Part 29
"Three, only three? God bless me, ma'am, I wouldn't be a poor woman with two--no, with one incumbrance at my petticoat tails--for the biggest ship and cargo old Steve Girard ever owned, ma'am."
"I might," meekly said the widow, "put my son with the printer, sir; he has offered to take my poor boy."
"Two girls and a boy?" inquiringly asked the old gent, applying the dust, and manipulating his box. "How old? Eldest thirteen, eh?--boy eleven, and the youngest seven, eh?" and working a traverse, or solving some problematic point, Job Carson stuck his hands under his morning gown, and strode over the floor; after a few evolutions of the kind, he stopped--fumbled in a drawer of a secretary, and placing a ten dollar note in the widow's hand, he said:
"There, ma'am; I don't know that I shall want you, but to-morrow morning, if you have time, from other and more important business, call in, bring your children with you; good morning, ma'am--Banquo!"
"Yis, sah; I'se heah."
"Show the lady out--good morning, ma'am, good morning."
"I like that woman's looks," said old Job, continuing his walk; "she's plain and tidy; she's industrious, I'll warrant; if she only hadn't that raft of _incumbrances_; what do these people have incumbrances for, anyway?--"
"Lady at the doo-ah, sah," said Banquo.
"Show her in. Good morning, ma'am; Banquo, a seat for the lady; yes, ma'am, I did; I want a housekeeper. I advertised for one. How many servants do I keep? Well, ma'am, I keep as many as I want. Have visitors? Of course I have. What and where are _my rooms_? Why, madam, I own the house, every brick and lath in it. I go to bed, and get up, and go round; come in and out, when I feel like it. What church do I worship in? I've assisted in _building_ a number, own a half of one, and a third of several; but, ma'am, between you and I--I don't want to be rude to a lady, ma'am, but I _do_ think, this examination ain't to my liking--you don't think the place would suit you, eh? Well, I think _your ladyship_ wouldn't suit _me_, ma'am, so I'll bid your ladyship good morning," said old Job, bowing very obsequiously to the stiff-starched and acrimonious dame, who, returning the old gentleman's _bow_ with the same "high pressure" order, seized her skirts in one hand, and agitating her fan with the other, she stepped out, or _finikined_ along to the hall door, and as Banquo flew around, and put on the _extras_ to let her ladyship out, she gave the darkey a pat on the head with her fan, and looking crab-apples at the poor negro, she rushed down the steps and disappeared.
"Tank you, ma'am; come again, eb you please--of'n!" said the pouting negro.
"Yes, sah; here's nudder lady, sah," says Banquo, ushering in a rather ruddy, jolly-looking and perfectly-at-home daughter of the "gim o' the sae." The old gentleman eyed her liberal proportions; consulting his snuff-box, he answered "yes" to the woman's inquiry, if _he_ was the gintleman wanting the housekeeper.
"Did you read my advertisement, ma'am?"
"Me rade it? Not I, faix. Mr. Mullony, our landlord, was saying till us--"
"Are you married, too?"
"Married _two_? Do I look like a woman as would marry two? No, _sur_; I'm a dacent woman, sur; my name is Hannah Geaughey, Jimmy Geaughey's my husband, sur; he, poor man, wrought in the board-yard till he was _sun sthruck_, by manes of falling from a cuart, sur."
"Well, ma'am, that will do, I'm sorry for your husband--one dollar, there it is; you wouldn't suit me at all; good morning, ma'am. Banquo, show the good woman to the door."
"But, sur, I want the place!"
"I don't want _you_--good morning."
"Dis way, ma'am," said Banquo, marshalling the woman to the hall.
"Stand away, ye nager; it's your masther I'm spakin' wid."
"Go along, go along, woman, go, go, _go!_" roared the old gent.
"But, as I was saying, Mr. Mullony said--says he--who the divil you push'n, you black nager?" said the woman, grabbing Banquo's woolly top-knot.
"Dis way, ma'am," persevered Banquo, quartering towards the door.
"Mr. Mullony was sayin', sur--"
"Dis way, ma'am," continued the darkey, crowding Mrs. Geaughey, while his master was gesticulating furiously to keep on _crowding_ her. Finally, Banquo vanquished the Irish woman, and received orders from his master to admit no more applicants--the place was filled.
