Part 9

It was with difficulty that Charlotte consented to be helped to any thing, and uniformly after tasting it laid each article on the side of her plate, as if unfit to eat. After she had taken a sip of tea she drew back with a look of horror, and declaring it to be green tea, and that she would not drink a cup of it for the world, she pushed it away from her as far as possible.

She then requested some black tea, but unluckily there was none in the house; and Mrs. Davison, much disconcerted, apologized in great confusion, saying, that as black tea was not used in the neighbourhood, she did not believe there was any to be had at the store, or she would send and get some. She then asked if Miss Glanvil would take a cup of coffee, but Charlotte replied that though extravagantly fond of coffee in the morning, (always drinking three cups,) she could not possibly touch it at night.

"Did you never drink green tea?" asked the farmer. "Certainly," she replied in a disdainful tone, "I drank it always till black tea became fashionable."

"Then," said the farmer, smiling, "if you have been drinking it all your life till very lately, perhaps you might, if you were to try, make out once more to swallow a cup of it on a pinch, and be none the worse for it."

Charlotte looked much displeased, and sat back in her chair, obstinately determined not to touch the green tea. Of course all the Davison family felt and looked extremely uncomfortable, and they would have been glad when the Miss Glanvils finally rose from table, which they did shortly after, only that the rest of the company thought it necessary to follow their example, and the feast prepared with so much care and trouble was concluded in half the usual time. The female guests were conducted to an adjoining room, while the supper table was cleared away and then re-set exactly as before for the young men.

Singing being proposed, Fanny was invited "to favour them with a song." She consented at once, and inquired which of her songs they would have. The simple and beautiful Scotch air of the Bonnie Boat was named, and she sung it with a sweet clear voice and excellent taste, though no attempt at ornament. The Miss Glanvils exchanged glances and whispers.

The two young ladies were then respectfully requested to sing. Charlotte refused at once, declaring that it was impossible to sing without an instrument: but Marianne, eager to display her knowledge of fashionable music, complied readily, and gave "Una voce poco fa," with what she considered wonderful execution. As soon as she had finished, Charlotte perceiving that the company, though greatly amazed at first, had become much fatigued by this unseasonable exhibition of Italian singing, and that it had not given the least pleasure to any one, ill-naturedly proposed to her sister to try "Di piacer," which she also got through, to the great annoyance of the young men who had long before come in from the supper room, and who were certainly not of a class to relish such songs as are unintelligible to all but the initiated.

A black man now appeared with a fiddle, and took his seat in one of the windows; there was a reinforcement of beaux, and the Miss Glanvils found that a dance was to be the next amusement. Marianne remarked, in a group of young men that had just entered the room, one of remarkably genteel appearance and extremely handsome. "Charlotte," said she, "look at that young gentleman in black, talking to Tom Davison."

"I see no _gentleman_ in the room," replied Charlotte, "and I do not know Tom Davison from the other clowns."

"Oh! but this, I am certain, is really a gentleman," said Marianne, "I wish he would ask me to dance."

"What!" exclaimed Charlotte, "would you actually join in a dance with these people? Could you stand up with them and give them your hand? And above all things, would you make one in a _country-dance_, for of course they know nothing about cotillions?"

"Yes I would," answered Marianne, "with such a partner as that young gentleman in black. And then, when they see _my_ French steps, how ashamed they will be of their own shuffling and prancing."

Just then, Tom Davison, observing Marianne's eyes fixed with evident approbation on the stranger in black, brought him up and introduced him to her as Captain Selman; and on his requesting the pleasure of dancing with her, she immediately consented with great satisfaction. Tom Davison then, with a low bow and a look of much embarrassment, ventured to make the same request of Charlotte, who refused with an air of such unequivocal contempt, that the youth determined in his own mind to leave her to herself for the remainder of the evening.

The musician made three scrapes on his fiddle as a signal for every one to take their places. "Of course," said Marianne, "we go to the top," and Captain Selman led her to the head of the country dance that was forming, while she lamented to him the sad necessity of being obliged to join in such a dance, saying that she must depend on him to give her some idea of the figure; and adding that he would find her an apt scholar, as she was always considered very quick at learning every thing.

The musician gave a loud stamp with his foot, and then struck up New-Jersey; but observing that Charlotte stopped her ears in horror, Marianne begged of her partner to go and ask the man if he could not play something less barbarous. The man replied that New-Jersey was the dancing tune he was most used to, but that he could play the Morning Star and Fisher's Hornpipe quite as well. Marianne said that she had heard her mother speak of dancing these things when she was a girl, and therefore she was sure they must be abominable.

