THE “CHARMING CREATURE” AS A WIFE.
My nephew, George Baldwin, was but ten years
younger than myself. He was the son of a plain, practical,
sensible farmer, who, without the advantages of a
liberal education, had enriched his mind by study and
observation, with a fund of useful knowledge, rarely possessed
by those who move in his sphere of life.—His wife
was one of the most lovely of women. She was pious,
but not austere; cheerful, but not light; generous, but
not prodigal; economical, but not close; hospitable, but
not extravagant. In native powers of mind, she was
every way my brother's equal—in acquirements, she was
decidedly his superior.—To this I have his testimony, as
well as my own; but it was impossible to discover in
her conduct, any thing going to shew that she coincided
with us in opinion. To have heard her converse, you
would have supposed she did nothing but read—to have
looked through the departments of her household, you
would have supposed she never read. Every thing
which lay within her little province, bore the impress of
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her own hand, or acknowledged her supervision. Order,
neatness, and cleanliness prevailed every where. All
provisions were given out with her own hands, and she
could tell precisely the quantity of each article that it
would require to serve a given number of persons,
without stint or wasteful profusion. In the statistics of
domestic economy, she was perfectly versed. She would
tell you, with astonishing accuracy, how many pounds of
cured bacon, you might expect from a given weight of
fresh pork—How many quarts of cream, a given quantity
of milk would yield—How much butter, so much
cream—How much of each article it would take to
serve so many persons, a month or a year. Supposing
no change in the family, and she would tell you to a day,
when a given quantity of provisions of any kind would
be exhausted. She reduced to certain knowledge every
thing that could be; and she approximated to it as nearly
as possible, with those matters which could not be. And
yet she scolded less, and whipt less, than any mistress of
a family I ever saw. The reason is obvious. Every
thing under her care went on with perfect system. To
each servant was allotted his or her respective duties; and
to each was assigned the time in which those duties were
to be performed. During this time, she suffered them
not to be interrupted, if it was possible to protect them
from interruption. Her children were permitted to give
no orders to servants but through her, until they reached
the age at which they were capable of regulating
their orders by her rules. She laid no plans to detect
her servants in theft, but she took great pains to convince
them that they could not pilfer without detection; and
this did she, without betraying any suspicions of their
integrity. Thus, she would have her biscuits uniformly
of a size, and under the form of instructions to her cook,
she would show her precisely the quantity of flour which
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it took to make so many biscuit. After all this, she exposed
her servants to as few temptations as possible. She never
sent them to the larder unattended, if she could avoid it;
and never placed them under the watch of children.
She saw that they were well provided with every thing
they needed, and she indulged them in recreations when
she could. No service was required of them on the
Sabbath, further than to spread the table, and to attend it—
a service which was lightened as much as possible, by
having the provisions of that day very simple, and prepared
the day before.
Such, but half described, were the father and mother
of George Baldwin. He was their only son and eldest
child; but he had two sisters, Mary and Martha; the
first four, and the second six years younger than himself—
a son next to George having died in infancy. The
two eldest children inherited their names from their parents,
and all of them grew up worthy of the stock from
which they sprang.
George having completed his education at Princeton,
where he was graduated with great honor to himself, returned
to Georgia, and commenced the study of the law.
After studying a year, he was admitted to the bar, just
after he had completed his one and twentieth year. I
have been told by gentlemen who belong to this profession,
that one year is too short a time for preparation
for the intricacies of legal lore; and it may be so, but I
never knew a young man acquit himself more creditably
than George did, in his maiden speech.
He located himself in the city of —, seventy
miles from his father's residence; and after the lapse of
three years, he counted up eight hundred dollars, as the
net profits of his last year's practice. Reasonably calculating,
that his receipts would annually increase for
several years to come, having no expenses to encounter,
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except for his board and clothing, (for his father had furnished
him with a complete library,) he now thought of
taking to himself a helpmate. Hitherto he had led a
very retired, studious life; but now he began to court
the society of ladies.
About this time, Miss Evelina Caroline Smith returned
to the city, from Philadelphia, where, after an absence
of three years, she had completed her education. She
was the only child of a wealthy, unlettered merchant,
who, rather by good luck than good management, had
amassed a fortune of about fifty thousand dollars—Mr.
Smith, was one of those men, who conceived that all
earthly greatness, and consequently, all earthly bliss,
concentred in wealth. The consequence was inevitable.
To the poor, he was haughty, supercilious and arrogant,
and not unfrequently, wantonly insolent; to the
rich he was friendly, kind, or obsequious, as their purses
equalled or overmeasured his own. His wife was even
below himself in moral stature: proud, loquacious,
silly. Evelina was endowed by nature with a good
mind, and, what her parents esteemed of infinitely more
value, she was beautiful from her infancy to the time
when I idtroduced her to the reader; which was just
after she had completed her seventeenth year. Evelina's
time, between her six and fourteenth year, had been
chiefly employed, in learning from her father and mother
what a perfect beauty she was, and what kind of gewgaws
exhibited her beauty to the greatest advantage—
how rich she would be; and “what havoc she
would make of young men's hearts, by-and-by.” In
these instructive lectures, her parents sometimes found
gratuitous help, from silly male and female visiters, who,
purely to win favor from the parents, would expatiate on
the perfections of “the lovely,” “charming,” “beautiful
little creature,” in her presence. The consequence was,
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that pride and vanity became, at an early age, the leading
traits of the child's character; and admiration and
flattery, the only food which she could relish. Her
parents subjected themselves to the loss of her society
for three years, while she was at school in Phialdelphia,
from no better motive, than to put her on an equality
with Mr. B's and Mr. C's daughters—or rather, to imitate
the examples of Messrs. B. & C., merchants of the
same city, who were very rich.
While she was in Philadelphia, Evelina was well instructed.
