A
AS soon as I could recover from the surprise any New England woman would feel at a thing like this, I saw Cousin Dempster coming toward me.
"Come, hurry up," says he. "You were so late, I thought perhaps you had misunderstood, and come directly here. This way; be careful where you step; Fulton market is not the neatest place on earth."
I was careful, and lifting the skirt of my alpaca dress between my thumb and finger, gave a nipping jump, and cleareda gutter that ran between Cousin D. and myself. Then we walked into the market, with a whole crowd of other people, and trained along between baskets and square wooden pens heaped up with oranges, and things called bananas—gold-colored, and bunched-up like sausages, but awful good to eat. Potatoes, apples, books, peanuts, chestnuts, pies, cakes, and no end of things, were heaped on high benches on each side of us wherever we turned, till at last we passed through an encampment of empty meat-stands, and from that into a wooden lane with open rooms on one hand, and piles on piles of oysters on each side the door.
Every one of these rooms had a great rousing fire burning and roaring before it, and a lot of men diving in amongst the oysters, with sharp knives in their hands.
"Let us go in here," says Cousin Dempster, turning toward one of the rooms that looked cheerful and neat as a pin. The floor was sprinkled with white sand, and the tables had marble tops, white as tombstones, but more cheerful by half. As we went in, a man by the door called out, "Tuw stews!" Then again, "One roast—one raw on half-shell!"
Another man began firing pots and pans at the heap of blazing coals before him the moment this fellow stopped for breath. All this made me so hungry that I really felt as if I couldn't wait; but I kind of started back when I saw ever so many gentlemen and ladies in the room, sitting by the tables and feeding deliciously. Some of the men had their hats on, which did not strike me as over-genteel. But, after this one halt, I entered with dignity, placed my satchel in a corner, and took an upright position on one of the wooden chairs. Cousin Dempster sat down, too. He took his hat off, which I felt as complimentary, and a touch of the aristocratic.
"Now, what shall we have?" says he.
"A stew," says I, with a feeling of thanksgiving in my mouth.
Cousin D. said something in a low voice to the young man, who went to the door, and called out:
"One roast! one stew—Saddlerock!"
I started up and caught that young man by the arm, a-feeling as if I had got hold of a cannibal. Saddlerocks, indeed!
"Young man," says I, "you have mistaken your party; we didn't ask for stewed grindstones—only oysters."
He looked at me, at first, wild as a night-hawk, and seemed as if he wanted to run away.
"Don't be scared," says I; "no harm is intended; it is an oyster stew that we want—nothing more. I'm not fond of hard meat. If you don't know how to cook them—which is natural, being a man—I can tell you. Now be particular—put in half milk, a considerable chunk of butter, not too much pepper, and just let them come to a boil—no more. I do hate oysters stewed to death. You understand?" says I, counting over the ingredients on my fingers—"now go and do your duty."
"Yes'm," says he, and goes right to the door, and sings out: "One stew!—one roast!" so loud that it made me jump. Then he came back into the room, while I retired, with dignity, to my seat by the table.
It seemed to me that Cousin Dempster didn't quite like what I had done, for his face was red as fire when I sat down again, and I heard him mutter something about the eccentricities of genius. Indeed, I'm afraid a profane word came with it, though I pretended not to hear.
By and by, in came the waiter-man, with two plates of cabbage cut fine, and chucked a vinegar cruet down before me; then he clapped salt and pepper before Cousin D., with a plate of little crackers. Then he went away again, and came back with two plates full of great, pussy oysters, steaming hot, and so appetizing, that a hungry person might have made a luscious meal on the steam.
Oh, Sisters! you never will know what good eating is till you've been down to the Fulton Market, and feasted on oysters there; you can't get 'em first-rate in any other place. Try it, and you'll find 'em weak as weakness compared to these. Hot, plump, delicious! The very memory of them is enough tokeep a reasonable person from being hungry a week. Talk of Delmonico's! I never was there; but if it beats this room in the Fulton Market in the way of shell-fish, I'll give up all my chances this Leap Year.
Well, when we'd done eating, two pewter mugs were set on the table, and Cousin Dempster handed one to me. I've heard of these mugs as belonging to bar-rooms and over intimate with ale and beer—things that I wouldn't touch for anything on earth, maple-sap being my native drink—so I pushed the cup away, really ashamed of Cousin D.; but he pushed it back a-kind of laughing, and says he:
"Just taste it."
"Beer?" says I. "Never."
