THE PAST.
In her strange, shadowy coronet she wearethThe faded jewels of an earlier time;An ancient sceptre in her hand she beareth—The purple of her robe is past its prime.Through her thin silvery locks still dimly shinethThe flower-wreath woven by pale mem’ry’s fingers.Her heart is withered—yet it strangely shinethIn its lone urn, a light that fitful lingers.With her low, muffled voice of mystery,She reads old legends from Time’s mouldering pages;She telleth the present the recorded hist’ry,And change perpetual of by-gone ages.Her pilgrim feet still seek the haunted sodOnce ours, butnowby naught but memory’s footsteps trod.E. J. E.
In her strange, shadowy coronet she wearethThe faded jewels of an earlier time;An ancient sceptre in her hand she beareth—The purple of her robe is past its prime.Through her thin silvery locks still dimly shinethThe flower-wreath woven by pale mem’ry’s fingers.Her heart is withered—yet it strangely shinethIn its lone urn, a light that fitful lingers.With her low, muffled voice of mystery,She reads old legends from Time’s mouldering pages;She telleth the present the recorded hist’ry,And change perpetual of by-gone ages.Her pilgrim feet still seek the haunted sodOnce ours, butnowby naught but memory’s footsteps trod.E. J. E.
In her strange, shadowy coronet she wearethThe faded jewels of an earlier time;An ancient sceptre in her hand she beareth—The purple of her robe is past its prime.Through her thin silvery locks still dimly shinethThe flower-wreath woven by pale mem’ry’s fingers.Her heart is withered—yet it strangely shinethIn its lone urn, a light that fitful lingers.With her low, muffled voice of mystery,She reads old legends from Time’s mouldering pages;She telleth the present the recorded hist’ry,And change perpetual of by-gone ages.Her pilgrim feet still seek the haunted sodOnce ours, butnowby naught but memory’s footsteps trod.E. J. E.
In her strange, shadowy coronet she wearethThe faded jewels of an earlier time;An ancient sceptre in her hand she beareth—The purple of her robe is past its prime.Through her thin silvery locks still dimly shinethThe flower-wreath woven by pale mem’ry’s fingers.Her heart is withered—yet it strangely shinethIn its lone urn, a light that fitful lingers.With her low, muffled voice of mystery,She reads old legends from Time’s mouldering pages;She telleth the present the recorded hist’ry,And change perpetual of by-gone ages.Her pilgrim feet still seek the haunted sodOnce ours, butnowby naught but memory’s footsteps trod.E. J. E.
In her strange, shadowy coronet she weareth
The faded jewels of an earlier time;
An ancient sceptre in her hand she beareth—
The purple of her robe is past its prime.
Through her thin silvery locks still dimly shineth
The flower-wreath woven by pale mem’ry’s fingers.
Her heart is withered—yet it strangely shineth
In its lone urn, a light that fitful lingers.
With her low, muffled voice of mystery,
She reads old legends from Time’s mouldering pages;
She telleth the present the recorded hist’ry,
And change perpetual of by-gone ages.
Her pilgrim feet still seek the haunted sod
Once ours, butnowby naught but memory’s footsteps trod.
E. J. E.
SLY LOVE.
OR COUSIN FRANK.
———
BY MRS. CAROLINE H. BUTLER.
———
HUSBAND AND WIFE.
Back and forth, up and down—creak, creak, creak, strides Mr. Hazleton. From the back parlor to the front, from the front to the back—his head down, his lips firmly compressed, his arms crossed behind his back, while, by the knitting of his brows and the occasional jerk he gives his head, it is very easy to see that the mind of Mr. Hazleton is crossed also.
And how perfectly unconscious sits the lady in black satin upon the sofa! With what a nonchalant air she beats the time with her foot, upon the littlebrioche, to the air she is humming. The spirit of the storm—yet herself how calm! Nothing vexes an angry man more, perhaps, than indifference to his anger. Mrs. Hazleton knew her advantage, and she also knew she was idolized, as young and pretty wives are apt to be, whose husbands, like poor Mrs. ——, are a “score of years too old.” Pretty sure, therefore, of carrying her point in the matter under debate, she highly enjoyed this unwonted ebullition of anger in her usually placid husband. By degrees the features of Mr. Hazleton softened—his step became slower and lighter, and then approaching the sofa, he said, in a tone which was evidently meant to be conciliatory,
“Come, come, this is all very foolish. I think I know your goodness of heart too well, my dear Anna, to believe you serious, or that you will receive so ungraciously the child of my only sister.”
“Mr. Hazleton, I tell you again,” replied the lady, carelessly playing with her eye-glass, “you are demanding a most unheard-of thing! Were she only coming here for a few days, to see thelionsand be off to the woods again, I assure you I would be the most attentive chaperone. I would escort her from one end of the city to the other with the greatest pleasure, and load her off with ribbons, gew-gaws, and the latest novel, when the joyful moment came for my release. But a fixture for the winter—and that, too, my dear Julia’s first winter—O, heavens!”
Something very like an oath whistled through the teeth of Mr. Hazleton.
“Madam—Mrs. Hazleton—let me tell you I consider your remark as reflecting upon myself. No relative of mine, madam, can ever disgrace either yourself or your daughter, in any society.”
“Indeed!” was the cool reply.
“And I insist upon your treating my niece, Alice Churchill, not only with politeness, but with kindness—and your daughter also must be schooled to meet her as her equal.”
“Her equal, indeed!” and now the ire of Mrs. Hazleton was fast kindling to a flame. “Her equal! I would ask you, Mr. Hazleton, if the Ninnybrain blood flows in her veins?—the Ninnybrains, Mr. Hazleton, one of whom was maid of honor to a queen—another—”
“Pish!” interrupted Mr. Hazleton, “and confound all the Ninnybrains!”
