University of Virginia Library

2. PART II.

Finding it utterly impossible to prevail on his
wife to consent to a large party, Woodbridge next
endeavored to persuade her to invite a few families
at a time (sociably, as the ladies call it,) till they
had thus gone round all their acquaintances.

“Why this is worse than the other way” —
exclaimed Charlotte — “really, Mr. Woodbridge,
I am surprised at you. Did I not tell you, when
we were first married, that ma' never had any
evening company whatever, except when she gave
a squeeze once in the season. The expense of
having a few people at a time is endless, and there
is no eclat in it either, as there is with a large
general party; so it is an absolute throwing away
of money.”

“Then let us have a large general party.”

“Harvey you really make me sick. Will you
never cease harping on the same subject. Is it an
affair of life and death, our paying back again what
we owe to the people who saw proper to invite
us. Shall we lose our characters if we do not?”

“Yes.”

“Was there ever such nonsense.”

“Our characters will so far suffer that we shall
be justly considered mean, sordid, and inhospitable.”

“Will any one ask us why we do not invite
company. How can they kuow what reasons we
may have? And then again how business-like to
regard the thing as an affair of debtor and creditor!
But men will be men.”

“Charlotte” — said Harvey Woodbridge — “I
am tired of this foolish contention — and I insist,
(yes — I positively insist) on a few of our friends
being invited to take tea with us to-morrow evening.
Next week we will have a few more, and
so on, till we shall have entertained at our own
house, the whole circle of our acquaintances.”

“But when these people paid me their bridal
visits” — said Charlotte, — “I carried my politeness
so far as to hint to every one of them a general
invitation to come and see us of an evening
without ceremony, as soon as they chose.”

“No matter” — returned her husband —“why
should they hasten to avail themselves of a mere
general invitation, when there is no reason for
their not receiving a special one. Among women
I know very well that volunteer visits are only
made where there is a very familiar intimacy; and
never when the parties are but newly or slightly
acquainted. Again — supposing that any of these
ladies or gentlemen were to take you at your
word — are we ever prepared for unexpected
guests? — Could we receive them in this vile room
that you insist on living in; or in the cold dark
parlors, with the fire out, and no lamp lighted.”

Mrs. Woodbridge began to conclude that, for
this time, she had best give up to her husband;
and therefore, with a very ill grace, she finally
consented to his desire; and he felt so happy at
having carried his point, that he apologized for
the epithet he had bestowed on the sitting-room;
and conceded that, used in moderation, there was
some convenience in having such places.

Accordingly, invitations were given to three
married couples, one widow, two young ladies
and three young gentlemen; all of them being
among those of our hero's friends, who stood highest
in his esteem, from whom his wife had received
the utmost civility, and in whose eyes she was
most anxious that she and her domestic arrangements

should appear to the greatest advantage. In
the interim, he took particular care to be as amiable
to her as possible: only once giving her occasion
to say that “all men were fools.”

Harvey Woodbridge came home from his store
in excellent spirits, anticipating the most splendid
evening he had yet enjoyed in his own house. Anxious
to keep his wife in good humor, he had fore-borne
during the day to offer any suggestion as to
the preparations for the evening; merely hinting
his hope that every thing would be arranged in a
liberal and convenient manner.”

“Why should you doubt it?” — replied Charlotte
— “But I am not going to tell you a word
beforehand. Perhaps I shall surprise you.”

“So much the better” — said Woodbridge
gaily — and he resolved to trust entirely to his
wife, and to ask no questions; calculating greatly
on this surprise that was in store for him, and
feeling persuaded that, on this, their first reception
of evening company, she would take care that all
should be sclon les regles.

