CHAPTER II.
Return to the City.—Arrival of the London Packet.—Reception of the Passengers.—American Speculations on an English Lord.—Introduction to a Fashionable Boarding-house.—A New England Minerva.—A Belle.—A Lady from Virginia.—Conduct of Fashionable young Ladies towards Gentlemen of an inferior standing.—Confusion produced by the Dinner-bell.
Duke Senior.—“What fool is this?”
Jaques.—“O worthy fool! One that has been a courtier,
And says, if ladies be but young and fair,
They have the gift to know it.”
As You Like It, Act. II. Scene 7.
On our return to the city, the steam-boat was quite animated. The packet-ship T*** had arrived from London, and, having reported a clean bill of health, was permitted to land her passengers. Our boat, therefore, went alongside of her, and was greeted by loud cheers from the steerage passengers, who, dressed in their Sunday’s best, were crowding the bow, gangway, and even the rigging of the vessel, eagerly awaiting their long-hoped-for delivery from imprisonment.
The company on board of our boat, which, besides ourselves, consisted of a dozen gentlemen and nearly as many ladies, returned the salute in a dignified manner by a wild stare of amazement; until, turning to the captain of the packet, who had jumped on the bulwarks of our boat to assist in landing his passengers, a fashionably dressed lady, accompanied by a gentleman, inquired what sort of cabin passengers he had brought with him?
“Mr. and Mrs. ***,” replied the captain, who, from his attention to the inquirer, appeared to have the honour of her acquaintance.
“Don’t know them,” said the gentleman; then turning to the lady, whom I judged to be his wife, “do you know them?”
“I am sure I never heard their names before,” said the lady, tossing up her head.
“Mrs. *** and two children,” continued the captain.
“The wife of that vulgar auctioneer,” remarked the lady, “that wanted to outdo everybody. Well, she will find a sad change; her husband has failed since she was gone, and is said not to pay ten cents in a dollar.”
“Mr. ***,” continued the captain.
“What sort of a person is he?” demanded the gentleman.
“La! don’t you know him?” cried the lady: “it’s that grocer who made fifty thousand dollars in a coffee speculation, and has ever since been trying to get into the first society; but did not succeed on account of that blubber-faced wife of his. They say that is the reason he went to Europe. Poor wretch! he probably thought people would, in the mean time, forget that he was a grocer.”
“Mr. and Mrs. *** of Baltimore,” added the captain.
“Ah! our old friends, Mr. and Mrs. ***. What a delightful creature that Mrs. *** is! I used to be quite intimate with her at New Port; she always used to have such a choice set around her.”
“Lady *** and her daughter from London,” resumed the captain.
“Lady *** from London!” exclaimed the whole company,—“where is she?”
“It’s that fine-looking woman there, standing by the side of that young lady dressed in black.” (Here the gentlemen applied their glasses.)
“Both equally handsome,” cried a young man. “Really English! excellent fall of the shoulders!”
“Only the bust a little too full,” remarked the lady, “which is generally the fault of the English women; and, besides, they have such enormously large feet.”
“Who is with them?” inquired one of the gentlemen.
“Captain *** of the **th dragoons, who I understand is brother to Sir ***.”
“I presume they have brought their servants with them?” observed the lady.
“Two male servants, a lady’s-maid, and the governess of the young lady.”
“Then they must be rich.”
“They have letters to Mr. A***, to Mr. and Mrs. ***, and to many of our first people.”
Here the lady whispered something to the gentleman, which, as far as I could understand, sounded like this: “We shall see them at Mrs. A***’s, and you must try to get introduced to them; it will be just the thing for us if we should ever go to England.” (Aloud to the captain,) “Have you brought some more English people?”
“Lots of them,” replied the captain; “Mr. *** and Mr. *** of Manchester, Mr. *** of Liverpool, Mr. *** and Mr. *** of London,—all in the cotton business.”
“We don’t want to know them,” said the lady; “business people, I presume,—full of pretensions and vulgar English prejudices. Have you brought no other genteel persons besides Lady *** and Captain ***?”
“Oh, yes,” replied the sailor, who began to be tired of the interrogatory; “a young sprig of nobility, Lord ***, as they call him.”
“I am so sorry,” said the lady with a bewitching smile, “to trouble you so much, captain; but really I should be so much obliged to you if you were to show me the young lord.”
“It’s that chap for’ard,” said the captain, “talking to the engineer.”
“Then I presume he is a Whig lord,” remarked the lady.
