A BLOOMER AMONG US.
BY PAULINE FORSYTH.
"There was a general whisper, toss, and wriggle,
But etiquette forbade them all to giggle."—BYRON.
"The outward forms the inner man reveal."—HOLMES.
THROUGHOUT all the Union, there is no region more full of an abounding life and activity than western New York. Its people, inheriting from their New England ancestors their unresting energy in all practical affairs, and their habits of keen and close investigation in everything connected with their social or moral development, seem, in a great measure, to have laid aside the conservatism, the wary circumspection that the descendant of the Puritans has still retained. Enjoying the gifts of nature bestowed with a more bounteous hand and a freer mode of life, they have thrown off many of the shackles or restraints with which the worldly prudence of the New Englander hampers him in action, however loose he may suffer the reins to lie on his mind or fancy; but, whatever result his reason or benevolence works out, a genuine New Yorker would exemplify in his conduct, with a high disdain for all who suffered the baser motives of prudence or fear of censure to withhold them from the same course.
The people of that section of the country are so accustomed to see the singular theories, that are only talked about in other places, carried out into action by their zealous promulgators or defenders, that the eccentricities that, in most country villages, would throw all the people into a high state of astonishment, and supply them with a topic of conversation for months, there only causes a gentle ripple over the surface of society; or, to give a truer illustration, the waves there are always rolling so fast and high, that one wave more or less makes but little impression.
But when, from this unquiet ocean, a Bloomer was left stranded on the still shores of our quiet little town of Westbridge, our dismay and agitation can be but faintly described. Socially speaking, propriety is our divinity; Mrs. Grundy, our avenging deity. We frown on short sleeves; but when those short skirts were seen waving in our streets, when they even floated up the broad aisle on the Sabbath, it would be hard to say whether indignation or horror were the predominant feeling.
But, to begin at the beginning, as is in all cases most proper and satisfactory, Jane Atwood announced at our Sewing Society, and Mrs. Atwood mentioned, in the course of a round of calls, that they were expecting Miss Janet McLeod, a niece of the late Mr. Atwood, to pass the winter with them. We all knew Mr. McLeod by reputation, for Mrs. Atwood was very proud of her relationship to him, and references to her brother-in-law were frequently and complacently made. We had seen him, too, when now and then he had passed a day with the Atwoods—he never found time to stay in Westbridge more than a day—and were astonished to find that the rich Mr. McLeod, who had been for some time a sort of a myth among us, a Westbridge Mrs. Harris, was a plain, homespun-looking man, with a comely sun-browned face, white hair, and the kindest and most trusting brown eyes in the world. His manners were hearty and genial, but their simplicity prevented him from making a great impression on us; we like more courtliness and a little more formality. His benevolence and uprightness, together with his immense wealth, procured for him among us that degree of consideration which such things always do procure among the numerous class who take the world as they find it, and we dismissed him with the remark that, though plain and unpolished in his manners, he possessed sterling goodness and sound sense.
This last quality might not have been allowed him, if Mrs. Atwood had not been careful in concealing, as far as possible, the peculiar revelations he made in each visit of his reigning enthusiasm.
"That Mr. McLeod is a very strange man," said Mrs. Atwood's nurse to a former employer of hers. "Do you know, ma'am, he spent all yesterday pulverizing Miss Jane! Miss Jane went sound asleep, and I thought in my heart she would never wake up no more."
It was found out afterwards that Jane Atwood had been undergoing some experiments in mesmerism, which, although Mr. McLeod declared them triumphantly successful, Mrs. Atwood was rather inclined to conceal than converse about. This was on Mr. McLeod's first visit. On his second, he found Mrs. Atwood suffering from an attack of rheumatism. He pulled out of a capacious pocket-book two galvanic rings, which he insisted on her wearing; and, for fear that they might not effect so speedy a cure as he wished, he hastened to the city and returned with a galvanic battery, by means of which he gave his sister-in-law such severe shocks that she assured us often "that her nervous system was entirely shattered by them." But, as I have known many ladies live and get a fair proportion of enjoyment out of this life with their nervous systems in the same dilapidated state, I have come to consider it a very harmless complaint.
