 | FASHIONABLE WATERING PLACES. The soldier's bride and other tales |  |
FASHIONABLE WATERING PLACES.
A person of taste may spend a few days very
pleasantly at a genteel Watering Place. The continual
succession of new faces, the interesting
variety of character, and the harmonious intermixture
of grades exhibited here, are such, that the
mind of desultory man, however studious of change,
cannot fail to be amused. I say nothing of the
beauties of the landscape, the invigorating breeze
of the country, or the medicinal virtues of the
mineral fountain—because the last may be imitated
in perfection by a bungling apothecary, and the
others are easily purchased by the fatigue of a
morning ride from the most crowded metropolis.
Those vulgar enjoyments which are within the
reach of the whole human race, are very properly
disdained by persons of fashion. Much has also
been said of the keen appetites which are found at
these healthful places of resort. Portly gentlemen,
of fish, flesh, and fowl, which the talismanic effects
of the sea breeze or the chalybeate draught enable
them to consume. But this is surely false taste.
What can be more ungenteel than eating, or rather
devouring, flesh and vegetables like the locusts of
Egypt, or the lean kine of Pharaoh? Can that be
styled a polite employment which is common to
the philosopher and the savage, the belle and the
washerwoman? Eating is certainly a vulgar occupation—and
I cannot but marvel that wits and
beauties—“the curled darlings of the nation”—
should hie to Long Branch or Ballston, for the
purpose of gratifying that voracious propensity
which gives celebrity to the boa constrictor, and
the man who swallows tallow candles for a wager!
The preacher condemns the epicure who “fares
sumptuously every day;” and the physician lives
by repairing the inroads of the cook. Besides, we
certainly know, that the literati of every age have
deplored the appetite for food as the most impertinent
and vexatious of the human propensities.
That it has caused many an honest gentleman to
turn author, cannot be disputed; and that it has
peopled Parnassus with gaunt forms and hungry
aspects, is equally unquestionable. Gentlemen,
therefore, who write for bread, should not go to
Watering Places. For my part, I have always
viewed this subject with the eye of a philosopher,
and have never ceased to deplore the inflexibility
best appetites upon those who are least able to
supply them. Physicians display a most unfeeling
apathy to the sufferings of their fellow creatures,
when they inconsiderately administer provocatives
to the palate of every one who fancies himself deficient
in voracity, without enquiring into the ability
of the patient to sustain and cherish the newly
awakened sense. If I was a practitioner of the
healing art, I would ask my patient if he was a poet,
and if he answered in the affirmative, I should congratulate
him upon the delicacy of his appetite, and
positively forbid the “exhibition” of tonics. I
would conscientiously regulate the appetites of
those who had the good fortune to be placed under
my care, by the dimensions of their purses. Thus
my patients would be rated, like ships of war, by
their weight of metal; he who could compass three
full meals a-day, with a lunch at noon and a hot
supper at midnight, should ruralise at Bedford or
Saratoga, and have bark and wine to his heart's
content; a less plethoric purse should be placed on
allowance; and where the income was in a low
state of debility, meagre diet and nauseating draughts
should be prescribed. But as it seems natural that
the force of reason should forbid men from pursuing
that which, when obtained, would be burthensome,
I am in the habit of believing all the visiters whom
I meet at Watering Places to be persons of fortune,
who purchase pleasure with their superfluous
to gratify them.
But a watering place has other uses and attractions.
Dashing blades may lawfully resort thither
to sport their equipages, and beauties to display
their charms. Southern gentlemen find the flavour
of a mint julep greatly enhanced by the refreshing
coolness of the mountain spring, and city ladies
bloom like wild flowers in these salubrious retreats.
Your watering place is, moreover, a notable school
for good manners; for, as the parties are for the
most part strangers to each other, all are free and
equal; and thence results that absence of constraint
and ease of manner, which is so much admired in
high life. There is no herald's office kept here.
Here is no balancing of straws, and weighing of
feathers—no tossing of heads, and winking, and
whispering, to find out who is who. One gentleman
may wear blue, and another black, but “a man's a
man for a' that”—and as every man may place his
own name on the books with whatever title or
addition he pleases, he has only to choose his own
rank, and he passes current accordingly. “Misery,”
it is said, “brings us into strange company”—so
does misery's opposite, pleasure. Here are singular
combinations, not to be explained by any of the
established rules of affinity, attraction, or cohesion.
