Marriage Part 54

Even the affection of her aunt, which she possessed in the highest possible degree, far from being an alleviation, was only an additional torment. Every meeting began with, "My dear Mary, how did you sleep last night? Did you make a good breakfast this morning? I declare I think you look a little pale. I'm sure I wish to goodness, you mayn't have got cold--colds are going very much about just now--one of the maids in this house has a very bad cold--I hope you will remember to bathe your feet And take some water gruel to night, and do everything that Dr. Redgill desires you, honest man!" If Mary absented herself for a day, her salutation was, "My dear Mary, what became of you yesterday? I a.s.sure you I was quite miserable about you all day, thinking, which was quite natural, that something was the matter with you; and I declare I never closed my eyes all night for thinking about you. I a.s.sure you if it had not been that I couldn't leave Sir Sampson, I would have taken a hackney coach, although I know what impositions they are, and have gone to Beech Park to see what had come over you."

Yet all this Mary bore with the patience of a martyr, to the admiration of Lady Maclaughlan and the amazement of Lady Emily, who declared she could only submit to be bored as long as she was amused.

On going to Milsom Street one morning Mary found her aunt in high delight at two invitations she had just received for herself and her niece.

"The one," said she, "is to dinner at Mrs. Pullens's. You can't remember her mother, Mrs. Macfuss, I daresay, Mary--she was a most excellent woman, I a.s.sure you, and got all her daughters married. And I remember Mrs. Pullens when she was Flora Macfuss; she was always thought very like her mother and Mr. Pullens is a most worthy man, and very rich and it was thought at the time a great marriage for Flora Macfuss, for she had no money of her own, but her mother was a very clever woman, and a most excellent manager; and I daresay so is Mrs. Pullens, for the Macfusses are all famous for their management--so it will be a great thing for you, you know, Mary, to be acquainted with Mrs. Pullens."

Mary was obliged to break in upon the eulogium on Mrs. Pullens by noticing the other card. This was a subject for still greater gratulation.

"This," said she, "is from Mrs. Bluemits, and it is for the same day with Mrs. Pullens, only it is to tea, not to dinner. To be sure it will be a great pity to leave Mrs. Pullens so soon; but then it would be a great pity not to go to Mrs. Bluemits's; for I've never seen her, and her aunt, Miss Shaw, would think it very odd if I was to go back to the Highlands without seeing Nancy Shaw, now Mrs. Bluemits; and at any rate I a.s.sure you we may think much of being asked, for she is a very clever woman, and makes it a point never to ask any but clever people to her house; so it's a very great honour to be asked."

It was an honour Mary would fain have dispensed with. At another time she might have antic.i.p.ated some amus.e.m.e.nt from such parties, but at present her heart was not tuned to the ridiculous, and she attempted to decline the invitations, and get her aunt to do the same; but she gave up the point when she saw how deeply Grizzy's happiness for the time being was involved in these invitations, and she even consented to accompany her, conscious, as Lady Maclaughlan said, that the poor creature required a leading string, and was not fit to go alone. The appointed day arrived, and Mary found herself in company with Aunt Grizzy at the mansion of Mr. Pullens, the fortunate husband of the _ci-devant_ Miss Flora Macfuss; but as Grizzy is not the best of biographers, we must take the liberty of introducing this lady to the acquaintance of our reader.

The domestic economy of Mrs. Pullens was her own theme, and the theme of all her friends; and such was the zeal in promulgating her doctrines, and her anxiety to see them carried into effect, that she had endeavoured to pa.s.s it into a law that no preserves could be eatable but those preserved in her method; no hams could be good but those cured according to her receipt; no liquors drinkable but such as were made from the results of her experience; neither was it possible that any linens could be white, or any flannels soft, or any muslins clear, unless after the manner practised in her laundry. By her own account she was the slave of every servant within her door, for her life seemed to be one unceasing labour to get everything done in her own way, to the very blacking of Mr. Pullens's shoes, and the brushing of Mr. Pullens's coat. But then these heroic acts of duty were more than repaid by the n.o.ble consciousness of a life well spent. In her own estimation she was one of the greatest characters that had ever lived; for, to use her own words, she pa.s.sed nothing over--she saw everything done herself--she trusted nothing to servants, etc. etc. etc.