At another time, Mr. McLeod had wonderful stories to tell of spiritual manifestations, and on his last visit he had been overflowing with indignation against society on the score of woman's rights and wrongs.
Yet, notwithstanding these peculiarities, Mrs. Atwood loved and esteemed Mr. McLeod with a sincerity that redeemed her otherwise worldly and timid character. Her husband had been left dependent on his half brother, and owed to him his education and his establishment in the world; and, when a fortune was left by some relation of their mother to be equally divided between them, Mr. McLeod refused to take any portion of it, saying that he had more than enough. These, with many other instances of his generosity and affection which Mrs. Atwood had received since her widowhood, made her forget his eccentricities, and listen with forbearance to his impetuous outbursts of zeal or indignation.
There was another person in Westbridge who shared Mrs. Atwood's affectionate gratitude to Mr. McLeod, and from similar causes; and this was Professor Mainwaring. He was the professor of ancient languages in the college at Westbridge, and the society of the place, as well as the members of the college, thought it a high honor to be able to number such a man as one of themselves. He combined, in a manner that is seldom seen, the high-bred gentleman with the accomplished scholar and the strict and severe theologian, for he was a clergyman as well as a professor; and when to this it is added that he was still unmarried, it will hardly be wondered at if he were an object of general attention, carefully restrained though within its proper limits.
He also had been indebted in early life to Mr. McLeod; for, although brought up in the habits, and with the expectation of being a rich man, he found himself in the second year of his college life left, by the sudden death of his father, Judge Mainwaring, entirely destitute. With no friends who were able or willing to assist him, George Mainwaring was about to give up reluctantly all hopes of completing the studies in which he had so far been eminently successful, and had already begun to look about for some means of obtaining a present support, when Mr. McLeod heard of his position, and, with the prompt and delicate generosity peculiar to him, came forward with offers of assistance. He claimed a right, as an old friend of George Mainwaring's father, to interest himself in the young student's welfare; and, with some hesitation, such as every independent mind naturally feels, Mr. Mainwaring accepted the offered aid.
The pecuniary obligation had long since been repaid, but the feeling of gratitude to the one who had enabled him to pursue the career best fitted to the bent of his mind remained in full force; and, from the influence of this feeling, he had been induced to make an offer to Mr. McLeod, which was the immediate occasion of Miss McLeod's visit to Westbridge.
Mr. McLeod had been for some years devoting himself spasmodically to the study of Revelations. He fancied that he had discovered the clue to the meaning of many of the most mysterious parts of this book; but, unfortunately, there were many little discrepancies between his ideas and those apparently conveyed by the words of this part of Holy Writ. These he attributed to a faulty translation, and had himself begun one that was to be free from such blemishes; but, finding that his knowledge of the language was insufficient, or that his patience was soon exhausted, he determined that his daughter Janet should qualify herself to perform this office for him.
She would have undertaken to learn Chinese, if her father had expressed a wish to that effect, and therefore made no opposition to studying Greek, nor to passing the winter in Westbridge with her aunt, that she might avail herself of the proposal Mr. Mainwaring had made to her father, that he should be her instructor. Miss McLeod had never been in Westbridge, and Mr. Mainwaring had never happened to meet her. He knew that she was a young lady of eighteen, and that, since her mother's death, some three years before, she had devoted herself entirely to making her father's home as comfortable and happy as possible. Her filial affection had prepossessed him very much in her favor, and he looked forward to aiding her in her studies with an unusual degree of pleasure. Jane Atwood, too, was delighted at the prospect of renewing an acquaintance that had languished since her childhood.
Mr. McLeod was prevented, by some of his numerous engagements, from accompanying his daughter to Westbridge, as he had intended; and, placing her under the care of an acquaintance who was on his way to the city of New York, he telegraphed to Professor Mainwaring a request that he would meet Miss McLeod at the Westbridge depot.
