The Young Lady CHAPTER 2.
Back to The Young Lady
In due time, Cecilia Howard returned to the boarding-school, a hundred miles away from home — (there is not, of course, a good college, or school of learning, within a hundred miles of any place) — and there went on to finish her education, which was fully completed by the ensuing spring, when she was returned to her parents, at the ripe age of sixteen and a half years, thoroughly accomplished, and literally full of acquirements.
"That's Uncle Peter's ring, I know," Cecilia remarked to her mother, as the bell rang long and loudly, about eleven o'clock on the morning after her arrival at home.
"Yes, that's your uncle, of course. He was here yesterday, and I told him that we were looking for you hourly."
"Is he as queer as ever, ma?"
"Yes, and a little more so, it seems to me. The fact is, he appears to grow more and more singular in his notions every day."
At this stage of the remarks about Uncle Peter, that individual entered, dressed precisely as described in the last chapter, with his cane falling quickly and heavily at every step. Cecilia arose as he came in, advanced a few steps to meet him, with a mincing gait, and an air of dignified ceremony, such as befit a young lady of her age, station and accomplishments.
Uncle Peter loved his niece with a strong and deep affection, and had so loved her since she was a child. Her manner chilled his feelings, but not so much so as to prevent his grasping her hand, and shaking it with a hearty good will, and then kissing her fair young cheek familiarly and tenderly, but, as she thought, crudely and roughly. Still, the earnest affection of the old man could not but awaken in her heart some touches of the love with which she had regarded him before she entered a fashionable boarding-school, over a hundred miles from home — and she said, with a smile of pleasure, half natural, half artificial —
"I am really glad to see you once more, uncle."
"And glad enough am I to see you, 'Celia! And doubly glad to know that we have got you safe out of that finishing shop, before they had polished you up so exquisitely as to be fit for nothing, except to be put upon the mantel-piece for a parlor ornament. But how have you been, my little pet?" And he patted her cheek fondly.
"I have been very well, uncle," Cecilia replied, drawing herself up, as if shrinking, half offended, from this familiarity.
"Nonsense! child! Say Uncle Peter!" the old man responded, a little pettishly. For the dignified, womanly reserve, so cold and ceremonious, with which his niece received him — worried him a good deal, for the moment.
"There, brother, don't let us hear anything more about that, if you please?" Mrs. Howard interposed.
"Say Peter, will you, Hannah! That is my name, and by that name I am going to be called."
"But you're foolish about this matter, brother."
"Say Peter."
"Peter, then, for peace sake."
"Very well, that will do."
"As I was going to say, you are very foolish about this matter of being called Peter. I'm sure that brother and sister sound a great deal more affectionate and natural. Anybody can be called Peter and Hannah, but not every body brother and sister."'
"O yes. It is easy enough to invent specious reasonings now for brothering and sistering it. But why didn't you think of this ten years ago? It's all miserable pride, and affectationof something not felt, Hannah, and I'm not the one to humor or fall in with anything of that kind. So don't let me hear any more of this uncle and brother."
"But, uncle."
"Peter!"
"Oh, I forgot! Uncle Peter — If I must, I suppose I must. But as I was going to say — "
"Don't, if you please, say anything more about that. I am too old to be argued out of my notions of right and wrong, by a young lady just from the hot-bed of a boarding-school, even if she has finished her education!" Uncle Peter replied, rather warmly, and in a tone of sarcasm.
"That is hardly kind, Uncle Peter," Cecilia replied, her voice slightly trembling, and the tears gathering in her eyes.
"It is far kinder than it seems, child," the old man said, in a changed tone, the effect of his words upon Cecilia being greater than he had expected.
A long silence, somewhat painful to the whole party followed. This was broken by the entrance of some visitors, young friends of Cecilia, who, having already heard of her return, had called to congratulate her upon having finished her studies. For about five minutes poor old Uncle Peter's ears were stunned by the outpouring of a cataract of compliments, questions and congratulations, uttered in loud voices. The first flutter at length over, all parties seated, and the conversation becoming more coherent, one young lady said —
"Do you intend coming out this summer, Cecilia? — or have you decided to wait till the next fashionable season?"
"Till winter,you mean?"
"Yes."
Uncle Peter pricked up his ears at this.
"We haven't decided that matter," Cecilia replied, with a half glance towards her uncle, whom she heartily wished was gone.
