Sacred to the memory of theBARON DE KALB,Knight of the royal order of Military Merit,Brigadier of the armies of France,andMajor GeneralIn the service of the United States of America;Having served with honor and reputationFor three years,He gave a last and glorious proof of hisAttachment to the liberties of mankindAnd the cause of America,In the action near Camden, in the state of S. Carolina,On the 16th of August, 1780;Where, leading on the troops of theMaryland and Delaware lines,Against superior numbers,And animating them by his exampleTo deeds of valor,He was pierced with many wounds,And on the nineteenth following, expired,In the 48th year of his age.THE CONGRESSOf the United States of America,In gratitude to his zeal, services and merit,Have erected this monument.
Sacred to the memory of theBARON DE KALB,Knight of the royal order of Military Merit,Brigadier of the armies of France,andMajor GeneralIn the service of the United States of America;Having served with honor and reputationFor three years,He gave a last and glorious proof of hisAttachment to the liberties of mankindAnd the cause of America,In the action near Camden, in the state of S. Carolina,On the 16th of August, 1780;Where, leading on the troops of theMaryland and Delaware lines,Against superior numbers,And animating them by his exampleTo deeds of valor,He was pierced with many wounds,And on the nineteenth following, expired,In the 48th year of his age.THE CONGRESSOf the United States of America,In gratitude to his zeal, services and merit,Have erected this monument.
Sacred to the memory of the
BARON DE KALB,
Knight of the royal order of Military Merit,
Brigadier of the armies of France,
and
Major General
In the service of the United States of America;
Having served with honor and reputation
For three years,
He gave a last and glorious proof of his
Attachment to the liberties of mankind
And the cause of America,
In the action near Camden, in the state of S. Carolina,
On the 16th of August, 1780;
Where, leading on the troops of the
Maryland and Delaware lines,
Against superior numbers,
And animating them by his example
To deeds of valor,
He was pierced with many wounds,
And on the nineteenth following, expired,
In the 48th year of his age.
THE CONGRESS
Of the United States of America,
In gratitude to his zeal, services and merit,
Have erected this monument.
No man surpassed this gentleman in simplicity and condescension, which gave to his deportment a cast of amiability extremely ingratiating, at the same time exciting confidence and esteem.
General Washington, many years after, on a visit to Camden, inquired for the grave of De Kalb. After looking on it a while with a countenance expressive of deep feeling, he breathed a deep sigh, and exclaimed, “so there lies the brave De Kalb, the generous stranger, who came from a distant land to fight our battles, and to water with his blood the tree of our liberty. Would to God he had lived to share its fruits!”
When General De Kalb came to the United States with Lafayette to enter into the service of America, he left his wife and children in France—two sons and a daughter. Soon after his arrival here the troubles in France arose, which terminated in revolution. In this revolution, the eldest son, who had joined one of the parties, perished under the guillotine; the second son received a commission in the army; and the Baroness De Kalb, with her daughter, fled into Switzerland. The second son remained in the service of France until the downfall of the Emperor Napoleon, when he retired from public service to the familychateauat Milon, in the vicinity of Paris, the residence of the late Baron De Kalb, before he left his native country.
THE HOUSEKEEPING HUSBAND.
———
BY ANGELE DE V. HULL.
———
Nor does he govern only, or direct,But much performs himself.Cowper.
Nor does he govern only, or direct,But much performs himself.Cowper.
Nor does he govern only, or direct,
But much performs himself.
Cowper.
Now, dear reader, do not think for a moment that Mr. Bettyman is any relation of yours. He is nobody’s uncle, cousin, or brother, though, indeed, accident may have thrown into your way a kinsman of his peculiar temperament. But if, out of the fifty thousand readers of Graham’s Magazine, forty of whom I, in my insignificance, may know but slightly, six in every town or village were to take offence at my penchant for the ridiculous, and call upon me to deny any particular caricature of any particular individual, what sort of a postage-bill do you think mine would be, allowing a letter for each very sensitive reader? Understand, then, loveliest of your sex, whichever you be, that I don’t mean any body in particular, nor any thing in general—I only mean to inform you, best reader, that Mr. Edwin Bettyman was a newly married man at the time I knew him, and had just carried his pretty little wife to his elegant but simple home near the suburbs ofhisnative place, which, of course, is not yours. As for myself, I am not fond of these half-way sort of places; I like to be in the country, amid the green fields and wild-flowers, or in town, amid its concomitants, smoke, dust, and fuss. But, as my opinion cannot possibly be of any consequence to any body, I will merely mention that Mr. and Mrs. Bettyman both disagreed with me, and were delighted with their location. The house was unexceptionable—a large, airy cottage, with front and back piazzas, a fine yard, and the greenest of grass-plots on either side of the gate, around which was a hedge of juniper in beautiful luxuriance.