Cousin D. lifted his mug to his lip, and drank as if it tasted good. I was awful thirsty, and this was tantalizing.
"Try it," says he, fixing his bright eyes on me. "How do you know it is beer till you've tasted it?"
"Just so," says I; "I didn't think of that?"
I took up the mug, and sipped a cautious sip. Beer, indeed! That pewter cup was brimming over with champagne-cider, that flashed and sparkled up to my lips like kisses let loose. Then I bent my head to Cousin Dempster, and just nodded.
Never think you have drank champagne-cider till you've taken it flashing from a pewter mug, after oysters, in Fulton Market; till then, Sisters, you will never know how thoroughly good-natured and full of fun a lone female can become. Some people might think champagne-cider like maple-sap with a sparkle in it, for the color is just the same; but it is considerably livelier, and a good deal more so, especially when one drinks it out of a pewter cup, and hasn't any way of measuring.
Bold! I should think I was, after that. Bold as brass.
"Come," says I, taking up my satchel, "I'm ready to see that city lion, the Rockaways, and the bivalves fed. They have no terrors for me now. I've got over that. Where is their dens, or cages, and how often do they feed?
Cousin Dempster set down his pewter mug, and just stared at me with all his eyes.
"What is it? What do you mean?" says he.
"What! the lion, to be sure! Didn't you say that I would see one of the city lions when I came to Fulton Market?"
That man must have been possessed. He leaned back in his chair, he stooped forward, his face turned red, and, oh! my how he did laugh!
"What possesses you, Cousin D.," says I, riling up.
"Oh, nothing," says he, wiping the tears from his eyes, and trying to stop laughing, though he couldn't; "only—only this isn't a menagerie, but a market. Did you really think there were wild beasts on exhibition? It was the market we meant."
Then I remembered that E. E. had called me a lion once. Now it was the market, and there wasn't a sign of the wild beast in either case. Therehesat laughing till he cried, because I couldn't understand that ladies and markets were not wild animals. Says I to myself, "I'll make you laugh out of the other side of your mouth,"—so I turned to him as cool as a cucumber:
"What on earth are you te-he-ing about? I only want to walk around the market and see what's going on. Isn't that what we came for?"
Cousin D. stopped laughing, and began to look sheepish enough.
"Is that it?" says he.
"What else?" says I. "You didn't think I expected this great, big, low-roofed market to have paws and growl, did you," says I. "I would growl if the city were to set me down in the mud of this pestiferous place. So you thought I really meant it. Well, the easy way in which some men are taken in is astonishing. They never can understand metaphor," says I. "But the bivalves and Rockaways. What of them?" says I.
"Swallowed them," says he. Sisters, the dizziness in my stomach was awful.
D
DEAR SISTERS:—I have been in Washington. The great city of a great nation. I have seen the Capitol in all its splendid magnificence, its pictures, its marbled floor, its fruit tables, and its underground eating-rooms. I have seen the White House, and have had a bird's-eye view of the President of these United States.
I will tell you how it happened. I was getting anxious and down in the mouth; my valentine had been given to the winds of heaven—no,theywould have carried it safely through ten thousand herds of buffalo cattle—but it had been given to the mails, and they aresouncertain, spell the word which way you will. Day after day I waited and watched, and sent down to the post-office to be sure there was no mistake in that department; but nothing came of it; no answer reached me. I became peaked and down-hearted, so much so, dear sisters, that Cousin Dempster got anxious about me, and one day asked me, in the kindest manner, if I would like to run on to Washington with him.
"Run on to Washington," says I; "how far is it, cousin?"
"Why," says he, "about two hundred and thirty miles, I should say."
"Two hundred and thirty miles," says I, almost screaming. "Why, Cousin D., I couldn't do it to save my life."
"Oh!" says he, "it isn't a very tedious ride."
"Ride," says I. "Why, didn't you ask me just now to run on with you? How can I do both?"
Cousin D. laughed, and began to rock up and down till he almost bent double; though what it was about I couldn't begin to tell.
"Well," says he, "just get your trunk or carpet-bag packed, and I'll call for you in the morning. Emily Elizabeth can'tleave home just now, and it will be a great pleasure to me if I can have you along."
"If you'd just as lief," says I, "I'll speak to Cousin E. E. about it; under present circumstances, a young girl like me can't be too particular. I'm told that a good many married men have got a habit of travelling toward Washington in what seems like a single state, and it's wonderful how many of them have unprotected females put under their charge—sometimes, both ways. If E. E. has no objection, I'll be on hand bright and early."
