University of Virginia Library

3. CHAPTER III.

In most of the daily papers on the following
morning might be seen the advertisement
so common nowadays, with the caption, “Genteel
furniture.” We will give a part of the
enumeration, that our readers may be in possession
of the tasteful articles which Mrs. Barclay
“felt no regret” at leaving or disposing
of to the highest bidder! It ran thus: “On
Monday, January 25th, will be sold a great
variety of elegant household furniture, being
the property of R. Barclay, Esq., consisting,
in part, of superior new-style sofas and couches
in crimson damask coverings; twelve elegant
chairs to match; a divan; rich marble-top
center tables; large-size French mirrors, original
cost three hundred dollars; and the richest
pair of girandoles ever offered at auction in
this market; two splendid inlaid stands; rich
gold-band coffee and tea sets; French China

dishes; one Britannia venison dish; sets of
silver-handle knives and forks; silver-plated
baskets, and a rich silver tea-service, very
large and heavy, &c., &c. At 11 o'clock, a
first-rate piano-forte of superior tone and finish;
also, a beautiful seraphim. A variety of kitchen
furniture, consisting of Wedgewood's Britannia
coffee-pots and biggins, and many choice articles
of culinary ware too numerous to mention,
with which the sale will commence.”

As Mr. Barclay glanced over his morning
paper, he perceived the above advertisement,
and, pointing to it, he passed it over to his wife.
She read unmoved until the piano and seraphim
were announced for sale. This was
more than she could bear.

“Robert,” said she, “those musical instruments
must not be sold. I shall not permit it.
What on earth did you mean to advertise my
piano? As to the seraphim, I have already
purposed what to do with that; and the piano
I intend to carry with us where we board;
perhaps I shall find time then to take music

lessons. Cousin Fanny Jones said she would,
by all means; and as a mark of gratitude for
her services to us from time to time, I shall present
her with our seraphim. So these will not
go under the auctioneer's hammer.” Mr. Barclay
simply remarked, “The buckwheat cakes
were unusually light this morning;” as if he
had not heard Mrs. Barclay's determinations
at all.

But breakfast with our good friends was
soon dispatched, and Mrs. Barclay made her
way to the kitchen, there to give orders for the
approaching event. Poor Polly Murphy, the
cook, had never heard of the projected affair;
for Sally, the nursery maid, and she had not
exchanged many words for some days, feeling
in no good humor with each other. Of course,
Sally knew all; for nursery women always
have eyes that see and ears that hear, and,
much to be regretted, sometimes tongues that
tell family secrets.

“Polly,” began Mrs. Barclay, “we are soon
to break up housekeeping, and shall auction all

our furniture. There will of course be great
exposure of kitchen utensils, and I wish you to
make every thing thoroughly clean: to empty
all the buckets and boxes, scour them thoroughly,
likewise all the tin-ware, every pan,
dish, and spoon. You have three weeks to do
it in, and in the mean time our cooking will be
very light and simple; and, if possible, I shall
persuade Mr. Barclay to dine out, so that
every opportunity may be given you to do
your work well.”

Polly stood aghast.

“And what does it all mane?” she inquired,
in her peculiar dialect. “Sure, by the powers!
I niver expected Mr. Barclay would quit this
fine house; and isn't he going out of the counthrey,
that a trick the like o' this he is serving
us? Sure, indeed, Mrs. Barclay, I pity you
much, and will clane every thing in the finest
order; but my heart aches that you should be
obliged to lave such a beautiful risidence.”

Mrs. Barclay soon quieted Polly's voluble
tongue by telling her it was not Mr. Barclay,

but herself that desired the change; to
all of which Polly would only reply, “And,
sure, you are not the woman I took you to be.”

However, the scouring process proceeded;
and, between muttering and reasoning alone
with herself, Polly put a new face upon whatever
passed through her hands; not unfrequently,
however, did she bless her stars that
she should soon be rid of that “despert torment,”
the nursery woman, when she went to
a new place.