Mrs. Bettyman was enchanted. The furniture was light and graceful; Edwin had guessed her own taste, and she ran about surveying her new home as blithe of heart as any bride on earth. As to household affairs, she knew enough to call herself an accomplishedménagère, and shaking back her sunny curls, she gayly challenged her cousin Isabel and myself to dine with her that day week. So “all went merry as a marriage bell;” and as we returned home Isabel expressed her satisfaction at the choice Edwin had made, and the sweet relative he had given her, for, as I ought to have mentioned before, she washiscousin.
“They seem well matched,” said I, musingly, and half sadly, too. “I wonder, now, how much there is for each to learn of the other. How many failings to come out, like dark spots upon the deep, clear blue of love’s happy horizon.”
“Why really, you grow fanciful,” laughed my companion. “Surely they must know one another by this time!”
I opened my eyes in wonder. The idea of any man or woman being aught but a faultless monster, after three weeks’ marriage, was preposterous in the extreme. How few weddings there would be, were lovers sent to the Palace of Truth for a month or two.
“Does not Josephine think her husband free from faults, Isabel?” asked I, after a pause.
“I fear that she does,” said she, smiling, “but,” added earnestly, “I hope not. Even I, who have been Edwin’s favorite cousin, cannot presume to say what kind of a husband he will be. A very pleasant acquaintance may become a disagreeable person to live with; a gentle manner may conceal an evil heart. Not that I suspect Edwin of either, but you have conjured me into seriousness somehow, and I begin to doubt the existence of that perfect happiness supposed to follow the union of two loving hearts.”
“A poet’s dream,” exclaimed I. “The Eden of early faith changes too soon to dread and despair. There is no perfect bliss on earth, and of quiet, sober happiness, how few instances!”
Isabel turned toward me with an air of astonishment that amused while it abashed me. I might be accused of experimental knowledge and I looked away.
“Have you foresworn marriage, my dear, or have you had an escape after a sentence of banishment to the Palace of Truth?”
Just as I said—an accusation in set terms. So I laughed very affectedly at my homilies, and confessed that I was in a reflective mood. We changed the subject, and went home through a pleasant wood, stopping a while to choose some bright wild-flower, or watch the “lazy pacing clouds” pile themselves into enormous masses of blue and silver, to melt away into mysterious shapes as we gazed.
Some time after this I was called away and remained absent for several months. On my return, I found Isabel Stewart an inmate of her Cousin Edwin’s house, having lost her only near relative, an old uncle, during my absence. As we had been dear friends from early childhood, I gladly accepted an invitation to spend a portion of my time with her, and drove out “armes et baggage” to the pretty residence of my hero and his lovely wife, too willing to escape from the thraldom of a hotel life.
Isabel was paler and thinner, and threw herself without speaking into my arms. Josephine was as pretty as ever, as cordial and hospitable as hostess could be. But she had lost that catching gayety that so enchanted me at the time of her marriage, and seemed to grow timid as her husband’s step was heard upon the gravel-walk.
“How do you do, my dear Miss Ellen?” said he,taking my hand and shaking it heartily. “I am glad to see you once more. Have you had lunch yet? No. Josephine, my love, how could you neglect your guest?”
“I this moment arrived,” said I, smiling and seating myself. “Do let us take breath before you send Josy off to the pantry. Knowing her boast of housekeeping accomplishments, I am sure of a grand lunch by and bye.”
She smiled and answered cheerfully, “Oh, you must not remember what a braggart I was, Ellen. Edwin is not at all pleased with my housekeeping, and pretends that I know nothing about it. But itistime to get something to refresh you after your drive, so excuse me, I leave you with Isabel—and you want no better companion.”
“No better, indeed,” said I, drawing her closer to me as Josephine left the apartment. “Now do tell me, dear Isabel, all about yourself, for you have not written me very explicitly since your change of residence. Are you happy here?”
And receiving an answer in the affirmative, we talked, like two egotists, of nothing but ourselves until summoned to the dining-room.
Mr. Bettyman seemed to me afussyman—(dear reader, youmustunderstand the term.) He got up and unlocked the sideboard, looked very mysterious as he examined the decanters, took one out, relocked the door, and returned to his seat. The wine-glasses were as usual at each place. Taking mine, he was about to fill it when something attracted his attention, and he tittered an exclamation of tragical amazement.
“Is it possible! Cracked already! Not eight months since we came here and another glass ruined. Two wine-glasses cracked—I cannot say how may tumblers broken—”
“Only one, Edwin,” said his wife, blushing slightly as she glanced at me. “And that, you know, cracked from the ice with which it was filled.”