That afternoon, old Captain Winepipes--a retired merchant and ship-master, an old bachelor, too, who was in the habit of exchanging visits with Job Carson, sipping brandy and water, talking over old times and playing chess--came to finish a litigated game, and Job and he discussed the matter of taking care of the widow and children of the dead ship-builder. At length, it was settled that, if the second interview with the widow, and an exhibition of her children, proved satisfactory to Job Carson, he should take them in; if found more than Job could attend to--
"Why a--I'll go you halves, Job," said Captain Winepipes.
Next day, Widow Glenn and her pretty children appeared at the door of Carson's mansion; and Banquo, full of pleasant anticipations, ushered them into the retired merchant's presence.
It was evident, at the first glance the old gentleman gave the group, that the battle was more than half won.
"Fine boy, that; come here, sir--eleven years of age, eh? Your name's Martin--Martin Glenn, eh? Well, Martin, my lad, you've got a big world before you--a fussing, fuming world, not worth finding out, not worth the powder that would blow it up. You've got to take your position in the ranks, too, mean and contemptible as they are; but you may make a good man; if the world don't benefit you, why a--you can benefit it; that's the way I've done--been obliged to do it, ain't sorry for it, neither," said the old man, with evident emotion.
"Your name is Cynthia, eh? And you are a fine grown girl for your age, surely. Cynthia, you'll soon be capable of 'keeping house,' too; you've got a world before you, too, my dear; a wicked, scandalous world; a world full of deceit and _misery_--look at your mother, look at me! Ah, well, it's all our own fault; yours, madam, for having these--these _incumbrances_, and mine, poor devil--for not having 'em. Cynthia, you're a fine girl; a good girl, I know. Ah, here's mamma's pet, I suppose; Rose Glenn, very pretty name, pretty girl, too, very pretty. Lips and cheeks like cherries, eyes brighter than Brazil diamonds. Ma'am, you've got great treasures here; a man must be a stupid ass to call these _incumbrances_. They are jewels of inestimable value. What's my filthy bank accounts, dollars and cents, houses, goods and chattels, that fire may destroy, and thieves steal--to these blessings that--that God has given the lone widow to strengthen her--cheer her in the dark path of life? God is great, generous, and just; I see it now, plainer than I ever did before. Banquo!"
"Yis'r, I'se here, massa."
"Go tell Counsellor Prime to call on me immediately; tell Captain Winepipes to come over--I want to see him. I'm going to make a fool of myself, I believe."
"Yes, sah, I'se gone; gorry, I guess dere's suffin gwoin to happen to dat lady and dem chil'ns--shuah!" said Banquo, rushing out of the house.
The fate of the ship-builder's family was fixed. Job Carson proposed--and the widow, of course, consented--that Martin Glenn should become the adopted son of the old gentleman, Job Carson; and that he should choose a trade or profession, which he should then, or later, learn, making the old gentleman's house as much his home as circumstances would permit; the two girls were to remain under the same roof with the mother, who was at once installed as housekeeper for the bluff and generous old gentleman.
Old Captain Winepipes insisted on a share in the settlement, to wit: that both girls should be educated at his expense, which was finally acceded to, adding, that in case he--Captain Joseph Winepipes--should live to see Rose Glenn a bride, he should provide for her wedding, and give her a dowry.
"Set that down in black and white, Mr. Prime," said Job, "and that I, Job Carson, do agree, should I live to see Cynthia Glenn a wife, to give her a comfortable start in the world--set that down, for I will do it, yes, I will," said the old gent, with an emphatic rap on his snuff-box.