But, a “change came o'er the spirit of his dreams”
when he found that at seven o'clock the parlors
were not lighted; Mrs. Woodbridge, who had
not yet began to dress, averring that people never
arrived till at least one hour after the time specified,
and that she would encourage no useless

waste of oil. About ten minutes past seven the
door-bell rang, our heroine flew to her toilet, and
Mr. Woodbridge had the mortification of seeing
the first detachment of visitors make their entrance
by the light of a dim and newly-kindled fire; the
ladies leaving their cloaks and hoods in the entry;
Charlotte having given orders that nobody should
be shown up stairs. The servant man now hurried
to light the lamps which stood on the centre-tables
in each parlor, omitting those on the mantel-piece,
because he knew that they were unfurnished with
oil, as they had never yet been prepared for use.

In a very short time all the guests had arrived,
and Woodbridge was obliged for nearly an hour
to entertain them entirely himself; his consort
not being ready to made her appearance. Finally,
the beautiful Charlotte came down elegantly and
elaborately drest: and smiled, and looked sweet,
and expressed to the company her regret at not
being aware of their intention of coming so early,
and her delight at their having done so, as by that
means she should have the pleasure of enjoying a
larger proportion of their society.

Then she took her seat, changing it occasionally
so as to afford each of the guests a share of her
talk. They were all intelligent people, with
cultivated minds and polished manners, and
Woodbridge, who was well able himself, to sustain
apart in rational and amusing conversation, thought

his wife had never talked with less tact and more
folly. She discoursed with untiring volubility on
new style bonnets, new style shawls, and remembered
with surprising accuracy the exact figures
of certain new style mouselines de laines, embroidered
chalys, and brocaded satins. And she varied
her declamations by describing divers patterns for
worsted work, particularly the new style dog that
she was doing for the cover of a tabouret, and to
which she was going to give a companion in the
shape of a basket of fruit, to be taken in hand for
another tabouret as soon as the present occupant
was out of the frame.

After a while, the attention of the visiters began
to flag; all seemed to grow dull and tired, and
our hero felt that he was becoming dull and tired
himself, and in fact quite out of spirits. The
truth was, he wanted his tea, and thought that all
the company did the same; and his only hope
was now in the exiliarating influence of “the cups
that cheer but not inebriate.” The time-piece
showed the hour of nine, and still there was no
sign of tea. He wondered it did not appear, and
was at a loss to conjecture what had retarded it.

At last, the conversation subsided into silence,
and after a dead pause, Mrs. Woodbridge proposed
music. For herself she had never been able to
acquire any proficiency in the art, and therefore

did not profess to play. But she had insisted on the
purchase of a highly ornamented instrument as
an elegant piece of furniture for the back parlour,
and because, as she — “No decent house is
without a piano.”

She sat two young ladies down to the overture
to La Cenerentola played as a duet, aud which
she said was “ma's favorite.” During the move
which generally takes place when music is about
to commence, Woodbridge found an opportunity
of saying in a low voice to his wife — “I wish
the music had been deferred till after tea. We
have already waited too long, and want something
to brighten us.”

“People must be badly off when their brightness
depends upon tea” — replied Charlotte, also soto
voce — “is that the only excuse you can make for
being so stupid this evening — you and your select
friends. But sensible people are always stupid —
at least I find them so.” — Then turning amay
from her husband, she walked into the other
parlor, and taking her seat beside a lady who was
looking over the splendid annuals that lay on the
table, our heroine remarked that a figure in one of
the plates reminded her of a celebrated actress
then performing at the Chesnut street theatre;
and from thence she ran into a minute description
of the costume of that actress in every character
in which she had seen her. The truth was that

our fair Charlotte never observed or remembered
any thing concerning a play, except the habiliments
of the performers; her eyes being chiefly
engaged in wandering round the boxes, and taking
cognizance of the caps, turbans, feathers, flowers,
and other head ornaments there displayed.

The overture to La Cenerentola was played
mechanically well, the musicians (like the hearers)
being tired before they began. When it was
over, the young ladies rose from the instrument,
and returned with the rest of the company to the
other room; and it was well they did so, for in a
few minutes the back-parlour lamp died out, self-extinguished
for want of sufficient oil.