At last, after much sending of Captain Selman backwards and forwards, and proposing tunes which she knew the poor fiddler had never even heard of, it was ascertained that he thought he could play "The Campbells are coming," having _catched_ it, as he said, the last time he was in town.

Captain Selman undertook to instruct the company in the figure, which he did with great good humour, and they actually learnt it with a quickness that surprised Marianne. She went down the dance exhibiting all her most difficult steps, and affecting a wonderful gracefulness in every motion. However, when she got to the bottom, suspecting that this display had not excited quite as much admiration as she had expected, she professed great fatigue, and threw herself into a chair, declaring she could not dance another step; and knowing that in consequence Captain Selman could do no less than stand by and converse with her till the set was over.

"I do not see Susan Davison dancing," said Marianne, "she has been sitting all the time beside my sister. She is rather a pretty girl; I wonder none of the young men have taken her out."

"I made my bow to her soon after I came in," replied the Captain, "but she declines dancing this evening, alleging that, being in her own house, she is unwilling to take a place that might be occupied by one of her friends."

"I suppose," said Marianne, abruptly, "your next partner will be the young person they call Fanny, as she is certainly rather well-looking. There she is, about the middle of the dance, with a broad pink ribbon round her neck. Indeed, though my sister is of a contrary opinion, I should be almost inclined to think this Fanny something of a lady, only that she is so sociable with these people. To be sure, I have tried myself to be affable this evening, but I find it such an irksome task that I believe it will be my last attempt. Now it seems quite natural to this said Fanny, which proves, as my sister Charlotte says, that she is in reality no better than the rest. We think she must be the daughter of one of these country store-keepers, and that she has now and then had the benefit of a fortnight's polishing in the city, while her father was buying his spring goods."

Captain Selman smiled, and was going to reply, when Charlotte joined them, saying in a most peevish voice, "Marianne, do you intend staying here all night? If you do, you must stay by yourself. I have just heard our carriage drive up, for I charged William to come for us early, and I am dying to get away."

Marianne, who would willingly have stayed longer, was about to remonstrate, but finding that the Captain had escaped from her side, she felt less reluctant to go. Charlotte made her exit without ceremony, but Marianne purposely loitered till the dance was over, that she might make her departure the more conspicuous, and produce a great effect by her elegant manner of taking leave. She then walked up to Mrs. Davison, and overwhelming the good woman with curtseyings, bowings, compliments and flourishes, she left the room, accompanied by Susan, to the chamber in which their shawls and calashes had been deposited.

They were put into the carriage by Tom Davison, as his last effort of civility. And it was resolved next day by the family in council, that the Miss Glanvils should on no future occasion be invited; for, as Mrs. Davison remarked, they held their heads quite too high, and their airs were unbearable.

As they drove home, Charlotte, in the most unqualified terms, expressed her disgust at the quilting-party, and every thing connected with it. Marianne acknowledged that the whole concern, as she called it, was very ungenteel, but still not quite so bad as she had expected. She said that in her opinion Captain Selman would be presentable even in good society, and expressed her surprise at finding an officer at a quilting.

"Pho," said Charlotte, "he is only a militia captain, of course."

"No," replied Marianne, "I am very sure he is no such thing. If he were a militia officer, he would undoubtedly have come to the party in full uniform, booted and spurred, with epaulette, and chapeau and feather, his sword at his side, and his sash spread out over his body as broad as possible, and pinned up in a peak before and behind, as I have heard my mother describe their costume. No, no; this officer is in the regular army, and from something he said, I know he was educated at West Point."

"Well," said Charlotte, "I doubt his being a man of fashion after all. I observed him, after he left you, speaking familiarly to that Fanny as if they were well acquainted. However, he did not seem to ask her to dance, but he paid that compliment to one that sat near the door, a poor bashful-looking girl, the worst dressed and least attractive in the room."

The next day but one was Sunday. The church, which was about three miles off, had been shut up, undergoing repairs ever since Mr. Glanvil had removed to the iron-works, but it was now again opened for worship, and the Glanvil family all repaired thither in their carriage. On this occasion, Charlotte was as elegantly drest as her sister; for having satisfied her perverseness by going in _dishabille_ to the quilting, she determined now to astonish the congregation by a great display of finery at church.

As they passed up the middle aisle, the eyes of the Miss Glanvils were attracted immediately to a handsome pew near the pulpit; in which pew they saw Captain Selman, accompanied by Fanny, and an elderly gentleman and lady, both of remarkably genteel and dignified appearance. The two sisters, at the same moment, pulled each other's sleeves significantly. They thought the service very long, and as soon as church was over, Marianne asked her father if he knew the occupants of the pew that was lined with blue moreen. He replied, "They are the governor and his family. They have been travelling all summer, and only returned last week. I called yesterday to see them as I passed their house, which is about five miles from ours." "Is it possible," exclaimed Charlotte, "that Fanny can be the governor's daughter!" "Is Captain Selman the governor's son?" cried Marianne.

