Books: Heart Histories and Life Pictures
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T. S. Arthur >> Heart Histories and Life Pictures
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"I shall always speak my thoughts in your house Margaret," was the
reply; "at least to you and the girls. As far as Mr. Ludlow is
concerned, I have rarely occasion to differ with him."
A long silence followed, broken at last by an allusion to some other
subject; when a better understanding among all parties ensued.
On that evening, Mr. Ludlow seemed graver than usual when he came
in. After tea, Emily said, breaking in upon a conversation that had
become somewhat interesting to Mr. Ludlow--
"I'm not going to let you have a moment's peace, Pa, until you
consent to go to England with us this season."
"I'm afraid it will be a long time before I shall have any peace,
then, Emily," replied the father, with an effort to smile, but
evidently worried by the remark. This, Florence, who was sitting
close by him, perceived instantly, and said--
"Well, I can tell you, for one, Pa, that I don't wish to go. I'd
rather stay at home a hundred times."
"It's no particular difference, I presume, what you like," remarked
Emily, ill-naturedly. "If you don't wish to go, I suppose no one
will quarrel with you for staying at home."
"You are wrong to talk so, Emily," said Mr. Ludlow, calmly but
firmly, "and I cannot permit such remarks in my presence."
Emily looked rebuked, and Mr. Ludlow proceeded.
"As to going to London, that is altogether out of the question. The
reasons why it is so, are various, and I cannot now make you
acquainted with all of them. One is, that I cannot leave my business
so long as such a journey would require. Another is, that I do not
think it altogether right for me to indulge you in such views and
feelings as you and Adeline are beginning to entertain. You wish to
go to London, because you don't want to go to Saratoga, or to any
other of our watering places; and you don't want to go there,
because certain others, whom you esteem below you in rank, can
afford to enjoy themselves, and recruit their health at the same
places of public resort. All this I, do not approve, and cannot
encourage."
"You certainly cannot wish us to associate with every one," said
Emily, in a tone less arrogant.
"Of course not, Emily," replied Mr. Ludlow; "but I do most decidedly
condemn the spirit from which you are now acting. It would exclude
others, many of whom, in moral character, are far superior to
yourself from enjoying the pleasant, health-imparting recreation of
a visit to the Springs, because it hurts your self-importance to be
brought into brief contact with them."
"I can't understand what you mean by speaking of these kind of
people as superior in moral character to us," Mrs. Ludlow remarked.
"I said some of them. And, in this, I mean what I say. Wealth and
station in society do not give moral tone. They are altogether
extraneous, and too frequently exercise a deteriorating influence
upon the character. There is Thomas, the porter in my store--a
plain, poor man, of limited education; yet possessing high moral
qualities, that I would give much to call my own. This man's
character I esteem far above that of many in society to whom no one
thinks of objecting. There are hundreds and thousands of humble and
unassuming persons like him, far superior in the high moral
qualities of mind to the mass of self-esteeming exclusives, who
think the very air around them tainted by their breath. Do you
suppose that I would enjoy less the pleasures of a few weeks at
Saratoga, because Thomas was there? I would, rather, be gratified to
see him enjoying a brief relaxation, if his duties at the store
could be remitted in my absence."
There was so much of the appearance of truth in what Mr. Ludlow
said, combined with a decided tone and manner, that neither his wife
or daughters ventured a reply. But they had no affection for the
truth he uttered, and of course it made no salutary impression on
their minds.
"What shall we do, Ma?" asked Adeline, as they sat with their
mother, on the next afternoon. "We must go somewhere this summer,
and Pa seems in earnest about not letting us visit London."
"I don't know, I am sure, child," was the reply.
"I can't think of going to Saratoga," said Emily, in a positive
tone.
"The Emmersons are going," Adeline remarked.
"How do you know?" asked Emily, in a tone of surprise.
"Victorine told me so this morning."
"She did!"
"Yes. I met her at Mrs. Lemmington's and she said that they were all
going next week."
"I don't understand that," said Emily, musingly.
"It was only last week that Victorine told me that they were done
going to Saratoga; that the place had become too common. It had been
settled, she said, that they were to go out in the next steamer."
"Mr. Emmerson, I believe, would not consent, and so, rather than not
go anywhere, they concluded to visit Saratoga, especially as the
Lesters, and Milfords, and Luptons are going."
"Are they all going?" asked Emily, in renewed surprise.
