The Young Lady CHAPTER 1.
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"I declare, ma, I'm getting downright ashamed of Uncle Peter!" Cecilia Howard said, with some warmth, giving her trim little head, at the same time, a half disdainful toss. "He not only dresses in such a queer, old-fashioned style, but is full of such queer ways and queer notions. No matter who is here — bolt into the parlor he will come, with his big heavy stick going thump, thump, thump upon the floor, hard enough to knock a hole into the carpet. The very sound makes me creep all over. I do wish he wouldn't come here every day as he does, just at the time when we receive our morning calls. It's a downright annoyance, so it is!"
"Why, how you talk, Cecilia!" Mrs. Howard rejoined, in a half reproving tone. "You must not mind your Uncle Peter. You know that you have been away to school for five months, and as you will only remain at home four weeks, he wishes to be with you as much as possible. He has a good heart, and loves you very much, I know."
"He has a strange way of showing it, then," was the reply to this. "Isn't he always doing or saying something to annoy me. I declare, the very sight of him is beginning to make me feel nervous! There! That's his ring now! I wonder he hasn't broken the bell-rope long ago! He's just in time to meet our morning visitors. Isn't it too bad?"
The object of Miss Cecilia Howard's censures soon entered the splendidly furnished parlors, where the mother and daughter were seated, elegantly attired, and waiting for their morning calls. He was an old man, with a countenance expressive of benevolence, united with some humor, and a good deal of shrewdness. His dark grey eyes had, usually, a pleasant twinkle; but often became fixed in a keen, penetrating gaze, which was, at times, especially annoying to his niece. He usually wore a coat of the color known as "pepper and salt," which hung loosely upon his person, like, as Cecilia sometimes elegantly expressed it, "a shirt on a bean pole." His waistcoat, darker by several shades than his coat, was of snuff color, double-breasted, long and loose, with huge pockets, and several inches of the lower corners cut off at an obtuse angle with the front edge of the garment. He did not wear small clothes and fair top boots, but what was worse in the eyes of his niece, who had grown remarkably critical of late, he wore a large, white fur hat; and large, loose, coarse shoes and yarn stockings on his feet. But with all this singularity of dress, as Cecilia thought it, he was scrupulously neat and clean in every respect. A description of his character would be useless here, as the reader will have an opportunity of hearing his sentiments, and perceiving his peculiarities and manner of expression as our story progresses.
"Ah, good morning! Good morning!" he said, in a cheerful tone, entering the parlor with his usual active tread, and letting his cane strike heavily upon the floor at each step. "How are you today, 'Celia? And how are you, Hannah?"
"We're very well, brother," Mrs. Howard replied, in a dignified way. "Take a seat."
"Of course I'll do that, Hannah, without being asked. You did not suppose I was a prim young dandy, who would stand twisting off the ends of his fingers until offered a chair? O no. I'm at home wherever I go."
As he said this he placed his large, white fur hat, which had seen much service, upon the pier table, between two neatly arranged flower saucers, and stood his heavy cane against one of the pure white marble columns supporting the mantel-piece.
"Well, 'Celia," he resumed, as he seated himself heavily in a chair, "how are you enjoying your visit home?"
"I am enjoying it very much, Uncle," the niece replied, smiling pleasantly, for she could not find it in her heart to treat him coldly.
"Uncle — Uncle — It's all Uncle now! But before you went to that boarding school, or rather that finishing shop, as I call it, it was Uncle Peter. Call me Uncle Peter, child! That's my name."
"But I'm sure Uncle sounds a great deal better," replied Cecilia.
"I'm sure it does not, begging your pardon. Uncle Peter is my name, and what is right always sounds best. And there is your mother, too, she could call me Peter, until within a few years. But now her mouth has got a kink in it, I suppose, and can get out nothing but brother.
"Peter is such a vulgar name, Uncle."
"Indeed! And how long since you made that discovery, please?"
"O, as to that, ever since I could think at all, I have thought so."'
"Really! That is something new! A vulgar name! Bless the child! Her head must be turned. But why is it vulgar, 'Celia?"
"Oh, because it is vulgar. Every clod-hopper is named Peter."
"Then it follows of course that I am a clod-hopper."
"O no, I didn't say so, nor mean to say so. I only said that you had a vulgar name."
"Was the Apostle Peter a clod-hopper?"
"Of course not. You know that I didn't mean to refer to him, Uncle."
"Say Uncle Peter!"
"Uncle Peter, then."
"That'll do. It sounds natural, and what is more, affectionate. But let us see? Ah! was Peter the Hermit a clod-hopper? A base vulgar fellow?"
"No."
"Or Peter the Great? You've heard of that individual, I presume."