To the lover this is a congenial climate. Is it
not strange that a sympathy should exist between
the palate and the heart? Will my fair and gentle
gross vulgar appetite, the other a genteel, delicate,
sentimental passion—may be awakened and invigorated
by the same stimulants? It is even so. The
air of the country is alike salubrious to a feeble
frame, or a debilitated attachment. The sight of
haystacks, and waving corn, and flowery meads,
creates a sweet delusion around the intoxicated
senses of the lover, and peoples the fairy scene with
nymphs and swains, and all the delightful paraphernalia
of pastoral love. Mineral water is as nutritious
to the heart, as it is invigorating to the body.
Why is it that the young lady
Beyond the coxcombs who infest Broadway,
to nobler objects; and she, who a few days before
submitted patiently to the addresses of a dandy,
now aims at the subjugation of a manly heart? No
wizard ever invented a love-inspiring potion so
potent as the medicated fountain; but to which of
the elements that enter into the composition of the
chalybeate draught this effect is to be attributed, I
am at a loss to determine. If I were a chemist, I
could account for the phenomenon, because a chemical
genius is never at a loss for a theory, and
dives into causes with an expertness which, by no
means, depends upon any previous or present
knowledge of the subject. He who deals in retorts
can solve any question—though not always by the
upon this matter myself, and achieved a
moral analysis after the manner used and approved
by the chemical professors. I carefully examined
the various properties of a celebrated spring, and
in a few minutes arrived at a conclusion quite as
satisfactory as the results of ordinary experiments.
“Here is magnesia,” said I, “which corrects acidity,
and which by a sympathetic influence upon the
mind converts a sour old maid into a well conditioned
miss, and neutralising the acerbities of the
bachelor's temper, leaves his mental system in a
healthful state, well suited to the reception of soft
and agreeable impressions. And here is sulphur,
which, combined with `villanous saltpetre,' commits
such havoc in the world under the name of
gunpowder. Can ladies who imbibe sulphur water
and gunpowder tea, be otherwise than inflammable?
Is it any wonder that maidens who take
in such combustible materials should `go off' with
any spark with whom she comes in contact?
Then here is iron—mercy preserve the dear girls!
what a collection of mortal engines! what fatal implements
of destruction are here assembled!—an
artillery officer would be quite at home in such a
magazine of ordnance stores. We have only to
convert this iron into steel—let it act mechanically
upon the flinty heart of the lady, and is it any wonder
that Cupid should strike fire, or Hymen light a
match?” Such was my theory, and I will vouch
which the scientific repose implicit faith. If it has
not more good sense than the theory of specific
gravity, I will forfeit my ears—provided a future
generation be allowed to decide the question. But
whether I am right or wrong, I shall still exclaim,
“if mineral water be the food of love, drink on!”
and that it is, will, I think, be satisfactorily proved
by the following little history. I have suppressed
the real names of the parties, but the facts will be
instantly recollected by those of my readers, who
have been in the habit of visiting the celebrated
spot where they occurred.
Miss Simper appeared at Saratoga in an elegant
suit of sable. She was said to be in mourning for
her father, an opulent broker in Baltimore, recently
deceased. Grief had wasted her health, and
weeping had washed away her roses, and she was
come to recover her appetite, and re-animate her
blushes. Miss Simper, of course, was an heiress,
and attracted great attention. The gentlemen
called her a beauty, and talked a great deal of her
real estate, bank stock, and securities. Some of
the ladies thought her complexion too sallow,
and some objected to the style of her dress. Mrs.
Highflyer said she had not the air of a woman of
fashion, while Captain Halliard pronounced her a
suspicious sail, and declared his belief that she was
a privateer in disguise. The fair stranger, however,
walked daily to the fountain, modestly cast
of all but her own honours.
About this time Major Fitzconnel appeared upon
the busy scene. He was a tall, handsome man, of
easy address, and polished manners, who seemed
to regard all around him with an air of very polite
unconcern. He was announced as an officer in his
Britannic Majesty's service, and brother to Earl
Somebody in England. It was reported that he
had large landed possessions in the west. He did
not appear to seek society, but was too well bred
to repel any civilities which were offered to him.
The gentlemen were well pleased with his good
sense, his knowledge of the world, and the suavity
of his manners; but as he seemed to avoid the
ladies, they had little opportunity of estimating his
qualities.
