University of Virginia Library

THE
BELLE AND THE BLEU.

Wordsworth.

Burns.

J. W. Thompson, Esq. was a very rich man,
and a very melancholy man—one of those
characters, who, seemingly blessed with all that
earth can give, are yet always repining and finding
fault with the wind, the weather, the season;
or else complaining of ill luck, or ill health—
and always feeling an ill temper—but the world
felt no sympathy for his sorrows. He had
passed through life calculating how he might
turn every incident that befell him to some
pecuniary profit, and his acquaintances were
now, in their turn, calculating how much he had
gained, and how soon he would leave his wealth
to his two daughters. Had he been a poor
man and worked at day-labor to support his

children, how much more his death would have
been lamented! For he died—the rich die as
certainly, though not always as peacefully as
the indigent. His neighbours would have said,
`what will become of the poor girls now their
kind father is gone, who worked so hard ever
since his wife died, to provide for his darlings!
He is dead, and well may they weep—they
will never find such another tender friend.'
But when the rich J. W. Thompson, Esq.
died, they said no such thing.

`I do not think, Simon, the death of Squire
Thompson any great loss to the world,' said
Mr. Jacob Towner, to his hired man, as he
paused from his labor of mowing, and rested
his scythe on the ground, while the funeral
procession passed. `But yet I fear the world
is a great loss to him. When a man's heart
is wholly set upon the mammon of unrighteousness,
he must feel very poor when forced away
from his idol. But still, Simon, we will not
judge him,' continued he, raising his hand and
waving it with an oratorical motion as nearly
in imitation of his good clergyman as he possibly
could; `we must not judge him, Simon.
Nevertheless I was thinking how foolish it is
for us to be so anxious for riches, when God
just as willingly receives a beggar as a prince,
and never shows any favor to a man because
he has left a great estate behind him. Ah!
Simon, what are all the things of this world but
vanity? Hark! is not that the sound of thunder?
We must make haste, or we shall certainly
have our hay wet again, and then it will

be entirely spoiled. Go, run, and yoke up the
team as quick as possible, I will rake the hay.
How sorry I shall feel to have so much lost.'

`Do you think the young ladies will have fifty
thousand dollars apiece?' inquired Mrs.
Patten of an elderly gentleman, who was reported
to be a particular friend of the deceased
Squire Thompson, and intimately acquainted
with his affairs.

`Indeed, madam,' replied he, with a half
smile that seemed checked by the necessity he
felt of drawing a deep sigh while the coffin was
lowered into the ground—`Indeed, Madam, I
can hardly say—or I ought not to say; there
are fortune hunters in our country as well as in
other countries; and it is rather dangerous for
young ladies to be reported rich. But this I
can say, that the young ladies will have enough.
Squire Thompson, though a very fretful man,
was careful in business, and his affairs are all
arranged. How much better it would be if
men, when they know they must die, would all
take care to have their papers put in order!'

`Then he did not expect to live,' observed
Mrs. Patten; `Pray was he reconciled to
death?'

`I can't say, Madam, as I never heard him
speak particularly on the subject. But then he
was quite passed the enjoyments of this life,
had no appetite nor relish for anything; and indeed
he appeared so miserable that I could not
say I was sorry to see him die.'

`Did you observe the crape on the Miss
Thompsons' dresses?' inquired Miss Horton of

her companion, as they walked home from the
funeral. `How deep it was, and what rich looking
bonnets they wore! I think black is a very
becoming dress when the materials are rich;
but poor, gray, dirty looking crape, is abominable.'

`They have a large fortune left them, and
can dress just as rich as they please,' observed
the other.

`And will probably marry just whom they
choose,' returned Miss Horton. `I have heard
already of three young gentlemen who are resolving
to address them.'

`I wish they knew it,' said the other; `I wish
they knew how much speculation there is about
their wealth. I fear they will be deceived.'

`They cannot imagine all the attention paid
them is for their beauty,' answered Miss Horton.
`Lucretia Thompson is absolutely ugly,
and Eliza, though a little more passable, is a
palefaced, baby-looking thing.'

`But then, Miss Horton, only think of having
fifty thousand dollars at command! What
need of personal charms, or mental accomplishments,
with fifty thousand dollars?'