"So Victorine said."
"Well, I declare! there is no kind of dependence to be placed in
people now-a-days. They all told me that they could not think of
going to such a vulgar place as Saratoga again."
Then, after a pause, Emily resumed,
"As it will never do to stay at home, we will have to go somewhere.
What do you think of the Virginia Springs, Ma?"
"I think that I am not going there, to be jolted half to death in a
stage coach by the way."
"Where, then, shall we go?"
"I don't know, unless to Saratoga."
"Victorine said," remarked Adeline, "that a large number of
distinguished visiters were to be there, and that it was thought the
season would be the gayest spent for some time."
"I suppose we will have to go, then," said Emily.
"I am ready," responded Adeline."
"And so am I," said Florence.
That evening Mr. Ludlow was graver and more silent than usual. After
tea, as he felt no inclination to join in the general conversation
about the sayings and doings of distinguished and fashionable
individuals, he took a newspaper, and endeavored to become
interested in its contents. But he tried in vain. There was
something upon his mind that absorbed his attention at the same time
that it oppressed his feelings. From a deep reverie he was at length
roused by Emily, who said--
"So, Pa, you are determined not to let us go out in the next
steamer?"
"Don't talk to me on that subject any more, if you please," replied
Mr. Ludlow, much worried at the remark.
"Well, that's all given up now," continued Emily, "and we've made up
our minds to go to Saratoga. How soon will you be able to go with
us?"
"Not just now," was the brief, evasive reply.
"We don't want to go until next week."
"I am not sure that I can go even then."
"O, but we must go then, Pa."
"You cannot go without me," said Mr. Ludlow, in a grave tone.
"Of course not," replied Emily and Adeline at the same moment.
"Suppose, then, I cannot leave the city next week?"
"But you can surely."
"I am afraid not. Business matters press upon me, and will, I fear,
engage my exclusive attention for several weeks to come."
"O, but indeed you must lay aside business," said Mrs. Ludlow. "It
will never do for us to stay at home, you knows during the season
when everybody is away."
"I shall be very sorry if circumstances arise to prevent you having
your regular summer recreation," was replied, in a serious, even sad
tone. "But, I trust my wife and daughters will acquiesce with
cheerfulness."
"Indeed, indeed, Pa! We never can stay at home," said Emily, with a
distressed look. "How would it appear? What would people say if we
were to remain in the city during all the summer?"
"I don't know, Emily, that you should consider that as having any
relation to the matter. What have other people to do with matters
which concerns us alone?"
"You talk very strangely of late, Mr. Ludlow," said his wife.
"Perhaps I have reason for so doing," he responded, a shadow
flitting across his face.
An embarrassing silence ensued, which was broken, at last, by Mr.
Ludlow.
"Perhaps," he began, "there may occur no better time than the
present, to apprise you all of a matter that must, sooner or later,
become known to you. We will have to make an effort to reduce our
expenses--and it seems to me that this matter of going to the
Springs, which will cost some three or four hundred dollars, might
as well be dispensed with. Business is in a worse condition than I
have ever known it; and I am sustaining, almost daily, losses that
are becoming alarming. Within the last six weeks I have lost, beyond
hope, at least twenty thousand dollars. How much more will go I am
unable to say. But there are large sums due me that may follow the
course of that already gone. Under these circumstances, I am driven
to the necessity of prudence in all my expenditures."
"But three or four hundred are not much, Pa," Emily urged, in a
husky voice, and with dimmed eyes. For the fear of not being able to
go somewhere, was terrible to her. None but vulgar people staid at
home during the summer season.
"It is too large a sum to throw away now. So I think you had all
better conclude at once not to go from home this summer," said Mr.
Ludlow.
A gush of tears from Emily and Adeline followed this annunciation,
accompanied by a look of decided disapprobation from the mother. Mr.
Ludlow felt deeply tried, and for some moments his resolution
wavered; but reason came to his aid, and he remained firm. He was
accounted a very rich merchant. In good times, he had entered into
business, and prosecuted it with great energy. The consequence was,
that he had accumulated money rapidly. The social elevation
consequent upon this, was too much for his wife. Her good sense
could not survive it. She not only became impressed with the idea,
that, because she was richer, she was better than others, but that
only such customs were to be tolerated in "good society," as were
different from prevalent usages in the mass. Into this idea her two
eldest daughters were thoroughly inducted. Mr. Ludlow, immersed in
business, thought little about such matters, and suffered himself to
be led into almost anything that his wife and daughters proposed.
