University of Virginia Library

8. CHAPTER VIII.

Mrs. Bongarden, the wife of the postmaster of
Perryville, was the most intimate gossip of Miss Judson;
and, as Miss Elizabeth had not seen her since
Sunday, which seemed quite a long time, she forthwith,
after breakfast the next morning, repaired
to her house. The mail of Perryville not being
very large, the post-office establishment was on a
scale accordingly. Mr. Bongarden kept what is
called a country store—consisting of a small assortment
of almost every kind of goods. A couple of
shelves in it comprised the post-office. In a little
room behind the shop, that commanded a view of
it, Mrs. Bongarden was in the habit of locating
herself. There she could overhear all the news and
rumours of news of every sort discussed by the
boisterous politicians and wise men of the place—
among whom her husband was a leading character,
and as fond of the current slanders and wonders as
herself. His memory and imagination, however,
comprised a wider range than his rib's—as not only
politics in general, but the secrets of the white house
in particular, occupied his attention, as much, or
more, than all Perryville together. Yet Perryville
was not excluded entirely from his mind's eye, but
occupied a place in it like a sunny spot in a large

landscape. This worthy often stood beside his front
door (if he had stood in it, it would have been to
the entire exclusion of customers—his frame was of
such expansion,) with the idlest and wisest of his
townsmen about him—one of these phrases, strange
as it may appear, often includes the other—for while
the industrious have enough to do to attend to their
own business, the idle turn philanthropists—immediately
have a great increase of wisdom—see
where things go wrong when nobody else sees
it—and devote themselves to the public. While
Mr. Bongarden, then, was engaged with this portion
of the Perryvillians, beside his store door, his good
lady would be often employed with their similars,
of her sex, in the little room aforesaid. Many were
the marvels heard and told there. Thus, Miss Judson,
though she had been but a short time in Perryville
—enlightened if not honoured by the acquaintance
of Mrs. Bongarden—became advised of every body's
business, character and conduct in the place. Being
childless, Mrs. Bongarden seemed still to preserve
the habitudes and feelings of the unmarried of her
sex of her own or Miss Judson's age; for, if there
was a young girl, particularly if she was handsome,
guilty of displaying the least of the budding proportions
of her bust, or of romping the least with the
young men, or of glancing over on the men's side
at meeting, the prophecies of this lady of the end
the damsel would come to were awful to hear.

The friendship between these two ladies was of

so unreserved a character that one, not knowing its
strength, might suppose sometimes, did one overhear
them, that there was a little female malice in the
manner in which each would communicate to the
other certain hearsays and insinuations about her—
alleging it was quite public.

Mr. Bongarden had obtained his office through
the influence of Mr. Bennington, and he looked up
to him as his chief prop and support: therefore,
whatever the Benningtons did the Bongardens upheld;
and, if they could get any inklings of what
they intended to do, they were sure to start upon
the anticipated track in full cry.

When the slanders against Ruth were first circulated
in Perryville, Mrs. Bongarden, knowing Ruth's
intimacy with the Benningtons, stoutly maintained
her cause; but when she came to learn, from Miss
Judson, on Saturday, that Miss Bennington had not
visited Ruth for some time—Miss Judson alleging
that she was told so by William Bennington, as
also, she affirmed, was Dr. Cake—the postmistress
took the other tack. In her anxiety to show that
what was said against Ruth was true (so foul a
slander that we will not repeat it—nor is it necessary,)
she let Miss Judson into the result of certain
prying inspections of the mail bag, by which
Mrs. Bongarden asserted she could corroborate the
opinions of the Benningtons.

On Sunday, Mrs. Bongarden had repaired to
church; and when, to her surprise, after an absence

of two weeks, Ruth made her appearance there, the
postmistress thought she read shame and guilt in her
face!

Mrs. Bongarden could scarcely keep her indignant
eye from Ruth during the service; but when
the church was out, and she saw what transpired at
the door with Billy, and the friendliness of the Benningtons
to Ruth, her mind underwent a sudden
change, and she felt somewhat angered with her
good friend Miss Judson, for misrepresenting the
opinion of the Benningtons to her. As Mrs. Bongarden
had not seen Miss Judson since church time
on Sunday, she believed that Miss Elizabeth was
aware of the fight between Billy and her brother's
boy, of the cause of it, and of the conduct of the
Benningtons. Mrs. Bongarden knew Miss Judson
was at church, and she fancied Miss Elizabeth had
overheard and seen what had there transpired. She
concluded that as Miss Judson was one of the first
to circulate the slander, she was not much disposed
to appear. The feelings of Mrs. Bongarden towards
her friend Miss Judson, proved one of the maxims
of Rochefoucault, which says, “that there is something
in the adversity of our best friends which does
not displease us.”