"I think I'd wait until late in the fall if I were you," resumed the first speaker.
"Why so?"
"Oh, because you will be able to make a much more decided impression — and what is better, be able to follow it up for two or three months. But if you should make your appearance at any of the few parties that will be given this season, you will get stale by next winter. You might go to the springs this summer, and stay for two or three days, just to create a little sensation, and prepare for coming out in the fall.
This was more than the patience of Uncle Peter could stand, and he said, the moment the young lady had ceased speaking, with a warmth of manner, and a cutting irony in his tone that were unusual to him —
"She had a great deal better go into the kitchen and learn how to bake a loaf of good bread!"
"Indeed, brother, you are too bad!" ejaculated Mrs. Howard, while Cecilia crimsoned with mortification.
"Say Peter!" was the incorrigible old man's rejoinder.
This sent the color to the face of Mrs. Howard in a supply almost as liberal as that which suffused the cheeks and forehead of her daughter. But she recovered herself as quickly as possible, remarking with a smile, as she glanced at her visitors —
"My brother is a gentleman of the old school, and therefore does not sympathize with modern customs. He thinks a young lady ought not to make her appearance in companyuntil she is twenty-one or two."
"Twenty-one or two!" exclaimed one of the visitors. "Oh! I shall begin to think myself an old maid at twenty-one."
"And pray, how old are you, madam?" Uncle Peter asked, in a grave tone.
"Me? Why I'm — let me see. I'm now — or was, seventeen last January."
"So old. — Indeed! And not married yet. Are you not afraid of dying an old maid?"
"Why bro — Peter!"
"But, to be serious, young ladies," resumed the old man, his manner entirely changing — "for all of you are quite young, I perceive — -this nonsense about coming out andgetting married is not just the thing to fill the heads of such girls as you are. I'm a plain old man, and my age gives me the right to speak plainly. So you must not be offended at what I am going to say."
"But indeed, indeed, brother Peter, it is out of place for you to bring forward your old-fashioned opinions here," Mrs. Howard said, interrupting him.
"Do spare us a lecture now, Uncle Peter, if you please," added Cecilia, in an imploring tone.
"You needn't flutter like a struck chicken, 'Celia. I shall not say anything but the truth. And that I am going to say, for I don't know that I shall ever have a chance at all these young lady friends of yours again, or rather misses, as I call them. Now, it's my opinion, young ladies, and my opinion in these matters is worth something. I take it, that you are no more fit, as you are, to make wives for honest, sensible men. You are no more fit to get married — than green apples are to make good cider."
This produced quite a sensation, and sundry ejaculations from Mrs. Howard and Cecilia. But the old man had mounted a hobby-horse, and was not to be thrown off.
"Can any of you make a shirt?" he went on. "No, of course not. That would be too vulgar for you. Or a loaf of bread? O no. Nor cook a dinner, nor even make a gruel for your sick husbands. What can you do then? What qualifications have you for the station of wives, to which you all so eagerly aspire? Answer me that?" Here Uncle Peter began to warm. The hobby-horse was in full gallop.
"O yes! I remember now. You can paint a flower, and draw an old ruined castle. You can dance and waltz — talk French and Italian — screech, not sing, a few foreign bars in a foreign tongue, and play fashionable music. Rare accomplishments indeed! I really wonder that you have not been caught up by the men, and married long ago! No doubt you have each had a dozen or so offers already. And I shall not be at all surprised to hear that the responsibility of two or three duels, rests upon each of your heads."
Here Uncle Peter rose from his chair, and commenced walking backwards and forwards, with a quick, nervous step, talking all the while rapidly and almost incoherently. His words and manner, however, had not offended a single one of the visitors, who knew the old man a great deal better than he knew them, for he had been, ever since their recollection, an occasional visitor at their father's houses — and had not changed in appearance during all that time, while they had sprung up and grown entirely out of his recollection.
As dignified as they were — their dignity was nearly all an assumed exterior, for they were mirthful girls at heart — they had a girlish love of fun, and a girlish perception of the ridiculous — and were therefore far more amused than offended, at Uncle Peter's freedom and fervor, though by no means disposed to profit by the lecture he read to them. But Mrs. Howard and Cecilia were dreadfully mortified, and talked so plainly to Uncle Peter after the visitors had retired, that the old gentleman felt himself really offended. And well he might, for Mrs. Howard told him, very distinctly, that if he could not feel himself constrained to use a little more decorum in her house, especially when visitors where present — she would much rather he would stay away; and Cecilia's manner expressed the same thing.
