Part 2

But, notwithstanding her extreme anxiety to do the honors of her house, in what she supposed the most approved manner, she was utterly incapable of performing the most important, dignified, and graceful part of the duty of a hostess,—that of contributing to the intellectual entertainment of her guests. In fact, she was deplorably ignorant. To give a single example: The conversation falling one day upon old English poetry, a gentleman said to her, “I believe, Mrs. Rutherford, that Pope is not so great a favorite with the ladies as formerly.” “I don’t know, indeed, sir,” she replied; “was he a novelist? Scott is the favorite novelist now, I believe.”

It was indispensable to her system to have always the air of being waited upon. If the fire were down ever so low, she would prefer waiting any length of time, until her servant of all-work could answer the bell, rather than help herself to a stick of wood, although close at hand. A friend knocking for admission, might almost go away without getting it, if there were no one but the lady of the house to open the door. Even a journey, recommended by her physician, for her only child, who had suffered much from teething, was not to be thought of, because the additional expense of a nurse could not be afforded: and it was _so_ vulgar to travel with a young child without a nurse! And yet she was not an unfeeling mother—she would do anything for her child that was not vulgar. Nights of weary watching, and days of laborious nursing, she submitted to with true maternal devotion. Even in his very wardrobe, her husband’s comfort was abridged, in conformity with her notions of what gentility required, inasmuch as at no season would he be allowed a cotton shirt, which in the winter he greatly preferred.

I said that by degrees Mrs. Rutherford attained all her objects. I beg her pardon—the silver forks were still wanting to her complete happiness. Against these her husband took his stand with the determination of a desperate man. He said they were very proper for those to use who were born with silver spoons in their mouths—very proper for those who could afford them; but for a young man in his circumstances, the introduction of such an article into his establishment would be perfectly preposterous—that silver forks would be a poor inheritance to his daughter, provided he left her nothing to eat with them. It was so very unusual for her husband to oppose her, that Mrs. Rutherford knew his opposition was not impulsive—not lightly resolved upon; and she yielded to it submissively.

The child was of course included in the mother’s plans of gentility. She was not suffered to attend school for fear she should contract vulgarity from her schoolmates. Great pains were bestowed upon her dress; and as what is deficient in money must be made up in time, there was a most lavish expenditure of what is still more valuable than money. Then she was prevented, as far as possible, from doing any thing for herself.

This last point, however, was difficult of accomplishment. Little Caroline herself was an extremely smart, active, capable child; and such a one, who feels the energy stirring within her, cannot well be prevented, in such a very unartificial state of things as exists in a village family, from exerting it.

It is not often that a child derives benefit from her mother’s absurdities; but Caroline Rutherford was an exception. The very opposition she met with confirmed all her natural tendencies to rationality; and, in consequence of her being excluded from the schools, her father took great pains with her education, while her mother paid a degree of attention to her manners; which, though it could not render her formal, (no training could have produced that result in her case,) had the effect to make her considerate and attentive. She grew up, therefore, a very pleasing, lovely girl.

When she was about the age of fourteen, a very exciting event occurred in their quiet village. A gentleman of fortune, who had determined to remove into the country, attracted by its healthy and picturesque location, selected it for his future residence, and purchased a place very near the dwelling of Mr. Rutherford.

This circumstance was rejoiced in by no one so much as by Mrs. Rutherford; and would have gone far toward compensating her for the want of silver forks, except that it made her feel the need of them so much the more; because, “how could she invite Mr. and Mrs. Garrison to dine without them?”

She lost no time in calling upon her new neighbors, choosing for that purpose the latest hour compatible with the country dining hour. She had previously arrayed herself in the manner she deemed most befitting the occasion; that is, most calculated to recommend her to Mrs. Garrison as a person of undoubted gentility, viz: with a dress of Gros de Berlin, a French cape, silk stockings, etc., etc.

