CHAPTER VI {sic}
{should be Chapter VIII}
"Her dress, and novels, visits, and success."
CRABBE.
{George Crabbe (English poet, 1754-1832), "Posthumous Tales: XV
Belinda Waters" line II.31}
LONGBRIDGE was quite a pleasant village, and surrounded by a pretty country. Like most other American rural towns, it received, in the warmest months, a large accession to its population; for it seems to be a matter of course, that everybody who is able to do so, runs away from brick walls in the months of July and August, and selects some village in which to rusticate, and set the fashions, enjoy the dust and the fire-flies, fresh peaches, and home-made ice-cream.—Longbridge, in addition to the usual advantages of pure air, and brown fields, in the month of August, had something of a reputation as a place for bathing; and its three taverns, and various boarding-houses, were generally well filled with families from New York and Philadelphia, during the very warm weather.
Among others, during the season to which we allude, the Grahams were there, anxiously awaiting the arrival of the Hazlehurst party from Europe; for letters had been received, informing their friends that they might be expected at any moment. The Wyllys carriage was now seen at Longbridge every day, either at the house where their relatives, the Grahams, had taken lodgings for the season, or before the door of a neat little cottage, recently purchased by Mr. Wyllys for the widow of his youngest son, Mrs. George Wyllys. This lady, to whom the reader has been already introduced, had been left, with four children, almost entirely dependent on her father-in-law. Her character was somewhat of a medley. She was a good-hearted woman, attached to her husband's family, and always asking advice of her friends, particularly Mr. Wyllys, and Miss Agnes, for whom she had a sincere respect. She was pretty, lady-like, rather clever, and a pleasant companion to persons not particularly interested in her welfare. On indifferent topics she could converse with as much good sense as the rest of the world; but her own affairs she mismanaged terribly. All her other good qualities seemed unsettled by a certain infusion of caprice, and jealousy of influence; and yet she really meant well, and fancied herself a very prudent woman. She thought she was capable of making any sacrifice for those she loved, and therefore believed herself a model in all the relations of life. As a mother, she had a system of education, the theory of which was excellent; but there was little consistency in its practice. As regards money-matters, she talked and thought so much about economy, that she took it for granted that she practised it. After having passed the first years of her widowhood with her own family in Baltimore, she had lately become convinced that her income was not sufficient to allow her living in a large town, without running in debt. Mr. Wyllys was unfortunately too well aware that his daughter-in-law's difficulties were not the result of Baltimore prices, but of her own mismanagement. Franklin advises his friends to "take care of the pence, and the pounds will take care of themselves:" but this rule is by no means infallible. Perhaps there is no species of extravagance more common, than that often practised by well-disposed people, which consists of being "penny-wise, pound-foolish;" they will save a hundred cents on as many different occasions, and throw away twenty dollars on one object. It happens that such persons often succeed in persuading themselves that they are models of prudence, and self-denial. Such was Mrs. George Wyllys's plan; and, unfortunately, she not only brought trouble on herself, but was a constant source of anxiety to her father-in-law, who endeavoured, in vain, to counteract the evil; but every succeeding year brought a repetition of the difficulties of the former.
{"Franklin" = Benjamin Franklin (1706-1790), but the expression is usually attributed to Lord Chesterfield (1674-1773); "penny wise, pound foolish" = phrase originated by Robert Burton (1577-1640)}
At present, Mrs. Wyllys was bent upon economy in a cottage, with new furniture, purchased at a high price, at New York auctions; and it was in vain to oppose her plan, so convinced was she, that duty alone could have induced her to leave her own family and old friends in Baltimore.
"We must make the best of it, Agnes," said Mr. Wyllys, "it will be pleasant, at least, to have Harriet and her little people near us—and we may be of use to the children."
Miss Agnes agreed to the first part of her father's remark, but was far from feeling sanguine as to their being of any advantage to the children. It was a part of Mrs. Wyllys's system, to consult her friends far more frequently than was necessary, upon the education of her family, at the same time that it also entered into her plan to follow their advice very seldom indeed.
As for Elinor, she was very well pleased with her aunt's arrival in the neighbourhood; of course, she was too young and inexperienced to know the exact state of matters, and she was attached to Mrs. Wyllys, and fond of her little cousins.
One afternoon, Mrs. Wyllys had persuaded Miss Agnes and Elinor to drink tea with her, and not return home until the evening. The ladies were sitting together, in Mrs. Wyllys's pleasant little parlour, engaged with their needles, while the children were playing under the windows, in the shady door-yard.
"Shall I put the bow on the right or left side, Elinor?" asked Mrs. Wyllys, who was re-trimming a hat for one of her little girls.
"It looks very well as you have it now, Aunt;" replied her niece.
"Perhaps it does; there is a stain, however, on the other side, which must be covered," replied the lady, changing the bow. "This riband was very cheap, Agnes," she added, showing it to her sister-in-law. "Only twenty cents a yard. I bought the whole piece, although I shall not want it until next spring."
"Quite cheap," said Miss Agnes, looking at the riband; "but I don't know what you will do with so much of it."
"Oh, I shall find some use for it; in a large family, nothing comes amiss."
A pretty, little girl, about eight years old, ran into the room, and, skipping up to her mother, whispered, "Here comes a carriage, mamma, and some ladies."
"Who is it, Elinor?" asked Mrs. Wyllys, of her niece, who was sitting near the window.
"The Hubbards," she replied.
"What, Patsey Hubbard?"
"Oh, no; her cousins—very different persons. The Longbridge
Hubbards, whose acquaintance you have not yet made."
Two ladies, radiant with elegance, entered the room, and were introduced, by Miss Agnes, to her sister-in-law, as Mrs. Hilson, and Miss Emmeline Hubbard. They were both young; quite pretty; very fashionably dressed; very silly in their expressions, and much alike, in every respect.
After a few preliminary speeches, Mrs. Hilson remarked, that she was very glad Mrs. Wyllys had come to join their rustic circle.
"Thank you," replied the lady; "Longbridge is a favourite place of mine; but I have not yet seen many traces of rusticity, here."
"Why, no, Julianna," observed Miss Emmeline, "I don't think our village is at all a rustic place. We have too many advantages of communication with the city for that."
"It is true," said Mrs. Hilson, "Longbridge has always been a very aristocratic place. You know, Miss Wyllys," turning to Miss Agnes, "we have our 'West-End,' and our 'exclusives.'"
{"West End" = from the fashionable West End of London}
"I was not aware of it; but then I am really a rustic," Miss
Wyllys added, smiling.
"Yes, it is unfortunate, you should be so far from the village. Emmeline and I often pity you, Miss Elinor, for being so far from genteel society."
"That is scarcely worth while, I assure you, for we have several pleasant families, within a short distance."
"But only a very small circle, however. Now we have quite a large set of aristocratic people, in the village. Some of our inhabitants are very refined, I assure you, Mrs. Wyllys."
The lady bowed.
"You will find your two next neighbours, Mrs. Bibbs and Mrs.
Tibbs, very fascinating ladies," observed Miss Emmeline. "Mrs.
