Book: Elinor Wyllys

S >> Susan Fenimore Cooper >> Elinor Wyllys




{"a new rail-road" = The Camden and (Perth) Amboy line crossed
New Jersey in 1833, and the Philadelphia and Columbia (Penn.)
line opened in 1834}

"We shall have to consult you, Miss Elinor, in our proceedings,"
said Mr. Hubbard, as they were sitting at the dinner-table;
perhaps you don't know it, but you will be one of our
stockholders, and much interested in our success, I assure you."

"My grandfather tried last night to give me some notions on the
subject, Mr. Hubbard; but I am afraid he was not very
successful."

"Oh, I don't know that," said Mr. Wyllys; "I shall make quite a
business woman of you, yet, Nelly." In fact, her grandfather had
taken the moment to assure Elinor that it was high time she
should have some just ideas on such subjects, and insisted on her
listening to all his explanations, and doing her best to
comprehend them. Elinor tried to be a docile pupil, and really
acquired some useful information, which may appear singular to
romantic young ladies, who set up for broken-hearted; as her only
object, however, was to gratify her grandfather, we hope she will
be forgiven for anything so much out of character in a heroine.

"It is a beautiful speculation, Miss Wyllys," observed Mr.
Taylor. "I suppose you know enough about these things, to be glad
to hear that in a year or two, you will probably realize two
hundred per cent. on your lots in Water-Street, where the depot
is to be built."

"It all sounds very grandly, certainly," said Elinor, smiling.

"We shall make a fortune for you, Miss Elinor," added Mr.
Hubbard. "You will be the great lady of Longbridge."

"I dare say, Nelly, you will find some way of spending the money;
young ladies know very well how to get rid of it, let it come
ever so fast."

"Yes, sir, my daughters are very expert at that; Emmeline thinks
nothing of giving fifty dollars for a flimsy pocket-handkerchief,
and as much for a flighty-looking hat. But I've no objections;
I'll tell you in confidence, that is what we make our money for,
Miss Elinor--for our children to spend," added Mr. Hubbard,
smiling good-naturedly. "I dare say you will find a right use for
some of yours. It will be in good hands, and I hope you may long
enjoy it," said he, making a bow to Elinor, as he drank off a
glass of Madeira.

{"fifty dollars for a flimsy pocket-handkerchief" = this remark
by Mr. Hubbard reflects James Fenimore Cooper's little-known
novelette, "The Autobiography of a Pocket-Handkerchief" (1843),
as do many aspects of the greedy and ostentatious Taylor family
whom Emmeline Hubbard seeks to emulate}

Mr. Taylor, though he joined in the toast with some "affable"
remark, as usual, could not help regretting that so much money,
and consequently the power of making so much more, should not be
in the hands of one who could turn it to better account than Miss
Elinor Wyllys. He had a very poor opinion of Mr. Wyllys's
money-making abilities, and thought him very "unenterprising."
That gentleman, on the contrary, when brought in closer contact
with Mr. Taylor, began to have a clearer insight into his
character, and while he found him uncommonly clever, discovered
that several of his propositions betrayed anything but high
principles. He began to believe that Mr. Graham's dislike was not
ill-founded.

Mr. Hubbard, in the mean time, who had known Elinor from a child,
was thinking how he could say something agreeable about love and
beaux, supposed always to be pleasant subjects to young ladies.
He felt some doubts about hinting at Hazlehurst, for he thought
he had heard the engagement was broken off. Happily for Elinor,
the party rose from table before anything had suggested itself.

At length Mrs. Wyllys's boy recovered, and was sent off to
school; and this rail-road matter was also satisfactorily
settled. As there was nothing more to detain the family in the
country, the Wyllyses went to Philadelphia, and took possession
of their lodgings for the winter.



CHAPTER XIX.

"Had you not lately an intent, speak truly,
To go to Paris?"
SHAKSPEARE.

{William Shakespeare, "All's Well That Ends Well", I.iii.218-219}

MISS TAYLOR paid her visit to Miss Lawrence. One morning at
breakfast she informed her parents that she intended to make an
excursion to Boston. "Whom was she going to see?" asked her
father. "Miss Lawrence, a young lady who had passed three days at
the Springs, at the hotel where they stayed, and with whom she
had become very intimate." "How long was she going to be absent?"
inquired her mother. "She thought of remaining a fortnight;
perhaps three weeks, if she found it very pleasant. Mr. Powell,
the young gentleman who was to be her escort, had been introduced
to her the evening previous at a ball, and she thought him
sufficiently fashionable in his appearance, to have the honour of
taking charge of herself and her baggage." Her father observed
that he would bring a supply of money for her, when he came home
to dinner; her mother offered to look over her stockings.
Everything thus settled, the next morning Mr. Taylor and Miss
Adeline drove to the East-River wharf, where the Boston boat lay:
here they met with a slight difficulty; the gentleman engaged as
an escort could not be found; something had interfered with his
journey. Nothing was easier than to pick up another, however. Mr.
Taylor looked about him, saw a face he knew slightly, and
remembered the name that belonged to it.