From the contemplation of these her virtues her face had acquired an expression of complacency foreign to her natural temper; for, after having scolded and slaved in the kitchen, she sat down to taste the fruits of her labours with far more elevated feelings of conscious virtue than ever warmed the breast of a Hampden or a Howard; and when she helped Mr. Pullens to pie, made not by the cook, but by herself, it was with an air of self-approbation that might have vied with that of the celebrated Jack Horner upon a similar occasion. In many cases there might have been merit in Mrs. Pullens's doings---a narrow income, the capricious taste of a sick or a cross husband, may exalt the meanest offices which woman can render into acts of virtue, and even diffuse a dignity around them; but Mr. Pullens was rich and good-natured, and would have been happy had his cook been allowed to dress his dinner, and his barber his wig, quietly in their own way. Mrs. Pullens, therefore, only sought the indulgence of her own low inclinations in thus interfering in every menial department; while, at the same time, she expected all the grat.i.tude and admiration that would have been due to the sacrifice of the most refined taste and elegant pursuits.

But "envy does merit as its shade pursue," as Mrs Pullens experienced, for she found herself a.s.sailed by a host of housekeepers who attempted to throw discredit on her various arts. At the head of this a.s.sociation was Mrs. Jekyll, whose arrangements were on a quite contrary plan. The great branch of science on which Mrs. Pullens mainly relied for fame was her unrivalled art in keeping things long beyond the date a.s.signed by nature; and one of her master-strokes was, in the middle of summer, to surprise a whole company with gooseberry tarts made of gooseberries of the preceding year; and her triumph was complete when any of them were so polite as to a.s.sert that they might have pa.s.sed upon them for the fruits of the present season. Another art in which she flattered herself she was unrivalled was that of making things pa.s.s for what they were not; thus, she gave pork for lamb--common fowls for turkey poults--currant wine for champagne--whisky with peach leaves for noyau; but all these deceptions Mrs. Jekyll piqued herself immediately detecting, and never failed to point out the difference, and in the politest manner to hint her preference of the real over the spurious.

Many were the wonderful morsels with which poor Mr. Pullens was regaled, but he had now ceased to be surprised at anything that appeared on his own table; and he had so often heard the merit of his wife's housekeeping extolled by herself that, contrary to his natural conviction, he now began to think it must be true; or if he had occasionally any little private misgivings when he thought of the good dinners he used to have in his bachelor days, he comforted himself by thinking that his lot was the lot of all married men who are blest with active, managing, economical wives. Such were Mr. and Mrs. Pullens; and the appearance of the house offered no inadequate idea of the mistress. The furniture was incongruous, and everything was ill-matched--for Mrs. Pullens was a frequenter of sales, and, like many other liberal-minded ladies, never allowed a bargain to pa.s.s, whether she required the articles or not. Her dress was the same; there was always something to wonder at; caps that had been bought for nothing, because they were a little soiled, but by being taken down and washed, and new trimmed, turned out to be just as good as new gowns that had been dyed, turned, cleaned, washed, etc.; and the great triumph was when n.o.body could tell the old breadth from the new.

The dinner was of course bad, the company stupid, and the conversation turned solely upon Mrs. Pullens's exploits, with occasional attempts of Mrs. Jekyll to depreciate the merits of some of her discoveries. At length the hour of departure arrived, to Mary's great relief, as she thought any change must be for the better. Not so Grizzy, who was charmed and confounded by all she had seen, and heard, and tasted, and all of whose preconceived ideas on the subjects of washing, preserving, etc., had sustained a total _boulevers.e.m.e.nt,_ upon hearing of the superior methods practised by Mrs. Pullens.

"Well, certainly, Mary, you must allow Mrs. Pullens is an astonishing clever woman! Indeed, I think n.o.body can dispute it--only think of her never using a bit of soap in her house--everything is washed by steam.