Bibbs is one of our beauties; and Mrs. Tibbs, our most elegant
dresser."
"Emmeline is going over the Court Calendar, for you, already," said Mrs. Hilson, laughing fashionably.
{"Court Calendar" = from the section of British newspapers devoted to the schedule and appearances of the Royal Family}
"Are these ladies the wives of judges?" inquired Mrs. Wyllys.
"Oh, no; Mrs. Tibbs is the lady of our physician, and Mrs. Bibbs is a 'marchande,'—she is a very fascinating lady, and has a fine flow of conversation. She was a great belle, at Saratoga, a year or two since; you may, perhaps, have met her there?" inquired Mrs. Hilson.
"Not that I know of; but I have not been at Saratoga for years."
"Is it possible? I cannot live without three weeks at Saratoga, and a fortnight at Rockaway, every year. Before I ordered my wedding-dress, I made Mr. Hilson promise I should have my own way about that. I said to him, one day, 'Alonzo, before the settlements are drawn up, I shall require you to pledge yourself to six weeks, every year, between Saratoga and Rockaway.'"
{"settlements" = marriage settlements or pre-nuptial agreements; "Rockaway" = a fashionable sea-side resort on Long Island, near New York City}
"You are fond of a gay life, I suppose."
"Very naturally; having lived in the world of fashion from my cradle, I do not think I could breathe any other atmosphere. It must be a great change for you, Mrs. Wyllys, from all the pleasures of a city-life to a small circle like ours."
"A change, certainly; but a pleasant one, I hope."
"It will be a relief to you, to find so much aristocracy among us. We have a certain clique, that, I think, must satisfy the most refined taste, and will console you, I hope, for the loss of genteel society in Baltimore."
"Thank you. I shall scarcely miss any but my friends. I go out very little."
"I regret to hear that.—We must try to persuade you to change your determination, and mingle more with society. I feel confident, that our West-End clique must satisfy the most refined taste. We expect to have a great deal of gaiety, this fall; but, just at present, we have a scarcity of beaux."
"What has become of young Mr. Taylor; he was to have been home by this time. Do you hear anything of him, Miss Wyllys?" inquired Miss Emmeline.
"His family expect him soon, I believe."
"I hope he will arrive before our summer parties are over. Mr. and Mrs. Hazlehurst, too, and Miss Graham, when shall we have the pleasure of seeing them?"
"We expect them every day."
"I hope," said Mrs. Hilson, "they will arrive while I am here, which will be longer than usual, this season, for they are painting our suit {sic} of apartments in the city. When I came, Alonzo told Emmeline to keep me until October, and she has promised me a round of entertainments, while I am with her; so that I feel particularly interested in the arrival of your friends."
"Miss Graham will dash a great deal, no doubt, when she comes back," said Miss Emmeline; "I quite long to see her. Miss Taylor must be expecting her impatiently. By-the-bye, I understand, Mr. Taylor's new furniture is now all arrived. His villa, as well as his city-house, will be very stylish."
"Mr. Taylor is a very tasty gentleman," observed Mrs. Hilson. "He seems to be very talented, in every way; formed to figure in fashionable life, as well as in business. His new house is a magnificent edifice."
"Your father tells me, he has quite finished his own house, Mrs.
Hilson; you must be glad to get rid of the workmen," remarked
Miss Wyllys.
"Yes—they have been long enough about it; but Pa has old-fashioned notions about having everything substantial, and well done; he said Emmeline and I might choose the plan, and have everything as we liked; but he must have his own time to do it in. However, it is a delightful mansion, now. It has every convenience of the most fashionable houses in the city; plate-glass, and folding-doors, and marble chimneys to the garret. Just such a house as I should like in New York; though, to tell the truth, I would not keep house for the world."
"Julianna is so delightfully situated, in her boarding-house,
Mrs. Wyllys, that she has nothing to wish for."
{"boarding-house" = at this period in American history, many respectable and reasonably well-off people and even families lived permanently in boarding-houses, rather than maintain a houseful of servants}
"Yes, we have every luxury of fashionable life, united to a very aristocratic set of boarders; and Mrs. Stone, herself, is an extremely fascinating lady. Indeed, I have been spoilt; I don't think I could endure the drudgery of housekeeping, now; though I once told Alonzo, if he would give me a four-story house, up town, with a marble front, I would try."
"You must find the situation of your father's new house pleasanter than that he has left," observed Miss Agnes.
"By no means.—That is a serious objection to our new mansion. Standing surrounded by the park, on three sides, removes us so far from the street."
"I should have thought you would find it pleasant to be removed farther from the noise and dust. What is your cousin Charles doing? I suppose you see him often, in town."
"I really do not know what has become of him," said Mrs. Hilson, languidly; for she always felt rather mortified by any allusion to her unfashionable relations. "Though Charles is in the city now, studying painting, yet I never see him. He told Mr. Hilson that he called sometimes, but I have never seen his card; in a large boarding-house like ours, with a family of forty or fifty people, there is often great confusion about visits. But, Emmeline, we are making a very unfashionable call. I am quite ashamed, Mrs. Wyllys: but we will relieve you now—I see our carriage has returned." And after an exchange of curtsies, the ladies glided out of the room. Miss Emmeline, as she passed, touched the curly head of one of the children, exclaiming as she did so, "fascinating cherub!" and then both vanished.
We have said that these two sisters were very much alike. Mrs. Hilson, however, was the most distinguished of the two, for she carried the family follies several degrees farther than Miss Emmeline. Taken altogether, she was an absurd compound. Personally, she was thoroughly American, very pretty and delicate in form and features, and thus far appeared to great advantage; but she had, also, an affected mincing manner, and drawling voice. Of course, her dress was as Parisian as possible; everything she wore was a faithful copy from "Le Courier des Dames." Her feelings and opinions; Mrs. Hilson was proud to call English in the extreme, for she had chosen to imbibe a great love of "aristocracy," and many other things which she did not in the least understand. She had a set of common-place phrases of this description in constant use, having borrowed them from an intimate friend, living in the same boarding-house, a Mrs. Bagman, an Englishwoman, of a very equivocal position. Then, she read nothing but English novels; these were her only source of amusement and instruction in the way of books; and as she followed the example of Mrs. Bagman, in rejecting every tale that had not its due share of lords and ladies, she called herself fastidious in the selection. She was a great talker, and not a day passed but what cockney sentiments fell from her pretty little mouth, in drawling tones, from under a fanciful Parisian coiffure. John Bull would have stared, however, if called upon to acknowledge her as a daughter; for Yankee vulgarity and English vulgarity are very different in character—the first having the most pretension, the last the most coarseness.
These ladies had scarcely driven from the door, before Mrs. Wyllys exclaimed: "Is it possible, Agnes, that these Hubbards are a good specimen of the Longbridge people!"
"No, indeed; one such family is quite enough for any place."
"How ridiculous they are! How can you tolerate them?"
"Now, pray, Aunt Agnes," said Elinor, "do not say one word in their favour."