The cars arrived about twilight, and, punctually at the appointed time, Mr. Mainwaring and Miss Atwood stood on the platform waiting for the stopping of the train. The young lady looked in vain among the group that sprang hurriedly out of the cars to find one that she could recognize as her cousin. Mr. Mainwaring scrutinized the crowd with a like purpose, but as fruitlessly. Their attention was arrested at the same moment by the same object—the singular attire of a person leaning on the arm of an old gentleman, who was looking around him evidently greatly hurried and perplexed. Mr. Mainwaring gave but one glance, and then looked away, apparently considering the individual hardly a proper subject of curiosity; but Jane Atwood, less scrupulous, stood gazing so absorbed in what she saw that she entirely forgot her cousin.
The person who thus attracted her notice was a small and youthful woman, dressed in a sort of sack or paletot of black cloth, belted around her waist and falling a little below the knee, and loose trowsers of the same material gathered into a band around the ankle, leaving exposed a small foot encased in thick-soled, but neatly-fitting gaiter boots. A linen collar tied around the throat with a broad black ribbon, and a straw bonnet and veil, completed the attire.
"That must be a Bloomer, Mr. Mainwaring," said Jane Atwood; "do just look at her. I am very glad she happened to come in this train. I have always wanted to see one."
"Indeed!" said Mr. Mainwaring, in a tone that expressed more surprise than approval. "Do you see your cousin anywhere, Miss Atwood?" asked he, after a moment's pause.
She replied in the negative.
"Allow me to leave you a moment, and I will make some inquiries." And, after attending Miss Atwood to the ladies' saloon, the professor hurried off to inquire after his charge.
Hardly had he gone before the old gentleman and the Bloomer entered.
"Excuse me, ma'am," said the gentleman, addressing Miss Atwood; "but I am afraid to wait here any longer, for fear the cars will leave me, and I promised Mr. McLeod I would see his daughter safely to her friends. Do you know whether Professor Mainwaring is here to meet her?"
"Yes, he is," said Miss Atwood, with a sudden misgiving. "Is—is—is this—person—lady—Miss McLeod?" Miss Atwood could hardly finish the question.
The Bloomer threw back her veil, and said, somewhat timidly—
"Is this Miss Atwood—Cousin Jane?"
Miss Atwood bowed, and the old gentleman, saying, "I am glad you have found your friends," hurried off.
There were a few moments of embarrassed silence, when Professor Mainwaring reappeared.
"Miss McLeod cannot be in this train," said he. "Shall we wait here for the next? It will be down in an hour."
"This is Miss McLeod, Professor Mainwaring," said Miss Atwood, hardly conscious of the ungracious manner in which she effected the introduction.
Mr. Mainwaring bowed with his usual ceremonious politeness; but he said not a word, and his lips closed with a firmer compression than usual. He was too indignant and astonished to speak. He wondered if his old benefactor had quite lost his senses that he should permit his young daughter to go about dressed in that outrageous costume. And he did not see with what propriety he, the guide and controller of more than a hundred young men, who required all the power of his example and authority to keep them in proper order, could be asked to teach, or in any way have his name connected with that of a Bloomer. He was more than half inclined to walk away; but, restraining himself, he observed that the carriage was waiting, and had instinctively half turned to Miss McLeod to offer her his arm, but, catching another glimpse of the costume, in itself a sort of a declaration of independence, and remembering having seen a number of students lingering around the depot, he bowed hastily and led the way to the carriage.
Miss McLeod's manner had all the time been very composed and quiet. She could not help observing that her greeting was not a very warm one; but this was her first absence from home, and her thoughts were so full of those she had left behind that she was not fully conscious of all that was passing around her. She seated herself in the carriage, and, after answering the few formal questions addressed to her by her companions, she sank with them into a silence that remained unbroken until they reached Mrs. Atwood's door.