“Confound the Ninnybrains! Very pretty, really—yes, so much for marrying beneath me! Confound all the Ninnybrains, I think you said!”
“Yes, and I repeat, confound them all! What have they to do with my poor little Alice?”
It was now Mrs. Hazleton’s turn to sail majestically from room to room, muttering,
“Hem!very pretty treatment—very pretty, indeed!”
While her husband, throwing himself into the seat she had just occupied upon the sofa, very coolly knocked his heels upon the unfortunate footstool. At length the lady paused in her walk, and turning to her husband, said,
“My dear,” (and when Mrs. Hazleton said “my dear,” it was no idle word,) “I think you misjudge my motives entirely for what I have said. It is only for the good of your dear niece, for of course she must be very dear to you, and no doubt she is a very sweet girl, that I have raised any objections to her becoming a member of our happy family—no doubt, my love, she would prove a great acquisition—but—hem—but I think I have heard you say your sister, our sister Churchill, was in rather limited circumstances, and has been obliged to use great economy in bringing up her family. Now I ask you, my dear, if—if—we should not be doing wrong, very wrong, to vitiate the simple, happy tastes of Alice, and render dull and uncongenial the home of contentment in which she has ever so peacefully dwelt? This surely would be the case were we to introduce her into the gay world. So perfectly unsophisticated as she is, she would the more easily be led astray by the frivolities of fashionable life. Would it not be better for her, then, better for her dear mother, that this visit should not take place?”
“No, I tell you no!—she shall come, she shall go everywhere, she shall see every thing the city has to boast.”
“That can easily be done, love, in a few days,” replied the plausible lady. “Some pleasant morning you can go with her to the Museum, and GirardCollege, and the Water-Works. When I spoke of her going out, I meant to parties—”
“And I mean to parties, and to theatres, and concerts, and—”
“You are absurd, Mr. Hazleton!”
“Go on!”
“You have no regard for my feelings!”
“Go on.”
“You would willingly mortify me, and embarrass my sweet Julia, by linking her in companionship with this uncultivated hoyden!”
“Go on.”
“And also ruin the girl!”
“What next?”
“No, let me tell you, Mr. Hazleton, it must not, shall not be. Julia shall not be put to the blush continually for the solecisms this niece of yours will commit upon the rules of etiquette!”
“Little dear!”
“And, and—and, Mr. Hazleton—Lord, I wish I had never married!” and Mrs. Hazleton burst into tears.
Mr. Hazleton walked out.
——
A BACHELOR IN CUPID’S NET.
In blessed bachelorhood had passed sixty years of Mr. Hazleton’s life. With no one’s whims but his own to nurse—no one to scold but his tailor and washerwoman, their flight had left little trace save in the silver threads with which Time weaves experience—linking the what has been to the what is and what will be. It is true, in early life he had wooed but not won, and it might be from disgust at the willful blindness of the lady of his love, he from that moment looked coldly upon the whole sex—blind to their beauty—deaf to their voices, and invulnerable to all their witchery, “charmed they never so wisely.”
But, alas! the work of years may be shattered in a moment! Hard as the heart of Mr. Hazleton had become, it melted like the frost of an autumn morning under the sunny beams of Mrs. Ketchim’s eyes! It was at Saratoga, that great hunting-ground of Cupid, that Mr. Hazleton first encountered the glances of the pretty widow. Whether that lady was in truth on a matrimonial chase cannot be definitely stated. Yet one thing is certain, no sooner did she meet with this rich, hard-hearted old bachelor than she determined to forget her departed Ketchim, and catch him—thus nobly avenging in her own person the slights her sex had received. What could not a fair and handsome widow accomplish with “sparkling black e’en and a bonnie sweet man!” Mr. Hazleton was lost.
The age of the widow was an enigma which no one but herself could solve. She did acknowledge she wastooyoung—she did also own to the interesting fact that one sweet child called her “mother.” “Ah, a little golden-haired cherub, of some four or five summers!” thought our lover. What, then, was the surprise of Mr. Hazleton when, a few weeks after their marriage, a tall, beautiful girl of seventeen rushed into the parlor, and, giving him a hearty kiss, called him “papa!”
He had abjured spectacles, using only the eyes of love, but he now for a moment involuntarily resumed them, and gazed long and inquiringly at his charming wife. He was satisfied. Mrs. Hazleton smiled as sweetly, and looked just as young and bewitching as she had appeared to him before—so he returned the filial salute of hisdaughterwith a paternal embrace, and unlocked another chamber of his heart to receive her.
Some months passed pleasantly on, and the honey-moon waxed not old. The so long time bachelor almost wept with sorrow over those lost years spent alone, and blessed the hour which had harbingered his present happiness. By degrees a little, a very little difference of opinion began to display itself—but insensibly gathering strength from frequent recurrence. Most generally, however, the husband yielded, and harmony was restored.
Julia was a lively, good-hearted girl—her faults more the result of her mother’s mismanagement than her own willfulness. In fact, it was Julia herself who first suggested the invitation which Alice Churchill received from her uncle.
“Dear me, papa, how dull it is! Pray have not you any relations?” she inquired one evening, when they were lefttête-à-tête.
This was rather a posing question, for indeed Mr. Hazleton could hardly remember whether he had any or not.
“No sisters, or nieces?” continued Julia.
“Or nice young nephews?” added Mr. Hazleton.
“Yes, papa—a cousin would be so delightful!” and here Julia sighed and looked sad. Why she sighed the reader shall know bye and bye.
