IX.READY TO LAND.

WELL, I went straight down to that dress-maker's house, and handed the square paper cousin had written on to a lady who was fluttering round among a lot of girls, all hard at work sewing, like bumble-bees in a rose-bush.

She looked at the paper; then she gave my alpaca dress an overhauling with her scornful eyes. Then she began to talk; but, my goodness, her French was awful. I couldn't understand a word of it. Once in a while she would chuck an English word in, and rush on again like a mill-dam.

When I tried to put in a word of genuine French or pure English, she lifted her hands, hitched up her shoulders, and seemed as if she was swearing at me one minute and wanted to kiss me the next. I couldn't stand that.

"How much will you ask—how many yards will it take.La pre la pre?" says I, bursting into French.

The woman looked around on her girls, spread her hands as if praying for help, and then, all red in the face, she burst into English. Then I knew she did not understand her own native tongue, and gave her a sarcastic smile.

"I find everything. How many yards? Oh, that depends on the idea, the invention. I have it here growing in my brain. The price? Ah, I cannot tell. When the work is complete then we know. There will be crêpe and point—"

"But I don't want points," says I. "Talk in English if you don't understand your own language. The price, the price!"

"Oh, very well, it shall be to your own satisfaction—perfect," says she, and then the creature shook out her hands as if she was shewing chickens from a corn-crib, and before I could say another word she shewed me on to the steps and shut the door.

Well, I went back to my boarding-house, beat out and worried almost to death. Figures are satisfactory to the New England mind; but when you have only a whirlpool of broken words, ending with satisfaction, with a woman's hands spread out on her bosom, and nothing more, it is tantalizing. But I reckon the figures will come by and by, only Ishouldlike to have an idea of what they will count up to.

As I was saying in the beginning of my report, ten thousand anxious female bosoms thrilled with expectations every night, and existence dragged wofully in literary and fashionable circles until that auspicious moment arrived when the son of an Imperial Emperor cast refulgence on our Western Hemisphere. But the waiting of us young girls was lonesome, very.

I had done my best. For the first time in my life I hadtwisted my front hair into little wire tongs they call crimping-pins; maybe it was their tightness that held my eyes so wide open last night. I was trying with all my strength to shut them, when the sound of a cannon, ever so far off, brought me up in the bed, with my hand clasped and the heart in my bosom trembling like a frightened chicken.

"He has come," says I to myself. "Alexis has come. To-morrow we shall see him—handsome, young, filled with Imperial royalty from the crown of his noble head to the soles of his patent-leather boots. But will he wear his crown in the procession, or only keep it for the grand ball. What if he should rest that crown on the head of some distinguished American, selecting a literary lady?" This thought impressed me; both hands went up to my lofty brow. Alas! they only sent the crimping-pins ploughing across my head with a thorny sharpness that filled my throat with screeches.

My dress has come home—I am stunned:

I have just recovered from a long fainting fit. They have taken the crimping-pins out of my hair and deluged it with crystal water. I am lying on my couch faint and exhausted. Oh, my sisters, the paths of royalty are beautiful, but full of thorns. That bill has been enough to destroy all my pleasure in the visit of the Grand Duke Alexis.

THE great Grand Duke of all the Russias has been thrown upon our shore by an upheaving of the mighty deep, and is now rocking at his ease in the iron-clad cradle of a great nation. Oh, he had a terrible time. Winds tossed him, storms pitched that noble vessel end foremost into the very bowels of the sea, then hove it up on great mountain waves, where it rocked and tottered and trembled, while the rain washed its decks—rendering mops useless—and the lightning got so tangled in the spars and rigging that you couldn't tell which was rope and which was fire.

Out of all this danger the great Grand Duke was blown upon our shore, with a good deal less fuss than Jonah had when he took to his life-boat with fins and tail, and discharged cargo on a desert shore, without the first chance of an imperial reception, and nothing but an upstart guard to offer him the hospitalities of the country.

Before daylight, Sunday morning, the vessel which bore that noble youth, all weather-beaten as a rusty potash kettle, but grand and majestic after its tussle with the storms, shot out her anchor in the lower bay—for New York has two bays, and two fine old rivers empty into them. The squadron—which means three or four other ships from Russia—had been waiting there till their great iron hearts nearly burst with fear that the imperial vessel had foundered; and when they saw it careering in amongst 'em, they set up a shout that made the very fishes in the bay rest on their fins and wonder what it could mean, for they had never heard Russians before, and it seemed as if the alphabet had been shaken ten thousand times over from as many pepper-boxes, and rained down on the water in one great shout.

Nobody has told me yet how his imperial dukeship took this,and I haven't liked to inquire too closely. Supposing him asleep in the sweet privacy of his own upper berth, it wouldn't be quite proper, you know, but it must have been soul-stirring to hear those native syllables raining down blessings like tacks and brad-awls on his noble head.

How our imperial guest spent the Sabbath-day is a mystery that Russia and the Russians only can solve. But I am credibly informed that ten thousand upper-crust females betook themselves to secret devotions in their own rooms, in crimping-pins and curl papers, the moment we got news that he was here.