But it is no small affair to forego housekeeping.
The quickest way to end it is an auction;
but how often we sacrifice many choice
articles in the thoughtlessness and excitement
of the moment, which we greatly need afterward.
Mrs. Barclay seemed not to foresee
that at board any thing need be useful, as
every thing would be supplied! This fact
alone tells the story that she never had any experience
in the matter. But what was to be
done? Here was the day fixed for the sale;
things were in a topsy-turvy condition; she

had no boarding place engaged, and Mr. Barclay
seemed to rely upon her to procure one.
But Mrs. Barclay was a woman of expedients,
if not experience. She never met with an adventure,
or carried out a long-concerted plan,
but “Cousin Fanny Jones” was her adviser.
Of course, now her aid would be indispensable.
The letter-bag had not closed for D— that
day, ere a note was dispatched with the following
contents. It may serve to enlighten
the reader as to who was at the bottom of this
troublesome change:

“Fanny,” said old Mrs. Jones, as she read
that note, “you have taken a mighty responsibility
upon yourself; it will never do for you
to go first in all these affairs. It is not at all
likely any boarding-house can be found for
such a family that will give satisfaction. I am
sure, much as I respect the Barclays, no money
would induce me to take them for a single
week.”

“Thank you, mother, for your advice; but
Mrs. Barclay and I will manage well enough.
Barclay, you know, is always at his business;
and, surely, you would not have me refuse
such a pressing invitation as this note conveys?”

“Well, child, if you go, don't interfere too
much between Robert and Hepsy; they are
man and wife, you know, and he is a good, indulgent
husband.”

In less than four hours from the reception
of the note Fanny Jones was at Mrs. Barclay's
window, planning for her what she had best
do, what articles had better be reserved, what
disposed of, &c.

“But, first,” said she, “we must see where
you can get boarded. I will call on Mrs. Bell,
and get a list of `the most fashionable boarding-houses,'
and the names of the keepers.”
Suiting her action to the word, she was soon
in Mrs. Bell's parlor, with her pencil and memorandum-book,
registering names!

Mr. Barclay behaved like a philosopher.

He even told Fanny that he appreciated her
kindness, and desired her to accompany his
wife in her perambulations, adding, “When
you have found the place, I will make the bargain.”

The next morning was a cloudy one; but,
with business before them, the two cousins
commenced their preparations in search of a
new home.

“You had better,” said Fanny, “put on your
pink hat, and velvet shawl, and dark silk dress;
for appearances, you know, count, when one
goes among strangers upon such an errand as
ours.”

“No, cousin, I don't know any thing about
it; and so I sent on purpose for you to tell
me.”

Fanny had recourse to her memoranda.

“Let us go to Mrs. Marshall's first,” said
she; “for her house is highly praised, and, if
we can, we will secure a suit of rooms with
her.” And to Mrs. Marshall's they went.

A very polite, bowing servant took their address,

and leaving them for full fifteen minutes
in a kind of ante-room, came back and informed
them that Mrs. Marshall was “not at
home;” that she received applications of business
only between four and six o'clock P.M.;
that her house was full, but some vacancies, he
had heard her remark, would take place in
April—all of which, however, she would inform
them, would they call at the hours specified!

The next call of our friends was upon Mrs.
Goriè, a lady of French extraction, who rented
a house in — Square. Madame Goriè
was luckily at home, and could be seen. Our
friends were conducted up a winding passage
to her splendid drawing-rooms. In a few moments
madame entered. But, mercy! what a
curiosity in person! Can any one describe
her? Is it wrong to attempt it? Let me
venture a little, hoping the sin, if it be one,
will be pardoned; and, should the good lady
see herself in a book, she may be induced to
abandon a part of her “toggery.” Her dress