But Mrs. Ludlow's brother--Uncle Joseph, as he was called--a
bachelor, and a man of strong common sense, steadily opposed his
sister in her false notions, but with little good effect. Necessity
at last called into proper activity the good sense of Mr. Ludlow,
and he commenced the opposition that has just been noticed. After
reflecting some time upon the matter, he resolved not to assent to
his family leaving home at all during the summer.
All except Florence were exceedingly distressed at this. She
acquiesced with gentleness and patience, although she had much
desired to spend a few weeks at Saratoga. But Mrs. Ludlow, Emily,
and Adeline, closed up the front part of the house, and gave
directions to the servants not to answer the door bell, nor to do
anything that would give the least suspicion that the family were in
town. Then ensconcing themselves in the back buildings of their
dwelling, they waited in gloomy indolence for the "out of the city"
season to pass away; consoling themselves with the idea, that if
they were not permitted to join the fashionables at the Springs, it
would at lest be supposed that they had gone some where into the
country, and thus they hoped to escape the terrible penalty of
losing _caste_ for not conforming to an indispensable rule of high
life.
Mr. Ludlow was compelled to submit to all this, and he did so
without much opposition; but it all determined him to commence a
steady opposition to the false principles which prompted such absurd
observances. As to Uncle Joseph, he was indignant, and failing to
gain admittance by way of the front door after one or two trials,
determined not to go near his sister and nieces, a promise which he
kept for a few weeks, at least.
Meantime, every thing was passing off pleasantly at Saratoga. Among
the distinguished and undistinguished visitors there, was Mary
Jones, and her father, a man of both wealth and worth,
notwithstanding he was only a watchmaker and jeweller. Mary was a
girl of no ordinary character. With beauty of person far exceeding
that of the Misses Ludlow, she had a well cultivated mind, and was
far more really and truly accomplished than they were. Necessarily,
therefore, she attracted attention at the Springs; and this had been
one cause of Emily's objection to her.
A day or two after her arrival at Saratoga, she was sitting near a
window of the public parlor of one of the hotels, when a young man,
named Armand, whom she had seen there several times before, during
the watering season, in company with Emily Ludlow, with whose family
he appeared to be on intimate terms came up to her and introduced
himself.
"Pardon me, Miss Jones," said he, "but not seeing any of the Miss
Ludlows here, I presumed that you might be able to inform me whether
they intend visiting Saratoga or not, this season, and, therefore, I
have broken through all formalities in addressing you. You are well
acquainted with Florence, I believe?"
"Very well, sir," Mary replied.
"Then perhaps you can answer my question?"
"I believe I can, sir. I saw Florence several times within the last
week or two; and she says that they shall not visit any of the
Springs this season."
"Indeed! And how comes that?"
"I believe the reason is no secret," Mary replied, utterly
unconscious that any one could be ashamed of a right motive, and
that an economical one. "Florence tells me that her father has met
with many heavy losses in business; and that they think it best not
to incur any unnecessary expenses. I admire such a course in them."
"And so do I, most sincerely," replied Mr. Armand. Then, after
thinking for a moment, he added--
"I will return to the city in the next boat. All of their friends
being away, they must feel exceedingly lonesome."
"It will certainly be a kind act, Mr. Armand, and one, the motive
for which they cannot but highly appreciate," said Mary, with an
inward glow of admiration.
It was about eleven o'clock on the next day that Mr. Armand pulled
the bell at the door of Mr. Ludlow's beautiful dwelling, and then
waited with a feeling of impatience for the servant to answer the
summons. But he waited in vain. No servant came. He rang again, and
again waited long enough for a servant to come half a dozen times.
Then he looked up at the house and saw that all the shutters were
closed; and down upon the marble steps, and perceived that they were
covered with dust and dirt; and on the bell-handle, and noted its
loss of brightness.
"Miss Jones must have been mistaken," he said to himself, as he gave
the bell a third pull, and then waited, but in vain, for the
hall-door to be swung open.
"Who can it be?" asked Emily, a good deal disturbed, as the bell
rang violently for the third time, and in company with Adeline, went
softly into the parlor to take a peep through one of the shutters.
"Mr. Armand, as I live!" she ejaculated, in a low, husky whisper,
turning pale. "I would not have _him_ know that we are in town for
the world!"