Dempster kept on laughing, and I went upstairs wondering what had set him off so, but when I asked Cousin E. E. if she had any objection to my travelling to Washington with her husband, she began to laugh too, as if it was the best sort of a joke that a York lady should be expected to care about her husband's travelling off with other feminine women.
"Why," says she, a-wiping the fun and tears from her eyes with a lace handkerchief, "what do you think I care! We don't keep our husbands shut up in band-boxes here in the great metropolis."
"No," says I to myself, "nor do you get much chance to shut 'em up at home, according to my thinking."
"Besides," says she, with comicality in her eyes, looking at me from head to foot: "I should never think of being jealous of you, Cousin Phœmie."
Here, that child looked up from a novel she was a-reading.
"The idea," says she, which was exasperating; especially as Cousin E. E. kept laughing.
"That is as much as to say you don't think I'm good-looking enough to be afraid of," says I, feeling as if a cold frost was creeping over my face. "Thank you."
Cousin E. E. started up from her lounge, which is a cushioned bench rounded off at one end, and a high-backed easy-chair at the other; and says she:
"I didn't mean that, cousin; there is no one for whom I have so much respect. It was on account of your high religiousprinciple and beautiful morality that I was so willing to trust you with my husband."
"With papa. The idea!" chimed in that child, giving her head a toss. "They'll think it's his mother."
"My daughter!" shrieked E. E., holding up both her hands, and falling back into the scoop of her couch.
"Oh, let her speak!" says I, feeling the goose pimples a-creeping up my arms. "I'm used to forward children. In our parts they slap them with a slipper, if nothing else is handy."
"A slipper; the idea!" snapped that child.
I didn't seem to mind her, but went on talking to her mother.
"But here, in York, the most careful mothers wear button boots, and keep special help to put them on and off, so the poor little wretches have no check on their impudence."
"Mamma," snapped the creature, "I won't stand this; I won't stay in the same room with that hateful old maid. I hope she will go to Washington and be smashed up in ten thousand railroads. That's the idea!"
With this the spiteful thing walked out of the room with her head thrown back, and her nose in the air.
"Let her go," says E. E., sinking back on her couch as red as fire. "The child has got her share of the old Frost temper. Now let us talk about Washington. Do you mean to goincog.?"
"Incog! Oh, no," says I, beginning to cool down. "We mean to go in the railroad cars."
Another glow of fun came into Cousin E. E.'s eyes—she really is a good-natured creature; some people might have got mad about what I said to that child, but she didn't seem to care, for the laugh all came back to her eyes.
"Of course," says she, "but do you mean to go in your own character?"
"Why," says I, "don't people take their characters with them when they go to Washington?"
"They sometimes leave them there," says she, laughing, "but this is what I mean; if I were you I'd take this trip quietly, and look about a little without letting people know how great a genius they had among them. By and by we will all go and take the city by storm."
"Just so," says I, delighted with the plan, which has a touch of diplomacy in it—and I am anxious to study diplomacy under the circumstances, you know; "creep before you walk—that is what you mean."
"Just pass as Miss Frost—nothing more—and make your own observations," says E. E.
"I will," says I. "It's a good idea. I don't think the people in Washington were over polite to my great Grand Duke, and I mean to pay them off, some day."
"That's settled," says E. E. "Now you have no more than time to get ready."
I
IHURRIED back to my boarding-house, packed up that pink silk dress and things, put on my alpaca dress, tied a thick brown veil over my beehive, and packed my satchel till it rounded out like an apple dumpling.
We started that night. Cousin D. wanted me to go into a long car where people slept, he said; but I saw a good many men with carpet-bags going in there, which looked strange, and though I have great faith in the integrity of Cousin Dempster, a young lady in my peculiar circumstances cannot be too particular; I declined to go into that curtained, long car, and sat up in a high-backed chair all night, wide awake as a whip-poor-will, for Cousin Dempster was on the next seat sleeping like a mole, and his head more than once came down so close to myshoulder that it made me shudder for fear that people might not know that he was my cousin's husband, and snap up my character before I got to Washington.
Well, at last we got out of that train, I stood with both feet in the heart of the nation, and a great, flat, straggling heart it is.
"There it is—there is the Capitol," says Cousin Dempster. "Look how beautifully the sunshine bathes the dome and the white marble walls."