"No; as regards the ladies of the family, one can say little. They are not perhaps, by nature, as ridiculous as they have made themselves. Time may do something for them. But their father is a very worthy, respectable man; you must have seen him at our house last summer. Don't you remember one day two uncles of Patsey Hubbard dining with us?"
"Yes, I do remember them; one Charles Hubbard called Uncle Josey {sic}, and he seemed quite a sensible man; the other fell asleep I know, the one they called Uncle Dozie."
"The napping uncle is the old bachelor; Uncle Josie is the father of these ladies."
"He seemed a sensible man; how came he to have such daughters?"
"They are very like their mother, who died a year or two since."
"They are very disagreeable, certainly. How often shall we be required to encounter this desperate elegance? I almost begin to repent having fixed myself at Longbridge."
"And between Mrs. Bibbs, and Mrs. Tibbs, too!" said Elinor, laughing. "However, for your consolation, Aunt, I can assure you these two ladies are far from being so very 'fascinating' as the Hubbards. Mrs. Hilson and her sister rise high above the rest of us in that respect—they are, decidedly, 'our Corinthian capital.'"
"You will find the Van Hornes, the Bernards, and several other families, very pleasant neighbours, on farther acquaintance," said Miss Agnes. "You have really been unfortunate in this specimen."
"And where did these ladies contrive to pick up so much absurdity?"
"With a miserable education to begin with, no other reading than the worst novels, and the chance association of second-rate boarding-houses, that point, I think, is easily accounted for," said Miss Agnes.
The conversation was interrupted by the hurried return of Mr.
Wyllys, who held a newspaper in his hand.
"They have arrived!" cried Elinor, springing from her chair, as she saw her grandfather enter the gate.
"Good news!" said Mr. Wyllys, as he joined the ladies. "The Erie is in, and our friends with her! They must have arrived in the night, and to-morrow morning we shall have them here."
Of course, all the family were gratified by the good news. Elinor was quite agitated, though her aunt had the pleasure of seeing her look very happy.
"Here it is," said Mr. Wyllys, reading from the paper the arrival of "'the Packet Ship Erie, Capt. Funck, from Havre, consigned to ——- ——- & Co.;' that you won't care about. But here is the list of passengers: 'Mr. Johnson, Mrs. Johnson, and a dozen Masters and Misses Johnson, from Natchez;'—strangers, you will say, but here are acquaintances: 'Mrs. Creighton, Mr. Francis Ellsworth, and servant, of Phil.; Mr. and Mrs. Robert Hazleworth, and family, of Phil.; Miss Graham, of Phil.; Madame Gigot, of Paris:' wait a moment, Nelly, all in good time. 'Capt. Flint, of British Army; Achille Bureau, of Paris; T. Davis, of Charleston; Dr. Brackett, of St. Louis;' and, though last, not least in our estimation, W. Hazleworth, of Phil.; with seventy-nine in the steerage.' Of course, for W. Hazleworth, read H. Hazlehurst; they never spell a name right. We shall have them all here to-morrow I hope, Nelly."
If Elinor said little, she thought and felt a great deal.
They were still talking over the arrival, when Mrs. Wyllys's little girl came skipping in, again, and said; "Here comes a gentleman, mamma." She was followed in an instant, by a young man, who, in a hurried, eager manner, had kissed the hand of Miss Agnes, and Elinor's cheek, before either had time to exclaim "Harry!"
It was, in fact, Hazlehurst, still in his travelling-cap. They had arrived in the night, he said, and the rest of the party was to follow him the next day.
CHAPTER IX.
"How taught shall I return?"
CRABBE.
{George Crabbe (English poet, 1754-1832), "Posthumous Tales: VI
The Farewell and Return" line I.62}
OF course, Harry was established at Wyllys-Roof. And, after a few days passed with her parents at Longbridge, Elinor persuaded Jane to pay her a short visit.
It is a pleasant moment for people of mature years, when they can sit idly by, as affectionate observers, while a gay party of young people, in whom they are interested, are chatting familiarly together, with the lively tone and light spirits of youth, free alike from the restraints of childhood, and the cares of middle age. Every varied shade of character, unconsciously betrayed by the young group—the playful remark—the just observation—the pleasing acquirement—an act of good-nature—a graceful motion—the bright eye and the careless smile—ay, even the proof of inexperience and want of worldly wisdom—all is attractive to the partial friends. They feel such a moment to be the reward of many a previous hour of care and anxiety; it is their happy privilege to mark each improvement in person, mind and heart—the fruit of past labours and prayers—the cheering promise amid the doubts of the future. Happy they, who can look upon the young people committed to their charge, with the consciousness that no important duty towards them has been neglected; happy the young person, who, with a clear conscience and an open countenance, can meet the approving smile of a parent; thrice happy the youth, who, having taken a false step at the beginning of his career, has had the courage and wisdom to turn, ere too late; that precious approbation of wise and true friends, may still be fully his; he has turned from danger, temptation and shame, into the sure and safe path that leads to everything most to be valued, even in this world.
As for our friends at Wyllys-Roof, the joy of re-union, after a long absence, gave additional zest to the first pleasant meetings of the young people, in whom Miss Agnes and Mr. Wyllys were so warmly interested. Elinor was in gay spirits—even Jane was more animated than usual, in her expressions and manners. As for Harry, he was decidedly improved; the last two years had done a great deal for him. He was now a clever, well-educated, agreeable young man of three-and-twenty, whose judgment and taste were much improved by travelling.
"A very good-looking fellow, too, Agnes," remarked Mr. Wyllys.
It was easy to gather, from the natural, healthful tone of his conversation, that in more important points, while he had gained much, he had lost nothing by wider observation of the world.
As for Jane, Miss Agnes had not expected much from her, and she was pleased with the changes she observed. Her young kinswoman's temper seemed to have become more even than formerly, and she was quite as much pleased to return to her family, as she ought to have been. It appeared natural, that everybody who saw Jane should be satisfied with looking at her. Beauty like hers disarmed their attempts at severity, and disposed them to indulgence. It seemed scarcely reasonable to expect any striking quality, or great virtue, with beauty so rare. But if the Wyllyses had thought her beautiful before she left them, they were really astonished to find how much it had been possible for her to gain in appearance. Her face was now perfectly lovely, in the finest style of beauty. Miss Wyllys was pleased to find her manners much improved; a change from the society of Adeline Taylor, and her lively young friends, to that of older and better-bred people, had been of great advantage. Jane's labours of liveliness had annoyed Miss Agnes not a little; and more than once she had ventured a remark on the subject; but her young relative had been too well advised, by Adeline and her school-companions, to believe that Miss Wyllys could possibly know, as well as themselves, what were the fashionable airs and graces of the day. Since her visit to Paris, however, Jane's manner, without her being aware of it herself, had become much more quiet and natural. During the last twelvemonth, she had not found it necessary to make perpetual exertions to attract, or retain admirers. She had learned to look upon the attentions of society as a matter of course.