Declining Miss Atwood's invitation to walk in, Professor Mainwaring bade them good-evening, murmuring something hastily about seeing Miss McLeod again soon, and walked off, glad to be released even for a moment from his distasteful duty of attendance.
Miss Atwood ushered her companion into the drawing-room, and then went to seek her mother. She found her in the kitchen giving directions to a new cook about the preparations for tea. She beckoned her into the dining-room.
"She's come, mother," said Jane, with wide-open eyes.
"Yes, dear, I know it. Go and stay with her; I will come in in a minute."
"She's a Bloomer!" continued Jane, unheeding the maternal bidding.
"You don't say so, Jane! What! little Janet a Bloomer! Oh, Jane!" And Mrs. Atwood sank down on the nearest seat. This was worse than the galvanic battery. Her nervous system gave way entirely, and she burst into a flood of tears. "I cannot go in to see her," said Mrs. Atwood. "I don't think I can have her here in my house with my children."
"Oh yes, mother, we must," said Jane; "remember how kind uncle McLeod has always been to us. Don't be so distressed about it. Perhaps we can induce her to change her style of dress."
While Jane was endeavoring to soothe her mother, Janet McLeod had been trying to overcome the shyness of two little children whom she had found in the drawing-room. She was telling them about a pony and a dog she had at home, when the boy raised his head and asked, with the straightforwardness of a child—
"Who are you?"
"I know," said the little girl, shaking her head with a very wise look.
"Do you? Who am I?" asked Janet, amused by her earnest manner.
"I don't like to tell oo; but I'll tell Tarley, if he'll bend down his head."
Charley bent his head, and the child said, in a loud whisper—
"That's the little ooman that went to market to sell her eggs; don't oo see?"
"Are you?" asked Charley.
"No; I am your cousin Janet."
"Oh, I always thought Janet was a girl's name. I am glad you are a boy. I like boys a great deal the best."
Here Charley was interrupted by his mother's entrance. Mrs. Atwood had composed herself, and had come to the conclusion that she might as well make the best of it. She greeted Janet in a manner rather constrained and embarrassed, and yet not cold enough to be wounding; and this she thought was doing wonders.
The next day was Sunday, and Mrs. Atwood saw, with dismay, Janet preparing to go to church in the same attire.
"Have you no long dresses that you could wear to-day, my dear?" she asked. "We are so unaccustomed here to see anything of that kind, that I am afraid it will attract more attention than you would like."
"No," replied Janet, with a composure that was not a little irritating to Mrs. Atwood, "I did not bring any with me. I promised father that I would wear this dress at least a year."
Jane Atwood had a convenient headache, which prevented her from accompanying the rest of the family to church, and Mrs. Atwood had to bear the whole brunt of the popular amazement and curiosity, as, followed by a Bloomer, she made her entrance among the assembled congregation. The walk up the aisle was accomplished with a flurried haste, very unlike the usual grave decorum on which Mrs. Atwood piqued herself, and, slipping into her pew, she sat for some minutes without venturing to raise her eyes.
Miss McLeod did not share her aunt's perturbation. She appeared, in fact, hardly conscious of being an object of general remark, but addressed herself to the duties of the sanctuary with a countenance as calm and tranquil as a summer's day. A very sweet and rural face she had, as unlike her startling style of dress as anything could well be. Having always lived in the country, surrounded by an unsophisticated kind of people who had known her from her infancy, and loved her for her father's sake as well as her own, and who, reverencing Mr. McLeod for his noble and kindly traits of character, looked upon his many crotchets as the outbursts of a generous, if an undisciplined nature, Janet had never learned to fear the criticism or the ridicule of the unsympathetic world.
Like most persons brought up in the sheltered seclusion of the country, far away from the bustle and turmoil of the city, where every faculty is kept in activity by the constant demand upon its attention, her mind was slow in its operations, and her perceptions were not very quick. At ease in herself, because convinced by her father's advice and persuasions that she was in the path of duty, she hardly observed the astonishment and remark of which she was the object. What Bulwer Lytton calls "the broad glare of the American eye" fell upon her as ineffectually as sunshine on a rock.