`And this is life'—Squire Thompson was,
with reason, disliked by his neighbours; he
was known to be unhappy—he was unlamented
at his death; and yet, because he left a
large estate, hundreds of people flocked to his
funeral, his two daughters were surrounded
by friends offering every service, and, even in
their mourning dresses, they were the objects
of envy to their own sex, and of matrimonial

speculation among the young gentlemen.
`And this is life.' Strange that gold should
have such sway over the minds of men, when
they must see that its possession does not confer
happiness here—much less prepare us for
that change which so soon and certainly arrives
to the rich as well as the poor.

The daughters of the deceased, though differing
in disposition, were not, either of them,
by nature endowed with anything more than
that common kind of capacity which fitted them
for an ordinary station; but nevertheless, as
heiresses, they were destined to figure in the
beau-monde, and the ingenuity of their dependents
and flatterers was soon taxed to discover
in their minds the seeds of genius or fancy, talents
or taste being essentially requisite for
those ladies who cannot lay claim to beauty.

Lucretia Thompson (I name her first, notwithstanding
she was the younger born, because
she assumed those superior airs which
she considered necessary to exhibit superior
talents, and always would take precedence of
her sister,) was a tall, dark-complexioned, bold-looking
girl, with large features, and she would
have had quite a sour expression of countenance,
had not the consciousness that she had
very handsome teeth caused her to wear an
almost constant simper, which did not appear
in perfect keeping with her quick eye and the
frown that frequently passed over her brow
when anything occurred that crossed her humor.

Eliza, though possessing a far better complexion

than her sister, could hardly be termed
handsomer, for her hair was a dull yellow,
and so coarse, stiff and wiry, that all attempts
to reduce the refractory locks to an imitation of
those sweet curls that always shade so gracefully
the fair brow of a heroine of romance,
proved of little use in the toilet of the heiress
of fifty thousand dollars. Then Eliza had a
low, narrow forehead, turned up nose, and a
very short face, giving her countenance an air
of conceit and unintellectualness (the word, if
not in the Dictionary, ought to be) that redeemed
her from all suspicion of being born a bleu.
Yet nature usually bestows on every form some
grace, and to Eliza she had given a very lovely
neck—white as a lily, and with that graceful
curve that poets denominate `swanlike.' If
the fine teeth of Lucretia induced her to talk
and laugh unceasingly—the beautiful bosom of
Eliza led her to study dress and attitude; and
thus one was soon termed a sentimental the other
a literary lady.

In one short year after the death of Squire
Thompson, he seemed forgotten, or only remembered
as a man who had toiled to lay up a
hoard of wealth which would be a fine acquisition
to the young gentlemen who could obtain
the orphan heiresses. These ladies drew
around them a crowd of company, because they
really gave elegant entertainments; and as
the gentlemen who frequented the house paid
them great attention, they were reported to
have many admirers. Eliza Thompson's elegant
dresses and romantic air were universally

admired, while Lucretia's sublimely silly
speeches were certainly listened to with apparent
interest, by educated and intelligent men;
and when she attempted to be witty, she always
excited a burst of laughter, merely by laughing
herself. Ought it to excite wonder, that these
young ladies fancied they possessed every requisite
accomplishment for females, when they
saw the gentlemen thus obsequious to attend
their smiles, while the ladies copied all their
fashions and strove to imitate their manners?
Such are the dangers to which the unprotected
rich are exposed;—such the omnipotence
of gold.

The apartments in the dwelling of the Miss
Thompsons were all lighted up, and arrangements
had apparently been made for a large
party. The two sisters, splendidly arrayed,
were seated on a sofa at the upper end of their
drawing room, engaged in a low but animated
conversation; and a person stationed at such a
distance as to preclude hearing their words,
would doubtless have thought them discussing
the manner in which they intended to receive
their guests, or dwelling on the pleasure anticipated
from the expected company. But
ladies, even when arrayed in silks and decked
with pearls, are not always happy; nor when
about to receive with smiles a smiling throng,
do they always expect gratification.

`I am sure, Lucretia, he pays more attention
to Helen than her relationship to us would
naturally induce,' said Miss Eliza Thompson,
unclasping her bracelet in affected agitation.

`Now pray, sister, show less sensibility,'
replied Lucretia. `I have told you it was only
in consequence of the conversation I held with
Mr. Howard respecting the Iliad—the name
of Helen in that charming poem naturally introduced
our cousin's name, and he made inquiries
respecting her which I could not very
well evade, and so I told him the circumstances
of her parents' death, and that she was now
wholly dependent on us—and I assure you he
complimented us very highly for our generosity
in affording her protection. From what
I said I presume he thought he could not more
effectually recommend himself to us than by
noticing the poor girl.'