As for myself, I confess—no, our Society is not a confessional, and the secrets of a lady's get-up don't belong to a report for the public eye. So I say nothing on that point.

Sunday night I couldn't sleep a wink; my heart was full of noble aspirations, and it seemed as if some wild Indian of the forest had got his grip in my hair and might scalp me any minute, everything was twisted so tight in that direction. In fact, to say nothing of sleeping, I couldn't have winked to save my life. But I bore it with Christian fortitude, determined to press forward to the mark of the prize. Oh, dear! will I ever remember that this report isn't a class-meeting confession? Well, the morning came, and oh, my sisters, it was pouring cats and dogs. When I heard this, I rose up in bed, covered my face with both hands, and just boo-hooed out a crying. I knew well enough that ten thousand other young girls were weeping like the skies; but that only made me feel worse and worse, for mine has always been a sympathetic heart, and I felt for them—I did indeed.

I did not know what on earth to do. Cousin Emily Elizabeth Dempster had promised to come and take me down to theMary Powell, a steamboat which the committee had engaged to take itself and all its wives and their friends, down to welcome the great Grand Duke, and bring him up to the city.

Cousin Emily Elizabeth's husband was a head cockalorum in this committee, which being thecrême on crême—excuse French,it will break in somehow in spite of me—well, which being thecrême on crêmethat had skimmed itself off from all the common milk of New York society, puffed Cousin E. E. up like—like a ripe button-ball.

Since my reports have appeared in what the newspapers call the world of letters—I say it modestly, but truth is truth—Cousin E. E. has been sweet as maple-sugar to me, I can tell you. She had her eye teeth cut in Vermont, and understood that Queen Victoria knew there was one notch above the crown when she took to writing books. I say nothing; but there is an aristocracy that cuts its own way through all social flummery, like an eagle among chippen birds. That is real live genius; and if New England hasn't got her share of that, I don't know where its head-quarters are.

Well, I and the clouds shed tears together for a good while; then I started up. "What if it does pour?" says I to myself; "the Grand Duke has been in storms before this; he ain't sugar nor salt, to melt at anything less than the glance of a loving eye. What's the good of being down in the mouth about a little rain? I'll get up—I'll unskewer my hair—I'll put onthat dress, if I die for it." I started out of bed; I stood before the looking-glass; I began to untwist, to unroll; I did the corkscrew movement; I jerked—I shook my hair out—ripple, ripple, ripple, it fell over my shoulders. Then I rested awhile, and winked my eyes with exquisite satisfaction—for freedom is sweet both to the head and heart.

I felt like a new creature—a delicious looseness settled on my temples—a feeling of feminine triumph swelled my soul. Could he resist the fleecy softness of that hair—the thousand ripples breaking up the sunshine—only there wasn't any sunshine to break. Not a silver thread was visible; if there had been several the night before, it was nobody's business but my own. My arms were tired with continual undoing; but, sisters, am I one to faint by the way? No, no, a thousand times no.

I began to roll, to braid, to puff; I planted hair-pins in my head as thick as bean-poles in a garden. Heavy braids—expensivebut lovely—fell down the back of my head; fluff on fluff shaded my lofty forehead. I say nothing; but my literary success, great as it is, has not been more satisfactory than this.

I put on that dress in a great hurry, for Cousin E. E. was at the door in her carriage. How it glistened in the glass! How it swept out on the carpet, a peacock's tail is a trifle compared to it! I tucked it up; I turned the lining inside out, pinned it, puckered it round the waist, and then put on my new bonnet, which looked like a black beehive with a bird perched on the top. Then, with a burning heart, that fairly turned against it, I put on my waterproof cloak and pulled the hood over my poor bonnet.

I opened my cotton umbrella, and went down. Cousin E. E. was waiting, and a tall fellow in half regimentals held the door open. I jumped in as spry as a cricket, and away we went.

THEMary Powelllay huddled up close to the wharf, with a great white flag crossed with blue stripes at one end, and the glorious old star-spangled banner at the other. In fact, she was all dressed out in flags. They were soaked through and through till their slimpsiness was distressing. In fact, the steamboat looked like a draggled rooster with no fence or cart to hide under.

The committee were all there, with a whole swarm of ladies in waterproof cloaks, huddled together like chickens in a coop. There were generals, too, with gold epaulets on their shoulders: one that I'd heard of in the war, General McDowell, and some others, that lighted up the deck a little with their gold lace and sword-handles.

She moved—I mean theMary Powell. The sea was gray, the sky was black. Now and then I saw a flag fluttering by on some vessel, like a poor frightened bird searching for shelter, and pitied it. Then all at once bang went a gun. I hopped right up, and screamed out:

"What's that?"

"The salute," says a gentleman close by me. "A salute for the Grand Duke."

I sat down astonished.

"Sir," says I, "I can't believe it. I—I've been saluted myself before this, and I know what it is. No human lips could have made that noise."