At length, Mrs. Woodbridge desired her husband
to touch the bell, and he obeyed with alacrity,
thinking to himself — “Now we shall have tea, to
a certainty.”

The servant man made his entrance: and (to
the utter dismay of our hero) he handed round a
waiter set out with diminutive glasses of weak sour
lemonade, and a silver basket half filled up with
a large thickly folded damask napin, upholding
some very small thin slices of stale tasteless sponge
cake.

“Is this the surprise she promised me” —
thought Woodbridge — almost betrayed into an
audible exclamation. But he checked himself,

and with heightened color proceeded to do the
honors of the banquet, imagining (and it was not
altogether “fancy's sketch”) that he perceived a
look of disappointment in the countenances of the
whole company, none of whom had taken tea at
home, having all understood that Mrs. Woodbridge's
invitation included that refreshment. His
wife, however, smiled on; and assured the ladies
that they would not find the lemonade too strong,
and that if any cake could be considered wholesome,
it was sponge-cake eaten in moderation.

The remainder of the evening dragged on still
more heavily than the former; Woodbridge being
too much annoyed either to talk himself or to be
the cause of talking in others; and also watching
anxiously, but vainly, for the appearance of something
else in the way of refreshments. It was
scarcely ten o'clock when one of the married ladies
signified to Mrs. Woodbridge that she must go
home on account of her baby. All the other
guests seemed eager to avail themselves of the
first system of breaking up, and hastened to take
their leaves; their hostess assuring them that it
was quite early: that she had not enjoyed one
half enough of their company: that she hoped
they had spent as pleasant an evening as she had
done: and that she trusted it would not be long
before they repeated their visit, and that they
might rely on being always treated in the same

unceremonious manner. “You had better not put
that in” — thought her husband, as he glanced
at her with ill-concealed disapprobation.

When all the company had departed, and the
husband and wife were left to themselves, our
hero (making an effort to throw as much mildness
into his tone as possible) inquired why there had
been no tea for the visitors.

“Because I did not choose to go to any unnecessary
trouble and expense” — was the reply:

“You went round yourself,” — said Woodbridge
— “and gave the invitations verbally. Of
course you asked them to come to tea.”

“There is no `of course' in the case. I do
not remember saying any thing to them about tea.
Perhaps I did, and perhaps I did not. None of
ma's friends ever gave tea, whether the company
was large or small. And Mrs. Pinchington told
me herself that when she kept house she always
expressly asked her friends to come after tea. I
wish I had done so, and then these people would
not have expected any.”

“But why should they not expect any? At
their own houses they on all occasions have tea.
Is tea and its appendages so enormously expensive
that we cannot afford to give them to our friends?”

“I am always at a loss to know what you can
afford, and what you cannot. When after a great

deal of trouble I had made you understand what
blond was, did you not object to my giving eight
dollars a yard for seven yards of blond trimming
to go round the skirt of that gros d'Afrique I had
made for Mrs. Hillingdon's ball. To be sure I
did get the blond notwithstanding; and it was
not my fault if it caught in the flowers of Miss
Wireblossoms skirt and was half torn to pieces
that very evening. Then when I fell in love
with that superb gold card-case at Thibault's did
you not meanly refuse to let me have it, merely
because you had given me a silver one already.
And now when I try as much as I can to economise
in things that are of no consequence you are
displeased at my not giving tea to these people,
as if they could not just as well have all drank
their tea at home.”

“Undoubtedly they would have done so, had it
been possible for them to foresee that they would
get none at our house. Did you not invite them
to come at an early hour?”

“Yes but I did not suppose they would be so
simple as to take me at my word. And I asked
them to come socially, just to meet half a dozen
friends. Therefore they need not have expected
any thing.”