"No," replied Mr. Glanvil. "The governor's name, you know, is Milford. Captain Selman is the son of Mrs. Milford's first marriage, and Miss Fanny Milford is his half-sister."

At the church-gate the governor's carriage was waiting beside Mr. Glanvil's, and Mr. Milford stopped with his family to introduce them to Mrs. Glanvil and her daughters. The Miss Glanvils looked much embarrassed. Charlotte was ashamed that Miss Milford should have witnessed her unamiable behaviour at the quilting, and Marianne was shocked at recollecting the freedom with which she had talked to Captain Selman of his step-sister. Their confusion was so evident, that the Captain and Fanny, when introduced to the Miss Glanvils, avoided making any allusion to having met them at farmer Davison's.

But little was said on either side, and the disconcerted sisters were glad to take refuge in the carriage.

On their way home, Charlotte expressed her surprise at the condescension of the governor's family in deigning to be on visiting terms with the farmer's.

"And why not?" said Mr. Glanvil. "Andrew Davison is a good citizen, and a respectable, sensible and worthy man; and his children, though he has wisely forborne to make any attempt at giving them what is called a fashionable education, are by no means coarse. The old-fashioned plainness of decent country people is not vulgarity; and if they are ignorant of the conventional forms of city society, they generally make amends by having a large share of that natural civility which springs from good feeling; and it is easy in our intercourse with them to avoid imitating such of their habits and expressions as are at variance with our standard of refinement. As fellow-citizens, their rights are the same as ours, and, like us, they call no man master. Not one of them would bend his knee to any monarch upon earth.

"Governor Milford has lived in this part of the country nearly his whole life, and is, of course, acquainted with all the old settlers, of whom Andrew Davison is one. And he has very judiciously brought up his family in the mutual interchange of civilities with all his respectable neighbours, knowing that nothing is ever lost by cultivating the good opinion of those among whom our lot is cast."

"I suspect, after all," said Charlotte, ill-naturedly, "that the governor's affability, and that of his children, originate in the expectation of securing the votes of farmer Davison and his sons at the next election."

"You are entirely mistaken," replied Mr. Glanvil. "Governor Milford and the Davisons, though old friends, are of opposite parties. They did not vote for him at the last election, and he has declined being a candidate for the next."

Next day, the Glanvils were visited by the governor, with his wife and daughter. Captain Selman did not accompany them, having set out to return to his station. Mr. and Mrs. Glanvil were not at home, but the young ladies overwhelmed the Milford family with civilities; Charlotte, in particular, was absolutely obsequious in her attentions.

Upon farther acquaintance, they found that Fanny Milford had been educated in the city, and was quite as accomplished as either of themselves, though she had too much good sense to make any unseasonable display. Her example was not lost upon Marianne, who improved greatly by occasional intercourse with this amiable girl. We wish we could say the same of Charlotte; but pride is of all faults one of the most difficult to conquer, as it is seldom found except in persons of weak understanding. Sensible people are never offensively proud.

ELIZA LESLIE.

THE LITTLE RUNAWAY.

Down in the glade, where nibbling sheep In verdant pasture stray, A little boy was seen to keep His weary-footed way.

A faithful dog, his fav'rite guard, Protects the youth from harm, A Robin dear his steps retard, So playful on his arm:

Sweet little boy of rosy smiles, In health and beauty drest, A few fond friends their duteous toils Pursue, to find thy rest:

Thy infant head knows not the care, That bears them anxious on; Through meadows wild, and sunny air, To seek where thou art gone.

The vernal fields are daisied o'er, With life the hawthorns teem; The busy bee with flowery store, Hums in the sultry beam:

But thou--so active in thy play, From parents absent far;-- Heed'st not the meddling cares of day, Nor what _their_ sorrows are.

'Tis thus, thought I, in childhood's morn We think creation ours; From sport to sport, our night is borne, Like butterflies on flow'rs:

But when parental cares come round In manhood's riper years, The loveliest pleasures most abound When hope succeeds our fears.

J. W. S.

THE SOUVENIR.

It was the afternoon of Christmas eve. The weather was delightfully mild for the season, and the sky without a cloud. The streets of Philadelphia were unusually crowded, and the whole appearance of the city was gay and animated. The fancy stores were resplendent with elegant ribbons, laces, scarfs, and reticules, and the shops for artificial flowers, made a display which rivaled nature in her most blooming season. It was a pleasing spectacle to see so many parents leading their children, all with happy faces; some full of hope, and others replete with satisfaction; some going to buy Christmas gifts, others carrying home those already purchased. Mr. Woodley went out with his two boys to choose little presents for them, regretting that Amelia, his eldest daughter, was obliged to remain at home in consequence of a severe cold.