"Good morning, sir; are you going to Boston, Mr. Hopkins?"

Mr. Hopkins bowed, and declared that he was going to Boston.

"I have a daughter on board, sir; and the young gentleman who was
to be her escort is not here; will you be so good as to look
after her?"

Mr. Hopkins would be very happy to take charge of Miss Taylor.
But Adeline was almost in despair when she saw him. How could one
of the most dashing belles in New York, consent to sit, in view
of all the passengers, side-by-side with such a fat, rusty,
snuffy, little old gentleman, who more green spectacles, and had
a red silk handkerchief spread on his knee? Suppose he should ask
her to walk, how could she pace up and down the promenade-deck
arm-in-arm with such a figure? She, Adeline Taylor, whose
travelling dress was faultless, and who had expected to have a
charming flirtation with Albert Powell! What could she do? The
fates, and the warning bell, decided the question; it was too
late to look out for some better-looking escort. Mr. Taylor had
hardly time to shake hands with his daughter, and jump on the
wharf, ere the whizzing of the steam had ceased, and the plashing
of the wheels was heard. Adeline sank on a bench beside the rusty
old gentleman for a moment, but soon fled to the ladies' cabin
for refuge.

During the whole jaunt, the fat, snuffy Mr. Hopkins was kind and
good-natured to Adeline, whenever she would allow him. He thought
she must be lonely, and she had been obliged to confess that she
knew no one on board; so the old gentleman held it incumbent on
him to be sociable. He took some pea-nuts out of his pocket, and
offered her a handful; he gave her a couple of newspapers to
read; asked her questions about her family, brothers and sisters,
and seemed to look upon her as a school-girl. He was not the
least impressed with her elegance and finery, and quite unaware
of her belle-ship; he even once called her "my dear." Then, the
red silk handkerchief was always either on his knee, or in his
hand! It would he difficult to say whether Adeline would have
survived the mortification of such an escort, had it not been for
two circumstances, which changed the current of her thoughts.
There were several elegantly dressed young ladies on board, and
she soon succeeded in getting up an intimacy with two of them;
they exchanged cards and invitations to each other's houses, and
through the same means Adeline was introduced to a couple of
beaux. Between breakfast and dinner, these new bosom-friends and
herself were inseparable, but, unfortunately, they were only
going half-way. The grief of separation was, however, somewhat
assuaged with Miss Taylor by sea-sickness, which, as every one
knows, is very destructive to sentiment and sensibility. As long
as they were tossing about near Point Judith, the snuffy old
gentleman, who was not in the least sea-sick himself, was very
faithful in his inquiries after Adeline, and proposed several
remedies to her, through the stewardess. At length they reached
Boston. As they drove to the door of Miss Lawrence's father, Mr.
Hopkins asked "how long she intended to remain in Boston?" "About
a fortnight," Adeline replied.

{"Point Judith" = prominent cape on the coast of Rhode Island,
south of Narragansett}

"I shall be going back to New York about the same time, my dear,
and if you have not got some one more to your taste, I'll take
care of you on your way home, with pleasure," said the fat old
gentleman, sprinkling a handful of snuff on Miss Taylor's grey
silk, and brandishing the red handkerchief at the same time.

Adeline's thanks were very faintly uttered; but gratitude is not
a fashionable virtue. It was fortunately so dark that the rusty
old gentleman could scarcely be seen as he took leave of the
elegant Miss Taylor at Mr. Lawrence's door, and thus the young
lady's mortification was over.

At the end of the three weeks, Adeline returned home, bringing
glowing accounts of the delights of Boston, and talking a great
deal about several "delightful young gentlemen," and occasionally
mentioning a certain Theodore St. Leger. She had heard that the
Boston people were all BLUE; but it must be a calumny to say so,
for she had had a very lively time--plenty of fun and flirtation.
Miss Lawrence returned with her, and of course a party was given
in her honour; there were some eighty persons present, all free
from the shackles of matrimony, apparently to give the Boston
young lady an opportunity of meeting a representation of her
peers, the marriageable portion only of the New York community.
The evening was pronounced delightful by Miss Lawrence; but all
the guests were not of the same opinion.