“Ay, always some excuse. It is perfectly useless, my dear Miss Ellen,” interrupted he, and I expected from the expression of wo he assumed, to see him burst into tears, “it is perfectly useless for me to purchase any articles of value for my house. Every thing goes to ruin;” and he shrugged his shoulders, mournfully looking around for sympathy.
“And in the meantime, Ellen is waiting for a glass of wine,” said Isabel, “and I for a piece of that tongue before you.”
“Oh! I beg pardon—I am neglecting my duty as host; but you must really excuse me, I am so shocked—so often surprised at the destruction of property—”
“Josy, do give Ellen some of that pine-apple jam,” interrupted Isabel, looking as though she had not heard Mr. Bettyman speak, “I want her to see what excellent preservers we are. Indeed, I never tasted better sweetmeats than those we made this season.”
“Nearly an entire barrel of the finest crush sugar consumed! I hope that Josephine will acquire more knowledge of economy as she grows older,” said Mr. Bettyman, encouragingly. “A half pound to three-quarters of fruit, I remember, was my mother’s rule—and I mentioned this to Josephine.”
“My dear cousin, what a pity you were not born an old lady!” said Isabel, gravely, “you are too good for a man.”
My politeness was very nearly upset by this sally, and I looked at Edwin. He seemed ratherflattered, yet doubtfully examined his cousin’s eyes, deceived by the gravity of her tone into an assurance of her sincerity. Still the appellation of old woman was not very respectful, and while he pondered in silence, we talked without further interruption. His wife was evidently mortified, as must be the case on the introduction of any stranger into her domestic circle; but her sweet and amiable manner throughout all, was truly commendable. I must own my perfect astonishment at Mr. Bettyman’s meddling disposition. I had never seen such an exhibition before, but concealed my feelings, andate lunch enough to frighten him, had he been actuated by avarice. But he was not a “stingy man;” he had no meanness about him. Providing handsomely for his house, lavishing every comfort upon his wife, loving her with true devotion, he embittered her life by this love of control, this singular passion for leaving his sphere of husband to interfere with her household cares in a way as unmanly as it was annoying. His place was as intrusive there as Josephine’s would have been in his counting-room. As well might she seat herself at his desk and examine his books—and what would he have thought and said, had she ever attempted it? Surely Mr. Bettyman, like Lady Macbeth, unsexed himself.
Isabel and I were too busy chatting to notice his display of old ladyism, by any remark to one another; and as I then concluded it to be merely an accidental humor of Mr. Bettyman’s, I descended to the breakfast-room the next morning, more and more delighted with my change of apartments, from the refreshing sleep I had enjoyed.
“Come, Ellen,” said Josephine, as she bade me good morning, “do justice to my cook’s rolls. You never eat better bread in your life; and as for fresh butter, look at it and then taste it.”
“Josy grows vain,” said Isabel, putting an egg into my cup. “She will tell you how much smarter her hens are than city hens.”
“Indeed they are,” cried Josephine, laughing. “You shall visit my poultry-yard this morning, Ellen, and see what a collection I have. Dorking, Bucks County, Polish, Chinese, Java, etc., to say nothing of native hens to the manor born. And such broods of chickens—pretty little creatures!”
And breakfast passed very pleasantly, Mr. Bettyman making himself agreeable without being useful, until Josephine was ready to give her orders for the morning and show me her pretty place. To the poultry-yard we were going, sun-bonnets in hand, when Edwin mounted the steps, wearing a most unhappy look, and holding in the tips of his fingers, a something that seemed a conglomeration of mud, mire, and cloth.
“My dear Josy, do look at this! One of those excellent cup-towels in the ground—buried actually in the ground! This is really too bad! You should see to your servants—you seem to take no interest in any thing about your domestic affairs. Just see this towel!”and Mr. Bettyman contemplated it with a look of sorrow, as though it had been a deceased friend instead of the skeleton of a bit of crash. Isabel descended the steps and taking it from him, examined it in the four corners. At length she looked up, and the wonder is to me how she could preserve her gravity.
“Was your mother’s maiden name Brown?” asked she withsuchan innocent look!
“Why surely not, Isabel,” replied he, surprised. “Why you must know—what did you ask for?”
“Because this towel is marked Brown, printed in large letters, and as your name is Bettyman and Josy’s was Singleton, I cannot imagine to whom it belongs.”
“Oh! it must have fallen over the wall, Miss Isabel, and belongs next door. Mrs. Brown lives in there, and I expect it blew over with the wind and rain lately. I’ll wash it out and carry it home,” said the servant, as she took it from Isabel, who turned smilingly to Josephine, while Mr. Bettyman walked away a little disconcerted.