To be sure, as Mrs Jekyll said, the table linen was remarkably ill-coloured--but no wonder, considering--it must be a great saving, I'm sure--and she always stands and sees it done herself, for there's no trusting these things to servants. Once when she trusted it to them, they burned a dozen of Mr. Pullens's new shirts, just from carelessness, which I'm sure was very provoking. To be sure, as Mrs. Jekyll said, if she had used soap like other people that wouldn't have happened; and then it is wonderful how well she contrives to keep things. I declare I can't think enough of these green peas that we had at dinner today having been kept since summer was a year. To be sure, as Mrs. Jekyll said, they certainly were hard--n.o.body can deny that--but then, you know, anything would be hard that had been kept since summer was a year; and I'm sure I thought they ate wonderfully well considering--and these red currants, too--I'm afraid you didn't taste them--I wish to goodness you had tasted them, Mary. They were sour and dry, certainly, as Mrs. Jekyll said; but no wonder, anything would be sour and dry that had been kept in bottles for three years."

Grizzy was now obliged to change the current of her ideas, for the carriage had stopped at Mrs. Bluemits's.

CHAPTER x.x.x.

"It is certain great knowledge, if it be without vanity, is the most severe bridle of the tongue. For so have I heard, that all the noises and prating of the pool, the croaking of frogs and toads, is hushed and appeased upon the instant of bringing upon them the light of a candle or torch. Every beam of reason, and ray of knowledge, checks the dissolutions of the tongue."-JEREMY TAYLOR.

THEY were received by Mrs. Bluemits with that air of condescension which great souls practise towards ordinary mortals, and which is intended, at one and the same time, to encourage and to repel; to show the extent of their goodness, even while they make, or try to make, their _protege_ feel the immeasurable distance which nature or fortune has placed between them.

It was with this air of patronising grandeur that Mrs. Bluemits took her guests by the hand, and introduced them to the circle of females already a.s.sembled.

Mrs. Bluemits was not an avowed auth.o.r.ess; but she was a professed critic, a well-informed woman, a woman of great conversational powers, etc., and, to use her own phrase, nothing but conversation was spoken in her house. Her guests were therefore, always expected to be distinguished, either for some literary production or for their taste in the _belles lettres._ Two ladies from Scotland, the land of poetry and romance, were consequently hailed as new stars in Mrs. Bluemits's horizon. No sooner were they seated than Mrs. Bluemits began--

"As I am a friend to ease in literary society, we shall, without ceremony, resume our conversation; for, as Seneca observes, the 'comfort of life depends upon conversation.'"

"I think," said Miss Graves, "it is Rochefoucault who says, 'The great art of conversation is to hear patiently and answer precisely.'"

"A very poor definition for so profound a philosopher," remarked Mrs.

Apsley.

"The amiable author of what the gigantic Johnson styles the melancholy and angry "Night Thoughts," gives a n.o.bler, a more elevated, and, in my humble opinion, a juster explication of the intercourse of mind," said Miss Parkins; and she repeated the following lines with pompous enthusiasm:--

Speech ventilates our intellectual fire, Speech burnishes our mental magazine, Brightens for ornament, and whets for use.

What numbers, sheath'd in erudition, lie, Plung'd to the hilts in venerable tomes, And rusted in, who might have borne an edge, And play'd a sprightly beam, if born to speech--- If born blest heirs of half their mother's tongue!"

Mrs. Bluemits proceeded:

"'Tis thought's exchange, which, like the alternate push Of waves conflicting, breaks the learned sc.u.m, And defecates the student's standing pool."

"The sensitive poet of Olney, if I mistake not," said Mrs. Dalton, "steers a middle course, betwixt the somewhat bald maxim of the Parisian philosopher and the mournful pruriency of the Bard of Night, when he says,

'Conversation, in its better part, May be esteem'd a gift, and not an art.'"

Mary had been accustomed to read, and to reflect upon what she read, and to apply it to the purpose for which it is valuable, viz. in enlarging her mind and cultivating her taste; but she had never been accustomed to prate, or quote, or sit down for the express purpose of displaying her acquirements; and she began to tremble at hearing authors' names "familiar in their mouths as household words;" but Grizzy, strong in ignorance, was no wise daunted. True, she heard what she could not comprehend, but she thought she would soon make things clear; and she therefore turned to her neighbour on her righthand, and accosted her with--"My niece and I are just come from dining at Mrs. Pullens's--I daresay you have heard of her--she was Miss Flora Macfuss; her father, Dr. Macfuss, was a most excellent preacher, and she is a remarkable clever woman."

"Pray, ma'am, has she come out, or is she simply _bel esprit?_"

inquired the lady.

