University of Virginia Library

14. CHAPTER XIV.
THE BRIDE TAKING POSSESSION—MISS WILSOME WINKLE RESOLVES
TO MARRY.

Walter, after the amusements of the night, slept rather later
than usual; and upon making his appearance in the breakfast
room, he learned that his uncle and aunt had taken their repast
an hour before. But the thoughtful Griselda had kept
his coffee hot.

It was just when his breakfast was finished, that Walter
espied outside of a window about half of the weather-beaten
and war-worn face of Sergeant Blore. His eye was rolling in
great excitement, and he secretly beckoned the young man to
approach.

When Walter joined the sergeant, the latter led him into
a sentry box in the vicinity, and cautioned him not to speak
loudly, or make any noise that might attract attention.

“What is it?” asked Walter, in a whisper.

“The emperor has almost abdicated,” said Blore, in distressful
accents, while his eye was moistened with a tear.

“They call it a treaty—but it is an abdication. I was compelled
to sign as a witness.”

“What is all this? What have you signed?”

“A capitulation!” continued Blore—“the most humiliating
and disgraceful terms!”

“Explain, sergeant, explain.”

After many lamentations, the sergeant informed Walter
that his uncle had been attacked early in the morning, by the
housekeeper and cook, and had fallen back discomfited on his
wife, who undertook to afford him security and protection on
certain conditions, which had been agreed to, written down,
and signed. They were substantially as follows: Mrs. Winkle
was to have the purse—Mr. Winkle the sword. In all civil
affairs, she was to be supreme—in all military matters he to
be the head. And in pursuance of this convention, the keys
of the treasury were placed in the custody of Mrs. Winkle,
who could at any time discharge the garrison, by withholding
the pay and rations! The sergeant, however, foreseeing the
possibility of such a contingency, and with a single eye to his
own interests, had caused an article to be inserted, that his
name should be retained on the pension list during the continuance
of his mortal life.

“Three cheers for Gusset!” said Walter.

“No! Hush!” said Blore, placing his hand on the young
man's mouth. “She might take umbrage, and I tell you she
is the absolute mistress of the establishment. She will be a
tyrant—another Catharine. I know a vixen when I see her.
Let me tell you a secret. I was married once, and thought
some time or other to marry again—but I won't! No! I
would rather lose the rest of my limbs. You know Mrs. Edwards?”

“Lowe's scolding old housekeeper?”

“She! That she wolf! I intended to marry her, as a
sort of companion for your uncle's spouse. My first wife was
a scold—a tigress. Mrs. Edwards loved frogs, and as our
tastes were alike, I thought we might agree together. I paid
her a visit, and what do you think?”

“I think it a wonder she didn't bite off your nose. But
I believe she has no teeth. Didn't she explode like a
bomb?”

“No—she screamed, and tried to throw her arms around
me!”

“What—the first visit?”

“She had seen me a thousand times before! Mrs. Edwards,”
continued the sergeant, in a very low whisper, “was
Mrs. Blore!”

“Your own wife?”

“True—as I was at Waterloo! I thought her dead—and
as my Maker can witness, I hoped so. She thought the same
of me, and I have no doubt, hoped the same. One half of me
was shot away, and I was reported dead. She married again,
and her second husband was drowned, instead of hanged.”

“I would have given something to have been present at
the meeting,” said Walter.

“Oh, I fell down and begged for quarter, which she
granted, on condition of a certain indemnity—”

“Wherefore? You were going to marry her as Mrs. Edwards—why
not take her as your own wife?”

“I would rather go to the d—l at once! There was always
a h—l in my quarters when we lived together. But I don't
want to pay the money I promised. She has no right to it.
I want you to get me the opinion of a lawyer. You needn't
mention names. I have the money. For forty years I have
spent nothing, and have been laying up all the time. All I
have I will give to you—”

“To me, sergeant?”

“Yes, to you—and you will need it, for your aunt here
will stop supplies from your uncle's chest—if you will only
keep me out of the clutches of that she d—l!”

“I'll send her to the penitentiary for bigamy, if you have
no objection.”