To her surprise, she found Mrs. Garrison in a simple gingham morning dress, superintending the nailing down of a carpet; for her house was not yet in order. She received Mrs. Rutherford, however, in a very easy manner, conducting her to an adjoining apartment; and thus, after the usual preliminaries, was the turn given by the latter to the conversation.

“I quite pity you, Mrs. Garrison, for having chosen a residence in the country.”

“Pity me, indeed! I thought all people who lived in the country were fond of it. Is it not so with you?”

“O yes! I am very fond of flowers, and I think the country more healthy than town; but then we have such trouble with our servants. Such a thing as a man-cook is quite out of the question. I often tell my husband that there would be some sense, and some pleasure in having one’s friends to dine with you, if one could have a man-cook.”

“A man-cook, indeed!” replied Mrs. Garrison. “I did not know that such an appendage was ever thought of in the country. It is far from being common in town; and for myself, I have never employed one. If I can get good women I shall be entirely satisfied.”

“Well, ma’am, you cannot be sure even of that; and then, if your servants happen to leave you, it is so difficult to supply their places. Really, Mrs. Garrison, to be left as we are exposed to be occasionally, almost without any help at all, is a calamity almost too great to be borne. Housework is so odious, so disagreeable, I almost loathe myself when I am obliged _to take hold of it_.”

This last expression led Mrs. Garrison to suspect that she had been quite accustomed “to take hold” notwithstanding.

“But your country ladies, in spite of these difficulties, have more leisure than we in town. You are not obliged to keep one servant to answer the bell, and to spend the best part of the day yourself in receiving visits from a set of idlers, as formidable, to those who really value their time, as the unproductive consumer to the political economist.”

Here Mrs. Rutherford found herself at fault. She looked quite puzzled for a moment, and then replied—“_But you do not give refreshments to your morning visitors, Mrs. Garrison? That, I am told, is quite out of fashion._”

“And then, too,” continued Mrs. Garrison, not appearing to notice this question, “we necessarily have a very large circle of acquaintance for many of whom we care very little; whereas, you in the country can limit yourselves as much as you please; and society is, with you, on altogether a more free, unceremonious, and friendly footing.”

“But then,” replied Mrs. Rutherford, “country people are, most of them, so vulgar. They know nothing of the forms of society.”

“So much the better. In large circles of society they are necessary, but burdensome; and I expect to enjoy, very much, a more simple, unshackled state of existence. * * * * I had the pleasure of seeing your daughter, I believe, this morning; a charming looking girl.”

“My daughter! O Mrs. Garrison, I am very sorry indeed. She is a wild girl; and her father would indulge her to-day in a strawberrying frolic, so she was dressed accordingly. I am sure she was not fit to be seen.”

“I cannot say how that may be, for my attention was so occupied by her bright eyes, rosy cheeks, and laughing smile, that I did not notice her dress at all. But the most proper dress is always that most befitting the occasion; and she looks to me like a girl of too good sense not to have regard to the fitness of things at all times.”

“Dress is another great trouble in the country, Mrs. Garrison. There is never a good dressmaker to be had. You may have your dress cut, to be sure, after a fashionable pattern; but then it will not have at all the air of a city-made dress.”

“But I thought, Mrs. Rutherford, that exemption from much trouble of dress was another of your country privileges. In town, the tailor and dressmaker are the most important personages, to be sure; since it is not man as God made him, or as he has made himself, but as the tailor makes him, that is chiefly respected by a very large class—and so with woman; but in the country, people are valued for their intrinsic merits—their minds, and their hearts. This is their privilege and distinction.”

“But I think, Mrs. Garrison, that no woman appears well who is not well dressed.”

“If you mean, by being well dressed, dressed with neatness and propriety, I agree with you; but city finery, habitually worn, would seem to me as much out of place on the person of a country lady, as artificial flowers in her bosom.”