* * * * *
Ten years passed away; Captain Winepipes has paid the debt of nature; he did not live to see Rose Glenn a wife; but, nevertheless, he left a clause in his will, that fully carried out his expressed intentions when Rose did marry, some two years after she arrived at the age of sweet seventeen. Martin Glenn Carson graduated in the printing office, and very recently filled one of the most important stations in the judiciary of Illinois, as well as a chivalrous part in the recent war with Mexico. Cynthia was wedded to a well known member of the Philadelphia bar, an event that Job Carson barely lived to see, and, as he agreed to, donated a sum, quite munificent, towards making things agreeable in the progress of her married life. Widow Glenn remained a faithful servant and friend to the old merchant, and, upon his death, she became heir to the family mansion, and means to keep it up at the usual bountiful rate. Large bequests were made in Job Carson's will, to charitable institutes, but the bulk of his fortune fell to his adopted son, Martin, who proved not unworthy of his good fortune. Banquo ended his days in the service of the widow, who had cause for and took pleasure in blessing the vehicle that conveyed to herself and orphans their rare good fortune, in guise of a NEWSPAPER ADVERTISEMENT.
Incidents in a Fortune-Hunter's Life.
We do not now recollect what philosopher it was who said, "it's no disgrace to be poor, but it's often confoundedly unhandy!" But, we have little or no sympathy for poor folks, who, ashamed of their poverty, make as many and tortuous writhings to escape its inconveniences, as though it was "against the law" to be poor. It is the cause of incalculable human misery, to _seem_ what we are _not_; to appear beyond _want_--yea, even in affluence and comfort, when the belly is robbed to clothe the back--the inner man crucified to make the outside _lie_ you through the world, or into--genteel "society." This, though abominable, is common, and leads to innumerable ups and downs, crime and fun, in this old world that we temporarily inhabit.
Choosing rather to give our life pictures a familiar and diverting--and certainly none the less instructive garb--than to hunt up misery, and depict the woeful tragics of our existence, we will give the facts of a case--not uncommon, we ween, either, that came to us from a friend of one of the parties.
In most cities--especially, perhaps, in Baltimore and Washington, are any quantity of decayed families; widows and orphans of men--who, while blessed with oxygen and hydrogen sufficient to keep them healthy and
## active--held offices, or such positions in the business world as enabled
them and their families to carry pretty stiff necks, high heads, and go into what is called "good society;" meaning of course where good furniture garnishes good finished domiciles, good carpets, good rents, good dinners, and where good clothes are exhibited--but where good intentions, good manners and morals are mostly of no great importance. As, in most all such cases, when, by some fortuitous accident, the head of the family collapses, or dies,--the reckless regard for society having led to the squandering of the income, fast or faster than it came, the poor family is driven by the same society, so coveted, to hide away--move off, and by a thousand dodges of which wounded pride is capable, work their way through the world, under tissues of false pretences; at once ludicrous and pitiable. Such a family we have in view. Colonel Somebody held a lucrative office under government, in the city of Washington. Colonel Somebody, one day, very unexpectedly, died. There was nothing mysterious in that, but the Somebodies having always cut quite a swell in the "society" of the capital--which society, let us tell you, is of the most fluctuating, tin-foil and ephemeral character; it was by some considered strange, that as soon as Colonel Somebody had been decently buried in his grave, his family at once made a sale of their most expensive furniture--the horses, carriage, and man-servant disappeared, and the Somebodies apprized society that they were going north, to reside upon an estate of the Colonel's in New York. And so they vanished. Whither they went or how they fared society did not know, and society did not care!
Mrs. Somebody had two daughters and a son, the eldest twenty-three, _confessedly_, and the youngest, the son, seventeen. Marriages, in such society, floating and changing as it does in Washington, are not frequent, and less happy or prosperous when effected; every body, inclined to become acquainted, or form matrimonial connections, are ever on the alert for something or somebody better than themselves; and under such circumstances, naturally enough, Miss Alice Somebody--though a pretty girl--talented, as the world goes, highly educated, too, as many hundreds beside her, was still a spinster at twenty-three. The fact was, Mrs. Somebody was a woman of experience in the world--indeed, a dozen years' experience in life at Washington, had given her very definite ideas of expediency and diplomacy; and hence, as the means were cut off to live in their usual style and expensiveness--Mrs. Somebody packed up and retired to Baltimore. The son soon found an occupation in a store--the daughter, being a woman of taste and education, resorted to--as a matter of _diversion_--they could not think of earning a living, of course!--the needle--while Mrs. Somebody arranged a pair of neat apartments, for two "gentlemen of unexceptionable reference," as boarders.