Dropping her veil before she reached the knot of
talkers at Mrs. Bongarden's front door, and tripping
by them with a short, noiseless, and rather hurried
step, as if she would escape observation, Miss Judson
passed through the shop and entered the room

where sat Mrs. Bongarden, who eyed her quickly
and keenly for a moment, but when she met her eye,
the postmistress said, with great softness,

“O! Miss Elizabeth, do take a seat.”

“Mrs. Bongarden,” exclaimed Miss Judson, throwing
back her veil and seating herself, “it seems an
age since I have seen you. Do tell us all the news
—I was not out yesterday at all; I haven't been out
since church on Sunday morning; I haven't seen a
soul but Dr. Cake—he took tea with us last night;
I was prejudiced at first against the Doctor in the
foolish matter of that letter that made such a talk—
I wish every body would mind their own business—
and gave the mean tattlers of this town such sport;
but now I have got to like the Doctor very much.
Mr. Beckford agrees with me exactly about the
Doctor.”

“So do I,” replied Mrs. Bongarden; “but the
Doctor, though, is a very odd man—how wide he
wears his pantaloons, when every body who cares
about dress at all—I mean these young fry—wear
their's tight.”

“I know it, my dear Mrs. Bongarden; but don't
you like the wide pantaloons? how much more genteel.
I declare, those tight things shock me—I never
know where to look when I see a man with them
on.”

Mrs. Bongarden laughed. “You don't remember
the time when they wore buckskins?”

“O! no, indeed; but I've heard my grandmother
speak of them.”

“I don't say that I remember them either; but if
you had seen that stranger that arrived yesterday
you would have seen them.”

“A stranger yesterday! Who is he?”

“Didn't you see him at church?” inquired Mrs.
Bongarden, eyeing Miss Judson sharply.

“No, my dear Mrs. Bongarden; I left church immediately
service was over. Doctor Cake joined
me; and as we crossed the street below I heard him
say that people still seemed to stay about. Was it
about this stranger?”

“He is from the same place that Miss Lorman
is,” said Mrs. Bongarden.

“Ah, is he!” exclaimed Miss Judson, her eye
flashing with satisfaction; “then we shall have
everything corroborated. She'll—Miss Prue 'll have
to quit Perryville. For my part, I can say that I
never could abide her on the face of the earth. I
am glad to know, too, that the good society of the
place set their faces against her.”

Mrs. Bongarden gave a quick cough, and then
said, “Well, when I come to think of it, I believe it
all downright slander.”

“Downright slander! gracious, how you talk, my
dear Mrs. Bongarden. It's downright truth—you
had no doubt of it on Saturday.”

“But I come to think of it—”

“Come to think of it!” exclaimed Miss Judson, in
somewhat of a heat, for she held that the condescension
necessary to the maintenance of their acquaintance
came from herself, a point which Mrs. Bongarden
would not have been disposed at all to acknowledge;
“come to think of it! Why, I tell you
—in confidence between us two—that Mr. Beckford
hinted plainly the whole affair to me. Shameful,
shameful was her conduct, and the Benningtons have
given her up long ago.”

“As to the Bennington's giving her up or no, that
don't concern me, Miss Judson; this is a free country,
and I thank Providence, that I do what I choose.
But I can tell you the Benningtons haven't give her
up.”

“But I tell you they have,” exclaimed Miss Judson,
“I can tell you they have. What did I tell you
concerning what William Bennington said to me?
and didn't he say the same and more to Doctor
Cake?”

“Tell me this,” said Mrs. Bongarden, bridling up;
“do you know who whipped your boy, Jim, on Sunday?”

“Yes, he was playing on Sunday out on the Common.
I give it to him, myself, for the subbath-breaking—a
severe chastisement—and his mother came
right straight the next day, and took him away. That's
what I hate your slave states for—the apprentices
where I came from, get punished as the niggers do
here, and they do twice as much work. As I was

saying, he was playing out on the common with the
boys, and he got into a fight with one of them about
his ball. I made him tell me everything that happened.
I was abused by his mother, as if I had
been a drab in the streets. That's the way Jim got
whipped.”

“That's not the way Jim got whipped, Miss Judson;
he threw up to Miss Ruth's brother what has
been said against her—to that little boy. Jim said he
heard you say it.”

“Me say it!” exclaimed Miss Judson, in evident
alarm.

“Yes, you say it, Miss Judson,” reiterated Mrs.
Bongarden, her tone growing firmer, as the other
quailed, “you say it, and little Lorman beat him for
it. Why, my dear Miss Judson, did you not know,”
continued Mrs. Bongarden, in a tone of incredulous
surprise, “that little Lorman told his sister every
word that your Jim said—told it at the church door—
and how he had whipped Jim—and how Jim said
that he heard you say it.”

“Mrs. Bongarden!” exclaimed Miss Judson, alarmed,
but assuming dignity, “I cannot suffer you to
make sport of me.”