She was taught, in what female loveliness
truly consists—the qualities which deservedly command
the respect of the wise and good; and the deportment
which ensures to a female, the admiration of all. But
Evelina's mind had received a bias, from which these
lessons could not relieve it; and the only effect of them
upon her, was to make her an accomplished hypocrite,
with all her other foibles. She improved her instructions,
only to the gratification of her ruling passion. In
music she made some proficiency, because she saw in it,
a ready mean of gaining admiration.
George Baldwin had formed a partial acquaintance
with Mr. Smith, before the return of his daughter; but
he rather shunned, than courted a closer intimacy.
Smith, however, had entrusted George with some professional
business, found him trust-worthy, and thought
he saw in him, a man, who at no very distant day, was
to become distinguished, for both wealth and talents; and
upon a very short acquaintance, he took occasion to tell
him, “that whoever married his daughter, should receive
the next day, a check for twenty thousand dollars.”
“That 'll do,” continued he, “to start upon; and when
I and the old woman drop off, she will get thirty more.”
This had an effect upon George directly opposite to that
which it was designed to have.
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Miss Smith had been at home about three weeks, and
the whole town had sounded the praises of her beauty
and accomplishments; but George had not seen her;
though Mr. Smith had in the mean time given him several
notes to collect, with each of which, he “wondered
how it happened that two so much alike as himself and
George, had never been more intimate; and hoped he
would come over in a sociable way and see him often.”
About this time, however, George received a special invitation
to a large tea-party, from Mr. and Mrs. Smith,
which he could not with propriety reject, and accordingly
he went. He was received at the door by Mr. Smith,
announced upon entering the drawing-room, and conducted
through a crowd of gentlemen to Miss Smith, to
whom he was introduced with peculiar emphasis. He
made his obeisance, and retired; for common politeness
required him to bestow his attentions upon some of the
many ladies in the room, who were neglected by the
gentlemen, in their rivalship for a smile, or word from
Miss Evelina. She was the admiration of all the gentlemen,
and with the exception of two or three young
ladies, who “thought her too affected,” she was praised
by all the ladies. In short, by nearly universal testimony,
she was pronounced “a charming creature.”
An hour had elapsed before George found an opportunity
of giving her those attentions, which, as a guest
of the family, courtesy required from him. The opportunity
was at length, however, furnished by herself. In
circling round the room to entertain the company, she
reached George, just as the seat next to him had been
vacated. This she occupied, and a conversation ensued,
with every word of which she gained upon his respect
and esteem. Instead of finding her that gay, volatile,
vain creature, whom he expected to find in the rich and
beautiful daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Smith; he found her,
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a modest, sensible, unassuming girl, whose views upon
all subjects, coincided precisely with his own.
“She yielded to the wishes of her parents, from a
sense of duty, in giving and attending parties; but she
always left them, under the conviction that the time
spent at them was worse than wasted. It was really a
luxury to her, to retire from the idle chit-chat of them,
and to spend a few minutes in conversation with a male
or female friend, who would consider it no disrespect to
the company, to talk rationally upon such occasions.
And yet, in conducting such conversations at such times,
it was so difficult to avoid the appearance of pedantry,
and to keep it from running into something too stiff or
too grave for a social circle, that she really was afraid
to court them.” As to books, “she read but very few
novels, though her ignorance of them often exposed her
to some mortification; but she felt that her ignorance
here, was a compliment to her taste and delicacy, which
made ample amends for the mortifications to which it
forced her occasionally to submit. With Hannah
Moore, Mrs. Chapone, Bennett and other writers of the
same class, she was very familiar;” (and she descanted
upon the peculiar merits of each,) “But, after all,
books were of small consequence to a lady, without those
domestic virtues which enable her to blend superior usefulness
with superior acquirements; and if learning, or
usefulness must be forsaken, it had better be the first.
Of music, she was extravagantly fond, and she presumed
she ever would be; but she confessed, she had no
taste for its modern refinements.”
Thus she went on with the turns of the conversation,
and as she caught George's views. It is true, she would
occasionally drop a remark which did not harmonize
exactly with these dulcet strains; and in her rambles
over the world of science, she would sometimes seem at
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fault, where George thought she ought to have been perfectly
at home; but he found a thousand charitable ways
of accounting for all this; not one of which led to the
idea, that she might have learned these diamond sentiments
by rote, from the lips of her preceptress. Consequently
they came with resistless force upon the citadel
of George's heart, and in less than half an hour, overpowered
it completely.
“Truly,” thought George, “she is a charming creature!
When was so much beauty ever blended with
such unassuming manners, and such intellectual endowments!
How wonderful, that the daughter of Mr. and
Mrs. Smith should possess such accomplishments! How
dull—with all her filial affection—how dull must be her
life, under the parental roof! Not a companion, not a
sympathetic feeling there! How sweet it would be to
return from the toils of the Courts, to a bosom friend, so
soft, so benevolent, so intelligent!”
Thus ran George's thoughts, as soon as Miss Smith
had left him, to go in quest of new conquests. The
effects of her short interview with him, soon became
visible to every eye. His conversation lost its spirit—
was interrupted by moody abstractions, and was sillier
than it had ever been. George had a fine person, and
for the first time in his life, he now set a value upon it.
To exhibit it to the greatest advantage, he walked the
room under various pretence; and when in his promenades
he caught the eye of Miss Smith resting upon
him, he assumed a more martial or theatric step, which
made him look ridiculous at the time, and feel so immediately
afterwards. In his listless journeyings, his attention
was arrested by a beautiful cottage scene, at the
foot of which glittered in golden letters,
“By Evelina Caroline Smith, of —, Georgia.”
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This led him to another, and another, from the same
pencil. Upon these he was gazing with a look and attitude
the most complimentary to Miss Evelina that he
could possibly assume, while the following remarks were
going the rounds.
“Do you notice George Baldwin?”
“Oh yes! he's in for it—dead sir—good bye to bailwrits
and sassiperaris!”