{"BLUE" = literary or learned, from "blue-stocking"}

"What an absurd custom it is, to have these young people
parties," said Harry Hazlehurst, who was on one of his frequent
visits to New York at the time, and was sitting in Mrs. Graham's
drawing-room, with that lady, Jane, and Mrs. Stanley.

"I agree with you; it is a bad plan," observed Mrs. Stanley.

"The first of the kind that I went to, after we came home, made
me feel ashamed of myself; though Dr. Van Horne, I suppose, would
accuse me of high-treason for saying so."

"But most young people seem to enjoy them," said Mrs. Graham.

"It is paying us but a poor compliment to say so. One would think
the young people were afraid to laugh and talk before their
fathers and mothers. I really felt the other night as if we were
a party of children turned into the nursery to play, and eat
sugar-plums together, and make as much noise as we pleased,
without disturbing our elders. It is a custom that appears to me
as unnatural as it is puerile. I hope you don't like it," he
added, turning to Jane.

"I care very little about it."

"I am glad, at least, you do not defend it."

"There are a few families you know, Harry, who never give those
kind of parties," observed Mrs. Stanley.

Hazlehurst's conscience felt a twinge, for he knew she was
thinking of Elinor, whom Miss Wyllys had never allowed to give
these UNMARRIED parties; though she went to other houses, when
asked.

"Miss Taylor had collected a tribe of Europeans of all sorts,
last night; half-a-dozen Englishmen, and a vulgar Frenchman,"
observed Harry, by way of changing the conversation. "I was
surprised when my friend Townsend told me he was invited; he did
not know the Taylors, and only arrived a week since."

"Adeline invited him on purpose; Miss Lawrence is very fond of
foreigners, and you know Mr. Taylor calls on all the strangers
who arrive," said Jane.

Harry's lip curled a little.

"How disagreeable that Captain Kockney is," continued Jane.

"More than disagreeable," replied Harry. "I should not have used
so soft a word. I was not a little amused, by-the-bye, to see how
the fellow cooled off when Townsend and Ellery came in. Your low
set of English have such a thorough awe of those a few degrees
above them."

"That Mr. Kockney is so very forward and vulgar," said Mrs.
Graham, "that I wonder anybody can endure him. I was disgusted
with his manner on board the steamboat from Longbridge, the other
day."

"He is beneath notice," said Harry.

"I am not sure, either, that I like your friend, Mr. Ellery,
Harry."

"Ellery is no friend of mine; but, pray, don't name him in the
same breath with that Kockney."

"Oh, no, Mr. Ellery is a gentleman, evidently; but I don't like
his manners, there is something affected about him."

"Certainly, he knows how to play the coxcomb, and condescends to
do so quite too often. But I hope you like Townsend; he is really
a fine fellow."

"Mr. Townsend has very different manners."

"Yes, he has the best English manner; quite natural, and not
afraid to be civil. It is only the best of the English who are
quite free from nonsense. Ellery aims at effect, half the time;
Townsend has too much sense to do so."

"Well, I really wonder," said Jane, "how Mrs. Hilson can endure
that Captain Kockney."

"The silly little soul knows no better."

"To be sure, she is quite as ridiculous as he is."

"She is really very silly," said Mrs. Stanley. "It is a pity that
good, worthy Mr. Hubbard should have daughters so little like
himself, and so much like their mother."

"She is very pretty, though, and dresses very well," said Jane.
"Would you believe it, mamma, the other day, when she called at
Adeline's she wore a collar precisely like the prettiest of those
I brought from Paris."

"Does she visit a great deal at Mrs. Taylor's?" inquired her
mother.

"Oh, no; Adeline can't endure her. But she cannot get rid of her
entirely, because they meet in the country. Adeline would like to
drop the acquaintance altogether, but she says Mrs. Hilson won't
let her, because Mrs. Taylor's is the only fashionable house
where she visits."

"These Taylors have really done wonders in the last few years,"
said Mrs. Stanley, smiling.

"They have been quite as persevering, I dare say, as Mrs. Hilson
can be. They are a very vulgar, pushing family," observed Mrs.
Graham.

Jane coloured, and Harry feared she would shed a tear or two. She
was quite agitated. "Dear Jane," he thought," what an
affectionate heart she has!" By way of consoling her, probably,
and at the same time obtaining a better view of her downcast
face, he took a seat beside her. He even refrained from making an
observation which he had in petto, upon the volatile character
and manners of Miss Taylor, reserving it for the future;
determining that when they were man and wife, Jane should have
the full benefit of his opinion of her friend.