The man looked at me, and puckered up his lips a trifle, as if he were trying to choke back a laugh.

"I'm speaking of guns," says he, "not the sweet little salutes in your mind."

"Oh," says I, "that makes a difference, though I never heard firing off guns by that name before."

"The Grand Duke will have twenty-two of 'em," says he.

"Well, then, I'm glad it's only the guns," says I, and a great big sigh of relief came up from my jealous bosom.

Then we all went on again, till I heard some one call out that we'd got to heave-to. This scared me dreadfully. I looked around. Which two of all these females did they mean to heave into the vasty deep? Not me for one. If Russia is barbarous enough to want that sort of cannibal hospitality, I'm counted out.

Shivering with fear, I drew back into the crowd, but watched things like a cat. Drifting through the fog, I saw a little vessel coming close to us, as if she had something to do with this heathen ceremony. The ladies in their waterproofs crowded to the side of the steamboat, as if they rather panted for the glory of being drowned then and there for the pleasure of the great Grand Duke.

I heard a splash, but could not see if any one had been flung over, and when I got up to look, there was a magnificent oldfellow, with ribbons in his coat and brooches set thick with shining stones on his bosom, a-coming up the side of the boat. He looks so proud and puffy, that I should have took him for the great Grand Duke, only that he wasn't near young enough.

"Who is it?" says I to the old gentleman.

"Catacazy," says he.

"Cat—what?" says I, categorically.

"Catacazy, the Russian Minister," says he.

"Minister," says I; "do they mean to get up a prayer-meeting on board?"

The old gentleman simmered down the laugh that was on his lips into a smile, and said he thought not.

This pacified me, and I sat still while we went down through the upper bay, which seemed wrapped in waterproofs too, and into the lower bay, which heaved and rolled as if it was half-choked up with sweltering wet blankets. Then we came in sight of the ships, and saw the flags a-battling with the storm; but no one on board seemed to care a continental cent whether New York sent out hercrême on crêmeor not. This silence made my heart sink.

Then the minister went to the side of the vessel, leaned over, and swung his hat. By and by a boat came from the great Grand Duke's vessel, in which an imperial-looking man stood upright, like a high-born monarch, and lifted his cap as if it had been a crown.

"It is—it is—oh, yes, it is the Duke!"

This was on every lip but mine. I could not speak; exquisite emotion forbade it.

No one came on board; but the minister with that catish name got into the boat, and then some of the committee, which skimmed itself again, and thickened up its cream considerably.

There we waited and waited.

They came back at last. That young gentleman was not the great Grand Duke. He wasn't coming till next day.

Oh, how we wilted! Some of us almost burst out a-crying. I did not speak; I could not. Ever since we reached the lowerbay, I had felt dreadfully discouraged; now a strange sinking of the heart seized upon me—a faint dizziness, an agony of disappointment seemed raging in my stomach. Oh, my sisters! these exquisite sensibilities are a proof of greatness, I know, but the sufferings they bring, no human being but the creature of genius can tell.

I am better. The glorious sight which followed that stormy day has relieved me. I have seen ten thousand flags blazing along Broadway—I have seen three times ten thousand republican worshippers waving their hats and handkerchiefs in acclamations for the son of an imperial despot. I have heard the glorious music of an imperial serenade—I have seenHIM.

SISTERS:—I have seen him. This hand has been pressed—significantly pressed—by the soft, rosy palm of imperial royalty. If a tablet to my memory should ever be sunk in the walls of our meeting-house, I charge you, dear sisters in the cause, to have this honor cut in Roman capitals deep into the marble; for what is an exaltation to me is glory to the Society, and, in fact, to all Vermont.

I have been on the same steamboat with the great Grand Duke; his splendid blue eyes have looked into mine, and in that glance we grappled each other, soul to soul. He has smiled upon me through the yellow glory of that silky mustache, under which his plump, red lips shone like cherries, ripe enough to swallow, stones and all. He speaks English; reveres genius, and knows that it can never grow old.

I saw him in Broadway, when all the New York militia turned out, which was a training day worth looking at. Asnow-storm of handkerchiefs burst out of the windows; ten thousand female hands waved him forward. Shouts rose from the multitude; little children were crowded back into the gutters; women were jammed together on doorsteps and curbstones. In fact, the skim milk of society was compelled to flow in awful narrow channels, while thecrême on crême—excuse French once more—rolled smoothly through the city in carriages, with royalty leading the way, a regiment of trainers leading him, and a band of music leading the whole.

I saw the whole glorious procession. From block to block I flitted, like some aspiring bird on the crest of a wave. My heart was full, my eyes fixed on one object—that tall, noble figure, with a blue watered silk scarf across his royal bosom, and a half-moon hat, with dipping points, gracefully lifted from his head. He must have been dazzled; he must have been impressed by this proof that republics scorn monarchies and trample them under foot.