The observations of Mr. Wyllys and his daughter were not all confined to the two young travellers; they watched the graceful movements of Elinor, and listened with interest to the gay remarks made in her pleasant voice. She had never been in better spirits, and was evidently happy. Elinor was really attached to Jane; and yet, never were two girls less alike, not only in person, but in mind and disposition. Jane's beauty was a great charm, in Elinor's eyes. The homeliness of her own features only increased her admiration for those of her cousin, who had always filled, with her, the place of a younger sister and pet, although the difference in their ages was very trifling. If these feelings were not returned as warmly as they deserved, Elinor had never seemed to expect that they should be; it was not in Jane's nature to do so. That Harry's arrival should have made her happy, was, of course, only natural; she betrayed, at times, a touch of embarrassment towards him, when Aunt Agnes had smiled too openly, or Mr. Wyllys had rallied too strongly; but it was graceful, like every shade in her manner.
Miss Agnes was well aware that the last two years had not been lost with Elinor, although passed in quiet every-day life. She knew, from close observation, that the character of her adopted child had been gradually approaching nearer to all she wished it to be. As the two young girls sat chatting together, Miss Wyllys could not but mark the striking difference in their appearance; but she also felt that if Jane's loveliness were a charm, even to her, knowing Elinor thoroughly, she loved her far more deeply for the want of beauty. But, of course, the world would have decided differently.
The morning after Jane's arrival at Wyllys-Roof, the young people were engaged in one of the gay conversations we have alluded to, when Mr. Wyllys called off Hazlehurst's attention.
"Harry, what was that clumsy contrivance about the French horses, you were describing to Van Horne, last night? I wanted to ask you, at the time, but you began to talk with Miss Patsey. You said something about a wooden collar, I think."
Harry changed his seat, for one nearer Mr. Wyllys, and began a long explanation of the harness used by the French teamsters.
"I have several engravings in my trunks, that will show you my meaning, sir, better than words can do."
"I should like to see them. But, are these wooden wings to the collars, as you describe them, used throughout France, or only in Normandy, and the neighbourhood of Paris?"
"We saw them wherever we went. All the carters and farmers seem to use them. They have, besides, a great deal of clumsy, useless ornament, and they contrive to want twice as much tackle as we do."
The gentlemen continued to discuss the subject of horses and harness, Harry relating, for Mr. Wyllys's amusement, many observations he had made, on these matters, in the different countries where he had been.
Jane had brought down, from her room, an arm-full of pretty things, evidently Parisian. She had just given Elinor a very pretty bag, which Miss Agnes was called upon to admire.
"My dear Aunt," cried Elinor, "do look at this; Jane, I think we must call it a sac—'bag' sounds too heavy. Look at the material—the finest cachemere. And then the colour, so rich and so delicate at the same time."
"Yes; it is a very pretty shade of ponceau," said Jane.
{"ponceau" = poppy red (French)}
"And then the shape! so Parisian! And the ornaments—"
"It is very pretty," said Miss Wyllys, after due examination.
"That is the way with everything that comes from Paris," said Elinor; "it is always so complete; not one part good and others clumsy—or good in quality, but ugly in form and colour. The French seem to have an instinct about these things; they throw a grace about everything."
"Yes; they have a perfect taste," said Jane.
"While I was up-stairs, with Louisa, yesterday," said Elinor, "we talked over Paris all the morning, Aunt Agnes. I was amused with a great deal she told me. Louisa says, there is a fitness in all that a French-woman does and says, and even in everything she wears—that her dress is always consistent—always appropriate to the occasion."
"That is true," replied Jane; "their dress is always of a piece."
"And yet, Louisa insists upon it, that they do not bestow more time and thought upon the subject, than the women of other countries—and, certainly, not so much money."
"Everything is so easy to be had, and so much cheaper, in Paris," said Jane.
"But, she remarked, that they are never ashamed to wear a pretty thing merely because it is cheap; nor to make themselves comfortable, by wearing thick shoes in the mud, and a coarse, warm shawl in a fog."
"We have not much mud or fog to trouble us, in this country;" said Miss Agnes.
"No, aunt; but we have hard showers in summer, and cold weather in winter; in spite of which, you know, our ladies must always be dressed like fairies."
"I have often heard Madame de Bessieres praise the good sense of her countrywomen, on those subjects," observed Miss Wyllys.
"Louisa maintains that the French-women have a great deal of common sense; she says, that is the foundation of their good taste; and, I suppose, after all, good taste is only good sense refined."
"I suppose it is, my dear. Louisa seems to have come back even more of a French-woman than you, Jane," observed Miss Agnes.
"Oh! I like the French very well, Aunt Agnes."
"But Louisa is quite eloquent on the subject."
"She was so very fortunate, Aunt, in having so kind a friend in Paris, as Madame de Bessieres. Louisa describes the de Bessieres as living in a delightful set of people—she mentioned half a dozen persons whom she met habitually there, as not only amiable, and highly accomplished, and well-bred, but high-principled, too. She says she used often to wish you could know them, Aunt Agnes."
"I can readily believe anything good of the intimate friends of Madame de Bessieres, for I never knew a woman whose character was more worthy of respect. It was a great loss to us, when she returned to France. She was very fond of you, Elinor."
"How kind in a person of Madame de Bessieres' age, to remember me! I long to see the letter she wrote me; Robert says I shall have it, certainly, to-morrow, when all their baggage will be at Longbridge."
"Madame de Bessieres often spoke of you, Elinor," said Jane. "She bid me ask if you remembered all the pet names she used to call you, but I forgot to mention it when I wrote."
"Just as you forget many other things, naughty girl; I must say you are anything but a model correspondent, Jenny, dear."
"Well, I can't help it—I do dislike so to write!"
"You need not tell me that," said Elinor, laughing. "But I do remember all Madame de Bessieres' kind names very well. It was sometimes, mon lapin, mon lapin dore, mon chou, ma mere—they all sounded pleasantly to me, she spoke them so kindly. But sometimes to vex me, the other children—Master Harry among others—used to translate them; and, though rabbit, and golden rabbit, sounded very well in English, I did not care to be called cabbage."
{"mon lapin" = my rabbit; "mon chou" = my cabbage, a term of endearment; "dore" = golden; "ma mere" = my mother (French)}
"Did you like the young people you met in Paris, Jane?" asked
Miss Wyllys.
"Oh, yes; the young men don't trouble you to entertain them, and the girls are very good-natured and pleasant."
"Louisa seems to think the French girls are charming—so graceful, and pleasing, and modest; really accomplished, and well educated, too, she says—all that young women ought to be."
"Yes, she says that she hopes her little girls will be as well educated as Madame de Bessieres' grand-daughters," said Jane.
"Well, I hope my little namesake may answer her mother's expectations. She is a sweet little puss now, at any rate. Louisa was quite vexed yesterday, with Mrs. Van Horne, who asked her if the French girls were not all artful, and hypocritical. She answered her, that, on the contrary, those she saw the most frequently, were modest, ingenuous, and thoroughly well-principled in every way, besides being very accomplished. She laid great stress on one point, the respect invariably paid by the young to the old, not only among the women, but the men, too."