With a disposition naturally dependent, and inclined to believe rather than to doubt and examine for herself, she had grown up with such a deep reverence for her father, and with such an entire belief in him, that the idea of questioning the propriety or soundness of his opinions never entered her mind. It was hard labor for one so practical and unimaginative as Janet to follow up the vagaries of a man like Mr. McLeod, and it was one of the strongest proofs of her great affection for him, that she had laid aside her own correct judgment and good sense to do so.
That same evening Mrs. Atwood had a long conversation with Miss McLeod about her dress. It was a disagreeable task to one of Mrs. Atwood's timid disposition to find fault with any person; but she thought it a duty she owed to her motherless niece, at least, to expostulate with her about so great a singularity.
"Will you tell me, my dear," she said, "how you came to adopt that costume?"
"It was my father's wish," Janet replied. "He was convinced that it was a much more sensible and useful mode of dress than the usual fashion of long trailing skirts, and he was very anxious that it should be generally adopted; but he said it never would be unless it were worn habitually by ladies occupying a certain station in society. He thought that, as we had so many advantages, we ought to be willing to make some sacrifices for the general good. I did not much like the idea at first, but I found that father was right when he said that I should soon become accustomed to the singularity of the thing; and indeed it is hardly considered singular in Danvers now. Several of the ladies there have adopted the same style of dress. We find it a great deal more convenient."
Mrs. Atwood could not assent; she could not see a single redeeming quality in the odious costume.
"Would you object, Janet, to laying it aside while you remain in Westbridge? I am sure that you will effect no good by wearing it, and I am afraid you will be rendered painfully conspicuous by it. Young ladies should never do anything to make themselves an object of remark."
This aphorism, which was the guiding principle of every lady trained in Westbridge, was a new idea to Janet. She pondered upon it for a while, and then replied—
"It seems to me, at least so my father always tells me, that the only thing necessary to be considered is, whether we are doing right or not; and if this dress is to do as much good as father thinks it will, it must be my duty to wear it. I promised father I would wear it for a year at least."
"If your father will consent, will you not be willing to dress like the rest of us while you remain here? It would be a great favor to me if you would."
"Certainly, dear aunt, I will. But it seems strange to me that you should be so annoyed by what father is so much delighted with."
Mrs. Atwood wrote what she considered quite a strong appeal to Mr. McLeod, entreating him to allow his daughter to resume her former attire. But in reply, Mr. McLeod wrote that Janet was now occupying the position in which he had always wished a child of his to be placed. She was in the front rank of reformers; giving an example to the people in Westbridge, whom he had always considered shamefully behind the age, which he hoped would awaken in them some desire for progress and improvement. He was proud of her and of her position. He would not for the world have her falter now, when, for the first time, she had had any conflict to endure.
Janet read the letter, and, with a blush for her weakness in yielding to her aunt's suggestions, she resolved to allow no pusillanimous fear of censure to degrade her father's daughter from the high station in which he had placed her. Mrs. Atwood was indignant at Mr. McLeod's answer.
"I never read anything with so little common sense or common feeling in it. I am sure he would not be willing to subject himself to all the annoyances to which he is exposing his poor young daughter, persuading her that she is in the path of duty, and that she ought to make a sacrifice of herself. I have no patience with him," and Mrs. Atwood, in her vexation, came very near giving Charley a superfluous whipping.
Meantime, the people in Westbridge were debating as to the expediency of calling on the new arrival. They were in great perplexity about it. As Mrs. Atwood's niece, Miss McLeod ought certainly to be visited; but as a Bloomer she ought to be frowned upon and discountenanced. The general opinion was decidedly against showing her any attention. One lady did call, but repented it afterwards, and atoned for her imprudent sociability by declining to recognize Miss McLeod when she met her in the street. There were very few invitations sent to Mrs. Atwood's during the winter, and those that came were very pointedly addressed to Mrs. and Miss Atwood. These they at first declined, with much inward reluctance on Jane's part; but Janet perceiving this, and divining that politeness to her was the cause of the refusals, insisted on being no restraint on her cousin's pleasure. She was willing to endure mortifications herself for what she considered her duty, but it would be a needless addition to her trials, she said, if those who did not approve of her course had to suffer for it.