“Socially! — Yes, we were all very social indeed.
The truth is that persons accustomed to

the refreshment of tea, feel the want of it in the
evening after the fatigues of the day are over.
And if they chance to go without it, they always
miss its exhilirating effects. I wonder you did
not want it yourself.”

“Oh! I am not such a fool as to let my vivacity
depend on a cup of tea. Besides, I had some made
for myself, and I drank it in the sitting room before
I came down. When I had done, the pot
was filled up with water, and left by the fire — I
dare say it is there yet, and if you are in distress
for tea, you can get some of that. For my part
I am very sleepy, and very tired of all this nonsense,
and I will not hear another word on the
subject. But I can assure you this is the last
time you shall ever prevail on me to invite
evening visitors. If my society is not good
enough for you, I shall not assist in bringing other
people here to entertain you.”

So saying, she flounced up stairs, and her husband
sighed, and went out to a restaurant in quest
of something by way of refreshment: experience
having taught him that nothing was to be had in
the house. The lovely Charlotte did not speak
to him all next day, and gave no token of her
knowledge that he was in existence, except that
she contrived for dinner something that she knew
he particularly disliked. Finally, he was fain to
bribe her into good humor by the gift of a turquoise
ring.

Time passed on, and Harvey Woodbridge became
sadly apprehensive that for him the bonds
of married life would never be “golden chains
inlaid with down.” As his mental vision cleared,
the beautiful Charlotte Augusta seemed every day
to grow less and less beautiful. And too often his
recollection dwelt on some favorite adages of
his grandmother, such as — “Handsome is that
handsome does” — and “Marry in haste and repent
at leisure.”

No home could be more cheerless than that of
our hero; notwithstanding that his wife piqued
herself greatly on her domestic qualifications, after
the pattern of her ma'. But her housewifery
consisted only in the perpetual practice of a mean,
sordid, and annoying parsimony, carried into the
most minute details of every thing connected
with comfort. While at the same time there were
no limits to her extravagance in all that related
to the adornment of her own person. And her
passion for dress, increasing by indulgence, soon
superceded even her love for fine parlor furniture;
taking care only to preserve what they had already
by using it as little as possible. Till they
learn by experience, men have a very faint idea
of the sums that can be expended on the external
decorations of a woman who is resolved on being
the first to adopt every new fashion, and the first
to throw it aside for another, and who takes a silly

pride not only in the costliness but in the number
of her dresses. As Mrs. Woodbridge never gave
any thing away, a spare room (or rather a room
which could not be spared, and ought to have
been appropriated to a better use) was filled with
receptacles for her discarded finery: discarded in
many instances after having been worn but two
or three times.

With the usual selfishness and folly of women
whose ruling passion is a love of dress, our heroine
seemed to think that almost every cent expended
for any other purpose was taken wrongfully from
the fund which ought to be devoted exclusively to
the adornment of her own person. Now that her
parlors were furnished, she appeared to consider
all expenditure for the comfort or convenience of
the establishment as an encroachment on her selfassumed
right to be indulged in every new and
costly vanity that fashion and ostentation was
continually introducing into female attire. Yet
though her milliner and mantua-maker were the
most modish, and therefore the most extravagant
in their charges that Philadelphia could support,
if she wanted any other sort of work to be executed
she would walk to the most distant suburbs of the
city in all the torture of tight shoes, to make a
hard bargain with a cheap seamstress; or she
would absurdly hire a carriage for the purpose of
conveying her to cheap (or rather low-priced)

stores in remote places: where, by Mrs. Pinchington's
account, she could buy articles of household
necessity at a cent or two less than in the
best part of the town.

In charity Mrs. Woodbridge gave nothing.
When her feelings sometimes prompted her to
afford relief in a case of severe distress that chanced
to fall in her way, her hand was stayed by some
such reflection as that a quarter of a dollar would
buy her a yard of ribbon, or a half dollar the same
quantity of narrow edging: that seventy-five cents
would pay for a pair of white kid gloves, and that
a dollar would purchase a flower sprig. Therefore
the money remained in her purse to be expended
in some article of similar utility to the above.

