p649-036 II. My Uncle Solomon.

“Statio in Dignilatibus, res lubrica est.”

[figure description] Page 033.[end figure description]

MR. SOLOMON FUDGE is not a man to be
sneered at. His friends all know it; and he
knows it better than his friends. I have referred
to him already. At present, I mean to draw his
portrait. He will be flattered, doubtless; this is
natural in nephews and in artists.

He will feel flattered also; yet I have no doubt
that he will meet me in a very indignant manner,
and say to me, with a great show of dignity—perhaps
adjusting his shirt-collar meantime—“Tony,
you should have known better than this; you should
have considered, sir, our family position. Mrs.
Fudge, sir, your aunt (before referred to as a stout
woman), is a lady of delicacy; great delicacy, I may
say.”

[figure description] Page 034.[end figure description]

I expect this, and am prepared for it. I shall
reply:

“Uncle Solomon, you know you are glad to be
noticed: you know that you possess a cheerful fondness
for distinction. You are not to be blamed. No
man is: you are worthy of it.”

Whereupon my uncle Solomon will take off his
gold spectacles, pass them from one hand to the
other, in an eccentric yet methodical manner, which
is a way he has of collecting his thoughts.

“Tony,” he will continue, “I beg you will be discreet.
Ridicule, sir, I shall not bear, even from a
Fudge.”

To which I shall reply, in a kind way:

“Uncle Solomon—Fudge!”

I now proceed with my portrait.

Mr. Solomon Fudge is a stout man, with white
hair. He usually wears a white cravat; a clean
one every morning, as he has himself told me, and
an extra one when he invites a friend to dine with
him. He is a merchant, and lives in the Avenue;
he has also a country-seat at Astoria. If he were
to die—I hope he will not—he would be mentioned
by the Wall street journals (for the first time) as an
eminent merchant; liberal, distinguished, and leaving
a large family, inconsolable.

He began life as errand-boy in a large jobbing

[figure description] Page 035.[end figure description]

establishment: he swept out the store at sunrise;
he has often told me of it; not very often, however,
of late years. I am of the opinion that it is only
latterly that he has begun to form proper notions
about family dignity.

At the time of his being alderman for the first
time, he seemed proud of his rise in the world. He
is now above being alderman. He looks upon
aldermen generally as moderate men. He has once
been mayor; he now regards even mayors as mere
city contingencies. Still, however, he often refers
to the year when he was in authority; a remarkable
year he thinks it was, for clean streets and good
order. Most retired mayors, I observe, hold the same
opinion in regard to the period of their mayorship.

Mr. Solomon Fudge, is a bank-officer in Wall-street.
You may see him on discount-days, luxuriating
in a stuffed chair and easy posture. One arm
will very likely be stretched out upon the table; the
other will fall carelessly upon the elbow of his chair.
He appears to enjoy the sunshine. His gold-bowed
spectacles will be raised upon the upper part of his
forehead, and rest with great apparent security over
that portion of the brain where phrenologists usually
locate the bump of benevolence. As I remarked,
the bump does not interfere with my uncle's
spectacles.

[figure description] Page 036.[end figure description]

His words are slow and measured, as becomes a
man of his grave aspect and undoubted family. He
is cautious in his expression of opinion; and only
ventures upon decided approval of “accommodation
paper” when he is very sure of his man, or when
the applicant's wife has been in a position to show
favors to Mr. Solomon Fudge's wife. Uneasy and
anxious-looking men, full of business, and in need
of loans, he regards with a very proper degree of
distaste.

Few visitors can call my Uncle Solomon from his
chair, or—what is a still stronger mark of deference—
occasion the withdrawal of the gold-bowed spectacles
from the secure position already hinted at.
If I were to except any, it would be a certain dashing
broker, of whom Mr. Fudge has a trifling fear,
or some grey-headed curmudgeon who is a federal
officer, or some visiting English merchant; or, yet
again, some old lawyer of reputation.

The newspapers he reads with a kindly and
patronizing interest, having little respect, however,
for anything smaller than the huge folios of Wall
street. All young men and new men in the province
of journalism, are very properly treated with contempt.
He makes an exception in favor of one of the
small morning newspapers, which is distinguished for
its advocacy of the tariff. He hopes it may “

[figure description] Page 037.[end figure description]

eventuate” (that is his style of language) in something
practical. The truth is, my uncle Solomon has no
inconsiderable interest in a manufacturing establishment
in the country, which is just now running at
half-time, and with very small show of profits. If
he could sell at a fair figure, I think he would subscribe,
without solicitude, to the tenets of the Journal
of Commerce.

He is usually a cautious man, and rarely makes a
false step. Just now, indeed, he is feeling a little
sore in respect of a large purchase of the Dauphin
stock. The affair, however, came so well recommended,
with such distinguished patronage, and the
sample-coal burned with such a cheerful flame, that
he thought it little worth his while to examine into
the nature of the veins, or the probability of very
frequent and surprising “faults.” The consequence
is, he is down for some fifteen thousand present
valuation, which I greatly fear may stand him in
some two-score.

My uncle Solomon is a vestry-man; and though
not a church member, he has a most respectable
opinion of the whole scheme of religion: he believes
it ought to be supported; he means to do it. He
pays a high price for his pew; he invites the clergyman
to dine with him; he foregoes his extra bottle
of wine on such days; he feels a better man for it;

[figure description] Page 038.[end figure description]

he humors his wife in a fat subscription to the indigent
orphan asylum; he subscribes for the Churchman;
he sometimes reads it. He is the proprietor
of one of the most magnificent Bibles upon the
Avenue, to say nothing of a set of prayer-books,
with solid gold clasps, guaranteed as such by Mr.
Appleton the senior, and corroborated by actual
inspection of Ball, Tompkins, and Black.

His charities, notwithstanding what I have hinted
about the spectacles and the organ of benevolence,
are upon that large scale which is such a favorite
with the established gentlemen of the town. By
established gentlemen, I refer to such as have a
great reputation for respectability, wealth, white
cravats, dignity, composure, and good taste in wives
and wines. By the large scale of charities, I refer
to those mission societies which publish yearly lists
of distinguished donors to public dinners, aid to
political enterprises, Union committees, and purchase
of ten per cent. bonds of western railways
(secured by mortgage on timber lands), which are
represented to be in a needy condition, and worthy
objects of eastern charity.

Indigent men about town—I do not here refer to
myself—and poor cousins, do not stir to any considerable
degree Mr. Solomon Fudge's benevolence.
He has good reason to show why. He thinks every

[figure description] Page 039.[end figure description]

man should take care of himself. What is true of
men is true of women. He thinks there is great
reason to apprehend imposture. He has known
repeated instances of the grossest imposture. He
fears that the poor do not go to church. He thinks
men should be cautious. He is cautious—saving
the Dauphin speculation.

Upon the whole, Mr. Solomon Fudge is what
people call an estimable man. Jemima and Bridget
both regard him with considerable awe. Street-folk
generally look up to him. There is not a man in
the whole city—and on this point I challenge investigation—
who is treated with more deference by his
coachman and his grocer.

I have myself considerable esteem for my uncle.
He is a portly man, calculated to impress. He
does not dress shabbily, saving rather too much
dandruff on his coat-collar. I have recommended a
wash: he slighted it. His wines are good, with the
exception of the last lot, purchased “at a bargain”
from the Messrs. Leeds. He has a few boxes left
of some mild old Havanas, the gift of a tenant, who
begged a month's deferment of quarter-day, and ran
off in the interval. Mr. Solomon Fudge has a small
opinion of the cigars: I insist that they are good.

Mrs. Fudge, the wife of my uncle Solomon, and
naturally my aunt—by marriage—I entertain a

[figure description] Page 040.[end figure description]

cheerful regard for. I am of opinion that she entertains
much the same feeling for me. Neither her
person nor character can be digested hastily. She
will fill a chapter.

p649-044 III. Description of Mrs. Solomon Fudge.

—“tam suavia dicam facinora, ut male
Sit ei qui talibus non delectetur.”
Scip. from Mr. Burton.

[figure description] Page 041.[end figure description]

MRS. FUDGE is of the family of Bodgers, of
Newtown. It is by no means a low family.
Her father was Squire Bodgers, a deserving, stout
man, rather bluff in his habit of speech, but “fore-handed,”
and quite a column in the Baptist Church
of Newtown. Indeed, the only serious quarrel which
ever occurred between my Aunt Phœbe and the
Squire, was in relation to church-matters. Mrs.
Fudge, after ten years' residence in town, ventured
to change her faith—simultaneously with her change
of residence from Wooster street to the Avenue.
From having been an exemplary Baptist, she

[figure description] Page 042.[end figure description]

became, on a sudden, an unexceptional high-church
listener, with prayer-books and velvets to match.

Mr. Bodgers, of Newtown, was indignant, and
came to the city on a visit of expostulation. My
Aunt Phœbe tried reasoning, but the Squire was
too strong for her. She next tried tears, but tears
were unavailing. She urged the wishes and the
position of her husband, Mr. Fudge; to all which
I have no doubt that Mr. Bodgers replied, in his
bluff way, “Fudge be d—d!” I do not, however,
affirm it.

The result may be easily anticipated. Mrs. Fudge
continued firm in her new connection; reading the
service at first with a good deal of snappish zeal,
and at length subsiding into an eligible pew and
place, where her furs would meet with observation,
and her complexion catch a becoming light from the
transept window. Mr. Bodgers threatened to cut
her off from all share in his country estate; and, to
give color to the threat, brought about a reconciliation
with his second daughter, Kitty, who had married,
eight years before, very much against his
wishes, a poor country clergyman.

How and where the courtship first came about
which ultimately metamorphosed the plump and
comely Phœbe Bodgers into the exemplary Mrs.
Solomon Fudge, it seems hardly worth while to

[figure description] Page 043.[end figure description]

narrate. It is sufficient to say, that the wife of Squire
Bodgers was a shrewd woman and capital manager.
Solomon Fudge was a disinterested young man, of
eligible family, pleasant prospects in the way of
trade. He wore, judging from an old portrait which
ornamented the back-parlor in Wooster street, and
which hangs in the basement upon the Avenue,
the tight pantaloons which were in vogue at that
date, and a considerable weight of metal to his fob-chain.

Numerous incidents in regard to the courtship
have leaked out, from time to time, when I have
found my aunt in a sentimental humor; but as they
appear to be mostly of that ordinary and commonplace
character which are found in novels, and have
little of the spice of real life about them, I do not
think it worth my while to write them down. A
little sonnet, however, in acrostic form, in which
Phœbe Bodgers figures as Diana, has gratified me
as an evidence of considerable poetic taste on the
part of the present bank-officer; and I need hardly
say, that the same is carefully guarded by Mrs.
Solomon Fudge.

Squire Bodgers, I regret to say, is now dead; so
is his wife. Mrs. Fudge, though fat and healthy, is
an orphan. She cherishes, I regret farther to say,
but a slight recollection of the surviving members

[figure description] Page 044.[end figure description]

of the family. The old gentleman, in dying, was as
good as his word, and left but little of his small
property to the town-branch. The homestead
reverted to Mrs. Kitty Fleming, the widow of the
poor clergyman already mentioned, who died, leaving
one child, bearing the mother's name and a fair
share of country beauty. I have met with her on
a random visit to Newtown in the summer season.
She is just turned of sixteen. I am not aware that
she speaks a word of French; yet I must confess
that I admire her exceedingly—much more than her
aunt.

Mrs. Solomon Fudge does not fancy Newtown
as a summer residence; she rarely alludes to the
place; nor does she often speak of her country
cousins. They paid her frequent visits while she
was living in Wooster street; I observe that they
have since fallen off. When they come, however,
she is familiar and easy with them—in the basement.
I do not remember that she ever gave a party for
them.

One stout, fussy old gentleman, who has been a
thriving shop-keeper in her native township, annoys
her excessively. Upon the strength of a very remote
cousinship, he insists upon addressing her as “Cousin
Phœbe;” and this notwithstanding he wears a
long surtout and a prodigious red-and-yellow silk

[figure description] Page 045.[end figure description]

pocket-handkerchief. His name is Bodgers—Truman
Bodgers, Esquire. He has been in the State
Legislature, and did a great deal for the tanning-interest
of the county, in which he is himself largely
interested.

From some hints that have been now and then
dropped, I incline to the opinion that Mrs. Fudge
was an old flame of his: it is certain that he keeps
up a moderate show of attention to this day. He
is one of those genuine, rough-bred country Americans
who are not to be pricked through with any
stings of fashionable observance. He counts his
Cousin Phœbe no better in her home upon the Avenue
than when she played bare-footed at the old
husking-frolics of Newtown. And with a straight-forward
native instinct, he acts out his impressions
in plain country fashion.

I must say that I rather admire Mr. Bodgers,
notwithstanding my aunt's ungracious sneers; and
I admire him all the more for the wholesome contrast
that he offers to my poor aunt's city weaknesses.
Next to her dread of his coming, I think
that she manifests a decided reluctance to my meeting
with him at her house. The consequence is, as
I am an amiable man and have much spare time on
my hands, I almost always contrive to call whenever
I catch a glimpse of the long surtout; and

[figure description] Page 046.[end figure description]

enjoy exceedingly the rubicund countenance of friend
Truman, and the slightly vinegared aspect of Mrs.
Solomon Fudge.

I think I have dwelt long enough upon the antecedents
of Mrs. Fudge; I shall therefore go on to
speak of her present home, character, and position.

She is an exemplary woman; at least, this is the
style in which her clergyman, the Reverend Doctor
Muddleton, uniformly speaks of her. I observe,
however, that he speaks in the same way of a great
many others among his lady parishioners, who rent
very high-priced pews, and subscribe in a fair sum
to his pet charities. It is, upon the whole, a discreet
way of speaking. Dr. Muddleton is a discreet
man.

My aunt, then, is an exemplary woman: what
the Doctor means by it, I could never precisely
understand. She is certainly an example of apparent
good health, and of fair preservation; in point
of size, too, as I have already remarked, she is
quite noticeable. She does not believe in unnecessary
fatigue of any sort. The world wags very
quietly with her, and she sees no reason why it
should not wag very quietly with everybody else.

She is methodical and judicious in her charities:
she suffers her name to appear in the public prints—
although a great trial to her natural delicacy—as

[figure description] Page 047.[end figure description]

one of the managers of the Society for the Relief of
Indigent Females: she makes a small yearly contribution
to the same. She gives her maids several
old silk dresses in the course of the year, and
supplies her cook with cast-off under-clothes. She
presents her coachman every Christmas-day with a
half-eagle; and on one occasion, when he wished
“A 'appy New-Year, and many of 'em, to the hiligant
Mrs. Fudge,” she extended her charity to a
cast-off over-coat of her husband's.

She does not allow match-girls, and that sort of
vulgar people, to be begging about the basement
windows. She rather prides herself upon the dignified
and peremptory way with which she orders
them off; it certainly is not apt to provoke a
return.

Her house is after the usual city pattern—two
parlors, with folding-doors; one furnished with blue,
the other with crimson. Two arm-chairs to each, of
rosewood, very luxuriously upholstered. Straight-backed
chairs, with crewel-worked bottoms and
backs; one or two of these. A screen similarly
worked, one of Peyser's best. Ottoman, similarly
worked; a red-and-white puppy, in crewel. Alabaster
vases, from Leeds' auction, “quite recherché
in form,” as Mr. Leeds remarked at the time of
sale. Candelabras, of fashionable pattern, from

[figure description] Page 048.[end figure description]

Woram and Haughwout—“a splendid article.”
Tapestry carpets, very soft, arabesque pattern,
quite showy, and, according to the Messrs. Tinson,
“remarkably chaste.” Curtains, to match furniture,
very heavy cord and tassel, draped under the
eye of Mrs. Fudge, by a middle-aged man, of
“great taste.”

There are paintings on the wall, very strongly
admired by Mr. Bodgers, and country cousins generally.
They were imported at immense expense,
but purchased by Mrs. Fudge at a bargain. A
dining-room skirts the two parlors in the rear.
This arrangement of the house is not original with
Mrs. Fudge; several city houses are built in a
somewhat similar manner. I do not know that
this arrangement suits Mrs. Fudge's convenience
and family better than any other; I do not think,
indeed, that she ever asked herself the question.
It is the style; and my aunt has a great abhorrence
of anything that is not “the style.”

Mrs. Fudge has at her command a coachman and
footman. The first sticks to the stable; the second
does duty in-doors—cleans the silver, waits on the
table, and receives visitors. On ordinary days he
wears a white apron; but on great occasions he is
ornamented with a blue coat and Berlin gloves.
Mrs. Fudge supplies him with soap and shaving

[figure description] Page 049.[end figure description]

materials. She ventured at one time, after reading
Cecil, into powdering his hair. Mr. Bodgers mistook
him for Mr. Fudge. I came near falling into
the same mistake myself. She has abandoned the
powder.

If I were to call Mrs. Fudge a fashionable lady,
I should do violence to her prejudices, at the same
time that I should gratify her affectionate impulses.
I have not so much fear of her violence as I have
love for her gratification. I therefore say unhesitatingly,
Mrs. Fudge is a fashionable woman.

“Tony,” she will say, “you know better. You
know that I scorn fashion; you have heard me do it
again and again. You know I have a perfect
contempt for all the extravagances of fashion.”

“Quite as you say, Mrs. Fudge,” I should reply,
blandly.

“Why then do you call me fashionable, Tony?”
(quite mildly, and with a felicitous tweak of her
cap-strings, followed by a careless yet effective
adjustment of the folds of a very showy brocade
dress).

“I was doubtless wrong, Aunt Phœbe. It was
a mistake of mine. You are not a fashionable
woman.”

The face of Mrs. Fudge falls. She thanks me
very sourly, and she insists upon knowing what

[figure description] Page 050.[end figure description]

conceivable reason should have suggested such an
idea.