During their palmy days at the capital of the nation, Miss Alice Somebody came in contact with a young gentleman named Rhapsody,--of pleasant and respectable demeanor, _an office-holder_, but not high up enough to suit the tastes and aims of Colonel Somebody and his lady; and so, our friend Rhapsody stood little or no chance for favor or preferment in the graces of Miss Alice, though he was a recognized visitor at the Colonel's house, and essayed to make an impression upon the heart's affections of the Colonel's daughter.
Time fled, and with its fleetings came those changes in the fates and fortunes of the Somebodies, we have noted. Nor was our friend Rhapsody without his changes,--mutations of fortune, a change of government, made changes. Rhapsody one morning was not as much surprised as mortified to find his "services no longer required," as a new hand was awaiting his withdrawal. Rhapsody, true to custom at the capital--lived up to and ahead of his salary; and, when deposed, deemed it prudent to make his exit from a spot no longer likely to be favorable to the self-respect or personal comfort of a man bereft of power, and without patronage or position. Rhapsody, by trade (luckily he had a trade), was a boot-maker. Start not, reader, at the idea; we know "shoemaker" may have a tendency to shock some people, whose moral and mental culture has been sadly neglected, or quite perverted; but Rhapsody was but a boot-maker, and no doubt quite as gentlemanly--physically and mentally considered, as the many thousands who merely _wear_ boots, for the luxury of which they are indebted to the skill, labor and industry of others. Rhapsody came down gracefully, and quite as manfully, to his level, only changing the scene of his endeavors to the city of monuments. Rhapsody had feelings--pride. He sought obscurity, in which he might perform the necessary labors of his craft, to enable him to keep his head above water, and await that tide in the affairs of men, when perhaps he might again be drifted to fortune and favor.
Rhapsody took lodgings in a respectable hotel; he arose late--took breakfast, read the news--smoked--lounged--dressed, and went through the ordinary evolutions of a gentleman of leisure, until he dined at 3 P. M.; then, by a circuitous way, he proceeded to his shop--put on his working attire, and went at it faithfully, until midnight, when, having accomplished his maximum of toil, he re-dressed--walked to his hotel--talked politics--fashions, etc., took his glass of wine with a friend, and very quietly retired; to rise on the morrow, and go through the same routine from day to day, only varying it a little by an eye to an eligible marriage, or a place.
Rhapsody--we must give him the credit of the fact--from no mawkish feeling of his own, but from force of public opinion, resorted to this secret manner of eking out his daily bread, and acting out his part of the fictitious gentleman. During one of his morning lounges--accidentally, Rhapsody met Miss Somebody in the street. They had not met for some few years, and it may not be troublesome to conceive, that Miss Alice--under the new order of things--was more pleased than otherwise to renew the acquaintance of other days, with a gentleman still supposed to be--and his attire and manner surely gave no sign of an altered state of affairs--in a position recognizable by society.
Rhapsody renewed his attentions to the Somebody family, and Miss Alice in particular--with fervor. He admitted himself no longer an _attache_ of government, but offset the deprivation of government patronage, by asserting that he was graduating for a higher sphere in life than the drudgery and abjectness of a clerkship--he was studying political economy, and the learned profession of the law!
The Somebodies were _game_; not a concession would they make to stern indigence; it was merely for the sake of quietude, said Mrs. Somebody, and the solace of retirement from the gay and tempestuous whirls of society, that _we_ changed the scene and dropped a peg lower in domestic show. Rhapsody believed Colonel Somebody a man of substance. He knew how easy it was to account for the expenditure of fifteen hundred dollars a year, but it did not so readily appear possible for a man holding the Colonel's place and perquisites, some thousands a year, to die poor, without estate; ergo, the Somebodies were still, doubtless, _somebody_, and the more the infatuated Rhapsody dwelt upon it, the more he absorbed the idea of forming an alliance with the dead Colonel's family. And the favor with which he was received seemed to facilitate matters as desirably as could be wished for. What airy castles, or gossamer projects may have haunted the fancy of our sanguine friend, Rhapsody, we know not; but that he whacked away more cheerily at his trade, and kept up his appearances spiritedly, was evident enough. An expert and artistic craftsman, he secured paying work, and executed it to the satisfaction of his employers.