“Objection? It would be the most glorious news since
the emperor's escape from Elba!”

“But you shall keep your money. I will not have it.
Enough of these family affairs. I want to try my uncle, I
hope he may be reformed, for the doctors say an excessive indulgence
in such hallucinations may terminate in confirmed
insanity. I am curious to know to what extent he can be
influenced by his wife. Have you had the mortar I sent up
put in the boat?”

“Yes, and the bombs, too. All is ready. Shall we make
the bull bellow?”

“Yes. But how can you do that?”

“By shaking a piece of red flannel on one side of the
Channel.”

“Then go about it. I will be with my uncle in his cabinet
when the messenger arrives.”

When Walter joined his uncle, the latter was finishing the
perusal of Alison's account of the camp at Boulogne. He
closed the book with a sigh, and said:

“I fear the days of glory are over. What a spectacle it
must have been to see such an array of military strength
assembled in view of the cliffs of England! And the profound
dissimulation of that unequalled genius! No one suspecting
the point where the blow would fall! All supposing
it was really his intention to imitate Cæsar in a descent upon
the coast!”

“His was undoubtedly the greatest genius the world ever
produced,” said Walter.

“True, Walter; and I have often sat upon my horse and
fancied I saw how his victories were won, and enjoyed his
triumphs. But I fear I have indulged too much in such mere
fancies. Griselda says so—and she says, moreover, the people
insinuate that my mind is partially deranged. It is not so.
Nevertheless, my own people act sometimes as if I were an
idiot, and would suffer any indignity. Think of their rudeness
last night! My wedding night! But your aunt shall
punish them as they deserve. She is a sensible woman,
Walter; be kind to her. I have placed great power in her
hands.”

“She and I were always good friends, uncle. But, sir,
have you seen the mortar I sent you?”

“Not yet; I ordered it to be put in the gunboat cruising
in the Channel, and did intend to go on board before breakfast.
But you know how I was disturbed last night, and I
slept later this morning than usual. Griselda, though, was
up before the lark, and wheedled me out of my purpose.
What brought you here?” he continued, addressing Blore's
messenger, who came bowing into the room.

“The bull is bellowing, sir, with his face towards the
camp, and he's pawing up the ground, and lashing about with
his tail.”

“I'll go! Tell Blore to man the gunboat. Come, Walter,
we'll have you along, to witness the performance of the mortar.

We'll have a cruise in the Channel, and a few shots at
John Bull.”

Walter followed his uncle into the orchard, and in the direction
of the camp of Boulogne. When they entered the
garrison, they were hailed by enthusiastic huzzas, and Walter
saw the red flannel (it was a shirt) which had exasperated the
bull, thrust quickly under a gun.

The provocation removed, Johnny returned quietly to his
browsing, notwithstanding the presence of his chiefest enemy.
Then the old commander and Walter, followed by the allotted
crew, entered the gunboat, in which the mortar had been
placed, and began to cruise in the Channel. Every now and
then the mortar was discharged, throwing wooden balls which
had been picked up in dilapidated ten-pin alleys. They were
watched in their courses, and marked where they fell, to be
used again. Walter and the sergeant had likewise prepared
some bags of sand, with powder and fuses, to explode in the
air.

Thus they amused themselves, until the gunner, neglecting
to elevate the piece sufficiently, one of the balls taking a
horizontal direction, struck the orchard fence at a weak point
and prostrated it. Immediately the whole herd of cows and
giddy heifers passed through the breach and ran down to the
margin of the water, while the old bull, on the opposite side
of the Channel, lifted his head and muttered something deep
and low, which they seemed to understand, although it was
incomprehensible to the men. But they were soon made to
understand the meaning of such communication, for the cattle,
after slaking their thirst, plunged forward and swam over to
the green island.

“Treason!” cried Napoleon—“they are going over to the
enemy! Fire at the bull, and row ahead of the deserters!”

He was obeyed. A sand-bag bomb exploded over the
head of Johnny, but did not seem to intimidate him. He
ran into the water and drove back the boat, the oarsmen declining
a collision with him, and enabled the cows and heifers
to land without further opposition; and when upon his territory
they evinced much joy by playful gambols and fantastic
feats of agility.