“I don’t care a d—n,” muttered the captain as he was going away, “whether he be Whig, Tory, or Radical, so he pays his passage, and behaves himself like a gentleman.”
Our deck was now covered with more than a hundred and fifty people, principally English and Irish, among whom there was a great number of women and children. Those that had come over in the steerage confined themselves for a short time to the forward deck; but after they had paid their fare, and ascertained that they were charged as much as those who occupied the chairs and settees that were placed aft the wheels, they gradually came one by one to partake of the same privilege, and, though not without hesitation, took their seats among the better dressed part of the company. This was the signal for a general move; the ladies forming themselves into little sets by themselves, with a portion of the gentlemen standing by their side, and the unencumbered part of the latter walking the opposite side of the deck. But the young progeny of England and Ireland, emboldened by their success, disturbed them a second time by walking the deck in the opposite direction; and one of them, a swaggering youth of about nineteen, actually had the impudence of addressing a gentleman who had been a cabin passenger on board of the packet.
The gentleman answered without looking at him, and in so abrupt a manner, that the youth stole away very much like a dog that has been kicked by its master.
“These are the consequences of our glorious institutions!” exclaimed the gentleman, turning towards Lord ***, who had taken his station at a little distance from him, and had evidently observed the reception his poor countryman had met with: “this fellow here would not have dared to speak to us while on board of the packet; and now he is scarcely in sight of the American soil before he thinks himself just as good as any body else. Did your lordship observe the insolent manner in which he came up to speak to me?”
His lordship gave a slight nod of assent.
“These people come here with the notion that all men in America are free and equal; and that, provided they pay the same money, they are just as good as our first people.”
“Hem!”
“But they soon find out the difference. People think there is no aristocracy in this country; but they are mistaken,—there are just as many grades of society in America as in England.”
“Indeed!”
“Yes, my lord, and even more; and the distinctions between them are kept up much more rigidly than in England.”
“I dare say they are.”
“Yes, my lord: you will never see a gentleman belonging to our first society mix by any chance with the second, or one of the second with the third, and so on.”
“So!”
“And if it were not for these intruders, who come here by thousands and outvote us at the elections, our country would be just as refined as England.”
“I dare say.”
“Your lordship does not seem to believe it; but you will yourself see the progress we have made in the arts and sciences.”
“I have heard some of my friends say the same thing.”
“Why, my lord, New York is a second London; and, if it goes on increasing in the same manner as it has for the last fifty years, will soon have a million of inhabitants.”
“Ay, ay!”
“And Philadelphia is nearly as large.”
“Ah!”
“Yes, my lord; and the society of Philadelphia is even more select than that of New York.”
Here his lordship yawned.
“But the most literary society is in Boston. Boston is the Athens of the United States.”
“Is it a nice place?” inquired his lordship.
“Why, I do not exactly know what your lordship means by a nice place; but it is one of the handsomest places in the United States.”
“Hem!”
“It has a most beautiful common.”
“Ay, ay!”
“And a most magnificent state-house; from the top of which you have a most superb view of the neighbouring country.”
“So!”
“And not more than three miles from it is Harvard College, the most ancient and distinguished university in the country.”
Here his lordship indulged himself in a very long yawn.
“With a library of more than forty thousand volumes.”
“Is that all?”
“Why, my lord, this is a young country; and, considering all circumstances, I think we have done better than perhaps any other nation would have done in our place.”
“No doubt of it,” replied his lordship.
“Indeed, my lord, I think we can challenge history for a comparison.”
“Just so.”
“And, if we were only left alone, we would do better still: but we are completely overrun by foreign paupers; they come here in herds, while men of high rank” (here he bowed most gracefully) “are but seldom induced to visit our country.”
His lordship gave a slight token of acknowledgement.
“And I trust, my lord, you will not repent of your resolution, and the fatigues of a long and tedious voyage.”
The young nobleman nodded.
“You will find the Americans a very hospitable people.”
“I have always heard so.”
“And, though they cannot entertain you in your own style, they will do their best to please you.”
Another nod of his lordship.
“Your lordship must not forget that we are a young country. When we shall be as old as England, we shall perhaps do better.”
“I don’t doubt it.”
“Your lordship is going to put up at the Astor House?”
“I do not know yet.”
“Oh! your lordship must put up at the Astor House; it’s the only decent public house in New York. I shall myself put up there; and if your lordship will do me the honour——”
“I will see by and by; my servant has taken the list of the best hotels in New York.”