Mrs. Rutherford took her leave, wondering to find Mrs. Garrison, a _lady_ in every sense of the word, so full of what she considered very odd notions; and did not fail, at dinner, to communicate to her husband the impression she had received.

“I am thankful,” he replied, “that she is a woman of some sense. I beg your pardon, wife, but really your head is completely turned upon the subject of furniture, dress, etc.; and if Mrs. Garrison will set it right, she will do the greatest piece of service in the world that could be rendered to a poor fellow like me.”

“Why, Mr. Rutherford, I flattered myself you were quite proud of your wife. I am sure it is as much on your account as my own, that I wish to hold my proper place in society.”

“Your proper place! Yes, I wish to heaven that would content you; but you _do_ make capital pies, wife, I confess,” he said, as he tasted a delicious tart. Mrs. Rutherford was more gratified by his commendation, than she would have been had she understood its full import.

Meanwhile Mrs. Garrison, in relating to her husband the events of the morning, said: “We talked, you know, of adapting ourselves to the tastes, manners, and habits of the country; but here is a village lady whose head is as full of fashions, modes, and rules of etiquette, as the finest town-lady’s of them all. How should it happen?”

“An empty-headed woman I’ll be bound,” replied Mr. Garrison.

“Well, as to that I cannot tell. She certainly gave no great signs of intellectual cultivation, and that is the case with most of our fine ladies in town; but one would suppose that in the country, if a woman did not love books, she might busy herself in her domestic occupations, with bees, birds, flowers, etc., without being driven to dress and fashion as a refuge from the ennui of a vacant mind.”

“What a strange race we are,” rejoined her husband, “to make it our boast that we are rational beings. I think, if those to whom man is said to be only a little lower look down upon this busy scene, the pursuits of the greater part of men, and women too, must seem just about as important as the children’s sport of blowing soap-bubbles seems to us. One thing I have to congratulate myself upon—the principal lawyer in the village, Mr. Rutherford, is a very clever, sensible, respectable man.”

“He must be this very lady’s husband.”

“Poor fellow! I am sorry for him then.”

When Caroline Rutherford returned from her strawberrying expedition, which had been very successful, she begged to be allowed to carry some of her strawberries to Mrs. Garrison, who by her sweet voice and pleasing address had made a most agreeable impression upon her in their short interview in the morning.

Mrs. Rutherford was quite shocked at the suggestion. “Why, my dear child, your dress, shabby enough at best, is all in disorder. Your hair is out of curl, and you are red and heated. Besides, it is much more proper to send Sally with them. Get me a piece of note paper, and I will write a note.”

“O, mother, do let me have my own way for this once.”

Her father nodded in a manner which expressed “go, my child,” and she was off in the twinkling of an eye.

“O dear me! Mr. Rutherford, Caroline is so wild, so rustic, I am afraid Mrs. Garrison will be quite disgusted with her.”

“Never fear, my dear. I will pit my wild flower against the finest green-house plant of them all;” and well he might be proud of his wild flower.

In spite of Caroline’s being “such a rustic,” Mrs. Garrison took a great fancy to her from the beginning, and she soon became a favorite with the whole family. The oldest daughter, Fanny, was two years younger than Caroline, and two of the sons were older. The mother was not long in discovering that Caroline would be a most useful associate to her children in their lessons; and she invited her to join her little family school. Her industry, energy, and quickness were a constant stimulus to her fellow-pupils. Mrs. Garrison taught her music and drawing, which almost made Mrs. Rutherford forget the one calamity of her life—the doing without silver forks.

Notwithstanding her great delight when Mr. Rutherford ordered a piano for his daughter, she could not refrain from hinting that she thought him rather inconsistent in incurring such an expense, after what had passed on the subject of the forks.