A book was one of the last things she would
have thought of purchasing for herself; and she
even looked displeased whenever her husband
bought a new one for his own reading; and wondered
what people that had the Athenæum to go
to, and also a share in the City Library, could
possibly want with any more books.

As is usually the case in families where the
practice is ultra economy our heroine was always
in difficulties about servants, some of whom left
her or were dismissed by her in two or three days:
and few that were worth having remained more
than a week, for good servants can easily obtain

good places. She usually began her daily routine
by keeping her husband waiting an hour or more
beyond the appointed breakfast time, for it was
always a difficult task to her to get up in the
morning, and it was deferred and delayed as if it
could be dispensed with altogether. On this subject
no remonstrance on the part of her husband
ever made the slightest impression; her pretence
being that early rising was injurious to her health.
And if he resorted to the desperate measure of
eating his breakfast without her, he was punished
by her not speaking to him for the remainder of
the day. When breakfast was over, Mrs. Woodbridge
devoted an hour to scolding the servants,
and five minutes to arranging her scheme of parsimony
for that day. This she called superintending
her household affairs. Then, having
taken off her wrapper, and spent two hours in
making a very recherche toilette, she issued forth
in a superb dress-bonnet, with every thing to
match, and passed the remainder of the morning
in costly visits to the fashionable shops, and to
the fashionable milliners and mantua-makers; and
in leaving cards at the doors of such of her acquaintances
as lived in handsome houses, and dressed
expensively. The only persons with whom, on
making her calls, she desired an interview, were
her cronies Mesdames Squanderfield and Pinchington.
Friends she had none.

About three o'clock Mrs. Woodbridge went
home and undressed for dinner, which in her
house was always a paltry and uninviting repast:
such as her husband would have been really
ashamed of if seen, and which it was certainly
politic to serve up in the privacy of the little dining-room.
As it was, he thought that at his own
table he never felt exactly like a gentlemen; and
his genteel feelings were brought still lower at
times when for a day or two he found his house
without a single domestic: a condition to which
a menage of this description is not unfrequently
reduced. Indeed, their servants very often left
them on account of the scanty supply of kitchen
utensils, averring that they were not allowed
things to do their work with.

Of afternoons, the fair Charlotte, continuing
in her dishabille, and establishing herself permanently
up stairs for the remainder of the day, pursued
her worsted work for a while, and then took
a nap till tea-time, and another after tea, while
her husband went to the Exchange to read the
news by the eastern mail. During the remainder
of the evening, by the glare of a small, low, shadeless
lamp, she made herself an occupation with a
bit of trifling and useless sewing, interrupting him
every few minutes with some querulous remark
if he was reading to himself, and falling into a
doze if he was reading aloud. About nine o'clock,

(and sometimes before) she always began to be
very fidgety on the subject of having the lights
and fires extinguished, the house shut up, and
preparations made by all within it to go to bed
with the utmost dispatch: implying that she saw
no use in wasting fuel and oil any longer; and always
worrying without ceasing till she had carried
her point of a general retirement at an unseasonably
early hour.

If a gentleman called in the evening to see Mr.
Woodbridge, the parlor fire had gone out, no lamp
had been lighted there, and all below was gloomy
and cheerless. It was a formidable undertaking to
clear out the grate and rekindle the fire, and to
make an astral lamp burn which was not in order
for want of being in nightly use; and our aggrieved
hero soon found that of the two evils, the least
was to entertain his friends in the ever obnoxious
dining-room: Mrs Woodbridge, to avoid being
caught in dishabille, always taking flight to her
own chamber before the guest could find his way
up stairs. Under these circumstances, it was not
surprising that their house was soon relieved from
the inconvenience of visiters, and that the husband
and wife were left to the full enjoyment of each
other's society; except when he occasionally
indulged himself by going to the Athenæum for
an evening of quiet reading in a well-warmed and
well-lighted room: even though sure to incur the

penalty of finding his lady speechless all the next
day.