As for myself, I opened my eyes to twice their usual size, and pulled my long bonnet over them, to hide my wonder. While we were admiring Josy’s beautiful poultry, her husband came running toward us, and I dreaded some other muddy discovery; but it was to bid us good morning, and kiss his wife before he drove off to the city. As I remarked his sincere look of affection when he pressed his lips to her blooming cheek, I could not help sighing as I remembered how grieved she was at his reproach, “you take no interest in your domestic affairs.” He might speak kindly now, but he had spoiled her pleasure for the hour, and seemed to feel no extra gratitude for her perfect freedom from every thing like resentment. Her smile was so sweet and winning, that I felt like reminding him how little he deserved it, after hisbêtises. She left us to get a basket for the eggs that were scattered in great profusion about the nice nests ranged along the side of the coop; and where the cackling and clucking of a hundred hens was a safe preventive against overhearing, I exclaimed to my companion,
“Isabel! what sort of alusus naturæis your Cousin Edwin? If it would not be considered offensive, I should offer him a petticoat, and make one long enough to cover his pantaloons and boots.”
“And he would do honor to it, Ellen,” was the reply. “This Miss Molly-mania of Edwin’s is the one spot that has risen on Josephine’s otherwise happy union. She is the loveliest woman I ever knew, so sweet and patient; and I feel so provoked at her husband that I often am afraid to do mischief by interfering. But I cannot help it! As ridiculous as it is—as it helps to make him—we cannot laugh at it, because it is an evil—a source of serious unhappiness in any household. And Josy bears it so nobly! And never smiles when at times I cannot contain my amusement even before him. I am afraid he is incurable, for if he is not content with her neatness and order, an angel’s efforts could not please him. I wish you would think of some cure for his disease.”
“I’d put a cap on him, and make him mend his own stockings,” said I, with more indignation than dignity; but Josephine was at the gate, and after filling the basket with what New Orleans calls creole eggs, a fortune to the one who could have taken them to St. Mary’s Market, we returned to the house and spent a pleasant morning together.
Fortunately no further opportunities presented themselves to Mr. Bettyman, and I found him a very pleasant, well-informed person, capable of being as entertaining as he had been in the beginning disagreeable. Two more delightful days I never passed, when on the third morning I heard Mr. Bettyman give orders to take back his rockaway to the stable, as he intended remaining at home for the day. Isabel lifted her hands in dismay, as he leant out of the window, and I guessed that we were to be favored with some more of his attempts at housekeeping. Ah! and so we were! I saw him enter Josy’s pantry, putting on a light blouse, and soon after he came in to us, his head pretty well powdered. He had been at the flour-barrel!
“My dear! the flour goes very fast. Two weeks since that barrel was opened, and there is, I can assure you, a very large portion gone. How much do you give out for the day? I’m sure that five pints ought to be sufficient for our use.”
“I do not think it can be wasted, Edwin,” said his wife, rising hastily, as though prepared for some announcements. “I’ll go and see myself.”
“No,Iwill speak to Maria about it,” replied he, obligingly. Poor Josy! how much she dreaded his being laughed at by his servants—but Isabel was there ever ready to protect her.
“Stop, Edwin!” said she, meeting my eye, and looking so arch that I had to smile and turn away. “Elleneats a great deal of bread, and perhaps Maria found it necessary to use more flour in consequence. I think she is excusable if she takesmorethan five pints.”
Poor Mr. Bettyman! He piqued himself upon his exceeding politeness, and had Isabel given him a galvanic shock he could not have felt it worse. After expressing his surprise at her injustice, he turned to me with so many explanations and apologies that but for the good lesson taught him, I could have been half angry at my friend’s zeal for his improvement. At all events, he was stopped in his visit to Maria, and returning to the pantry, armed with a dusting brush, very industriously applied himself to cleaning every shelf, and peeping carefully behind each row of china, glassware, and jars, assured that no one ever peeped so effectually before. At dinner he appeared much fatigued as well he might; and after entertaining us and improving himself with a discourse upon the manner in which a house should be governed, he turned to his wife.
“I did not see the cheese in the jar, my dear, when I was examining the pantry. Certainly, you cannot have used all that I sent home but a short time since.”
Josephine colored deeply, and paused a while before answering. At length she took courage,
“It grew mouldy, Edwin, and I sent it into the kitchen. I did not think—”
He clasped his hands in apparent agony of mind. “In the kitchen! That delightful old cheese thatwould have kept for months! Do you know, my dear, what such cheese as that costs?”
This was the signal for a series of “pokings,” as Isabel called them, and from the table Mr. Bettyman went into the kitchen at last. Through the window I watched him giving directions to the cook, who stood, broom in hand, patiently awaiting them. Pots, kettles, stew-pans, ovens, and what not, were lifted out in obedience to his warning finger. Not Hercules, with the distaff, so labored for his Dejanira, and I could not help wishing that some spiteful elf would suddenly transform him into an old woman at once.
