Quietly Miss Julie would sit and listen to her sister, but, once away from her, she would assume what she believed to be the Almack manner, call imagination to her aid, and discourse to her long-suffering acquaintance. Aunt Jane's chest of plate became a veritable crown furgeon laden with tasters, posset cups, punch-bowls, muffineers, and salvers of priceless and unique patterns. Her gowns would have done credit to a Drury Lane queen. The patroon of Rensselaerswyck drank a flask of camphor to forget his Jane. Scores of suitors died of lacerated hearts for her dear sake, and the president of the College of New Jersey vowed he could not hear the word love spoken in his presence, not even in his young gentlemen's conjugations.
It was the arrival, from the vulgarian camp of Trenton, of one Mrs. Snograss that first brought interference with the sway of these gentle ladies. That year, in which Richard Sheridan first played the organ in St. Paul's and Mrs. Snograss elected to reside in York, proved, indeed, an eventful one for the community. The genteel portion of Gotham society, like the family of the Vicar of Wakefield, was wont to lead a peaceful life. Most of its adventures befell it by its own fireside, or consisted of migrations from the blue bed to the brown. Or there was the yearly glimpse of the Branch, or Schooley's Mountain, and on rare occasions venturesome parents took their offspring to Hobuck for a fortnight—especially if they were marriageable daughters.
The Misses Knickerbocker had visited the latter place in its transition period. There Georgina purchased her Davenport tea-service for a song, and was fond of telling of the fact. And Julie treasured a sweeter memory of the green Elysium—a dried-up flower of memory, but once a rose, nevertheless, carefully guarded from the world, hidden indeed from herself most of the time.
No one knew exactly how it began—that social war over the two capitals of Trenton and York. Black "Rushingbeau," the York pronunciation for Mrs. Snograss's serving-man, Rochambeau, meeting Juma at the morning market in the centre of the green, had dubbed the Knickerbocker chickens "spinkle-shanked fowls."
"Wot you know 'bout hens in yo' small 'count town!" retorted the loyal champion of York. Like a mushroom the story grew, and spread from Vesey Street kitchens into sitting-rooms and parlors. Of course the aspersive attitude toward York was that of Mrs. Snograss reflected in Rochambeau.
"To think that a resident of Trenton, a city named after a mere merchant, should have the effrontery to speak disparagingly of our ancient capital!" cried Mrs. Rumbell, mother-in-law of Dr. Slumnus. "These are degenerate times, alack! What would poor Roberta Johnstone say if she were here? Let me see how many royal governors have lived amongst us."
Mrs. Rumbell counted on her slim, old fingers. The Knickerbocker ladies, who lacked the Rumbell knowledge of their city's past, brought all their brightest family banners to the fray.
"Lud," said Miss Georgina, and Miss Julie promptly echoed her, "I have never even visited the spot where the Snograss woman came from; I know that the Comte de Survilliers, or plain Mr. Bonaparte, as he prefers to be called, when he failed to secure Knickerbocker Mansion for a residence decided to repair thither. Poor man, he must have languished!" she added with a final snort.
"And he was such a showy man too!" sighed her sister.