{"in petto" = in mind}

Let it not be supposed that Harry was too sure of success, in
thus looking forward to his marriage with Jane as no very
improbable event. Since he had appeared in the family as her
suitor, her manner had been encouraging. There were blushes and
moments of embarrassment which looked very favourably; and had he
been obliged to proclaim all his hopes, he would have confessed
that the same flattering signs had been observed by him in Paris,
and had contributed not a little to increase the warmth of his
own feelings. There was now a rival in the field, and one by no
means to be despised; but, although young de Vaux was
good-looking, agreeable, and very much in love, Jane did not seem
disposed to smile upon him. To do her justice, she was no
coquette; she was too indolent by nature, to labour very hard to
secure several conquests at the same time. Miss Graham was very
much admired, however, and was generally proclaimed the beauty of
the season; while Harry soon began to feel the vanity of the
favoured man.

But if she were a beauty, Adeline was a belle; a pretty, and a
rich belle, moreover, and Miss Taylor's train of admirers was
much larger than that of Miss Graham. So numerous indeed were her
followers, that she was seldom seen alone. If she visited, it was
with an attendant beau; if she were walking in Broadway, she had
generally one on each side of her; and at a party she was always
talking to half-a-dozen young men at a time. Miss Adeline was,
undeniably, a very popular belle. But all this homage was
sometimes attended with difficulties: one morning she wrote an
urgent note to her friend Jane, requesting that she would come to
see her, for she was unwell herself, and wanted advice in a
momentous affair.

The sympathising Jane had no sooner appeared, than Adeline
exclaimed, {sic}

"I am so perplexed, that I really don't know what to do! You must
decide for me."

"How can I help you? What is the matter?" inquired Jane.

"Why you know to-night is Mrs. Thompson's great ball, and I am
going, of course; though I have a very bad cold."

"Yes, you are really quite hoarse."

"No wonder! I have been so pestered by serenades for the last
fortnight, that I have not had one good night's rest. I had to
get up and show myself at the window, until I caught one cold
after another."

"Perhaps you had better not go to-night."

"You may be sure I shan't stay at home unless I have to keep my
bed; I am already engaged for five dances. But just look at the
centre-table."

Jane turned her eyes towards the table, which was covered with
flowers.

"How beautiful they are!" she exclaimed, going to look at them.
"One, two, four, six bouquets!--Where did they all come from?"

"Don't ask me; I am sick of the very sight of flowers!"

"This, with the variegated camellias, is beautiful!"

"Yes, it's pretty enough; but what shall I do with it?"

"Why, take it to the party this evening, of course."

"No, indeed; it came from Mr. Howard, and I can't endure him."

"Which have you chosen, then?"

"That is the very question; I don't know how to settle it."

"Take this one with the passion-flower."

"No, that I shan't; for it was sent just to spite me. Mr. Grant
sent it--and I told him last night that I hated passion flowers,
and everything else that is sentimental. What shall I do?--It is
so provoking!"

"Suppose you put them all in water, and go without any."

"My dear Jane, how you talk! That's what I never did in my life.
Go to a ball without a bouquet!--I can't think of such a thing!"

"We can untie them, and make up one ourselves, taking the
prettiest flowers from each."

"That won't do, either; for it's only the gardeners that can do
up these things decently. I wouldn't, for the world, carry one
that looked as if I had made it up myself."

"Well," said Jane, in despair, "I really don't know what else to
advise."

"I do believe the young gentlemen have leagued together to
provoke me! And this is not all, there are three more in water
up-stairs."

"You might take the first that came; perhaps that would be the
best plan."

"Would you have me take this ridiculous-looking thing, with only
one camellia in it! No, indeed;" and for a moment the two young
ladies sat down by the centre-table, looking despondingly at each
other and at the flowers.

"If I could only take the one I like best, it would be the
easiest thing in the world; but, you know, all the other
gentlemen would be offended then."

"Which do you like best?" asked Jane.

"Why this one, with the white camellias; it came from Theodore
St. Leger; he told me he would send one with white flowers only."
Adeline's colour rose a little as she spoke, and as that was not
a common occurrence with her, it looked suspicious.

"Did Mr. St. Leger dance with you last night?"

"Why, no, child, he never dances; I didn't see him dance, all the
time we were in Boston."

"I thought you liked him," said Jane, with innocent surprise.

"I like him well enough, after a fashion; as well as one can like
a man who never dances, and don't talk much. He is very stupid,
sometimes, and dresses very badly too."

"Is he handsome?" asked Jane.

"No, he is as ugly as he can be; I really think he looks just a
little like that old Mr. Hopkins, his uncle."