Major Fitzconnel and Miss Simper met by accident
at the fountain. The officer, who had just
filled his glass at her approach, presented it to the
lady, who, in sipping the transparent element,
dropped her handkerchief. The gentleman very
gallantly picked up the cambric, and restored it to
the fair hand of its owner—but the blushing damsel,
abashed by the easy attentions of an elegant
stranger, in her confusion lost her reticule, which
the soldier gracefully replaced upon her wrist, with
a most respectful bow. A curtesy on the one side,
and another bow on the other, terminated the civilities
of this meeting. The gentleman pursued his
That Miss Simper felt duly sensible of the honour
of having elicited three graceful congees from the
brother of an English earl, cannot be doubted; nor
can we suppose, without injustice to that gentleman's
taste, that he saw with indifference the
mantling blushes which those attentions had drawn
forth; certain it is, however, that as they separated
in opposite directions, neither of them was seen to
cast “one longing lingering look behind.” As I
had not the privilege of intruding into either of
their chambers, I cannot say what fairy forms
might have flitted around the magic pillow,
nor whether the fair one dreamed of coronets,
coats of arms, kettle drums, and epaulets.
In short, I am not able to inform the inquisitive
reader, whether the parties thought of each other
at all; but from the extreme difficulty of again
bringing two such diffident persons in contact, I am
inclined to think the adventure would have ended
here, had not “chance, which oft decides the fates
of mighty monarchs,” decided theirs.
Miss Simper's health required her attendance at
the fountain on the following morning at an unusually
early hour; and the major, while others were
snoring, had sallied forth to enjoy the invigorating
freshness of the early breeze. They met again by
accident at the propitious well; and as the attendant,
who is usually posted there to fill the glasses of
the invalids, had not yet taken his station, the
that office, but of replenishing the exhausted vessel,
until the lady had quaffed the full measure prescribed
by the medical dictator of this little community.
I am not able to say how often they
pledged each other in the salubrious beverage; but
when the reader is informed that the quantum prescribed
to a delicate female varies from four to
eight glasses, according to the nature of her complaint,
and that a lady cannot decorously sip more
than one mouthful without drawing breath, it will
be seen that ample time was afforded on this occasion
for a tete-a-tete. The ice being thus broken,
and the water duly quaffed, the gentleman proposed
a promenade, to which the lady after some
little hesitation acceded; and when the great bell
summoned them to breakfast, they repaired to the
table with excellent appetites, and cheeks glowing
with healthful hues, produced by the exercise of
the morning.
At ten o'clock the lady issued forth from her
chamber, adorned with new charms, by the recent
labours of the toilet, and strolling pensively, book
in hand, to the farthest corner of the great piazza,
commenced her studies. It happened, at the same
moment, that the major, fresh from his valet's
hands, hied himself to the same cool retreat, to
breathe forth the melancholy musings of his soul,
upon his flute. Seeing the lady, he hesitated, begged
pardon for his intrusion, and was about to
at all,” and laid aside her book. The gentleman
was soon seated beside her. He begged to
know the subject of her researches, and was delighted
with the taste displayed in the choice of her
author; she earnestly solicited a display of his musical
talents, and was enraptured with every note;
—and when the same impertinent bell which had
curtailed their morning walk, again sounded in
their ears, they were surprised to find how swiftly
time had flown, and chagrined that the common-place
operation of eating was so often allowed to
interrupt the feast of reason and the flow of soul.
At four o'clock the military stranger handed
Miss Simper into an elegant gig, and drove to the
neighbouring village;—where rumour soon proclaimed
that this interesting pair were united in
the holy bands of matrimony. For once the many
tongues of fame spoke truly—and when the happy
major returned with his blushing bride, all could
see that the embarrassment of the lover was exchanged
for the triumphant smile of the delighted
bridegroom. It is hardly necessary to add that
such was the salutary effect of this pleasing event,
that the “young couple” found themselves restored
instantaneously to perfect health; and on the following
morning they bade adieu to Saratoga
springs.
“This is a very ungenteel affair!” said Mrs.
Highflyer. “I never heard the beat of it in my
funny!” cried one young lady. “How shocking!”
exclaimed another. “Egad, that 's a keen smart
girl!” said one gentleman. “She 's a tickler, I
warrant her!” said a second. “She 's a pirate,
by thunder!” roared Captain Halliard.
In the mean while, the new-married pair were
pursuing their journey by easy stages towards the
city of New York. We all know “how the blest
charms of nature improve, when we see them reflected,”
and so on; and we can readily imagine
“how happily the days of Thalaba past by” on this
occasion. Uninterrupted by ceremonious visits,
unrestrained by the presence of third parties, surrounded
by all the blandishments which give enchantment
to the rural scene, it is not surprising
that our lovers should often digress from the
beaten road, and as often linger at a romantic spot,
or a secluded cottage.
Several days had now elapsed, and neither party
had made any disclosure to the other upon the important
subject of finance. As they were drawing
near the end of their journey, the major thought it
advisable to broach this delicate matter to his
bride. It was upon a fine summer evening, as they
sat by a window, at an inn, enjoying the beauties
of an extensive landscape, that this memorable
conversation occurred. They had been amusing
themselves with that kind of small talk which new
married folks find so vastly pleasant: as how much
to be, and what a fine thing it is for two fond
hearts to be dissolved and melted down into one,
&c. Many examples of love and murder were related—the
lady told of several distressed swains
who had incontinently hanged themselves for their
mistresses, and the gentleman as often asseverated
that not one of those martyred lovers adored the
object of his passion with half the fervour which
he felt for his own, dear, sweet, darling, precious
little Anne! At last, throwing his arm over his
wife's chair, he said carelessly,
“Who has the management of your property,
my dear?”
“You have, my darling,” replied she.
“I shall have, when I get it,” said the husband
—“I meant to enquire, in whose possession it was
at present?”
“It is all in your own possession,” said the lady.
“Do not trifle with me,” said the gentleman,
patting her cheek—“you have made me the happy
master of your person, and it is time to give me
the disposal of your fortune.”
“My face is my fortune, kind sir,” said she, laying
her head on his shoulder.
“To be plain with you, madam,” said the impassioned
bridegroom—“I have need of money
immediately—the hired gig in which we came to
this place has been returned, and I have not the
means to procure another conveyance.”
“To be equally candid with you, sir,” replied
the happy bride, “I have nothing in the world but
what you see.”
“Have you no real estate?” said the major,
starting on his feet.
“Not an acre.”
“No bank stock?”
“None.”
“No securities,—no jewels,—no money?”
“Nothing of the kind.”
“Are you not the daughter and heiress of a rich
broker?”
“Not I, indeed.”
“Who the devil are you, then?”
“I am your wife, sir, and the daughter of a very
honest blacksmith.”
“Bless me!” exclaimed the major, starting back
with astonishment—then covering his face with
both his hands, he remained for a moment, absorbed
in thought. Resuming his serenity, he said, in
a sneering tone, “I congratulate you, madam, on
being the wife of a beggar like yourself. I am a
ruined man, and know not whence to supply my
immediate wants.”
“Can you not draw upon the earl, your brother?”
said the lady.
“I have not the honour of being allied to the
nobility.”
“Perhaps you can have recourse to the paymaster
of your regiment?”
“I do not happen to belong to any regiment.”
“And have you no lands in Arkansas?”
“Not an acre.”
“Pray, then, sir, may I take the liberty of asking
who you are?”
“I am your husband, madam, at your service,
and only son to a famous gambler, who left me
heir to his principles and profession.
“My father gave me a good education,” said the
lady.
“So did mine,” said the gentleman—“but it has
not prevented me from trumping the wrong trick
this time.”
So saying, Major Fitzconnell bounced out of the
chamber, hastened to the bar, and called the landlord.
His interesting bride followed on tiptoe, and
listened unobserved. The major enquired “at
what hour the mail stage would pass for New
York.” “About midnight,” was the reply. “Please
to secure me a seat,” said the major, “and let me
be waked at the proper hour.” “Only one
seat?” enquired the host. “One seat only!” was
the reply. The landlord remarked that it was
customary for gentlemen who set off in the night to
pay their fare in advance, upon which the major
paid for the seat.
The major and his bride retired to separate
chambers; the former was soon locked in the arms
of sleep, but the latter repelled the drowsy god
from her eye-lids. When she heard the stage drive
previously made up her bundle, without which
a lady never steals a march, hastened down stairs.
Upon the way she met the landlord, who enquired
if her husband was awake.
“He is not,” said the lady, “and need not be
disturbed.”
“The seat was taken for you, then,” enquired
the innkeeper.
“Certainly.”
“Oh, very well—we'll not disturb the gentleman—the
stage is ready, madam,—jump in.” Mrs.
Fitzconnell jumped in accordingly, and was soon
on her way to New York, leaving the gallant and
ingenious major to provide another conveyance,
and a new wife, at his leisure.
| FASHIONABLE WATERING PLACES. The soldier's bride and other tales | |