`I wonder, Lucretia, you mentioned the
manner of uncle Bond's death to Mr. Howard,'
said Eliza, attempting to sigh. `You know
his tenderness of heart, and how such histories
affect him, almost as much as they do me. I
declare, I never think of uncle Bond without
shuddering, and I have been half inclined to
send Helen away, because her presence so
frequently brings her father to my mind.'

`Is that all the reason you wish her absence?'

`O, no—I think she engrosses the pity, and
so gains the notice of all our acquaintance.
And she looks sorrowful all the time—just as
if she was n't happy here, and didn't feel at all
obliged to us; and then I see several of the
young ladies copy her style of dressing her
hair, as if they thought it more becoming than
mine.'

`You should feel above such things,' said
Miss Lucretia, tossing her head with a scornful
air. `I am sure I have more reason to
dislike Helen than you have, but I will not let
my mind be moved by insignificant trifles. It
was only last Thursday when Mr. Beckman
was here, and we were agreeably engaged in
discussing the beauties of Marmion. Mr.
Beckman was trying to recall a stanza in one
of the songs; I could not tell him, for indeed I
only skimmed the book, just to be able to converse
about it; and don't you think he asked
Helen if she recollected it; and she had the
effrontery to repeat every word, and then he
directed all his conversation to her, and she
seemed to understand all he said, though much
of it was about characters and sentiments that
I never heard of before? I should have been
provoked with Helen, only I thought myself
above it.'

`It will be just so this evening,' said Eliza.
`You will find Helen will gain the attention of
Howard and Beckman, and those are the only
gentlemen we shall have that I care a straw
for. I wish she was away.'

Helen Bond, the innocent cause of all this
disturbance in the minds of these young ladies,
was the only child of a deceased clergyman.
He was drowned by the upsetting of a boat, in
consequence of the intoxication of one of the
boatmen, as he was returning from a voyage
taken for the benefit of his health, and which
had apparently re-established it. He was
drowned in sight of his own home, of his wife

and child, who had hurried to the beach to welcome
his landing. He went down with their
shrieks of agony ringing in his ears; but his
was the most enviable lot. Who can tell the
bitterness of that sorrow with which the new
made widow and her fatherless daughter hung
over the lifeless remains of him, who, under
heaven, had been their stay and comforter—on
whom had been all their dependence for happiness
and support! In such cases `'tis the
survivor dies'

Mrs. Bond, however, survived her husband
only a few months, and then poor Helen had
no resource but to seek her livelihood among
strangers, or accept the offer of a residence
with her cousins, the Miss Thompsons. Helen
Bond had been as well instructed as the
present imperfect system of female education
will admit. But with all her `solid' learning
and accomplishments, she still suffered from
that radical defect in the fashionable education
of young women, namely, that she had not been
taught the application of her learning to any
useful purpose. It is this defect which renders
the educated, when deprived of friends
and resources, less capable of providing for
themselves than are the ignorant who have not
been made delicate and sensitive by refinement
of intellect and manners.

One feminine accomplishment, however,
Helen possessed and improved advantageously
—she excelled in fine needlework, and it was
the knowledge of her expertness and industry in
sewing, that induced her cousins to wish her

residence with them. They had need of her
assistance, for they were very indolent, and
they availed themselves to the utmost of her
taste and skill in the designing and finishing
their elaborate dresses. But still they affected
to consider Helen as entirely beholden to
their generosity for a home, and she daily felt
all the bitterness of dependance, superadded
to the necessity of earning her own bread.
She wished to break the thrall, but it required
an effort of mind, which a timid and delicate
young lady of eighteen, who had never been
familiarized to the idea that she could, should
necessity and duty dictate, support herself,
would hardly be supposed sufficiently energetic,
to make. But when she discovered the
envy and jealousy her cousins entertained towards
her, and perhaps felt a little conscious
when surveying herself in the glass, that she
was a dangerous rival to them, especially in
their designs on the heart of one young gentleman
whom they wished to attract, she determined
to leave their roof, though she went to
service to earn her livelihood. Her resolution
was accelerated by the occurrences of the evening
on which the Miss Thompsons gave their
brilliant assembly. The marked attention
paid Helen by Horatio Howard exasperated
the sisters, and the ironical compliments they
lavished on her the next day, she considered
so cruel and humiliating, that her spirit, subdued
as it had been by sorrow and suffering,
rose at once to the aid of her reason, till she
no longer hesitated to follow its dictates. She
applied to a friend of her late father, told him,
in part, her trials, and besought him to find
some business in which she might with propriety
engage. With the most delicate kindness
he offered her a home in his own family; but
though her rejection of his generous offer was,
for some time, impeded by her tears of gratitude,
it was nevertheless decided.

