University of Virginia Library

11. CHAPTER XI.
A PARTY AT TUNNY'S.

This was to be a grand affair. The note of preparation
sounded long and loud: it rattled at the door of many
houses; it purled in the ears of Judges and Clergymen; it
whirred about the Confectioner's, and rebounded to the
Fruiterer's, and darted away to the Milliner's and Fancy
Goods Dealer's. Munk and his wife and Richard went.
Richard fairly struck his high colors to the persuasions of
his sister, and ran up instead a white collar and bosompiece.

The note of preparation, like the wind to which we
thoughtlessly likened it, passed by many persons unheeded.
But there were enough there. The two parlors, connected
by folding-doors, swam with guests. The Milliner's and
Fancy Goods Dealer's had evidently come. Clover was
there, and Plumy Alicia; Mr. and Mrs. Xyphers, Captain
Creamer, and Judge Burp; and there were many other persons
from the Factories and the Mills, and all the region
about. And Mrs. Tunny was there, — indeed she was, and
it seemed as if half the Milliner's and Fancy Goods Dealer's
clustered in her single person; and what she could spare
had gone to her daughter Faustina. Mrs. Tunny curtsied
to Richard so stiffly, so amazingly, it embarrassed the bow
he was executing, and converted it into a horried bungle.
Richard himself blushed; and his sister, who was truly
proud of him, — proud of his fine figure, and fine face, and
proud too, I must say, in justice to her, of his noble heart, —

blushed also. And by the time he had finished Tunny,
and got through with Faustina, he was in a truly shocking
state. He lost his rudder, his feet, foundered on his hands;
and made for a blank place on the wall, as a haven, like a
vessel in distress. But here was Plumy Alicia, glittering
with jewelry, and beaming with sensibility. Ah, wicked,
wicked Plumy Alicia! how could you exert your art
to reassure Richard so? How could you take advantage
of that moment to show him that you did not mind his
awkwardness, but only regarded himself, so? And when
you got him to face the room, right in the midst of the
lights, right in the midst of the Milliner's and Fancy Goods
Dealer's, there stood Clover, with the fingers of one hand
thrust in his vest, and dispensing perfume with a bouquet
of flowers in the other, — so cool, so steady, so strut, and
with a snake-like eye, looking down on Richard so triumphantly;
— and you knew it all, — how could you do so? You
are a medley of elements. And so Richard thought; at
least, you laid the seeds of that thought in his memory,
which was to spring up by-and-by. There was also Captain
Creamer, who looked resentful and surly, even when he did
his best to salute you in a polite way. And there was
Mrs. Xyphers, with whom Clover was talking; and when
Richard would have exchanged with her the compliments
of the evening, you even drew him back; you pouted, in a
quiet, but stealing, very stealing manner, your pretty lips,
and Richard only half did what he set out to do. Then
you had him all to yourself; and you were so amiable,
so round-cornered, so genteel, — what did you mean?
Would you make Richard love you? Let me tell you,
Plumy Alicia, Richard could not love you; — I mean, the
depths, the teeming crypts, the abeyant longings of his
nature, you could not thrill; — and I believe you knew it.
Yet, you could exert a magical power; and that you did
know.

There sat on the sofa, quite unobtrusively and unseductively
ensconced behind the jam of people, a woman plainly
dressed, with dark eyes, and bands of rich black hair. Her
face was comely, but not handsome; her eye was small and
retreating, but expressive of great earnestness, thought and
animation; so much so that Richard looked at her twice.
Miss Eyre, kindly attentive to the motions of our friend, said
it was Miss Freeling, a dressmaker. At Richard's request,
she presented him, and he took his seat by the stranger.
If Richard had been flurried by Miss Tunny, and ravished
by Miss Eyre, he was quite restored by Miss Freeling. They
talked about the weather, as everybody else on first meeting
must do; and spoke to the mooted question, whether after
so severe a winter we should have an early spring. The
thought of spring, when it did come, gave to Miss Freeling
the same sort of halcyon, saltatory, juvenescent feeling that
Richard had, and this made them seem like old friends.
Moreover, Miss Freeling expressed the hope that she should
be attacked by no more snow-storms, since, she said, it painfully
suggested her inferiority to nature; and she related
how, a little while before, she had been worsted in such encounter,
and was rescued by some angel-man, she would be
glad to know who. Now, this angel-man was Richard, and
this, of course, transformed them into the very best of
friends.