This careless remark of Julia aroused a train of long banished reflections in the mind of Mr. Hazleton. Early associations came thronging upon him, vividly calling up the image of his only sister, as tearfully and patiently she had turned from his reproaches at their last meeting, to follow the fortunes of him she loved. Ere Mr. Hazleton sought his pillow, the letter to his long neglected sister was written, and not even the possession of the late Mrs. Ketchim had made his heart so light as this simple act of duty and kindness.
Mrs. Hazleton had many weak points, but there were two upon which she was peculiarly sensitive. The first, viz.—her family. The Ninnybrains could trace a pedigree almost as far back as Adam—a sprig of nobility, too, had once engrafted itself upon the family tree, which important item had been handed down from generation to generation, and Mrs. Hazleton never lost an opportunity of proclaiming her noble lineage, while at the same time she indulged an almost slavish fear of deviating from the code of gentility, inheracceptation of the term. Her second tangible weakness was an affectation of juvenility. The idea of growing old gracefully was preposterous. Although she saw the seams and creases of Time’s fingers on other faces, she wouldnot see them on her own, and while all the world were growing old around her, she resolved to set the gray-beard at defiance.
Mrs. Hazleton loved her daughter as much as she was capable of loving, yet she could not forgive her for the very contradictory evidence she brought against her youthfulness—could not pardon her for stepping forth from the nursery a tall, grown up girl, instead of quietly contenting herself with pantalettes and pinafores. The widow felt there must be a rapid race, or her daughter would reach the goal of Hymen before her—hence her conquest of Mr. Hazleton. Her own purpose attained, she then generously resolved to give Julia a chance, who, nothing loth, was summoned from a country boarding-school to catch a husband as quick as possible. To be sure this latter clause was not expressed in so many words—it was the ultimatum of the mother alone. As for Julia, she thought only of escaping from the odious Mrs. Rulem—of new dresses, theatres, and dancing till two o’clock in the morning. For once, then, Mrs. Hazleton concluded to assume maternity gracefully, and to matronize her daughter with all the dignity of the Ninnybrain school.
She was exceedingly annoyed, therefore, when she found her plans might all be defeated by the arrival of Alice Churchill. No way could she reconcile herself to this unavoidable evil. If handsome and engaging, she would only be in the way of her daughter’s advancement—if awkward and ugly, a constant source of mortification. Every device of which she was mistress was put in practice to thwart the expected visit, but that she did not accomplish her object has already been shown.
——
THE ARRIVAL.
Alice Churchill was none of those fragile beauties whose step is too light to bend “a hare-bell ’neath its tread”—whose eyes are compared to those of the gazelle, or to violets and dew-drops—with cheeks like the blush rose, and lips vieing with sea-corals, contrasted by teeth of pearls! No such wealth of beauty had Alice, but she was a very sweet girl notwithstanding—just pretty enough to escape being called plain, and yet plain enough to escape being spoiled for her prettiness. Mrs. Churchill was a widow of very moderate fortune, living in a retired village of Pennsylvania, more than fifty miles from any town of note, and which even in the year ’45, (happy little village!) could boast of neither steam-boat nor railroad. It was here she had removed with her husband soon after their marriage, and here for a few brief years their happiness had been unclouded—until the shadow of death resting on that happy home severed all earthly ties. Peaceful now in the quiet grave-yard is the sleep of the husband and father.
Seventeen summers of Alice’s life had passed away—not all cloudless, but happily—for she was kind and affectionate—in making others happy she was herself so—indeed, as I said before, although she had no wealth of beauty, Alice was rich in goodness and purity of heart. Mrs. Churchill had offended her family by marrying a poor man, and there had been little or no intercourse since that period. When, therefore, she received a letter from her brother, not only affectionate, but accompanied also by a kind invitation for her daughter Alice to pass a few months in Philadelphia, it is difficult to say whether joy or surprise preponderated. Anxious alone to promote the happiness of Alice, Mrs. Churchill, sacrificing her own feelings at parting with her child, hesitated not to accept the offer. Little did Alice know of the world, except from books. Books had been her only companions, and, under her mother’s judicious selection, these best of friends had wrought a silent influence over her mind, preparing her to meet the realities of life, its pleasures and its trials also, with rationality.
Such, then, was Alice Churchill, the innocent cause of the matrimonialfracasillustrated in a preceding chapter.
The boat touched the wharf, and the motley crowd which had been watching her approach, noisily sprang on her deck. “Have a cab, miss?” “Cab, sir?” “Take your baggage, ma’am?” “Have a carriage?” Poor Alice shrank back into the farthest corner of the ladies’ cabin, perfectly bewildered with the noise and confusion. At length she heard her own name called, and, stepping forward, she was the next moment in the arms of her uncle. Mr. Hazleton embraced her affectionately, and then, gazing long and earnestly upon her, exclaimed, as he wiped a tear from his eye—
“Yes, you do look like your dear mother!”
But this was no time for sentiment, especially as the stewardess, anxious herself to be on shore, already began to bustle about preparatory to the next trip—so, after attending to the baggage, they left the boat, and were soon rattling through the streets at the mercy of an independent cabman who “had another job.”
Who that has passed through the streets of a great city for the first time cannot imagine the feelings of our simple country-girl, as she found herself thus borne amid the busy throng—the side-walks crowded with people hurrying to and from their business—the gaily ornamented windows—elegantly dressed ladies—beggars—squeaking hand-organs—dancing monkeys—the cry of the fish-man, mingling with the noisy bell of the charcoal-vender—carriages clashing rapidly past—omnibuses rattling heavily along—dust, din, smoke—no wonder the poor girl rejoiced when the cab stopped at her uncle’s dwelling, and she found herself safe within its walls.