In vain did the men endeavor to effect a landing at the
various accessible points. No sooner did they approach the
soil, than the bull charged them, and drove them back into the

waves. Once he succeeded in getting one of his feet in the
boat, and came near sinking it. At another time he tore off a
portion of the gunwale with his horn, and caused such a body
of water to flow in, that the powder was spoilt, and of course
the gun was silenced. Then the men were ordered to withdraw
from the hostile coast.

But the enemy, not satisfied with repelling the assailants,
pursued them in terror. The blood of the bull was up. He
plunged forward with the determination to annihilate his
tormentors.

“Row! row!” cried Napoleon, “or we shall be drowned.”

The oarsmen required no peremptory order to exert themselves.
The case was an urgent one, and they had quite as
much at stake as their commander. They plied themselves,
therefore, with all their powers of propulsion, and steered for
the battery, from which discharges were fired in quick succession
at the undaunted pursuers.

“Put in ball! fire metal!” cried Napoleon. But they
had no balls, fortunately, for they might have shattered the
boat to atoms, and involved friends and foes in one common
fate. As it was, the burning wadding of the cannon fell in
the boat, and would certainly have ignited the powder, and
blown them up, had it not been dissolved in the water.

At length, when the boat approached the muzzles of the
guns, the bull curved gracefully round and swam back to the
cows and heifers, and just as they began to exhibit symptoms
of a disposition to follow him.

When the discomfited party sprang out upon land, Walter
was met by the faithful messenger, Bill Dizzle, and received
the note sent by his mother. He stepped apart to
peruse it, while his uncle fell asleep reclining against the root
of an apple tree, so completely had he been overcome by exhaustion.

Meantime Mrs. Griselda Winkle had not been idle. After
the departure of her lord, she sent for the housekeeper, to attend
her in a sort of royal progress through the apartments.

“Mercy on me!” she exclaimed, when the door of the sergeant's
room was thrown open. “Why this looks like a prisonroom,
Mrs. Acrid!”

“Good enough for the old owl,” was the reply.

“But not good housekeeping, Mrs. Acrid. I have been
accustomed to see my rooms kept clean and sweet—”

“Sweet! I don't know how you'd go about making that
old beast's room sweet. I have to hold my nose every time I
come into it. You might as well talk about making a skunk's
bed sweet.”

“Mrs. Acrid, we will confer more particularly about that
presently,” said Griselda, proceeding next to the chamber
Walter had occupied. “Bless me!” she continued, “the bed
has not yet been made up.”

“Nobody will want it before night. There is no need for
being in a hurry,” was the reply of the sullen housekeeper.

“Worse still!” cried Griselda, when they entered the
chamber she had occupied herself. “Every thing just as I
left it! The bed not made—the floor not swept—the basins
and jugs not emptied—”

“Certainly they ain't, mam! That's what I was talking
to Mr. Winkle about this morning.”

“You were talking to him about it?”

“To be sure. I wanted to know if you wasn't to keep
your own room in order.”

“And what did he say?”

“He said he'd speak to you.”

“He did.”

“Well. Then I suppose you know why your room is in
the pickle you put it in. And it won't do to empty the things
out of the window, I never did so, and I've been keeping this
house twenty years.”

“Mrs. Acrid!”

“Well, mam!”

“What do you suppose will be you duties hereafter?”

“Duties! I've always done what I pleased, and when it
was convenient, and I never had such sour looks before. If
any change is to be made, I am the one to make it. I will
leave. I gave him warning this morning. My month's up
to-morrow.”

“There will be a change, Mrs. Acrid. When servants
hire themselves for wages, they must perform their duties—”

“Servants!” screamed Mrs. Acrid, throwing up her
hands.

“Servants!” echoed the mulatto cook, who had been watching
and listening.

“Certainly—servants. Are not wages paid you for performing
certain services?”

“I never before heard any body in this house called a servant!”
said the housekeeper.