“Did you ever see such toad-eating?” exclaimed one of my companions, as we landed on the wharf and were walking towards Broadway,—“such a compound of arrogance and submissiveness, haughty insolence to an inferior, and cringing flattery towards a greater person than himself, as this man?”
“He certainly behaved very foolishly,” said the second; “the British nobleman did not take the least notice of him.”
“And did you see,” said the first, “how every eye was fixed upon that lady and her daughter, as if they were the eighth wonder of the world?”
“I saw,” replied the other, “that they were embarrassed by attracting so much notice.”
“Did you not understand the captain to say that they brought letters to Mr. A*** and to Mrs. S***?”
“I certainly did.”
“Then they will be the town-talk for a month, and the subject of conversation for six months after, throughout the Union; and whoever is not introduced to them will be considered as vulgar: in short, they will be the fashion throughout the country, until somebody of a still higher rank shall come and eclipse them. Were you in the country when the Duke of Saxe Weimar was here?”
“Yes; but I was not in the habit of going much into society.”
“Then you missed a great deal. You ought to have seen the cringing and fawning of these people, and how prodigal they were of the title of ‘Serene Highness,’ which, as a younger son, was hardly ever given him in Europe.”
“I know,” said I, “that he was actually worshipped in the Atlantic cities; and that Mr. W*** and Mr. D*** of Philadelphia were very angry at him for introducing their names and professions in his book, without mentioning that they were gentlemen.”
“The same, perhaps, that presided at the dinner given him by the élite of the German population?”
“The same, if I mistake not,” said I. “I yet remember the witty remark of a German emigrant who was present at the banquet. ‘These Germans,’ said he, ‘behave like so many dogs who do not know what to do for joy at having found their lost master.’”
“And what do you think was the cause of his triumphal entry into every one of our large cities? Nothing in the world but the desire of our exclusives to see a duke,—to shake hands with a duke,—to talk with a duke,—to have a duke to dine with them,—and, above all things, to have a claim on the duke’s reciprocal favours in case they should meet him in Europe. I know not what the duke’s literary pretensions are; but, if Walter Scott had written a book on America, it could not have made a greater sensation than the duke’s.”
“You ought to make an allowance for the novelty of the thing,” said I. “As yet, but few dukes have visited the United States.”
“If their wonderment and toad-eating were confined to dukes and earls,” replied he, “I would willingly pardon them; but they worship everything in the shape of a nobleman, until, by continually talking about nobility, they imagine themselves to belong to it. I wish all the poor nobles of the Continent of Europe would come here to get married, and to improve their estates. But they would have to play a difficult part in order to conceal their poverty. A knight without a castle does not excite the imagination of an American damsel.”
“I yet remember,” observed my other companion, “how they pestered old Lafayette with the title of ‘marquis,’ as if his birth could enhance the sublimity of his character.”
“You ought to have been in ***,” remarked the first, “when, a year or two ago, a rumour was spread that Prince Puckler Muskau had arrived in the country. A mustachoed Russian actually had the good fortune to be mistaken for him, it being understood that the prince wished to preserve the strictest incognito. There was no end to the attention bestowed on him by ladies and gentlemen, and to the particular manœuvres that were made in order to obtain an honourable mention in his book, until the poor fellow, tired of the obsequiousness of his admirers, resolved to inform them that they had been humbugged. There is but one offset to this species of toad-eating, and that is the somewhat too sturdy independence of our lower classes.”
“That I willingly grant,” said the first. “I know that the Duke of Saxe Weimar narrowly escaped a beating in the western country for presuming to hire a whole stage-coach for himself and his valet. Our country has not been settled long enough, and the conditions of men are too rapidly changing, for any one class to tolerate the peculiar manners and customs of the others.”
“Do you know the story about the duke and the New York hackney-coachman?”
“I have heard so many anecdotes about the duke, that I cannot tell to which you refer.”
“Why, they say that the duke went one evening in a hackney-coach to a party, and that the next day the coachman—or the driver, as he is here called—came for his money, asking the duke whether he was the man he had drove the night before; and, on being answered in the affirmative, informing him that ‘he was the gentleman what drove him,’ and that he had come for his half-dollar.”
“Se non è vero, è ben trovato. One thing, however, is certain, that in our attentions to strangers we seldom find the proper medium. If a man of title comes among us, the higher classes will caress and cajole him much beyond what the proudest nobleman could expect in any part of Europe; while, among the lower classes, he will often meet with a spirit of resistance which neither kind words nor money will be entirely able to overcome. Let him take the arithmetical medium between the two, and he will have no right to complain.”