It seems a pity that there should be such a superfluity of the martyr spirit in womankind, or that there were not something of more vital importance to wreak it upon than the rights and wrongs that are just now causing such an effervescence among them.
Meantime, Mr. Mainwaring had decided that, come in what shape she might, Mr. McLeod's daughter ought to receive from him all the attention that gratitude for her father's services might demand. Every morning he devoted an hour to giving her a lesson in Greek, and though for some time he continued to look upon her with suspicion and distrust as a femme forte, yet his urbane and polished manners prevented Janet from perceiving anything that might wound or offend her. She felt that the gentle cordiality with which she was at first inclined to receive him, as one whom her father loved and esteemed, met with no response, but she attributed it to his natural reserve. The first thing that lessened the cold disapproval with which Mr. Mainwaring regarded Janet was the discovery that study was to her a painful labor, and that she was not very fond of reading. There is a popular fallacy that a high cultivation of the intellect implies a corresponding deficiency in the affections, and profoundly sensible as Mr. Mainwaring was, he was, like most men, a firm believer in this erroneous opinion; and therefore he welcomed all Janet's mistakes as pledges that, though her judgment might be wrong, her heart was right.
And there was a yielding docility about her that was exceedingly pleasing to one accustomed, as Mr. Mainwaring was, to have his opinion regarded as law by most of those with whom he was thrown. It was not a mere inert softness either, but the pliability of a substance so finely tempered and wrought that it could be moulded by a master hand into any form without losing its native and inherent firmness and goodness. He began at last to understand her, and to perceive that she had one of those delicate and conscientious natures that, when once convinced of a duty, seize upon it with a grasp of iron, and would suffer to the death for it. With his admiration for Janet, his interest in her increased, and he became truly distressed to see her throwing away, as it seemed, her usefulness and her happiness in endeavoring to uphold a fantastic fashion.
The life of seclusion and study to which the resolute neglect of the people of Westbridge had condemned Janet was so unlike anything to which she had been accustomed, that, strong in constitution as she was, with all the vigor that a free country life gives, her health began at last to fail. The spring breezes sought in vain for the loses that the autumn winds had left upon her cheeks.
"It seems to me that you are looking rather pale, Miss McLeod," said Mr. Mainwaring, one day.
It was the first time that he had ever spoken to her on any subject unconnected with the lessons, and Miss McLeod colored slightly as she answered—
"I am quite well, I believe."
"I am afraid you do not exercise enough. I see Miss Atwood walking every pleasant afternoon. If you would join her sometimes, you might find a benefit from it."
Again Janet blushed as she answered, with a frank smile—
"Cousin Jane is very kind; but I believe she would do anything for me sooner than walk with me. At any rate, I would not like to place her in a position that would be so painful to her. And I do not like to walk by myself here."
Miss McLeod did not acknowledge, what Mr. Mainwaring had perceived, that a growing shyness had been coming over her since her residence in Westbridge, leading her to keep out of sight as much as possible. A very faint-hearted reformer was poor little Janet, and I am afraid that her co-workers would have disdained to acknowledge her.
"You have not made many acquaintances in Westbridge, I think, Miss McLeod?"
"No, none besides aunt Atwood's family and yourself."
"I am sorry for that, for there are many very agreeable and intelligent people here. Few country villages can boast of as good society. I do not see you often at church lately, I think."
"No, I do not go so regularly as I ought," said Janet, sadly.
"How would you like a class in the Sunday School? It might be an object of interest, and visiting your scholars would be a motive to take you out occasionally. The clergyman mentioned lately that they were very much in want of teachers."
