University of Virginia Library

21. XXI.
THE LEGEND OF JONES.

During the past week Nahant has presented an
unusually lively and fashionable appearance. On
Sunday, nine hundred guests sat down to dinner
together at “the House.” I wish I could say one
thousand, but, like that boy who stated that his
father had killed ninety-nine pigeons at a shot,
and on being asked why he didn't say a hundred,
indignantly replied, “Do you suppose my father
would tell a lie for one pigeon?” my habit of exactitude
forbids. Our society is composed of people
from all parts of the Union; Bostonians, social,
affable and particularly kind and attentive to
strangers; Western people, cool, distingué, and
difficult of access; and Southerners, lively, bustling,
but close, calculating and abstemious. All
enjoy the cool and delightful breezes from the sea,

the rides upon the beach, the bathing in the surf,
which last is funnier to gaze upon than to actively
participate in; the yatching, fishing and other
amusements of the hour. Signor Blitz has been
here, performing his wonderful feats, and feet more
wonderful are nightly displayed in the drawingroom
during the progress of our hops. It gives
me pleasure to inform you that “the man who
parts his hair in the middle,” has arrived; he attended
the hop last evening and engaged in “the
Lancus” with frantic violence, being apparently
in great agony from a pair of tight boots. I discovered
him in the barber's shop, this morning,
lost in a pensive reverie before a looking-glass.
He passes much of his time in this way, and won't
try sea bathing, or chew tobacco, for fear of injuring
his complexion. “The Double Eye Glass
Club,” (D. I. G. C. they place after their names,)
are flourishing; two of them have improved so
they can see through their glasses nearly as well
as they can without them. It is quite refreshing
to see a member take down his glass to read the
morning papers, and the haste with which he replaces
it if surprised by an outsider. A friend of
mine named M —, from New Orleans, who has
always had a taste for fashionable life, and in fact
has nearly starved himself to death to improve his
figure, being anxious to join the club, went to Boston
yesterday for the purpose of procuring the
tools. Entering a fashionable jewelry establishment
he made known his wishes, and a box of
double eye glasses was placed at once before him.
“What focus would you prefer, sir?” inquired
the shopkeeper with immense politeness. “Window
glass,” replied M. solemnly, “I'm not nearsighted,
sir, I'm stopping at Nahant.” “Oh, exactly,”
said the jeweler, and he fitted out his customer
with great celerity. M. says he is afraid it
won't work, the instrument pinches his nose to
that extent that he has acquired a nasal pronunciation,
and it is painful to him to bid his friends
“Good bordig.”

Jones has been here! My first interview with
Jones was on board the magnificent floating palace

which he so ably commands. In other words,
Jones is the captain of an old steamboat, and
“'twas there we met, 'twas there we loved, and I
confessed” that he could take my hat.

The circumstances were these; I had just got
through with an animating altercation with the
clerk on the subject of my quarters for the night.
Persuaded that my health required sudorific treatment,
that individual had bestowed upon me a
very small stateroom in close proximity to the
boiler where the thermometer would have stood
at 212° in the shade. At this I rebelled, and the
clerk being obstinate and disobliging, it was only
after great exertion, and the intervention of numerous
friends, that matters were finally settled on
a peaceful basis. While sitting on a sofa in the
cabin, reposing on my laurels and hugging the
trophy of victory in the shape of a new stateroom
key, Jones approached. He is a large gentleman,
of perhaps fifty-five years of age, with grizzled
hair, prodigious nose, and a most winning expression
of countenance, calculated to sour the freshest

milk at a single glance. Seating himself by my
side, Jones revived the subject of the difficulty,
taking, of course, entirely my view of it throughout;
then looking at me with a most amiable
smile, he said, “You are not a man to get into
trouble any how; you have one of them open
faces that shows me that your only object in life
is to make yourself happy and every one around
you happy.” My face opened at once; Jones
had me; I always flattered myself I had a remarkably
ingenuous expression, and was delighted
at his ready insight into my character. He then
went below to take the clerk to task. Having
occasion to light a cigar, I passed by the office and
inadvertently overheard the conclusion of his remarks
to that individual. “My dear sir,” said
Jones, “you have one of them open faces that
shows me your only object in life is to make yourself
happy and every one around you happy!” I
saw Jones but once more that evening. He was
sitting by the side of a rather pretty, but rapid
looking lady in a pink organdie, on a téte a téte
chair in the after cabin. She appeared to be
pleased and interested by the conversation of Capt.
Jones. As I passed them on my way to my state-room,
I heard him say in soft accents, “You have
one of them open faces that shows me your only
object in life is to make yourself happy and every
one around you happy.” I observed that the
lady in the pink organdie looked at Capt. Jones
on this with a sweet expression, much as if she
had a spoonful of Maderia jelly in her mouth, and
I retired. Much later in the night I was awakened
by the unmistakable sounds of a scuffle of
some kind in the vicinity of my state-room. There
was much rustling and then a feeble voice said
“don't.” “Oh,” replied a low and soothing tone,
“you have one of them open faces that show me
your only object in life is to make yourself happy
and everybody around you happy.” This remark
was followed by a noise not unlike the drawing of
a cork, but I do not pretend to say that Capt.
Jones kissed the lady in the pink organdie; I saw
nothing. The next morning, when we landed
from the boat, Jones waited upon that lady on
shore. They were about to part, perhaps forever
— he gazed tenderly in her face — he grasped her
hand — a tear came to his eye, and he was about
to speak when I passed them. I am sorry to say
that, with unpardonable rudeness, I remarked,
“Oh, never mind, Jones, we all know she's got
one of them faces,” etc., and then swinging
my valise violently against his interminable shins,
I departed. I think Jones got angry, and have
the impression that he cursed and used profanity
as I walked away, but I am not positive, and it is
a matter of very little importance. Months have
elapsed since then and these occurrences had faded
from my memory, when happening into the office
of this mansion a day or two since, I observed a
tall, awkwardly built man, with a prodigious nose,
engaged in a discussion with Maine, our jovial
bookkeeper. Apparently something was wrong
with his bill; he had not been charged enough,
perhaps. At any rate, as I arrived the matter was
adjusted, and just as I was wondering where I had
seen him before, he remarked, “Sir, you have one
of them open faces that shows me your only object
in life is to make yourself happy and every
one about you happy.” Fully concurring in this
opinion, for Maine is something of an Apollo, I
here broke in with —“He has that, Jones.” Jones
turned, gazed and fled. The Nelly Baker took
him to Boston — free, I hope and believe; and I
trust I may never see him more. Jones has one
of those faces, etc.

The Nahant House is a great institution. I find
I have nearly concluded my letter without saying
anything about our ladies. They are many and
beautiful like the daisies on the sunny side of Ben
Nevis. They don't like their names to appear in
print you know, initials are only an aggravation,
so I will simply say that the most attractive and
beautiful married lady, and the prettiest young

lady, are from Boston, the most lively and graceful
young lady is from New York, and the most
charming widow is from Philadelphia. Jam
satis., etc.