“And I can assure you,” said I, “that in my own heart I have a much higher respect for the common American, who, in his conduct towards strangers, is solely guided by his own rude notion of dignity, than for the educated gentleman, who measures everything, and himself into the bargain, by the standard of another country.”
“Agreed! agreed!” cried my two companions; “for the one, however barbarous, has within him the elements of a national character; while the other, however civilized, is but a mutilated European.”
We had now come up as far as the Park, and, perceiving by the city-hall clock that it was half-past two, one of my companions, under the plea of an engagement, turned towards Chamber-street; while the other, with whom I had promised to dine, invited me to accompany him to his lodgings.
“Come,” said he, “we have but half an hour before dinner;[1] let me introduce you to the ladies of our boarding-house. It’s one of the most agreeable ones in town, and always full of transient people.”
“I confess I hate your boarding-houses,” replied I. “They are neither private nor public; one is deprived in them of most of the conveniences of regular inns, and yet not sufficiently quiet to be able to say one has got a home.”
“Are you married?” demanded my friend.
“Why should you ask me that question?”
“Because you talk like a married man;—they are the best things in the world for bachelors.”
“On what account, pray?” demanded I.
“On account of the facilities they afford in becoming acquainted with ladies and gentlemen without an introduction; and because they are the nicest places for hearing the scandal of the town.”
“That’s precisely the reason why I dislike them.”
“If you are married, you are right; because a boarding-house is for a married woman what a boarding-school is for a young lady: one spoils the other by precept and example. Scarcely have the gentlemen left the house after breakfast to follow their respective avocations, before the women form themselves into sets in their several bed-chambers to have a talk.”
“That’s the most horrible practice I know, especially as young ladies are admitted to them, and the conversation there turns but too frequently on our foibles.”
“Your three-dollar boarding-houses,” rejoined my friend, “are capital things. One gets plenty to eat for little money; turns in at an early hour in the evening in order to rise early in the morning; and, when the men are about their business, the women attend to their own affairs. Besides, all our cheap boarding-houses are small, accommodating seldom more than two or three families, including that of the landlady; but your fashionable establishments are constructed on the plan of regular barracks. You may quarter in them from ten to fifteen families, belonging to at least two or three different sets, visiting in different societies, and envying each other the very air they breathe. If a card be left for one of them, all the rest will talk of it; if one goes to a party to which the rest are not invited, all the others will be jealous; if one is more indulged by her husband than the rest, she is made the subject of remarks by all her friends; if one shows herself smarter than the others, all will turn up their noses, and declare with one voice that she is a forward woman;—in short, I would rather expose my wife to the perils and inconveniences of a voyage by sea, than leave her with half-a-dozen women at a boarding-house. They are the destruction of domestic happiness; break in upon the sanctity of private life; blight a thousand germs of affection, which can only be matured in retirement; make mutual tenderness the subject of ridicule, and publish those foibles to the world which love and forbearance would scarcely have discovered, and certainly never revealed. If I were a man without a fortune, I would a thousand times rather emigrate to the far West, and live with my wife in a log-house, than in one of those palaces constructed for the torture of husbands! But, as I said before, they answer very well for bachelors; I always advise my single acquaintances to go to a boarding-house in preference to a tavern.”
On entering the parlour, my friend presented me in due form to the landlady, who, being not altogether displeased with his having brought a friend to dine with him, for which she had the right of imposing a tax of one dollar, received me with becoming graciousness. From her my friend turned to a lady of the olden times, dressed in the true style of the Pilgrims, with a plain, dignified, but a little too austere countenance. She received me with the utmost imperturbability, changing not a muscle of her face or body as she drawlingly uttered the words, “How—do—you—do?” By her side sat her daughter, a lovely maiden of between thirty and forty years of age, dyed in the deepest blue of New England learning, with a sharp aquiline nose, over which the reflection from her sharp grey eyes had diffused a sort of aurora borealis. Her upper lip was long, and her mouth unusually large; though her thin compressed lips were strongly indicative of firmness and prudence. She had the good sense to wear a cap; behind which, with becoming bashfulness, she not only concealed her own hair, but also a large portion of that, the continuance of which hung in graceful curls over her waxen cheeks, touching the protuberance of the clavicle.