The tears came in Janet's eyes. It seemed to her that Mr. Mainwaring must be trying to wound her, or that he was one of the most unobservant of men, that, with so little tact, he was reminding her of all the social duties and kindnesses from which she was debarred.
"I offered my services the other day, but they were declined," said she.
"On account of your mode of dress, I presume," said he.
Janet bowed.
"If my obligations to your father had not been so great that they can never be repaid, I might feel that I was taking too great a liberty, if I should venture to express any disapproval of anything that you might think proper to do. But I will run the risk of displeasing you, and ask you whether you think it worth while, even supposing one mode of dress to possess far more real superiority over the prevailing fashion than the one does which you have adopted, to sacrifice not only your social enjoyments, but your usefulness, for the purpose of making an ineffectual attempt to change a fashion under which so many people have lived in health and comfort, that it will be difficult to persuade them that it is injurious?"
"At home, my style of dress was not thought so wrong," said Janet. "There are not many places, I think, where I should not have met with more liberality and charity than in Westbridge."
"All over the world, Miss Janet"—and, for the first time, the professor called Miss McLeod by her Christian name—"dress is considered as an exponent of character. When a person is thrown among strangers, they are judged almost as much by that as by their countenance. And when they adopt a style of dress, the mark of a particular clique, they are considered as indorsing all the opinions belonging to it. Now, the ideas of the Bloomerites are many of them so flighty, and have so little reason or common sense in them, that I am sure you are not acquainted with them, or you would not so openly rank yourself with their party."
Poor Janet had heard her father talk for hours about the absurdity of the usual mode of dress, and the advantages of the Bloomer costume; but now, in her time of need, she could not recall a single one of his arguments. Not that she was entirely overpowered by the professor's reasons, but, partly from her own observation of his character, and partly from general report, she had imbibed so high an opinion of Mr. Mainwaring's judgment and understanding, that she felt unequal to opposing him. There was a soundness in his opinions, with a firmness and strength in his whole nature, to which she yielded an unconscious deference.
This was by no means the only conversation Mr. Mainwaring and Janet had on the subject of her unfortunate dress. Slowly and gradually the young girl began to realize that she might have been wasting the whole energies of her earnest nature in a Quixotic contest with what was in itself harmless. At any rate, she became convinced that "le jeu ne vaut pas le chandelle," and yet she was unwilling to take any decided step without consulting her father. She was afraid that he would be greatly disappointed in her, when he found her so weak that she shrank from the notice and comments her attire attracted.
Seeing that Miss McLeod was disinclined to make the effort, Mr. Mainwaring wrote himself to Mr. McLeod, who, although he was unable to appreciate the "delicate distresses" which Mrs. Atwood had hinted at, as the consequence of his daughter's singularity, was alarmed and distressed at the idea of her illness. He came immediately to Westbridge, and took Janet home to recruit. But, before he went, Mr. Mainwaring had a long conversation with him, and, either by his cogent arguments, or because some new crotchet had displaced the old one, he obtained his permission that Janet should resume the flowing robes against which he had once declared such unsparing antipathy.
During the next summer, Janet stopped for a few weeks at Mrs. Atwood's, on her way to Saratoga, and we took advantage of the opportunity to call upon her, acting towards her as though this were her first visit to Westbridge, and considering it an act of delicate politeness to ignore the fact that the young lady, whom we saw so simply and tastefully attired, had any connection with the Bloomer who had awakened our horror not long before.
The latest piece of news in Westbridge is the established fact that Mr. Mainwaring is engaged to Miss McLeod. He who has withstood all the charms of the well brought up ladies of our town has been captivated by a Bloomer, and that, too, after having declared, openly and repeatedly, his disapproval and utter distaste for all women who had in any way made themselves conspicuous. But there seems to be naturally a perversity in all matters of this kind. Love evidently delights in bending the inclinations in that very direction against which the professions have been the loudest and most decided.