"Yes," observed Miss Agnes; "I remember to have heard the same remark from Madame de Bessieres; she observed, that after having been in many different countries, she could justly claim for her own, that in no other was so much deference paid to age as in France."
"That agrees precisely with Louisa's opinion. She says it is a striking feature in French society, and appears thoroughly part of their character—not at all assumed for appearance sake."
"It is a duty too little remembered in this country. It seems to be only in our very best families that the subject is properly attended to," said Miss Agnes.
"Louisa likes the manners of the men for the same reason; she says that in society they are always respectful and obliging, whatever other agreeable or disagreeable qualities they may have. She remarked, that she had never met with a rude Frenchman in society; but she had, repeatedly, met with rude Englishmen, in very good company."
"What fault, pray, did Louisa find with the Englishmen you met,
Jane?" asked Miss Agnes.
"There is a certain set, who say and do rude things."
"I should not have thought that;" said Miss Wyllys.
"Oh, they have a way of making themselves disagreeable; now, a
Frenchman never tries to be disagreeable."
"One would think no one would try that," said Elinor.
"The English do, though, I assure you; at least a certain set. I don't believe any other people do. I remember one evening, Harry was very angry with a certain Mr. Ellery, son of Lord Greystone, who used to come to our house quite often last spring. Do you remember him, Harry?" she added, as Hazlehurst again approached the table covered with French knicknacks {sic}, where the girls were sitting.
"Whom were you talking about?" he asked.
"Mr. Ellery;—do you remember his manner?"
"Ellery?—To be sure I do!—Insufferable coxcomb!"
"Pray, what was his great offence?" asked Elinor, laughing.
Harry coloured violently. "Oh, it was his intolerable English manner. I have known him stretch himself out nearly full length on a sofa, on which Jane or Louisa was sitting, and stare at them, with the most sickening expression, for half an hour at a time."
"Half an hour, Harry! how can you talk so? Half a minute, you mean."
"Well, until he drove you away, at any rate. I was often surprised that you could endure it as long as you did. But happily, Louisa cooled him off after a while; though I had a strong inclination to undertake the job myself."
"It was much better as it was; it was Louisa's place to do it," observed Miss Agnes.
"But I thought you liked the English," said Elinor, with some surprise. "You were speaking very highly of several of your English friends, last night."
"I do like the better sort very much. They are fine, manly fellows, as ever breathed."
"What people did you like best?" asked Miss Agnes.
"A man who does not cherish prejudice, must naturally like the best qualities and the best individuals of all nations."
"But have you no preference?"
"There cannot be a doubt, that society is more agreeable in
France, in Paris, than elsewhere."
"Are not the French too artificial?"
"I honestly do not think them more so than the English. English simplicity often has a very artificial twist; with the French it is just the reverse; art becomes a second-nature, with them."
"We hear the French accused of selfishness—"
"I think you would find both French and English more selfish than we are. But they have different ways of showing it. The Englishman is exclusive, and reserved; the Frenchman egotistical. Reserve may seem dignified; but it often covers a great deal of cold self-love; while French egotism—not EGOISME—is often mingled with much naivete and bonhommie {sic}. Both nations, however, are more selfish than the Italians, or Germans, I should say."
"Still, you seem to like the French the best of the two."
"Well, the French generally treat Americans more civilly than the English. John Bull is very fond of giving himself airs of superiority, after a disagreeable fashion of his own. Now a Frenchman fancies himself so much more civilized than the rest of the world, that he has a good-natured feeling towards everybody but John Bull: he thinks he can afford to be amiable and friendly."
"If you are speaking of the best people in each country, however," said Mr. Wyllys; "that is not the surest way of judging national character. We must take the average."
"I am aware of that, sir."
"At any rate, you don't seem to have liked this Mr. Ellery," said
Elinor.
"Not in the least; I used to think him excessively impertinent," exclaimed Harry, and as his choler rose, while certain recollections passed through his mind, he coloured again. To change the subject, he took up the bag the young ladies had been admiring.
"What fanciful name may belong to this piece of finery; for, of course, it is not a bag?" he asked.
"Oh, it is too useful, not to have a straight-forward, common name; you may call it a sac, though, if you like. I could not think of anything more imaginative; can you, Jane?"
"I dare say, there is another name; but I have forgotten it; everything has a name of its own, in Paris."
"Your table looks like a fancy-shop, Aunt Agnes," continued Hazlehurst; "gloves, bags, purses, boxes, muslins, portfolios, and twenty other things, jumbled together."
"What sort of wood is the work-box that you chose for Miss
Patsey?" asked Elinor. "I am very glad you thought of her."
"Harry does not seem to have forgotten any of his friends, while in Paris," said Miss Agnes.
Hazlehurst looked down.
"It is some dark wood; not rose-wood, however. It is rather plain; but a serviceable-looking box," he said.
"Just the thing for Miss Patsey," observed Elinor.
"Here, Elinor," said Jane, "is the cape I spoke of;" and she unfolded a paper, and drew from it a piece of muslin which had evidently received a very pretty shape, fine embroidery, and tasteful bows of riband from some Parisian hand. "This is the one I spoke of.—Is it not much prettier than any you have seen?"
Elinor received the cape from her cousin, who was unusually animated in its praises; it was held up to the light; then laid on the table; the delicacy of the work was admired; then the form, and the ribands; and, at last, Elinor threw it over Jane's shoulders, observing, at the same time, that it was particularly becoming to her. Harry seemed determined not to look; and, in order to resist any inclination he may have felt, to do so, he resolutely took up a Review, and began turning over its pages. The young ladies' admiration of the cape lasted several minutes, and, at length, Elinor called upon the rest of the party to admire how becoming it was.
"Well, really," exclaimed Harry, looking rather cross, probably at being disturbed in his reading, "young ladies' love of finery seems quite inexhaustible; it is sometimes incomprehensible to the duller perceptions of the male sex."
"Don't be saucy!" said Elinor.
"Why, you can't deny the fact, that you and Jane have been doing nothing else, all the morning, but tumble over this Paris finery?"
"I beg your pardon—we have been talking quite sensibly, too; have we not, Aunt Agnes?"
"Much as usual, I believe, my dear," replied Miss Wyllys.
"Pray observe, that the table contains something besides finery; here are some very good French and Italian books; but, I suppose, Jane will say, those you selected yourself."
"I certainly did," said Harry; "and the music, too."
"Well, I have half a mind not to tell you, that we like the books and the music quite as well as anything here," said Elinor, colouring; and then, as if almost fearing that she had betrayed her feelings, she continued, in a gay tone. "But, why are you so severe upon us this morning?"
"Unpalatable truth, I suppose," said Harry, shrugging his shoulders.
"Pray, remember, sir, that if finery be thrown away upon the noble sex, at the present day, it was not always so. Let me refer you to certain kings, who, not content with studying their own dresses, have condescended to compose those of their queens, too. Remember how many great heroes—your Turennes and Marlboroughs—have appeared in diamonds and satin, velvet and feathers!"