“Oh she's only put an attachment on him.”
“Really, Miss Smith, it was too bad, to serve George
Baldwin so cruelly!”
“Ah, sir, if reports are true, Mr. Baldwin is too fond
of his books to think of any lady; much less of one,
so unworthy of his attentions as I am.”
George heard this—nestled a little—threw back his
shoulders—placed his arms a kimbo, and looked at the
picture with wonderful independence.
Then Miss Evelina was handed to the piano, and to a
simple, beautiful air, she sang a well-written song, the
burden of which was, an apology for love at first sight.
This was wanton cruelty to an unresisting captive. To
do her justice, however, her performance had not been
equalled during the evening.
The company at length began to retire; and so long
as a number remained sufficient to give him an apology
for staying, George delayed his departure. The last
group of ladies and gentlemen finally rose, and George
commenced a fruitless search for his hat—fruitless, because
he looked for it where he knew it was not to be
found. But a servant was more successful, and brought
it to him, just as he was giving up the search as hopeless,
and commencing a conversation with Miss Smith,
for the night.
“Why where did you find it?” said George, with
seeming surprise and pleasure at the discovery.
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“Out da, in de entry, sir, whay all de gentleman put
da hats.”
“Oh, I ought to have known that.”—
“Good-bye, Miss Evelina!” said George, throwing a
melting eloquence into the first word, and reaching forth
his hand.
“Good evening, Mr. Baldwin!” returned she, “I
hope you will not be quite so great a stranger here as
you have been. Pa has often wondered that you never
visit him.”—Here she relinquished his hand with a gentle,
but sensible pressure, which might mean two or three
things. Whatever was its meaning, it ran like nitrous
oxide through every fibre of George's composition,
and robbed him for a moment of his last ray of intellect.
“Believe me, Miss Smith,” said he, as if he were opening
a murder case, “believe me—there are fascinations
about this hospitable dome—in the delicate touches of
the pencil which adorn it, and in the soft breathings of
the piano, awaked by the hand which I have just relinquished,
which will not permit me to delay, as heretofore,
those visits which professional duty requires me to
make to your kind parent, (your father,) a single moment
beyond the time that his claims to my respects become
absolute—Good evening, Miss Smith.”
“Did ever mortal of common sense, talk and act so
much like an arrant fool as I have this evening!” said
George, as the veil of night fell upon the visions which
had danced before his eyes, for the four preceding
hours.
Though it was nearly twelve o'clock at night when
he reached his office, he could not sleep until he laid the
adventures of the evening before his father and mother.
The return mail brought him a letter from his parents,
written by his mother's hand, which we regret we
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cannot give a place in this narrative. Suffice it to say, it
was kind and affectionate, but entirely too cold for the
temperature of George's feelings. It admitted the intrinsic
excellence of Miss Smith's views and sentiments,
but expressed serious apprehensions that her habits of
life would prove an insuperable barrier to her ever putting
them in full practice. “We all admit, my dear
George,” said the amiable writer, “the value of industry,
economy—in short, of all the domestic and social
virtues; but how small the number who practice them!
Golden sentiments are to be picked up any where. In
this age they are upon the lips of every body; but we
do not find that they exert as great an influence upon
the morals of society, as they did in the infancy of our
Republic, when they were less talked of. For ourselves,
we confess we prize the gentleman or lady who habitually
practices one christian virtue, much higher, than we
do the one who barely lectures eloquently, upon them
all. But we are not so weak or so uncharitable as to
suppose, that none who discourse fluently upon them,
can possess them.”
“The whole moral which we would deduce from the
foregoing remarks, is, one which your own observation
must have taught you a thousand times; that but little
confidence is to be reposed in fine sentiments, which do
not come recommended by the life and conduct of the
person who retails them. And yet, familiar as you are
with this truth, you certainly have more command over
your judgment, than have most young men of your age,
if you do not entirely forget it, the moment you hear
such sentiments from the lips of “a lady possessing
strong personal attractions.' There is a charm in
beauty, which even philosophy is constrained to
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acknowledge; and which youth instinctively transfers to all the
moral qualities of its possessor.”
“When you come to know the elements of which
connubial happiness is composed, you will be astonished
to find, that with few exceptions, they are things which
you now consider the veriest trifles imaginable. It is a
happy ordination of Providence, that it should be so;
for this brings matrimonial bliss within the reach of all
classes of persons.”
“Harmony of thought and feeling upon
the little daily occurrences of life, congeniality of views
and sentiments, between yourselves and your connexions
on either side, similarity of habits and pursuits among
your immediate relatives and friends, if not essential to
nuptial bliss, are certainly its chief ingredients.”
“Having pointed you
to the sources of conjugal felicity, your own judgment
will spare my trembling hand the painful duty of pointing
you to those fountains of bitterness and wo—but I
forget that I am representing your father as well as
myself.”—
George read the long letter, from which the foregoing
extracts are taken, with deep interest, and with some
alarm; but he was not in a situation to profit by his
parents' counsels. He had visited Miss Smith repeatedly
in the time he was waiting to hear from his parents;
and though he had discovered many little foibles in her
character, he found a ready apology, or an easy remedy
for them all.
The lapse of a few months found them engaged; and
George, the happiest mortal upon earth.
“And now, my dear Evelina,” said he, as soon as
they had interchanged their vows, “I go to render myself
worthy of the honor you have conferred upon me.
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My studies, which love, doubt and anxiety have too long
interrupted, shall now be renewed with redoubled intensity.
My Evelina's interest being associated with all
my labors, will turn them to pleasures; my honor,
being hers, I shall court it with untiring zeal. She will
therefore, excuse me, if my visits are not repeated in
future, quite as often as they have been heretofore.”
“What a'ready, Mr. Baldwin!” exclaimed she, weeping
most beautifully.