“Make sport of you, indeed, I make no sport of
you. It's heaven's own truth. And Miss Ruth—poor
thing, was deeply hurt—and just then the Benningtons—William
and his sister—I saw them myself—
spoke to her so kindly, that it touched her, so that
she bursted into tears. And that very stranger in the

buckskins, that saved Mrs. Moore's child's life, was
here this very morning, to inquire for letters, and I
inquired of him about Miss Ruth, and he said that
she was one of the very first ladies in the land where
she came from—that her father owned a great estate,
and lent money to his friends—got cheated and lost
it! Poor thing, I pity her.”

“Poor thing, you pity her,” echoed Miss Judson,
unable to control her temper, when she remembered
how completely Mrs. Bongarden had agreed with
her on Saturday, “I pity you, Mrs. Bongarden.”

“Pity me,” retorted Mrs. Bongarden, “do keep
your pity, Miss Judson, till I ask for it; charity begins
at home. Yes, I pitied her, and I went up myself
and shook hands with her, and told her she
shouldn't mind such filthy slanders.”

“Filthy slanders! do you mean that for me, Mrs.
Bongarden?”

“If the cap fits you, you may wear it, Miss Judson,”
replied Mrs. Bongarden, with a toss of the
head. “And you had better not try it on.”

“Better not try it on!” exclaimed Miss Judson,
rising from her chair, and advancing towards her
particular friend; “what did you say to me last Saturday,
in this very room, about that woman.”

“That woman,” replied Mrs. Bongarden, “why I
said that old Shrew's daughter—the crier—would
come to shame, and I say so still—`that woman!'—
Miss Lorman is a lady, and I expect it will be proved

in a court of justice yet, when some persons will
suffer.”

“Proved in a court of justice, yet,” ejaculated
Miss Judson, in increased alarm, but determined to
hold her own, “do you mean me, Mrs. Bongarden?
I can tell you, Madam, you are the person who will
suffer. What did you tell me about the letters you
peeped into?” Here it was Mrs. Bongarden's turn
to be frightened, which Miss Judson perceived, and
took advantage of, continuing, “yes, the letters you
peeped into, opened to peep into. It's a hanging matter,
or, at least, it's penitentiary. Didn't you tell me
that letters came to Ruth Lorman in an envylope—
in a man's hand?—and didn't you say that the envylopes
were from a woman, who wrote as if she was
no better than she should be—that it was full of make
game, and light conversation?—didn't you, I say, tell
me so, last Saturday, in this very room?”

Mrs. Bongarden knew the assertion of Miss Judson
to be a fact, but she felt, nevertheless, strongly
disposed to “deny the corn.” After a moment's reflection,
it occurred to her, that at the time there
was no one by but Miss Judson, and as the opening
of the letter was an offence against the law, which
would not only subject herself and husband to loss
of place and character, but to punishment, she determined
flatly to deny it.

“Woman!” exclaimed Mrs. Bongarden, jumping
up from her chair, and shaking her clenched hand
fearfully near Miss Judson's face, “I allow no person

to use no such language to me; it's an abominable
lie; and I'll have you up for slander in no
time.”

Mr. Bongarden, hearing the voice of his wife in its
highest tones, and in such language, quickly entered
the store, followed most unceremoniously by the
parties with whom he had been conversing. Miss
Judson, in a rage at the language used by Mrs. Bongarden,
reiterated the charge circumstantially before
Mr. Bongarden, and his company, and then
flung herself out of the shop in a most towering
passion.

The whole of Perryville was astir for several
days, with the war waged between these belligerants
of the softer sex. Each sallied out immediately
after the quarrel, to get the advantage of telling
her story first, and thereby making a favourable impression
on her own side. Twice they met in the
progress of that day's peregrinations, at the houses
of mutual acquaintances; the first time in sullen silence,
when each nearly staid the day in trying to
outset the other! The second time, Miss Judson had
arrived first at the house of Mrs. Moore, the lady
whose child Hearty Coil saved, and with whom Mrs.
Bongarden had been acquainted several years, and
whom, she of course, regarded as more friendly to
herself than to Miss Judson, who had been in Perryville
but a few weeks. As the postmistress entered
the room, which she did unceremoniously, she heard
Miss Judson making the accusation against her, of

opening the letters, nor did Miss Elizabeth think
proper to stop, though her quondam particular friend
stood before her face to face. On the contrary she
ejaculated with nervous emphasis:

“Here she is now, and I tell it to her face.”