{"Turenne" = Henri de la Tour d'Auvergne, Vicomte de Turenne (1611-1675), a famous French military commander; "Marlborough" = John Churchill Marlborough, Duke of Marlborough (1650-1722), a famous British military commander}
"But that was two hundred years ago."
"They were heroes, nevertheless; and, I suppose, une fois caporal, toujours caporal. But, if you prefer something nearer to our own time, figure to yourself Horace Walpole, and General Conway, some half-century since, consulting, in their correspondence, upon the particular shade of satin best suited to their complexions—whether pea-green, or white, were the most favourable."
{"une foi caporal…." = once a corporal, always a corporal (French); "Walpole" = Horace Walpole (1717-1797), English author; "Conway" = General Henry Conway (1721-1795), English general and politician}
Hazlehurst laughed.
"There it is, in white and black!" said Elinor. "Just remember Goldsmith, strutting about Temple Gardens, in his blush-coloured satin, and fancying everybody in love with him, too!"
{"Goldsmith" = Oliver Goldsmith (1730-1775), British author;
"Temple Gardens" = in London on the Thames River, next to The
Temple (an ancient English school of law)}
"Quarter! quarter! Nelly," cried her grandfather, laughing.
"True, I must confess," said Harry, smiling; "but that was more than fifty years ago. The world has grown wiser, now."
"Has it?"
"Look at our sober coats, to-day—the last Paris fashions, too!"
"Yes—but what is the reason?" cried Elinor, laughing herself. "You have just found out that finery, and a showy exterior, are of no use to you—they do not increase your influence with the ladies! We do not value a man more for a showy exterior!"
"I submit," said Harry; but he coloured, and seemed to Miss Agnes, more embarrassed by Elinor's remark than was necessary. He threw down his book, however, and crossed the room to take a place near her.
"What are you going to do this morning?" he said, quietly.
A walk was proposed, and soon after the young people, accompanied by Bruno, set out together.
CHAPTER X.
"Fashion, leader of a chattering train."
COWPER.
{William Cowper (English poet, 1731-1800), "Conversation" line 457}
MISS PATSEY'S mother was more unwell than usual; and after breakfast the following morning, Elinor prepared a little basket of particularly fine peaches, which she proposed carrying to Mrs. Hubbard, herself. Harry offered to accompany her, and Jane was persuaded to join them; although in general, she disliked every kind of motion except dancing.
The travellers had already seen Miss Patsey and her youngest sister, and they were now so fortunate as to find Charlie at home. He had come from New York, the evening before, and, of course, was much pleased to see his young friends; indeed, he showed so much emotion at the meeting, as to change colour when he first saw the three cousins enter the little gate.
"Why, Charlie, you have grown in inches; as well as in dignity, since we parted," said Hazlehurst, shaking him warmly by the hand.
"I shall never arrive at any great elevation either way," replied the youth, after shaking hands also with Jane.
"I don't know that; you have grown half a foot since I saw you, and you have done wonders I hear, as a painter. Mr. Wyllys, and Elinor, are both great admirers of your pictures."
"Wonders are comparative, you know; I believe I have accomplished more, for instance, than my mother anticipated, for she thought I was going to devote myself to signs and window-blinds."
{"window-blinds" = window shades were at this time frequently decorated with hand painted pictures}
"That is your account of the matter. But don't suppose I have not learned that Mr. Charles Hubbard is looked upon as one of our most promising young artists, and that several of his pictures are thought the best of their kind that have been painted this side the Atlantic."
"You are very much improved in flattery by a visit to Paris," said Charlie, smiling.
"Only sober truth, as you must well know, Mr. Charles Hubbard. I hope you have something here for us to look at; I am really very impatient to see some of your pictures. I wish you could have enjoyed half the fine works of art that I have seen in the last two years."
Hubbard replied that he had strong hopes of going abroad himself before long, thanks to the liberality of his uncle, and the promise of several orders from different gentlemen. Harry congratulated him warmly, though he regretted that Charlie should think of leaving home just as he himself returned.
The young 1adies paid their visit to Mrs. Hubbard in her bed-room, while Harry and Charlie talked over a hundred different things together; and after engaging Charles to dine at Wyllys-Roof, they walked home again.
"Miss Patsey's parlour really looks neater and smaller than ever," observed Harry. "And I don't think I have seen such an honest, good-natured, pleasant face as her's, since I left Longbridge. She seems satisfied now, with the idea of Charlie's being an artist."
"She is resigned to it, rather," said Elinor, "now that the matter is entirely settled."
"Charlie looks pale," observed Harry; "he has grown though, and he is no longer so very slight as he used to be."
"He seems to be well," replied Elinor; "but at times his spirits are not good. He has been much interested in your movements—quite anxious about your return."
"Charlie is a right good fellow," said Harry; "I was in hopes to see a great deal of him, this winter." At this moment Jane dropped a glove; of course Harry picked it up, and he continued silent after doing so.
"There, you see, is Mr. Taylor's new house," observed Elinor, as an opening in a grove of young trees allowed a full view of a house of some size, and very great pretensions.
Jane looked at the home of her friend Adeline with interest—Harry exclaimed, "What architecture!"
"Don't abuse it," said Elinor, "for I assure you 'Mr. Taylor's splendid mansion'—'Mr. Taylor's magnificent seat' is very much admired."
Just as the party reached the piazza of Wyllys-Roof, Mr. Taylor's barouche drove up to the door, and in an instant Miss Adeline Taylor had thrown herself, and her fashionable morning-dress, into Jane's arms.
"I was so glad to find you were staying here!" she exclaimed. "Pa and I only arrived from Saratoga last night; I did not expect you for a month to come."
"We had a very short passage for the season," said Jane, returning the embrace quite cordially.
"We seem to have taken all our friends rather by surprise, Miss
Taylor," said Harry.
"Well, if I had been in your place, I should have staid in Paris till the last minute;—though, I dare say, YOU were in a hurry to get back to Longbridge, Mr. Hazlehurst; no doubt you wanted to see ME very much. Put I wonder that Jane did not contrive to stay there."
Harry looked a little embarrassed, and Jane, too, coloured a little; though there seemed to be no very good reason that either should do so.
"Did you find Saratoga pleasant, this summer, Miss Taylor?" asked Elinor, drawing a chair near the bench where the two friends were sitting, hand in hand.
"Oh, delightful!—Every house full, from the cellar to the garret. How often I wished for you, Jane! if it was only earlier in the season I would make pa take us there again, just for the pleasure of showing off your new French fashions—you would be the greatest belle of the season."
"We need not inquire who was the belle," said Elinor; "such important news reaches even sober, home-staying people like us."
"Oh, we had half a dozen belles—all lively, pretty girls. There was a young gentleman, from Savannah, at Congress Hall, who wrote some verses about us, and called us the 'Chime of Bells;' it was a sort of imitation of 'Those Evening Bells,' and was published in the Saratoga papers. But if Jane had been there, I don't think we should have stood much chance."
{"Those Evening Bells," popular song by the Irish poet Thomas
Moore (1779-1852), arranged by Sir John Stevenson (1761-1833)}
"You think the poet would have rung a bob-major, for Jane?"