It was nearly two months before he again went to the house, and when he did resume his visits, his manner was reserved, and his stay brief. The fact was, the old man had resolved not to cross the threshold of his sister's house for a year. But his affection for Cecilia was strong, creating so earnest a desire to see her, that he could not stay away. This reserved fellowship was kept up until towards fall, when Uncle Peter felt himself again compelled to speak out in his usual plain style.
Cecilia had sprung up, during the year, into a fine, tall, graceful woman, in appearance. Her figure was perfect, and her face intelligent and beautiful. The old man could not but feel proud of his niece as he looked upon her — but his pride was softened by a deeper and purer love, than was felt even by her mother, whose false views of society had polluted the well-springs of parental affection. Her pride was of her daughter's person, and for the sake of the opinions and admiration of others — and was, moreover, tinctured by the vain desire that Cecilia should outshine all other young ladies who moved in their circle.
In his eyes, she was far more beautiful in face, and graceful in form and figure, than any young ladies he saw, and this made him naturally feel proud of her. But far above this, did he set the genuine innocence and pure affections which he knew dwelt in her heart, but which, alas! though not destroyed, had become obscured by a false and dangerous system of education, under the care of a weak-minded, injudicious mother. It was for these, that he loved her, as he had never loved any one before.
Immersed in business, with his mind all absorbed in its details, Mr. Howard had given little or no thought to Cecilia's education. She was a daughter, and of course, (so he quieted the momentary concern for his child that would sometimes arise in his mind,) her mother understood best how she ought to be educated. Whatever Mrs. Howard suggested was, therefore, immediately acquiesced in, and all the bills paid on presentation, as a matter of course.
But when it was proposed to send Cecilia away from home to a distant boarding-school, to be absent for months at a time, Mr. Howard demurred. He was too fond of his daughter to be willing thus to have her separated from him, and for such very long periods. To his objections, however, his wife did not listen for a moment, but met them all with the declaration that it would be cruel and unjust to their daughter, to deprive her, from mere selfish considerations, of the advantage of such an institution as that under the superintendence of Mrs. Fisher, to which there as not another in the country in any way comparable, and of course he had to give way — for, not having given the subject of education any thought at all, he was not prepared to gainsay or controvert his wife's position.
Like too many others, he suffered himself to make the acquirement of wealth an end, and business simply the means to that end. Of course, business was made to supercede everything else. All day long, his mind was absorbed in the details of a large establishment, and too frequently the leading thought during the evening was in relation to somescheme of profit. As a natural result, there was no room for a calm and philosophical consideration of the best means for educating the mind that had been entrusted to his care. Leaving all to a weak and vain woman, whose station in society had turned her head, as Uncle Peter used frequently to tell her in plain terms, no wonder that Cecilia sprung into premature womanhood, with obscure and false views of the world, and the position which she was about to assume.
Up to this time, Uncle Peter had labored hard, for the sake of his niece, to correct his sister's erroneous ideas; and had frequently tried to arouse in the mind of Mr. Howard, a just concern for his daughter, but in vain; and he now saw Cecilia about to take that plunge into the giddy whirlpool of fashion and folly, which he had so long foreseen, and so long dreaded. Once more he felt constrained to speak out strongly and plainly, in the feeble hope that better counsel might prevail with the parents. Accordingly, he dropped in at Mr. Howard's one evening in October, and found the father and mother alone.
"Where's 'Ceiia?" he asked, after the passage of some ten or fifteen minutes, during which time she had not made her appearance.
"She is spending the evening out, somewhere," Mrs. Howard said, in a tone of indifference.
"Somewhere!" returned Uncle Peter, with a strong expression of surprise. "And do you not know, really, where she is?"
"No, not exactly. She went out with Clementine Garland, and said that she didn't think she should be home until after tea, as they were going to make some calls a good way up town."
"Humph!" ejaculated the old man, and then followed a silence of some moments. This was interrupted by Mrs. Howard, whom his remark had chafed into ill-humor. She said, with much warmth —
"I don't see, Peter, why you should make yourself so meddlesome about Cecilia. It is very strange, if her father and I cannot take proper care of her! You seem to talk and act as if you thought we hadn't natural affection for our child!"