And then she stole away quietly, with her heart leaping and
fluttering in her bosom, lest he should instinctively perceive her
presence.
Finding that admission was not to be obtained, Mr. Armand concluded
that the family had gone to some other watering place, and turned
away irresolute as to his future course. As he was passing down
Broadway, he met Uncle Joseph.
"So the Ludlows are all out of town," he said.
"So they are not!" replied Uncle Joseph, rather crustily, for he had
just been thinking over their strange conduct, and it irritated him.
"Why, I have been ringing there for a quarter of an hour, and no one
came to the door; and the house is all shut up."
"Yes; and if you had ringing for a quarter of a century, it would
all have been the same."
"I can't understand you," said Mr. Armand.
"Why, the truth is, Mr. Ludlow cannot go to the Springs with them
this season, and they are so afraid that it will become known that
they are burying themselves in the back part of the house, and
denying all visiters."
"Why so? I cannot comprehend it."
"All fashionable people, you know, are expected to go to the
sea-shore or the Springs; and my sister and her two eldest daughters
are so silly, as to fear that they will lose _caste_, if it is known
that they could not go this season. Do you understand now?"
"Perfectly."
"Well, that's the plain A B C of the case. But it provokes me out of
all patience with them."
"It's a strange idea, certainly," said Mr. Armand, in momentary
abstraction of thought; and then bidding Uncle Joseph good morning,
he walked hastily along, his mind in a state of fermentation.
The truth was, Mr. Armand had become much attached to Emily Ludlow,
for she was a girl of imposing appearance and winning manners. But
this staggered him. If she were such a slave to fashion and
observance, she was not the woman for his wife. As he reflected upon
the matter, and reviewed his intercourse with her, he could remember
many things in her conversation and conduct that he did not like. He
could distinctly detect a degree of self-estimation consequent upon
her station in society, that did not meet his approbation--because
it indicated a weakness of mind that he had no wish to have in a
wife. The wealth of her father he had not regarded, nor did now
regard, for he was himself possessor of an independence.
Two days after, he was again at Saratoga. The brief interview that
had passed between him and Mary Jones was a sufficient introduction
for him; and, taking advantage of it, he threw himself in her way
frequently, and the more he saw of her, the more did he admire her
winning gentleness, sweet temper, and good sense. When he returned
to New York, he was more than half in love with her.
"Mr. Armand has not been to see us once this fall," said Adeline,
one evening in October. They were sitting in a handsomely furnished
parlor in a neat dwelling, comfortable and commodious, but not so
splendid as the one they had occupied a few months previous. Mr.
Ludlow's affairs had become so embarrassed, that he determined, in
spite of the opposition of his family, to reduce his expenses. This
resolution he carried out amid tears and remonstrances--for he could
not do it in any other way.
"Who could expect him to come _here?_" Emily replied, to the remark
of her sister. "Not I, certainly."
"I don't believe that would make any difference with him," Florence
ventured to say, for it was little that she could say, that did not
meet with opposition.
"Why don't you?" asked Adeline.
"Because Mary Jones--"
"Mary Jones again!" ejaculated Emily. "I believe you don't think of
anybody but Mary Jones. I'm surprised that Ma lets you visit that
girl!"
"As good people as I am visit her," replied Florence. "I've seen
those there who would be welcome here."
"What do you mean?"
"If you had waited until I had finished my sentence, you would have
known before now. Mary Jones lives in a house no better than this,
and Mr. Armand goes to see her."
"I don't believe it!" said Emily, with emphasis.
"Just as you like about that. Seeing is believing, they say, and as
I have seen him there, I can do no less than believe he was there."
"When did you see him there?" Emily now asked with eager interest,
while her face grew pale.
"I saw him there last evening--and he sat conversing with Mary in a
way that showed them to be no strangers to each other."
A long, embarrassed, and painful silence followed this announcement.
At last, Emily got up and went off to her chamber, where she threw
herself upon her bed and burst into tears. After these ceased to
flow, and her mind had become, in some degree, tranquillized, her
thoughts became busy. She remembered that Mr. Armand had called,
while they were hiding away in fear lest it should be known that
they were not on a fashionable visit to some watering place--how he
had rung and rung repeatedly, as if under the idea that they were
there, and how his countenance expressed disappointment as she
caught a glimpse of it through the closed shutters. With all this
came, also, the idea that he might have discovered that they were at
home, and have despised the principle from which they acted, in thus
shutting themselves up, and denying all visiters. This thought was
exceedingly painful. It was evident to her, that it was not their
changed circumstances that kept him away--for had he not visited
Mary Jones?