`I cannot,' said she, `consent to live any
longer in the ease of opulence, when at the
best I can only enjoy it by the benevolence
of friends. If I were deprived of health, or
incapable of exertion, the case would be otherwise;
I would then humbly accept your generous
offer of a maintenance; but I am determined
never to attempt to mingle again in
splendid circles, while I am dependant on
charity for a support. There is, sir, to my
feelings, an impropriety almost an indelicacy,
in the situation of living thus without any apparent
aim or present usefulness; yet I own I
might not have been sensible of this, had not
the unkind observations of my cousins taught
me to reflect. I have learned from them that
the young lady who does so live, is always supposed
by the world to be anxiously watching
for an opportunity of establishing herself by
marrying, and that it is generally thought by
the gentlemen she will accept the first good
offer. They must then think her vain and
selfish, if not artful. O! I cannot endure such
surmises and observations'—continued she,
bursting into a flood of tears—`and if you

wish to make me contented and happy, pray
tell me something I can do for myself.'

Her father's friend in a short time procured
for her a situation as Instructress in an Academy
at some distance from the metropolis;
and her letters soon breathed such a spirit of
satisfaction, that he would have felt amply recompensed
for his trouble, in the idea that he
had contributed to her happiness, without the
acknowledgements she so frequently and feelingly
made.

`I would not,' she wrote, `after passing a
day of activity in my school, exchange the approbation
of my own heart, while it whispers
I have been usefully, rationally and innocently
employed, for the opportunity of attending
every party my fashionable cousins will give
through the season.'

`And how did her rich and fashionable
cousins enjoy themselves? Did they succeed
in securing their favorite beaux, when the
field was left them without a rival?' every
young lady is ready to inquire.

They did not, either of them, secure Horatio
Howard. Yet he was very ambitious, as
young lawyers, who feel a consciousness of
their own abilities, are apt to be; and he knew
enough of the world to be sensible that the
eclat and advantage of commencing business
with a capital of $50,000 would be a mighty
convenient thing. And he began his visits to
the Miss Thompsons with something very
much like a resolution of making love to one
of them. Lucretia was the first object of his

scrutiny—it could be called nothing else—but
with her he was soon disgusted.

To a man of real refinement, good sense,
taste and intelligence, the character of a would-be-literary
lady is, I believe, most intolerable.
The affectation of those whims and eccentricities,
said to distinguish genius, is of all affectations,
most preposterous, and always indicative
of a silly mind, or weak judgment—in a man it
is ridiculous, in a woman disgusting. Yet this
affection was all the claim Lucretia had to
genius. She pretended to be absent-minded,
ignorant of common affairs, and above all, to
despise the dull routine of domestic duties her
sex enjoined upon her. Then she talked loud
and as learnedly as Mrs. Malaprop, and delighted
in criticism and controversy, argument
being, as she considered, her peculiar forte.
This propensity was much strengthened by
the manner in which she was treated by the
gentlemen—the civility due a lady, especially
a rich lady, prompted them to allow the assertions
of Lucretia all the credit of facts, and so
she usually gained the argument. But they
indemnified themselves for these concessions,
as they always do, by representing the object
of their complaisance too insignificant for serious
opposition. Yet they dreaded the society
of Lucretia, and while ridiculing her pedantry,
generally hated her person. At least so did
Horatio Howard. But still he felt loath to relinquish
the $50,000, and so turned his attention
on the belle, and Miss Eliza Thompson
was, for some time, flattered with the idea that

she should win him. But if he was disgusted
with the affectation of literature in the bleu, he
was sickened by the affectation of sentiment
and sensibility in the belle; and he could not
but acknowledge that though learning might
make a woman excessively disagreeable, yet
she might be excessively disagreeable without
it. But yet he was constant in his visits, while
Helen Bond resided with her cousins, and listened
without much apparent weariness to the
`long talks' of Lucretia and the common place
nothings of Eliza; and the world had decided
that he would certainly marry one of the sisters.
Perhaps he rather thought such would be the
conclusion of the matter. However he called
on the young ladies a few days after the departure
of Helen Bond, and they both remarked
he was in very bad humor, seemed impatient,
almost irritable, while they were exerting themselves
to entertain him; the one criticising the
sermon she had heard the last sabbath—and
the other ridiculing the odious bonnets she had
seen at church—till finally, Howard started
abruptly from his seat, said something of business
to be attended to, and wished them both
good morning. He was seen walking hastily
towards his office, his hat set very perpendicular
on his head, and his lips firmly compressed;
and to judge from his conduct, afterwards, he
was then breathing a vow never to risk his domestic
happiness by a marriage in which gold
was the only object of pursuit. From that time
he devoted himself entirely to the business of
his profession; invitations were rejected and
parties neglected, till finally, though he obtained
high reputation at the bar, he entirely lost
credit with the ladies, and his name was omitted
on their list of beaux, being called a confirmed
bachelor.