"Come, come, Hannah! Don't give way so," Mr. Howard interposed, in a soothing tone. "Your brother, of course, means well."
"Of course I do. And she well knows it."
"He may mean well," Mrs. Howard replied, still with warmth — "but his interference in regard to Cecilia has always been out of place, unreasonable, and uncalled for, and I do not see that I am at all bound to put up with it eternally. It is very unlikely that I, as her mother, should not have just as tender a regard for her welfare, as he possesses."
"There is one thing very certain," Uncle Peter responded, in a calm tone of voice — "which is this. My regard is so strong, that I would no more have permitted her at her present tender age, beautiful and attractive as she is, to be away from home, in a city like this, unattended by any of the family — and worse than all, remain in passive, indifferent ignorance of the company or place in which she may be — than I would put poison into her food!"
"I hardly think it right myself, now that I reflect upon it," Mr. Howard said.
"Right? No! It is a piece of blind, unnatural folly! if I must speak plainly. Is it to be supposed that one like Cecilia will not at once attract to her side, young men who look atbeauty and wealth as the only accomplishments desirable in a wife? How do you know, but that at this very moment, some fancy-talking, unprincipled fellow, who has already marked her for his prize — is whispering his honied, deceitful flatteries in her ear, and so winning her young and naive heart to himself, that no power of yours can hereafter break the spell? Are you prepared thus to sacrifice her? Surely not! Then let me implore you to guard her more carefully! Consider her as you would a precious jewel, of which you may be robbed in a careless moment. Have you never seen unhappy marriages? Have you never known an instance where a young, innocent, undiscriminating maiden — has pledged her love to one all unworthy of it — and worse, remained true to that pledge until her heart was broken? I am serious about this matter, and therefore I speak seriously."
"But you exaggerate the danger, Peter," urged Mrs. Howard.
"May not all I said, take place in the possible course of events?"
"Yes — such things might happen — but it is not very likely that they will in the case of Cecilia."
"Still, there is danger," Mr. Howard remarked,"as your brother justly says — and I am convinced, with him, that the danger is of a kind that we should not treat indifferently."
"Indeed it is not, Mr. Howard! For my part, I feel that Cecilia is in peculiar danger. Enough will encompass her during the coming season, guard her as you may. Do not, then, invite more perils, and of a still more dangerous and insidious kind!"
"What do you mean by dangerous in the approaching season?" asked Mr. Howard.
"I mean the dangers attendant on 'bringing Cecilia out,' as Hannah calls it."
"But she must be introduced into society, you know," urged Mr. Howard.
"Of course she must. We were made for society. But why endeavor to make a sensation on introducing her? Why push her forward into a position where her young head must inevitably be turned — a position always of the most imminent danger? How much better would it be for you to introduce her quietly and unobtrusively. To go with her, and watch over her with careful solicitude, and to see that she mingled but little in the excitement of fashionable life, until, by observation and reflection, her judgment had matured. She is yet but a child, with her rational mind undeveloped. She knows little beyond what she has learned, and cannot reason to just conclusions upon anything she sees around her. Is she fit, then, to be thrust forward into the front rank in social fellowship? To be the star of brilliant assemblages? No! And to place her there, let me tell you plainly, would be an act ofmadness!"
"I am sure I do not see the matter at all in the light that you do," Mrs. Howard replied. "As to Cecilia's being a mere ignorant child, that is all nonsense. She is a woman, and fit to take her place among women. What would you have us to do? Coop her up for two or three years?"
"Yes, coop her up, according to your idea of the term. It will be plenty time enough for her to take her place in society, as a woman, in two or three years. In the mean time, it is your duty to introduce her carefully and gradually, and to assist her to a right discrimination between its true and its false elements."
"Two or three years! You certainly do not know what you are talking about!"
"Well, perhaps not!" Uncle Peter said in a tone half ironic and half desponding. "I have at least said my say, and now you both know my opinion of the matter. If shipwreck is made of the poor girl's happiness, which I sadly fear will be the case — I shall at least have cleared my skirts of sin in the matter — although that will not assuage the pangs such an event will give me."
And so saying, Uncle Peter arose, took his hat and cane, and bidding them good evening, left Mr. and Mrs. Howard to the reflections his remarks had awakened.
Back to The Young Lady