When my name was mentioned as “from Germany,” I thought my New England Minerva gave some slight sign of emotion, which, with more justice than personal vanity, I traced to the recollection of some difficult points in Kant’s Metaphysics; and, desirous of avoiding a discussion on a subject on which neither her nor my wisdom could contribute much to enlighten the world, I pressed my friend gently towards the next lady, whose youthful appearance was much better calculated to put a man in good-humour for a dinner party. She was a new-blown rose, scarcely past sixteen, with black eyes and black hair, a straight Grecian nose,—and, to say all, she had dimples in her cheeks. Her neck, in gracefulness and whiteness, might have challenged that of a swan; and, although her bust was somewhat diminutive, it corresponded well with her slender waist and the extreme delicacy of her hands and feet. In short, she was one of those American beauties one cannot behold without loving and pitying at the same time; for such is the exquisite proportion and symmetry of their limbs, that not an atom of them can suffer the least alteration without completely destroying the harmony of the whole. One might compare their beauty to that of an elegantly-turned period, in which you cannot alter one word without destroying the whole sentence; or, to use a more correct simile, to a finished piece of poetry, which, by the alteration of a single syllable, degenerates into prose. I never could look on any one of those sylphs without feeling an involuntary emotion to place them, like other jewels, in some velvet écrin, to protect them from vulgar contact, or the blighting influence of the atmosphere.
On this occasion my usual tenderness for these victims of a rigorous climate was rapidly changing into feelings of a more ardent nature, when the young lady rose, and, throwing her head back and her breast forward, imitated by a sudden jerk of her body one of those ludicrous bows which the Gallo-American dancing-masters have substituted for the slow, graceful, dignified courtesies of old; and which fashionable women in the United States, who are generally in advance of the most grotesque fashions of Paris, are sure to turn into a complete caricature. For a moment or two I took the spasmodic contraction of her body for the effect of some nervous excitement, produced, perhaps, by the sudden appearance of a man who was not yet old enough to be her grandfather; but the undisturbed ease with which she immediately after took her seat, and the perfect indifference with which she asked and answered half-a-dozen complimentary questions, soon convinced me that she must have been “out” ever since she was old enough to spell her name.
Next to the young belle sat two ladies, mother and daughter, who, to judge from their appearance, had not yet been long admitted into fashionable society. The mother, whose mise sufficiently betokened a woman that had given up every pretension to please, was between thirty-five and forty years of age; the daughter might have been eighteen. She was a piquante brunette, with large black eyes, and a profusion of dark auburn hair, which, I dare be sworn, was all her own. Her pouting red lips, according to Lavater, proved her to be capable of sympathising with the feelings of others; and her embarrassment when I was presented to her showed that she had not yet become sophisticated in contact with the world. I told her all the pretty things I could think of; and secretly resolved, coûte qui coûte, to take my seat not far from her at the dining-table.
Next in turn was Mrs. ***, a widow-lady of ***, who I understood had been exceedingly handsome in her youth, and had now the singular good-nature of admiring and praising the beauty of others, without the dolorous reflection of many a withered belle—
“Sono stata felice anch ’io.”
She had buried her pretensions with her love; and her claims on the world were now confined to that respect which even the worst of men, at all times and in all countries, willingly pay to a woman whose countenance serves as a visible index to a virtuous life. Her husband had held a most distinguished rank as a public man in his State; and her son, brought up in the simplicity of country life, and imbued with those principles which in the revolutionary struggle animated the American patriots, was heir to an immense estate left him by his uncle. She received me with that friendly but dignified manner, which, without attracting or repulsing, puts a man at once at his ease, by leaving him in every respect complete master of his conduct.
We exchanged a few complimentary phrases; when my friend, leading me to the other part of the room, introduced me at once to half-a-dozen young ladies, who had formed themselves into a small circle, whispering to each other, and alternately laughing and looking at some of the gentlemen, who, completely separated from the ladies, were filling the background of the scene. My name without the “de” being announced to them, one or two just moved their chairs, while the rest continued their conversation without appearing to take the least notice of our intrusion. These I knew were the manners of young ladies belonging to the first society towards gentlemen of an inferior order, or towards those whose rank, for some reason or other, were it but the omission of certain formalities, has not yet been generally established. I therefore observed to my friend, in a voice sufficiently low not to be heard by the company, that it would probably be best to leave these girls to themselves.