I flitted onward through the crowd, waving my handkerchief from a doorstep now and then. That handkerchief the idol of this august occasion seemed to follow eagerly with his eyes, as a sort of beacon light which kindred sympathy impelled him to recognize, for wherever I went he lifted that half-moon hat from his royal brow and smiled. I felt this compliment to the depths of my soul—it thrilled me.

When I lifted myself out of the skim milk, and flowed in with the cream of cream on that stand in Union Square with my cousin and theéliteof society, he saw me again and recognized me once more, which irritated my cousin's jealousy a little, for she insisted that he lifted his black half-moon to the whole of us. But I know!

I watched the carriage that bore him with a blushing cheek and a beating heart. There was General Dix, a real nice-looking old gentleman, sitting in front of him; there was Catacazy, the ambassador of all Russia, also a nice gentleman as you want to see, withhishat off, a-bowing and a-bowing. We flung up our handkerchiefs—we clapped our hands.

The Clarendon Hotel stands near one corner of the Union Square; it has a skimpy piazza in front made of iron, and I've seen bigger hotels anyhow. But it is considered tip-top, and is always brimming over with the cream of cream. That is why Mr. Catacazy took my Grand Duke there. There was such a crowd of folks and trainers that I lost sight of him. By and by out he came into the piazza, and stood right before our aristocratic stand, which was fringed round with red cloth, and over which the star-spangled banner waved itself meekly to the nest of black eagles that streamed out over that noble scion of all the Russias.

I could not seehimplainly, as my heart panted to, so I borrowed my cousin's glass—a little spy-glass, understand—not specs, which I haven't come to by a long way. Well, I unscrewed the eye-glass, wound it up to the right notch, and brought him almost to my face; and there I stood, choke-full of heavenly satisfaction, all the whilehelooked down on the general training of soldiers that marched stream on stream between him and me.

While my soul was going out luminously through these eyes, Cousin Emma Elizabeth Dempster touched my elbow, and says she:

"Miss Frost, if you've got through with my glass, I should like to try it a little."

I gave it up. Not being long-sighted, the whole pageant was a blank to me after that cruel deprivation, for I could no longer see that imperial figure on the piazza.

My reports are making a tremendous sensation, and I—well, being modest by nature, I say nothing, but a committee, skimmed daintily off from the cream of cream, called at my boarding-house, and wanted me, as a rising star in the literary hemisphere of writers, to invite the great Grand Duke to a private reception, or entertainment, or something, where some that hadn't been on the steamboat could shake hands with him, and others might just touch the extremity of his coat,which they gave me their honor they wouldn't pull—as some high-bred ladies did when he was going from the boat.

I received this committee with dignity, and promised to take their request into mature consideration, as soon as I could learn personally from the great Grand Duke whether he should prefer to have this homage paid by my own sex to the extremities of his coat, or not. I felt for these young ladies. I had experienced the yearning desire that possessed them, and knew how truly irrepressible it was. Had it not inspired the whole committee of reception, their wives, and their children to the third generation? Had it not disturbed fashionable life to its very dregs, and given spice to our weekly literature? Yes, I felt for these young persons, and in a little speech, remarkable for its graceful elocution, gave them encouragement.

TICKETS for the ball! Sent, no doubt, at the Grand Duke's request. Cousin Emily Elizabeth has got tickets too. We shall go together in the same carriage, and leaning on her husband's arm. Dempster is a handsome man, and reallydistinguélooking. Excuse French; an educated person will break into it now and then.

The day has come. Cousin Emily has just sent me a bundle of things, with her compliments—a little box with a cake of lovely white chalk in it; another, smaller yet, filled with a pink powder that looks like ground rose-leaves, and a bottle with something liquid and dark in it, which does not seem as if it was good to drink. What on earth does Cousin E. E. expect me to do with these things?

Ah! pinned to the bundle, I find a letter, beginning "DearCousin Phœmie," and asking me to excuse her, but she sends the things, thinking that I may want to rejuvenate, and perhaps dye, before I go to the ball.

Rejuvenate! Does she mean to say that I'm not young enough? and if I wasn't, how are these things a-going to help me? I know that girls in school sometimes eat chalk and chew gum, but never heard that they got the younger for it. Then the pink powder—well, it's no use calculating about it, especially as she wants me to die after it. I wish Cousin E. E. would ever learn to spell. When a woman dies she does not do it with a "y" as a general thing.

Now whatdoesall this mean?

I was doing my hair at the looking-glass, when Cousin E. E. came in, looking like a queen; her blue silk dress was all spotted with gold flowers, and it streamed out half across my bedroom. Over that she wore a long white cloak, with tassels to it, and her hair was looped in with pink roses that were not redder than her cheeks, which would have satisfied me that her health was first-rate, if it hadn't been for the shadows that lay around her eyes, which had grown awfully dark since I saw her at home.

"Oh!" says she, "I am just in time. Came early, thinking you might want help. Sit down; that will do. Now where is the you-know-what—those boxes—you understand?"

