"I would rather have given ten dollars! Mary is little better than an idiot."
"How can you say so, when she came from New York, where she had lived a whole month with ma'. And even if she is rather stupid, there is the less danger of her objecting to any thing I tell her to do. Ma' could never get along with smart servants. But I wish you would go down stairs. Your friends will be arriving presently."
"Cæsar, of course, has obeyed the orders I gave him about the wine" said Woodbridge.
"He wanted to do so" replied the wife "but between you and him I found there was wine enough got out for twenty people instead of eight. So I made him put back the half of it. He began to look gruff, and then "
"Charlotte! Charlotte!" exclaimed the alarmed husband "if you have turned Cæsar out of doors Cæsar who had lived ten years with my brother, and is so useful and so faithful "
"Do not be frightened" replied Charlotte "Cæsar would not go. He had the insolence to say he should wait till Mr. Woodbridge came home."
"He is a good fellow" said Woodbridge "and I am obliged to him for not deserting me this day."
"Don't talk of his goodness. When I threatened to tell Mrs. Pinchington of him, he held down his head to keep from laughing in my face."
A ring at the door−bell now announced that the guests were beginning to come, and Woodbridge smoothed the discomposure of his countenance, and hastened down stairs to receive them. His lady did not appear till the gentlemen had all assembled, and she then made her entrance through the folding−doors of the back−parlor, and proceeded gracefully to the front; elegantly drest, and looking as sweet and innocent as if incapable of uttering one unamiable word, or conceiving one unamiable thought. Just so she had looked when Woodbridge was first introduced to her at a party in New York.
All the gentlemen having arrived, Woodbridge took an opportunity of asking his wife, in a low voice, if it was not time that dinner was announced. Upon which she whispered to him that she was waiting for Mrs.
Pinchington, who had kindly volunteered to come and support her on this her first appearance as hostess at a gentlemen's party. In about half an hour Mrs. Pinchington came, excusing herself for being detained by an unexpected visiter; but in reality having prudently stayed to secure a good dinner at her boarding−house. Mr.
PART III.
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Mr. and Mrs. Woodbridge
Woodbridge, though she had become his besetting antipathy, was obliged to offer Mrs. Pinchington his arm; and his face flushed with shame as Charlotte, all smiles and sweetness, accompanied by his principal guest (a gentleman from Virginia) led the way up stairs into the paltry dining−room: and he bit his lips at the first glance at the table, though it was profusely ornamented with flowers.
The festive board was so short, that the guests could scarcely squeeze into their places, and the dining room was so narrow that the said table had to be set over to one side, that Cæsar might have space to pass on the other. When all were with some difficulty seated, Mrs. Woodbridge with great sang froid began to send around some thin greasy ash−colored broth, being a decoction of cold veal with a few shreds of vermicelli floating in it, and highly−flavored with smoke: Mary having forgotten to cover it while it was simmering over an ill−made fire. This potation, Mrs. Pinchington, after swallowing a spoonful or two, announced to be a delicious white soup. The unfortunate man whose duty it was to perform the part of host, proceeded to help a piece of boiled halibut served up without draining, but it looked so sanguinary that no one chose to try it; for even the lovers of what is called rare beef seldom have a fancy for rare fish. For the second course, the soup was replaced by a small tough round of par−baked beef, black on the outside, and raw within, and denominated boeuf−a−la−mode: the a−la−moding being a few cloves stuck over the top which had been previously rubbed with powdered allspice; this beef Mrs. Pinchington declined tasting lest it should prove too rich for her. The bottom dish was a meagre roast pig, (called "delicate" by Mrs. Pinchington) accompanied by a tureen of watery panada termed, on this occasion, bread−sauce. After the company had pretended to eat these things, Cæsar was desired to bring on the third course. The third course was mutton chops, which were to have been cotellettes a la Maintenon, but which Irish Mary had produced au naturel: and also a dish of something begun as croquettes, but ended as mere minced veal, washy and tasteless. Afterwards was introduced as a bonne−bouch, two pair of split birds