“No, wife,” said he, “I do not admit this at all. The forks, in our case, would be for mere show; but the piano will be a source of constant daily enjoyment. The pleasure of a song from Caroline, accompanied by her instrument, is to me worth all the pomp and magnificence of a palace; ’tis ‘a sacred and home-felt delight.’ Then, think how she enjoys it! Besides, all these things add to the resources from which she would not fail to derive her support, if left penniless to-morrow.”

That Mr. Rutherford might feel no scruples of delicacy in regard to receiving all these favors for his daughter, Mrs. Garrison employed her to assist in teaching the younger children.

Caroline often excited her mother’s astonishment by her reports of what was going on, from time to time, at Mrs. Garrison’s. One day they had all employed the recess in assisting Mrs. Garrison, in country phrase, “to clean up her yard;” which, in this instance, amounted only to gathering from the lawn the dry leaves, bits of sticks, etc., which had been carelessly left behind by the person who had been sent to perform that duty. At another time Caroline had had the sole charge of the school in the morning, because Mrs. Garrison, reduced to extremities by some disarrangement of her domestic establishment, had been engaged in washing windows! and performing divers other services of a similar nature; but “I can tell you, mother,” she added, “that she looks just as much like a lady when she is washing windows, as when she is sitting at her drawing-board.” Occasionally, when the waiter had been ill or absent, one of the children had tended table in her stead; and once, when one of the servants was laid up with a rheumatic limb, her mistress would bathe it herself, several times in the day, in order to be sure that it was properly done. But the greatest wonder of all was, that a young sister of Mrs. Garrison’s came to visit her, bringing an infant without a nurse to take care of it; and not only that, but dragged it about the streets of the village in a little wicker wagon, while mother and child were both so pretty as to attract every body’s attention.

At the expiration of two years after their first arrival in the village, Mr. and Mrs. Garrison determined to obtain the assistance of a private tutor in the education of their children. They were fortunate in finding a young man, a Mr. Cleaveland, of accomplished education and pleasing manners, who knew how to make his pupils like not only their books but their teacher too. He was in the condition of many young men in our country, whose education constitutes their only fortune. He was destined for the pulpit, and had yet to acquire his profession in part.

Fanny Garrison, accustomed hitherto only to her mother’s teaching, could not be reconciled to the idea of being taught by a strange gentleman, unless Caroline would become a fellow-pupil. Nearly two years passed away, during which Caroline made rapid progress in various branches of education—outstripping even the older boys in some of those studies which, until recently, have been almost universally regarded as inappropriate to women.

Mrs. Rutherford had already begun to speculate upon Caroline’s chances in the matrimonial lottery. She had no doubt that such a girl, with a fine countenance, engaging manners, highly educated, and full of vivacity, would, in time, make “a _genteel_ match.” Now and then a vague fear that young Cleaveland might aspire to the hand of her daughter, crossed her mind; but did not impress itself, because it was “impossible that a girl so genteelly bred and educated, should think of marrying a poor young minister, and almost equally so, that a poor young minister should think of aspiring to her.”

She settled it in her own mind, that if Caroline should have altogether a suitable offer in the course of a few years, it was not to be rejected; but otherwise, there could not be a doubt that Frank Garrison’s present youthful fondness for her might be cultivated into a permanent sentiment. The country maid and her milk-pail will remain through all time the faithful and most fitting personification of a castle-builder.

Mrs. Rutherford could not forbear communicating to her husband some of her thoughts upon the subject which occupied her so much, and declaring, in unequivocal terms, her unwillingness to Caroline’s making only a “common match,” on the ground of her being a fit wife for a man of fortune, and qualified to grace a genteel establishment.