Here E. E. flung off her cloak and came to the glass. I declare to you the creature's neck was white as any snow-drift but uncovered to an extent that frightened me out of a week's growth. Her arms, too, were the same, and bare as her neck. She had a narrow pink shoulder-strap, and some lace between them, and that was all; only a string of white stones, that shone like a rainbow now and then, was around her neck and one arm; two or three of the same kind of stones hung down from her ears, and shot out light from her hair.

The whiteness of that neck astonished me, and made me look every which way.

E. E. didn't seem to mind that, but took off her long whitegloves and laid them on the table; then she snatched up one of the boxes, and began to rub a handkerchief that lay on the bureau in it.

"There now; hold back your head a little," says she; "shut your eyes."

Here she began to rub my face and neck and arms with the handkerchief till they looked white as her own. Then she changed boxes, and I could feel her making soft dabs at my cheeks, which tickled a little.

"Now open your eyes," says she.

I opened them wide, she astonished me so; and, as true as you live, she began to tickle them with a tenty-tointy brush. After that she titivated my hair a little, washed her hands with some Cologne water, and snatching up my pink silk dress, which lay across the bed, just buried me in it. I declare it was scrumptious to feel the silk a-rustling round me, and a-settling down on the floor, wave on wave. Well, the bill was a damper, but I couldn't help enjoying it for all that.

"Now," says E. E., a-drawing on her long, white gloves, "just take a look, and let us be off—Dempster is waiting."

I did take a look, right straight in the glass, and couldn't help doing it again and again, the lady I saw there seemed so much like a magnificent stranger to me—so white, so blooming—so—. Forgive me, sisters—I forgot that modesty is a tender blossom that should be encouraged—and I will say no more, only this, Cousin Dempster's neck had a good deal more of it than mine, and that French dress-maker had given me a little chance of sleeves, while her's left them out altogether.

When she spread out my skirt, it half covered the room. All at once she saw just one little spot of rain on it, and held up both her hands.

"Why, you haven't worn this before? Good gracious! no lady in our set ever wears the same dress twice. The idea!"

I felt myself wilting, for she was sarcastic in her speech. Then I up and spoke for myself.

"Yes, I wore it once," says I; "but it was tucked up undermy waterproof cloak, with the lining turned inside out, and nobody saw it—especially the great Grand Duke, who didn't come out of his own vessel."

"Oh," says she, "then it won't be an absolute disgrace to the family if you wear it. I began to be afraid to go with you. There, now, don't look pins and needles at me, but just put something round you, and let us be off, orhewill be there before us."

That was enough. I huddled up that pink silk in my arms, and in less than two minutes Cousin Dempster's carriage was so choke full of his wife and me, that he took a seat with the driver.

OH, my! wasn't that ball-room a sight to see? Seats piled on seats, all cushioned with red velvet, and one end curving round like a great red horseshoe, with flags and flowers and shields running below the bottommost tier; a great swinging balloon of sparkling glass poured its light, like July sunshine, down on a crowd of people, that looked more like born angels than human creatures. It fairly made me dizzy to look at 'em from Cousin Dempster's box-seat, which was right in the end of the circle.

After a while I got my senses back, and looked out forhim. He wasn't there yet, and that gave me a chance to see things. Four more heaps of glass, that seemed as if they had caught fire, hung in the other end of the room, and beyond them was a fountain of water, a-sparkling and a-flashing and a-tinkling in a make-believe garden by moonlight, with live fish swimming in it, and live flowers blooming in piles and heaps around it, and make-believe trees. Half running round the room was alot of marble posts, with white flower-pots running over with sweetness, and linked together with running vines, that made you feel yourself almost out of doors.

All this was splendid; but there was one spot that everybody looked towards, and I most of all. Three boxes, cushioned with red velvet, were just chained together with great wreaths of flowers such as I never saw in a garden; but I knew they were genuine because of the scent, which was delicious. Banners set full of stars and stripes of red and white silk, all tangled in with flowers, hung over these boxes, and right in the centre streamed a white silk banner, on which our old bald eagle and the black eagles of all the Russias flocked together as sociable as robins in a nest.

"There he is! There he is!"

I started. I caught my breath, for back of the white flaghestood with the light a-shining on his beautiful yellow hair, and a smile on his lips. Oh, how grand, how tall, how gorgeous! Everybody was a-looking at him. The girls around me—always forward, andsosilly—began twittering together, and looking that way as if he would ever think of dancing with them. They swarmed around me, as a representative person. They forgot their own trivialities, and rendered me such homage as genius commands from commonplace minds.

"You are an author," said they. "You belong to the great aristocracy of the world. Speak for us. He cannot dance with all of us, but he can look this way through his opera-glass, and give us all a chance of being put in the papers as the beautiful young lady he admired so much. We appoint you a committee of one. Address him in our behalf. Get some memento of him that we may leave to future generations."

The entreaties of these young creatures went to my heart. I raised my forefinger, which was like an oath to them, and says I:

"Thanks for this honor. Like a Roman matron I will do my duty. Wait."