“Nor I nother! I won't be called one!” said the cook,
exhibiting her bust a moment, propped by her arms akimbo,
and then disappearing, and retreating towards the kitchen,
slamming all the doors after her.

“Who was that?” demanded the pale imperturbable
Griselda.

“The cook. But she'll cook no more in this house, if she's
to be called a servant. If you want her to stay, you'd better
take back your words, and apologize. I won't stay either, if
you don't apologize to me. Nobody will stay to be called a
servant, by one who was once an apprentice, and afterwards a
milliner, who done her own cleaning, and emptying and filling!
You should recollect that, mam, if you want to live pleasantly
in this house.”

“Mrs. Acrid,” said Griselda, her white lips quivering, and
at the same time holding her purse with difficulty in her trembling
hand—“what wages do you receive?”

“I get compensation, mam—sometimes they call it salary.
The last time I threatened to leave, Mr. Winkle put it up
from eight to ten dollars a month. He soon found he couldn't
do without me!”

“Here are ten dollars Pack up your things and be off
as soon as you can!”

“Me! I—I—I'll see you in Jericho first!”

“No impudence! You have your wages. Go! Mr. Buck,
the constable, is below awaiting my orders. If you make any
disturbance, or refuse to obey, I will have you arrested and
sent to prison.”

“Me? sent to prison?”

“Yes, you—for stealing your master's spoons. The robbery
last year has been traced to you, instead of the soldiers.
Do you recollect a certain Abraham Laban, a Jew?”

“Lord 'ave mercy on me!” cried Mrs. Acrid, falling down
on her knees. “Oh, mam, have pity on a poor old helpless
woman, and save her from disgrace!”

“If you depart peaceably, you shall not be molested.
You have stolen enough since you have been here to keep you
from want. Go, and enjoy it if you can. In fifteen minutes
you must be out of the house—and mind! if you carry away

any thing not your own, you shall answer for all your thefts.
There is an eye upon you. You are watched.”

Then Griselda descended to the kitchen, where she found
the cook tossing the pots and pans about in most reckless confusion.

“Well, cook,” said she, smiling sardonically, “I have
finished with the housekeeper. I must now have an understanding
with you.”

“That's not my name!” said the cook, whirling round and
facing Griselda with a fierceness designed for intimidation.

“What is your name?”

“Amanda Ann.”

“Very well. But why do you keep the kitchen in such
bad order? The floor is covered with litter and filthy rags,
and none of the vessels are clean. All the tin is rusty and
black—”

“La, mam, nobody has a right to come in the kitchen to
criticise things! Who ever heard of the like! I'm mistress
here—and if I'm to be interfered with, I'll pack up my duds
and leave—that's what I'll do!”

“I'm mistress over all—all the rest are my servants.”

“I'm nobody's servant! I'd starve first. I've cooked
in the richest families in the city, and have never been called
a servant. And what's more, the ladies of the houses—and
they were ladies, too—never came meddling with my business.
I won't stand it! You may get somebody else that will—but
I won't!”

“How much is due you?”

“Two months. You needn't turn up your nose at them
frogs—”

“Throw them away. I will have no more frogs cooked.
If Blore won't eat chickens, he may fast.”

“I shall do no such thing!”

“I will, then!” and Griselda, snatched up the tongs and
cast the frogs into the slop barrel. “Here are your wages,”
she continued. “You must leave immediately. After hearing
your impudence, and ruining the condition of things in
this place, I would not for the world eat a dinner of your
cooking.”

“My cooking! You! You, who have lived on potato pairings
and tripe!”

“Go! Mr. Buck the constable is waiting in the next room.

If you do not depart quietly, I will make him arrest you for
stealing your master's chickens. You can no longer sell the
poultry, and subsist the rest on frogs. Mr. Buck says you
have been sending him chickens and butter for several years—
and he thought Mr. Winkle had the money. I could send
you to the penitentiary.”

“I beg pardon, mam! Don't have me taken up, if you
please! I'll do any thing you want me!”

“Then leave the premises in ten minutes.”

