in the giddy crowd, in the
evening gayety, but there is a night coming,
and with it, with redoubled energy, conscience
arouses and illusions vanish! Much as we
dread the terrible tribunal, we can not evade
it; let us thank a kind Providence that it is so.
It was a dark, stormy evening that Mrs. Barclay
dressed herself for Mrs. Gale's evening
“sociable!” Fanny was ill, but the nurse
thought she was no worse than she had been;
and as she could do “no good” if she stayed
at home, and moped away the evening alone,
why should she do it? Besides, she was in
the house; it was very different from going in
a carriage at a distance.
Soon after her departure from the room
Barclay unexpectedly entered, bringing with
him his clerk, with a ponderous load of books
business was the order of the evening; and to
work in earnest went David and his master.
All at once Barclay threw down the account,
exclaiming, “My God! I am undone! David,
put up the books; they look worse and worse.
Here is a labyrinth: this note of twenty-five
hundred, that of sixteen, and those other liabilities,
which amount to thousands!”
Those other liabilities were unknown to David;
for the speculating mania in which Barclay
had engaged to retrieve his fortune was
an enigma to David.
“But, sir,” said the clerk, “perhaps you can
borrow these sums, and then a more favorable
issue may make money easier.”
“No, no!” replied Barclay, “I have too
much honor left to involve others by borrowing
of them what I never can repay. No!
bad as it is, I will take advantage of the bankrupt
act, and settle as best I may.”
Mrs. Barclay returned about eleven. She
was really glad her husband had come home;
had, why did he not step in Mrs. Gale's room?
they had a fine time, and Jerusha Long had
sung so exquisitely, and Susan Chase had
danced so magnificently; but, heavens! she
looked at Barclay, and he had fainted in his
chair! She throw open the adjoining door,
where Sally sat patting little Fanny's back, to
relieve and assist her coughing, and shrieked,
“Sally! Sally! I believe Robert is dying!”
With the aid of hartshorn, and cold water, and
friction, his reason, however, returned; and in
a few moments the tale was told: “I am,
Hepsy, a ruined man!”
This speech, accompanied by rapid strides
across the floor, really made Mrs. Barclay
shiver like an aspen leaf.
“What—what,” she stammered, “have you
done?”
“Lost a fortune like a fool!” uttered Barclay;
and his very teeth chattered as he
spoke.
What a night was passed in that height of
of social festivity, in that chamber of death!
What strong contrasts this life often exhibits!
Who could help moralizing over this scene!
Barclay walked the floor the whole night with
the look of a maniac. No wonder his wife
threw off her jewels in disdain, and cast aside
her rich satin dress as of nothing worth; for,
in spite of all vanity and show, a husband's
failure and a dying child will subdue the stoutest
heart!
The night, we have said, was one of agony;
but the morning came with a sadder scene!
“Little Fanny” is seized with the croup, and
life will be quickly extinct, if seasonable aid is
not speedily given! Caleb has gone for his
physician, who is a Homeopath; for he knows
one of his skill can give relief. Barclay has
run for a cordial at the apothecary's, which,
Sally says, is excellent; and, by this time,
many ladies in the house are sitting by the little
sufferer's cradle. She moans out a sentence;
Mrs. Barclay's ear is put to its parched
words, “I want to go home!” Poor child!
would that thy mother could carry thee to thy
old nursery, for which thou hast so often pined;
but a better home awaits thee!
“And did you never try the application of
cold water?” inquires Mrs. Holden, a lady
boarder. “I have known children saved in
the very last stages of croup by a plentiful effusion
upon the chest of the patient.”
“I should not dare try it,” says Mrs. Crane;
“ `Mrs. Kidder's cordial' is twice as good;”
and thus, between them all, nothing is done
but an application of hot flannels to the outside
of the throat; an experiment about as useless
in a fit of the croup as to rub the back of
a child! But medicine has lost its power. Dr.
H— has arrived, and informs Caleb the child
must die. And what a lesson is before us!
Barclay, who, an hour ago, was “a lost man,”
because he could not meet the payment of
some notes, and Mrs. Barclay, who was fevered
with the excitement of the gay party, are
messenger, who has taken but a little child!
Who can doubt but a merciful Providence thus
shows us how trifling are the hopes and disappointments
which end in time, compared with
the revelations which may any moment await
us in eternity!
| CHAPTER X. "Boarding out" | |