"Oh don't talk so, brother. You only worry Cecilia," interposed Mrs. Howard.
"Say Peter," rejoined the incorrigible old man.
"Peter, then, if that will please you. And now, will you do something to please me?"
"I am sure I don't know. What is it?"
"You wish to be called Peter?"
"Exactly! That is by my sister — for it is my name. When we were children together, you always called me Peter. And I believe I'm no older than you now, than I was then."
"Very well. Now if you wish me to conform to your prejudices, I wish you to conform, in some things, to mine."
"All right. Now speak out plump and plain."
"I wish, then, to be called sister."
"Indeed! Well, what do I call you?"
"You call me Hannah."
"Very well. Isn't that your name?"
"Yes, but — "
"Isn't it a very good, substantial old name, worth half a dozen of your Malvinas, Cecilias, Cordelias, and Deldabosas? I think so."
"Yes, but I'd rather be called sister."
"And I'd rather call you Hannah. I like the name. It reminds me of good old times — of the days when we were young."
"But we are young no longer, brother. And — "
"Say Peter."
"No, I shall do no such thing. You are my brother, and I'll call you so. As I was going to say, we are no longer children, and should put away childish things. It looks silly for people of our age to be calling each other by their names, especially before people."
"To be saying Peter and Hannah, you mean."
"Yes, to be saying Peter and Hannah, or using any other names."
"What does your husband call you?" asked Uncle Peter, looking at his sister with half closed eyes, in each of which was a shrewd twinkle.
"He calls me Mrs. Howard,"
"In company?"
"Yes."
"I can remember when he didn't even do that."
"Really, brother?"
"Say, Peter."
"I won't do any such thing. So you may just set your heart at rest on that score."
"There — there, keep cool," the old man interrupted her with a pleasant smile and a soothing tone. "Call me what you please before people. But say 'Peter,' just to oblige me, when we are alone." It sounds more natural."
Then turning to his niece, he said —
"The next term will be your last at school, Cecilia?"
"Yes, Uncle Peter, I shall finish my education next spring."
"Finish your education, did you say, Cecilia?" the old man asked, in a peculiar tone, squinting up his eyes, and looking his niece steadily in the face.
"Yes, Uncle, I said finish my education."
"Indeed! I had no idea of that! You have far exceeded my most optimistic expectations."
"Now you are jesting with me, Uncle. But I am serious. The principal of our school said, when I past my last examination, that I was perfect in music, dancing and drawing; and Mr. Parbleu assures me that by spring, I will speak French and Italian as well as a Parisian, or Florentine. I've been all through astronomy, geology, shell collecting and flower painting, and nearly everything else taught at our institution, which you know is the best and most fashionable in the country. By next spring, I shall get through all that they can teach me, and then, I would like to know, Uncle, if I shall not have finished my education?"
"And only sixteen!" Uncle Peter said, lifting his hands and eyes in mock astonishment.
"You needn't make fun, Uncle Peter."
"And so you will really finish your education in the spring?"
"Certainly I will." And the tones of the fair young girl indicated that she felt annoyed by her Uncle's manner.
"Of course, then, you already know how to roast a piece of beef well?"
"Why, Uncle!" she exclaimed with a strong expression of surprise.
"You are surprised at the question. And well you may be, for it does seem like a foolish one to ask a young lady who is just about receiving the finishing touch to her education. You can roast a piece of beef then to perfection? Well, I am glad of that, for it is quite a necessary accomplishment. And of course you are an adept at puddings and pastries?"
"Indeed, Uncle, that is too bad! I — "
"Don't get out of patience with old Uncle Peter, Cecilia. I only asked the question. I am glad that you are not deficient here, for I like a good old fashioned Indian pudding, and a plain pumpkin pie. You must make some before you return to school, just for my sake. And you pickle and preserve very nicely, of course?"
"Uncle!"
"Don't be offended, Cecilia, at my asking the question. I have so little confidence in your young ladies' finishing shops of the present day, that I almost feared such good, old-fashioned, useful branches of education were not taught in them. But I see that I have done them injustice. Well, you can roast a piece of beef well, can make pies and puddings, pickles and preserves. And of course you can make a good loaf of bread?"
"I declare, Uncle, this is too bad! I — "
"Ah! right again, I see! But come, come, Cecilia! you must not look so indignant. I mean well, you know. There is no accomplishment, I can assure you, like that of knowing how to make a good loaf of bread. Bread, you know, is called the staff of life. But I say, good bread is the staff of life. The vile, heavy, and sour stuff brought to one-half of the tables in this city, is enough to kill the people. It really gladdens my heart to think that my niece has earned to make what may truly be called bread. How wise have been your mother and teachers in this matter. Your husband and children will never be cursed with that modern disease, which springs from modern ignorance of housewifery, called Dyspepsia. And you can cut and fit your own dresses, with a little aid from your mother?"