But there is no danger that young ladies
with $50,000 will not find husbands, though
like Lucretia, they make a resolution never to
wed a man that has not been liberally educated.
A thoroughly selfish mind, even when
polished by a liberal education, will retain its
selfishness. Such a mind had John Beckman,
and though he disliked Lucretia Thompson he
married her. There was probably more affection
on her part, yet she declared that it
was only because Mr. Beckman knew so well
how to appreciate her talents that she was induced
to accept him. But his estimation of
her talents, after the `vow was said,' she found
altered materially; he no longer consulted her
opinion, before expressing his own, nor yielded
her every contested point, nor expressed any
wishes that his taste might be always in accordance
with hers. Indeed their opinions or
taste, were seldom in accordance after the first
three months of their wedded life had passed.
In vain she tried arguments, reproaches and
railings, to convince him she was ill-treated.
He would not be convinced.

`Mr. Beckman,' said she, her eyes flashing
fire, and her whole countenance glowing with
rage, `had I known you for such an obstinate
mule, one that will not listen to an argument,
I never would have married you.'

`Madam,' he replied, with the most perfect
coolness, `I am not disappointed in you—I always
knew you for a fool.'

Eliza Thompson married a husband more
congenial in disposition to herself; a pert, conceited
fop, all fashion and affectation. Her
money supported them in style just ten years,
and they lived by expedients three more of
showy poverty, and then all the glitter of life,
and consequently to them, all its joys were
over. They now inhabit a miserable garret,
up three pair of stairs, dependant mostly on the
charity of their relations. The bounty of Mrs.
Beckman is, however, grudgingly bestowed on
her sister, and always accompanied by a chapter
of reproaches, under the title of advice.
The answer of Eliza is generally to the purport,
that she has a kind husband, and therefore is
as happy without fortune as Lucretia is with.

Mr. Jacob Towner is careful to add a little
to his stores every year, but yet constantly
harangues his family on the vanity of setting
the affections on the things of this world, observing
that rich men's children are frequently
paupers, and illustrating his position by citing
the case of Eliza Thompson; always ending
his remarks with the hope that some of her
$50,000 found its way back into the pockets
of those poor men from whom it was wrung
by her father. Mrs. Patten, likewise, often
quotes the name of Eliza Thompson, when
she would warn her daughters against extravagance
in dress, or idleness, which she thinks
was the whole cause of the misfortunes of the

heiress; and Miss Horton congratulates herself
she was never induced to marry, saying,
`that the fate of the rich Miss Thompsons was
a warning to her; if those ladies could only obtain
for husbands the one a sullen miser, and the
other a silly spendthrift, she is sure the single
state must be the one of “blessedness.”'

Helen Bond—what young lady does not wish
to learn the fate of that afflicted, but high-souled
girl? Horatio Howard—what young gentleman,
especially if he prefer that `clear honor'
which is `purchased by the merit of the wearer,'
to the trappings of wealth, obtained by the
perjury of the heart, does not feel curious to
know the issue of the fortunes of Horatio Howard?
Talents and merit, if supported by industry
and prudence, have, in our free country,
nothing to fear. Horatio Howard gained the
station of eminence he so justly deserved; and
to the friend who not long since visited him, he
said, as they were returning from a walk in the
gardens around his beautiful summer residence
—`Yes, I have been, as you remark, highly
prospered, but the best gift Heaven ever bestowed
on me was, my—wife. It may sound
foolish for me to speak her eulogium—to a
stranger, I certainly should not thus unlock the
“secret casket of my soul;” but you, sir, was
acquainted with Helen Bond, and with my partiality
for her. But dearly as I loved her then,
she is now far dearer, because I now know
her worth and can repose my whole heart in
confidence upon her discretion as well as her
affection. There is for me no place like home.'