"Certainly; with her trunks full of things from Paris, she would have carried all before her."
"I don't think Jane has brought a very large share of finery with her," said Elinor.
"No, indeed," said Harry; "only five trunks and three boxes, which I had the honour of getting through the Custom-House."
"But part of it was for her friends," said Elinor.
"You would have needed a large supply, I can tell you, Jane," said Miss Adeline, "if you had wanted to out-dash us; for we determined this season, some half-dozen of us, to out-do the young ladies who were there last year."
"Did you succeed?" said Hazlehurst.
"To be sure we did. We made a firm resolve not only to change our dress six times every day, but never to wear the same dress twice. We drove several families away by that manoeuvre; but you have no idea what fun it was to us, who entered into the spirit of the thing. For two days, though, we were in great trepidation. There were a couple of Baltimore girls there, great dashers, who would not enter into our agreement; and the spiteful things actually changed their dress seven times, the two first days."
"Seven changes!" said Elinor; "how did they manage that?"
"Why, they came down to breakfast in a white dress; after breakfast they would drive in another, of course; then they would show themselves in the drawing-room, after driving, in a pink muslin, perhaps; at dinner, they wore another; then after dinner, they would change again; in the evening they wore party-dresses, of course; and after they went up stairs, they would visit each other in what they called dress night-wrappers. Now, wasn't it mean in them?"
"Very," said Harry, laughing.
"To be sure it was. Changing six times was no more than was necessary; all we 'evening bells' did, was never to wear the same dress twice. Would you believe it, after putting such a bold face on the matter, the third day they disappeared suddenly! We had a good crow, I can tell you. There was a poor little innocent there, at the same time, from Boston, who tried to beat us on another tack, as Lieut. Johnson said; they called her the blue-bell. Well, she never changed her dress, morning, noon, or night—and just to spite us. But, dear me, we only laughed—we didn't care a fig for her; although she was very pretty, she couldn't get a man to speak to her, excepting one old fossil Professor, who wore spectacles, and walked up and down with her on the piazza all the time."
{"Lieut. Johnson" = not identified}
"She was no worthy rival for the Chime of Bells!" said Harry.
"Certainly not. But I can tell you, that after we had been there a week, two of the Chime were in great danger, and one of them no less a person than your humble servant; the other was Anne Hunter—Jane, you remember Anne Hunter, who was at Mrs. G——-'s with us? Well, Anne and I were in great trouble, one day. Now, Mr. Hazlehurst, I hope you can keep a secret."
"A lady's secret?—Can you doubt me, Miss Taylor?"
"Well, mind now, you never mention it; but, Anne and I got down to our last dozen dresses, and we were pledged to stay a week longer. This was Monday, and on Thursday there was to be a pic-nic, given expressly to the Chime of Bells. At first, I thought I was the only one in such a deplorable state; but, happily, I discovered that Anne, whose room was next to mine, was no better off. And now, how do you suppose we managed?"
"Pray, what did you do?" said Elinor, laughing.
"To tell the truth, I sat down and cried; for I am high-spirited, and I could not bear the thoughts of such a mortification. But Anne is an excellent manager, you know, Jane—"
"Yes, I remember her."
"Anne had a plan that carried all off triumphantly. She proposed to me, to persuade the other three 'evening bells,' that to do honour to the pic-nic, we should be dressed alike, in a sort of uniform. Well, of course, the others agreed; but then, how to find the five dresses alike! Of course, we couldn't wear anything made in Saratoga. The poet had entreated us, in a sonnet, to be all dressed in white; so we fixed upon white batiste—but, how to get them, was the question."
"I am all curiosity—" said Elinor.
"Oh! it was beautifully done,—Anne proposed we should all write an advertisement for a trusty escort to New York, and post it up on the curtains of the ladies' drawing-room. What fun we had, while we were writing the advertisements! We took an opportunity, when we and our beaux had the drawing-room to ourselves, to vote the gentlemen out of it. After a while, they went; but, what do you suppose the wretches did, Mr. Hazlehurst?"
"Nothing ungallant, I trust."
"Yes; to spite us, they crowded to the windows on the piazza, till we dropped the blinds. Well, for a time, we thought we were safe; but suddenly Anne Hunter shouted out, and there comfortably seated in a tree close to the end window, where the blind was broken, we saw one of the young gentlemen with a note-book in his hand! We vowed we wouldn't be defeated, so we pinned up our pocket-handkerchiefs together, and, fortunately, they covered the peep-hole; and so we shut him out, at last."
"Your perseverance, under such obstacles, was truly surprising,
Miss Taylor;" said Hazlehurst.
"Was it not? We soon wrote our advertisements. Mine was very short: 'Wanted, an agreeable youth, as escort between this and New York, apply this evening, at five o'clock.' Some were very long and ridiculous; one was in verse. Well, after we had written them, we opened the doors and windows, and the young gentlemen flocked in again. Then we went in procession, and pinned them up on the curtains. Such a time as we had—talking and giggling—we were in such a gale, that, at last, some of the married ladies came out to see what was the matter. But, the best fun of all, was choosing our escorts; a great many offered, and then we examined them."
"I hope they had suitable qualifications for the office."
"Oh, yes.—I took Mr. Hunter, Anne's brother. Well, sure enough, we all set out together, the next morning; staid one day in the city; and, Thursday morning, we re-appeared with the dresses. Of course, Anne and I had taken the opportunity to get a fresh supply, besides the white batiste. We had a most delightful pic-nic. I forgot to say, that Anne's escort, the Marquis Foletti, was missing; she had to do without him—she gave him up for lost, or absconded, and we allowed her to choose another beau—when suddenly, just as we were mourning over the Marquis, he appeared on the ground, and threw himself on his knees, and made us laugh more than ever. Anne had chosen him, because he had the handsomest moustaches at Saratoga; but he could not speak English very well, and had got on board the wrong boat. What times we had! Jane, I wish you had been there!"
"Your faithful esquires were rewarded, no doubt, by the gallantry of the deed itself, Miss Taylor," said Harry.
"Of course; but we nevertheless gave them, besides, full permission to say and do just what they pleased, all that day—and you can't think how much nonsense we talked. Each gentleman took the advertisement of the lady he had escorted, and pinned it over his heart. There were several foreigners there, and you can't think how they enjoyed it; they had never had such a frolic with young ladies before, and they thought it delightful; though, to be sure, they got at last to be rather too free; and then we had to put a stop to it."
Elinor looked at Jane, to see if she seemed to sympathize in Adeline's story; but her cousin's beautiful face was still bright with the glow of pleasure from meeting her friend; no other thought or feeling was to be traced there.
"I don't believe they have any such fun in Paris, Mr.
Hazlehurst."
"Not exactly.—They have a pleasantry of their own, however, which is quite agreeable."
"I don't think I should like it. They say, a young lady dares not speak to gentlemen, nor walk with them, nor have the least bit of a flirtation. How stupid it must be!"