“My dear love, let me have the pleasure of introducing you to my niece,” said Mr. Hazleton, advancing with the blushing Alice on his arm.
Mrs. Hazleton coldly raised her eyes from the book on which they had been pertinaciously fixed, and with a slight bow and a formal “How do you do, Miss Churchill!” as coldly dropped them again.
Not so Julia, who, in spite of the lessons her ma’ma had been teaching her for the last half hour, could not see this young, blushing stranger so repulsed—she therefore rushed forward, exclaiming—
“O papa, do stand away, and let me greet my new cousin.”
“Julia!my dear!” emphasized Mrs. Hazleton.
“Now, my dear Alice—that’s your name, is it not? Mine is Julia—Julia Ketchim—horrible! don’t you think so? Now you must not wonder at ma’ma—she is a great reader—she has got hold of Carlyle—but she is very glad to see you—so are we all—but that’s her way. Come, sit down—or would you prefer to go to your room?”
“Julia, I am surprised!” and Mrs. Hazleton rang the bell.
A servant entered.
“Show Miss Churchill her apartment.”
“O no, ma’ma, I am going with Alice.”
“Nancy, attend Miss Churchill. Julia, I want you—Julia!—Julia!” and with pouting lips and a very flushed face Julia was forced to obey, but not until she had whispered to Alice, who, almost terrified, was following the servant maid:
“Never mind ma’ma, dear—she is great upon etiquette—she is a Ninnybrain you know.”
There was an attempt at a Caudle lecture after Alice had left, but to her dismay Mrs. Hazleton found her influence, like the honey-moon, rapidly on the wane! When Alice again appeared in the drawing-room escorted by Julia, who, in spite of ma’ma, had contrived to slip away to her apartment, Mrs. Hazleton for the first time allowed her eyes to dwell searchingly upon the person of her unwelcome guest. To her inexpressible relief she found Miss Churchill presented that happy medium of which she had never dreamed, viz. that although her countenance was pleasing, yet she was by no means handsome enough to cause her one moment’s fear on the score of rivalship—while her natural ease of manner at once removed her from that awkward simplicity she had expected to find in an unskilled country girl. The effect of her scrutiny, therefore, was so satisfactory that Mrs. Hazleton with a pretty, girlish air instantly embraced her, and trusted she would feel herself as much at home as under her own dear mother’s roof. Although somewhat surprised, Alice did not doubt the sincerity of her welcome, and grateful for her kindness, returned her aunt’s embrace. Mr. Hazleton gave his wife a smile of approbation, while Julia whispered:
“There, I told you so—O that odious Carlyle—I knew ma’ma would be glad to see you when she had put down her book.”
At the close of the evening, after the girls had retired, Mrs. Hazleton affirmed that really Miss Churchill was quite passable, and that if her manners only had a little of the Ninnybrain air—as, for instance, Julia’s or her own—one would hardly suspect that she had never been accustomed to good society! Upon which wondrous conclusion of his lady, Mr. Hazleton shrugged his shoulders and went to bed.
——
COUSIN FRANK
Alice and Julia were soon good friends—and by degrees Alice became the confidante of a little episode in the life of her cousin which she feared might bear heavily upon her future happiness, unless her affections were as the wind-kissed lakelet—disturbed only on the surface—the heart-depths unmoved.
At first Julia only spoke of “Cousin Frank” as being such a “dear, merry soul,” “so pleasant,” “so kind”—she next admitted that she loved him “dearly, very dearly,” indeed she did—and that he loved her just as well, poor fellow!—and finally, blushing like a rose, she acknowledged that both hand and heart were pledged to “dear Cousin Frank!”
But did ma’ma know any thing about it? Not she indeed! A pretty fuss she would make to find out she loved Frank—a poor midshipman in the navy, that had not even a drop of the Ninnybrain blood to compensate for want of fortune! No indeed! But they had vowed to be faithful, and that was enough—Cousin Frank was too proud to say a word to ma’ma until he had won laurels as well as money—poor fellow! and so Julia cried one moment and laughed the next.
It appeared they had become acquainted at the house of a mutual relative in the village where Julia had been placed at school by her youthful mother. Cousins are without doubt a very dangerous allotment of the human family, as it proved in this case, for Frank Reeve came near losing his examination before the navy-board, while Julia, instead of treasuring up the wisdom of Mrs. Rulem, was filling her little brain with love, and such nonsense—just as naughty girls will sometimes do for their cousins!
Mrs. Hazleton would indeed have made a fuss had she known of this. Far different views had she for her daughter, and she would have spurned the poor midshipman’s love as most presumptuous.
It was now the joyous season of the holydays—when happiness and mirth, pleasure and folly trip hand in hand, gladdening thisonce a yearthe beggar and the bondman, and sweeping triumphantly through the halls of wealth and fashion. Parties and balls followed each other in rapid succession, and on the topmost wave of this tumultuous sea giddily floated Mrs. Hazleton. How the money fled from the well-lined pockets of Mr. Hazleton into the hands of tradesmen and milliners—smooth hard dollars, and soft silky scraps of paper exchanged for rings and bracelets, that the dress of both mother and daughter might be all as fine as money could purchase or fashion form. Alice seldom accompanied her aunt and cousin into these gay scenes. A short essay in fashionable life sufficed for her quiet tastes and habits, and she preferred therefore remaining at home with her uncle, who was no less pleased to have her do so, as with her he could talk over the scenes of his early life, and he loved too to listen to her own artless details of mother and home. Nor was Mrs. Hazleton sorry for Alice’s decision.She was often surprised to find that her modest pretty face, and her unaffected manners, attracted nearly or quite as much attention as the brilliant charms of Julia, so that on the whole she rather countenanced her remainingtête-à-têtewith her uncle. “O you dear, quiet little soul,” she would often say, “you must marry a country parson, and knit stockings.”