Griselda had no Mr. Buck in the next room; but she had
held several conferences with that astute functionary before
her marriage, and had obtained valuable information from
him. He had been her next door neighbor, and promised very
readily to become an auxiliary. He was from the land of
steady habits and the clime of keen perceptions. The bride's
antecedents he would know nothing about, if her future could
be made advantageous to himself. But if there was no Mr.
Buck in the next room, there was a housekeeper and a cook
of Griselda's own choosing, whom she had provided for such a
contingency as had just happened. She now joined them and
related what had occurred, to their infinite satisfaction. And
when the old domestics had departed, with their trunks preceding
them in a cart, the creatures of the mistress emerged
from their hiding-place in great glee, and entered with
alacrity upon the discharge of their duties.

Then Griselda retired to her chamber and arrayed herself
in one of the splendid and costly dresses she had secretly provided
for such an occasion. Little did Miss Wilsome Winkle
suppose, when she slighted the retired milliner, in the fashionable
street of Philadelphia, that the pale creature, humble
and obscure as she seemed, was at that moment meditating one
of the most lofty triumphs of woman's ambition. Long before
that day had the quiet milliner designed to become the bride
of Napoleon Winkle. She had studied his character, and ascertained
that the accomplishment of such a project was easily
practicable. Therefore, having every thing in readiness, the
demure Gusset, when so unceremoniously dismissed, as she interpreted
it, from the mansion of the rich and aristocratic old
maid, walked deliberately forth, with the firm purpose of having
the wedding consummated without further delay. And it
was a matter of secret exultation that she was enabled to settle

the matter definitively the very next day, and that, too, almost
in the presence of the high-bred Wilsome.

Of course the retired milliner had not forgotten any of the
requisite adornments of the bride. It had been her vocation
to furnish the most beautiful habiliments for others, and there
could be no reason why she should not provide fitting apparel
for herself. Hence, not only her wedding garments, but her
second and third day dresses, were all in readiness before the
time was settled for the nuptials.

When Griselda descended to the hall, she was met by her
husband and Walter.

“My beautiful bride!” exclaimed Napoleon, “I must have
a salute at parting, for I see the coach is awaiting you.”

“How you are bespattered with mud!” said Griselda,
after receiving the kiss, and glancing at the soiled exterior of
her lord.

“The infernal Eng—no—my dear, the bull. He attempted
to effect a landing, for the purpose of storming the batteries
and spiking our cannon—but—but did not succeed. When
will you return?”

“To dinner, at four o'clock. I must hasten to explain to
our friends why you have deemed it proper to dispense with
the ordinary etiquette—”

“Do. Say it was my will—and that I preferred the society
of my wife to a mob of other people's wives and daughters.
Will you not take Walter with you? He has been
sent for by his mother, and must go, I suppose, although I
shall miss him.”

The chief then bowed with dignity, and strode into his
cabinet, while Walter conducted his aunt to the carriage, which
he was surprised to find had been furbished up exceedingly.
The horses, four blacks, were in glittering harness, and the
coachman wore a hatband of gold lace, and large silver buttons
on his coat.

“This is comfortable, Gus—” began Walter.

“Gusset no more, Walter,” replied she quickly, placing her
magnificent fan against his lips. “But it is comfortable, as I
intended it should be. I will be comfortable and happy the
balance of my days. And all those who have sneered at the
humble Gusset, because she was once a milliner, shall see and
feel my importance.”

“Don't put on airs, Gusset—when we are alone, you must

allow me to call you by your old familiar name. But don't
hold your head too high in Aunt Wilsome's presence, or my
mother's. The fortune uncle Napoleon has, you know, came
from my grandfather, and should not be used as a means of
piquing any of the family. We were of the aristocracy, Gusset,
and you know that you can have no such claims to consideration.”

“I am as good as most of the proud people of Babbleton.
They made their fortunes in the shop, or their parents did
before them. Fortune is every thing, as I have observed all
my life. And now my fortune is made.”

“Very true. But you should be kind, charitable, and
generous; and not make use of the power you derive from my
uncle, to resent affronts given to the milliner.”