Then Miss Freeling knew a great many people; and she
knew Asa and Roxy, and Aunt Grint, and Memmy and
Bebby; that was enough. But if she had known a deal
more, — if she had known whether Pope was a poet, or
where Captain Kidd hid his money, or who the man in the
Iron Mask was, — she would have been obliged to stop; for

every one in the room stopped, and Richard turned his
head, and she turned her head, to see Mrs. Tunny advance
to receive Dr. Broadwell. Yes, that lady advanced several
steps, when that venerable form was seen entering the door,
having on his arm one of his daughters.

“Mrs. Tunny mistakes her part,” observed Miss Freeling;
“she should keep her standing, and wait for the guest to
approach.”

“I am not expert in the rules of good society,” replied
Richard.

“Mrs. Tunny should be,” said Miss Freeling; “she tries
hard enough to be.”

“The disdain of the woman is more reprehensible than
her want of manners,” added Richard.

“She was a dressmaker, and I was apprenticed to her;
and I know her sufficiently well.”

“She must have some good feelings, as Pastor Harold
says.”

“She has, but they are buried beneath a mountain of
worldliness and ribbons.”

“Elder Jabson is no favorite of hers.”

“He was once, until she discovered that Dr. Broadwell's
Church was richer and more fashionable.”

“She visits at Mr. Munk's, and his family go to the
Elder's meeting.”

“She would forget them speedily, but for her interest.
Munk and St. John are customers of her husband's, and
help to keep her plumes a nodding. For the same reason
her entertainment to-night comprises many from the Factories
and the Mills, whom she draws not in the train of her
feelings, but her necessities. Her dress is not in taste, —
indeed, she never had any taste; her cap is a mile too small,

her tunic is unsuited to her figure, and her white skirt terminates
in yellow slippers.”

“At home, we had but one Church, one people, one
rank, one intimacy.”

“Here there are many; and I know something of them
all. I have worked in every family, from the summit to the
base of the social frame. I have made brocade dresses for
Governor Dennington's daughters, and muslin ones for
Tunny's; Dr. Broadwell's daughter was under my fingers
before she came here, and so was Mrs. Xyphers.”

“What is the difference?”

“All women look pretty much alike to a dressmaker.
There is but little odds in waists, upper ten or lower ten.
What we study is forms, and what we aim at is a fit.”

“Are they alike?”

“They are not; but the difference is not perhaps what
you would think. It is good sense, more than anything
else. Lacking this, some aspire to what they cannot reach,
— others tread on what they cannot depress. With it
Munk and the Mayor are equally princely. Differences!
There are the Gum-chewers, — all backlotters, and vulgar.
But why, my good Sir, is gum more base in woman than
tobacco in a man? There are the Rocker-footed and the
Square-footed; the vulgar, in stepping, go over from the
heel to the toe, like the rocker of a cradle; the genteel tread
square. These are some of the wonderful differences!”

“The other night, at our house, Mrs. Tunny berated
Elder Jabson's people and meetings; lessening their characters
and deprecating their influence.”

“They were vulgar, she said; and added, I suppose, that
Dr. Broadwell did not approve of them. The Doctor is her
cue; and she alights about him, and follows his track, as
birds do a ploughman, for the worms that are turned up in

the furrow. But the forms of religion, or the modes in
which it is applied, do work characteristic and deep-seated
changes. Into whatever family I go, I can very soon
perceive what Church they attend, and what is the turn of
their religious views. Elder Jabson seems to me like a silly
dressmaker, — and I am sometimes that one myself, — who,
instead of studying becomingness, aims at effect; he produces
nothing beautiful, — his labors result in jauntiness,
incongruity and distortion. He does not clothe the soul,
but finifies it. His flounces are enormous, and he compresses
the chest so that it is almost impossible to breathe.
He does not enlighten the mind, or refine the feelings, or restrain
the prejudices, or enlarge the humanity, of his people.
He addresses the darker passions, — not the tenderness, or the
love, or the aspirations, of our being.”