One evening, Mrs. Hazleton came home from a large party in high spirits. She had marked her future son-in-law, and Julia had now only to bring down the game! Full, therefore, was she of the praises of young Herman Wallace. He was not only very rich, very handsome, very graceful, but of an ancient Scottish family—could trace his descent even from the great hero, Sir William Wallace—at least Mrs. Pryout had said so.
“But, ma’ma,” interposed Julia, “he is the stiffest, coldest mortal—a beautiful petrifaction of man! When at last you got an opportunity to introduce me,”—and Julia, sly girl, remembered how blind she had been to many winks and nods and “wreathed smiles” of managing ma’ma,—“he looked down upon me with those great black eyes—oh, so cold and disdainful—he might just suit you, Alice, but as for me—”
“Nonsense!” interrupted Mrs. Hazleton, “he did no such thing. I tell you what first drew my particular attention tohim, was his very evident admiration ofyou!”
“Indeed, ma’ma!”
“Yes, indeed, silly child. I overheard him asking who that very beautiful girl was in blue and silver—”
“O, ma’ma!”
“I don’t wonder he asked, however, for you did look sweetly. It was when you were waltzing with young Langden, and as you floated so sylph-like around the room, I could not help thinking of a portrait I once saw of—”
“A Ninnybrain, ma’ma?”
Mr. Hazleton burst into a hearty laugh, in which the saucy girl as heartily joined, and even Alice could not refrain a smile. Mrs. Hazleton was evidently disconcerted, but too well pleased with her plans to be angry.
“You will see him again to-morrow evening, love,” she continued, “and I think you will alter your opinion.”
“By the way, Alice, you promised to go to Mrs. Dashwood’s grand party,” cried Julia; “so you will be able to judge of ma’ma’s prodigy;” and then, as they left the room, she whispered, “Talk ofHerman Wallace, indeed! I would not give one of dear Frank’s heart-glances for all his frozen lordly looks!”
——
MRS. DASHWOOD’S PARTY.
The toilet of the fair Julia, for this eventful evening, was made under the tasteful eye of Mrs. Hazleton herself, who wished her daughter to look her loveliest—to eclipse all other stars in that brilliant galaxy of youth and beauty. Next, the adornment of her own person was her chief care—upon Alice she bestowed not a thought. Julia would fain have had the dress of her friend as beautiful as her own, but this Alice rejected as unsuitable, and made her appearance in the dressing-room of her aunt in a simple white muslin, her only ornaments a set of corals, the gift of her uncle. Mrs. Hazleton enrobed in crimson velvet, and Julia radiantly lovely in white satin and blonde, offered a striking contrast to the unpretending Alice.
“Well, child, you really look quite well—don’t she, love?” was the careless remark of Mrs. Hazleton, “but only see what a rich color Julia has!—I think I never saw her look so perfectly lovely—quite mature, don’t you think so?—more like me! Why what have you got on?—white muslin over aplain cambric! Mercy, had you not a silk skirt? Julia’s tunic is magnificent—I paid one hundred dollars for the lace at Levy’s. Corals are too warm, child—but they will do very well for you—they won’t be noticed. Come here, Julia, and let Alice examine the chasteness of that beautiful aquamarine bracelet—now the ruby—and look at her pin, Alice, is it not superb!”
But a brighter jewel was in the breast of Alice—a heart free from envy!
And now over the tessellated floor fair and lovely forms are gliding—music pours its enchanting strains, and voices scarcely less sweet float on the perfumed air—jewels flash, feathers wave—there are smiles on the brow of beauty, soft speeches on the lips of manhood.
But why, amid this joyous scene, is the brow of Mrs. Hazleton clouded? Admiration can find no higher aim than the charms of Julia; nor does her own ear drink in unwelcome the flatterer’s whisper—yet still the cloud is there. Would you know the reason? Herman Wallace makes not one of the festive throng. She is almost angry with Julia for being so carelessly happy—with Alice for her composure. Suddenly her eye brightens. Ah, the game’s in view! And in a few moments Mrs. Hazleton, now all smiles, presses on to the gay circle of which Wallace seems to be the attraction. She soon fastened upon him, and led him off triumphant to the spot where she had a moment before seen Julia—but Julia was gone, and Alice alone remained, quietly viewing the scene before her. Mrs. Hazleton, however, took not the slightest notice of her, but continued a ceaseless strain in the ears of Wallace. Did not Mr. Wallace like waltzing? Mr. Wallace did not. The polka? Decidedly not. Was Mr. Wallace fond of music? Not in a crowded room.
Mr. Wallace now turned his eye upon Alice. Could Mrs. Hazleton tell him who that interesting looking girl was?
“O, a niece of my husband’s—poor child! You know, my dear sir, every family cannot look back upon a pedigree like yours—like mine, I was going to say—a very good sort of girl, though, but poor, and all that sort of thing.”
Yet the descendant of a “noble pedigree” asked for an introduction to that “good sort of a girl,”which, with a very ill grace, was granted. Julia now joined them, and a lively conversation ensued, which Mrs. Hazleton with great chagrin saw interrupted. The fair hand of Julia was claimed for a dance, and away she tripped. Mrs. Hazleton, too, soon followed, to bring her back the earliest moment, leaving Alice and Wallace alone.