“Now, I will tell you what, wife,” replied her husband, “you do not know what is best for yourself or her either. Caroline is just the girl for a good, honest fellow, who has got to make his own way in the world; such a man wants just such a helper, or help-meet, as the Bible has it. It would be a pity to have her good sense, and fine spirits, and energy, and education thrown away where they ain’t wanted, or rather where they won’t be all called into requisition and turned to the greatest possible account. He who gets his living by hard work, whether of the head or the hands, wants a wife who will order well his house and educate his children—who will strengthen him in weakness—encourage him in despondency—confirm him when irresolute—soothe him when irritated—comfort and bless him perpetually with her sympathy, and look bright, beautiful, and refreshing to him when the day’s toil is over. Now a rich man’s wife need not _do_ any thing; his wealth can command the aid of hands enough and heads enough, without hers. Then his pleasures are very apt to be in a great many other things besides his wife; and a woman who knows how to dress smart, and receive his company genteelly, as you say, will do very well for him. But to a poor man his wife and children are his all-in-all of pleasure; and to make the happiness of a man who has every thing good in himself, but to whom the gifts of fortune have been denied, ought to be sufficient to satisfy any woman.”

Of course Mrs. Rutherford rejected such heretical doctrines altogether, though she had no hope of converting him who professed them.

Meanwhile the simple, happy Caroline mused not of love; she was too happy—too much occupied—too well satisfied with the present, to think of the future. Life, with her, was perpetual sunshine. She was very fond of her father—had a kind and dutiful feeling toward her mother—loved the Garrisons dearly—was exceedingly interested in her studies—and liked Mr. Cleaveland very much. She liked him because she found his assistance very valuable to her in her studies—because he was not only exceedingly devoted, in his office as teacher, to all his pupils, but made them very happy—because he manifested, in all situations, great delicacy of feeling and the kindest consideration for others, showing that he felt deeply and tenderly the bonds of human brotherhood—because he had an agreeable talent at conversation—because he loved the water-falls, fields, rivers, and groves as well as she did, and, when school was over, liked nothing better than to ramble and sport in true country fashion—and lastly, she liked him, as I suppose, because he liked her; for a reason akin to this, enters, more or less, I believe, into the rationale of all the partialities of man for his brother man.

Mrs. Garrison felt some responsibility in regard to bringing so lovely a girl as Caroline Rutherford into constant association with a marriageable young man of no small attractions. But she knew him thoroughly—was certain that he was worthy of confidence, and, besides, was herself constantly with the whole group, both in school and in the hours of recreation.

How could Charles Cleaveland but fall in love? Not at first sight—not because it had seemed to him a very probable thing that he should; but because there was no earthly reason why he should not—because there was every thing to please his fancy, gratify his affections, and approve itself to his reason, in the young creature with whom he was daily associated in interesting pursuits and delightful recreations. In school she was that paragon of perfection to a teacher, a diligent, docile, and apt pupil; by the stream, a naiad; in the groves, a wood-nymph; in the garden and the meadow, the ideal of a bird or a butterfly. How could she but come, in time, to haunt his imagination and make her home in his heart, in one and all the bewitching forms of love’s metempsychosis?

His interest had been for some time deeply excited, before she became aware of the state of his mind or her own. But the truth gradually dawned upon her when, time after time as she raised her head, she found him intently gazing upon her; when she perceived unwonted abstraction, on his part, in the hours of her recitations; when she found herself, by some strange magic or other, meeting him at every turn, as if he knew all her out-goings and in-comings; when his visits at her father’s hitherto, on account of her mother’s forbidding manners few and far between, became more and more frequent; and as she sat at the piano, where he always liked to place her, she could _feel_ the intensity of his gaze until it produced a burning in her own cheek.

Then she, too, began to muse of him. He was the subject of her day-dreams and night-dreams; his image forever in her mind; sleep did not displace it. It was there when she closed her eyes to sleep, and there to greet her at the first moment of her waking. The animated Caroline became pensive; the social Caroline began to affect solitary walks and lonely sittings in her chamber. She gazed upon the moon, or she listened to the murmuring brook or the whispering grove; and the gay and joyous feeling with which she had been accustomed to mingle herself with the harmonies of nature, gave way to one of sacred tenderness, as they seemed to her spirit to give forth a deeper tone.