“Why no, not for the world, if my dear Evelina
says not! But I thought that—I flattered myself—I
hoped—my Evelina would find a sufficient apology in
the motive.”
The little mistake was rectified in the course of an
hour, and they parted more in raptures with each other
than they had ever been.
George continued his visits as before, and in the mean
time his business began to suffer from neglect, of which
his clients occasionally reminded him, with all the frankness
which one exhibits at seeing a love affair carried on
with too much zeal, and at his expense. In truth
George's heart had more than once entertained a wish,
(for his lips dare not utter it,) that his charming Evelina's
affection could come down to a hundred of Wedgewood,
when the Circuit commenced, and gave him a temporary
respite.
The evening before he set out, he spent with his
“charming Evelina” of course, and the interview closed,
with a most melting scene; but I may not stop to describe
it. Candor constrains me to say, however, that
George got over it before he reached his office, which
he entered, actually whistling a merry tune.
He was at the second Court of the circuit, and had
been from home nearly a fortnight, when one of his
friends addressed him, with—“I'll tell you what it is,
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Baldwin, you'd better go home, or Dr. Bibb will cut
you out. There have been two or three parties in
town, since you come away, at all of which Miss Smith
and Bibb were as thick as two pick-pockets.—The
whole town's talking about them. I heard a young lady
say to her, she'd tell you how she was carrying on with
Bibb, and she declared upon her word and honor, (looking
killniferously at Bibb,) that she only knew you as
her father's collecting attorney.”
George reddened deeper and deeper at every word of
this; but passed it off with a hearty, hectic laugh.
It was on Thursday afternoon that he received this
intelligence, and it met him forty miles from home, and
twenty-five from the next Court in order. Two of his
cases were yet undisposed of. Of these he gave hasty
notes to one of his brethren, in order to guide him, if he
should be forced to trial, but instructing him to continue
them if he could. Having made these arrangements,
Friday afternoon, at five o'clock, found his jaded horse
at his office-door. George tarried here no longer than
was necessary to change his apparel, and then he hastened
to the habitation of his “charming Evelina.”
He was received at the door by a servant, who escorted
him to the drawing-room, and who, to heighten Evelina's
joy by surprise, instructed her maid to tell her,
that there was a gentleman in the drawing-room, who
wished to see her.
Minute after minute rolled away, and she did not
make her appearance. After he had been kept in suspense
for nearly a quarter of an hour, she entered the
room, dressed in bridal richness and taste.
“Why, is it you!” said she, rushing to him in transports:
“I thought it was Dr. Bibb.”
“And who is Dr. Bibb, Evelina?” said George.
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“He's a young physician, with whom I had a partial
acquaintance in Philadelphia, and who has just settled
himself in this place. I want you to get acquainted with
him, for he is one of the most interesting young gentlemen
I ever knew in my life.”
“No doubt I should be much pleased with him; but
do you think he would feel himself much honored or
improved by an acquaintance with `your father's collecting
attorney?”'
“Why!—Is it possible that Rebecca Freeman has
told you that! I never will speak to her again. I am
the most persecuted being upon earth. I can say nothing,
nor do nothing, no matter how innocent, which some
one does not make a handle of to injure me.”
Here Miss Evelina burst into tears, as usual; but there
being a little passion mingled with her tears, on this occasion,
her weeping was not quite as interesting as it had been
before. It subdued George, however, and paved the
way to a reconciliation. The obnoxious expression was
explained, rather awkwardly, indeed, but satisfactorily;
and Miss Freeman was acquitted of all blame.
Matters were just placed in this posture, when a servant
arrived to inform George “that something was the
matter with his horse, and Mr. Cox, (his landlord,)
thought he was going to die.”
George rose, and was hastening to the relief of his favorite
of all quadrupeds, when Miss Smith burst in a
very significant, but affected laugh.
“Why what is it amuses you so, Evelina?” inquired
George, with some surprise.
“Oh nothing,” said she; “I was only thinking how
quick Mr. Baldwin forgets me, when his horse demands
his attentions. I declare I'm right jealous of my rival.”
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“Go back, boy, and tell your master I can't come
just now; but I'll thank him to do what he can for the
poor animal.”
Mr. Cox, upon receiving this intelligence, and learning
the business which engrossed George's attention, left
the horse to take care of himself; and he died just before
George returned from Mr. Smith's.
These, and a thousand little annoyances, which we
may not enumerate, urged upon George the importance
of hastening the nuptials as speedily as possible.
Accordingly, by all the dangers, ills, alarms, and
anxieties, which attend the hours of engagement, he
pressed her to name the happy day within the coming
month, when their hearts and their destinies should be
inseparably united.
But “she could not think of getting married for two
years yet to come—then, one year at least. At all
events, she could not appoint a day until she consulted
her dear Morgiana Cornelia Marsh, of Canaan, Vermont.
Morgiana was her classmate, and at parting in Philadelphia,
they had interchanged pledges that which ever
got married first, should be waited upon by the other.”
In vain did George endeavor to persuade her that this
was a school-girl pledge, which Morgiana had already
forgotten, and which she never would fulfil. His arguments
only provoked a reproof of his unjust suspicions
of the “American fair.”
Finding his arguments here unavailing, he then entreated
his “charming Evelina” to write immediately to
Miss Marsh, to know when it would be agreeable to her
to fulfil her promise.
Weeks rolled away before Miss Smith could be prevailed
upon even to write the all-important letter. She
despatched it at last, however; and George began to
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entertain hopes, that a few months would make the dear
Evelina his own.