I looked upward—there, rising up over a lot of tall trees and long, green embankments, rose a great building, white as snow, and large as all out-doors. The sun was just up, and had set all its windows on fire, and a great, stout woman perched on the top of a thing they call the dome—which is like a mammoth wash-bowl turned wrong side up—looked as if she was tired out with carrying so much on her head, and longed to jump down and have a good time with the other bronze-colored girls that show themselves off, just like white folks inside the building.
Well, later that day, I went right up to that heap of marble, which in its length and breadth and depth filled my soul with pride and patriotic glory. I really don't believe there is another building like it on the face of the earth. Freedom, honesty, and greatnessoughtto preside there.
Why, sisters, there are whole rooms here of clouded marble, ceiling, floor, walls—everything polished like the agate stone in your brooch, and I do think that the hottest sun can hardly force a beam of warmth through.
Down in the great wandering cellars you come upon staircases of beautiful marble, fenced in with railings of iron and gold and brass all melted together and called bronze, up which deer, as big as young lambs, are jumping, and branches of trees are twisted. There are ever so many of these staircases, and they cost one hundred thousand dollars apiece. Think of that! and mostly where it is so dark that you can't but just see them.
"I hadn't only one day and night to look about in, so I wentup there before Congress got to work, as I wanted to see things without having people know that I was there. But by and by a lot of men came swarming in, and I felt like making myself scarce.
I went back to the hotel and got a little sleep.
It was dinner time, and near candle-light when I woke up; and when we got through dinner, Cousin D. told me to hurry up, and we would take a look at the White House.
"Shall I get out my pink silk?" says I. "Does the President expect me?"
"Oh, no," says he; "no one is aware that we are here. We will drive to the White House, see all that is to be seen, and start home bright and early to-morrow morning."
"Then the alpaca will do," says I.
"Of course," says he; "anything."
I wasn't sorry. This travelling all night is apt to take the ambition out of the most energetic character. The difference between pink silk and alpaca was nothing to me now.
Well, in an hour after, the carriage we rode in stopped under a great square roof, set on marble pillars, which spreads out from the steps of the White House to keep people sheltered from the storm and sun when they get out of the carriages. It was dark now, and two great street-lamps were in brilliant combustion each side of the steps.
Between us, sisters, that White House that we hear so much about is no great shakes of a building. Compared to the Capitol, it is just nowhere.
Cousin D. rang the knob, which was silver, and a man opened the door.
"We should like to see the House," says Cousin D.
"Certainly," says the man. "Walk in."
We did walk into a large room, with a few chairs and two or three pictures in it; nothing particular, I can tell you.
"This way," says the man.
We went that way, into a great room, long and wide as a meeting-house, choke full of long windows, and with threeawful large glass balloons, blazing with lights, a-hanging from the roof.
The carpet was thick and soft as a sandy shore, and had its colors all trampled in together, as if some one had stamped down the leaves of a maple camp into the grass as they fell last year.
"The chairs and sofas and looking-glasses were bought when General Washington was President," says the man.
"Mercy on me! you don't say so," says I. "They look rather skimpy for these times, don't they?" says I; but then his way of buying things and spending money was a little skimpy compared to the way Presidents spend money now; but, of course, we grow more deserving as we grow older. "Now, those red silk curtains that almost hide the lace ones, did they belong to Washington?"
"Them? Oh, no; we change them every four years."
"Then they go out with the President," says I.
"We don't think that he will go out yet awhile," says the man, looking a little wrathy.
"Well, I hope he won't, for great men are scarce in these times," says I, wanting to mollify him. He said nothing, and I followed him through a door into a smaller room, so full of green that it seemed like stepping out of a blazing sun into a fern hollow. The walls were green; the carpet was green as meadow grass; the sofas and chairs were cushioned with green satin. The glass balloon seemed to have a sea-green tinge in it, though it was blazing like a bonfire.
Not a soul was in the room, and we went on to the next which was long, rounded off at the ends like a lemon, and blue as the sky. Down the tall windows came curtains of blue silk, sweeping over white lace. The chairs seemed framed in solid gold; their cushions were blue silk.
"This is the celebrated blue room," says the man.
"I've heard about it," says I.
"And this," says he, "is the red room. The President has given a dinner-party to General Sickles this evening, and they are now at the table. Would you like to look in?"
Before I could answer, we were standing in the red room, and looking through at a table crowded round with gentlemen and ladies, dressed like queens and princes, some of them looking handsome as angels.