“Yet,” replied Richard, “I should prefer Aunt Grint to
Mrs. Tunny.”

“Dr. Broadwell,” continued Miss Freeling, “is a most
excellent man; he has good sense, and, so to say, good
taste; he understands the soul, and how Christianity applies
to it, and endeavors that the robe of righteousness shall be
a seemly one. But he has one fault; he makes his people
think too much of their dresses; and he has a freak which
I cannot bear, — that there shall be just five rows of quilling
on the border. Parson Smith has the most perfect theory
of soul-costume, but he does not always succeed in working
it; or, rather, some of his people are so wild that, like savages,
they will not wear their clothes when he puts them on.”

“Is there not good sense,” asked Richard, “among the
lower orders as in the higher?”

“It is good sense,” replied Miss Freeling, “that creates
the higher orders. Joined to this, — sometimes leading it,
sometimes enforcing it, — are education, opportunity, industry,

self-denial. It is his good sense in law, politics, business,
life, that gives to Gov. Dennington his distinction. If
Mrs. Tunny had more of it, she would be a respectable
and worthy woman. She does not make her own daughter's
dresses, as the busy-bodies report, lest the prick of the
needle should appear on her fingers. Faustina is a sensible
girl; — she is pursued by a young man, a Sailmaker, whose
attentions she discards, as his friends say, because of her
aristocratic feelings; as her mother unequivocally declares,
because he is a mechanic; but as I certainly know, simply
and solely by reason of his habits.”

Dr. Broadwell, who was exchanging a word with those
he knew, recognizing Richard, took him cordially by the
hand, presented his daughter, and inquired after the Orphans.
Ada deeply commiserated those unfortunate ones,
and was pleased to know that Richard had so kindly
befriended them. These attentions of the Doctor were the
signal for attack from other quarters, and several persons
shot at Richard. Mrs. Tunny bestowed herself upon him,
and thrust Faustina into his face and eyes, adding Tunny
gratis. Captain Creamer, though having some scores
against Richard, was more complaisant than usual, and
rejoiced Richard could have a taste of good society. It was
a fine thing, he said, for our young men to imbibe a little polish
as they were coming on to the public stage. Mrs. Tunny
attempted a blush, and with her feather-edged fan tapped the
Captain on the cheek, and called him roguish. A pair of
stern eyes, under a beetling brow, capped by a short tuft of
thick hair, were seen working their way up over the shoulders
of Captain Creamer, and scowling at Richard. These
belonged to Measle, the wood-surveyor. “I think,” said he,
“that our young men, and all other young men, had better
attend to their own business.” “An undoubted truth,”

replied the Captain, “and I am glad you have mentioned
it; but we must allow them moments of relaxation.” “I
shall make no reply,” rejoined the Surveyor; “I have said
something, and let those take it to whom it belongs.”

Now it happened that the Surveyor was joint-suitor of
Miss Faustina with the Sailmaker; and of course disagreeable
to the latter, who conceived that this something aimed
at himself, since he was the younger of the two. He
instantly retorted, “I take it, and will hold on to it, and
remember it; and it may be you will see its picture again!”
Richard, perceiving the misunderstanding, said, “The gentleman
does not refer to you, Sir. He recalls a little matter
between himself and me. But I hope it will not prove
serious.” “No,” interjected Munk, who stood by, “not
serious, — jocose, lively, playful as a kitten.” The Surveyor
was a Catapulter, and a violent partizan; Munk was a
Hydriatic. This feline allusion of the latter was more than
the other could bear. His back seemed instantly to crook,
and the hair on his head to rise; and he glared on Munk,
and a faint hissing could be heard. The Sailmaker, a Dogbane,
instantly contracted his neck, grated his teeth, and
emitted a distinct growl. In this way they stood gnashing
alternately at each other and at Munk, who laughed at them
both. “Now is your time, Tunny,” said Mrs. Tunny to
her husband; “show your patriotism; snarl, bark, or I shall
do it for you!”