“By no means,” replied he in a whisper; “I have that with me which shall revenge every impertinence I have thus far suffered from them. They never knew my connexions here; and are only cutting me because they have been invited to two or three parties, where, owing to my short stay in this city, I did not care about being introduced. Besides, I mean to teach them better breeding for the future.” Then, turning to one of the young beauties, “Pray, Miss ***,” demanded he, “what did you do with yourself during the whole of this beautiful day?”
“That’s a secret, sir; we don’t tell that to everybody.”
Here the young lady endeavoured to cut the conversation short by whispering something to her neighbour.
“But I thought I saw you come out of one of the shops in Broadway?”
“I assure you I did not see you,” replied the lady, with a remarkably acute accent.
“That I can easily account for,” replied my friend; “I was walking on the other side, and there were several carriages in the street.”
“Oh! I should not have seen you if I had stumbled over you. I never look at gentlemen.”
Here she again whispered to her acquaintance, with her eyes fixed upon us; but my friend was determined to see her out.
“Do you know,” said he, “Mrs. *** is going to give a magnificent ball?”
“I am glad to hear it,” replied the young lady.
“It is said the first invitations are already given out. I dare say you have received yours?”
The young lady exchanged looks with her friend.
“Are you invited, sir?”
“Oh, I am an old friend of the house; I go there whenever I please.”
“Even without being invited, I suppose?”
“You know, Miss ***, I never stand upon ceremonies.”
“One would suppose so.”
“And yet I flatter myself I never give offence.”
The lady made no reply.
“I hope,” said he to the second girl, “you have got over your cold?”
“I don’t ‘mind’ a cold.”
“But it gives me great pain to see you afflicted.”
Here the young lady rose, as if she intended to leave the room.
“Pray, Miss ***, don’t rise,” cried my friend, “before I have delivered to you Mrs. ***’s invitation. I received it only last night, with the request to hand it you as soon as convenient; and I would not incur Mrs. ***’s displeasure for the world.”
“You are very kind, Mr. ***; have you got it with you?”
“Here, Miss ***, you see I directed it myself; it will be one of the most brilliant parties given in New York this season.”
“Well, I declare you are monstrous good-natured,” said the young lady with a bow; then, turning to her companion, “Dear Fanny, only look at Mrs. ***’s politeness; she invites me ten days ahead.”
“Pray, won’t you act the post-boy for me, Mr. ***?” said Fanny, looking half ironically, half condescendingly, upon my friend.
“Most willingly, if anybody will intrust me with a note to you, which I dare say will be in the course of to-morrow.”
“Well, I do admire Mr. ***’s gallantry, I declare!” cried the young lady, relieved from a painful embarrassment: “what would become of us if we had not Southerners and Europeans” (here she deigned to notice me for the first time) “to take care of us? Our New York gentlemen will be devoted to business; you can get no more attention from them than from a stick of wood.”
At this moment a stout negro rang the bell for dinner. It was one of those high-toned, shrieking bells, a single note of which would have set a musician crazy; but, to judge of the electrifying effect it produced on the whole company, it was far from being disagreeable even to the most refined American ears. The gentlemen especially smiled with approbation, as it called them once more from helpless idleness to active industry; and, in their eagerness to obey its summons, offered their arms to young and old, in order to have the good fortune of the first entrée. It was a scene of complete confusion,—one of those which occur but rarely in America, except just before dinner,—a mêlée of ladies and gentlemen. I saw three young men offer their arms to an old lady near the door, and a pretty little creole woman was actually marched off under double escort. I felt my heart bleed as I looked round for my unsophisticated brunette, and saw her dragged along by a young broker, who was already smacking his lips in anticipation of the turtle. Her mother was gone long ago: when she heard the bell, she made an instinctive move towards the door, and was immediately snatched off by a young man, who made the most of her in the way of taking precedence of his friends. Even the old widow-lady vanished with a gentleman from Boston. What was to be done? Without a lady there was no seat to be had at the upper part of the table, and, in fact, no certainty of obtaining a seat at all; and there remained yet two Englishmen,—a physician, and an agent of a house in Manchester,—a Spaniard from the island of Cuba, two Portuguese, my friend and myself, to be helped to partners. Fortunately for us, however, the young lady who had just passed such high encomiums on Southern and European gallantry, had already seized my friend’s arm, before he had a chance to offer it; and her amiable companion thought herself bound to accept the offer of mine. The remaining girls were equally divided among the representatives of the three nations; but the British Æsculapius, being the stoutest man of the company, was a host by himself, and formed the rear of the train.