In an ugly humor—we will say after one of the
cold breakfasts of the down-town hotels—I should
reply, “None at all;” thereby gratifying my aunt's
moral sentiment, and making her my enemy for ten
days to come. I know better than this; a man
does not live for twenty years about town for
nothing. My reply would be, therefore, very different.
“Reasons enough, Mrs. Fudge. You employ
a fashionable hair-dresser; you trade only at fashionable
shops; you wear the most becoming and
fashionable colors (imagine Aunt Phœbe's glow);
you drive at a fashionable hour; your furniture is
fashionable; and the names in your card-basket are
fashionable names.”

This last assertion (the only really questionable
one of the whole) she admits as strong evidence
against her. But how on earth can she refuse the
visits of such persons as will come?

“How, to be sure?”

Mrs. Fudge is all smiles. She will not listen to
my talk of leaving. She will speak of me (I know
she will) all the week as that dear, delightful fellow,
Tony.

There is a large swarm of persons upon the town—
heads of families and others—who without being

[figure description] Page 051.[end figure description]

fashionable themselves, are very earnest but very
silent admirers of what they think fashionable society.
They are, I observe also, very indefatigable
in their raillery of fashionable follies, and in their
expressions of contempt. They follow after the
camp with very much show of mirth, and with a
great deal of eagerness to catch up a cast-away
feather or a cockade. They rail at what is out of
their reach, and have not the apology of refinement
to give a zest to their cravings.

Having whipped my chapter upon Mrs. Fudge
into this smack of a moral, I shall close it here.

p649-055 IV. Wishes, Ways, and Means.

“Into the land of trouble and anguish, from whence come the old and
young lion, they will carry their riches upon the shoulders of young asses,
to a people that shall not profit them.”

[figure description] Page 052.[end figure description]

I HAVE a fear that many will have already misconceived
Mrs. Fudge's character: they will set
her down in their own minds as a vain, careless
woman, with no definite purpose in life.

Mrs. Fudge has a purpose. Ever since she
ceased to be a Bodgers, and began to be a Fudge,
she has cherished this purpose. Ever since she left
Newtown for a life in the city; ever since she
eschewed the Baptist persuasion for the refinements
of Dr. Muddleton's service; ever since she
pestered her husband into a remove from Wooster
street to the Avenue, a gigantic purpose has been

[figure description] Page 053.[end figure description]

glowing within her. That purpose has been to
erect herself and family into such a position as
would provoke notice and secure admiration.
There may be worthier purposes, but there are
few commoner ones. Mrs. Fudge is to be commended
for the pertinacity with which she has
guarded this purpose, and measurably for her
success.

Wealth Mrs. Fudge has always religiously considered
as one of the first elements of progress:
she is not alone in this; she can hardly be said
to be wrong. Mr. Solomon Fudge is a rich man.
I could hardly have adduced a better proof of it,
than by my statement of the fact that he is a large
holder of the Dauphin stock. None but a substantially
rich man could afford to hold large stock,
either in the Dauphin or the Parker Vein Coal
Companies. Such humble corporations as pay dividends
(which they earn) are generally held by
those poor fellows who need dividends. Mr. Fudge
needs no dividends. Coal companies generally pay
no dividends.

Mrs. Fudge, for a considerable period of years,
has made the most of her wealth. She is, however,
a shrewd woman; Uncle Solomon is a prudent
man; she has, therefore, made no extraordinary
display. She has kept a close eye upon equipages,

[figure description] Page 054.[end figure description]

hats, cloaks, habits, churches, different schemes
of faith and of summer recreation. She is “well
posted” in regard to all these matters.

Unfortunately—I say it with a modest regret—
a certain Bodger twang belonged to my aunt,
which the prettiest velvet cloak, or the most killing
of Miss Lawson's bonnets, could never hide. I
regard it as a native beauty, redolent of the fields;
she—I am sorry to affirm it—does not regard it
at all. It has, however, I am convinced, stood in
the way of her advancement.

For five years she may be said to have occupied
the same position; the seasons hardly counted upon
her; they were certainly not counted by her. She
enjoyed a certain prestige of wealth; as much, at
any rate, as could be forced into laces and withdrawn
readily from the stock-broker's capital.
Her children held ignoble positions, either in the
nursery or at school. At one time, indeed—I
think it was during the cholera-season—she came
near ruining her prospects in life by gaining the
reputation of a domestic woman. She has since,
however, very successfully counteracted this opinion.

I have spoken of the children of Mrs. Fudge.
Children are an ornament to society; greater ornaments,
frequently, than their parents. With a city
education, and with the companionships that grow

[figure description] Page 055.[end figure description]

up in a city school, they possess a foot-hold, as
it were, which could never have belonged to Phœbe
Bodgers. Mrs. Fudge understands this; she has
had an eye to this matter, in the course of her
son's schooling: her daughter she has watched
over with the same motherly care.

Respectable little girls have not unfrequently
been invited home to tea by Wilhelmina Ernestina,
at the instance of the mamma of Wilhelmina
Ernestina. The same little girls, of good family,
have been invited out to ride with the mamma
of Wilhelmina Ernestina. The mamma has taken
great pleasure in talking with such little girls;
and has kindly amused them by instituting comparisons
of her furniture, or her dress, or her
tea-service, with the furniture, and dress, and tea-service
with which the little girls of good family
are familiar at home. From all this, Mrs. Fudge
has derived some very valuable hints.

In short, Wilhelmina Ernestina is a perfect
treasure to Mrs. Fudge. Her point-lace pantalets
attracted considerable attention while they were
still living in an obscure mansion of Wooster street.
Wilhelmina has, moreover, a passably pretty face.
It has a slight dash of bravado, which, considering
the uses to which it is to be applied, is by no means
undesirable. She is just now upon the point of

[figure description] Page 056.[end figure description]

“coming out;” and, as much depends upon her
action and success at this particular period, her
mother and myself naturally regard her movements
with a good deal of anxiety. I shall take pleasure
in recording, from time to time, in the course of
these papers, her perils and her triumphs.

Her son, George Washington, more familiarly
known to the family as Wash. Fudge, is a promising
young man. He is an ornament to the street:
he is immensely admired by two very young girls
over the way, much to their mother's mortification.

I shall venture to draw a short sketch of his
appearance and habits: the sketch will not, however,
be a unique. Several portraits of him already
exist; Mrs. Fudge herself possesses two in oil and
three in Daguerreotype. He has, moreover, bestowed
several upon young ladies about town, to
say nothing of a certain Mademoiselle who became
enamored of him—to use his own story—and who
holds a highly respectable position in the choir of a
distinguished opera troupe.

Wash. Fudge has had some twenty years' experience
of life—mostly town-life. He is, therefore, no
chicken. This is a favorite expression of his, and of
his admirers. He dresses in quite elegant style. I
doubt somewhat, if such waistcoats and pantaloons

[figure description] Page 057.[end figure description]

as ornament Wash. Fudge can be seen on any other
individual.

He was entered at Columbia College: there was
not a faster man in his class. His mother advised
association with such young gentlemen as appeared
to her—from the catalogue—to be desirable companions.
She even contrived a few oyster-suppers in
the basement, to which they were invited. The
affair, however, did not succeed. The young gentlemen
alluded to did not return the civilities of
young Fudge. Miss Wilhelmina Ernestina, although
set off in her best dress, and playing some of her
richest bits of piano practice, did not seem to do
execution on a single one of the young gentlemen
above alluded to.

Wash. Fudge decided Columbia College to be a
bore; he determined to leave the faculty. The
determination was happy and mutual.

He now devoted himself to dancing, billiards, and
flat cigars. His progress was very creditable. Mrs.
Fudge took a great deal of very proper pride in the
jaunty and dashing appearance of her son Washington.
She had a not doubt of his growing capacity
to do great execution upon the lady-members of
New York society: he had already, indeed, given
quiet proofs of his power in this way by certain
dashing flirtations in small country-places. A trip

[figure description] Page 058.[end figure description]

to Paris was naturally regarded by Mrs. Fudge as
a great opportunity for perfecting himself in the
designs which he had in view. A trip to Paris was
therefore determined on, somewhat to the demurral
of Mr. Solomon Fudge, but much to the satisfaction
of his son and heir.

Mrs. Fudge flattered herself that the Miss Spindles,
and Pinkertons, and other young females of
distinguished families, would find him perfectly irresistible
on his return. She saw herself the envied
mother of one of the most delightful young men
about town—to say nothing of the accomplished
and fascinating Wilhelmina Ernestina. She saw,
furthermore, her advances upon the fashion of the
town sustained by the unremitting attentions of
young gentlemen of distinction, and by such overflowing
receptions as would for ever bury all recollection
of the Bodger blood.

I wish calmly to ask if Mrs. Solomon Fudge is
to be blamed for all this? Are not great numbers
of mothers anxious and hopeful in the very same
way? Nay, do they not continue anxious and
hopeful from year to year, trusting in Providence,
money, and management, to secure their ultimate
rescue from the shades of second-rate society? Is
it not reasonable to expect that six years of coaching,
at the very pick of the hours; adroit charities

[figure description] Page 059.[end figure description]

to well-known city institutions; persistent listening
to the Rev. Dr. Muddleton; positive familiarity
with Miss Lawson, will in time, effect their purpose;
and that the stout Mrs. Solomon Fudge will, supported
on the wings of Wilhelmina and George
Washington, soar to the utmost height of society
and of ton?

p649-063 V. Wash. Fudge Abroad.

“Yea, I protest, it is no salt desire
Of seeing countries, shifting a religion,
Nor any disaffection to the state
Where I was bred (and unto which I owe
My dearest plots), hath brought me out: much less
That idle, antique, stale, grey-headed project,
Of knowing men's minds and manners, with Ulysses:
But a peculiar humor of my mother's.”
Volpone: Ben Jonson.

[figure description] Page 060.[end figure description]

THE speech of Mr. Politic-would-be, in Ben
Jonson's play, twangs as admirably with the
humor and intent of Wash. Fudge, as he set off
upon his travels, as can be imagined. Mrs. Fudge
and Wilhelmina waved their handkerchiefs theatrically
from the Jersey dock, as the steamer which
bore George Washington paddled off into the bay.
Mr. Solomon Fudge waved his hat, in the graceful

[figure description] Page 061.[end figure description]

manner which he had learned when returning the
plaudits paid to him as Mayor of the city.

I cannot say that the parties were much overcome,
on either side. Mrs. Fudge, as usual, bore
up stoutly. Wilhelmina might, I think, have shed
a tear or two, had her eye not lighted, in the very
moment of her enthusiasm, upon a dashing fellow
upon the quarter-deck: and she conceived the sudden
and cruel design of fascinating him where he
stood.

I have no doubt that the basilisk eyes of Wilhelmina
were fastened upon the gentleman abovenamed,
at the very moment that she twirled her
handkerchief for the last time, toward the dimly-receding
figure of Wash. Fudge, and subsided
gracefully into the arms of her mother. Her position
was a good one upon the dock. Mrs. Fudge
had arranged her dress as she supported her; the
cambric handkerchief, which waved adieu, was
trimmed with lace; the wind was moderate; the
by-standers were numerous; and the whole affair
was creditable.

As the crowd dispersed, Miss Wilhelmina recovered
her spirits and her footing.

As for Wash. Fudge, who had learned some
experience in the nautical line, by one or two excursions
in mild weather, in a small sloop-rigged yacht,

[figure description] Page 062.[end figure description]

to Coney Island, he avowed himself to various
parties on ship-board to be quite in his element.
The element seemed to be kindred with his qualities
down the bay, and for some twenty hours thereafter.
After this, it would appear that young Mr. Fudge
was less talkative than usual: he seemed fatigued;
he reposed frequently upon the settees lashed to the
“lights” of the after-cabin. His appetite failed
him, especially at breakfast. There were very violent
calls for the steward from state-room number
fourteen, such as could hardly have been anticipated
from a dashing yacht-man, in his own element.

I am told that there is something excessively
awkward in the position of a ship's decks at sea.
My opinion is that Wash. Fudge experienced
this awkwardness very sensibly. I can imagine
my young friend, wedged of a morning very tightly
in the angle formed by a thin mattress and the wall
of his state-room, the victim of irresolution, and
of considerable nausea. I can fancy his plaid
pantaloons swinging over him, in a very extraordinary
manner, from the farther side of his room,
the contents of his wash-bowl plunging toward
him very threateningly, and the bedclothes, and
ship generally, wearing a very bad smell. In any
delirious attempts to dress, I can easily imagine
him making sad plunges toward the leg of his

[figure description] Page 063.[end figure description]

pantaloons, sometimes taking a rest, with his hand
in the wash-bowl, and struggling frightfully to
recover the escaping end of his cravat. Under
these circumstances, and while recovering some
composure by a resort to a horizontal position, I
can imagine the contrast afforded by the pleasant,
off-hand manner of the English steward, as he
announces breakfast: and I think I can picture
to myself the parched and yellow expression of
my usually cheerful young friend, as he listens to
the appetizing and kind enumeration of “Grilled
fowl, Sir! nice curry, Sir! broiled bacon, Sir!”

Young Mr. Fudge has been specially commended
by Mr. Fudge, senior, to the Captain. The Captain
would not, of course, fail to be obedient to
the wishes of Mr. Fudge, late Mayor, etc. He
pays them the same degree of regard which seacaptains
usually pay to such demands upon their
time and attention. On the third day, perhaps,
he pays a visit to his protégé:

“Eh, bless me! not out yet, Mr. Fudge?—
rather under the weather?”

Master Fudge replies faintly: not at all in the
manner of a yacht-man.

“Ah, well, brave it out my man: eat hearty:
stir about: rather nasty weather, this. Good
morning.”

[figure description] Page 064.[end figure description]

A bottle of old particular Madeira, secured
upon the first day, holds its place obstinately in
the rack: Mr. Fudge finds that taste changes
at sea. A nice little pacquet of flat cigars, on
which he had counted for a vast deal of luxury,
are entirely discarded. The same may be said
of a nicely-ruled diary, in which Mr. Solomon
Fudge had suggested the record of such practical
observations as occurred to his son upon the
voyage. There are, indeed, a few notes upon
New-York bay: brief mention of the first day's
longitude, and one or two observations upon steamengines.
In a letter to an old companion, eked
out upon the calm days, Wash. Fudge shows
himself more discursive, and possessed of more
fertile resources:

“Dear Tom,” he writes, “hope you are well
and thriving down at Bassford's to-night: can't
say the same for myself. The motion is different
from that of the Sylph, and the engines keep up
an infernal clatter: prefer sailing, myself. Beside,
one has no appetite: the truth is, I've been a
little under the weather. My chum, a chubby
Englishman, in grey coat and gaiters, shaves
regularly at eight. I expect to see him cut his
throat every breezy morning: it would be a great
relief.

[figure description] Page 065.[end figure description]

“I don't know as you were ever sea-sick; it's
uncommonly annoying!

“I have managed a game or two of piquet,
with a nice, gentlemanly fellow aboard; but he
plays devilish well: no very tall figures; but
I'm in for three or four pound. I mean to learn
the game.

“There's a confounded pretty girl aboard—
Jenkins is her name—with her father or uncle,
I don't know which. I wish you'd find out who
they are, what set, etc., and let me know. She's
deuced stylish. No chance for flirtation aboard
ship. When you come, Tom, don't, for Heaven's
sake, count on any great dash. It's no go. The
style is a stout sou'-wester, and grey pants: only
at dinner a little show of waistcoat and fob-chain.

“I take pen again to tell you the voyage is up.
Irish shores in sight. Uncommon low, black
steamers they have this side. Am in for four
pound more at that infernal piquet: mean to learn
it. Give my love to the boys.”

From the Adelphi, Liverpool, Wash. Fudge,
in obedience to maternal wishes, communicates
such facts as he trusts will be interesting to Mrs.
Fudge. I quote only a few passages, which certainly
show a condensed and pointed style, as well
as careful observation:

[figure description] Page 066.[end figure description]

“Immensely stormy passage and there were
great fears of being lost: at which I hope you
will not be alarmed, as it is now over. Was
sick for a day or so, but soon over it. There was
a pretty Miss Jenkins: blue eyes, uncommon pretty
hair. Do you know any family of that name?
Write me if you do: also anything else interesting.

“Liverpool is quite a large place, but foggy,
very. The ladies hold up their clothes at the
crossings considerably higher than in New-York:
clogs pretty general. Don't dress so prettily:
rather taller than they are at home: fatter, too.
Haven't seen many fine faces: Miss Jenkins's is
the prettiest.

“They gamble badly on board ships. It is
melancholy to think of it. Kept a diary, but it's
too big to send with this, postage being high.
Shall write again from Paris or London, can't
now say which.

“Love to Wilhe. Yrs. aff'y.”

At London, Wash. Fudge is quartered at Morley's
Hotel; and in obedience to the reiterated
wishes of Mr. Solomon Fudge, he transmits to
that gentleman a brief record of his observations.
I beg to premise, that Mr. Solomon Fudge,
with true business tact, had always recommended
great precision of language, no redundancy of

[figure description] Page 067.[end figure description]

words, and close observation of foreign habit,
especially in all that related to commercial life,
into which line he has a strong hope of one day
warping his son's somewhat scattered habits.

“My dear father,” writes Washington, “for
account of voyage please see mother's letter of 6th:
also for general notes on Liverpool. The docks
are large, of brown stone, containing an immense
deal of shipping. They are called Prince's dock,
Salt-house dock, Queen's dock, and others: all
said to have been dug out of the cemetery,
which seems probable, as the cemetery is very
deep.

“Delivered Mr. M.'s letter the 4th. Counting-rooms
in Liverpool are dark, in other respects
resemble those of New York. Dined with Mr. M.
next day: expressed regard for you. Dinner much
the same as at home, only sit longer over wine:
glass of porter served. Beef is specially tender
and juicy. Waiter wears white gloves, ditto cravat.
I think this description of a British merchant's
dinner will be agreeable to you.