In the meantime his business fell in arrears, and his
clients complained loudly against him. He was incessantly
tortured with false rumors, of his cold and indifference
towards Miss Smith, and of the light and disrespectful
remarks which he had made upon her; but he
was much more tortured by her unabated thirst for balls
and parties of pleasure; her undiminished love of general
admiration, and the unconcealed encouragement
which she gave to the attentions of Dr. Bibb. The effect
which these things had upon his temper was visible
to all his friends. He became fretful, petulent, impatient
and melancholy. Dr. Bibb proved, in truth, to be a
most accomplished, intelligent gentleman; and was the
man who, above all others, George would have selected
for his friend and companion, had not the imprudences
of Evelina transformed him into a rival. As things
were, however, his accomplishments only embittered
George's feelings towards him, provoked from George,
cruel, misplaced and unnatural sarcasms, which the
world placed to the account of jealousy, and in which
George's conscience forced him to admit that the world
did him nothing more nor less than sheer justice.
At length Miss Morgiana's letter arrived. It opened
with expressions of deep contrition that the writer “should
have got married without giving her beloved Evelina
an opportunity of fulfilling her promise; but really, after
all, she was not to blame; for she did propose to write
to her beloved Evelina to come on to Canaan; but Papa
and Mr. Huntington, (her husband,) would not hear to
it—Indeed, they both got almost vexed, that she should
think of such a thing.”
“But as soon as my beloved
Evelina gets married, she must appoint a time at which
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we can meet at Philadelphia, with our husbands, and
compare notes.”
“I have a thousand secrets to tell you
about married life; but I must reserve them till we
meet. A thousand kisses to your dear George, for me;
and tell him if I were not a married woman I should
certainly fall in love with him, from your description of
him.”
“Well, I declare,” said Evelina, as she folded up the
letter, “I could not have believed that Morgiana would
have served me so. I would have died before I would
have treated her in the same way.”
The great obstacle being now removed, the wedding
night was fixed at the shortest time that it could be, to
allow the necessary preparations; which was just three
months ahead.
Before these three months rolled away, George became
convinced that he had staked his earthly happiness upon
the forlorn hope of reforming Miss Smith's errors, after
marriage; but his sense of honor was too refined, to
permit him to harbor a thought of breaking the engagement;
and, indeed, so completely had he became enamored
of her, that any perils seemed preferable to giving
her up forever.
He kept his parents faithfully advised of all the incidents
of his love and courtship, and every letter which
he forwarded, went like a serpent into the Eden of peace
over which they presided. Their letters to him never
came unembalmed in a mother's tears, and were never
read without the tender response which a mother's tears
ever draws, from the eyes of a truly affectionate son.
The night came, and George and Evelina were married.
A round of bridal parties succeeded, every one of
which served only to heighten George's alarms, and to
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depress his spirits. He could not discover that marriage
had abated, in the smallest degree, his wife's love of general
admiration and flattery. The delight which she
felt at the attentions of the young gentlemen, was visible
to more eyes than his; as was plainly evinced by the
throngs which attended her wheresoever she moved.
Occasionally their assiduities assumed a freedom, which
was well calculated to alarm and to inflame one whose
notions of married life, were much less refined than those
which George had ever entertained; but there was
an apology for them, which he knew he would be forced
to admit, flimsey as it was, in truth; namely, “they
were only those special attentions which were due to
the queen of a bridal party.” Another consideration
forced him to look in silence upon those liberties. His
wife had taken no offence at them. She either did not
repel them at all, or she repelled them in such a good
humored way, that she encouraged, rather than prevented,
the repetition of them. For him therefore to have
interposed, would have been considered an act of supererogation.
To the great delight of George, the parties ended;
and the young couple set out on a visit to Lagrange, the
residence of George's parents. On their way thither,
Evelina was secluded, of course, from the gaze of every
person but her husband; and her attachment now became
as much too ardent, as it had before been too cold.
If, at their stages, he left her for a moment, she was piqued
at his coldness, or distressed at his neglect. If he engaged
in a conversation with an acquaintance or a stranger,
he was sure to be interrupted by his wife's waitingmaid,
Flora, with “Miss 'V'lina say, please go da, sir;”
and when he went, he always found her in tears, or in a
pet, at having been neglected so long by him, “when he
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knew she had no friend or companion to entertain her,
but himself.”
George had been long acquainted with the ladies of
the houses at which they stopt. They all esteemed
him, and were all anxious to be made acquainted with
his wife; but she could not be drawn from her room,
from the time she entered a house, until she rose to leave
it. All her meals were taken in her room; and George
was rebuked by her, because he would not follow her
example. It was in vain that he reasoned with her upon
the impropriety of changing his deportment to his old
acquaintances immediately after his marriage. He stated
to her, that the change would be attributed to pride—
that he should lose a number of humble, but valuable
acquaintances, which, to a professional gentleman, is no
small loss. But “she could not understand that a gentleman
is at liberty to neglect his wife, for `humble, but
valuable acquaintances.”'
When they reached Lagrange, they received as warm
a welcome from George's parents, as parents, laboring
under their apprehensions, could give; but Mary and
Martha, having nothing to mar their pleasures, (for they
had not been permitted to know the qualifications which
George's last letters had annexed to his first,) received
her with all the delight which the best hearts could feel,
at welcoming to the family, in the character of a sister,
the beautiful, amiable, accomplished, intelligent, wealthy,
Miss Smith. In anticipation of her coming, the girls had
brushed up their history, philosophy, geography, astronomy
and botany, for her especial entertainment—or rather,
that they might appear a little at home when their new
sister should invite them to a ramble over the fields of
science. The labor answered not its purpose, however;
Evelina would neither invite, nor be invited to any such
rambles.
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The news of George's arrival at Lagrange with his
wife, brought many of his rustic acquaintances to visit
him. To many of them, George was as a son, or a
brother, for he had been acquainted with them, from his
earliest years, and he had a thousand times visited their
habitations, with the freedom with which he entered his
father's. They met him, therefore, with unrestrained
familiarity, and treated his wife as a part of himself.