The industry of the Somebodies was one of the traits in the characters of the two young women, particularly commendatory to Rhapsody; he seldom paid them a morning or afternoon call, that they were not diligently engaged with needles and Berlin wool--fashioning wrought suspenders for brother, slippers for brother, or mother, or sister, or the Rev. Mr. So-and-So--the recently made inmate of the family. The multiplicity of such performances, for brother, mother, sister, the reverend gentleman--_mere pastime_, as Mrs. Somebody would remark,--most probably would have caused a mystery or misgiving in the minds of many adventurous _Lotharios_; but Rhapsody, though, as we see, a man of the world, had something yet to learn of society and its complexities. Things progressed smoothly--the reverend gentleman facetiously cajoled Miss Alice and the mother upon the issue of coming events--the lively young lawyer, etc., etc.,--and it seemed to be a settled matter that Miss Alice was to be the bride of Mr. Rhapsody at last.
Rhapsody, usually, after dark, in the evening, in his laboring garments, made his return of work and received more. Whilst thus out, one evening, on business, in making a sudden turn of a corner, he came plump upon Mrs. Somebody and Alice! Rhapsody would have dashed down a cellar--into a shop--up an alley, or sunk through the footwalk, had any such opportunity offered, but there was none--he was there--beneath the flame of a street lamp, with the eagle eyes of all the party upon him! Cut off from retreat, he boldly faced the enemy!
He was going to a political caucus meeting in a noisy and turbulent ward--apprehended a disturbance--donned those shady habiliments, and the large green bag in his hand, that a--well, though it did not seem to contain such goods, was supposed, for the nonce, to contain his books and papers; documents he was likely to have use for at the caucus! Rhapsody got through--it was a tight shave; he dexterously declined accompanying the ladies home--they were rather queerly attired themselves, it occurred to Rhapsody; they made some excuse for their appearance, and so the maskers _quit, even_. Time passed on--Alice and Rhapsody had almost climaxed the preparatory negotiations of an hymenial conclusion, when another _contretemps_ came to pass--it was the grand finale.
It was on a rather blustery night, that Rhapsody, in haste, sought the shop of his employer; he had work in hand which, being ordered done at a certain hour, for an anxious customer, he was in haste to deliver. His green bag under his arm, in rushed Rhapsody,--the servant of the customer was awaiting the arrival of the _bottier_ and his master's boots. The shopman eagerly seized Rhapsody's verdant-colored satchel, and out came the boots, and which underwent many critical inspections, eliciting sundry professional remarks from the shopman, to our hero, Rhapsody, who, in his business matters had assumed, it appeared, the more humble name of _Mr. Jones_, in the shop. The customer's servant stood by the counter--fencing off a lady, further on--from immediate notice of Rhapsody. A side glance revealed sundry patterns or specimens of most elegantly-wrought slippers--the boss of the shop, and the lady, were apparently negotiating a trade, in these embroidered articles; the lady, now but a few feet from Rhapsody and the garrulous shopman, turned toward the poor fellow just as the shopman had stuffed more work into the green bag--their eyes met. Rhapsody felt an all-overish sensation peculiar to that experienced by an amateur in a shower bath, during his first _douse_, or the incipient criminal detected in his initiatory crime! Poor Rhapsody felt like fainting, while Miss Alice Somebody, without the nerve to gather up her work, or withstand a further test of the force of circumstances, precipitately left the store, her face red as scarlet, and her demeanor wild and incomprehensible, at least to all but Rhapsody.
* * * * *
Rhapsody was at breakfast the next morning--a servant announced a gentleman in the parlor desirous of an interview with Mr. Rhapsody--it was granted, and soon _Jones_, the _boot-maker_, confronted the Rev. Mr. So-and-So. Though an inclination to _smile_ played about the pleasant features of the reverend gentleman, he assumed to be severe upon what he called the duplicity of Mr. Rhapsody; and that gentleman patiently hearing the story out, quietly asked:
"Are you, sir, here as an accuser--denouncer, or an ambassador of peace and good will?"
"The latter, sir, is my self-constituted mission," said the reverend gentleman.