We had retired to our separate chambers as soon as the coffee had disappeared, for each wished to conceal from the other the feeling of indignation, amusement, and anger, that my host had called forth. Josephine’s eyes were red when she joined us in the evening, for she had been deeply mortified at the ridicule to which he inevitably exposed himself, and a burning spot on her cheek told that for once she began to feel some resentment at this tacit condemnation of her own part in her household affairs. She seemed nervously expecting her husband’s appearance, and seated herself at length by Isabel.
“Josy,” said she, smiling, and putting her arm around her, “why do you not give up the keys at once? I’m sure, since Cousin Edwin is so fond of playing housekeeper, that he might as well accept your abdication in his favor. Besides, and curiously, my dearest Josy, you will soon be obliged to resign the office, and as it then falls to my lot, depend upon it I shall not be the patient, enduring creature that you are.”
“I have been thinking of the very same thing, Isabel,” replied Josy, laughing now in spite of herself, and at the same moment her husband came, “puffing and blowing” into the hall where we were assembled to enjoy the summer air and take our tea. (I never could imagine how it is, that peoplewillswallow boiling liquid on the hottest of days, but somehow or other we cannot do without it, even when fanning ourselves, and exclaiming at the heat. This much for the consistency of human nature.)
Mr. Bettyman seated himself in a fan-chair, and began rocking to his apparent content.
“I have done a good day’s work, ladies, allow me to tell you,” said he, with much complacency; and turning to his wife, “all for your benefit, Josy.”
“And I am not ungrateful, Edwin. To prove to you how much I am humbled at your discovery of my incompetency to see to myménage, I have resolved to give it up entirely, and beg you to continue in my place. Here are the keys,” and stepping forward, Josephine dropped the basket at his feet. “Martin—Lucy! hereafter you will go to your master for orders, and remember that I am on no account to be disturbed by any one of you.”
It was impossible to laugh, for the quiet dignity of her manner forbade it. Martin bowed—Lucy curtsied and ran off. Edwin remained as if spell-bound. He had never once dreamed of Josy’s rebelling, and had looked upon himself as a model husband from the daily assistance he afforded her. Moreover, he began to perceive his absurd position, and reddening to the temples, arose from his chair.
“You are surely not in earnest, Josephine, in offering me these keys. I am not the proper person to carry them; certainly, I have endeavored to assist, and enable you, knowing your inexperience, to become more careful with your property and mine; but I do not wish to usurp your place at all.”
“You have done so until now, my dear Edwin,” was her mild but firm reply. “When you become convinced of my ability to be myownhousekeeper, I may then offer to take back the place; but my mind is made up, I do assure you,” and she placed the basket of keys once more in his hands. He dared not accuse her of spite, she had borne it so long; but he was too much humiliated and vexed to conceal it. Courtesy prevented his refusing to take his seat at the table, or I verily believe he would have left us in high dudgeon. Isabel and I talked as fast as we could, and Josy took her part as gayly as either of us. And after a while so did he, supposing in his inmost mind, that his wife would revoke her decision on the morrow.
But the morrow came, and Martin, as firm as his mistress, went to know what Master Edwin wanted from market. It was of course very early, and to say the truth very unusual, as Josy was in the habit of giving her orders at night.
“D—n it,” said Mr. Bettyman, half asleep, “what do you come to me for?”
“My mistress told me to do so, sir,” was the respectful reply, though poor Martin had to struggle with a laugh, as he again applied himself to rouse his master. “Would you prefer a breast of veal to-day, sir? I think that you were not pleased with the leg of mutton this day week.”
“Confound the leg of mutton!” muttered the master, rubbing his eyes and sitting up. “Martin, am I dreaming, or you?”
“You are, sir, I think,” replied Martin, smiling now in good earnest. “My Mistress sent me to you to know what was to be got in market today. We always have mutton on Wednesdays, sir, but you didn’t like—”
“Pshaw! get what you please! Give me my vest there—take the money, and let me be quiet;” and Mr. Bettyman fell back on his pillow, and closed his eyes once more in sleep. A few moments after he was again roused.
“Master Edwin will you have toast this morning—milk toast? And shall Maria broil the chickens, or stew them, sir?”
“What do I know about chickens? Are you all crazy, that you come one after another to disturb my rest to-day? I have just gotten rid of Martin, and now you must come and rouse me from my morning sleep. Why don’t you go to your mistress? Hang the chickens!”
Lucy ran out as Mr. Bettyman turned over grumbling to resume his nap.
“Maria, I can’t get Maus Edwin to answer me a word, excepting that you are to hang the chickens.”
“Hang em!” cried the cook, indignantly. “Did ever any one hear of such a thing! I’m going to my misses and axher.”
“Miss an’t here, she’s out walkin’ with Miss Isabel, and she’s done give up the housekeepin’ to Maus Edwin. Cos why? Cos he pokes his nose every where, and hit an’t his bizness.”