George had endeavored to prepare her for the plain,
blunt, but honest familiarities, of his early friends. He
had assured her that however rude they might seem,
they were perfectly innocent; nay, they were tokens of
guileless friendship; for the natural disposition of plain,
unlettered farmers, was to keep aloof from “the quality,”
as they called the people of the town, and that by as
much as they overcame this disposition, by so much did
they mean to be understood as evincing favor; but Evelina
profited but little by his lessons.
The first visitor was old Mr. Dawson, who had
dandled George on his knee a thousand times, and who,
next to his father, was the sincerest male friend that
George had living.
“Well, Georgy,” said the old man, “and you've got
married?”
“Yes, uncle Sammy; and here's my wife—what do
you think of her?”
“Why she's a mighty pretty creater; but you'd better
took my Nance. She'd 'ave made you another sort
of wife, to this pretty little soft creater.”
“I don't know sir,” said Evelina, a little fiery, “how
you can tell what sort of a wife a person will make,
whom you never saw. And I presume Mr. Baldwin is
old enough to choose for himself.”
“Ah, well now I know he'd better 'ave took my
Nance,” said the old man, with a dry smile. “Georgy,
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my son, I'm afraid you've got yourself into bad business;
but I wish you much happiness, my boy. Come,
neighbor Baldwin, let's go take a look at your farm.”
“Oh no,” said old Mr. Baldwin, “we will not go till
I make my daughter better acquainted with you. She
is unused to our country manners, and therefore does not
understand them. Evelina, my dear, Mr. Dawson is
one of our best and kindest neighbors, and you and he
must not break upon your first acquaintance. He was
only joking George in what he said, and had no idea
that you would take it seriously.”
“Well, sir,” said Evelina, “if Mr. Dawson will say
that he did not intend to wound my feelings, I'm willing
to forgive him.”
“Oh, God love your pretty little soul of you,” said
the old man, “I did n't even know you had any feelings;
but as to the forgiving part, why, that's neither here,
nor there”—Here Evelina rose indignantly, and left
the room.
“Well Georgy, my son,” continued the old man,
“I'm sorry your wife's so touchy! but you must n't forget
old daddy Dawson. Come, my boy, to our house,
like you used to, when you and Sammy, and Nancy, used
to sit round the bowl of buttermilk under the big oak
that covered Mammy Dawson's dairy. I always think
of poor Sammy when I see you,” (brushing a tear from
his eye, with the back of his hand.) “I'm obliged to
love you, you young dog; and I want to love your wife
too, if she'd let me; but be that as it may, Sammy's
playmate won't forget daddy Dawson, will he, George.”
George could only say “Never!” with a filling eye;
and the old men set out for the fields.
Most of the neighbors who came to greet George
upon his return to Lagrange shared Mr. Dawson's fate.
One wanted to span Evelina's waist, for he declared “she
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was the littlest creater round the waist he ever seed.”
Another would “buss her, because she was George's
wife, and because it was the first chance he ever had in
all his life to buss `the quality.”' A third proposed a
swap of wives with George; and all made some remark
too blunt for Evelina's refined ear. Having no tact for
turning off these things playfully, and as little disposition
to do so, she repelled them with a town dignity,
which soon relieved her of these intrusions; and in less
than a week, stopt the visits of George's first and warmest
friends, to his father's house.
Her habits, views, and feelings, agreeing in nothing
with the family in which she was placed, Evelina was
unhappy herself, and made all around her unhappy.
Her irregular hours of retiring and rising, her dilatoriness
in attending her meals, her continued complaints of
indisposition, deranged all the regulations of the family,
and begat such confusion in the household, that even the
elder Mrs. Baldwin occasionally lost her equanimity;
so that when Evelina announced a week before the appointed
time that she must return home, the intelligence
was received with pleasure, rather than pain.
Upon their return home, George and his lady found
a commodious dwelling, handsomely furnished for their
reception. Mr. Smith presented him this in lieu of the
check of which he had spoken, before the marriage of
his daughter; and though the gift did not redeem the
promise by $14,000, George was perfectly satisfied.
Mrs. Smith added to the donation, her own cook and
carriage-driver. Flora, the maid, had been considered
Evelina's from her infancy. Nothing could have been
more agreeable to George, than the news that greeted
him on his arrival, that he was at liberty to name the
day when he would conduct Evelina to his own house;
for his last hope of happiness hung upon this last change
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of life. He allowed himself but two days after his return,
to lay in his store of provisions; and on the third,
at four in the afternoon, he led his wife to their mutual
home.
“To this moment, my dear Evelina,” said George, as
they seated themselves in their own habitation, “to this
moment have I looked forward for many months with
the liveliest interest. I have often figured to myself the
happy hours that we should enjoy under the common
roof, and I hope the hour has arrived, when we will unite
our endeavors to realize my fond anticipations. Let us
then, upon the commencement of a new life, interchange
our pledges, that we will each exert ourselves to promote
the happiness of the other. In many respects, it
must be acknowledged that our views and dispositions
are different; but they will soon be assimilated by identity
of interest, community of toil, and a frank and affectionate
interchange of opinions, if we will but consent
to submit to some little sacrifices in the beginning,
to attain this object. Now tell me, candidly and fear-lessly,
my Evelina, what would you have me be, and
what would you have me do, to answer your largest
wishes from your husband?”
“I would have you,” said Evelina, “think more of
me than all the world beside—I would have you the
first lawyer in the State—I would have you overcome
your dislike to such innocent amusements as tea-parties
and balls—and I would have you take me to the Springs,
or to New-York, or Philadelphia, every summer.—Now
what would you have me do?”
“I would have you rise when I do—Regulate your
servants with system—See that they perform their duties
in the proper way, and the proper time—Let all provisions
go through your hands, and devote your spare time
to reading valuable works, painting, music, or any other
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improving employment, or innocent recreation. Be
thus, and I `will think more of you than all the world
beside;' `I will be the first lawyer in the State,' and
after a few years you shall visit the North, or the
Springs every summer, if you desire it.”