"That is General Sickles," says he, "a-sitting by Mr. Grant."
I looked in, but could only see a face, not over young, turned towards a lady who was listening to him, as if every word he dropped was a ripe cherry. She had a good, honest face, and I liked her.
"That is Mrs. Sickles, sitting by the President," says the man.
"What, that girl! you don't say so. Why, he might be her father."
It was the truth—a young, black-eyed thing, rather pretty and childish, sat there by General Grant—I knew it was Grant by his features—talking to him as if he had been her brother. Her dress was high up in the neck, but most of the ladies there wore them so low that I felt like turning my eyes away; but Cousin D. says that low-necked dresses always rage as a chronic epidemic in Washington, so I mustn't be surprised.
"That is General Sheridan," says the man.
"That little cast-iron image, General Sheridan!" says I, a-starting back. "The fellow that cured a whole tribe of Indian women of small-pox with bayonets and bullets! I don't want to see anything more! Just let us go away, cousin; I haven't been vaccinated, and he might break out again."
"Hush! hush! he isn't dangerous," says Cousin D.
"Dangerous!" says I, "just ask the Governor of Illinois. Wasn't it General Sheridan who dragged off the Grand Duke among the Indians and buffaloes? I tell you again I won't stay another minute in the house with that man!"
Sisters, I kept my word. We departed at once.
M
MY DEAR SISTERS:—I made what people here call a flying visit to Washington, which means, I suppose, that the railroad cars go about as swift as a bird flies, which they do, if one is allowed to choose the bird—a white bantam, for instance, with clipped wings. Well, I really don't know much about the speed, only I was awful tired when we got out of the cars at Jersey City, and we had the lonesomest drive home just before daylight that two tired mortals ever undertook. The whole city was still as a graveyard, and put one in mind of those cities over the sea, dug out of the ashes in which they have been buried hundreds on hundreds of years.
To me, sisters, nothing is more dreary than a great city shut up and full of sleeping people. Only think of it! half a million of human beings all lying in darkness, unconscious of both happiness or misery, just as if sleeping in their tombs, only that the first glow of sunshine brings them to life again. Did you ever think of it?
Now, in the country the stillness is not so mournful—there is a sense of out-door freedom there. The leaves stir with life on the trees. The brooks murmur and gurgle and laugh by night as they do by day. The birds flutter now and then, and the winds whistle and whisper, filling the night with a stir of life. But here—here in a great city, a ghost-like policeman, or a poor straggling wretch who has no home but the street, is all that you see. Indeed, coming home before daybreak isn't a thing I hanker to do over again.
Well, after pulling at the bell-knob till I'm afraid Cousin Dempster swore internally, we got into the house, and had a good long sleep before breakfast.
"I'm so glad you've come," says Cousin E. E., "for the Liederkranz comes off to-night, and I was afraid we should lose it. Of course you'll go, Cousin Frost?"
"Well," says I, "perhaps I can tell better when I know what the thing is. It's a crabbled sort of a word, that might belong to an aligator or kangaroo; and I don't care overmuch for wild-beast shows, any way." Cousin E. E. laughed.
"Well," says she, "in some sense you are right. There will be a show of wild animals such as never roamed in field or forest, but none of them are dangerous; at any rate, in that form."
"Are they in a circus, and is there a clown with a chalky face and red patches?" says I.
"The circus!" says she, a-holding up both hands. "Why, it is to be in the Academy of Music, and the first people in the city are going."
"To see them feed?" says I.
"Well, that may be a part of it, but the principal thing is the parade."
"But where do they feed the animals—not in the boxes with red velvet cushions, I calculate?"
"Oh, how funny you are! Of course not; the supper is set out in Nilsson Hall, and is servedà la carte."
"What!" says I; "do they bring in fodder by the cartload for the creatures? Now, really, Cousin E. E., there is nothing astonishing about that to a person born and bred in the country. You and I have ridden on a load of hay, piled up so high that we had to bend down our heads to keep from bumping them against the top of the barn door, when the hay went in to be put on the mow; so we need not see the same thing meached over here in York."
"Dear me!" said my cousin; "you are just the brightest and stupidest woman——"
"Young lady, if you please," says I.
"Well, young lady—that I ever set eyes on—can't you comprehend that it is a ball we are speaking of?"
"A ball?" says I; "then what did you call it a Liederkranz for?"
"The Liederkranz ball. It's a German word."
"But I don't speak Dutch. How should I, not being an old settler of York Island," says I.