“Here’s Martin from market! My stars! Set down the basket, boy, and let me see. Kidneys! Now how is I to know how to cook these without being informed? I’m gwine to Maus Edwin myself!”
And off she marched without any kind of ceremony into Edwin’s room. An old servant, she was notquiteso particular about noise as the younger ones, so she screamed out at the door.
“Maus Edwin! oh, Maus Edwin! How you want the kidneys done? Broiled, or stewed in wine? It’s late, and I want to know.”
“Go to the d——l with your kidneys!” cried Mr. Bettyman, now fairly awake. “If you come to me with any more questions, I’ll throw the boot-jack at your head!”
Maria scampered down stairs, and reached the kitchen in a second. The breakfast that day was cooked and served without direction from master or mistress; and when we sat down to table every thing looked so creditable to cook and house-boy, that Mr. Bettyman, now refreshed by his last nap, quite forgot his late instalment, and did the honors with his usual hospitality. But no sooner had he risen from his chair, after finishing his meal, than Maria appeared with a perfect pyramid of pans, and stood grinning before him.
“Maus Edwin! gwine give out dinner, and all that? Miss Josy always do it just after breakfast—and I guess you want to be off to town soon.”
“By Jupiter! what is all this jargon for? What have I to do with you and your pans, unless I throw them at your head? Have my buggy around instantly!” cried Mr. Bettyman, now fairly out of patience; and as he remembered his wife’s resignation of keys, etc. the evening previous, came back into the Hall and stood before her. Josy was busy with her little mop and cup-pan about to wash her own china and silver.
“Josy,” said he, somewhat humbly, for hecouldnot blame her, “you surely do not intend to carry out this farce any longer, do you? This is making me too ridiculous!”
“And what have you been doing, then, my dearest husband?” replied she, cheerfully. “I cannot content you—you will take my place and find fault with either ‘too much’ or ‘not enough,’ and I begin to feel housekeepingtwoways a little fatiguing. Not only must I arrange matters to please myself, but on your return I must begin anew to satisfy yourexigéance.”
“Well, well, Josy,” said Edwin, “say that you are not serious, in giving me so absurd an office, and I will promise not to interfere again. Will that do?”
“I will try you for one week then; if within that time, beginning from this hour, you trespass again by interfering once only in my housekeeping, I give back the management of all into your hands.”
“Done! done!” cried he, delighted, and sealing the bond with a kiss, “you shall not hear a word of complaint from my lips, Isabel and Ellen to witness. Given under my hand, etc.;” and he ran off, with one bound was in his buggy, and drove rapidly away.
“He is certainly very amiable and good-natured,” said Isabel, looking after him affectionately, for he deserved the eulogium. Feeling the justice of his wife’s complaint, he did not, as many, oh, how many! would have done in his place, fly into a rage, and exert that tyranny of marital power which every day some lord of the creation delights to show. Refuse, in virtue of that very power, to acknowledge my wrong, and turn a “heaven into a hell” of domestic discord. “He is certainly very amiable,” continued Isabel, “and divested of this unpleasant mania, will make the best husband in the world.”
“He will, indeed,” said his wife, looking much gratified. “I have never seen any one with a more lovely disposition than Edwin. He is never cross, even in the midst of his housekeeping,” and she laughed. So did I, and I could not but wish that Edwin’s week of probation were well over. Meddling with pantries, cellars and kitchens, was his second nature, and we took our seats around the well-supplied dinner-table, awaiting with some curiosity the results of the morning compact. Soup being served, Martin proceeded to remove the plates and bring in the second course. Alas! alas!
“How is this Martin? What a waste of vegetables! Josy, my dear—” He stopped, and we all burst into a laugh, in which he had to join.
“The bond is broken,” said Josephine at length. “I did hope and pray for your triumph, my dear Edwin. Take back the keys.”
“Will no one intercede for me?” said he, with a woful look. “May I not have one more trial, ladies—only one more?” He was really mortified and distressed.
“Give him one more, Josy,” cried I, pitying him, for he had really a victory to win. “Let this one little mistake be thrown from the balance.”
“Be it so,” said she, “but let this be the last. I grant no more grace, Mr. Edwin Bettyman; remember the warning in time.”
Once I saved him, while Isabel and his wife were busy in the parlor covering picture frames. The pantry door stood open, he glanced in and could not resist the temptation and entered. I heard him rummaging about in there, among dishes, plates, and finally the tins began to rattle. Suddenly he appeared, with a cake pan in one hand and a cheese mould in the other. Taking me at the moment for Josy, he commenced, “I have rubbed my finger around the inside of these pans, my dear, and—”
I turned and shook my head at him, pointing to the parlor. He started, and thrusting his burdens into my hand ran down the steps, saying “don’t betray me, Ellen, the week is almost out.” I replaced the things silently, and returned to my companions. They were just congratulating themselves upon Edwin’s forbearance until then.