“Left Liverpool Monday. They call the cars
carriages: stuffed seats, but very expensive. I am
afraid, dear father, you will have to extend my
credit two hundred pounds. Didn't see much of the
country: should say it was fertile, very. Couldn't

[figure description] Page 068.[end figure description]

tell how many passengers there were, but rather a
long train.

“As you have seen London, I will not describe
it. A young gentleman came on with me, who has
kindly showed me a good many of the buildings,
theatres, and others: but as he is rather a gay lark,
I think I shall avoid him some.

“I go to church on Sundays: quite a large
church at Liverpool, with a chime of bells. I have
not been to the docks yet, but hope to, in case I
leave by sea. I shall go to Paris shortly, and
remain, meantime, very dutifully, etc.”

Not being myself very familiar with London, I
do not wish to be considered personally responsible
for any statements above made. It is, perhaps,
needless to remark that Wash. Fudge visited the
Tower, the Hay-market, and London Bridge, with
great apparent interest; he was also particularly
struck with the huge sentry at the gate of the
Horse-Guards. In short, like most young Americans,
Mr. Fudge turned his back upon England,
with only such knowledge of British habit as could
be picked up along Oxford street and the Strand,
and with such acquaintance with the British country
and agriculture as may be gained in the Park of St.
James, or in the “Long Walk” of Windsor.

At Paris, Wash. Fudge is again, as he expresses

[figure description] Page 069.[end figure description]

it, in his own element, notwithstanding a very unfortunate
ignorance of the language. He takes rooms,
as most fresh Americans do, upon the Rue Rivoli,
and commences observations of continental habit by
minute study of the long-legged English, and dashing
couriers, who usually throng the court-yard of
Meurice. These observations, being of a valuable
character, he jots down for Mr. Sol. Fudge, of Wall
street, in this strain:

—“Thus far it appears to me that the French
are a tall people, and talk considerable English:
some wear gilt bands on their hats. They (the
bankers) have their offices in their houses, and call
them, very funnily, bureaux.

“Paris is an expensive place, and I hope you
will remember about the credit: am glad to see
Dauphin is rising: hope it will keep rising.
M. Hottinguer was very polite: asked me to step
in occasionally, and read the papers. They call the
Exchange, Bourse, I find, and do considerable business.
It is a building with pillars: theatre opposite.
I rarely go to the theatre. They have beautiful
gardens here: Tuileries, and Mabille, and others.
Occasionally they dance in them. The French are
fond of dancing. I shall probably practise a little.

“As you advised me to pay attention to business
matters, called to-day at several shops on the Rue

[figure description] Page 070.[end figure description]

de la Paix. The shop-keepers are very polite. A
great deal of wine is sold in Paris. Some newspapers
are published. I have not had much time
to read them. The form of government is republican.
People seem contented, especially at the
balls up the Champs Elysées (translated, means
Elysian Fields). Am getting on pretty well with
French. A good deal of order seems to prevail.
The wine is made in the provinces. I have not yet
seen the provinces: am told they are very extensive:
also the vineyards. Have not yet seen the
President, but a good many cuts of him: the cuts
are said to be very fair.”

It may be as well to leave our cousin Wash. at
this point, premising only that Mrs. Fudge, with
true maternal regard, has cautioned her son against
forming such associations abroad as would retard
his advancement upon a return to New York, especially
among American travellers. There was a
time, indeed, when the rarity and expense of foreign
travel was a certain guaranty for gentility; but
now-a-days, as Mrs. Fudge very justly observes, the
popular taste for European society and observation
renders a great deal of caution imperative.

p649-074 VI. Other Fudges.

“Like to a double cherry, seeming parted,
But yet a union in partition.
Two lovely berries moulded on one stem:
So, with two seeming bodies, but one heart;
Two of the first, like coats in heraldry,
Due but to one, and crowned with one crest.”
Shakspeare.

[figure description] Page 071.[end figure description]

I HAVE already spoken of Mrs. Fudge, the
widow, and of her daughters, Jemima and
Bridget Fudge. I now take the liberty of introducing
them more particularly. I feel sure they
will appreciate the honor. They admire literary
people. They adore sonnets. And if the two Misses
Fudge were not rather old girls, there would be no
safety for stray unmarried poets. They would be
carried by storm; particularly by Miss Jemima.

[figure description] Page 072.[end figure description]

To Miss Bridget, as I have already observed, I
have recommended a cheerful, retired, retail man,
of an opposite lodging. The affair, however, does
not progress beyond the opera-glass already mentioned.

They live humbly, in a street little known. Their
parlors are dingy, but furnished in recherché style.
There is a plaster cast, full length, of Juno; another
of Hebe; attractive figures, both of them. There
is very much crewel-work, for which cousin Bridget
is famous.

Asking my readers up stairs, I beg to present
them to the Misses Fudge, in their chamber. The
thought of this will spread blushes upon their
cheeks. They are seated by the window, commanding
a view of the grocer's window, already
alluded to.

Bridget is busy with her embroidery, relieved by
occasional somewhat frigid glances over the way;
where, presently, the identical grocer and opera-glass
do, singularly enough, make their appearance.
Jemima wonders that her sister can give any countenance
to such awkward attentions. To which
Bridget insists very strongly that such a thought
had never entered her head; that she would not
show enough notice of the gentleman to leave the
window; wonders her sister could have imagined

[figure description] Page 073.[end figure description]

such a thing; breaks her crewel in her mortification;
hunts over her basket for the right color;
pricks her finger, and relieves herself by an indignant
look at her sister, and another furtive glance
ever the way.

Jemima, meantime, having disposed a stray curl,
which “gives” (as the French say) upon the street
in a killing manner, rests her brow upon her fore-finger
(the ring is a row of pearls), and continues
her reading of Tupper on Love.

The grocer improves the occasion to convey his
hand to his mouth, and to waft what may possibly
be a kiss across the way. Miss Bridget is, of
course, horribly scandalized, blushes very deeply,
glances at Jemima, lights up with a ray of sisterly
affection, and without one thought of meeting opposite
gallantries, conveys her hand innocently to her
mouth, for the sake of drawing her crewel a little
farther through the eye of her needle.

Jemima, meantime, sighing over some exquisite
passage of Martin Farquhar, slightly changes the
position of her fore-finger, so as to smooth the hair
at its parting, employing the opportunity for a very
virtuous glance over the way. The poor grocer
was just then unfortunately returning in a vehement
way what he considered the advances of Miss
Bridget. Jemima is very naturally shocked in her

[figure description] Page 074.[end figure description]

turn, and vents her excess of indignation upon Miss
Bridget.

The quarrel would undoubtedly have ended—as
such sisterly quarrels usually do—in tears, if at
that very moment the maid had not made her
appearance with a letter for the Misses Fudge.

I know nothing, so far as my own limited experience
of the society of maiden ladies extends, which
so sets in motion the blood of a prudish damsel
upon the wrong side of the marrying age, whether
it be twenty, twenty-five, or thirty (for these things
are regulated more by character than by age), than
the announcement of a letter. Whether it is that
the frail residuary hope seems to lie in that imaginary
form, or what may be the reason, I will not
undertake to say. It is a singular fact.

The letter here in question was addressed in a
manly hand—a strange hand; but, unfortunately,
to the sisters in common. It could, therefore, contain
no express proposal. Much as the sisters were
attached to each other, I cannot but think that this
indefinite mode of address was a source of regret to
both.

Bridget had no doubt of its being from the gentleman
opposite, who had availed himself of this ruse to
open communication with herself. Jemima doubted
as little that it was a waif of praise from some

[figure description] Page 075.[end figure description]

admirer of her poems, who was desirous of a personal
interview.

After a pleasant sisterly quarrel, it was agreed
that Jemima, being the more literary of the two,
should have the opening of the mysterious paper,
while Bridget should keep an eye over her shoulder,
to see that all went off properly.

“My dear cousins!”

The surprise of such commencement compelled
instant reference to the close of the letter.

“Pshaw!” said Jemima.

“Faugh!” exclaimed Bridget.

The name at the close of the letter was none
other than that of Truman Bodgers.

The letter did not contain the slightest hint of
any elopement; nothing of the kind. It was a
business letter, yet arranged with tact and affection.
I shall give the burden of it in my own way.

I have already spoken of Kitty Fleming, living in
the same town with Truman Bodgers, and niece of
Mrs. Solomon Fudge. I have expressed some
admiration for the young lady named. It is needless,
therefore, to remark upon her attractions: she is
pretty. Mr. Bodgers knows it, and partly out of
real kindness—for he is a man of the old stamp—
and partly out of spite at cousin Phœbe, who has
discountenanced his views, he is desirous of giving

[figure description] Page 076.[end figure description]

to Kitty a sight of the world, and a little “top-dressing,”
as he calls it, of city life.

With this intent he makes appeal to Misses
Bridget and Jemima, thinking, I dare say, and with
a great deal of discretion, that Miss Kitty will be
eminently safe under their guardianship. Mr. Bodgers
is a shrewd man, and, fancying that opposition
to the plan would come chiefly from the “girls,”
has addressed the daughters rather than the mother:
thinking, very plausibly, that if he could but open
their hearts, the old lady, in virtue of a postscript
relating to “compensation”—“feeling of delicacy”—
“his own lack of family”—“no hesitation, etc.,”
would cheerfully comply.

“It's very odd!” said Miss Bridget.

“Very,” said Jemima.

“Can he think of marrying her, Minny?”

“Nonsense, Bridget: he's forty.”

“Forty's not very old, Minny, dear.”

“I wonder if she's pretty?” said Jemima.

“They say she is: quite pretty, for a country-girl,”
said Bridget, despondingly.

Jemima's face lengthened in the slightest perceptible
degree.

“How can we take her, Bridget dear?” said she.

“To be sure, how can we?” said Bridget, glancing
over the way.

[figure description] Page 077.[end figure description]

“Possibly she may be a belle,” said Jemima.

“Who knows?” said Bridget, with an air of
resignation.

“That would mortify Aunt Solomon,” said
Jemima, reviving.

“And Wilhelmina,” said Bridget, cheerfully.

“Bridget, dear, I think she had better come.”

The last view of the matter was decisive. The
pretty Kitty Fleming is to be transferred from the
quiet shades of Newtown to the small front chamber
of the Widow Fudge.

Thus, upon one side we have the cheerful Wash.
Fudge in plaid tights, coquetting with the heroines
of the Mabille, while the elegant Miss Jenkins looks
on coldly from the distance.

Upon the other, we have the timid Kitty, making
her entrée upon New York life, supported by the
affectionate sisters, Jemima and Bridget, while the
dashing Wilhelmina appears in the back-ground,
covering gracefully the retreat of Mrs. Solomon
Fudge.

p649-081 VII. Kitty Leaves Home.

“It is sweet to feel by what fine-spun threads our affections are drawn
together.”

[figure description] Page 078.[end figure description]

THE proposal of Mr. Bodgers in reference to our
friend Kitty had been naturally the subject
of very much and serious reflection. Mrs. Fleming,
it will be remembered, is a lone woman: Kitty
is her only child. Not only this, but the mother,
like most country ladies after the flower of their life
is gone by, had a secret dread of the city. It is a
natural dread, and is well founded.

If I had myself been consulted, I should, notwithstanding
the gratification of meeting with my pretty
country cousin, have shown considerable diffidence
of opinion. There is a bloom, I have observed,

[figure description] Page 079.[end figure description]

indigenous to country-girls, which is almost certain
to wear off after a year's contact with the town.
This bloom, I am aware, is not much valued or
admired by city ladies generally; they cultivating,
in its stead, a certain savoir faire, as they term
it; which, being translated, means, very nearly—a
knowledge of all sorts of deviltry.

Mr. Bodgers is a well-meaning man, and his
regard for his young protégée would not have been
surprising, even in a married man; much less is it
surprising in a bachelor. I do not mean to hint
that he entertains anything more than a fatherly
feeling for Miss Kitty. On this point I am not
capable of judging. The tendencies of gentlemen
over fifty in this regard, are exceedingly difficult of
analysis. I have met with those of that age who
fancied themselves as provoking, in the eyes of
young ladies, of the tender passion, as they ever
were in their life. If this be true, they must, in
my opinion, have passed a very uninteresting and
unprofitable youth.

The spinsters of Newtown are divided in opinion
as to the attentions of Mr. Bodgers: the elder
portion insisting that his matrimonial inclinations
(if he have any) tend toward the mother; and the
younger portion insisting, with a good deal of sourness
in their looks, that the “old fool” is in love

[figure description] Page 080.[end figure description]

with Miss Kitty herself. Such busy and uncomfortable
talkers are not uncommon to country-towns.

What Mrs. Fleming's views may have been, I
will not undertake to say; she was certainly most
grateful for the kindness of Mr. Bodgers; and, had
it not been for her widowed state, might possibly
have entertained the thought that he had serious
intentions with respect to her daughter.

I say it is possible; for I have observed that
mothers generally do not make the same nice distinction
between a man of fifty and a man of
twenty that girls are apt to do. Indeed, I flatter
myself that they are disposed to look with more
favor upon the man of the latter age, well established
in life, than upon youngsters of two or three-and-twenty.
It is seriously to be hoped that the
coming generation will be educated in the same
substantial and creditable opinions. In that event,
single men may look forward to a very brisk and
long-continued nomad state of bachelorship, which,
when fairly exhausted, will yield them a blooming
partner, with whom to idle down those flowery
walks of a virtuous old age, which end in a gout, a
crutch, and the grave-yard.

Kitty Fleming has not been nurtured in these
opinions. She has never counted the attentions of
Mr. Bodgers in any other light than as the kind

[figure description] Page 081.[end figure description]

offices of an affectionate and whimsical old uncle.
Yet even Kitty herself has had misgivings in regard
to her acceptance of this last kind offer.

It is strange how early a sense of propriety
grows upon some minds, and how, by their very
nature, some souls will shrink from what, to the
common mind, seems only an honorable advantage.
Kitty, with those soft, yet keen blue eyes, has not
been blind to the tattle of the gossips of her little
village; and there is a shrinking from whatever will
incur and provoke their remark. And added to all
this, is the dread of leaving the places and the
friends she has always loved.

The city multitude knows little of that fond
attachment to place, which grows up under the
shadow of ancestral trees, and which spreads out
upon the meadows that have seen all the youthful
gambols and joys of the spring of life. Brickhouses
and First-of-May movings cannot foster the
feeling, which twines its heart-tendrils among the
mosses of old walls, and around ivy-covered trellises:
and there is nothing in a street-name, or in a number,
that so clings to the soul as the murmur of a
brook we love, and the shadow of a tree whose
leaves we have made preachers of holiness and of
joy!

And yet Kitty, woman-like, has her vague

[figure description] Page 082.[end figure description]

longing for a sight and a sense of that great city which
is every day whirling its multitudes through the
mazes of gain and of pleasure. Alas, for cur
human weakness! Who is bold enough, and who
is pure enough, at whatever age he may be, not
to lust after the “pride of life?”

But against this craving, which belongs to our
little Kitty (to whom did it ever not belong?) come
up again the home attachments; not all confined to
that old mansion, which has so long borne up the
very respectable name of Bodgers. Indeed, those
attachments are very wide-spread.

I do not at all mean to say that little Kitty was
at this particular time the victim of any very tender
passion; I should be very sorry to think it. Nor
do I mean to say that she imagined herself such
victim; she would certainly never allow it. And
yet it is quite surprising how actual parting does
discover a great many little meandering off-shoots
of affection, whose extent, or presence even, we
had never before imagined. Nothing but positive
removal will expose the multiplied fibrous tendrils
by which a plant clings to its natal place; and
sadly enough, it often happens in the same way,
that our lesser affections never come fairly into
view, with their whole bigness, until they are
broken.

[figure description] Page 083.[end figure description]

There never was a country-girl, I fancy, verging
on seventeen, with eyes one-half so bright as Kitty's,
or a complexion one-half so tell-tale, or with such
fine net-work of veins to braid their blue tissues on
the temple, without counting up divers, of what the
French call, affaires du cœur. And these matters
are recorded, for the most part, by withered nosegays,
silk-netted purses, embroidered slippers, and
moonlight walks. If there be any one devoid of
such experiences, she must be very much colder-blooded
than my little coz Kitty.

At least such is my opinion; an opinion corroborated,
I do not doubt, by Mr. Harry Flint, one
time student, and now attorney, of Newtown. The
name is, or was, familiar to Kitty. I have seen her
blush at the bare mention of it; which fact she will
strenuously deny.

The heart of seventeen is, however, a very uncertain,
capricious heart. Its loves are, for the most
part, sentimental impulses. It has no fair knowledge
of its own strength. So it was, that though
Kitty had sometime felt a little tremor at a touch
of Harry's hand, and had looked with rather
approving eyes upon a certain honest and ruddy
face which he was in the habit of wearing, and had
accepted his protection, on certain occasions, against
such lurking assassins as are apt to prowl about

[figure description] Page 084.[end figure description]

village walks of an evening; and although, all
things considered, she preferred him to the majority
of people—out of her own family—she had never
fancied there was any special depth, or indeed
measurable capacity of any sort, about her feeling;
and was half frightened to find how big a space he
filled in the blank of separation.

As for Harry Flint, it would be wise for him to
keep by his law, and forget as soon as possible a
country-girl on the eve of a city life. She will be
very apt to forget him. I would advise him to put
the embroidered slippers, which he now cherishes
like two objects of vertu, to daily and secular use.
And as for the pressed flowers in his Bible (which
he is shy of lending), it would be well to transfer
them to his herbarium, if they possess botanical
value, and not to trust to any other value whatever.

A boy at twenty has no more right to be in love
than so young a girl as my little coz. Nothing
more than sentiment belongs to that age: between
which and affection there lies a vast difference.
There are plenty of people without the latter in
any bulk, who class them both together. Such
people are proper subjects of pity. Sentiment is
febrile and impulsive. Affection is continuous and
progressive. Hurt sentiment shocks prodigiously;
but hurt affection cuts like a sword-blade.