Mrs. Bongarden couldn't stand this to her teeth,
and, forgetful of all consequences, in the paroxysm of
her fury she flew at Miss Judson, and tore from her
virgin bust her best lace cape, that had cost seven
dollars. Miss Judson could not be expected to abide
this assault without resistance, and she accordingly
clenched instantly with her delicate fingers, the new
gipsy bonnet of Mrs. Bongarden, which, in a trice,
was beyond casting any improper reflections upon
the torn condition of the cape. Blows and scratches
were given and received between the parties too
numerous to mention; though it may be stated that
Miss Judson received the most blows, and Mrs. Bongarden
the most scratches. Mrs. Moore, frightened
to death, screamed for assistance, when Doctor
Cake and William Bennington, who chanced to
meet at the door, rushed in at the cry, and not
without considerable difficulty, parted the combatants.
It is not to be denied, and perhaps ought not
to be asserted, that Doctor Cake hereby saw more
of the charms of Miss Elizabeth than he ever expected
to see, unless he contemplated committing
matrimony with her. As William Bennington
scanned the tattered condition of the combatants,
who still frowned fierce defiance, and Mrs. Moore,

panting with fright, and pitching violently to and fro
in a huge rocking chair, into which she had, after
the entrance of the gentlemen, hysterically thrown
herself, he burst into an uncontrollable fit of laughter.
This had evidently more effect than any expostulation
which had been used, for Mrs. Bongarden
hastily adjusted her hair, and snatched up her bonnet,
while Miss Judson, glancing towards Doctor
Cake, whose presence she now first actually recognised,
impulsively drew her silk gown over her
shoulders, and darted into the back room, to adjust
her dress, but within ear-shot of whatever Mrs. Bongarden
might say. The postmistress finding her
toilet almost as much disarranged as Miss Judson's,
and being, as we have said, though married, a lady of
very maidenly notions, felt herself, however much
she might desire to state her cause of grievance,
compelled in modesty to retire. Accordingly, she
was about to enter the room where Miss Judson was,
when Mrs. Moore started from the rocking chair,
and begging in mercy that she would not go near
Miss Judson, led her up stairs. As Mrs. Moore took
Mrs. Bongarden up stairs, Miss Judson closed the
door between her and the gentlemen, when silence
prevailed for several minutes, which Doctor Cake
interrupted in a suppressed voice, saying:

“I say, Mr. Bennington—Mr. Bennington, I say,
this is a most extraordinary case.”

“That's a fact, Doctor,” replied William, after
another hearty laugh; “as a Kentuckian, I am

thankful that one of the ladies is from the Jerseys,
freshly imported—from the land of steady habits—
and the other is a Pennsylvania-born, and a legitimate
descendant—so her husband asserts—from a
race of Dutch burgomasters. Were they Kentuckians,
we should have this scene reported, and see
it in print, perhaps embellished with an engraving,
as the way in which the ladies of Kentucky—ladies,
Doctor—settled their differences.”

Here Mrs. Moore entered the room, and William
Bennington begged her for mercy's sake to keep the
ladies in separate rooms, and not to let them get together
on any account.

Mrs. Moore implored the gentlemen not to leave
her. William Bennington said he must go, while
Dr. Cake, who was burning to know the particulars,
said he would remain with Mrs. Moore, at the same
time observing to her:

“I say, Mrs. Moore, you should compose yourself—I
say—my dear madam—I am not your
physician, but I may say to you as a friend, that
your frame—I say—is of such a delicate nature,
that—”

Now Mrs. Moore was a lady given to hysterics,
and Doctor Cake knew it.

“Oh, Doctor!” she exclaimed, “I feel wretched;
my poor frame can't stand these repeated shocks—
my child on Sunday nearly drowned, and this to-day
—it is too much for me.”

Doctor Cake felt Mrs. Moore's pulse, and said if

she had any one whom she could send to the apothecary's,
he could give her a harmless prescription that
would be of infinite service to her.

“Do, Doctor, call my servant-girl for me—she is
in the yard.”

The Doctor proceeded with alacrity to call the
girl, saying to himself as he went out:

“Another patient—I must contrive to throw
Wickelmous out of this family too. I say, I shall
have a damned time of it now, in keeping fair
weather with Mrs. Bongarden and Miss Judson—
but, I say—I must not take sides.”

The Doctor soon entered with the girl, and despatched
her for the prescription, which Mrs. Moore
took, much to her relief.

As neither Mrs. Bongarden or Miss Judson could
make their appearance in the street in the present
condition of their features and wardrobe, Mrs.
Moore was obliged to invite them to stay with her
until dark, in their respective rooms, between which,
during a long afternoon, she most impartially distributed
her visits. Nor is it to be wondered, that after
the ding-dong and clatter of their respective stories
each time retold, that Mrs. Moore was confined to
her bed with nervous disorders, and that Doctor
Cake, after having administered so much to her
satisfaction in the first instance, was retained as her
physician.

In the meantime the characters of Mrs. Bongarden

and Miss Judson, in the mortal contest which they
continued to wage, shared the fate of the two Kilkenny
cats, who got into a fight, and mutually annihilated
each other; at least, neither left of the other
aught but the tail.