There was a pause of a few moments, when, with some embarrassment, Wallace said,
“The interest I feel, Miss Churchill, in a very dear friend, must be my apology for what I am about to say. He is a noble, generous fellow, but I fear has recklessly given his affections where they are but too lightly prized. You look surprised, Miss Churchill—I allude to Francis Reeve. I think you can be no stranger to the relationship existing between him and Miss Ketchim.”
“I have frequently heard Julia speak of her cousin, Mr. Reeve,” replied Alice.
“And no more! Has she never told you they stand in a far nearer light than mere cousins?”
“I will be candid with you, Mr. Wallace. Julia has confessed to me her affection for your friend.”
“Her affection! Then you think she does love him?”
“Most sincerely.”
“Is it possible! And has she a heart—she who seems to be the mere sport and puppet of fashion!” exclaimed Wallace.
“Indeed she has, and a warm one, too,” replied Alice. “You must not judge of her as you now see her—that she is very volatile I acknowledge, but most affectionate and sincere.”
“I rejoice to hear you say so,” answered Wallace. “You know not, Miss Churchill, the ardor of my friend’s attachment. True love is always jealous—and you surely then cannot blame poor Frank, when, on his return from a long voyage, he hears of her only as the gayest among the gay, receiving with apparent pleasure the flatterer’s insidious praises!”
“She is not alone to blame, Mr. Wallace. Believe me, with all her seeming indifference, she is worthy the love of your friend,” said Alice.
“I surely can no longer doubt her worth when I find her so ably defended, and by so amiable a champion,” answered Wallace, bowing. “May I then ask you to deliver her this note, with which poor Frank, in an agony of jealous doubts, has entrusted me?”
Ere Alice could reply Mrs. Hazleton and Julia joined them. What could have brought such a glow to the cheek of Alice? thought her aunt—and Wallace, too, how animated! whose eyes were bent on the plain country-girl with an expression of admiration which caused the heart of this worldly woman to swell with envy and mortification. But dressing her countenance in well-feigned smiles, she exclaimed—
“Really, you seem to be having a very interesting discussion—I have been watching you some time. Come, I am dying to know what it is—and here is Julia, too, all curiosity.”
Wallace made some cool reply to Mrs. Hazleton, and then, turning to the latter, began conversing with her so entirely different from his former manner, that she was astonished. He was no longer the “petrifaction” she had pronounced him, but animated and agreeable. She little thought how much she was indebted to the praises of Alice for this change. Mrs. Hazleton noticed this also, and her jealous fears subsided. The deer is wounded at last! was her exulting conclusion.
That may be, my good madam—but the shaft may have sped from another source, nevertheless!
“Do come into my room,” said Julia to Alice, upon their return from Mrs. Dashwood’s party. “For mercy’s sake! let me get away from that Scotch bag-pipe ma’ma is ever sounding! One would think she was in love with Herman Wallace herself—but I’m sure I am not—though, just as plain as looks can speak, she tells him, ‘Here she is—you may have her for the asking.’ If this is Ninnybrain dignity, I beg to be excused from sharing it. I wonder what poor Frank would say? But how happy you look, Alice—what is the matter? After all, I believe poor ma’ma’s trouble has all been thrown away.
‘Yet marked I where the bolt of Cupid fell—It fell upon a little western flower.’
‘Yet marked I where the bolt of Cupid fell—It fell upon a little western flower.’
‘Yet marked I where the bolt of Cupid fell—It fell upon a little western flower.’
‘Yet marked I where the bolt of Cupid fell—It fell upon a little western flower.’
‘Yet marked I where the bolt of Cupid fell—
It fell upon a little western flower.’
Ah, ah! Alice—now confess—has not this descendant of heroes been saying tender things to you?”
“He has, indeed, talked of love!” said Alice, laughing.
“Oh, excellent!” cried the giddy girl, clapping her hands.
“But alas for your theory, you were the object,” continued Alice.
“Me?”
“Yes, you—and one other—and that other was—can’t you guess?”
“No, Ally dear, you talk in enigmas.”
“Which perhaps this may solve,” and kissing her blushing cheek, Alice placed the note in her hand.
Julia screamed with surprise and pleasure, as she recognized the beloved handwriting. When she looked up her friend had left the room.
There was a light tap at the door of Alice’s chamber, and Julia entering threw herself upon her neck, covered with tears and blushes.
“Oh, my dear Alice, he has come! Frank is here—in this city! How happy I am—and—and, oh dear, what shall I do? He wishes to come and see me! Ma’ma will be so angry—I dare not—what shall I do? Dear Alice, do tell me.”
Alice advised her to accede unhesitatingly to the wishes of her lover, urging her no longer to have any concealment from her mother. Perhaps, after all, her fears were groundless, and she might sanction her choice. In any event, this clandestine intercourse must not continue, and Alice, “severe in youthful beauty,” endeavored to point out the great fault she would be committing against her parent by allowing it to proceed further. Julia was overcome by the serious manner in which Alice spoke. She had never before allowed herself to reflect upon hererror in its true light—her mother’s anger had been her only fear—but she now resolved to break the subject at once to her mother, and ask forgiveness for her fault.
——
COUSIN FRANK AGAIN.
Breakfast was over—Mr. Hazleton gone to his office—Alice to pen a letter to her mother—and Julia was left alone with Mrs. Hazleton. It was no light errand upon which she was bent, and gladly would she have followed her cousin from the room—but an encouraging smile from Alice re-assured her. Yet how to open the dreaded subject? Several times she essayed to speak, but the words died upon her lips. Meanwhile Mrs. Hazleton, in a most voluble strain, was planning characters and dresses for a fancy ball. So far as Julia herself was concerned, the Scottish Chiefs were chosen for the field of display—deciding she should go as Helen Mar, and she was now trying to fix upon some character calculated to set forth her own charms to the best advantage.