“I am old enough to know my duty, and shall have the
resolution to perform it. I would be pleased to have the
friendship of my husband's family; but I can scarce hope for
it. Your uncle loves you as a son, and you have always been
a pet of mine. You could do nothing to offend him, irreconcilably,
and I would bear much from you. Yet, Walter, let
me warn you not to join my enemies in their enterprises
against me. Be my friend, and you will reap advantages from
it. You may lose the friendship of your proud aunt in the
city, but you will have mine. And rely upon it, as your
enemy, you would have more to fear from the than her. Recollect
that you are poor—”

“Say no more about that!” replied Walter, angrily. “I
have been thinking several times of the consequences of this
marriage, and am just beginning to realize them. I have been
too thoughtless. Why did you wish to marry my uncle?
You, an old maid, and he an old man! If I had had my wits
about me, I should have prevented it!”

“You might have prevented it. You are the only one
who could have prevented it. But my wit was the most available.
Let us now understand each other, and act in concert.
I know your power with your uncle, and you know mine. You
might produce discord, but hardly a separation. I might procure
your banishment, but it would alienate the affection of
my husband.”

“There need be no difficulty. You have only to be kind
and respectful to our family. My mother always liked you—
but she never dreamed you ambitious or vindictive. There

will be no change in us, unless there is in you. But you
must not restrain my uncle unreasonably—that is, you must
not seek to balk his good intentions towards his family.
Act thus, and you may be happy, and we contented.”

“It will be a hard task. However, I shall not be the first
to commence hostilities. But I will put up with nothing from
the rest, that I can put down.”

“A pun, Gusset. But here we are, entering the town,
with the whole population staring at us. Where will you
stop first?—at our house?”

“No. At the Arums. Mrs. Arum was at your uncle's
mansion—your mother did not come.”

“The deuce!”

“It is not to resent your mother's absence—but to gratify
the Arums. Before we part, Walter, I have one thing further
to say. Previous to my marriage, Mr. Roland did
every thing he could to accomplish my wishes. In return, I
never omitted an opportunity of recommending him to Lucy.
Whatever may occur between them hereafter, always remember
I had in view nothing but what I deemed an honorable
and advantageous match. I used Roland as one of my instruments,
while he vainly supposed I was an instrument of his.
I believe now, that he has no idea of matrimony; and if
what I have heard be true, he is a bad man—a dangerous
man—and I feel it my duty to warn you against him. Lucy
needs no warning, for she always disliked him. I shall cut
him, and defy his worst. He may say he helped to make the
match—but I shall laugh at the boast, knowing it will never
reach the ears of your uncle.”

Walter then sprang out and hastened to his mother's mansion,
while the proud dame descended in all her glory at the
door of the Arums, which was thrown open to receive her.
Mrs. Arum embraced the now great lady. A week before,
she would not have been seen speaking to her in public.
Her daughters were entertaining Mr. Snobson with all their
might at the piano, playing and singing, while Mr. S. leaned
upon the corner of the instrument in a trance.

But all of them surrounded Mrs. Griselda in the parlor,
and uttered felicitations. Mr. Snobson inquired after Miss
Lucy, who, he said, had created quite a sensation with her
voice, and might do well on the stage. If she had any disposition
to make a fortune in that way, he thought he had influence

sufficient to procure her an engagement, and interest
enough with the press to secure her a fine reception.

“Do you mean Lucy Winkle?” asked Griselda, who still
entertained the most friendly feelings for her husband's
niece.

“I heard she was poor, and I thought it a pity for one of
her thrilling powers of voice to remain in obscurity. She is
not so perfect as some I know in her performance,” he continued,
with a significant glance at the pleased sisters; “but
she sings with effect. It is a pity she is not in society.”

Griselda made no reply to the coxcomb, but answered the
shower of questions asked by the admiring ladies, who were
in high delight upon learning that the bride had done them
the honor to pay them the first visit. After mutually exhausting
their vocabulary of endearing epithets, Griselda
arose, and was assisted into her coach by no less an attendant
than Mr. Snobson himself, amidst the admiring gaze of the
people in the street, and the sarcasms of the neighbors peeping
from the windows. The parentage and wealth of Snobson
being already known in the village, it was no small distinction
for the retired milliner to be waited on by him.