was of a nameless fabric, fancifully embroidered
at the bottom with blue and scarlet velvet,
edged with black and white beads. Her slippers
were a kind of moccason, flowered with
the porcupine quill, and upon her head, the
crowning point, was a huge turban, with a frill
about the face, and bows of ribbon of every
shade and hue! Besides, she was a bad English
scholar, and it was with extreme difficulty
she could be made to understand how many
were desirous of procuring board, and what
rooms they wished; but oui, voulez vous, &c.,
and a beckoning of the hand, led our friends to
the vacated rooms. They were in the third
story, and such rooms! Seams in the floor
some inches apart; paint the color of a saffron
dye; a door that would not close but with a
violent jerk; with but one closet, already occupied
by sundry vermin, and a back room of
similar conveniences, give us a view of all she
had “to let!” But two words were intelligible
to Mrs. Barclay, and those seemed as if
uttered by Madame Goriè in ridicule, they
were so singularly inappropriate: “Very convenient,
madame!” Fanny smirked and winked
at her cousin, and inquired, “What price?”
“Only twenty dollar for familie of five,” she
made out to interpret as her meaning; “very
cheap!” But they “would call again” if they
decided. “Oui! bon jour,” and the door
closed forever upon Madame Goriè. Nothing
daunted, Fanny again took out her book.

“Do let us go to some real `fashionable
place,”' said Mrs. Barclay; “these can not be
very good specimens we have seen. I desire,
if I board, to find a house equal to the one I
leave. Do you suppose I shall?” asked Mrs.
Barclay, rather despondingly.

“Twice as good,” promptly responded Fanny;
“and, at any rate, you won't have such
an everlasting care upon your shoulders;”
and now they are at Mrs. W—'s door, a
boarding-house of first quality, first price, &c.

The drawing-rooms here have an antique
look; the red curtains are faded; the carpets
are worn; the mirrors are tarnished; the

chairs are dull; the couches have been much
used, and the center-table is cracked! And
all these are in good keeping with the two antiquated
sisters who keep the house. Age has
wrinkled their faces, and stray silvery tell-tales
peep out from beneath their caps! A
very unmusical voice, as if used to command,
issues from the elder lady, who seems to have
the principal management of the large establishment.
Even Fanny quailed somewhat;
and Mrs. Barclay declared her voice faltered
as she inquired “if they had vacant rooms.”
With an evasive answer, the old lady proposed
another question to our friends: “Have you
young children?” James, and John, and little
Fanny all rose before Mrs. Barclay's vision;
she could only stammer out, “Why—not very
young; my boys are eight and twelve, and my
little girl but three years of age.”

“Then, sister,” said Miss Jemima, the
younger of the two, to Miss Dorothy, the negotiator,
“it's of no use, sister; you know we
can not have children of such ages. Why,

General D— and Commodore F— would
leave at once, to be annoyed by a crying child.
You may as well say the truth, Dolly—we
don't board children.” She puckered up her
mouth, cast a significant glance at the ladies,
as if to say, “We have no accommodations!”

But Dolly W— never allowed persons
to apply without giving their names. She inquired
of Mrs. Barclay her address. Robert
Barclay, commission-merchant, was a name
she had somehow got identified with wealth;
she thought, with her finger on her lip, as if by
this action she quickened her decaying memory.
“Barclay?” said she three several times.
“Is he the gentleman who has advertised his
furniture at auction?”

“The same, sister, that Colonel Gardner
spoke of this morning; you know he recommended
us to attend the auction, as there was
a venison dish to be sold; and Colonel Gardner,”
she remarked, “is very fond of venison.”

The maiden ladies seemed to clear up their
throats, and really much more agreeable voices

were now heard. “I don't know,” said the
bargainer, “but we have a suit of rooms that
will be vacated this spring; they are below
us; a basement that the Spanish consul now
occupies, and a small room that is occupied
by Lieutenant Ames.”

“If you please, we will look at them,” said
Mrs. Barclay.

Imagine, kind reader, a basement room exceedingly
low in the story; a fireplace with
little ancient marble tiles around the stove; an
alcove for a bed, and a low, wide window looking
directly upon the sidewalk, and your imagination
will supply the rest. The small room
adjoining seemed originally planned for a large
closet; but our close, calculating friends had
contrived to make the lodger therein believe
it a bedroom; and these were the apartments
soon to be “vacated,” and, if they could dispose
of their children, perhaps might be secured
by R. Barclay and lady at the moderate
terms of eighteen dollars per week!