sprawling on greasy slices of ill−made toast, and called game by the ladies but known to be pigeons by Cæsar and the gentlemen. All the vegetables prepared for this dinner were few in number, small in quantity, half−boiled, halfdrained, and mixed with that disgrace to a lady's house, cooking butter, its disagreeable taste predominating through all disguise, and rendering every thing unpalatable. The fourth course was at the top a superb glass bowl half full of a pale lilac liquid, consisting of faintly sweetened milk that had been skimmed till blue, and was then tinged with something pinkish. This was dignified by the name of floating island; the island being a spoonful of cream taken from the said milk and beaten up with sufficient white of egg to give it "a local habitation and a name," by forming a small heap in the centre of the bowl. At the bottom sat a dish containing a few cones of boiled rice that had been moulded in wineglasses, the summit of each cone decorated with a red spot made by sticking on a mashed cranberry. This part of the dessert was highly recommended to the company by Mrs. Pinchington, who assured them that rice was a delicious thing and "so pure." The centre confection was a flat leathery pancake denominated omelette soufflee, the very sight of which would have made Fossard tear his hair. This strange affair had been manufactured under the immediate superintendence of Mrs. Woodbridge herself, who did it exactly "ma's way." The side−dishes held a few very small stale tartlets about the size of a half dollar procured at a low−priced cake−shop, each containing a half tea−spoonful of mysterious marmelade, made of some indescribable fruit mounted in marvellous heavy paste. These tartlets Mrs. Pinchington called "little loves."
We need not attempt to depict the sufferings of our excitable hero during the progress of this dinner, or to tell how continually his resolutions to bear it manfully were on the point of giving way. In vain did he try to repress the outward and visible signs of vexations, mortifications, indignation and all the other ations that in spite of his efforts to conceal them were flushing his cheek, knitting his brow, compressing his lips, and trembling in his voice. Once he found his hand rambling through his hair, and once he found his teeth gritting against each other; but on both these occasions he recollected himself in time to smile an unnatural smile, and to talk some ransom talk.
But Mr. Woodbridge's disgust and anger did not quite rise to its climax till he tasted the madeira which, when he purchased it, he knew to be of the first quality, and which he now found had been greatly diluted with PART III.
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Mr. and Mrs. Woodbridge
water after being decanted; evidently to make it go further. On glancing at his wife he met her eye watching his, and he saw by her guilty look to whom he must attribute the adulteration. Had she been able to draw the corks, it is most probable that the hock and champaigne would not have escaped a similar allongement.
Poor Cæsar well understood and deeply sympathized in the numerous annoyances that assailed Mr.
Woodbridge at this unhappy dinner: to say nothing of the griefs that were more particularly his own. He prided himself greatly on his skill and alertness in the art of waiting on company, on his savior faire in arranging, on his dexterity in executing, and in the harmonious but unquestionable authority with which he could give a tone to the movements of the apt and welltutored "coloured gentlemen," that on similar occasions had always been employed to assist him. Mrs. Woodbridge having persisted in not hiring a single additional waiter, Cæsar had so much to do that he had no chance of doing any thing well, or of displaying his usual tact in seeing without seeming to see, and anticipating the wishes of the gue
sts. To−day he felt "his laurels withering on his brow," but his crowning horror was the sight of Irish Mary, when he had to receive from her the dishes at the door of a little back staircase that led down to the kitchen. Having put on her worst costume to cook in, she presented herself in full view, slip−shod, and bareheeled, in an old dirty gown its sleeves dipped in grease, a ragged and filthy apron, her handkerchief pinned awry over one shoulder and leaving the other exposed, and her elf−locks hanging about her ears. On handing in each dish she took an opportunity of standing awhile with her stupid whitish eyes and her large heavy mouth wide open, to stare at the company, till Cæsar shut the door in her face; upon which affront her murmurs and threats were audable all the way down stairs.