The next place at which the coach stopped was in front of
the Crudle mansion. Here, too, a rapturous greeting was
received by the bride. The old lady and her daughters, who
had been expecting the visitor, ran down the marble steps and
assisted Griselda to descend, while Mr. Fibber, whose shop
was in the vicinity, held open the door of the coach. Fibber
had once refused to credit Gusset for a few yards of dimity—
but this was Mrs. Winkle, the spouse of one of the largest
landed proprietors in the country.

“We've been playing all the morning for Mr. Parke,”
said Miss Susan, when they were seated in the parlor.

“We think him a delightful young gentleman,” said Miss
Sally.

“He's altogether of a different cast from Snobson,” said
Mrs. Crudle; “for I've heard my husband say that old Snobson,
the father of this young man, used to run about the
streets shaving the paper of merchants for the capitalists, and
received a commission for performing the dirty work.” Snobson
had neglected the Crudles.

“I thought Virginia Oakdale would have been at your
delicious party,” said Miss Susan.

“I begged her to come up,” said Griselda; “but I did not
hint what was going to happen.”

“Oh, then she wasn't invited!” said Miss Sally, tossing
her curls aside. “But do you think she is to be married to
Walter Winkle, now?”

“I did not know they were ever engaged,” said Griselda,
suggestively.

“Nobody knew it,” said the other; “but every body suspected
it. Of course it can't take place now, since he has no
prospect of a fortune.”

“And then, poor Lucy,” said her sister, “what will become
of her? Mr. Roland, I am sure, never had any serious intention
of marrying her. And as for the stranger, Mr. Lowe, I
hope she won't be fool enough to throw herself away on one
who may be, for what any body knows to the contrary, a refugee
from justice.”

“Fugitive, my child,” said her mother.

Griselda really possessed a superior mind to the rich parvenues
who had long looked down upon her with disdain, and
she was not slow to perceive, being now elevated to their level
in the estimation of the world, that no difficult task would be
imposed on her in the maintenance of her new position.

She drove next to the widow Winkle's, and was received
in the usual manner. There may have been more than usual
interest evinced in her reception, but there was no bustle, no
parade, no adulation.

Colonel Oakdale and young Parke were in the parlor, and
they uttered their congratulations without irony, and without
the warmth of expression which seeks to win the favor of a
great personage. Griselda now felt that she was in the presence
of her superiors, and sought to make no display. She
even looked with pain, at the fine clothes she wore, and which
had so completely dazzled the Arums and the Crudles. No
one asked her the price paid for her jewels, no one lauded the
imposing ostentation of her equipage.

On the contrary, when Walter came in from the post-office
with a letter in his hand, the bride ceased to share the attention
of the company.

“Why do you smile, Walter?” asked the widow, seeing
her son was amused.

“I have a letter from Aunt Wilsome—a characteristic one,
and that, you know, would make any body laugh.”

“I hope it contains no secrets,” said the colonel, “so that
I may have the pleasure of hearing it read.”

“But it does, though,” said Walter, “and must not be
read in public, at least a portion of it.”

Griselda, supposing that her wedding would be referred to
in no flattering terms by the old maid, cast an imploring look
at Walter, who understood its meaning.

“Since it has become fashionable for old bucks of my
years to marry,” said the colonel, winking at Griselda,” I
think I must fall in too. And I don't know a better match
for me than Miss Wilsome Winkle.”

After the laughter which followed the serious expressions
of the colonel, while delivering his speech, had subsided,
Walter remarked that he was very sorry the colonel had not
announced his intention a few days sooner.

“Why so, sir?” demanded the colonel. “Is your aunt
so beset with admirers that a few days sooner or later can
make any difference in one's prospects?”

“I am sorry to say they can. My aunt has selected
another.”

“Walter!” cried his mother and sister.

“It is true. She is to be married; she says so herself,
and does not impose secrecy on me.”

After this announcement Griselda departed, and was conducted
to the carriage by the gallant colonel, who, however,
returned to speak with Walter.