Grizzy was rather at a loss; and, indeed, to answer a question put in an unknown language, would puzzle wiser brains than hers; but Grizzy was accustomed to converse without being able to comprehend, and she therefore went on.

"Her mother, Mrs. Macfuss--but she is dead--was a very clever woman too; I'm sure I declare I don't know whether the Doctor or her was the cleverest; but many people, I know, think Mrs. Pullens beats them both."

"Indeed! may I ask in what department she chiefly excels?"

"Oh, I really think in everything. For one thing, everything in her house is done by steam; and then she can keep everything, I can't tell how long, just in paper bags and bottles; and she is going to publish a book with all her receipts in it. I'm sure it will be very interesting."

"I beg ten thousand pardons for the interruption," cried Mrs. Bluemits from the opposite side of the room; "but my ear was smote with the sounds of _publish,_ and _interesting,--words _which never fail to awaken a responsive chord in my bosom. Pray," addressing Grizzy, and bringing her into the full blaze of observation, "may I ask, was it of _the_ Campbell these electric words were spoken? To you, Madam, I am sure I need not apologise for my enthusiasm--you who claim the proud distinction of being a country woman, need I ask--an acquaintance?"

All that poor Grizzy could comprehend of this harangue was that it was reckoned a great honour to be acquainted with a Campbell; and chuckling with delight at the idea of her own consequence, she briskly replied--

"Oh, I know plenty of Campbells; there's the Campbells of Mireside, relations of ours; and there's the Campbells of Blackbrae, married into our family; and there's the Campbells of Windlestrae Glen, are not very distant by my mother's side."

Mary felt as if perforated by bullets in all directions, as she encountered the eyes of the company, turned alternately upon her aunt and her; but they were on opposite sides of the room; therefore to interpose betwixt Grizzy and her a.s.sailants was impossible.

"Possibly," suggested Mrs. Dalton, "Miss Douglas prefers the loftier strains of the mighty Minstrel of the Mountains to the more polished periods of the Poet of the Transatlantic Plain."

"Without either a possibility or a perhaps," said Mrs. Apsley, "the probability is, Miss Douglas prefers the author of the 'Giaour' to all the rest of her poetical countrymen. Where, in either Walter Scott or Thomas Campbell, will you find such lines as these;--

'Wet with their own best blood, shall drip Thy gnashing tooth and haggard lip!'"

"Pardon me, madam," said Miss Parkin; "but I am of opinion you have scarcely given a fair specimen of the powers of the n.o.ble Bard in question. The image here presented is a familiar one; 'the gnashing tooth' and 'haggard lip' we have all witnessed, perhaps some of us may even have experienced. There is consequently little merit in presenting it to the mind's eye. It is easy, comparatively speaking, to portray the feelings and pa.s.sions of our own kind. We have only, as Dryden expresses it, to descend into ourselves to find the secret imperfections of our mind. It is therefore in his portraiture of the canine race that the ill.u.s.trious author has so far excelled all his contemporaries--in fact, he has given quite a dramatic cast to his dogs," and she repeated, with an air of triumph--

"And he saw the lean dogs beneath the wall, Hold o'er the dead their carnival; Gorging and growling o'er carcase and limb, They were too busy to bark at him!

From a Tartar's skull they had stripped the flesh, As ye peel the fig when its fruit is fresh; And their white tusks crunched o'er the whiter skull, As it slipped through their jaws when their edge grew dull; As they lazily mumbled the bones of the dead, When they scarce could rise from the spot where they fed."

"Now, to enter into the conception of a dog--to embody one's self, as it were, in the person of a brute--to sympathise in its feelings--to make its propensities our own--to 'lazily mumble the bones of the dead,' with our own individual 'white tusks'! Pardon me, madam, but with all due deference to the genius of a Scott, it is a thing he has not dare to attempt. Only the finest mind in the universe as capable of taking so bold a flight. Scott's dogs, madam, are tame, domestic animals--mere human dogs, if I may say so. Byron's dogs--But let them speak for themselves!

'The scalps were in the wild dog's maw, The hair was tangled round his jaw.'

Show me, if you can, such an image in Scott?"

"Very fine, certainly!" was here uttered by five novices, who were only there as probationers, consequently not privileged to go beyond a response.