They soon entered a toy-shop, where Charles made choice of a toy representing William Tell directing his arrow toward the apple on the head of his son, who stood blindfold at a little distance, and, by pulling a string, the arrow took flight and struck the apple off the boy's head. This Charles called a very sensible toy, and his father bought him also a box containing little wooden houses, churches, and trees, which could be so arranged as to form a village.

Oswald, who was long since past the age of toys, selected, at a neighbouring shop, a very pretty and curious little writing apparatus of the purest and most transparent white marble. It looked like a very small vase, but it contained an ink-stand, sand-box, wafer-box, a candlestick for a wax taper, and a receptacle for pens: all nicely fitting into each other, and so ingeniously contrived as to occupy the smallest space possible.

"Oswald," said Mr. Woodley, "you have chosen so well for yourself, that I will leave to you the selection of a present for your sister Amelia." Oswald thought of many things before he could fix on any one that he supposed would be useful or agreeable to Amelia. She had already a handsome work-box, a bead-purse, and a case of little perfume bottles. For a moment his choice inclined to one of the elegant reticules he saw in a window they were just passing, and then he recollected that Amelia could make very beautiful reticules herself. At last, he fixed on a Souvenir, and wondered that the thought had not struck him before, as Amelia drew very well, and was an enthusiastic admirer of fine engravings.

They repaired to a neighbouring book-store, where, amid a variety of splendid Souvenirs, Oswald selected for his sister one of those that he considered the most beautiful, and had the pleasure of carrying it home to her.

To describe the delight of Amelia on receiving this elegant present, is impossible. She spread a clean handkerchief over her lap before she drew the book from its case, that it might not be soiled in the slightest degree, and she removed to a distance from the fire lest the cover should be warped by the heat. After she had eagerly looked all through it, she commenced again, and examined the plates with the most minute attention. She then showed them to her little brother and sister, carefully, however, keeping the book in her own hands.

"Amelia," said Oswald, "I know a boy that would be very happy to examine this Souvenir. He has no opportunity of seeing any thing of the kind, except by gazing at the windows of the book-stores."

AMELIA.--And who is this boy?

OSWALD.--His father, who has seen better days, is an assistant in our school, and the boy himself is one of the pupils. His name is Edwin Lovel. He has a most extraordinary genius for drawing, though he has never had the means of cultivating it to any extent. He is a very sensible boy, and I like him better than any one in the school. His mother must be a nice woman, for though their income is very small, Edwin always makes a genteel appearance, and is uniformly clean and neat. He is also extremely handsome. All his leisure time is devoted to drawing. He first began on the slate, when he was only four years old, and had nothing else to draw on till he was nine or ten. Now, he saves what little money he has, for the purpose of buying paper and pencils. He has no box of colours, but draws only in Indian ink, which he does most beautifully. He never likes to see any thing wasted that can be used for drawing, and is even glad to get the cover of a letter.

AMELIA.--You remind me of the French artist Godfrey's fine picture of the Battle of Pultowa, which he drew, while in prison, on the backs of letters pasted together; using, instead of Indian ink or colours, the soot of the stove-pipe mixed with water.

OSWALD.--Well, Edwin Lovel is not quite so much at a loss for drawing materials, for he has a cake of Indian ink and four camel's hair pencils. He draws with a pen beautiful title-pages, decorated with vignettes, for his copy-books and ciphering-books; and the boys pay him for ornamenting their writing-pieces. He was for a long time very unwilling to take money for those things, but we finally prevailed on him, though with great difficulty. He passes most of his evenings in drawing; that is, when he has any candle of his own, for he will not, even in the pursuit of his favourite gratification, cause the slightest additional expense to his parents, who find it very hard to live on his father's small salary.

AMELIA.--What an excellent boy he must be.

OSWALD.--Last Saturday afternoon, I thought I would go for him and take him to see some very fine pictures which were to be sold at auction on Monday. The door was opened by a half-grown black girl, (their only servant,) who was probably not accustomed to admitting visiters, and, therefore, knew no better than to show me at once up stairs to Edwin's chamber; a very small place, perfectly clean, but furnished in the most economical manner. There was no fire in the room. Edwin was sitting at a little pine table with his great coat on, and his feet enveloped in an old muff of his mother's to keep them warm. He was busily engaged in copying a head of Decatur from a China pitcher, improving on it so greatly as to make it a very fine drawing.

AMELIA.--Poor fellow! had he nothing better to copy?