“What do you think of Die Vernon?” said she turning to Julia—“or would Flora McIvor suit my style better—perhaps Mary, Queen of Scots, or—but what is the matter with you? How stupid you are! Why don’t you speak? I declare I believe you will get to be as dull as Alice Churchill. What ails you?”
“Nothing, ma’ma—I—I only—”
“Only what? do speak!” cried Mrs. Hazleton, impatiently.
“I only wanted to tell you that—that Frank Reeve is in town,” stammered poor Julia.
“And pray who is Frank Reeve, to call such a blush to your cheek?”
“Why, dear me, ma’ma, you know Cousin Frank Reeve!”
“No, I don’t know Cousin Frank Reeve!” exclaimed Mrs. Hazleton, turning very red—“neither do I wish to know him.”
“Why, ma’ma, he is so pleasant—so delightful!”
“Is he?Well, Miss Julia, that is no reason why I should know him, or you either—and, let me tell you, if you have any ridiculous, childishpenchantfor ‘Cousin Frank,’ you had better banish it at once!” and Mrs. Hazleton looked very knowing.
“Ma’ma, I—I don’t understand you.”
“O yes you do. I have said enough—so no more of Frank Reeve. Now tell me if you can what were the colors of theVich-ian Vohrplaid—Alice knows I dare say—go and ask her.” And glad of an excuse to leave the room, Julia quickly withdrew.
Mrs. Hazleton spoke the truth—she did not know Cousin Frank, though the nephew of the departed Ketchim. She had never seen him—but she had heard of moonlight walks and tender billet-doux. In her widowhood, so long as Julia was out of the way, she cared little which most occupied her time—books or a lover. The case was now altered. She had a higher object to be accomplished, to which the plighted affections of her daughter must be made to yield—what did she care for the affections!
Poor Julia’s eyes were swollen with weeping—her head ached intolerably, but her heart ached worse. There was a ring at the door—she listened—O happiness! ma’ma was out—and there was Cousin Frank! What could Julia do! Whatdidshe do but rush down stairs and burst into a fresh flood of tears on Cousin Frank’s shoulders! Very improper, was it not? However, we will not stop to argue the matter now, but rather adopt Jack Easy’s system—finish the story first and have the argument afterward!
As interesting as our pair of lovers undoubtedly were to themselves, a third party might not form the same opinion. We will not intrude, therefore, but content ourselves with marking the result of this interview, which was that Julia from that hour appeared in excellent spirits, quite delighting ma’ma with her praises of Herman Wallace, and never once mentioning the name of Cousin Frank again—simply amusing herself when alone with kissing mysteriously folded billets, and penning little rose-colored notes—surely there was no harm in that!
In the meanwhile Wallace had become a constant visiter. Although Alice was generally in the room upon these occasions, Mrs. Hazleton had no longer any fears. Wallace to be sure was very polite and agreeable—brought her books—sometimes reading a favorite passage—of course, why should he not? and so Mrs. Hazleton herself began to treat her with more attention—but with Julia he would chat in a low voice in snug window seats, or remote corners, while she in turn seemed to lend a willing ear—blushing, smiling, and evidently very happy. “Ah, there certainly must be some understanding between them!” thought the delighted Mrs. Hazleton.
——
MASQUERADING.
Mrs. Hazleton resolved to give a party which should eclipse in splendor all those to which the gay season had given rise, and Mr. Hazleton, willing to gratify her, had placed both his purse and time at her command. For once every thing went favorably—the presiding Fates were all on the side of Mrs. Hazleton. Taste and elegance marked the upholsterer’s high finish—the rooms were flooded with that soft, mellow light which throws so becoming a shade o’er the cheek of beauty—music was to lend its charms—and the luxuries of every clime were gathered on the refreshment tables, mingled with all those tasteful little devices which the skill of the confectioner can compound. So far well, and Mrs. Hazleton, bowing to herself as she took a last survey in her mirror, pronounced the image superb!
Mr. Wallace had begged permission to bring a friend—certainly, any friend of his would be most welcome. The rooms were already rapidly filling, when trembling and blushing Julia saw Mr. Wallace approaching, and with him—Cousin Frank!And how handsome the fellow looked, too, and what a joyous, happy glance met hers!
“Allow me to present my friend, Mr. Francis—” the rest was somewhat unintelligible—and Mrs. Hazleton most gracefully bent to the modest salute of the stranger, and then turned to introduce her daughter also. It certainly was praiseworthy in Julia not to know cousin Frank, as her mother had so positively forbidden; so she merely bowed, and that, too, in the stiffest manner, which bow was as stiffly returned, and then immediately turning from her, Mr. Francis began an animated conversation with her mother. It is true that, in the course of the evening, he very formally invited Miss Julia to dance, who, with a toss of her pretty head, gave him her hand to lead her off—and that no sooner were they free from the vicinity of Mrs. Hazleton, than they both laughed right merrily, and said a great many things which must have been interesting to themselves, to judge from their looks; nay, more than this, instead of joining the dancers as they had proposed, they strolled off into the conservatory!