Scenes of this description were of too common occurrence
either to engage curiosity or excite alarm, and Richard was
glad to make his escape. Threading his way through a
dædalian intricacy of cords and starch, where his breathing
was impeded by a dense vapor of cologne, he encountered
Miss Eyre. She put her arm into his, and drew him
towards the hall. “I should not have left you so long,” she

said, “but I knew you would relish your own reflections in
a place like this; and I have had my reflections, — too
sedate, too grave, for such an hour. You have said you
were my friend. You will be glad of an occasion to prove
that you are my friend, though I am afflicted that it should
be such an occasion. It is but a trifle I ask of you, and
that I know you will do. Come with me up stairs.”

He went with her to the upper entry, and she conducted
him to a sort of recess that overhung the stairs leading to
the rear of the house, and motioned him to listen. Voices
were heard on these stairs, which were clearly distinguishable
as Clover's and Mrs. Xyphers'.

“Edney is out of the way,” so Clover was heard to say.
“I vanquished him to-night; he knows he is a fool, and he
cannot recover.”

“But Plumy Alicia — ” Mrs. Xyphers replied.

“Is disposed of,” answered Clover. Miss Eyre clasped
both hands on Richard's arm.

“Xyphers,” rejoined Mrs. Xyphers, “I do not value, — I
cannot value. His name is his nature; he is nought, and
the additional s only doubles his emptiness.”

“Xyphers is something,” replied Clover; “his nothingness
is something, or he would not be game. Then he was
interested in you, and that shows that you are an interesting
woman, and that you deserve protection; and I should
be false to my own honor, if I did not rescue you from such
imbecility. You can rely on my honor.”

“I think I can,” answered Mrs. Xyphers, with some hesitation,
as if a new thought had struck her; “you said you
had money of Plumy Alicia?” Clover, flustering, said, “I
wish not to talk of irrelevant matters.” But Mrs. Xyphers
insisted, and said, “I must talk about it.” Miss Eyre took
one of Richard's hands in both of hers. Clover replied,

“Plumy Alicia was lavish; she would have conciliated me
any way. She knew the value of my friendship; she
deposited with me two hundred dollars; — a mere tribute —
a sort of hostage.”

“How can you repay it?” asked Mrs. Xyphers.

“Repay it!” sneered Clover. “She feared my anger, she
appreciated my ability, she knew what my alliance was
worth; she feed my discretion.” Miss Eyre throbbed on the
breast of Richard.

“Xyphers' money is his own,” rejoined that lady, with
emotion; “it is his own earnings; he has worked for it; he
never denied me that; but he had not heart, and could not
give it. Nay, I will not touch his money.”

Dancing being called for below, Dr. Broadwell and daughter
would retire. Mrs. Tunny followed them to the dressing-room
up stairs, and servants were summoned to assist
them off. Clover and Mrs. Xyphers fled from their retreat.
Miss Eyre, releasing herself from Richard, said, “Do not
remain here; go to the drawing-room. I will digest my
sorrow alone.” Richard went down.

The dancing lasted till supper, the announcement of
which silenced music and dissolved partnerships. While
the mass crowded up stairs to the eating-room, some stayed
below, and felt of the muslin curtains, looked at the pictures
on the wall, and turned over the burnished books with
which Mrs. Tunny freely loaded her tables. Among the
loiterers were Richard and Miss Freeling.

Now Richard longed to ask Miss Freeling, “Do you
know Miss Eyre? — what sort of a girl is she?” — but he
knew more about her than Miss Freeling did, and he had
come by his knowledge in so confidential and secret a way,
and it was so sacred a matter withal, he did not dare to put
the question.

But Miss Eyre herself appeared, roaming pensively
across the room, like a mourning shade; traces of sorrow
descended down her face and dress; a band of hair lay
pathetically loose on her forehead, and her look was tender
and irresistible, — full of that sort of beauty with which misfortune,
when it has taken everything else away, seems
sometimes to renovate its victim.