“We shall see, what we shall see,” thought I, taking up some muslin, and busying myself with a beautiful painting on copper, destined to ornament Josephine’s pretty little sewing-room. Her husband tooksuch pains to beautify this chosen “sanctum” of hers that I could almost have prayed for his triumph over this one fault—yet no sin. It seemed hard that for a failing of this peculiar nature, Mr. Bettyman should be looked upon generally as an unkind husband, when in all other respects he was so considerate for the comfort and happiness of his wife. Yet, so it was, and knowing this “general” opinion, his kind cousin determined to cure him of its cause.
Saturday came, and we all breathed freely—if this one day were but over. Edwin jested with his wife upon her being obliged to retain her basket of keys “nolens volens,” for he contended that it was but a ruse to get rid of the trouble of looking and unlocking after all. He felt sure of his triumph now, for “of course I shall not forget myself within these few hours.”
“Tant mieux,” said Josephine, and rattling a bunch of keys at his ears she bade him begone, “lest,” added she, “the spell be broken at sight of some old duster lying loose, or a cracked pitcher with no handle.”
“Ay, do begone,” continued Isabel declaimingly, “for as
‘Heat and cold, and wind, andsteam,Moisture andmildew, mice, worms and swarming flies,Minute as dust and numberless, oft workDiremeddling habitsthat admit no cureAnd which no care can obviate’—
‘Heat and cold, and wind, andsteam,Moisture andmildew, mice, worms and swarming flies,Minute as dust and numberless, oft workDiremeddling habitsthat admit no cureAnd which no care can obviate’—
‘Heat and cold, and wind, andsteam,Moisture andmildew, mice, worms and swarming flies,Minute as dust and numberless, oft workDiremeddling habitsthat admit no cureAnd which no care can obviate’—
‘Heat and cold, and wind, andsteam,Moisture andmildew, mice, worms and swarming flies,Minute as dust and numberless, oft workDiremeddling habitsthat admit no cureAnd which no care can obviate’—
‘Heat and cold, and wind, andsteam,
Moisture andmildew, mice, worms and swarming flies,
Minute as dust and numberless, oft work
Diremeddling habitsthat admit no cure
And which no care can obviate’—
we fear to trust you in our presence longer.”
“Abominable parody,” cried Mr. Bettyman, laughing. “I doubt if Cowper were ever before so applied. But good-bye, signorinas,que beso las manos.”
He returned home in rare good-humor, even for him; as, though cheerful, he was never in very high spirits. But the foreign anddomesticstate of affairs was encouraging—cotton was up, and “the day” nearly over. He challenged us to a walk, and through fields and flowers we wandered joyously until the bright lady moon was looking down in all her beauty, and shedding silver light over land and sea. We reached home as pleased as wanderers could be, each remembering some distant dream in days gone by, that came back to us with the scene and hour. All love to see,
The moonbeam sliding softly in betweenThe sleeping leaves,
The moonbeam sliding softly in betweenThe sleeping leaves,
The moonbeam sliding softly in betweenThe sleeping leaves,
The moonbeam sliding softly in betweenThe sleeping leaves,
The moonbeam sliding softly in between
The sleeping leaves,
and we paused a while before entering, to linger over the loveliness of the fair fragrant buds that were just bursting into perfume. The night jasmine, with her tiny star-bells hanging fragilely along its bending stem, and her pale, sweet sister blooming amid its “deep dark green,” and sending forth its incense upon the summer air. Here, too, was the constant heliotrope, which, at decline of sun, exhales in deepest sighs her balmy breath. How much more pure is the odor of flowers at evening, as though a voiceless prayer were ascending in praise of the Hand that fashioned them!
Such were some of the thoughts busy in our hearts as we turned away to mount the steps, and seating ourselves in the light arm-chairs upon the piazza, we recollected that there was such a feeling as the one of fatigue. Mr. Bettyman had preceded us some time into the house, and now came through the hall with his blouse and slippers on. How these lords do love their slippers and their ease! When women express a wish to change their shoes forsooth, they forever get the credit of wearing tight ones. (N. B. Is it not time when so many revolutions are taking place, that we should revolutionizesomethings in this world? Sisters! to the rescue!)
“Do turn the lamp down, Martin,” said Isabel, as the bright glare of the solar globe burst upon us, “I love a mellow light in summer. Do not you, Ellen?”
“Yes,” replied I, “one can think so pleasantly in the twilight, or the moonlight. If you sit in silence where your face is visible, your nice air-castles are all at once tumbled down by some one exclaiming ‘Why what is the matter? Yon look so grave.’ And then you start and look foolish, answering stupidly, or begin an account of your thoughts, which cannot possibly interest any one but your own self.”