Mrs. Hazleton seemed blessed this evening with wonderful ubiquity of vision. She could not only look to the wants of her numerous guests, and see that each one was placed in his or her peculiar sphere for display—that the feet of the merry dancers stayed not for music—that the waiters were all in the quiet performance of their duties; but also that the actors in her private play of “Manœuvering” should not fail in the favorite parts she had allotted them. Thus when she suddenly came upon Herman Wallace and Alice evidently much engrossed by some interesting topic, and discovered the fact that the latter had never looked so well as on this evening, how adroitly she contrived to separate them by despatching Alice upon some trifling commission to another part of the room, and then, with a bland smile, requesting Wallace to go in search of her dear Julia! In a few moments, however, Julia appeared, leaning on the arm of Frank, who, by his graceful compliments, soon restored her good humor; nay, so well did he top his part in a play of his own, that, although Mrs. Hazleton’s eyes were almost blasted by seeing Wallace leading that odious Alice Churchill to the dance, while Julia herself was disengaged, she yet had not courage to break away from his flattering speeches.
“How very much your sister resembles you!” said Frank, recovering from a sudden fit of absence, during which his eyes had been watching the movements of Julia.
“My sister!” cried Mrs. Hazleton, blushing and laughing, “mysister!—my daughter you mean.”
“Daughter! good heavens!” and here Cousin Frank gave a tragedy start—“you don’t mean to say that lady is yourdaughter! O, no, it cannot be—the resemblance is certainly striking—the same expressive eyes, the same noble brow, the full red lip, and luxuriant hair the same—but your daughter—it cannot be!”
Mrs. Hazleton, however, was obliged to own the “soft impeachment,” while she mentally wished she had not visited Saratoga, or that she had allowed some other of the sex to avenge the sisterhood on Mrs. Hazleton, for here indeed was a prize which might else have been hers!
——
UNMASKING!
A few mornings after the party, both Wallace and Francis had a long and confidential interview with Mr. Hazleton, which resulted in the penning of a letter by the former to Mrs. Churchill, not, however, without the consent of the blushing Alice. Mr. Hazleton then went in search of his wife, whom he found absorbed in reflections which, could he have read her heart’s frivolous page, he would have found not at all flattering to himself.
“Ah, my dear Anna, I have news for you! Who would have thought young Wallace so much in love!”
“Ha! why what is it, Mr. Hazleton?” demanded his lady, eagerly.
“Why that he has this morning proposed.”
“Indeed! and toyou—I should have thought—but no matter, I am truly rejoiced at the dear girl’s good fortune—however, I think it would have been more proper if Wallace had spoken to me first.”
“I don’t think so, my dear,” said Mr. Hazleton.
“No, I dare say not,” replied the lady, evidently piqued; “it is to be sure a mark of respect to your—your years.”
“On the contrary, I think it a mark of respect to Mrs. Churchill.”
“Mrs. Churchill!” exclaimed Mrs. Hazleton, “what has Mrs. Churchill to do with Herman Wallace’s proposals for my daughter?”
“Nothing at all—but a great deal to do with his proposals for her own.”
“What!Alice Churchill!You don’t mean to say that Herman Wallace has made proposals of marriage toher!”
“Certainly I do—and I have given my consent with all my heart, and I doubt not, from my representations, her mother will also give hers.”
“He is a villain!” exclaimed Mrs. Hazleton. “Have all his devoted attentions come to this? My poor Julia! has he been trifling with her affections merely for his own amusement—and has he now the audacity to offer his hand to another!”
“I thought you were aware, my dear,” said Mr. Hazleton, mildly, “that the affections of Julia were already given to a very deserving nephew of yours.”
“Ridiculous, Mr. Hazleton! I should like to see Julia disposing of her affections without my consent. Pray, where did you hear this nonsense?”
“From Julia herself,” answered Mr. Hazleton. “She would have made a confidante of you, Anna, but you would not listen to her. She has acknowledged to me, therefore, her long attachment for Frank Reeve, and has requested me to intercede with you to sanction their engagement.”
“That I will never do,” cried Mrs. Hazleton, in a towering passion. “What!—consent to her marrying a poor midshipman? No, never!”
“But he will rise—he will be promoted.”
“No matter if he is—he shall never marry Julia Ketchim!”
“She loves him, my dear, sincerely,” interposed Mr. Hazleton. “It has been an attachment since childhood—would you break her heart?”
“Yes, I would—before I would consent to her becoming his wife.”
“But, my dear, will you not see your nephew, and let him plead his own cause? Do, my dear, reflect upon the consequences of what you are now doing.”
“No, Mr. Hazleton—I tell you I will not see him, and I have already forbidden Julia. If it had not been for him, and for the artful machinations of yourniece, I might have seen Julia properly allied—rank with rank.”
Mr. Hazleton could swallow a great deal, and he therefore swallowed this, though with something of a take-physic face. He then resumed:
“Since such, then, is your firm decision, I feel more free to inform you that the friend of Mr. Wallace, Mr.——”
“Francis.”
“The same—has also requested permission to pay his addresses to Julia.”
“Ah, indeed!” and now Mrs. Hazleton began to look pleased again.
“He is an old friend of Wallace,” continued Mr. Hazleton—“is of a good family—has great expectations, I am told—and, for my own part, I see no reasonable objection against encouraging his addresses—that is, if Julia herself can be persuaded.”
“I shall take care of that, Mr. Hazleton. Thank Heaven! the Ninnybrains are no such obstinate people as some other people Icouldname. None ofmyfamily ever married against the wishes of their friends, as some other people’s friends have done! Julia will receive Mr. Francis—I shall command her to do so.”
And as Julia had made up her mind to be henceforth very dutiful to ma’ma, she promised, like a good girl, to transfer all her affections from Cousin Frank to Mr. Francis, and most submissively and demurely consented to receive his visits.
The wooing sped rapidly, and the happy day was already appointed for their nuptials, when Julia took an unaccountable freak in her head that she could not be married unless Cousin Frank was present at the ceremony! Mrs. Hazleton ridiculed—Julia insisted—and finally Mrs. Hazleton concluded to do the amiable, and wrote: