“Don’t you know—her name is Smithson. A rich Shamble street merchant. Live in Hazelnut street, in old Corkscrew’s house—said to be splendidly furnished.”
“Yes; but who is she? Where does she come from?”
“Don’t know exactly; but believe from New York, or Baltimore, or Richmond, or somewhere.”
“Very definite—and the last location very likely.”
“But what do you think of her? Very lady-looking—don’t you think so? And how beautifully she dresses. Her muff and tippet are certainly martin—and what a love of a hat. Martine tells me she paid $25 for it.”
Here the ladies having reached the door, the edifying commentary on the sermon just delivered ceased, and the parties separating, pursued their several ways. The first speaker, or querist, was Mrs. Rodgers, one of the most decided leaders of the ton in Quakerdelphia, whose father having retired from trade as a hardware merchant when she was a very little girl, felt her superiority to those of her acquaintances who were still engaged in trade. Her husband was in the same position as herself, and their united fortunes enabled him to provide his friends with the finest clarets, the oldest Madeiras, the fattest venison, and one of the greatest bores at the head of his own table who ever spoiled good wine by prosing over it. His lady gave no balls nor grand routes; she was too exclusive for that; but admittance to her “Evenings” was eagerly sought after by all who aspired to be of the ton. The other lady, Mrs. Cackle, a widow, was one of those gossips who are everywhere found. Her pretensions to fashion were only pretensions, and she held her own in the gay world simply by making herself useful as the purveyor of all the fashionable scandal of the day to her fashionable acquaintance. Mrs. Rodgers and others of her set, would have as soon thought of doing without their cards or their carriages as without “Cackle,” as she was familiarly called; and hence she was at home in all the “best houses” of Quakerdelphia.
The pew which the Smithsons occupied, was adjoining that of Mrs. Rodgers. It was the family-pew of a certain Mrs. Edmonson, who, after a long career in the gay world, had recently, alarmed by conscience or gray hairs, abandoned cards for prayer-meetings, and despairing of “grace” under what she was pleased to term “the didactic essays and moral teachings” of Dr. Silky, her pastor, had abandoned them for the preachings of the Rev. Mr. Thunder, a celebrated revivalist. Here a new scene was opened for her. Possibly her jaded feelings may have required some new and varied stimulant. We do not say so positively. We merely repeat what “Cackle” said.
“Poor, dear soul! she was so worn-out with whist and piquett, that any change was for the better.”
Be this as it may, she certainly entered upon her new course of life with much zeal. She faithfully attended not only the three regular Sunday services, but all the occasional week-day lectures and familiar meetings for prayer and religious conversation. These latter were always preceded by tea at the house of some of the sisters of the Rev. Mr. Thunder’s flock. Projects for converting the world were then new, and the recent convert entered upon them with all the zeal which had formerly animated her when arranging the details of a ball or of a party for the theatre. The dwellers in Africa and the isles of the Pacific, occupied much of their attention; but they did not seem to know that within a few squares of where they were engaged alternately in sipping tea or expounding prophecy, dwelt a population, perhaps more degraded and more requiring enlightenment, than those over whose darkness they mourned. The inhabitant of Africa thought nothing of a Saviour of whom he had never heard. The denizen of St. Anne’s street uttered his name only to blaspheme. Which of these, according to the doctrine as laid down by the Apostle to the Gentiles, most required the humanizing influences of the missionary of the cross, we leave to each to determine for himself.
One thing is certain. Had Mrs. Edmonson not been thus called off, Mrs. Smithson could not have obtained the pew which she now occupied. A gradual acquaintance was beginning to spring up between her and Mrs. Rodgers, arising from the principle of contiguity. Commend us to that principle. It has settled the fate of many a son and daughter of Eve. It commenced we know not how. It was probably from some one of those thousand and one little offices which neighborhood induces. A shawl may have become entangled in something requiring the friendly offices of a neighbor to unloose; or the warmth of the weather may have created an uncomfortable feeling, which the opportune loan of a fan may have relieved. How the acquaintanceship in question was first brought about we have forgotten—if we ever knew. It is of no consequence to us. Every one knows the progress of these things. At first it is a distant bow, as much as to say, “I should like to know you, but don’t care to advance.” Then came a casual and passing remark, as they emerged from the pew to the aisle. Then the walk down the aisle, side by side, until reaching the door, when each assumed her husband’s arm, and the respective couples mingled in the crowd; and finally the continued walk together to the parting-place, whence each pursues the path to their own residence. These things have often occurred before; they were enacted by Mesdames Rogers and Smithson then, and will occur again. Their husbands followed slowly in the rear, discussing the state of the weather, the prospects of business, the likelihood of speedy news from Europe, there not having been an arrival for upward of a month, with other topics of a kindred nature. Mrs. Rodgers, a well-educated lady of considerable conversational powers, found the mind of her new acquaintance as agreeable as her person, and before they separated,