This dinner appeared endless to all concerned in it, except to Mary, who taking no note of time, and being unprovided with the organ of clockknowledge, had nothing ready when wanted, or indeed for a long while after. The dusk of evening had darkened the table, and the guests were feeling about among the spotted oranges and worm−eaten apples, the cooking raisins and the stony−shelled almonds that had been set on subsequent to the removal of the cloth. Mr. Woodbridge after waiting in vain for his wife to order lights till it became so dark that he could scarcely discern her, gave several hints to that effect: but she continued hint−proof. He then audibly desired Cæsar to bring them. Cæsar on passing near Mrs. Woodbridge was detained a few moments by a low talk from her, and the result was two candles only. Immediately after their introduction, she made a signal to Mrs. Pinchington, and both ladies left the table; Mrs. Woodbridge taking an opportunity of telling Cæsar that it was not worth while to light the entry−lamp as the gentlemen would soon go. Having reached her own apartment Mrs. Woodbridge changed her dress and threw herself on the bed, exclaiming that she was dead with fatigue: and Mrs. Pinchington prepaired to go home, escorted by Cæsar, who was rung up for the purpose. She took an affectionate leave of her hostess, assuring her that she should report every where how delightfully the dinner had gone off, and expressing her hope to be at many more exactly like it. "Oh! Jupiter!" exclaimed Cæsar, for a moment forgetting where he was. Mrs.
Woodbridge frowned, and Mrs. Pinchington stooped down to tie her walking−shoes.
In consequence of having to walk behind this lady to her lodgings, Cæsar to his vexation was unable to superintend the making of the coffee, and when he got home he found that Mrs. Woodbridge, in her impatience to hurry the departure of the gentlemen, had ordered Irish Mary to prepare and carry it in herself; and the weak, cold and muddy beverage was left in every cup, almost untasted by the company.
The guests departed: and Cæsar cleared away the table sighing heavily over the disgraces of the day: and confirmed in his resolution of seeking another place when he found his Hibernian colleague lying intoxicated on the kitchen floor.
Harvey Woodbridge passed the remainder of the evening extended on one of the parlor sofas, and endeavoring to devise some plan for expanding the mind and heart of his wife, improving her disposition, and rendering her ideas and practices less mean and less selfish. Knowing, however, that she could not have been blind to all the inconveniences and vexations which, on this occasion particularly, had arisen from her PART III.
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ill−judged parsimony and her wilful perseverance in it, he imagined her touched for once with compunction, and perhaps sincerely disposed to try and do better for the future. "This after all" thought he "may prove a salutary lesson to her. She cannot be always incorrigible. I will spare her feelings to−night, and refrain from all expostulation till to−morrow; and then I will reason with her as calmly and mildly as I can."
He rose early next morning and took a walk to Schuylkill, willing to defer a little longer his intended remonstrance. On his return, breakfast was not ready, and Charlotte had not come down. He tried in vain to read the newspaper: but threw it aside, and traversed the room till she made her appearance; and Cæsar at the same time brought in the tray.
As soon as the repast was over and the breakfast apparatus removed, our hero commenced his expostulation, making a strong effort to control his feelings and to speak with calmness. Without referring to former subjects of similar annoyance, he tried to confine himself entirely to the dinner−party: setting forth with all the eloquence of truth the shame and mortification she had caused him by her unhappy notions of ultra−economy, so absurdly and annoyingly put in practice on that much−to−be−regretted occasion; lessening both her and himself in the eyes of his guests, all whom, as he said, had a just right to consider themselves treated with disrespect at being set down in a gentlemen's house to so paltry an entertainment, and in so paltry a room.
"If you talk in this way, Harvey" said Charlotte Woodbridge "I shall go off into strong hysterics."
This threat, however, had lost its effect; for though Harvey had often heard of hysterics he had never seen them.