Mrs. Stapleford had several times volunteered to
quit for a while the delights of her beloved New
York, and make a visit to her daughter even in
Philadelphia; but was always put off with some
trifling excuse from our heroine. Mrs. Woodbridge
was well aware that notwithstanding the close
parsimony that prevailed in the paternal (or rather
maternal) mansion, her mother, when a guest at
the house of another person, was greatly displeased
if all things were not conducted on the most
liberal scale.

Finally, however, Mrs. Stapleford was allowed
to come. She disappointed her daughter by not
admiring sufficiently the handsome parlor furniture
which (on inquiring the prices of all the articles)
she took much pains to prove could have been
purchased far better and infinitely lower in New
York. In return, Mrs. Woodbridge resolved to
make no alteration in her domestic arrangements
during the visit of her mother; saying when any
thing was unusually mean or comfortless — “You
see, ma', I keep house exactly on your plan.”
And indeed she rather outdid her pattern.

Mrs. Stapleford sometimes hinted a desire that
this strict adherence to her plan might be dispensed
with, but her dutiful daughter would make no
improvement, and endeavored to persuade her

mother that, in Philadelphia, servants and all other
things were far worse, and more difficult to procure
than in New York. Woodbridge was annoyed,
ashamed, and angry nearly the whole time. The
visit was by no means a satisfactory one to any of
the parties: and Mrs. Stapleford, instead of remaining
a month (as she had at first intended)
stayed but a week; alledging that she was obliged
to hurry back to New York that she might not
lose Mrs. Legion's grand annual ball, for which
there were never less than six hundred invitations
sent out.

Each of the two brothers of our heroine came
at different times on business to Philadelphia, but
wisely stayed at a hotel. Both were invited to
take a family dinner at their sister's house: she
assuring them that they need not expect any thing
more than she would have had for her husband
and herself—“As you know”— said she—“that
one never stands on ceremony with one's brothers.”
This entire absence of ceremony was
indeed so very apparent that the young Staplefords
concluded for the future, not to forego an excellent
dinner at an excellent hotel for the scanty and
unpalatable repast provided by their sister.

On the first of these occasions, our hero bore
his vexation in silence; on the second he expostulated
with his wife when they were alone in the
evening. But she replied that the dinner was

quite as good as any they ever had in ma's house,
and just such as her brothers were used to at home;
adding — “Harvey Woodbridge, I wonder you
are not tired of continually trying to make me
change my plans. What reason have you to suppose
me one of those trifling, weak-minded persons
that can be persuaded to any thing? No — from
my earliest childhood I was always distinguished
for firmness of character. I remember when only
five years old, because pa' bought me a doll for a
Christmas gift, when he knew I wanted a pearl
ring, I held out for a whole week; and all that
time I would neither play with the doll or even
look at it, nor kiss pa' at bidding good night. So
that on New Year's day he was glad to get the
pearl ring for me, as ma' had been advising him
all the while. No — no — have you yet to learn
that firmness is my forte?”

“That obstinacy is, I have learnt most thoroughly”
— replied her husband —“and that united
with your other fortes is fast wearing away the
peace of my life. You really seem to be trying
your utmost to make my home irksome to me.”

“Then you will have the more excuse for
spending your evenings at your beloved Athenæum.
You had better go there now.”

“I will take you at your word” — replied
Woodbridge, rising to depart.

“Harvey” — said his wife, as he was about to
leave the room — “as you have to pass Mustin's
in your way, you may as well take this bit of
brown worsted and try and match it for me — I
can't go on with my work to-morrow, till I get
some more of it.”

“Confound the worsted!” — exclaimed her
husband, turning angrily away from her.

And as he hastily shut the door and precipitately
ran down stairs, she struck up melodiously the
refrain of “Sweet — sweet home.”