"Well, never mind that. The Liederkranz is a masked ball."
"A masked ball! Now what do you mean? I've heard of masked batteries, but they went out with the war."
"There it is again; you won't take time to understand," says Cousin E. E., a-lifting both her hands in the air. "This is a ball where people go in character."
I arose at once, burning with indignation.
"Cousin E. E.," says I, "do you mean to insult me? What have you seen in my conduct to lead you into supposing that I would go to any ball that was out of character?"
"Do sit down," says she.
"Not in this house," says I. "It isn't my own dignity alone that I have got to maintain, but the whole Society of Infinite Progress is represented in my humble person."
"But you are mistaken. Was ever anything so absurd! Do speak to her, Mr. Dempster. You know how far it is from my mind to give offence to Cousin Phœmie."
Cousin Dempster, who had been rubbing his hands and enjoying himself mightily, now smoothed down his face, and spoke.
"A masked ball, Cousin Phœmie, is an entertainment, you understand."
"Just so," says I.
"In which each person takes some character not his own."
"All slanderers, are they?" says I.
"No, no; they assume a character."
"Oh!" says I, a-drawing out a long breath; "make believe have one?"
"They dress the character, and act it."
"Well?" says I, completely beat out.
"Some dress themselves up as beasts and birds."
"What?"
"And some as tame animals."
"You don't say so!"
"The ladies put masks on their faces."
"Masks! now what are they?"
"Pieces of silk, or gold and silver cloth, with holes for the eyes, and a fringe over the mouth. Then over the dress they put on a great circular cloak, with a hood to it, and loose sleeves that hide the shape, so that a man don't know his own wife."
"Oh, it's a hide-and-seek ball; but ain't some of the ladies in danger of losing themselves," says I.
Cousin Dempster laughed, and his wife turned red as fire.
"People who lose themselves at the Liederkranz, generally get found out in the end," says he.
"But I must hurry down town. Will you go? Everybody will be there. It is the place to meet a prince in disguise."
As Dempster uttered these words, my heart gave a great, wild bound, and my breath stopped. What ifhewere to be at the ball in disguise, seeking a safe and private interview.
"Yes, yes, I will go," says I, "but I don't know either! The mask and cloak!"
"Never mind about them," says E. E.; "I have a couple ready, feeling sure that you would go."
"Then it is settled," says Dempster, snatching up his hat. "I will be on hand. So good-morning!"
D
DEAR SISTERS:—That night about ten o'clock, three of the funniest-looking people you ever set eyes on might have been seen creeping—like black, and pink, and yellow ghosts—down Cousin Dempster's front steps.
I had on a long yellow cloak, trimmed with black velvet, that just swept down to my feet and covered them up. Then over my face was a black velvet mask, with gold fringe, that swept down to my bosom like an old man's beard, and over that my hood was pulled so close that not a lock of my hair could be seen.
Cousin E. E. wore a pink cloak, trimmed with white swan's-down, and her mask shone like silver.
Dear sisters, you wouldn't have known me from the Queen of Sheba.
Dempster was black all over—mask, cloak, and boots. It seemed as if half a dozen funerals had been rolled into one, and hung on him.
Well, we crowded into the carriage and drove off. It seemed as if we never should get untangled from the drove of carriages that swarmed around the Academy of Music, and when we got in, and found ourselves struggling with the crowd, we almost wished ourselves back again.
I looked around everywhere, as I went, for that tall and princely form; but the crowd was so thick, and the dresses so queer, that it seemed next to impossible to find out anything or know anybody. The lights from the great glass balloons poured down rainbows on the crowd, that moved and chatted and laughed till the noise was confusing as the dresses.
"Step back, step back!" says Cousin Dempster, all at once, "the procession is coming."
We did step back, and tried our best to see the procession;but the floor was pretty much on a level, and, though I stood on tiptoe, all that I could see was, now and then, the head of an eagle, or a bear, or a giraffe, rising above the crowd, while the music rang out in thunders of sweet sounds, and the people swarmed in and out of the little square pews in the galleries, like bees hiving on a hot summer day.
Of course, I knew well enough that all this moving circus was make-believe, and that every wild animal had a man in him, just as every man has the shadow of some animal in his nature. But I couldn't help stepping back and shuddering a little, when a great big lumbering elephant rolled by, with his trunk curled up in the air, and almost trod on me.
"Oh, mercy!" says I, with a little scream. "He's enough to frighten one out of a year's growth!"
"Don't be terrified," says a voice behind me, and I felt an arm a-stealing around my waist; "I am here to protect you."
I looked up. My heart stopped beating. The stranger was tall, majestic, and the eyes that shone through his mask were blue as robin's eggs. He had on a black cloak, and the mask covered his whole face; but how could I mistake the princely bend of that head, the breadth of those majestic shoulders.
He drew me back from the crowd. I forgot Cousin Dempster, E. E., and everything else, in the ecstasy of that sweet surprise.
"You have forgotten the roses," he whispered, with a look of loving reproach.
I felt for the bouquet Cousin Dempster had given me—it was gone.
"I must have dropped them as I got out of the carriage," says I. "But when did you come?" I added, in a whisper, tremulous with bliss.
"Oh, I came an hour ago, and in the usual way," was his sweet answer; "but, not seeing the flowers, I doubted."
"Ah! how I prayed that you would grow weary of that miserable buffalo hunt, and return!" says I.
He seemed just a little puzzled, but at last broke out:
"Oh, it's all a grotesque farce. Why should wise men turn themselves into wild animals, if it is only in sport? I never enjoy such parties for themselves."
"I am glad to hear you say that," says I; "and more glad that you have left off hunting with Phil Sheridan; he might have led you into some Indian camp filled with Modocs, who would have shot you for sport."
"Sheridan," says he. "Oh, he doesn't stay in one place long enough to do much harm."
"Exactly," says I; "but he works quickly. Still, you are here, safe and sound; why should we waste time over him?"
"True enough," says he; "so take my arm, and let us promenade."
I took his arm, and clasping both hands over it after a fashion I have seen prevalent among young girls when they walk out with their lovers by moonlight, moved proudly through that throng—very proudly—for I knew that long cloak covered imperial greatness that would have astonished that assembly, had they known as much as I fondly suspected.
"Tell me," says I, in a soft whisper, "did you receive a valentine?"
"Did I receive a valentine?" says he. "Why do you ask?"
"Ah!" says I, "do not question me."
"But I must. Tell me something about it."
"It was original. It was poetry," says I.
"Poetry—and yours! How can you doubt its effect?"
"I do not doubt. Are you not by my side?" I whispered.
He drew my hand under his loose sleeve, and pressed it tenderly—so tenderly, that I did not know when the handkerchief it held escaped from my grasp to his; but, directly after, I saw him thrust something white into his bosom. It was my very best handkerchief, embroidered with my name; but I said nothing—how could I?
We walked on. The crowd swarmed and hummed like bees in a clover-field. Now and then a great gray eagle flapped by,or a bear prowled along; but, after all, it was a clumsy make-believe, and didn't scare anybody much.
By and by a lady came along dressed just like me—yellow and black all over. She stared at me, and I stared at her—just my height—just my air—modest, but queenly. There was a trifling difference—she wore a bunch of red roses on her bosom.
After staring at me awhile, she drew softly round to the other side, and it seemed as if she was saying something tohim. I can't tell you what happened next; for just then four great big gilt candlesticks walked into the middle of the room, and began to dance, in a way that fairly took me off my feet. It really was too funny. The style in which they hopped up and down, crossed over, and stalked about, was enough to make a priest laugh.
"Isn't it awful queer!" says I, a-turning to the man who had come so far to tell me of his love.
He was gone. I stood there alone in the crowd, my limbs shook, my heart sunk like lead. How had I lost him?
Wild with a sense of widowhood, I wandered to and fro over that ball-room. Many people spoke to me; some gentlemen in disguise wanted to walk with me; but I evaded them all. Some I answered; to some I gave nothing but sighs. At last I felt tears stealing down under my mask, my strength gave way, I sat down on a cushioned bench in a fit of despondency. The cup of bliss had sparkled at my lips, and been dashed aside.
What did I care for the men and women who were whirling, talking, and dancing around me!
"Cousin, are you almost ready to go home?"
It was Cousin Dempster who spoke; he had been searching for me high and low, and was shocked to find me sitting there alone. I said nothing, but, like that Spartan boy, gathered the yellow waves of my cloak over the vulture that knawed at my poor heart, and followed my cousin out of the crowd—still looking eagerly for that one noble figure, but looking in vain.