"Charlotte" said he "this is no time for folly. Beleieve me when I assure you that I am seriously determined to insist on a general reform in the whole tenor of your household arrangements. I am completely disgusted with living in this manner, and will submit to it no longer. My patience is exhausted with the vain effort of suppressing my vexation, and in trying to endure in silence the innumerable petty annoyances with which you contrive to embitter every hour of my life; and I am still more tired of ineffectual remonstrances, and useless bickerings about trifles."
"Why then do you bicker?"
"Nonsense! Is not domestic misery composed chiefly of trifles: each a unit in itself, but the whole when added togather making a large sum total."
"I despise business talk."
"Charlotte Charlotte! I doubt if in reality you are as silly as you would seem to be."
"Yes, I am and so you will always find me. As I never had the least wish to be sensible, I did not trouble myself to try. Ma' always said that sensible girls got but few beaux, and did not go off well. Her only care was that I should grow up pretty, and be handsomely and fashionably drest. So I always had plenty of beaux, and I did go off to be sure it was no great go. And, now, though I am a married woman, I see no reason why I should not wish to look as well and be admired just the same as before. As to the management of the house and all that sort of thing, I again assure you that I shall not make the least change in my plans now or ever do you attend to your business, and I will manage mine."
"Oh! Charlotte" exclaimed her husband, having listened to this tirade as much in sorrow as in anger, "Can nothing make any impression on you. Or rather, why are all your sayings and doings so perverse and wilful, when there must at the bottom of your heart be some latent touch of tenderness for the man who loving you PART III.
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sincerely, was willing to take you upon trust, without any previous knowledge of your temper and habits; and who so frankly and fondly entrusted his happiness to your keeping."
"`Nobody asked you, sir,' she said"
was the reply of our wayward heroine, singing a line from a well−known ballad, and making a low curtesy;
"did you not fall in love the moment you were introduced to me at Mrs. Vanvernigen's party, where I wore my rose−colored ærophine with the satin corsage and the coquille trimming, and carried in my hand a silver bouquetaire with six dollars worth of hot−house flowers in it? And did not you steal a sprig of heliotrope from my bouquet, and put it to your lips instead of your nose I saw you do it! And did not you follow me all about the room, and talk to nobody else, and give me your arm to the supper−table, and go without your own supper that you might accompany me back to the front drawing−room and get a seat on an ottoman beside me? And did not you wait at the door to put me into the carriage, tho' my pa' and brothers were along?
And then you know very well how you came next morning the clock struck eleven, (a full hour before any reasonable creature thinks of making a visit:) and how you bespoke yourself
to escort me to Miss Semibreve's musical soiree; and whenever a song finished and a piece began did not you look delighted, because then you could talk to me all the while, as nobody is bound to listen to pieces? Did you not from that time visit me twice a day, and go every where with me even to church, and actually come to a proposal on our way home, at the corner of Broadway and Warren street. And did not you detain me on the door−step till I consented, scrambling hold of my hand and tearing my white kid glove? And the very moment we were engaged did not you bounce after me into the front parlor and ask pa'?"
"I plead guilty to all this" replied Woodbridge "Next time I will be less precipitate."
"So will I" said Charlotte.
"We are talking very absurdly" resumed Woodbridge after a short pause "I began this conversation with an earnest desire to make a serious impression on you, and to awaken your good feelings; for I hope and trust you are not entirely without them."
"Feelings" replied our heroine "I do not know why I should be suspected of want of feeling. I am sure I always cry at the theatre when I see other ladies with their handkerchiefs to their eyes, for then I am certain there is something to be cried at. When I was a little girl I actually sobbed one night at the play, when Cinderella's sisters made her stay at home from the ball. It is not a month ago that I looked very serious when every one else was laughing at that wicked Petruchio not allowing his wife to have her new gown and cap.
However, I suppose I had best say nothing about Petruchio as it may not be quite safe for me to put him into your head."
"Charlotte Charlotte" exclaimed her husband "no more of this folly: but listen attentively to what I am going to say. In the first place I insist on your giving up Mrs. Pinchington and Mrs. Squanderfield."
"What, my best friends! my most intimate friends! the only true friends I have!"