Miss Freeling, taking up the subject very nearly where
it lay in Richard's mind, said, “Miss Eyre seems to have
been born out of her place. She has powers, but no sphere.
She is certainly unfortunate; I should not dare to call her
wicked, until I knew more of the human heart than I do
now. She has some education, but no discipline; she observes,
but never reflects; she hides defect of character
with a certain brilliancy of temper. She insinuates herself
by tact and talent, where most people would commend
themselves by prudence and discretion. The attentions of
the coarse and illiterate she cannot reciprocate. The flattery
of what I should call super-sensualism inflames her
vanity, while at the same time she can discern its motive.
She creates a sensation wherever she goes, and
contrives to be essential to a good many persons. Yet
modesty condemns her, and rank will not tolerate her.
She might have drudged in Silver's kitchen; — her destiny,
I fear, will be to expatiate in larger and more questionable
fields. She might have married Capt. Creamer;
but he lacks sincerity, which, after all, she loves. Clover
has more art, more power, and more audacity, than she
has, and he may outdo her in her own line. She had a
portion of her bringing up in the Governor's family; but she
imbibed not the principles, but only the consequence, of the
family. Mrs. Melbourne had her in charge; and the notions
of that lady, to my thinking, are very — singular — bad.

She has the gift of fascination, but cherishes no ideas of
usefulness; nor is she fitted by culture for stations which
she might otherwise adorn. Where is the home that shall
offer her happiness, contentment, and repose? A man
under these circumstances, if he does not relapse into
drunkenness, will keep his virtue, vindicate his capacity,
and find his place. What shall a Factory-girl do?”

Richard was oppressed; he knew too much, and he knew
too little, to say anything, and he kept silence. Besides,
Plumy Alicia turned to him so smiling, sad indeed, but so
grateful and azure a face, that what he would like to have
said was snatched from his tongue's end.

Miss Freeling, without observing these pantomimic passages,
continued. “Yonder,” said she, pointing to a man
on the opposite side of the room, “is Mr. Cosgrove, a carpenter,
and a member of Parson Smith's Church, which
you have heard is aristocratic. He came to the city a poor
boy. He possessed intelligence, energy, and ambition. He
pursues a useful trade, and strives to perfect himself in it.
He has good sense, withal. The defects of his early education
he has repaired by later application. He is a large
contractor for houses, and advances to opulence. He visits
among our nobility, and is welcome in the most polished
circles. His powers have been not only developed, but
employed. Would you like to know him?”

She introduced Richard to Mr. Cosgrove, and he liked
his new acquaintance very well.

Those who had gone first to the supper beginning to
withdraw, opening was made for the others. Mr. Cosgrove
squired Miss Freeling; Richard, seeing Miss Eyre standing
alone and aloof, offered his arm. But she declined, and
said she would not eat. So Richard proceeded alone to the
rendezvous of attraction. If the Confectioner and the

Fruiterer had been there, so had the Eater, and there only
remained the fragments of a sumptuous fare.

Mr. Cosgrove handed Richard a glass of water, which he
drank. The Surveyor and the Sailmaker, whose frenzy a
liberal drench of wine had not reduced, were at once
aroused. “Mr. Cosgrove dare not offer it!” said the one.
“The young man dare not drink it!” said the other. Having
uttered this, they both underwent the beastly metamorphosis,
one growling and the other mewing. Clover, a
violent Phumbician, approached; he had one arm devoted
to Mrs. Xyphers, the other he presented to the attention of
Richard, giving it the fisticuff form and the snapping motion
in which the expert delighted to display itself. He
said, “The barbarian will do it; he is mean enough to chip
off an insult into the eyes of the City's honor; but here is
the power that shall chastise his insolence!” Richard laid
hold of the arm, and lowered it, and held it down; and
Clover could not raise it. It was Clover's left arm, and
Richard used his right. It was a strong arm, indeed; it
labored like the piston of a steam-engine, but it could not
be disengaged. “There is its place,” said Richard; “and
this is mine.”