[figure description] Page 085.[end figure description]

The sentiment that dwelt in Kitty bound her to
many things, and many people—Harry Flint among
the rest. Affection dwelt more at home: and it
glowed very deeply as she lingered there (I know
how it must have been) upon the bosom of her
dearest friend, struggling to say, what she could not
say with a firm lip—“Good-by, mother.”

I can imagine even my friend Mr. Bodgers in his
long surtout, putting his yellow silk handkerchief
once or twice to his eyes, under the foul pretence
of blowing his nose, and saying very briskly, “Pogh,
pogh!” Nay, he has tried to hum a short tune,
and walked to the window to observe the weather,
without, however, making any observation at all.
He has positively taken up a book from the parlor-table,
and seems for a moment interested in it, notwithstanding
he holds it upside down.

At a little lull, however, Mr. Bodgers gains
courage, and begs Kitty to “cheer up,” and be a
“brave girl,” and fumbles his cornelian watch-key
in a very impatient manner.

Still Kitty lingers, and the mother clasps her
tightly.

A six months' or a year's parting between
mother and daughter is surely no great affair:
and yet a lurking, vague presentiment of change,
accident, alienation, will sometimes make it full of

[figure description] Page 086.[end figure description]

meaning. Besides, the mother was alone; Kitty
the only mortal to love; life was full of change.
And with Kitty, too, the great city she had hoped
to see, dwindles now; so small, so insignificant is
the world of Form, when measured by the world
of Affection! With this feeling rushing on her
suddenly, and with one of those swift soul-measurements
of time and life which the over-wrought
heart will sometimes call up, she forgets her little
scheme of pleasure, and she will stay in her own
home; she will not quit it—ever!

“Bless me,” says Mr. Bodgers, “Kitty, child—
Mrs. Fleming, dear me—Kit—pshaw—psh”—
Mr. Bodgers is taken with a slight turn of coughing,
which we would hardly have looked for in a
man of such perfect health.

It is curious how a mother's resolution will grow
with necessity; and just now it spread a calmness
over the mother's action that availed more than
all the “pshawing” and “bless mes” that Truman
Bodgers ever uttered.

And Mrs. Fleming spoke very firmly, all the
more firmly because so very gently.

“Kitty, my dear, you will go: I wish it. You
will enjoy it, Kitty; you will improve, I am sure.
Then you will write me, Kitty, very often; and
you will see your cousins, and will come and see

[figure description] Page 087.[end figure description]

us again in the summer. Kiss me good-by,
Kitty.”

“Good-by, mother,” falteringly.

And Mr. Bodgers buttoned his long surtout,
and gathered up his umbrella; and with Kitty
clinging to his arm, and looking back, they left
her home together.

And there were village girls outside, to say,
“Good-by, Kitty;” and there were old servants
and poor women, who had felt her kindness, to
say, “God bless you, Kitty!” And there were
boys who took off their caps, with a kind of
cheerful mourning, to bow a farewell; and others,
older and less cheerful, to wave a hat sorrowfully,
and after that a handkerchief persistently, and
with a slow, saddened action, that must have
taught Kitty that a great many people loved her.

And the trees braided fantastic shadows along
the old village walks, where recollection went
walking yet. And the hills stooped kindly to
the blue sky, in silent, sad greeting; and the
belting woods far away, east and west, trailed
autumn wreaths of gay colors along either side
the road, by which Kitty went away from her
village home.

It may be that Mr. Bodgers thought regretfully
of what joys had been cast from him, and lost for

[figure description] Page 088.[end figure description]

ever, as he watched the sad, earnest face of his
little protégée, lingering yet with her eye upon
the vanishing town. It may be that the hope
of some warmer feeling overtook him, as he felt
her impassioned grasp of his arm, as she clung to
him, while her thought wandered before her into
the strange scenes they were approaching.

As for Harry Flint, working at his tasks, it
would be hard to say what thoughts came over him
when he knew that she who had lighted up a good
many fairy dreams of his was gone, where a
thousand objects would arrest her regard; and
where the modest country-girl would become such
mistress of the forms and fashions of the city, as
would blunt all the force of his homely and honest
affection.

It would be very absurd in him to think any
farther of the city belle; of course it would. He
will doubtless forget her in six months; of course
he will.

Mr. Bodgers (Harry Flint would give all his
patrimony to be in his place), sitting very trimly
in his long surtout beside Kitty, meditates pleasantly
upon the prospect of that admiration which
he knows must belong to his little protégée.
There never was an old country-gentleman, with
a pretty kinswoman, who did not feel perfectly

[figure description] Page 089.[end figure description]

satisfied that such kinswoman would be excessively
admired in the city, and become, as it were by
necessity, one of the reigning divinities. Such
old gentlemen are, it is true, frequently mistaken;
New-York being a large place, and there being
an incredible number of well-looking women distributed
over it, of almost every age and condition.

As for Kitty, her thoughts ranged very widely;
sometimes floating over the new scenes and new
companions, and again jumping back, by a kind
of electric action, to the old and cherished friends
she had left behind. In evidence of the last,
Kitty did now and then, notwithstanding the
homely encouragement of Mr. Bodgers, drop a
low sigh.

“None of that; pray don't, Kitty. They'll
treat you well. They are pleasant old girls.”

This sounded to Kitty disrespectful.

“They'll give you a storm of kisses; they don't
often have a chance of that kind.”

Mr. Bodgers chuckled slightly at his own
shrewdness.

“And, Kitty” (Mr. Bodgers spoke in a fatherly
manner), “be careful of your heart.”

Kitty looked archly at him.

“Plenty of butterflies will be flitting about you.
Take care of them; they've no brains.”

[figure description] Page 090.[end figure description]

Kitty looked disappointed.

“They carry all they're worth upon their backs.”

Kitty looked surprised.

“And, by the by, Kitty, where's your little
purse?”

“Full, sir; ten dollars in it at least,” very
promptly.

Mr. Bodgers smiled; but whether at Kitty's
naïveté, or at thought of doing a good deed, I do
not know.

“Hand it to me, Kitty.”

And Kitty drew out a very thin porte-monnaie,
with certain letters scratched upon it, which she
kept out of sight.

Mr. Bodgers thrust in a small roll of bills.

“Uncle Truman!” said Kitty, but in such an
eager, kind way as tempted him to search in his
pocket for another roll.

“Be prudent, Kitty; and let me know when it's
gone.”

Kitty hesitated, with her eyes glistening in a
most bewitching way.

“No nonsense, Kitty; I am an old fellow, you
know. I've no use for money—no wife, you
know;” and there was a dash of tender regret in
this.

Kitty took the purse, and laying it down in her

[figure description] Page 091.[end figure description]

lap, placed her little hand in the stout hand of
Mr. Bodgers.

“You are so good to me, Uncle Truman!”

“Nonsense, Kitty!” and Mr. Bodgers coughed
again, very much as he had coughed in the little
parlor of Newtown.

The wind was fresh, and perhaps he had taken
cold.

p649-095 VIII. How the Fudges Worship.

“A very heathen in her carnal part,
Yet still a sad, good Christian at the heart.”
Pope.

[figure description] Page 092.[end figure description]

I BEG to return to Mrs. Solomon Fudge. She
is in her pew, within the brilliant church of the
esteemed Dr. Muddleton. The parti-colored light
plays very happily: the pink reflection upon herself,
the blue upon Wilhelmina, and a dark shadow upon
the scanty-haired pate of Solomon Fudge, late
mayor, bank-director, and vestryman.

The church is, as I said, a brilliant one, and by
virtue of the coloring within and without, creates
the illusion of a gigantic hot-bed, in which the
velvets, plumes, and gauzes figure as chrysanthemums,
orange-flowers, and azalias; and the Reverend
Doctor, in his modest soutane, accomplishes the

[figure description] Page 093.[end figure description]

gardener—who applies the steam, and who, with rare
nicety of judgment, secures such an even and gentle
atmosphere as quickens the vital succulence, and
promotes to an enormous extent all floral development.
The Doctor, however, does not pluck his
flowers—save only in a spiritual sense.

The Doctor has advanced some distance in his
discourse, but Mrs. Fudge is not, I regret to say,
over-attentive to its burden; on the contrary, she
is thinking intently of Geo. Wash. Fudge, and of
the Jenkinses. I will not say that proper thoughts
have been wholly out of her mind. She has meditated
upon the pleasing intonations of the Doctor;
has indulged in agreeable speculations upon the
quiet and repose of the church-services. Nay, she
has pitied Miss Scroggins, who has a seat behind
the column; has indulged in a compassionate regard
for the Miss Slingsbys, who have uncommonly sharp
noses, and for Mrs. Scrubbs, whose daughter has
made a run-away match with a poor man.

Mrs. Fudge has gone even farther: she has determined
to give her blue watered silk (having seen
one precisely similar upon the person of old Mrs.
Gosling) to her waiting-maid. She has made her
responses in a reverent tone; she has mused with
half-closed eyes upon the nicety of Faith and
Religion; she has experienced a cheerful glow in

[figure description] Page 094.[end figure description]

her spirits, and feels proud and happy that a comfortable
doctrine can diffuse such charity and
contentment over her somewhat ambitious life.
The old-fashioned Baptist ministrations were sometimes
annoying: Dr. Muddleton, dear, good man,
is never annoying. She wonders if he is engaged
to dine on Thursday; and if he likes a filet—à la
sauce piquante, or served plain?

From all this, however, as the Doctor progresses,
her reflections warp, as I have said, to a consideration
of Geo. Wash. Fudge, now in Paris, and of
the Jenkinses. She wonders who the Jenkinses
are? She has asked several friends. Her friends
do not know the Jenkinses. Still, it is quite possible
that the Jenkinses are—somebody.

She figures to herself Geo. Washington, the
husband of a rich and elegant Miss Jenkins—living
in style—giving small, recherchés dinner-parties—
sprinkled with foreign guests—spoken of in the
Sunday papers—highly fashionable. She portrays
to herself Miss Jenkins in very glowing colors.
She murmurs to herself, “Mrs. Geo. Washington
Jenkins—Fudge.”

She pictures to herself her dear Wash. in plaid
tights, with an eye-glass, and Paris hat, and short
stick set off with an opera-dancer's leg, and a large
budget of charms, brilliant waistcoat, and

[figure description] Page 095.[end figure description]

moustache. She fancies him quite the envy of all the
stylish mammas about town; half the stylish young
ladies dying for love of him. She fancies him very
carelessly winning some literary consideration —
writing sonnets as if they were beneath him —
patronizing poor “penny-a-liners,” or possibly himself
the suspected author of a poem in the Literary
World.

Then there is Wilhelmina Ernestina. Mrs.
Fudge has reason to be grateful to Providence for
such a daughter. She is showy. Mrs. Fudge,
with matronly solicitude, has `put her through' an
unexceptionable course of French phrases and pantalets.
Wilhelmina is positively beginning to startle
attention. There were certainly fears for a time;
but Wilhelmina is, as I said, become an object of
remark. Her hat alone would insure it. Miss
Lawson, in that hat, has outdone herself; and,
strange as it may seem, has outdone her usual
prices. Miss Lawson—for a wonder—has exerted
herself.

Wilhelmina has not a bad face: not indeed so
tell-tale, or so wrought over with blue veins, as her
cousin Kitty's; but it is even better adapted to the
work on hand. It is a striking face; her eyes are
not tender, but good-colored, and well cultivated.
Her figure is firm, tall, and jaunty; her hand not

[figure description] Page 096.[end figure description]

over-small, but reduced considerably by Chancerelle's
gloving.

It is my opinion that Mrs. Fudge bears her
daughter considerable affection, especially in Sunday
trim. It is my opinion that Wilhelmina bears
her mother considerable affection, especially in view
of the tempting baits which Mrs. Fudge holds out
to fashionable young men.

It would be interesting to notice the proud
glances which Mrs. Fudge, in the intervals of Sunday
reflection, throws upon Wilhelmina's hat, or
her glove, or the exceedingly pretty fit of her
basque waist. Mrs. Fudge only regrets that more
eyes do not see it than her own. She fairly pines
at the thought that such charms should not be
doing execution upon the susceptible and highly
advantageous young Spindle—son of the wealthy
Spindle. Wilhelmina, by request, appears entirely
unaware of her mother's enraptured glances.

I have said that Wilhelmina had admirers.
They are not, however, very acceptable to Mrs.
Fudge. Mrs. Fudge is ambitious—very. So is
Wilhelmina.

Mrs. Fudge has not spent her life, and money,
and affection (wasted upon Solomon) for nothing.
Wilhelmina is not to be thrown away—not she.
An old clerk of her father's—a sensible young man

[figure description] Page 097.[end figure description]

in other respects—has sent repeated bouquets to
Wilhelmina. Mrs. Fudge condemns them to the
basement. A small one, however, from Bobby Pemberton
(eighteen last March), with card attached,
holds place upon the parlor table up to a very
withered maturity.

As for Mr. Solomon Fudge, during this service,
he exercises most praiseworthy attention; and
shows such engrossment of thought — either in
Dauphin or Doctrine—as is highly exemplary.

He commends and admires Dr. Muddleton, as a
respectable and sound man, of healthy doctrine and
unimpeachable character. He considers these opinions
safe, and they bound his religious ideas. Dr.
Muddleton does not give up his desk to begging
agents, or any enthusiastic declaimers. Mr. Fudge
does not trouble himself to inquire into the merits
of any such haranguers—not he. He chooses to
let well enough alone; and well enough in Christian
matters seems to be written all over the person of
Dr. Muddleton. His surplice, robe, manner and all
seem to him the very incarnation of a good catholic
faith. Indeed, an expression of opinion to this
effect, to the clerical gentleman himself—when Mr.
Fudge was a little maudlin with wine—met with no
opposition on Dr. Muddleton's part.

Mr. Fudge is satisfied; Dr. Muddleton is

[figure description] Page 098.[end figure description]

satisfied; and for aught I know or believe, the Prince
of Darkness, himself, is satisfied.

I am aware that these remarks are not in a
fashionable vein. Fashion does not recognize intensity,
either in faith or in manner. I should say
that intensity, either in preaching, conversation, or
habit, was vulgar and low-lived.

Presumptuous, wild people might picture to themselves
a better livelihood and habit for Mrs. Fudge,
daughter, son, and husband. They might imagine
that a quiet modesty, charitable disposition, a careless
submission to such superiority as Fashion
bestows, a cultivation of the refinements rather
than the enormities of life, might lend them more
dignity, humanity, and contentment. This, however,
is a prejudice of education.

Mrs. Fudge, reflecting upon her improved prospects,
felicitating herself upon the effect of Wilhelmina's
hat, and casting comparative glances around
the very populous pews, suddenly caught a glimpse
of a young gentleman, in company with the Spindles,
whose appearance excited her keenest interest.

The Spindles, indeed, were rare people—subjects
of considerable study, and not a little envy, with
the Fudges. The Spindles appeared to have a
natural aptitude for dress: some people seem born
with all the adaptation to stays and stomachers

[figure description] Page 099.[end figure description]

which belongs to the revolving figures of those
enterprising hair-dressers opposite Bond-street. The
Spindles are among these. I doubt if the hair-dresser
himself could have improved their figures in
any respect for window-models. They are reputed
very wealthy; their father being a heavy broker.
They have a country-seat, speak French, polk liberally,
and read the opera librettos from the Italian
side.

It is natural that Mrs. Solomon Fudge should
admire them (although she does talk about them
outrageously); and it is, moreover, natural that
she should feel a curious interest in the young gentleman,
who was now luxuriating in what she considered
as the very meridian of fashionable splendor.

Mrs. Fudge observes, after a series of reconnoitering
glances (in which she is very careful not
to catch the eye of the Spindles), that the young
man is of a genteel figure; that his coat is
remarkably short-tailed (excellent taste); that
his cravat has the so-called Parisian tie; that
his eye is mild, as if he were of a yielding temperament;
and that his forehead, though somewhat
low, is balanced by a very happy parting
of the hair behind the head.

Miss Wilhelmina observes that he wears a large
bunch of charms to his watch-chain; that his

[figure description] Page 100.[end figure description]

mouth is lighted up with a very lively-colored
moustache; that he is of good height for a dancing-partner;
that he pays little attention to the Miss
Spindles (by which she judges him accustomed
to elegant society); and, what pleases her still
more, that he seems, by one or two eager glances
thrown in her direction, to have a lively appreciation
of her face.

Miss Wilhelmina concludes from these observations
that he must be a delightful person; that he
is probably not in love, at least not with the
Spindles; and that he drives a fast trotter. Mrs.
Fudge, on her part, decides that he is a young
man of “good position,” and possibly of expectations;
at any rate, a very desirable acquaintance
for herself and daughter. Mr. Fudge himself, if
attention had been called to the young gentleman,
would have indulged only in a pleasant comparison
between young men generally, and his own dignity
as former Mayor; from this he would have recurred
to the sermon of his friend the Doctor, giving
such earnestness to the hearing as would not
interfere with a grateful and pervading sense of
his own dignity and distinction.

There are those in the city who remember, some
of them to their cost, an old brokerage firm of
Spindle and Quid. Spindle and Quid held very

[figure description] Page 101.[end figure description]

high moneyed rank; their dealings at the board
were extensive. Embarrassments, however, after
a time, ensued: assignments were made in a quiet,
orderly way; Mrs. Spindle, of course, retaining
her house, carriage, and opera-box; and the
creditors generally retaining the paper of Spindle
and Quid. Arrangements, however, were soon
made for a renewal of business under the name of
Ezekiel Spindle; Quid retiring. All claims upon
the firm were referred to Mr. Quid, who had
retired, no one knew where. The credits of the
firm were managed by Mr. Spindle, as agent for
the old house.