D
DEAR SISTERS:—Would you believe it? Cousin Dempster had hardly got down to his business after the ball, when a telegram—I think that is the name of the thing that he said came flying over the wires—called him to Washington again. Cousin E. E. made up her mind to go with him this time, and nothing would satisfy her but that I must join in and cut a dash with them. After the strange way in which that majestic man in the black cloak had gone off with the yellowhammer of a female, I had felt so down in the mouth that nothing seemed to pacify me. If it really was the great Grand Duke, his conduct was just abominable. I wouldn't have believed it of him; taking off a lady's handkerchief in his bosom, and that the best one she had in the world, and not bringing it back again. Such conduct may be imperial, but it isn't polite, that I must say, though it wrings my heart to find fault with him. If he had brought it back the next day, of course it would have been different; but he didn't, and there I sat and sat, waiting like patience on a—on a stone wall, smiling, but wanting to cry all the time.
"It'll do you good, and cheer you up," says Cousin E. E.
"Maybe it will," says I, drawing a heavy breath, "but I don't seem to expect much. February is gone, and no answer to—"
I bit my tongue, and cut off what it was going to say about that valentine, for that was a secret breathed only to you, as a Society, in the strictest confidence.
"This time," says Cousin E. E., "there shall be no secrecy. The whole world shall know that the rising genius of the age is with us. The day we start, all the morning papers will announce that Mr. and Mrs. Dempster, of ——, have gone to Washington, accompanied by that celebrated authoress, MissPhœmie Frost, who cannot fail to meet with every attention from the statesmen and high fashion of the Capital."
"But how are the papers going to know?" says I.
E. E. laughed.
"Oh, Dempster will manage that; he's hand-and-glove with ever so many city editors," says she.
"Oh!" says I.
"There are some things that even genius itself don't know how to manage," says E. E., nodding her head, and smiling slyly; "but they can be done. As soon as we get to Washington, all the papers there will catch fire from New York, and the Senate will get up another committee, and vote you a seat in the diplomatic gallery by ballot. We'll break right into the Japanese furore, and carry off the palm," says she, kindling up like a heap of pine shavings when a match touches it.
I began to feel the proud Frosty blood melting in my bosom.
"The woman who writes is more than equal to the man who votes," says she.
"There is no comparison," says I. "Women are women and men are men—nobody thinks of comparing rose-bushes and oak-trees—one makes timber and the other perfume; we shelter the roses, and let the oaks battle for themselves. So it ought to be with men and women—"
Cousin E. E. cut me short.
"That is beautifully expressed," says she, "but save it for one of your reports or literary conversations; my head is full of Washington."
"And my heart is full of sadness," says I, beginning to droop again.
"Nonsense, you will be happy as a bird when we once get a-going," says she.
Cousin E. E. isn't a woman of great depth, but she knows a thing or two about fashionable life.
The York papersdidannounce to the world that a distinguished party had gone on to the seat of government, and, singular enough, it was done exactly in E. E.'s own words—acircumstance that rather puzzled me. What was more—the very day we got to Washington all the papers there did the same thing, which set us at the top of the heap at once.
I hadn't the least idea of interfering with the Japanese that came to us from California, and in that way seem to be turning the world the other side about from what it used to be; but when genius takes the bit between its teeth, it's apt to scatter things right and left. I suppose it was the newspapers did it, but I hadn't been a day at the hotel when a letter come to us from the President's mansion, which invited us to come to the White House and see the Japanese presentation—in full dress.
I declare I felt myself blushing all over when I read that. Did any one suppose that we were a-coming to meet those outside potentates half dressed? Some of them, perhaps, unmarried men.
"The idea!" as that child would say. I showed the card to Cousin E. E., who seemed to think it all right, so I said nothing, though the whole thing had riled me so it seemed as if I never should stop blushing.
"What does it mean," says I.
"We must go, Dick or Lottie," says she.
"Go—how?" says I. "Haven't they got horses and carriages in this great city, that we must go in an outlandish thing like that?"
Here E. E. broke into one of her aggravating titters; but when I gave her a look she choked off, and says she:
"It means low necks and short sleeves."
"Low necks and short sleeves! Why didn't they say so, then? What has any Dick or Lottie got to do with it? But it's no use; I won't wear anything of the kind. Those who want to have a shoulder-strap for a sleeve, and their dresses too short at one end and too long at the other, can; I won't—there!"
"Oh! you are privileged; genius always is," says E. E.
"That is, genius is privileged to be decent in Washington. Well, I'm glad of that," says I. "Some young ladies maylike to go about with bare arms and shoulders—let them. I won't!"