“Are you really serious?” he asked, on re-entering, and
seeing the widow and Lucy eagerly perusing the letter.

“Never more so in my life, I assure you. And now that
my other aunt has left us, perhaps my mother will not object
to having the letter read aloud for the entertainment of the
company.”

“By no means, Walter,” said the widow. “But it is
true, sir; she announces her purpose of marrying.”

“I am sorry for it upon my life,” said the colonel, “for I
hoped her fortune without obstruction or encumbrance would
descend to Walter and his sister. Surely the old folks are as
mad as Napoleon Winkle's bull. When do you visit the city,
Walter?”

“To-morrow, sir.”

“Then bring home Virginia. Tell her I am getting fretful,
living alone. And remember to prepare your speech for

the great meeting. I will have all the rich men of the
county there, and we'll see if we can't surfeit these fierce reformers.
Good day.”

After the colonel had departed the widow and Lucy retired
for a brief space to peruse the letter more carefully. It was
truly a characteristic one. “Isolated,” she said, “from all
family connections, influences and endearments, by the late
ill-assorted and most disgraceful match, which I alone denounced,
there is no other alternative but for me to establish
new connections, and to seek other associates, who will better
appreciate the importance of family standing, and more rigidly
conform to the rules and requirements of good society. I
shall therefore turn my back upon all my kindred, and cease
to know any of those who approved or sanctioned my brother's
foolish marriage with that impudent hussy. My deceased
brother, your noble father, had, I think, the largest share of
my father's fortune, and I suppose your mother is amply provided
with money—although I don't pretend to know any
thing about such matters. I can't tell what I possess myself,
and never bother my head about it. I suppose if one has a
fortune, and don't throw it away, it still remains. I have
not thrown mine away, and never will. If your mother has
dissipated hers, she was a fool for it, and should suffer for her
folly. I hope the impudent Gusset will scatter her fraudulently
acquired fortune, and so lead my silly brother Napoleon
to repentance. I hope she will lead him by the nose.

Mrs. Winkle laughed heartily at the letter, while Lucy
was vexed and thoughtful.

In the parlor, George Parke was entertaining Walter with
an account of Snobson's dereliction, which was in part owing
to the deteriorating insinuations of the Arums and Crudles.

“Lucy won't grieve. She saw to the bottom of his shallow
pate at a glance,” said Walter. “But if he repeats any
of the slanders of the Arums—”

“He will be careful not to do that,” said Parke, “for he
is continually hoping you will not take offence, and begging
me to explain and apologize for him. But he is high in favor
with the sisters. In their eagerness to captivate him, I saw
them pouting and making mouths at each other. No doubt
when alone they pull each other's hair. Poor Snobson! they'll
sing him and talk him to death; and if they should require
any assistance their mother will aid them. I don't think he
can escape.”

“I hope not,” said Walter, seriously. “But how did the
Crudles serve you?”

“Oh, they found out that my grandfather was Vice President
of the United States, and my father a Senator in Congress,
and they seemed to be enchanted. I was perfumed
with their curls, dazzled with their diamonds, and ravished
with the beauty of the worked borders of their petticoats, of
which I had continued glimpses. They know exactly when I
will graduate, and having unwittingly told them my age upon
entering college, they have calculated how old I will be when
I leave it.”

“Ha! ha! ha! Poor fellow!”

“I can't decide which is the most agreeable; and you
know I can't have them both, unless I join the Mormons.
Oh, you would laugh to hear them ridicule the Snobsons!
Their own pa, they say, is vastly richer than the broker, and
will some day do nothing but live on the interest of his money.
Poor creatures! They need not fear but they can have husbands.
Their attractions will secure them lovers. I hope
they may find honest men, who will take care of the wealth
their enterprising father amassed in the shop.”

Walter's mother and sister interrupted the conversation
at this point. And in reply to an inquiry from the former,
Walter announced his determination to visit the city that
evening—not so much, as he confessed, to oblige his aunt, as
to comply with the order of Colonel Oakdale. And both he
and George Parke set out for the city in the late boat.