It is supposed by many that an understanding
still exists between Spindle and Quid, although
of what precise nature it is impossible to say.
Wall street partnerships are generally somewhat
involved. Too searching a curiosity is found only
to increase the fog which belongs to such arrangements,
and sometimes even to dissolve the firm
altogether. The fact, however, that some connection
still existed, seemed to be confirmed by the
easy circumstances in which young Quid—no other
than the short-coated gentleman already subjected
to Mrs. Fudge's observation—appeared to move

Outsiders and simple-minded persons, knowing
only that Mr. Quid, senior, if he still existed, was a

[figure description] Page 102.[end figure description]

broken broker, would have wondered at the
pleasant and affluent style in which Mr. Quid,
junior, was observed to amble along upon the high-road
of life. There are many young men about
town, I observe, who suggest similar wonder.
Young Quid has just returned from a European
tour. He is clearly a man of the world: he is a
member of a metropolitan club, at which his dues
are very much cut down by a happy knack he
possesses at whist or écarté. He has an eye for the
arts; reasons well upon the comparative merits of
ballet-dancers, and has his room set off with several
naked statuettes of agreeable proportions, arranged
upon plaster brackets. He has also prettily-engraved
portraits of the horse Bostona, of Lady
Suffolk, and of Celeste. His books are various;
numbering a paper-covered Tom Jones, apparently
much read; a well-bound Youatt on the Dog; a
copy of Count d'Orsay, of Lalla Rookh, and a
small volume of poetical quotations. He has also a
French and Italian phrase-book; he is on familiar
terms with some of the better-known barbers of the
town, and will sometimes crack a word or two
of Italian in their company; not extending, however,
usually beyond “buon giorno,” or “una ragazza
dulcissima.”

He is fond of mentioning incidentally his dinners

[figure description] Page 103.[end figure description]

at the Trois Frères, or the Café de Paris, and his
adventures, of a very superior character, at the
Ranelagh, or the Bal masqué. The countesses he
has met with on these occasions are exceedingly
numerous; and the tears they must have shed at
his desertion are almost frightful to contemplate.
He has also a large and glowing record of similar
adventures (reserved for the ear of his particular
friends) in his own comparatively new country.

He enjoys the acquaintance of sundry English
and French gentlemen, but not, as I am aware,
of any Hungarians or Poles. His sympathies are
wide, but aristocratic. He sometimes dines with a
Londoner at the club, an agent, possibly, for some
Manchester print-house, who pretends to a familiarity
with steeple-chases, who has followed Sir
Ralph Dingley's hounds down in Kent, and who
has sometimes taken a tandem drive to the races,
on a Derby day.

Mrs. Fudge remembers that her cousin Truman
has had commercial dealings with the house of
Spindle. She sees in this connection a channel
opening toward gracious interviews, and congratulates
herself in advance upon the attachment of so
distinguished a young gentleman as Master Quid
to the train of the youthful Wilhelmina.

And this is the way she worships.

p649-107 IX. Kitty and her New Friends.

“King James used to call for his old shoes. They were easiest for his
feet. So, old friends are often the best.”

[figure description] Page 104.[end figure description]

IT is pleasant to revert again to the modest and
gentle face of our little friend Kitty. My
inclination will draw me toward her, away from the
soberer subjects of my story, very often.

For three or four days she has been in the great
city, wondering, admiring, half sorrowing through
it all. It is so new; it is so strange! The noise
is so great, the people so many, the houses are so
tall!

The Fudges have received her kindly. At least
the widow Fudge, who is such a neat, quiet, old
lady, in black bombazine, with such white collar
and cuffs; and her hair, half grey, is so neatly

[figure description] Page 105.[end figure description]

parted under a very snowy cap; and then she has
such a kind way—kissing little Kitty first upon the
forehead and then upon the cheek; and then, as if
that were not enough, taking her head between her
hands, and kissing her fairly and honestly, just
where such a face as Kitty's should be kissed.

Beside all, the widow Fudge is such a house-keeper,
with such capital servants, and everything
seems just in the place it should be in, and as if dirt
and disorder could not possibly come near the prim
widow Fudge!

It has frequently struck me that such ladies of
the old school of house-keepers are always in the
luck of finding good servants; whereas, your slatternly,
half-and-half people are always quarrelling
about their slut of a Betty, or a filthy servingman.

The girls, Jemima and Bridget (rather old girls,
to be sure), are delighted with Kitty. They frolic
around her like playful cats, one seizing her mantilla,
and the other her hat; and again, her gloves,
and her little fur-trimmed over-shoes, and her muff,
until nothing is left of Kitty but her grey travelling-dress
and her own sweet face and figure.
Thereupon nothing is to be done but to kiss over
again (they were not to be blamed), and again and
again, until Kitty was perfectly exhausted of kisses;

[figure description] Page 106.[end figure description]

utterly rifled, with no strength to receive kisses any
longer; much less to kiss back again.

Whether a little of all this was not undertaken
to pique the worthy Truman Bodgers, Esquire, who
stood by with a very lackadaisical expression—
sometimes screwing up his mouth, from very sympathy,
into a kissing shape—I cannot tell. I know it
is not an unusual artifice to tease quiet bachelors.

Then, Kitty must be shown the room, and the
house, and the little garden in the rear, and the
new books, and the last year's presents, and the fall
style of bonnet, and a new Kossuth work-bag, and
a bottle of Alboni salts, besides a rich bit of crewel-work
of Bridget's, which Jemima classically calls
her magnum opus.

The new masters for Kitty are to be talked over.
There is Monsieur Petit, a Parisian, who is a
delightful little man, and always so cheerful. But
he is not, perhaps, so good a teacher (at least
Jemima, who is a judge of French, thinks so) as
Mademoiselle Entrenous, who has been unfortunate;
was of a noble family; is reduced: and so lady-like,
and with such a melancholy expression of countenance,
that really Jemima quite pitied her, and had
at one time conceived a sort of Damon-and-Pythias
friendship for her, and written sonnets to her, which
Mademoiselle, not being able to read, wept over.

[figure description] Page 107.[end figure description]

As for music, there was Monsieur Hanstihizy, a
delightful pale Pole, who sang bewitchingly, and all
the girls were dying (so said Bridget) of love for
him. He had been wounded, too—in some action,
at some time, for some very patriotic cause. He
was so conciliating, too; and explained the European
pictures so well. Besides, he had been spoken
of in the Home Journal, and was in the very best
society.

Mrs. Solomon Fudge and Wilhelmina, perhaps to
humor the regard of Mr. Bodgers, and perhaps
from a sense of duty, made an early call upon
Kitty in the claret carriage, with the white horses.
The cousins had not met since they were girls
together, years ago. Kitty could not but admire
the step and manner of Wilhelmina, as she skipped
from the carriage. The aunt and cousin dropped
very elegant, patronizing kisses upon Kitty's forehead
as they met her; hoping she was well, and
thinking she looked very well; and hoping her
mamma was well, interrupted by a sigh from Mrs.
Fudge, and a melancholy ejaculation of “Poor
Susy!” in a tone which might have led a stranger
to suppose that her sister Susy was indeed a very
miserable creature.

The aunt and cousin were glad to see Kitty,
they said; and hoped she would enjoy herself—in a

[figure description] Page 108.[end figure description]

way that made Kitty very much fear she never
should. Never had Kitty seen such a silk as her
Aunt Solomon was wearing: Aunt Solomon surmised
this, at least, from the expression of Kitty's eyes,
and it pleased her. She felt her heart warming
toward Kitty. Never had Kitty seen such a magnificent
bonnet as her cousin happened to be wearing;
and although she contained her admiration, Wilhelmina
saw it, and felt an inclination toward Kitty in
consequence.

It was a matter of additional surprise to our
country friend that Bridget and Jemima wore a
very subdued and dignified air in the presence of
Aunt Solomon: and furthermore, that they were by
no means so empressées in their manner toward
Wilhelmina as toward herself; a fact which will
puzzle her very much less when she comes to see
more of the world. Mrs. and Miss Fudge would be
very happy to see Kitty at their house, and if convenient,
Bridget and Jemima. At all which,
Kitty, in her naïve manner, expressed herself very
thankful, and “would surely come.” The Misses
Fudge, on the other hand, “would be very happy,”
but looked as if they meant quite differently.

Now, with all the love that Kitty feels she
ought to bear toward her Aunt Solomon and Wilhelmina,
she certainly does experience relief at

[figure description] Page 109.[end figure description]

their leave-taking; and she thinks of them, thinking
as kindly as she can, “Elegant ladies:” nothing
more can come to Kitty's thought. Courage! Mrs.
Fudge and daughter; you are driving hard in your
claret carriage toward elegant society!

There are neighbors of the Misses Bridget and
Jemima, to whom I have already alluded; especially
the retired grocer opposite. Neither of the young
ladies speak of this gentleman to Kitty—a remarkable
and significant fact.

Their landlord, however, and next-door neighbor,
Kitty has met. He was said at one time to show
attention to Jemima: he probably did not continue
such attention for a long time, as will be inferred
from his usual very characteristic dispatch, herein
exhibited.

His name is Blimmer. Mr. Blimmer is an enterprising,
indefatigable, middle-aged, voluble man.
He is the founder and chief proprietor of that
elegant new town, called Blimmersville, “delightfully
situated upon the shores of Long Island Sound,
at an easy distance from the business part of the
city, and offering a quiet rural home to those whose
avocations or inclinations induce them to leave
behind them, for a while, the dust and heat of the
city, and to enjoy the salubriousness of a rarefied
country air, convenient to accessible salt-water

[figure description] Page 110.[end figure description]

bathing.” (I have ventured to quote, in this connection,
a few paragraphs from Mr. Blimmer's own
programme.) “A town, it may be remarked,
which is yet honored with but two small and
tasteful suburban residences, but which is on the
highway to prosperity, and will soon be adorned
with a multitude of desirable houses, from the costly
mansions of the opulent to the tasteful humility of
the small trader, interspersed with graceful churches,
and with shops, for all such as prefer to buy their
groceries in the country.”

Mr. Blimmer is an active man—a very active
man. He is never easy, unless under pressure.
He keeps the steam up. If he sits down, he twirls
the chair next him, and talks. If he stands, he
gesticulates violently, and talks. If he rides, he
threshes the reins upon his beast, emphasizes with
his elbows, and talks. He has no charity and no
fellow-feeling for men who sit still. He has always
a pocket full of papers, half of them programmes,
and has always a fuller schedule, more satisfactory,
at the office. He is always on the way to Blimmersville,
or just arrived from Blimmersville. He
cuts his beefsteak into town-lots, and dines and
digests Blimmersville. He is familiar with many
subjects, and talks with great glibness; he makes
every subject bear on Blimmersville. His main

[figure description] Page 111.[end figure description]

object in life is to interest people in Blimmersville;
not for the sake of profit, but because satisfied that
no man in the world can be thoroughly happy
without buying a lot and building a suburban
mansion (plans furnished gratis) at Blimmersville.
His advertisements are in every ferry-boat, and his
longings are in every breeze that wafts toward
Blimmersville.

He seeks to interest clergymen in the growth
of a new town, where the delights and purity of
Eden will be revived. He offers the clergymen
lots (very eligible) at half-price; and shows, upon
the diagram, the probable site of the church of
Blimmersville.

Mr. Blimmer meets Kitty gladly: he always
meets strangers gladly. He wishes to know if
her mother or father (if living) think of moving
into the neighborhood of the city? He should
be gratified, some pleasant day, in accompanying
her, with her friends Bridget and Jemima, to
Blimmersville. He thinks they would be interested
in viewing the site: “a lovely spot, embracing
wide ocean-views, charming expanse of lawn,
interspersed with diversified copses shading the
meadows, where may be seen at certain seasons
the lowing kine.”

Kitty conceives, from the character of Mr.

[figure description] Page 112.[end figure description]

Blimmer, her first idea of metropolitan enterprise; very
superior to good, quiet Uncle Bodgers; very to
Harry Flint!

And Kitty is lost in admiration, after only
three days of city life; in admiration of the shops,
the people, the dresses—every thing!

Kitty leans in the twilight upon the back of
her chair, with the hum of the noisy world coming
in a great roar to her ear. And Kitty thinks:
yet very scattered, and wandering, and wayward
is Kitty's thinking.

She thinks of Bridget: how prettily she works
crewel: and if she is not old enough to be married;
and if so, why she has never married; and if
nobody ever loved her; and if nobody does love
in cities (for shame, Kitty!) as they love in the
country.

Kitty thinks of Jemima, the prim sister, and of
the beautiful verses she writes; and why she has
never heard of her verses in the papers; and if
Miss Bremer could write better; and why (if men
dared) Jemima too is not married.

Kitty thinks of Wilhelmina, and of her white
hat trimmed with gorgeous jonquils, and of the
sensation she would make in Newtown, and of the
small sensation she creates here; and she wonders
how much feeling (if any) is at the bottom of all

[figure description] Page 113.[end figure description]

her manner, and if she could love a kind old mother
like hers, or the neighbors' little children, as she
loves them. Then, this thought seems wrong to
Kitty, and she tries to blot it out, but she cannot.

Kitty thinks of Mrs. Fudge in her morning-wrapper
of such extraordinary colors, and of her
hand buried in lace, and looking smaller for the
burial, and wonders if this is accidental; and she
thinks of her soft carpets, and of her evening-dress,
laced as it was painfully, and wonders if
Mrs. Fudge is, after all, so very, very happy.

Kitty thinks of her dignified Uncle Solomon,
with his white cravat, and his gold-bowed spectacles,
and his even, measured gait, and of his
grunted replies to his wife's questionings, and of
his champagne at dinner; and she tries hard to
fancy how grand it must be to become a great man
in the city.

Kitty thinks of her Uncle Truman, and of that
kind manner of his: always kind through all his
roughness. She recalls pleasantly his good-by;
and how he lingered, and pressed her hand very
hard, and said, “Kiss me, Kit.”

And how she did.

And how he said, “Kiss me again, Kit,” and
how she kissed him again; and after that, he
walked away slowly, always in that queer old

[figure description] Page 114.[end figure description]

brown surtout; but it wrapped, she thought, the
warm heart of a good man. And she feels in
her pocket for the little purse he had filled so well;
and not for this, save only as a token, her heart
warms toward Truman Bodgers.

Then Kitty thinks of her mother, alone, in the
old house. Oh, sadly alone! Kitty's thought
dies here into a half-sob. The twilight deepens
in the room, and Kitty peoples the coming evening
with old friends;—wandering with them again
through the walks by the old homestead;—picking
roses, eyeing Harry Flint; twisting roses, talking
with Harry Flint; eating roses, listening to Harry
Flint; dropping roses,—all in the twilight, by
the dear old homestead!

And Kitty saddens with the floating thoughts,
and bows her head lower and lower upon the back
of her chair, until sleep creeps over her weary
eyes and brain; and a tangled vision drifts across
her dream, of Mr. Bodgers in a blue coat, with
heavy golden buttons; and of Harry Flint, in
Solomon Fudge's white cravat; and of Mrs. Fudge
and daughter, driving in a claret-colored coach, on
the way toward Heaven.

p649-118 X. Paris Experience of Wash. Fudge.

“Oh! had a man of daring spirit, of genius, penetration, and learning,
travelled to that city, what might not mankind expect! How
would he enlighten the region to which he travelled, and what a variety
of knowledge and useful improvement would he not bring back in
exchange!”

[figure description] Page 115.[end figure description]

GEO. WASHINGTON FUDGE admires
Paris. It would be strange if he did not
admire Paris. But in his view, it adds considerably
to the reputation of Paris, that he, Wash.
Fudge, does admire it. It has the same effect, he
does not doubt, upon his mother's appreciation of
Paris. Of his father's notions he is not so confident.

He has left his attic in the Hotel Meurice, and
has taken apartments across the water, upon the

[figure description] Page 116.[end figure description]

Quai Voltaire. He is in the fourth story, and
is occupant of a charming salon, and chamber
attached. The waxed stairways and the brick
floors astonish him. The gilt clock that ticks upon
his mantel, the magnificent pier-table, the mirrors,
and the lounges delight him. He feels, too, a warm
regard for the old lady in horn spectacles, who sits
every day in the porter's lodge, who gives him such
a friendly bon jour, and who never quarrels either
with his hours or his visitors.

As for his hours, he rounds them by what he
reckons the polite standard. At eleven of the
morning, the old lady below serves him with a roll,
a cup of coffee, a little plate of radishes and of
butter. All these he dispatches leisurely, and
finishes his toilet by half-past twelve. He then
indulges himself in a ramble over the bridge and
through the garden of the Tuileries. He is much
struck with the architectural effect of the palace,
and describes it in a friendly letter to his mother as
“a magnificent specimen of long and high-roofed
architecture in stone.” He indulges in home-comparisons
of the fountains, and avenues of trees, not
wholly favorable to Grammercy Park. He strolls
to that angle of the terrace where he yesterday
encountered a very coquettish grisette; and not
finding her, he consoles himself with a chair, and

[figure description] Page 117.[end figure description]

with a careless observation of the carriages, and
mounted guards, and women and children trooping
across the Place de la Concorde.

Sauntering afterward through the avenue of the
Champs Elysées, he encounters a vivacious talker,
who invites him, in the blandest manner, to try a
shot or two at a revolving company of clay images.
Washington being, as I said, of a liberal nature,
advances half a franc, which is good for four shots,
and counts on securing one of the prizes in the
shape of a paste gew-gaw for his old friend of the
conciergerie. He fires his successive discharges without
damaging in the least the little plaster Cupids,
who continue their quiet revolutions as before.

His next venture of the morning is in pistol-practice
upon the heart of a very brigand-looking
figure, which traverses a wild scene of canvas and
pine boards, at five sous the transit. Washington
having failed as before, continues his entertainment
by gazing over the shoulders of two short soldiers,
at the extraordinary tricks of an accomplished juggler,
who picks up pieces of two sous with a staff,
and who suggests a farther trial upon silver coin;
which being offered by Mr. Fudge, is at once transferred
in a graceful manner to the juggler's pocket,
amid the plaudits of the two short soldiers.

Mr. Fudge is farther attracted by the saltambic

[figure description] Page 118.[end figure description]

feats of a young lady in an exceedingly short blue
velvet dress, who is surrounded by a ring of admiring
soldiers, and accompanied in her poses by fiddle
and clarionet. Washington patronizes the performance
by a liberal cast of small coins, and is
rewarded by a gracious smile from the young lady
in the short velvet dress.