"Uncle, I cannot, and I will not be catechized in this way! I — "
"H-u-sh! Keep your lively young feelings as cool and calm as the bosom of a lake. You know that your old Uncle loves you, and questions you thus for his own satisfaction. And if you knew the delight he experienced in finding that such important branches of your education were not neglected, you would forgive his fond inquisitiveness. Every young lady should know how to make her own dresses, for when she gets married and has a family, she can make or oversee the making of not only her own, but the garments of the different members of her family. Millinery, too — "
"Why, Uncle Peter! That is too bad!"
"I did not question, my dear Cecilia, your knowledge of this useful branch of education. I was only about speaking of its importance, not so much in the light of an accomplishment, as a means whereby, in case of any future reverse in life, you might be able to make an honest and comfortable living. Dress-making, too; is all-important, as a branch of female education, looking to this very end. For in this country, there are so many ups and downs, that no one knows when his or her time may come to be thrown upon the world, with no dependence but individual resources. I have known many instances in my time!"
"But, Uncle — "
"Many instances, I was going to say, Cecilia, of young ladies, rich and fashionable young ladies, but with educations sadly neglected, who, on account of the unexpected failure of their husbands or fathers, have been compelled to go and learn the millinery or dress-making business, and who have afterwards maintained themselves, and in some instances set up the business, and assisted to educate their younger brothers and sisters."
"I would die first, Uncle!" Cecilia ejaculated with indignant emphasis.
"Rather than not thus devote your knowledge and best energies to the support of your brothers and sisters — were your father thus unfortunate! Noble girl! How much credit my sister deserves for her judicious care over you! And you have also been taught something of your requisite duties in case of sickness! — How to treat a burn — how to act in case of a sudden attack in a child, in the middle of the night, with that dreadful disease, the croup? In what manner to proceed, should a child get anything in its throat? You understand all this, too?"
"Indeed, I don't understand a word of it — and don't wish to!"
"Cecilia!" said the old gentleman in a tone of well affected surprise.
"Well, I don't then, I can tell you! And I don't know how to do any of the common servants' duties and sewing, and women's duties which you have been talking about!"
"What! not know how to make a bonnet?"
"No!"
"Nor your own dresses?"
"No!"
"Nor how to make bread?"
"No, indeed I don't! That's servants' work!"
"Nor to pickle and preserve?"
"No!"
"Nor how to make puddings and pies?"
"No!"
"Nor how to roast meat, and do the general cooking of a family?"
"No! No! No!"
"Poor girl!" ejaculated Uncle Peter, with a look of profound sorrow and astonishment. She is about finishing her education, and yet knows nothing of any useful employment. Ah me! what will become of her?"
"You are too facetious, Uncle," Cecilia now said, recovering herself by an effort, for although she felt provoked at him, she did not wish to be so, and therefore endeavored to put away such unkind feelings.
"Indeed, then, my child," Uncle Peter said, his tone and manner entirely changing, "I am serious when I say that your finished education will be of little use to you, if all thebranches I have named be neglected."
"I am sure I cannot understand you, Uncle."
"Then I will try to make myself comprehended. What do you expect to be or to do, when you become a woman?"
"When I become a woman! Why, am I not a woman now?"
"A woman!"
"Yes, a woman!" And Cecilia drew herself up, and looked exceedingly dignified.
"The girls didn't become women so soon, when I was young. But ah me! times are changed. Well, what do you expect to be or do, when you leave school?"
"Why, I expect to enjoy myself awhile, going into company. And then — " hesitating.
"Well, and what then, Cecilia? Speak out."
"Then I expect to be married."
"Do you? Ah! so I supposed. And then you expect to live in a house of your own?"
"Of course I do! Don't all married people?"
"Then, seriously, Cecilia, I would like to know what great use music, and dancing, and drawing, and flower-painting, and French, and Italian, and all the other things you are learning — are going to be to you after you are married, and have a house of your own?"
"Why, a great deal of use."
"Well, let us hear what the use is to be."
"They will not only be my passport into good society, but will add to the social pleasures of home."
"So far so good! But do you expect to be in society the greater part of your time? Will nothing require your attention or your care, but visitings and social recreations?" Uncle Peter asked, who could be sensible and serious when he choose to be so.
"Nothing that I know of."
"Poor child! You have much yet to learn, I see; and what is worse — the lesson will be a hard one."
This was said half musingly; and then Uncle Peter fell into a deep reverie, which was interrupted by the entrance of company, when he, feeling but little inclined to sit and listen to an hour's fashionable gossip, took his hat, and departed.
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