Uncle Joseph came in a few evenings afterwards, and during his visit
the following conversation took place.
"Mr. Armand visits Mary Jones, I am told," Adeline remarked, as an
opportunity for saying so occurred.
"He does? Well, she is a good girl--one in a thousand," replied
Uncle Joseph.
"She is only a watchmaker's daughter," said Emily, with an
ill-concealed sneer.
"And you are only a merchant's daughter. Pray, what is the
difference?"
"Why, a good deal of difference!"
"Well state it."
"Mr. Jones is nothing but a mechanic."
"Well?"
"Who thinks of associating with mechanics?"
"There may be some who refuse to do so; but upon what grounds do
they assume a superiority?"
"Because they are really above them."
"But in what respect?"
"They are better and more esteemed in society."
"As to their being better, that is only an assumption. But I see I
must bring the matter right home. Would you be really any worse,
were your father a mechanic?"
"The question is not a fair one. You suppose an impossible case."
"Not so impossible as you might imagine. You are the daughter of a
mechanic."
"Brother, why will you talk so? I am out of all patience with you!"
said Mrs. Ludlow, angrily.
"And yet, no one knows better than you, that I speak only the truth.
No one knows better than you, that Mr. Ludlow served many years at
the trade of a shoemaker. And that, consequently, these high-minded
young ladies, who sneer at mechanics, are themselves a shoemaker's
daughters--a fact that is just as well known abroad as anything else
relating to the family. And now, Misses Emily and Adeline, I hope
you will hereafter find it in your hearts to be a little more
tolerant of mechanics daughters."
And thus saying, Uncle Joseph rose, and bidding them good night,
left them to their own reflections, which were not of the most
pleasant character, especially as the mother could not deny the
allegation he had made.
During the next summer, Mr. Ludlow, whose business was no longer
embarrassed, and who had become satisfied that, although he should
sink a large proportion of a handsome fortune, he would still have a
competence left, and that well secured--proposed to visit Saratoga,
as usual. There was not a dissenting voice--no objecting on the
score of meeting vulgar people there. The painful fact disclosed by
Uncle Joseph, of their plebeian origin, and the marriage of Mr.
Armand--whose station in society was not to be questioned--with Mary
Jones, the watchmaker's daughter, had softened and subdued their
tone of feeling, and caused them to set up a new standard of
estimation. The old one would not do, for, judged by that, they
would have to hide their diminished heads. Their conduct at the
Springs was far less objectionable than it had been heretofore,
partaking of the modest and retiring in deportment, rather than the
assuming, the arrogant, and the self-sufficient. Mrs. Armand was
there, with her sister, moving in the first circles; and Emily
Ludlow and her sister Adeline felt honored rather than humiliated by
an association with them. It is to be hoped they will yet make
sensible women.
THE WIFE.
"I AM hopeless!" said the young man, in a voice that was painfully
desponding. "Utterly hopeless! Heaven knows I have tried hard to get
employment! But no one has need of my service. The pittance doled
out by your father, and which comes with a sense of humiliation that
is absolutely heart-crushing, is scarcely sufficient to provide this
miserable abode, and keep hunger from our door. But for your sake, I
would not touch a shilling of his money if I starved."
"Hush, dear Edward!" returned the gentle girl, who had left father,
mother, and a pleasant home, to share the lot of him she loved; and
she laid a finger on his lips, while she drew her arm around him.
"Agnes," said the young man, "I cannot endure this life much longer.
The native independence of my character revolts at our present
condition. Months have elapsed, and yet the ability I possess finds
no employment. In this country every avenue is crowded."
The room in which they were overlooked the sea.
"But there is another land, where, if what we hear be true, ability
finds employment and talent a sure reward." And, as Agnes said this,
in a voice of encouragement, she pointed from the window towards the
expansive waters that stretched far away towards the south and west.
"America!" The word was uttered in a quick, earnest voice.
"Yes."
"Agnes, I thank you for this suggestion! Return to the pleasant home
you left for one who cannot procure for you even the plainest
comforts of life, and I will cross the ocean to seek a better
fortune in that land of promise. The separation, painful to both,
will not, I trust, be long."
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