“Lord, if I do all these things you mention, I shall
have no time for reading, music or painting.”
“Yes you will. My mother”—
“Oh, for the Lord's sake, Mr. Baldwin, hush talking
about your mother. I'm sick and tired of hearing you
talk of “my mother” this, and “my mother” that—
And when I went to your house, I did'nt see that she
got along a bit better than my mother—except in her
cooking: and that was only because your mother cooked
the meats, and your sisters made the pastry. I don't
see the use of having servants, if one must do every
thing herself.”
“My sisters make the pastry, to be sure; because
mother desires that they should learn how to do these
things, that they may better superinted the doing of
them, when they get married; and because she thinks
such things should not pass through the hands of servants,
when it can be avoided; but my mother never
cooks.”
“She does, for I saw her lifting off a pot myself.”
“She does not”—
Here the entry of the cook stopt a controversy that
was becoming rather warm for the first evening at home.
“I want the keys Miss 'V'lina, to get out supper,”
said the cook.
“There they are, aunt[5] Clary,” said Evelina; “try
and have every thing very nice.”
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“My dear, I would n't send her to the provisions unattended:
every thing depends upon your commencing
right”—
“Hush!” said Evelina, with some agitation, “I
would n't have her hear you for the world. She'd be
very angry if she thought we suspected her honesty.
Ma always gave her up the keys, and she says she never
detected her in a theft in all her life.”
“Very well,” said George, “we'll see.”
After long waiting, the first supper made its appearance.
It consisted of smoked tea, half-baked biscuit,
butter, and sliced venison.
“Why,” said Evelina, as she sipped her first cup of
tea, “this tea seems to me to be smoked. Here, Flora,
throw it out and make some more. Oh me! the biscuit
an't done. Aunt Clary's made quite an unfortunate
beginning. But I did 'nt want any supper—do you?”
“I can do without it,” said George, coldly, “if you
can.”
“Well, let's not eat any, and that will be the very way
to mortify aunt Clary, without making her mad. Tomorrow
I'll laugh at her for cheating us out of our
supper; and she wont do so any more. The old creature
has very tender feelings.”
“I'll starve for a week to save Clary's feelings,” said
George, “if you will only quit aunting her. How can
you expect her to treat you or your orders, with respect,
when you treat her as your superior?”
“Well, really, I can't see any great harm in treating
aged people with respect, even if their skins are black.”
“I wish you had thought of that when you were
talking to old Mr. Dawson. I should think he was
entitled to as much respect, as an infernal black
wench!”
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This was the harshest expression that had ever
escaped George's lips. Evelina could not stand it.
She left the room, threw herself on a bed, and burst
into tears.
In the course of the night the matter was adjusted.
The next morning George rose with the Sun, and he
tried to prevail upon his wife to do the same; but “she
could not see what was the use of her getting up so soon,
just to set about doing nothing: and to silence all further
importunities then and after, upon that score, she told
him flatly she never would consent to rise at that
hour.”
At half after eight, she made her appearance; and
breakfast came in. It consisted of muddy Coffee, hardboiled
eggs, and hard-burnt biscuit.
“Why, what has got into aunt Clary,” said Evelina
“that she cooks so badly!”
“Why, we mortified her so much, my dear, by eating
no supper;” said George, “and we have driven her
to the opposite extreme. Let us now throw the breakfast
upon her hands, except the coffee, and perhaps she'll
be mortified back to a medium.”
“That's very witty, indeed,” said Evelina; “You
must have learnt it from the amiable and accomplished
Miss Nancy Dawson.”
This was an allusion which George could not withstand;
and he reddened to scarlet.
“Evelina,” said he, “you are certainly the strangest
being that I ever met with; you are more respectful to
negroes than whites, and to every body else than your
husband.”
“Because,” returned she, “negroes treat me with
more respect than some whites; and every body else,
with more respect than my husband.”
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George was reluctant to commence tightening the
reins of discipline with his servants, for the first few
weeks of his mastership: and, therefore, he bore in
silence, but in anger, their idleness, their insolence, and
their disgusting familiarities with his wife. He often
visited the kitchen, unobserved, of nights; and almost
always found it thronged with gay company, revelling
in all the dainties of his closet, smoke-house, sideboard,
and pantry. He communicated his discoveries to his
wife, but she found no difficulty in accounting satisfactorily
for all that he had seen. “Clary's husband had
always supplied her with every thing she wanted. Flora
had a hundred ways of getting money; and Billy, (the
carriage-driver,) was always receiving little presents
from her, and others.”
At the end of three weeks aunt Clary announced that
the barrel of flour was out.
“Now,” said George, “I hope you are satisfied that
it is upon your flour, and not upon her husband's, that
Aunt Clary gives her entertainments.”
“Why, law me!” said Evelina; “I think it has lasted
wonderfully. You recollect Ma and Pa have been
here most every day.”
“Had they boarded with us,” said George, “we
could not have consumed a barrel of flour in three
weeks.”
In quick succession came the news that the tea, coffee,
and sugar were out; all of which Evelina thought
“had lasted wonderfully.”
It would be useless to recount the daily differences of
George and his wife. In nothing could they agree;
and the consequence was, that at the end of six weeks,
they had come to downright quarrelling; through all
which Evelina sought, and received the sympathy of
Miss Flora and aunt Clary.
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About this time the Superior Court commenced its
session in the city; and a hundred like favors, received
from the judge and the bar, imposed upon George the
absolute necessity of giving a dinner to his brethren.
He used every precaution to pass it off well. He gave
his wife four days notice; he provided every thing himself,
of the best that the town would afford; he became
all courtesy and affection to his wife, and all respect
and cheerfulness to aunt Clary, in the interim. He promised
all the servants a handsome present each, if they
would acquit themselves well upon this occasion, and
charged them all, over and over, to remember, that
the time between two, and half-past three, was all
that the bar could allow to his entertainment; and
consequently, dinner must be upon the table precisely
at two.