I arose from my seat, and swept, with a dignity and gracethat must have done the Society I represent great honor, around the gallery, and found my way into the private retiring-room of our illustrious guest. It was small but beautifully furnished. My pink silk, as it trailed in, seemed to fill the whole room. In the looking-glass I saw a figure, tall, commanding; I may say queenly—but enough of that.

A person stood near the door and looked in. I lifted my finger; he approached.

"Go," says I, "to the great Grand Duke of all the Russias, and tell him that Miss Phœmie Frost, a committee lady, awaits his presence here."

He started—he smiled—he went.

I drew back and stood against the wall opposite the door.Heentered, looking a little puzzled. I advanced one foot, then the other, three long paces, as queens do when they act on the stage. Then I sunk down in a profound curtsey, wound myself up again into a royal position, and held out my right hand.

"Great Grand Duke Alexis," says I, "son of an illustrious father and an imperial mother, whom all women love to honor, welcome to our shores—welcome to the fashion, genius, and beauty embodied in the females of America."

Before I could finish the address to which duty and ever-burning genius inspired me, the great Grand Duke quenched my ardor by a heavenly smile that danced in his blue eyes, and almost broke into a laugh on his red lips. His voice was like over-ripe strawberries when he spoke and said: "The ladies did him great honor; he had not English to express his pleasure, and no power to repay their kindness." This was my time.

"Being the head of a committee of so many young ladies that it is impossible for your Imperial Majesty to dance with the whole, I—that is, these ladies—wish to be represented in the festive cotillon by a person worthy of the occasion. Not the wife of an American potentate, who may or may not have any claims of her own, but a potentate in herself. Not crownedwith the shadow of a man's laurels, but wearing her own bay leaves as Tasso did."

Here I felt my eyes a-drooping, and my tall figure bent like a weeping willow. The great Grand Duke saw my confusion, and his smile deepened audibly.

"Say to the lovely committee of ladies," says he—

But I interrupted him, and putting one hand on my heart, observed, with a gentle bow:

"Embodied in me."

Then he smiled out loud again, and says he:

"If the Committee of Arrangement permit, I shall have much pleasure."

With that he bowed and prepared to go out. I drew back toward the wall till the pink silk skirt began to tangle up my feet, and kept my eyes lifted to his face, which was still bathed in blushing smiles. Another step, a low curtsey, and I lifted myself up with dignity while he passed through the door.

I was alone, with nothing but the looking-glass to gaze on my delight. The young ladies had begged of me for a memento of royalty. I looked around. An ivory-handled hair-brush lay on a marble shelf under the glass. I seized upon it, knowing that it had touched his head. I examined it. Imagine my joy—six bright yellow-brown hairs clung to the bristles! Carefully, daintily I picked them out, and, laying them in the palm of my white glove, formed a tiny tress of them—tiny, but oh! how exquisitely precious!

With this treasure in my hand I went back to my constituency. They crowded round me; sparkling eyes gazed upon the glorious prize I had secured; cherry lips kissed it with gushing fervor, and pleaded with me for just a morsel. I secured one lovely hair for myself, and, cutting the rest into tiny bits, distributed them generously. Oh, sisters! this act endowed me with wonderful popularity among my young companions. We girls should be generous to each other. I was generous, and an orchard full of spring robins could not have chirped more happily than they did while flocking around me. Butthe dancing began. I stood ready, with my long pink silk skirt gathered half way from the floor. But all at once it dropped from my hand—hewas on the floor, and another lady clung to his arm. The jealousy of that committee of gentlemen had prevailed. He danced with the Governor's wife.

Did I stand ready to play second fiddle to her? No, no! a thousand times no! Was I not a New England lady? Did I not feel that the literature of the country had its eyes upon me?Hecouldn't help it; the deploring glance that he cast upon me was enough to satisfy me of that. Indeed, his feelings were so hurt that he really could not go through the figures of the cotillon, but kept dancing every which way, like a man torn with distractions. My heart ached for him. I could not bear to see his distress, and retired with dignity to my seat upstairs and looked on, while my proud New England heart burned with indignation. If I live, that committee of gentlemen shall hear from me again.

SISTERS:—He has gone! The luminous star that has shone upon us with such refulgence for the last few weeks, has gone to our beloved "Hub of the Universe," where poets, governors, and other distinguished men of New England are now revolving around him like the spokes of a cart wheel. Mr. Holmes has written him some sweet verses; Mr. Longfellow has greeted him with welcomes. They have given him balls, dinners, and a cold in his face. In short, New England has been true to itself and its climate. When the hub turns on its axle, the spokes whirl and the tires revolve, giving a swift throb to the whole universe. As a New Englandwoman—I beg pardon—young lady, I am proud of Boston, proud of the honor they are doing toHim. But after all, the Hub must imitate. We took the crown off.

Before he left, a new and exquisite idea came into my head—some people may think it a little flighty, but you will understand all the poetry it contains. I have a canary bird—for I love birds with all the inborn intensity of genius—so old that his feathers are nothing more than a creamy white. In that particular he—I should say she—being a female, that never sings beyond a chirp, has the gift of silence peculiar to the sex. I got her cheaper on that account. Well, she is almost dove-like in color and in sweetness of disposition. No more lovely messenger from heart to heart could be found in the whole world.