“Tunny!” cried the female head of the house, “Tunny,
speak!” “Water,” said the little male, answering the call
of his spouse, in a thin, child-like voice, — “water is wholesome,
it is respectable; I am for water, myself, [a hiss,]
but I would not make it an absorbing topic; we are in danger
of getting one idea on the subject; I should say half
an idea was better! Shall we break up the city with
water? What danger of falling into the ditches, and losing
our lives! I am for reasonable water, and will never countenance
these sanguinary measures! But, gentlemen, allow
me to say, our troubles are not water; but — shall I say

it? I must say it — Rats! I do not allude to Cats and
Dogs, [mewling and growling,] I do not, — I will not, — I
dare not! But I must speak the truth. The tightness of
the times, — the numerous failures we mourn, — the unsettled
state of the market; — I might name cabbages and
turnips; — oh, fellow-citizens, it is owing to Rats!”

“You know I had the honor to be appointed chairman of a
Committee to investigate. We are prepared to report. I
have the schedule in my pocket. There are three thousand
tenements, inclusive of stores, manufactories, barns, wharves,
vessels, &c.; we estimate ten rats and mice to each tenement,
making the enormous aggregate of thirty thousand
of these mischievous non-producers! [Hear, hear.] Can
the expense of supporting them be less than fifty cents per
head, annually? Fifteen thousand dollars, then, is our
yearly rat-tax! Consider some of the items: —

             

Perforations of meal-bags, doors, drawers,	$50.00
Attacks on cheeses, loaves of bread, joints of meat,	200.00
Eggs sucked,	40.00
Corn and grain pillaged,	300.00
Fruit-trees annually girdled,	80.00
Turnips and apples munched,	35.00
Nuts carried off,	10.00

The cost of preventives: —

               

Rat-proof cases, tubs, jars,	250.00
Cementing cellars, and pointing walls,	400.00
Sinks in drains,	90.00
Damage to cellars by water coming in at the holes they make,	50.00
Ratsbane and potash,	5.25
Traps of all sorts,	18.00
Annual bill of joiners for repairs,	325.00
Board of 1000 Cats,	2000.00

At this point, there was an outcry, soon hushed, however,

by the overwhelming interest of the topic. The little man
continued, wiping his brow. “I need not go on. You see
the astounding disclosures, and I see your alarm. But we
approach the great question: Is there no remedy? These
thirty thousand rats, it is estimated, would support sixty
missionaries to foreign lands.” “Cats is the remedy!” cried
a Dog-hater. “A plot, a plot!” shouted an enemy of Cats.
There was a scuffle about the table.

“Gentlemen, fellow-citizens, brothers and sisters!” Tunny
began, again. “Let me be heard! bear with me one moment!
I am magnanimous, — I hate incendiarism, and will
spit on a traitor! There is hope! I have allowed myself
to receive a consignment of rat-traps; — a new article,
cheap and safe. They will hold every rat that gets into
them, and there is a large size, the A. A., that will hold
more. A child can manage them. Could not a Rat-trap
Stock Company be formed? Shall not the Common Council
be petitioned to purchase the patent? I propose this as a
measure of conciliation.”

“I did not agree to the report,” rejoined Draff, a rival
Grocer, “and I should oppose the plan of Tunny's. The
fact, which all overlook, is here, just here, and nowhere
else. The more there is eaten, the more there is sold;
this is the law of trade — and it matters not who eats, the
merchant makes by it.”

There was a storm of suppressed sputtering. But Munk
cried, “Yes, all eat, all sell; I buy a trap, you buy a trap;
catch them if you can. Domestic turkeys, foreign grapes,
some of Mrs. Tunny's nice custards; nobody can beat Mrs.
Tunny in custards. Catapulter, Dogbane, all like good
things, — all love to be happy.” At the same time, he distributed
the viands, and coaxed the belligerents to a softer
mood.

The party broke up. Miss Eyre contrived, as young
ladies always will contrive when they undertake it, that
Richard should beau her home. But she was considerate;
she did not distress him. She said, “You are my friend;
I retain you by the strongest tie, — that of confidence; I
have shown my estimate of your character, by imparting to
you the profoundest affairs of my existence. Good-night.”