"What in the world makes you like him then?"

"I am sure I don't know. But don't fancy I really care about the
man. He is going back to Boston next week, and I don't suppose I
shall ever see him again; but I thought I would take his bouquet,
to-night, because he was so polite to me; and he will be there.
Oh, my dear Jane, talking of Boston, I have hit upon an idea!"

"Well, what is it?"

"I saw a girl at a party there--by-the-bye, it was Theodore St.
Leger's sister--who had her dress trimmed with natural flowers;
that's just the thing for me!" cried Adeline, clapping her hands.
The difficulty thus happily removed, the young ladies ran up
stairs, to determine more fully upon trimming a certain white
crape with the eight bouquets, divided for the purpose. The white
one, the offering of Mr. St. Leger, was reserved for the place of
honour, in Adeline's hand.



CHAPTER XX.

"Thy young and innocent heart,
How is it beating? Has it no regrets?
Discoverest thou no weakness lurking there?"
ROGERS.

{Samuel Rogers (English poet, 1763-1855), "Italy: The Nun" lines
71-73}

SISTERS' children, though bearing different names, and classed by
the world in different families, are generally much more alike
than those of brothers; they are apt to have more habits, tastes,
and feelings in common. And the reason is evident; it is usually
the mother who controls the internal family policy, who gives the
colouring to what may be called the family atmosphere. The father
may pass a statute once in a while, but the common-law which
regulates the every-day proceedings of the little community flows
from the mother; and we all know that the character is moulded
rather by daily practice in trifles, than by a few isolated
actions of greater importance in themselves. The aims and views
which people carry with them through life, generally spring up
from seeds received in the nursery, or at the family fire-side.
Even with men this is the case. The father may inculcate this or
that political creed into his son, he may direct his choice to
this or that profession; but the manner in which the youth
carries out his political principles, the way in which he fills
his profession, will depend on the impulses and motives
cultivated in childhood, and early youth; for it is then that the
character receives its bias. The mother's influence and example
are often to be traced in those minute shades of taste and
opinion, which are the foundation of our partialities, or our
dislikes; and, of course, the daughters of a family, from being
more constantly subject to this influence, imbibe a larger share
of it. It is immaterial whether the mother be aware of the
importance of her duties, of the weight of this responsibility,
or not; for good or for evil, the effect will still be felt,
though varying, of course, in different circumstances.

Elinor had not seen her cousin, Mary Van Alstyne, her mother's
niece, for several years, and she now met her in Philadelphia
with great pleasure. Miss Van Alstyne was some five or six years
older than herself; this difference in years had, indeed, been
the chief reason why they had never yet been very intimate. But
the same distance which separates girls of twelve and eighteen,
is, of course, less thought of at twenty and six-and-twenty, when
both are fairly launched into the world. Mary Van Alstyne and
Elinor found much to like in each other on a closer acquaintance;
and Miss Wyllys observing that the two cousins suited each other
so well, drew them together as much as possible, in order that
Elinor might have some one to fill the empty places of her former
companions, Jane and Harry.

Mrs. Robert Hazlehurst was a near neighbour of the Wyllyses in
Philadelphia; but Elinor had too much dread of meeting Harry, to
go there often; and it was only when she knew that he was in New
York, that she went to his brother's. The change in their
position was too recent to allow of her seeing him with
composure; their family connexion, and the intimate terms upon
which they had hitherto lived, only made their present
estrangement much more awkward than usual. Elinor tried to think
it fortunate that he should now be so often in New York.

The first time he was in Philadelphia after the Wyllyses were
settled there for the winter, Elinor escaped seeing him. As she
came in one morning from a ride with her grandfather, she found
his card on the table. It told the whole story of what had
passed; for she could not remember his having ever left a card at
their house before; he had been as much at home there as herself,
until the last six weeks. The sight of it caused her a very
painful feeling, and did away all the good effect of the pleasant
ride she had just taken on the banks of the Schuylkill. As she
walked slowly up-stairs to change her habit, her eyes filled with
tears; and had she been endowed with the proper degree of romance
for a regular heroine, she would probably have passed the morning
in hysterical sobs. But as she had quite as much good sense, as
fancy and feeling, she was by no means romantic; she had never
fainted but once in her life; and although it must be confessed
she had wept during the last few weeks, yet it was always in
spite of herself, at moments when the tears were forced from her
by some sudden recollection of the past, or some distressing
glimpse of the future. On the present occasion, instead of
encouraging solitary grief, she returned to the drawing-room, and
read aloud to her aunt, who was busy with her needle.

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