Well, sisters, I took this bird from its cage with my own hands, and I smothered it with kisses from my own lips, which quivered with intensity of emotion. Then I tied a blue ribbon about its neck, and attached to that a tenty-tointy note which contained these lines:

Farewell, noble prince, my fond heart is gushingWith thoughts that no language can ever reveal;With the sweetest affection this warm cheek is blushing,And hopes to my maidenly bosom will steal,Of a time when our souls, with united expression,Shall mingle with harmony more than divine;And the priest—be he Greek, or of any profession—Shall bless this poor hand as it clings unto thine.

The paper was of an exquisite rose-color on which I indited this gem. I flatter myself that genius can sometimes write beautifully. It is not just the thing to particularize here, but if that Grand Dukecanread English he must have admired the sweet morsel which that lovely songster bore to him on the wings—well, of a canary.

I would not send my bird in a cage, because handsome cages are expensive, and do not carry an idea of freedom with them, which our spread eagle might have led the great Grand Duketo expect. Neither would I trust her with a street boy whose hands might be dirty and unsafe. No, I put on my bonnet, locked the bird with his blue ribbon in a box covered with gilt paper, and walked straight down to the Clarendon Tavern, and asked for one of the committee-men.

A tall, grave-looking gentleman came into the room, where I sat waiting, and said he was Mr. Bergh, one of the committee-men, and then stood a minute, as if he was waiting to know what I wanted.

I had heard a great deal about the gentleman's goodness to the poor dumb beasts that are so abused and trampled on, and my heart rose right into my mouth.

"Mr. Bergh," says I, reaching out my hand, "in the name of New England, permit me to shake hands, and thank you for the good you are a-doing to so many of God's own creatures."

The gentleman smiled, and reached out his hand.

"I am glad to hear," says I, "that some old bachelor has left a lot of money to your society. It is just what I would do myself if I hadn't a hope—that is, it may be possible that all the money I have will be needed for a special occasion—as no free-born New England woman would be beholden to a foreign nation for her setting out."

Here Mr. Bergh smiled. You have no idea how much younger he looked when he did smile; the benevolence that made him a Natural History Philanthropist just shone out from his eyes, and beamed all over his face, till I longed to be—well, say a duck, or something of that sort—that he might save me from oppression.

"Thank you," says he; "most men want some object in life. You ladies have done so much for humanity that we are content to leave it in your hands, but the poor animals have up to this time escaped compassion."

"Not compassion, but assistance," says I. "Cruelty to animals is mostly confined to men."

"Not exactly," says he. "I have sometimes seen kittensand pet dogs treated more unmercifully than omnibus-horses, and by innocent children too."

I did not answer. How could I? The remembrance of a trout-brook, with birch-trees hanging over it, and great red-seeded brake-leaves growing thick on the bank, made me shudder. Hadn't I held ever so many kittens under water in that very spot, and shouted and laughed to the other girls—some of you, my sisters, among them—while the poor little things kicked and struggled for life, that was just as dear to them as it is to me? Hadn't I hunted up birds' nests, and driven the pretty creatures distracted by handling their eggs, till at last the nests were broken up? Then didn't I string the cold eggs into a chain, and hang them in triumph over the looking-glass in our keeping-room?

You will tell me, out of the kindness of your hearts, that these were sins of ignorance. Just so; and it is this ignorance, which is sometimes cruel as the grave, that Mr. Bergh is trying his best to enlighten. No child would do a cruel thing if it were made to understand the pain it is giving. Yet, sticking pins through flies, and spearing wasps to the wall, are about the first thing a smart baby learns to do.

Did you ever see a lot of boys going home from school, when a garter-snake, or any other harmless serpent, crosses their path? They know well enough that the poor things do no harm, and are as afraid as death of them; but see the great stones they heave upon the miserable reptile; the shouts they send up, as it writhes, and coils, and fills the air with feeble hisses, trying, poor thing, to save its bruised and broken life to the last.

Does anybody tell the boys that this is brutal cruelty? No, even the Christian mother, who would not do an unkind thing to save her life, forgets that God makes snakes as well as ringdoves, and that pain is just as bitter to the snake as to the cooing bird.

Sisters, we are all wrong in leaving these things to men only. If we did our duty, and taught little children that even thoughtlesscruelty is a sin, and that the fun which comes out of pain to any of God's creatures is a crime, there would not be much for Mr. Bergh and his noble society to do. The cruel instincts of a child become ferocious in the man. With such, men can best deal. I thank God that one brave spirit is found ready and able to protect the dumb creatures that are given us for blessings, not for victims.

While I am writing this, picture after picture comes up from my own past girlhood, and my heart stands still as I remember how ferocious a thirst for fun and ignorance can be in a child. How many sleepy-looking toads I have seen, with their backs all jewels, and their throats yellow gold, that asked nothing but a burdock leaf for shelter, and a few flies for food, crushed to death by boys who thought no harm, and only liked the sport of killing something.