“Tene; but I love to trace a chain of thought—threading a mental way through all its intricacies, to find how very, very small the ‘baseless fabric’ from whence we started. It is like watching the circle upon circle that sweeps out from around the troubled water of a small stream. A commotion that a single drop may occasion. No very new comparison, to be sure, but one may be excused a plagiarism when one has no genius. Josy, give us an idea or two to start on, you who think so prettily.”
“A silver penny for Edwin’s thoughts!” said Josy, laying her little hand on his and looking up into his face. “Now tell us where you have been wandering all this while, grave man? Do you too weave romances at this witching hour, and for whom?Yourday is gone, Sir Benedict, and I am here to remind you of it.”
“Who can say that I am free?” exclaimed he. “Forced to answer this syren’s questions, I must plead guilty to wondering if the man in the moon had a family, and, if so, what can be the nature of the little moonses.”
“O lame and impotent conclusion,” cried Josy, laughing merrily. “Oh, Edwin! I did expect something poetical at least, after your silent meditation.”
“Que voulez-vous?” said he, with a shrug. “I was commanded to open my heart to the present company, and dared not disobey. If my astronomical observations are not acceptable to the learned triumvirate, I throw myself upon their mercy. What is it, Martin?”
“There is a boy here, sir, who wishes to know if you will let Colonel Robinson have your rockaway to-morrow. He has broken down on his way out, and says he knows you have your buggy for your own use. The rockaway will be returned in the evening.”
“The deuce it will!” said Mr. Bettyman, impatiently rising from his chair and following the servant out into the yard. “I do not like to lend my vehicles, I must confess, for they are never returned in order.”
And neither does any one else, I believe, gentlemen particularly. I have knownladies, however, whose carriage, driver and horses could wait attendance a whole day on a fashionable acquaintance, when the convenience would be denied “poor relations.” But this means nothing, dear reader; of course you arenot one ofmyacquaintances, I have very few I assure you; I care most for old friends, and hope you will pardon my wandering from the subject.
Mr. Bettyman remained some time absent, and we still sat on the piazza, discussing Col. Robinson and the bad habit of borrowing rockaways. But when he returned, oh, angels and ministers of grace! he had mounted his hobby. Holding in his hand a spoon and tumbler he approached his wife.
“Now, Josy, my dear, where do you think I discovered these? Such unheard of carelessness! You see, my love, how I am forced to take care of every thing.”
Josy arose and laid the keys at his feet. “You have earned the honor at last, Edwin, and now you aremyhousekeeper, I am no longer responsible for any carelessness of the servants, and you are free from further anxiety, as you will direct and take the government of the whole concern.”
“And as the spoon is mine, and he has obliged me by throwing out the gum arabic which had all day been dissolving, that I might make Josy some mixture for her cough, I must beg him to replace every thing upon my window seat as he found it. I can have you taken up for purloining silver, Cousin Edwin; look at the mark now.”
Poor Mr. Bettyman! I could not but pity him, amusing as his mania was. In the morning early, the servants were again calling upon him for orders, and getting blessed at each new disturbance. In pity, then, I took the keys myself. But, called away shortly after, had to resign them into his unwilling hands. He took them with a woful countenance. “Ah, Ellen! you were my only friend, and now you desert me.”
When I next visited the house, it was to congratulate Joey upon the birth of a dear little girl; and Edwin was busy amid stew-pans and pap-cups, enraging the nurse until she vowed to leave the house unless allowed her own way with mother and child.
“Make slops for yourself and go to bed and swallow them, Mr. Bettyman, but indeed I will not poison the baby with your mixtures. Nor can I allow your lady, sir, to drink that mess you’ve been cooking half the day.”
Nurses are privileged people, and poor Edwin had to surrender. Josy’s grateful smiles, however, were some consolation, and the lovely babe another. I inquired of Isabel how long he kept the keys.
“Until Josephine’s confinement,” was her reply. “I was determined to give him a hard lesson; and never was man more ruffled than he. However, my dear, don’t think he is cured! By no means; he comes to me constantly as he did formerly to Josy; but I pay no attention to him, except by offering him again the housekeeping. He shall never annoy Josy again, depend upon it. The baby is enough occupation for her now, and Cousin Edwin stands enough in awe of me to let me have my way about every thing. He will meddle, and he may, but to no purpose.”
“And when you leave them, Isabel?”
“I shall not leave them though.”
“And should you marry, dear Bella?”
“Pas si beta!I love Josy too well to leave her, now that I find myself necessary to her happiness. I love Edwin, too; he has behaved nobly to me, and generously. The only man I ever could have married is lost to me. So, Ellen, I can lead a single life, and be a nice old maid.”
And she kept her word, reader; never was there so kind, so pleasant a companion as my friend Isabel.