The day came, and the company assembled. Evelina,
attired like a queen, received them in the drawingroom;
and all were delighted with her. All were
cheerful, talkative and happy. Two o'clock came, and
no dinner—A quarter after—and no dinner. The conversation
began to flag a little. Half past two rolled
round—and no dinner—Conversation sunk to temperate,
and George rose to intemperate. Three quarters past
two came—but no dinner—Conversation sunk to freezing,
and George rose to fever heat.
At this interesting moment, while he was sauntering
every way, George sauntered near his wife, who was
deeply engaged in a conversation with his brother Paine,
a grave, intelligent young man, and he detected her in
the act of repeating, verbatim et literatim, the pretty
sentences which first subdued his heart.
“Good Lord!” muttered George to himself; “Jenkinson,
in the Vicar of Wakefield, with his one sentence
of learning, revived!”
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He rushed out of the room, in order to enquire what
delayed dinner; and on leaving the dining-room, was
met at the door by Flora, with two pale-blue, dry, boiled
fowls; boiled almost to dismemberment, upon a dish
large enough to contain a goodly sized shote; their legs
sticking straight out, with a most undignified straddle,
and bowing with a bewitching grace and elasticity to
George, with every step that Flora made.
Behind her followed Billy, with a prodidgious roast
turkey, upon a dish that was almost concealed by its
contents, his legs extended like the fowls, the back and
sides burnt to a crisp, and the breast raw. The old gentleman
was handsomely adorned with a large black
twine necklace; and through a spacious window, that
by chance or design the cook had left open, the light
poured into his vacant cavity, gloriously.
George stood petrified at the sight; nor did he wake
from his stupor of amazement until he was roused by a
burnt round of beef, and a raw leg of mutton, making
by him for the same port in which the fowls and turkey
had been moored.
He rushed into the kitchen in a fury. “You infernal
heifer!” said he to aunt Clary; “what kind of cooking
is this you're setting before my company?”
“Eh—Eh! Name o' God, Mas. George; how
any body gwine cook ting good when you hurry 'em
so?”
George looked for something to throw at her head;
but fortunately found nothing.
He returned to the house, and found his wife entertaining
the company with a never ending Sonata, on the
piano.
Dinner was at length announced, and an awful sight
it was when full spread. George made as good apologies
as he could; but his wife was not in the least
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disconcerted—Indeed, she seemed to assume an air of selfcomplaisance,
at the profusion and richness which crowned
her board.
The gentlemen ate but little, owing, as they said, to
their having all eaten a very hearty breakfast that
morning. George followed his guests to the Court
House, craved a continuance of his cases for the evening,
on the ground of indisposition; and it was granted,
with an unaccountable display of sympathy. He returned
home, and embarked in a quarrel with his wife,
which lasted until Evelina's exhausted nature sunk to
sleep under it, at three the next morning.
George's whole character now became completely
revolutionized. Universal gloom overspread his countenance—
He lost his spirits, his energy, his life, his temper,
his everything ennobling; and he had just began
to surrender himself to the bottle, when an accident occurred
which revived his hopes of happiness with his
wife, and determined him to make one more effort to
bring her into his views.
Mr. Smith, by an unfortunate investment in cotton,
failed; and after a bungling attempt to secrete a few
thousand dollars from his creditors, (for he knew George
too well to claim his assistance in such a matter,) he
was left without a dollar that he could call his own.
Evelina and her parents all seemed as if they would go
crazy under the misfortune; and George now assumed
the most affectionate deportment to his wife, and the
most soothing demeanor to her parents. The parents
were completely won to him; and his wife, for once,
seemed to feel towards him as she should. George
availed himself of this moment to make another, and
the last attempt, to reform her habits and sentiments.
“My dear Evelina,” said he, “we have nothing now
to look to, but our own exertions, for a support. This,
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and indeed affluence, lies within our reach, if we will
but seek them in a proper way. You have only to use
industry and care within doors, and I without, to place
us in a very few years, above the frowns of fortune.
We have only to consult each other's happiness, to
make each other happy. Come then, my love, forgeting
our disgraceful bickerings, let us now commence a
new life. Believe me, there is no being on this earth,
that my heart can love as it can you, if you will but
claim its affections; and you know how to command
them.” Thus, at much greater length, and with much
more tenderness, did George address her. His appeal
had, for a season, its desired effect. Evelina rose with
him, retired with him, read with him. She took charge
of the keys, dealt out the stores with her own hand,
visited the kitchen—in short, she became every thing
George could wish or expect from one of her inexperience.
Things immediately wore a new aspect.
George became himself again. He recommenced
his studies with redoubled assiduity. The
community saw and delighted in the change, and the
bar began to tremble at his giant strides in his profession.—
But alas! his bliss was doomed to a short duration.
Though Evelina saw, and felt, and acknowledged
the advantages and blessings of her new course
of conduct, she had to preserve it by a struggle against
nature; and at the end of three months, nature triumphed
over resolution, and she relapsed into her old habits.—
George now surrendered himself to drink, and to despair,
and died the drunkard's death. At another time,
I may perhaps give the melancholy account of his ruin
in detail; tracing its consequences down to the moment
at which I am now writing. Should this time never
arrive, let the fate of my poor lost nephew, be a
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warning to mothers, against bringing up their daughters to be
“Charming Creatures.”
BALDWIN.
eaf262.n5[5] Aunt” and “mauma,” or “maum,” its abreviation, are terms of
respect, commonly used by children, to aged negroes. The first generally
prevails in the up country, and the second on the sea-board.
Longstreet, Augustus Baldwin, 1790-1870 [1835], Georgia scenes, characters, incidents, &c., in the first half century of the republic (printed at the S. R. Sentinel Office, Augusta) [word count] [eaf262].