At this juncture he recalls an engagement with
his Professor of the English and French languages.
The Professor has rooms at the top of a house in
the Rue St. Honoré. He keeps a parrot and a
cat—maltese color; and has farther graced his
apartment with two or three lively statuettes of
famous dancing characters. He is sixty years, or
thereabout, and takes snuff liberally; although he
still wears varnished boots, and talks freely of his
brilliant intrigues. He furthermore instructs Mr.
Fudge in execrable English about his connection
with the various revolutions of France, and his
hair-breadth escapes. He listens kindly to such
confidential disclosures as Mr. Fudge is pleased to
make in regard to his friends and family. He
indulges in a strain of political and philosophic
reflections which satisfy Washington Fudge that the
Professor has been a man sadly overlooked in the
distribution of the administrative functions. He
hints as much to the old lady in the porter's

[figure description] Page 119.[end figure description]

lodge, who shrugs her shoulders, and says, “Possible!”

At six, he smokes a cigar over a small cup of
coffee, outside the Rotunde of the Palais Royale;
ogling meantime, through the window, the very
bewitching young lady who presides over the tables,
the spoons, and the sugar. He afterward luxuriates,
in company with his friend, in a cab-drive
along the Boulevard and the Quai, terminating at
the brilliantly-illuminated entrance of a hall in the
Rue St. Honoré. Upon the payment of two francs,
he is here ushered into a scene of bewildering magnificence.
A band of eighty performers is discoursing
music from a gay pavilion, decorated with
tri-color, in the centre of the salle. Gas-lights are
casting through orange and purple reflectors, hues
innumerable. The floor is trembling under the
tread of a hundred coupled waltzers, and the galleries
above and below are swimming with eyes,
fans, and feathers.

It is needless to say that young Mr. Fudge
pursues his habit of observation in such quarters,
with all his accustomed alacrity; he even addresses
one or two brother Americans, whom he encounters
in the course of the evening, in French; but, upon
being pressed in that language, recovers his recollection,
and resumes his native tongue.

[figure description] Page 120.[end figure description]

Mr. Fudge observes, from the habit of his companions,
that the young ladies present are not
averse to wine—if mingled with water; he farther
observes that they do not resent, with any air of
disdain, such attentions as strangers may be disposed
to offer, in a spirit of kindness; they also
courteously relieve the foreigner of those embarrassments
which naturally belong to one unacquainted
with the customs and language of the country.

In short, Mr. Fudge is delighted with the adventures
of the evening, and goes home in a maudlin
state.

It is my opinion that this day's experience of my
young friend Wash. Fudge is quite similar to that
of most of the very young men who are sent to
Paris with a view of completing their education,
and establishing a position in polite society. It
is my opinion that many such stolid papas as
Mr. Solomon Fudge, wrapped up in an impenetrable
sense of their own foresight and prudence, are
meantime cherishing the confirmed belief that their
hopeful sons are acquiring a large acquaintance
with the language and public policy of the country,
and are reaping such advantages from foreign travel
as will advance highly their interests in the commercial
or political world.

And it is my farther opinion, that many such

[figure description] Page 121.[end figure description]

aspiring mothers as Mrs. Solomon Fudge, indulge
in the pleasing reflection that their darling Wash.
Fudges are equipping themselves with every polite
accomplishment, becoming absolute masters of all
Parisian finesse, whether of language or manner,
and disturbing cruelly, by their various charms and
playful equivoques, the tender affections of all the
marriageable daughters of all the titled ladies of
Paris.

[The mother will live long enough yet, to find
her poor pride cut to the quick, by the children on
whose training she poises her worldly—and only—
hope. And the stately Solomon Fudge, with all
the dignity of his past honors crusted on him, and
the stiffness of his stock-list, and his haughtiness of
look, may yet find that the worldly and golden
armor he wears, with such clanking and glitter, has
in it weakly jointures, whereat the arrows of sorrow
and of mortification may drive (possibly from a
filial hand), and pierce through to his old, seared
heart, making his high manhood wilt, like grass
that is cut in June!]

In a genial and flowing humor, Mr. Fudge communicates
with an old boon-companion of the city:
He is not disappointed in the masked balls—not in
the least. They are quite up to his mark; altogether
splendid affairs. “You have to fancy all

[figure description] Page 122.[end figure description]

the orchestras of your city tuning together to a
`tip-top polka;' and a thousand figures, more or
less, in brown, grey, blue and gold spangles; young
and old ones; big noses and little ones; everything
hobgoblin and ghostly; and all of them polking as
if the deuce was in them. Such tidy grisettes, too,
and such pretty figures as they show en garçon!
Have not indulged much myself upon the floor:
they have an awkward way of tossing their feet
into one's face, which is embarrassing; beside
which, had my hat once or twice crushed over my
eyes—supposed to be done by a tall Pierrot in
steeple-crowned hat and long sleeves, who looked
very sanctimoniously.

“Kept mostly to the salon, among the better
class of ladies; am fully satisfied that some among
them were of quite a superior order; indeed, as
much was hinted to me by the ladies themselves;
am obliged to keep very dark; French husbands
are an excessively jealous people. Held some
intensely interesting conversations; am naturally
improving in French—quite at home indeed. Having
a rendezvous at the Grand Opera at nine o'clock,
must close hastily. Hope the boys are well.”

Under such pleasant auspices, Mr. Fudge finds
the winter slipping away at a very comfortable
pace. He is expressing as much to himself, in a

[figure description] Page 123.[end figure description]

consolatory way, over his egg and roll, on a fine
February morning, when the old lady from below
taps at his door, and hands him a very delicatelooking
note, slightly odorous of a subdued and
lady-like perfume. The hand, too, is fair and graceful—
wholly unknown to Mr. Fudge; and surprises
and delights him with the following challenge:

“M. Fudge est prié de se rendre ce soir, au bal
masqué, à minuit et demi, à la rencontre d'un domino
noir.”

To say merely that Mr. Fudge determined to be
present at the masked ball at the time designated,
would convey but a small idea of the ardor and
enthusiasm of his character. He elaborated his
toilet to a degree that to most men would have
been painful. His coiffeur surpassed himself. Mr.
Fudge fairly languished for the hour to arrive.

It is needless to add that he was punctual. He
encountered the Domino. He passed up and down
the corridors, and through the salon, with that
graceful figure leaning upon his arm: nor was it
the grace alone that fired him, but the piquancy of
her talk—catching his broken sentences, and rounding
them into fullness; anticipating his thought;
unriddling his half-expressed surprises; provoking
him with her knowledge of his history and family;
lifting her finger in warning against all his eagerness

[figure description] Page 124.[end figure description]

to solve the mystery; discoursing philosophically
upon the scene before them; dropping half sentences
of English, and complimenting his French, in a way
that sets poor Wash. Fudge altogether beside
himself.

To make the matter still worse, his new acquaintance,
contrary, as he believes, to all precedent,
insists that Mr. Fudge shall make no attempt to
track her from the ball: her reasons for all the
mystery are so vague and shadowy as to pique his
curiosity the more.

Finally, at three of the morning, after a half-exacted
promise to appear again, she glides away
from him into the throng of Dominos, and is lost.

To Mr. Fudge this is a new and delightful
experience; indeed, on comparing it with the past
experience of Parisian acquaintances, he regards it
as altogether unique, and appreciates his success
and good fortune accordingly. He reëxamines very
scrutinizingly their very brief correspondence. It
is clearly a lady-like hand—a refined hand, so to
speak. He ventures to submit it to the eye of the
distinguished gentleman, his professor of languages.
The Professor is curious, very; he thinks Mr.
Fudge fortune's favorite (which Mr. Fudge privately
confirms), and is satisfied both of the station
and dignity of his correspondent. He farther

[figure description] Page 125.[end figure description]

remarks that Mr. Fudge is a dangerous fellow;
and he doubts if he is doing his duty in perfecting
him to any greater degree in the finesse of the
language.

The knowledge which the unknown lady appears
to possess of Mr. Fudge's history and family somewhat
surprises him; not that such things might not
very properly and naturally be known to the European
world; but since he has found that in the
majority of instances such facts were not known.
His banker, being a bachelor, is relieved of the suspicion
which might otherwise attach to his wife or
daughters.

In this connection, however, the thought of
young Mr. Fudge reverts suddenly to the once
admired but now neglected Miss Jenkins. Miss
Jenkins is still in Paris; Miss Jenkins' figure
corresponded well with that of the domino; Miss
Jenkins' interesting manner might easily he thought,
under the excitement of the masquerade, ripen
into that coquettish tenderness which he had found
so beguiling. Miss Jenkins, moreover, was familiar,
to some extent, with his family history, and with
his aims in life. He had been cruelly inattentive
to Miss Jenkins: Miss Jenkins was now taking
the revenge of an affectionate and injured woman.

With this thought fastening itself by degrees

[figure description] Page 126.[end figure description]

firmly upon his mind, Mr. Washington Fudge,
without the least touch of pity for feeble hearts in
his air or manner, throws back his coat-collar upon
his shoulders, inserts his thumbs in the arm-holes of
his waistcoat, and placing himself in a fancy attitude
before the mirror, indulges himself in a long,
low, cheerful whistle.

p649-130 XI. Squire Bodgers at Home.

“He covets less
Than misery itself would give; rewards
His deeds with doing them: and is content
To spend the time to end it.”
Shakspeare.

[figure description] Page 127.[end figure description]

THE village of Newtown is as pretty a place
as one can find in a ten days' drive around
the city of New York. It smacks of the old and
quiet times when gossips herded at the village inn,
and when, once or twice in the year, the whole
country around thronged upon the green to some
travelling show. It has its deacons and squires;
it has its branching elms, throwing their trembling
shadows across the village street; it has an humble
parsonage-house, all embowered with many cherrytrees,
and a gigantic butternut: it has its country

[figure description] Page 128.[end figure description]

store, with its black-topped posts, where the
farmers' wives “hitch their colts;” and with its
strange variety of crockery, calicoes, teas, and
molasses. There is the head clerk, with a pen
behind his ear, deeply immersed in calculations;
and with fingers sticky with keg-raisins. There is
the store-keeper himself, a stout, bland man, with
wristbands turned up, who tries his groceries upon
the tip of his fore-finger, and wipes his finger upon
the nether portion of his dress, until his pantaloons,
from the hip to the knee, have become cheerfully
glazed with a shining and unctuous mixture of
lamp-oil, rosin, lamp-black, spirits of turpentine,
and New Orleans sugar.

The town has its tailor—over the store: with
a sign-board on which is a gilt pair of shears; and
a last year's plate of the fashions is in the window.
He possesses a ready disposition to have his customers'
work done on Saturday night, except “his
girls” are taken sick—which usually occurs. There
is also the shoemaker, in a quiet, small, rather
close-smelling shop, by himself; who “taps” for
half the city price, and who always keeps his
word, except he is out of “luvor”—which sometimes
happens.

Two attorneys, who once did business under
the general firm of Bivins and Rip, have, by

[figure description] Page 129.[end figure description]

mutual consent, dissolved partnership; and henceforth
attend to the law-business in all its details,
such as drawing of writs and leases, collection of
moneys, etc., at their respective offices: Timothy
Rip, first door to the right, above Miss Doolittle's
millinery-store; and Ebenezer Bivins, at the old
stand on the meeting-house corner.

There are also sundry old-fashioned houses
scattered through the little town: houses with
gamble-roofs, and mossy, mouldy-looking, dormer-windows;
houses with gray-stone chimneys, on
which some ancient date is inscribed in the quaint-shaped
letters which you see in old primers;
houses with clambering vines that seem as old as
the houses, and ready with their weight of leaves
to crush the walls they cling to, or if need be, to
bury them under a cloak of green: there are
houses in out-of-the-way places with strange-shaped
hipped roofs, about which lurk ancient
tales of Dutch or Puritan wrong; floors spotted
with blood (not to be washed out with the hardest
scrubbing); haunted houses, pointed at of school-boys,
and romantic misses in gingham aprons.

The village is old, as I said; and lying out of
the reach of railway enterprise, has fallen sadly
in the wake of modern progress. Two sawmills
upon the brook above the village have stopped.

[figure description] Page 130.[end figure description]

The long-store is positively closed. Squire Bivins'
practice has fallen off, they say, at least one-third.
But two house-raisings have been known within
the town-limits in the last three years; no new
barn has been erected, with the exception of an
addition to Smith's livery-stable. Even the tan-works,
belonging to the gentleman on whose
account solely I have entered upon this long
digression—I speak of Truman Bodgers, Esquire—
are in a dilapidated condition, and exhibit
undoubted evidences of dissolution.

Squire Bodgers is owner and occupant of one
of the houses to which I have alluded. His house
is an old house, and a gamble-roofed house. Hollyhocks
and red roses are growing (during summer)
beside the path that leads to his door. Ancestral
trees hang over the mossy roof. Although living
in such a quiet, decayed town, Squire Bodgers
has had the shrewdness to perceive, and to avail
himself of the commercial drift of the day. He
has had the courage—for the want of which
many such old-fashioned men have become poverty-stricken—
to withdraw his capital from the sluggish,
narrowing channels, and to bestow it upon the
growing enterprise of the cities. The result is,
that Mr. Bodgers is a rich man; richer than most
people suppose him; and far richer than Mrs.

[figure description] Page 131.[end figure description]

Solomon Fudge, amid all her condescension of
manner, has for one moment imagined.

Upon the day on which this chapter of the
Fudge record is supposed to open, Mr. Truman
Bodgers is sitting before the fire, in a comfortable
high-backed chair, in what he calls the library,
under the roof of the antique mansion I have briefly
described. Two portraits are hanging on the wall,
over which the eyes of Mr. Bodgers occasionally
glance, with a pleasantly mournful expression.
One of them is that of a hale old gentleman,
long since gone, who was the builder of the mansion,
and the father of the present occupant.
The other picture shows a kindly old lady's smile,
which was half ruined by blindness twenty-odd
years ago; and which only went out finally twelve
months since, when the old lady (Mr. Bodgers'
mother) died.

Being blind, she loved greatly to listen to
pleasant voices, reading out of pleasant books;
and Kitty Fleming, having such a voice as made
even dull books pleasant, won her way deeply into
the old lady's regard, and at the same time into
the affections of her son. She was as dear, I am
sure, to the old lady as would have been any
grandchild, and had grown as dear to the son
as any daughter; perhaps she was even dearer.

[figure description] Page 132.[end figure description]

I have said that these two pictures hung upon
the walls of Mr. Bodgers' room. There was a
third picture, much smaller than the other two,
in a little drawer of the antique secretary which
stood just at his elbow. It was in a morocco case,
and few ever opened it, save Mr. Bodgers himself.
It was the miniature of a sweet-faced girl—not
Kitty, or Kitty's mother.

Mr. Bodgers even now is dwelling on it mournfully.
An old affection lingers about that picture
of a beauty long since gone to the world of spirits.
Even Squire Bodgers, under that rough exterior,
has his tender places, and his affections flowing
like a river—widely and vainly. The world is
altogether too apt to consign the withered hulk
of the bachelor who has seen his five-and-fifty years
to the tomb of all passionate feeling. It is my
honest opinion that bachelors, thoroughly ripened
in years, are the most kind, tender, affectionate,
hopeful, self-denying, and calumniated creatures
that are to be found in the world.

Did people but know the seared hopes and
brimming expectancies which struggle, “fierce
as youth,” in the breasts of such men, they
would judge more wisely. Providence has dealt
kindly with us all. And as the fountains of hope
dry up along the straitened waste of the years

[figure description] Page 133.[end figure description]

that are to come, deep wells of holy and sainted
memories gush to the light behind us, and freshen
us—to tears!

There is a paquet of faded letters in a pigeon-hole
of the antique secretary, which, if run over in
the careful way in which our friend Mr. Bodgers
runs them over on some late nights in winter, would
unfold the history of the minature. It is, after all,
only the old story of love, blighted by the Destroyer
long ago, and sometimes carrying back the manly
heart, by desperate leaps, over the wide gap which
thirty years open in life.

It is not often, however, that the practical
Mr. Bodgers wanders back so far; it is not often
that he looks over, so wistfully as now, the faded
paquet of letters; it is not often that he lingers,
when the sun is shining so cheerfully as it is, by his
desk and his fireside.

The truth is, Mr. Bodgers has met this day with
one of those little accidents which might easily
have been a large one, and which wakens the
thought of Fatality; and makes a serious man
balance the remaining weight of his days. Therefore
it is that the shattered arm, in a sling, has kept
Mr. Bodgers by his desk, and by the old letters
and pictures, with half-mournful thought. And in
virtue of the same mishap, his reflections have

[figure description] Page 134.[end figure description]

turned upon testamentary documents, and upon his
list of rentals, and upon the chance—perhaps a
sudden chance—that all he now calls his own, will
lie bound up soon in some short testamentary parchment.
And therefore it is that such old parchments
have come under his eye this day; and with the
parchments, the cherished letters; and with the
letters, the pictures; and with the pictures, the
vague and shadowy memories; and with the memories—
that moistened eye.

Then the eye falls upon the parchments again, as
if for relief; and Mr. Bodgers thinks—of his own
Will.

“It must be drawn,” says Mr. Bodgers, talking
to himself.

“As well now as ever,” says Mr. Bodgers, thrusting
his papers into a pigeon-hole.

“It shall be done this very day,” says Mr. Bodgers,
giving emphasis to the remark by three consecutive
taps upon the lid of his snuff-box.

A half-hour after, and the careless spectator
might have observed a solitary individual, with a
brown surtout thrown over his shoulder, and his
right arm slung in a yellow bandanna, marching
with a resolute step into the office of Squire 'Nezer
Bivins, at his old stand, upon the meeting-house
corner.

p649-138 XII. Squire Bodgers Makes a Will.