Since then, I have learned that these little creatures are a great help to gardeners, and that wise men foster them with kindness and care.

Once, down by the trout-brook we know of, I saw a lot of children, busy as bees, doing something on the bank, where two or three boys were kneeling, and the rest looking on. Of course I went down to the brook, and, being a little mite of a creature, looked on, half frightened, half wondering.

The boys had caught a great frog, green as grass. He was, I have no doubt, one of those hoarse old croakers, that make one timid about going by ponds and marshy ground in the night, up in our State. Well, they had him down in the grass, and one held him while the other ran a pin through both jaws and twisted it there. There was no fun in this. A lot of doctors cutting off an arm couldn't have been more gravely in earnest. Some of the boys were eight and ten years old; but not one of them seemed to feel that they were doing a hideous thing. I remember feeling very sorry for the poor frog, but it was not till years and years after that I understood the horrible, lingering death these ignorant boys had tortured himwith. Since then I have never thought of that sparkling trout stream, without a pain at my heart.

"Childish ignorance," I hear you say—for some of these boys were your own brothers, and meant no harm. But what right had they to be ignorant? They knew well enough that it was against the law to kill one another. Why were they not taught that the life that God gives to His meanest creature is as sacred as a good man's prayers; unless necessity calls for it, and then it must be taken with as little suffering as death can give?

Sisters, I am in earnest; the missionary spirit is strong upon me. I wish our Society to take up this subject with interest. What Mr. Bergh has been doing among men, we must do among the children of this generation. When ignorance is an excuse for cruelty, you and I and every woman of the land are wretches if we allow a child to sin because it knows no better. There is no great study necessary to work out a reform here. The mother who knows what is right knows how to impress it on her children; and if they play at death and destruction, she is the person most to blame.

Don't say that I am writing out one of my popular addresses before the Society—I never thought of such a thing; but when I saw the great Natural History Philanthropist, my heart and mind went right back to you and my duties as a missionary of universal progress, and I sat there in silence thinking over these things till I forgot that he was there.

At last he spoke, and said, kindly enough, "Is there anything I can help you in?"

I started and reached out my hand.

"Mr. Bergh," says I, enthusiastically, "I can help you! All the world over we women work best in the primary department. You have begun a grand and a noble work among men. We will begin at the other end, and in that way cut your work down to nothing. I see a clear path before us. Henceforth I will belong to your Society, and you shall belong to mine. Is it agreed?"

He sat down by me; his eyes grew bright; his earnestness of purpose inspired me to press forward to the mark of the prize—I beg pardon, the old prayer-meeting spirit will manifest itself in spite of me when my soul is full of a great purpose.

After we had talked on the great subject satisfactorily, he said, all at once, "But you came for some purpose in which I may have the pleasure of serving you."

Then I remembered my bird and its imperial object. Revealing my gold-paper box, I opened it carefully, fearing a sudden flight. Nothing moved. Trembling with dread, I put in my hand; it touched a soft fluff of feathers that did not stir.

My heart sank like a lead weight in my bosom. I looked in; the poor little thing lay in the bottom of the box, with its wings spread out, and its head lying sideways. I touched it with my hand; it was limp and dead. While I had been talking with so much feeling about cruelty to animals, my own little songster—no, being a female she was not that—but my poor pet had been smothered to death in that gorgeous little receptacle.

With my heart swelling like a puff-ball, I turned my shoulder on that good man, and closed my satchel solemnly, as if it had been a tomb.

"Sir," says I, in a voice full of touching penitence, "I feel myself just at this minute wholly unworthy of the mark of the high calling to which I have offered myself. A young lady who puts herself forward to teach thoughtful kindness to the young, should be above reproach in that respect herself."

The good gentleman looked awfully puzzled, for how would he guess at the crime I had locked up in that box?

"Good-morning," says I, walking away; "the time may come when I shall feel a new exaltation, but just now—well, good-morning."

I went away meek and humble as a pussy cat. When I looked down at the box in my hand it seemed as if I was carrying a coffin.

Well, I buried my poor little pet in that identical box, withthe blue ribbon about its neck; but the poem I forwarded tohimin Boston. I may be meek and humbly conscious of my own shortcomings, but the Grand Duke of all the Russias shall never go home with the idea that Vermont hasn't got poets as well as Boston, and that young ladies cannot put as much vim and likewise maple-sugar into their poetry as that smart fellow, Dr. Holmes, simmered down in his.

Just read mine and his, that's all!

I do think that nothing can equal the forwardness of some New York girls. Would you believe it, one stuck-up thing has just stolen my beautiful idea, and sent her card to the great Grand Duke tied round a bird's neck; but it was like stealing a fiddle and forgetting the fiddlestick. A card isn't poetry. There is no accounting for the vanity of some people; but the best proof of genius is imitation.

Back to Index Next