"But the French girls do talk to gentlemen, I assure you," replied Jane, "only they are not intimate with everybody. The young men are very attentive, too; they treat young girls with much more respect, Louisa says, than in America."
"Who cares for respect! I want to laugh and amuse myself, and have my own way," exclaimed Adeline.
"It is growing quite warm here—you will find it pleasanter in the drawing-room, Miss Taylor;" said Elinor, not caring to listen any longer to Jane's giddy friend.
"Well, if you please, I'll run up to Jane s room, and look at the fashions—I am dying to see some of her capes and collars. By-the-bye, I had forgotten two very important things. Here is a note for your aunt, Miss Elinor; some private communication from Ma; the coachman will take the answer. And then, I came over to ask you all to drink tea with us, this evening, very sociably; nobody but your own family and three or four friends!"
The invitation was accepted, as a matter of course.
"Good morning, Mr. Hazlehurst; I expect to be shut up with Jane, for three hours to come; I have really talked myself out of breath; but that is always the way, with me, as you know, of old." And the two girls, hand-in-hand, ran lightly up stairs, where Elinor, making an excuse of Mrs. Taylor's note, left them to a confidential tete-a-tete.
CHAPTER XI.
"A soldier may be anything, if brave;
So may a merchant if not quite a knave."
COWPER.
"Trade his delight and hope; and, if alive,
Doubt I have none, that Barnaby will thrive."
CRABBE.
{William Cowper (English poet, 1731-1800), "Hope" lines 201-210.
George Crabbe (English poet, 1754-1832), "Posthumous Tales: VIII
Barnaby; the Shopman" lines II.3-4}
WE have really been very remiss in omitting so long to notice the rapid strides with which Mr. Pompey Taylor had advanced on the road to fame and fortune, during the two years in which we have lost sight of him. He might have addressed, to the reader, the remark that the Emperor Napoleon applied to his secretary, after the conquest of Prussia and Austria: "J'ai fait des progres immenses depuis que Bourienne {sic} m'a quitte!"
{"J'ai fait des…" = I have made immense progress since Bourienne left me! Louis-Antoine Fauvelet de Bourrienne (1769-1834) was a French diplomat who served as Napoleon's private secretary during his invasion of Egypt}
It is a rule, in composition, it was so, at least, when people wrote by rule, to compare the little with the great. If we were to follow the direction, it would be easy to prove that these two individuals, the conqueror, Napoleon, and the speculator, Taylor, were not too widely separated for many points of resemblance to be traced between them. Ambition was the ruling passion of both; and both were alike insatiable. Bonaparte added kingdom to kingdom; Taylor, house to house; the emperor might believe himself equal to ruling half the world; the merchant felt capable of owning the other half. The one raised army after army; the other fitted out vessel after vessel. The energies of both were inexhaustible, and both aimed at an ever-receding goal; while each, in his own way, soon reached a height never dreamed of by the mothers who rocked their cradles. Nor would it be justice to Mr. Taylor, to suppose, that the love of money, alone, was the main-spring of his actions; he, too, was spurred on by the love of glory; dollars and cents were not the end, with him; he looked upon his thousands, in gold and paper, as Napoleon did upon his thousands in flesh and blood—they were but the instruments which were to open the road to fame. The man of commerce, and the man of war, were alike lavish of their treasures, when the object of their lives was in view. If one was the boldest of generals, the other was the most enterprising of merchants; and Fortune favoured the daring of both. In short, Mr. Taylor was no common, plodding trader, content with moderate gains and safe investments, and fixing his hopes on probabilities—he pursued traffic with the passion of a gambler, united to the close calculation of a miser; and yet, he spent freely what he had acquired easily.
There are merchants, who, by their education, their integrity, their talents and their liberality, are an honour to the profession; but Mr. Pompey Taylor was not of the number. We have all heard the anecdote of the young man addicted to the sin of swearing, whose conversation, during dinner, was taken down in short-hand, and, when read afterwards, shocked the individual himself. Could the thoughts and words of Mr. Taylor, during a single day, have been as fairly registered, perhaps he himself would have been astonished to find how very large a portion of them were given to gain and speculation, in some shape or other. At social meetings, whether dinners or evening parties, he seldom talked long on any other subject: he has been known to utter the word 'stocks,' just as he entered a church, on Sunday; while a question about certain lots was the first sentence which passed his lips, as he crossed the threshold on his way out. Eating his meals under his own roof; walking down Broadway to Wall-Street, every morning, at nine o'clock, and back again every afternoon at three; still the echo of Mr. Taylor's thoughts and words was 'dollars,' 'stocks,' and 'lots'—' lots,' 'stocks,' and 'dollars.' He had a value for everything in dollars—his jokes turned upon stocks—and his dreams were filled with lots. Let it not be supposed, however, that Mr. Pompey Taylor was born with the phrenological organ of the love of money more strongly developed than other human beings. By no means. He was endowed by nature with faculties and feelings as varied as other men. But, from the time he could first walk and talk, precept and example had gradually turned all his faculties in one direction; for, such had been the opinions and views of his father and elder brothers; and there was no other impulse in his nature or education, sufficiently strong to give a different bent to his energies. Under other circumstances, Pompey Taylor might have been a quick-witted lawyer, a supple politician, a daring soldier, or, with a different moral training, he might have been something far superior to either; but the field of commerce was the only one that opened to him, at his entrance into life; and it was too well adapted to the man, such as nature and education had made him, to be neglected. He found full scope, in such a sphere, for all his energies of body and mind—he delighted in its labours and its rewards.
{"phrenological" = from the pseudo-science of phrenology, which interpreted character by feeling the bulges on the human head}
Mr. Taylor had forgotten, if he had ever known the fact, that the best pleasures of this world even, are those which money cannot purchase, the severest wants those which it cannot supply. He had no conception of any consideration equal to that which riches give. Beauty unadorned was no beauty in his eyes; and he chiefly valued talent as a means of making good investments and wily speculations. He looked upon Science as the hand-maiden of Commerce; Armies and Navies existed only to defend a nation's wealth, not its liberties, or its honour. The seat of his patriotism was in his pocket; and the only internal improvement in which he was interested, was that which opened new facilities for acquiring money. It is surprising how totally such a mind becomes unfitted to enjoy and admire any great or noble quality in the abstract; in spite of a quick wit and keen organs, such men become the most one-sided beings, perhaps, in the whole human family. To moral beauty Mr. Taylor seemed quite blind; his mental vision resembled the physical sight of those individuals whose eyes, though perfect in every other respect, are incapable of receiving any impression of an object tinged with blue—the colour of the heavens. Even the few ideas he had upon religious subjects partook of the character of loss and gain; the simple spirit of true piety could never enter into a mind in the state of his. And yet, Mr. Taylor was looked upon as a happy man. Fortunate he certainly was, for wealth and luxury had risen around him almost as readily as if possessed of Aladdin's lamp. Had he been actually in possession of this gift of the genii, he could scarcely have found a wish to gratify, as money had already provided him with all it can supply in this country, and the pursuit of wealth itself was his delight. Deprived of this, Othello's occupation were gone.