“There is no fooling with life, when it is once turned beyond forty;
the seeking of a fortune then is but a desperate after-game: it is a
hundred to one if a man fling two sixes, and recover all.”

[figure description] Page 135.[end figure description]

IT is a disagreeable thing for a bachelor to make
his will. He is disposed to put it off to a very
late day. It implies a certain hopelessness of any
nearer ties to kindred than belong to his present
lonely estate. It is a tacit acknowledgment that
the world of feeling has waned; that the hazards
of youth have been fruitless; that the path
lies straight, and short, to the end. No man likes
to feel this; still less does he like to act as if he
felt it.

[figure description] Page 136.[end figure description]

It is a sad thing that a man cannot carry a few
ten per cent. paying stocks out of the world with
him. It would be a great relief to many of our
brokers and capitalists. It would soften the way
of a vast many people to the grave. It would
excite brilliant expectations. I think I know of
several, ladies and gentlemen, who, in that event,
might hope to “make a sensation,” in the other
world.

I may venture to say, however, that such a thing
cannot be done. If the transfer could be accomplished
anywhere, it could be accomplished in Wall
street. It cannot be done in Wall street. And the
worst of the matter is, that we do not find out the
impossibility of the thing, until we come very near
to the jumping-off place. Then, when the melancholy
truth forces itself upon us, that all our stocks
will be at a cent. per cent. discount in the other
world, we conceive the idea of being generous. It
would be an odd sort of generosity, if it were not
so very popular.

To return, however, to Mr. Truman Bodgers:
there was a strong reason for his making his will,
independent of any mistrust he might have about
carrying his property with him. Without a will,
his estate, which, as I have already hinted, is large,
would follow the leading of the law, and revert

[figure description] Page 137.[end figure description]

to certain heirs, about whom Mr. Bodgers knew
nothing.

To explain this extraordinary circumstance,
which, I frankly confess, seems more like a fiction
of the novel-writers than the simple incident of a
family narrative, I must be suffered to go back
a step or two in the history of Mr. Bodgers.

Mr. Bodgers had a brother much older than
himself, who died long ago. This brother, very
much against the wish of old Mr. Bodgers, had
married a dashing lady of the town, who survived
him in a long and blooming widowhood, relieved
by the presence of one little girl, and by the added
charms of a life in Paris. The old gentleman being
a sturdy disciplinarian, and having cut off the son,
was very little disposed to follow the widow to
Paris. Indeed, report said she led an evil life,
and that, under a changed name, she gave herself
up to such of the gayeties of French life as are
very apt to play the mischief with a self-indulgent
woman.

My hero, Truman Bodgers, grew up with very
little knowledge of his elder brother, and with
far less of the widow; who, long before the
younger brother had arrived at manhood, had
disappeared, under her assumed name, in the
coteries of the German springs. Rumor had

[figure description] Page 138.[end figure description]

whispered several times of the marriage of the
daughter to some needy American adventurer; but
the alliance was not one which would warrant
boastfulness, even in an adventurer. The whole
connection had long ago proved itself an unwelcome
one to Mr. Bodgers, and it is not strange that he
should banish it from his thought in the drafting
of his will.

Having thus cleared up, so far as I am able,
this bit of family history, I take the liberty of
introducing Ebenezer Bivins, Esq., legal adviser
of Mr. Bodgers, and Justice of the Peace.

Mr. Bivins is a lean, lank man, in silver-bowed
spectacles, and a snuff-colored wig. His spectacles
ordinarily repose a long way down upon the bridge
of a very sharp nose, yet cheerfully red. His wig
is stiff, and glides off over a somewhat greasy coat-collar,
in one of those graceful curves which belong
to the sheet-iron roofs of a Chinese veranda. He
has sharp speech, and a sharp laugh, although a
very self-possessed one.

He has a respect for Newtown, as the home and
birth-place of Mr. Bivins; he has a respect for the
world and for nature, as having been the playground
and the nurse of Mr. Bivins, when in
infancy. He has a respect for summer, since it is a
season which allows Mr. Bivins to economize in

[figure description] Page 139.[end figure description]

fuel; he has a respect, too, for winter, since it
is a season which allows Mr. Bivins to enjoy that
triumph over the elements and nature, which his
foresight and prudence have prepared.

You would naturally (and correctly) suppose
him to be the father of a lean young lady, of
hopeless maidenhood and sharp voice, who is
extremely neat, who wears a quilted petticoat of
yellow and red, who delights in boxing the ears
of the small boys of her class in Sunday-school, and
who boasts the name of Mehitabel Bivins.

It has always been a wonder to me, and I dare
say always will be, how any woman in the world
could commit the absurdity of ever loving such a
man as Ebenezer Bivins, or indeed any one of that
class of men. It has cost me serious reflection.
How is it possible, I have thought, for a woman to
fondle, in the loving way the poets speak of, a man
in a snuff-colored wig, projecting at such a sharp
angle, over a greasy coat-collar? How can it be
possible to kindle any romantic enthusiasm about
such a peaked, red-colored nose, or such threadbare
pantaloons, so short in the legs?

Yet Mr. Bivins and Mrs. Bivins have no doubt
had their poetic transports; they have loved, been
coy, advanced, retreated, cooed, kissed, and been
married, like all the rest of the world. Still, I

[figure description] Page 140.[end figure description]

cannot forbear wondering. I waste a great deal of
wonder in the same way. I am not ambitious of
becoming the subject of a similar wonder.

Mr. Bivins is sitting before an open wood-fire,
where two or three sticks are smouldering sulkily,
throwing out a little smoke over the front of the
stove, and a little smoke out of the stove-joints
(poorly calked with burnt putty), and a little more
smoke out of the easy scape-hole to the chimney.
The tall book-case, with its reports and statutes, is
comfortably browned with smoke; and the baize-topped
desk, and the leather-bottomed chairs, and
the round interest-table hanging on the wall, and
the Christian Almanac, and the cotton umbrella
in the corner, and the snuff-colored-wig of Mr.
Bivins, all smell of smoke.

The ashes in the stove are crusted over, and
honey-combed, like volcanic tufa, with old discharges
of tobacco-juice; and the andirons show
ancient, ashy drapery, formed by the continuous
tobacco-drip of gone-by days and months. A few
russet apple-parings and cores, half covered with
soot, relieve the volcanic aspect of the ashes; and
a broken ink-bottle rises from the débris, like some
monument of art amid the ruins of Pompeii.

Mr Bivins is most happy to see Squire Bodgers.
He removes his spectacles, gives his pantaloons a

[figure description] Page 141.[end figure description]

toilet hitch in a downward direction, and passing
his hand with a rapid precautionary movement over
the surface of his wig, throws himself back in his
chair, with an air, as much as to say, “You are
welcome, Mr. Bodgers, for a handsome consideration,
to the present employ of the superior legal
acquirements of Squire Bivins.”

Mr. Bodgers draws up his chair, touches Mr.
Bivins upon the knee, and drops a quiet gesture
toward a young man busily writing in the corner.

“Ah, Mr. Flint, will you be kind enough to step
into the inner office for a few moments?”

Mr. Flint retires to the inner office; but the
partition is thin; and busy as he tries to make
himself with his own thoughts, the frequent mention
of Kitty Fleming, coupled with “thousands,” and
“seven per cents.,” and “event of her death,” and
“event of my death,” and “Mrs. Fleming,” disturbs
him very strangely.

The truth is, Mr. Harry Flint, for this is no
other, with few friends in the world, living with an
old aunt, and having none to care for, save a sweet
wee bit of a sister who clings to him every morning,
and who welcomes him every evening with a pair
of snowy little arms, and a kiss—Harry Flint, I
say, has been foolish enough to conceive a strong
fondness for Kitty Fleming. He has done this,

[figure description] Page 142.[end figure description]

notwithstanding he has heard all the rumors about
herself and Mr. Bodgers; he has done this, notwithstanding
she has gone away to find new and more
brilliant favorites in the city.

Entertaining such views, it is quite natural that
he should be shocked, now that he comes to over-hear,
unintentionally, some of the details of the
marriage settlement with Mr. Bodgers. Harry
Flint is not without spirit, although he has passed
his life in Newtown. Indeed, he has only lingered
there through the influence of certain attachments,
at which I have hinted.

He recalls now all Kitty's words, and her smiles,
and her leave-taking, so gentle and tremulous; and
he recalls all her little kindnesses to Bessie Flint
(as if a good-hearted girl would do any less), and
wonders if it all conveyed nothing of hope, nothing
of trust, on which he might feed?

And old Mr. Bodgers—clumsy Bodgers (guard
yourself, Harry Flint!) can it be?—can Kitty
Fleming love him? Yet he is not so old; a ripe-hearted
man; living proudly in the old paternal
mansion: Kitty would honor it; Kitty would love
it, perhaps. Kitty, Kitty! are these things worth
more to you than the overflowing fondness of a
young, strong-beating heart, aching to pour out its
fullness of love?

[figure description] Page 143.[end figure description]

Harry Flint walks back and forth across the
inner office; and then he hearkens a moment.

“Kitty is a smart girl,” says Squire Bivins.

“An angel,” says Mr. Bodgers. And why should
he not say it, Mr. Harry Flint?

“She'll make a clever woman,” says Mr. Bivins.

“I hope she may, Squire Bivins; I know it,
Squire” (a strong thump upon the table here); “I
shall guard her, sir; I shall watch her; she shall
have everything heart can desire.”

Poor Harry Flint, struggling for your own support,
and that little one which Heaven has cast
upon your kind keeping, what can you offer of
worldly goods? What fancies could you indulge?
And the poor fellow tries hard to choke his sentiment
with philosophy. Could he be ungenerous
enough to tie that sweet creature to his uncertain
fortunes? But the trial is over now. The hope
that burned in him is gone out.

Yet, so strange is the lithe heart of youth, a
new one takes its place. Tied no longer to that
little corner of country, he will brave the world,
and win a fortune; and if no dearer recipient of his
bounty can be found, he will lavish it upon the
tender sister, who is growing every day in beauty
and in grace.

There is a change in Harry Flint when he goes

[figure description] Page 144.[end figure description]

home that day. Not less fondly does he elasp little
Bessie; and stroking the hair from her forehead,
he repeats his kisses oftener than ever before. Our
loves are, after all, like rivers, which, if they be
shut up here and there in their courses, will flow
swift into side-channels, pushing always onward!
With the fire and pride of youth upon him, Harry
Flint decides to try his venture upon a broader
field; and in a little time his arm and heart will
struggle amid the whirl of a great city.

There is no prouder sight in this American world
of ours than that of youth flinging off all the
bondage of circumstance, trampling down, if need
be, the memory of by-gone griefs, and measuring
his fate, with a stout hand and heart, against the
roar and vices of the world. He may be sure that
singleness of purpose will bear him up, and earnestness
of endeavor will bear him on, to accomplish
just so much of work, and to win so much of
renown, as his fullest capacities can grasp. Nothing
lies in the way—thank God!—but the feebleness of
individual effort. There are no old walls of privilege
to batter down; there are no locks upon
intellectual attainment that need a golden key.
Strike out boldly, friend Harry; the world is wide;
and although the memory of a love which might
have been, may haunt your eventide hours, and

[figure description] Page 145.[end figure description]

make your affections droop, warm hearts are beating
everywhere; and little blue-eyed Bessie, wearing
the mother's face, and more and more the mother's
figure, shall steal upon your remembrance, like a
golden sun of April upon the skirts of winter.

Mr. Bodgers finishes his will. He does not,
however, sign it. He is a calculating man: he will
keep it by him until the next day; some new legacy
may occur to him.

Squire Bivins, being, as he thinks, a shrewd
man, argues from all this, that Mr. Bodgers is
plainly intent upon marrying—not Kitty, but the
Widow Fleming. He even ventures to hint in a sly
way, looking very drolly over his spectacle bows,
that “the widow is an uncommonly smart sort of a
person.”

Mr. Bodgers assents gravely.

Mr. Bivins, smoothing the curve of his wig
behind, thinks “she would make a capital wife for
the Squire.”

Mr. Bodgers says, emphatically—“Fudge!”

If any widow ladies translate this expression into
a reflection upon their worth and attractions, I
shall simply say that it is a disingenuous construction.

Whatever may be thought of the Fudge, or its
significance, Mr. Bodgers certainly did walk from

[figure description] Page 146.[end figure description]

the office of Mr. Bivins straight toward the home
of Mrs. Fleming. The thought of marrying her,
however, I do not think once occurred to him.
Middle-aged men, who have tender recollections of
their own, of lost ones, are not apt to fall in love
with middle-aged widows; at least such is not my
own experience.

Mr. Bodgers was anxious to have the last news
of Kitty: and he threw himself, quite at ease, into
an old arm-chair; and having placed his hat beside
him, in the methodic way that belongs to him, and
thrown his yellow bandanna within it, he listens to
Mrs. Fleming, as she reads to him a bit, here and
there, from the last letter of Kitty.

Meantime, Mr. Bodgers looks earnestly into the
fire, musing, in a philosophic vein:—how it was
once with him, and how it is once with us all:
cheer, and joy, and sadness; and then, perhaps,
decay and blight, and only glimpses of cheer; and
at length, desolation, and the end.

“I am well, and happy,” writes Kitty; “indeed,
I am only not happy when I think of the distance
that lies between us. You will smile because I
make so much of so little distance. I am no great
traveller, you know; and when I think of the
strange things here — of all the noise, and the
crowds, and the new faces, and the thronged streets—

[figure description] Page 147.[end figure description]

and then, a little while after, think of the dear, quiet
home I have left, and the good friends, and the old
parlor, with its sunny blaze upon the southern window,
and the hyacinths shooting higher and higher
in the parlor warmth, and of you, dear mother,
sitting there alone, it seems a very great way off!”

“My cousins are very kind to me.”

Mr. Bodgers nods his head, as if he would say,
“No wonder.”

“Aunt Phœbe I do not see very often, nor Cousin
Wilhelmina; although they talk very kindly, more
kindly than the other cousins; but yet, I cannot
help thinking, they are not so kind. They have a
beautiful house; but I never feel at home there.
Uncle Solomon is so grave and so important that
there is no loving him, even if he were willing to be
loved.”

“Umph,” says Mr. Bodgers.

“I have a gift for you, Mamma; a rich, warm
shawl, which I am sure will keep you all the
warmer, because your own Kitty has bought it for
you. You must not think me extravagant; you
know I told you that Uncle Truman had filled my
purse for me. Is he not very kind?”

Mr. Bodgers takes occasion to look after his
yellow bandanna. He likes to see that it is safe—
that is all.

[figure description] Page 148.[end figure description]

“You do not know how eagerly I am hoping for
the time when I shall be at home with you once more.
I like the city, and feel sure that I am gaining
somewhat here; but it is not, after all, the old
home, with the sunshine, and the flowers, and the
walks, and you, dear Mamma!

“I shall be there when the birds come, and the
garden is made again, and we will be so happy.

“God bless you, Mamma: and do not, and I am
sure you will not, ever forget to love your own
Kitty.”

“Postscript.—Give my love to Uncle Truman,
and ask him if he is not coming to see us soon?”

“Very soon,” thinks Uncle Truman.

“Another Postscript.—Pray what has become of
Harry Flint and all the rest? Do write me. I
love to hear about everybody. Kitty.”

“Umph!” says Mr. Bodgers; “a beautiful letter,
Mrs. Fleming.”

And if Mr. Bodgers were more learned in those
pretty deceptions which a young girl forces upon
her own heart, he would not admire her second
postscript, or stroll in so pleasant humor toward his
lone home.

Not that Mr. Bodgers is in love with Kitty
Fleming. Men of his age, they say, have outlived
such weaknesses. Perhaps so. And yet Mr.

[figure description] Page 149.[end figure description]

Bodgers, with his forty-odd years upon his head, does
feel from time to time a kind of spasmodic action of
the heart; a sort of restless inquisitive yearning;
an unsatisfied, eager longing, which he cures for
the time being by calling up some such healthful,
blooming, cheerful, earnest girl-face as that of little
Kitty.

“Forty-five,” muses Mr. Bodgers; “it is not so
very old. Many men marry later, and young girls
at that. Thirty-five would be better: and Kitty—
let me see—must be nineteen. Kitty is a sensible
girl, very mature for her years; a sweet girl is
Kitty, very.”

“Fudge! nonsense!” muses Mr. Bodgers; “what
an old fool I am becoming!”

Thereupon Mr. Bodgers takes his will from his
pocket, and reads it over, commending its provisions;
all, is not too much for Kitty. And in this
mood he enters his lonely home. Very silent it is,
with all its comforts. No little canary-singer on
the wall welcomes him; there are no dainty hands
to care for such sweet songsters. The fire is burning
cheerily, but it lightens no pleasant faces. The
afternoon sun comes stealing into the western windows
blithely; as blithely as twenty-odd years gone
by; as blithely as it will do twenty years to come.

Mr. Bodgers sits down under the warm rays, and

[figure description] Page 150.[end figure description]

tries hard to be cheerful. He runs over the outlines
of his property; he sums up his large estate;
but this gives no special cheer. He indulges in the
recollection of some happy speculation; yet he
grows no gayer. He recalls the fairy movements
of little Kitty as she moved about that very parlor,
in attendance upon his poor, blind mother; but
even this does not make him cheerful.

He throws off his brown surtout, and strides
across the room with a vigorous step; and glances
at the mirror; and gives his hair a twist, and looks
again, and half sighs. He is not growing cheerful,
by any manner of means.

He feels the years creeping on him (as we all
do), with their frailties and feebleness, and halting
pulse, and sinking cheek. And memories brood in
the twilight around the corners of his room, making
him all the lonelier for these spectral visitants of his
brain: harsh memories of losses and of deaths, of
sickness and of sorrow; pleasant memories of smiles,
and laughter, and rejoicings; but all leaving him
only quieter, soberer, lonelier!

What a sunbeam in the old home would not
Kitty make, if her pleasant face was only beaming
there with half the gladness that he has seen upon
it; if her pleasant voice was witching his ear, or
she, leaning quietly upon his shoulder, growing sad

[figure description] Page 151.[end figure description]

with his sadness; looking as he looks upon the changing
fire-play; imaging unconsciously his brightest
thought in her own sweet, placid face!

Ah, Truman Bodgers, Truman Bodgers! if—

p649-155 XIII. Aunt Solomon Gains Ground.

“More qualifications are required to become a great fortune than
even to make one; and there are several pretty persons about town ten
times more ridiculous upon the very account of a good estate than
they possibly could have been with the want of it.”

[figure description] Page 152.[end figure description]

MRS. SOLOMON FUDGE has attempted to
make her way in New York society, and her
way she is going to make. What she undertakes
to do—and I quote her own words—she is in the
habit of doing. That is her style; and a very
effective style it is.

She is eminently a “strong-minded” woman. If
fortune had determined her lot at the head of an
Orange county dairy, she would have grown up
remarkably red in the face, strong in the elbows,
tyrannic in her demeanor to milk-maids, and eminent
in cheeses. As it is, the surplus energy of her

[figure description] Page 153.[end figure description]

character works off pleasantly in furbelows, coach-driving,
opera-going, and assiduous cultivation of
respectably-connected young men.

She is gratified with evidence of very perceptible
gain in her advances: I see it in her air; I see it
in her treatment of the whimsical Mr. Bodgers; I
see it, I am sorry to say, in her comparatively
negligent treatment of myself. The time was when
my youthful air, jaunty toilet, and hotel habitude,
rendered my visits impressive and desirable. My
aunt delighted in my society; she gained from me,
in a circuitous way, a great deal of information as
to what was doing in polite circles; and a great
many valuable hints in regard to the city education
of Washington and Wilhelmina. That time is gone
by. I feel myself growing, week by week, of less
consideration.

Mrs. Fudge has achieved, through the indirect
and unwitting action of Mr. Bodgers, an acquaintance
with that elegant young man, Mr. Quid. A
little blight seems to hang upon his father's business
character; in virtue of which, it is thought, the son
is possessed of a large supply of ready money. As
for the mother, there is little said or known about
her; she lived and died in Paris, and was very
probably connected with a princely family—perhaps
that of the Great Mogul himself.

[figure description] Page 154.[end figure description]

Through Mr. Quid, Mrs. Fudge contrives an
acquaintance with young Spindle; who, being eminently
fashionable, and having formed, as rumor
reports, very distinguished acquaintances abroad, is
quite a feather in the Fudge connection. I may
take occasion to remark here, that a young man of
ambitious social tendencies can hardly play a better
card than by forcing his way—whether by presumption
or strategy—into the houses of British gentlemen
of reputation. Not a few individuals have
come to my knowledge who are now trading largely
and successfully upon this capital alone. The
matter exposes us, it is true, to the occasional
querulous observations of such grumblers as Mr.
Carlyle; but, on the other hand, it supplies our
choicer circles with numerous young men of sharp
shirt-collars and intense interest. For my own
part, I must confess that I always feel a little
doubtful of those social attractions which never
seem to be appreciated except they make their
appearance over seas and out of sight. One of the
best ways in the world for a man to be a gentleman,
is to be a gentleman—at home.

Mrs. Fudge has educated, and is educating,
Wilhelmina—to be married. It is a common aim
of city education; perhaps the very commonest.
Properly pursued, it is a worthy aim; grateful to

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parents, and especially grateful to daughters. I
am inclined to think, however, that it should not be
the only aim of life, even with young ladies. Very
many would probably disagree with me. Mrs.
Fudge, in her secret heart, I am confident would
do so. Wilhelmina would do the same.

It is my opinion that she does justice to her
education, and that a prospective husband, rich,
elegant, of good position and yielding manners, is
rarely out of her thoughts or foreign to her plans.
I am confident that she dwells upon the topic, and
shows a power and fertility of imagination in that
direction which would be utterly incomprehensible,
except by young ladies similarly educated. I
should not wonder if she had espoused, in fancy,
a dozen or more of the most distinguished-looking
young men at present upon the stage of city
life.

It would be interesting, indeed, to compute what
proportion of the young ladies' private talk, of the
city or of watering-places, bears relation, either
remotely or directly, to husbands for themselves, or
to husbands for some one else. It would be interesting
to know what variety and fertility of discussion
illustrates those moral, mental, and physical
qualities which go to make up une bonne partie. I
have sometimes thought of taking up the matter

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myself, and of executing a treatise upon the subject:
and what with my intimacy with Aunt Solomon and
Wilhelmina, to say nothing of Bridget, Jemima,
and the like, I am confident I could achieve a very
popular work.

Miss Wilhelmina, like most girls of eighteen or
nineteen, has her instinctive likings, and very
romantic ones at that. But under cautious
motherly guidance, they have not as yet cropped
out very luxuriantly. I suspect she was in love
with her music-master—the delightful pale Pole
already alluded to. And had Monsieur Hanstihizy
been John Brown, of the firm of Witless and
Brown, wealthy hide-dealers, and strong upon
'change, the affection would have been encouraged,
doubtless; and perhaps reciprocated.

I am gratified by the confidence which Miss
Wilhelmina reposes in me. She communicates with
me very freely; especially in reference to the
remarks dropped in her hearing by her gentlemen
admirers. I am inclined to think that she likes to
ascertain, in a careless way, my interpretation of
their inuendoes, though she does not say this. It is
certain that she listens very kindly and keenly to
any gratuitous explanations of mine. Generally,
however, she had surmised “as much herself.” She
is “by no means disposed to count men in earnest—

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not she. She has seen too much of society for that,
she hopes.”

Mrs. Fudge, being a keen observer, is a reasonably
good tactician; her tactics, however, are
rather brusque; and I have a fear that she may
injure Wilhelmina's prospects in consequence.

The real state of Mrs. Fudge's feelings I take to
be this; indeed, in confidential moments I think
she may possibly express herself to her daughter in
this way:

“Wilhe, dear, you are my only daughter, and I
naturally take great pride in your success. You
are now getting to an age at which you may
reasonably hope to create some remark. Your
father's position is a good one in the moneyed
world, and also to some extent in the political.
You will not forget, my dear, that your father was
for some time mayor.

“Washington I hope brilliant things from on his
return from Paris. He was always inclined to
dancing, and he has a distinguished figure.

“Do not be in haste to be married, my dear;
there is no greater mistake a young girl can make.
You have advantages—great advantages. It is
highly proper that you should use them. Try and
be conciliating, Wilhe. Young Mr. Quid is an
interesting person, besides being fashionable. I

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hear that he is wealthy, and I would be cautious
about offending him seriously. At the same time,
a little piquant quarrel is often very serviceable,
and gives you occasion to appear very amiable.
You should treat Tommy Spindle with great consideration:
he is of a distinguished family, and you
will find an intimacy with him—I might almost
say, if I approved of such things, a flirtation—very
serviceable.

“Your cousin Tony (the reader will spare my
blushes) I beg you to humor: he is past the age
when you need have any fear of an association of
your name with his; and there being a remote
cousinship, I think you might banter him very
familiarly. With all his conceit, he has really seen
a good deal of society; and though I would by
no means recommend direct questioning, yet you
may pick up a good deal of instruction from him
about society, without his once suspecting your
design.

“Your cousin Kitty you should treat kindly.
It is not necessary to be familiar. She is a poor
girl, and, as you must see, quite countrified. She
seems an amiable, sprightly creature, and with your
advantages, Wilhe, of position and of wealth, would
very likely have been a belle. I think young
Spindle has met her, and is pleased with her. You

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should take occasion to speak kindly of her—especially
of her naïve country manner.

“Bridget and Jemima are very good girls in
their way, and we must invite them here some day;
perhaps during Lent. But I beg you would keep
yourself on your guard, and don't show a familiarity
upon which they can at all presume.”

As for my uncle Solomon, I suspect he has never
been very much interested in the fashionable ménage
of my aunt. It humors him to find Wilhe admired;
it would humor him more to see her married to the
son of a fat broker, of large expectations. He
regards everything about the town, and in the
world generally, as ephemeral and sentimental,
which does not have reference to stocks or good
position in the moneyed circles. He delights in the
respect shown him by quite a horde of bank-clerks;
he admires their reverence; he is gratified by it.
He has the highest regard for such benefactors of
their race as the Rothschilds, Barings, and the late
Mr. Astor.

He likes to see his name in the papers; and if he
could at breakfast read the announcement that
“our eminent merchant, Mr. Solomon Fudge, late
mayor, has, we understand, entered into partnership
with the house of Barings, and will henceforth
occupy himself with the supervision of their

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American business,” he would be ready to die at dinner,
and leave my aunt a widow. I am confident of this.

The last Fudge ball was reckoned, I am proud to
say, one of the crowning triumphs of the season.
In some of the details of ceremonial my advice was
deemed essential. I feel justified in saying that
it was fashionably attended. Mrs. Fudge having
made interest with one or two old belles of a tractable
disposition, by virtue of a shower of operatickets
and such like attentions, had the pleasure of
greeting a great many desirable people for the first
time. The Spindle girls, after long discussion, had
consented to honor madame: it was remembered
that Mr. Fudge had been mayor; that the daughter
was bien élevée; and that Washington, on his return
from Paris, might turn out—who could tell?—
something desirable.

Mrs. Fudge was earnest in her receptions, and
very red in the face: at best it is hot work, but
with my aunt Solomon's intensity of manner, I am
sure it must have been frightful.

Desirable young men were even more abundant
than the same quality of ladies. They are, I observe,
by far less fastidious in their socialities than the
gentler sex: besides which, the suppers on such
occasions are specially bounteous, and fresh flirtations
offer with those bouncing parvenues, who are

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very apt to put on a little boldness of manner and
familiarity of approach, to cover, perhaps, a certain
lack of the habit of society.

A certain Count Salle, with eye-glass and white
waistcoat, set off with crimson edging, was absolutely
ravishing. His devotion to Miss Wilhelmina
was unbounded; and I have my suspicions that he
uprooted many of those tender feelings which my
cousin had previously entertained for young men
generally, and Mr. Quid in special. It was delightful
to witness the matronly pride with which my
indulgent aunt regarded this new and brilliant
conquest. It is quite impossible to picture the
irradiation of her face: only the presence of Washington
to bewitch the three Misses Spindle—a feat
he would undoubtedly have accomplished—was
needed to complete her triumph.

I cannot say that any unusual or important
incident occurred. At a New York party they do
not ordinarily occur. The loss of a new hat, or even
of sobriety itself, is not to be spoken of. The good
humor and social bonhommie of the old-fashioned,
quiet gathering is gone from our day. And the
modern jam seems to me to bear about the same
relation to a fairly-filled room of genial people, who
are not shy of each other, that a fashionable dinner-party—
where you have to gauge your conversation

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by the card upon your neighbor's plate—bears to
the old sort of cozy companionship of four good
fellows over a generous joint and a pot-bellied little
decanter of South-side wine.

Of course my aunt thought differently; and so
thought Wilhelmina; and Uncle Solomon yielded
to it, as one of the disagreeable necessities of what
Mrs. Fudge calls their “growing position.” I have
heard of other husbands who have yielded in the
same way, and for the same reasons.

I said that no incident occurred; I mistake.
An incident did occur. It was verging toward the
middle of the night. Madame was fully satisfied
that Wilhelmina had acquitted herself bewitchingly,
and had succeeded in captivating that elegant
gentleman, the French Count. She had gratulated
herself on having won such honor in the eyes of the
Pendletons as would entitle her to a respectful bow
from their carriage ever after; she felt sure of this.
She had even ventured across the room, to drop
a few encouraging words to that neglected lady,
the elder Miss Spindle, when she was startled by
the abrupt entrance of a stout, middle-aged gentleman,
with his arm swung in a yellow bandanna,
and accompanied by a gentle, timid girl in white
muslin, with only a simple coral necklace, by way
of ornament.

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The parties were Mr. Bodgers, and our little
friend Kitty. The old gentleman greeted “Cousin
Phœbe” in the most friendly manner imaginable;
assuring her that he never saw her looking
“smarter”—that she was “plump as a partridge;”
which indeed she was, and a very fat partridge at
that.

The Misses Spindle tittered immoderately; and
Mrs. Pinkerton looked as if she thought the presence
of such a kindly-spoken old gentleman, was
a personal affront.

As for my aunt Phœbe, her color became
frightful;—most of all when the old gentleman, in
excess of good-feeling, or of mischief-loving, patted
her, with his sound arm, upon the shoulder.

Never was a bit of kindness so ungratefully
received in the world. And Mrs. Solomon would,
I am sure, have given half the wax-lights in the
room, to be rid of the old gentleman and his pretty
protégée.

Miss Kitty possessed that charming coyness of
manner which attracts in the town assemblages,
not less for its intrinsic beauty than for its exceeding
rarity. Indeed, I suspect that she created a
diversion among the besiegers of my cousin Wilhelmina,
which may possibly work unexpected consequences.
And she did this all the more effectively

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(let me say, for the benefit of those concerned)
because she did it quite unconsciously.

Mr. Spindle, who had once breakfasted in company
with a baronet, and accomplished many
similar social feats, appeared to be quite charmed
with the native graces of Kitty; and paid her
a degree of attention that proved a very successful
offset to the coquetries of Wilhelmina with the
Count. For there is something, after all, in a fair
and honest girlish brow, though it be not set off
with the arts and the smirks of the town education,
which steals its way to the inner places of even
a bad man's heart, and which kindles in him a little
wishfulness of better things than belong to the
high-road of fashion.

How it happened that Mr. Bodgers and Miss
Kitty should be in such place at such time, and
how my little cousin Kitty sustained herself under
the exuberant addresses of Mr. Quid, I must take
another chapter to tell.

— Not, however, before I go back to follow
the Parisian advances of my excellent male cousin,
George Washington Fudge, whom I left amid all
the delightful experiences of an intrigue with the
elegant Miss Jenkins.

p649-168 XIV. An Intrigue by Wash. Fudge.

“He that will undergo
To make a judgment of a woman's beauty,
And see through all her plasterings and paintings,
Had need of Lynceus' eyes, and with more ease
May look, like him, through rime mud walls, than make
A true discovery of her.”
Massinger.

[figure description] Page 165.[end figure description]

MASTER FUDGE had discovered, if I
remember rightly, that the incognita of the
masked ball could be none other than his old companion
of shipboard, Miss Jenkins. He exulted,
if I remember, in the discovery. It certainly was
amusing. He felt that he was gaining ground.
He enioyed his mirror excessively. Paris observation
had not been in vain. He had grown killing.
I think, in view of the circumstances, I might be
allowed to express a certain degree of pity for
Miss Jenkins.

[figure description] Page 166.[end figure description]

Washington Fudge, however, did no such thing—
not he; the inexorable, the complacent, the
ravishing, the elegant, the merciless Wash. Fudge!
It is really painful to think what a hecatomb of
young ladies are annually offered up, sacrificed,
burnt, absolutely consumed, in the devotional fires
which such young men inspire. Their fearful
cruelties they wear like honors, and prey ferociously,
summer after summer, upon poor, weak,
harmless, unresisting women. It is my opinion that
they should be restrained, caged, bound with pink
ribbons, their moustaches shaven—anything, in
short, to prevent the sad ravages which they are
committing in the great world of hearts! It is
further my opinion that such restraint or imprisonment
would not be felt, except by the parties themselves.

Now Mr. Fudge was growing riotous one fine
morning over this strange and unexpected conquest
of his, when he was agreeably startled by the
receipt of still another perfumed billet from the
same hand as before, full of pretty praises of his
gallantry and his finesse of spirit; and offering, in
courtly terms, the privilege of another interview;
always, however, under the same precaution of the
mask and secresy.

Such an intrigue, so mysterious, so rich, and

[figure description] Page 167.[end figure description]

offering such staple for talk among the boys at
home, was vastly gratifying to Mr. Fudge. The
notes he guarded as trophies, and the second adventure
proved even more mystifying than the first.
Miss Jenkins was certainly most adroit in her
manœuvres. Wash. Fudge ventured to hint, in a
timid manner, the possible identity of his domino
with a certain fair young lady of Atlantic experience,
etc.

To all which inuendoes the domino replied by
very significant shrug and deft management of her
fan; intended, perhaps, to allay suspicion; but in
this particular instance tending to confirm it to a
very remarkable degree. I shall enter no defence
of the inhumane manner in which my cousin Wash.
Fudge exulted in his conquest over the heart of
Miss Jenkins.

He determines to call upon that young lady, and
to intimate in his graceful manner that “the secret
was out”—that he felt sensible of the honor conferred,
etc. His professor, who seems well posted
in the morale of these things, highly approves the
procedure. He warns him, however, that a lady
in such a position will naturally avail herself of a
thousand playful équivoques.

I beg leave, then, to attend Wash. Fudge as he
makes his way, upon a cheerful afternoon, after his

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usual two-o'clock bottle of vieux Macon, to the
second floor of a substantial hotel in the Rue
Rivoli. A little tremor did very possibly overtake
him as he ascended the waxed stairway, and listened
to the distant tinkling of the bell, au seconde.
It is not the easiest matter in the world, after all,
to approach a pretty lady, who has made some coy
advances. Ladies, I have remarked, bear that sort
of face-to-face encounter much better than the
men—especially such very young men as my cousin
Wash. Fudge.

Howbeit, with the vieux Macon tingling pleasantly
in his brain, and the memory of his last
interview diffusing an agreeable warmth over his
system, Mr. Fudge awaited, in one of those charming
little salons which overlook the garden of the
Tuileries, the appearance of his adventurous entertainer.

That she should take a little time to prepare herself
for the ordeal was a circumstance which seemed
to Mr. Fudge at once highly proper and natural.

Miss Jenkins is looking well—very well. Those
Paris modistes do somehow give a very telling tournure
even to the frailest of American beauties. Her
face and eye, however, were all her own.

Mr. Fudge was delighted to meet Miss Jenkins—
“quite.”

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