Read Ebook: Graham's Magazine Vol. XXXIV No. 5 May 1849 by Various Graham George R Editor

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Ebook has 595 lines and 74883 words, and 12 pages

Editor: George R. Graham J. R. Patterson J. B. Taylor

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GRAHAM'S MAGAZINE.

MR. AND MRS. JOHN JOHNSON JONES.

A TALE OF EVERYDAY LIFE.

"These are the spiders of society."

Mrs. Jones knew better for one--so did Mr. Jones; and while they were as vulgar as pride and ignorance could make them, learned to look upon themselves as "glasses of fashion and moulds of form." They had to labor for the distinction with a zeal worthy a better cause; and my readers shall have the benefit of their attempts if they are not already too tired to proceed.

Mrs. Jones canvassed among her female acquaintances for popularity, by calling, flattering, cringing, and sending them delicacies made by her own fair hands; and Mr. Jones, who was very anxious to be "genteel," studied Chesterfield, and wondered what it meant. He belonged to one of the first families of a state, in which all the families were first--a universal right of distinction. His connections would have been titled in an aristocracy; but their respect for the American government made them condescend to be plain Misters, Madams, and Misses.

Fortune particularly distinguished Mr. Jones and saved him the trial of an impossibility--the one of distinguishing himself. She gave him the key to every door when she made him wealthy, and in pure gratitude he converted his soul into a cent, and his heart into hard specie.

Then, Fortune bestowed on him the would-be-elegant Miss Pushaw, as high-born as himself; and he was certainly a happy man when he stood up with a bride whose dress was, like Margaret Overreach's, "sprinkled o'er with gold." He was soon dazzled by her manoeuvering qualities, and touched by the congeniality of feeling which existed between them. An adoration of fine clothes, fine furniture, and fashionable people, was the sacred link that bound these loving hearts into one; and upon their removal from the country to the city, no marble-cutter labored harder, or struck more small pieces right and left, than did Mr. and Mrs. John Johnson Jones, when they fawned and flattered, and ran small errands for the neighbors that surrounded them, "the great Athenians."

Mr. Jones's wine flowed freely, Then the boxes of best Havanas were fast emptied, and clouds of smoke arose from the front piazza, frightening the neighbors into thinking the house was on fire until they were used to it. And Boston! and whist! there was no end to these favorite games, while the gossips of the village whispered that it was a very profitable amusement to Mr. Jones.

But there was still a Mordecai at the gate of poor Mrs. Jones's soul. Many had called to see her, whose nod a few months previous was as great as Jove's from Mount Olympus; but like all who strive for much, she wanted more. There was one card whose reception would at once stamp her "a peer," give her the right to place the golden grasshopper in her hair; for Mrs. Macfuss was one of the proud Autochthones whose boast was that she had never been but the first among the first. She had been heard to say that she could not think of encouraging such persons as the Joneses! And such a speech from the cynosure of all eyes threw Mrs. Jones into hysterics.

They determined to make a mighty effort, and commenced preparations for a ball. Invitations were written on scented paper, and put into envelopes with embossed vines and bouquets over the seal. These were sent to her new acquaintances, and the "picked and chosen" of her old ones; and breaking through the charmed rules of etiquette, Mrs. Jones's cards were slipped into some of the invitations and left at Mrs. Macfuss's for herself and family. A band of music was engaged, and every thing prepared on a large scale.

Mrs. Jones was seen rushing in and out of the house in an old loose gown looking like--herself; sleeves up to her elbows, and said elbows covered with eggs, sugar and butter; while behind her ran Master Pushaw Jones, on a pair of hard fat, blue legs, his face besmeared with the same sweet compound that graced his mamma's arms, enlivening the scene with shrill screams for egg-shells, into which he concocted sundry messes that defy description.

In every sunny spot around the house were tables covered with cakes like pyramids of snow, so white and smooth was the icing poured over them. In the kitchen were fowls roasting and hams boiling; turkeys innumerable in their tin houses, getting basted and browned; and oysters getting plumped and pickled, peppered and spiced. There was more shuffling, running about, upsetting and breaking, than can be imagined, and fussing, to Mrs. Jones's content. Baskets of champagne arriving from town; blocks of ice; borrowed china and glass; lamps, candelabras, &c., &c. Servants rushing out to assist the draymen, shouting, tumbling over one another in an agony of amazement at "Miss Sally's importance," and ransacking drawers and closets for cup-towels and tumbler-towels that were insufficient for all the wiping that was to be done.

The table was set out--and a magnificent one it was, if profusion is beauty. There was nothing wanting. Plenty of lights, too, were in readiness, and nearly all was completed the evening before, to poor Mrs. Jones's relief. She went to bed, endeavoring to think the fatigue a pleasure, and slept soundly enough to feel recruited.

Mrs. Hill did not doubt it, and as she afterward told her sister, heard an account so minute of the costs of the entertainment, that she could easily have made out the bills for the city confectioners and grocers.

"But she did not tell me who were her guests, Eda; and I really had no opportunity of asking," said she, smiling. "Now I might have learned something more interesting for your benefit."

"You may look as disdainful as you please, my exclusive brother," said Mrs. Hill, laying her white hand upon his own, "but I prophecy Mrs. Jones's rise in the world of fashion as a thing of certain occurrence, as much as we all now laugh at and despise her vulgarity and ignorance. She will be as well considered as you or I, and more, for she has wealth, and we have only education and high-breeding."

"Tell it not in Gath! What, Macfusses and all, Fanny!" cried her brother. "Impossible! No one is a prophet in his own country, my dear sister, and thus I console myself for the shock you have given me."

"Very true, Fanny, but if what you predict comes to pass, I shall play Timon of Athens, and fly to Texas."

"O, lame and impotent conclusion!" said Eda, rising and running her fingers over the harp-strings, sending a full, clear strain through the apartment.

"'If music be the food of love, play on; Give me excess of it, that surfeiting--'

"Nay, sing, sister," said Fanny; "'twill soothe his troubled spirit sooner. Sing something from Lucia di Lammermoor, and I will promise not to repeat my offence."

Winter approached, and after giving dinners, suppers, and picknicks innumerable in honor of her new acquaintance, Mrs. Jones prepared to remove into her house in town. At the same time Mrs. Macfuss was ready to do the like, and as mortified as the former felt at her palpable neglect, it was a comfort to know that their furniture-wagons went side by side for six good miles.

And so ended Mrs. Jones's first year of climbing. The ladder seemed not so steep, nor the ascent so difficult; she could look up and smile on those at the top, while hands were held out to help her as she mounted.

She dreamed of Paradise, and began to breathe and hope. Who would not in her place? She talked louder than ever, and began to patronize a few, offering to chaperone very young ladies, or ladies of a certain age. Her toilette was magnificent, and began to be elegant. Mrs. Jones had improved decidedly.

The house continued to be thronged with her usual visiters. Her parlors were a kind of club-room for young men who staggered about, half-sober, after having played cards all night, or rested their weary heads upon the satin pillows of her sofas, and dozed off the effect of the champagne. Mrs. Jones declined all further communication with her former friends, and wrote pompous notes to all who took any liberty with her name. It was a thing she could not think of allowing; she had certainly the right of choosing her associates, and neither herself nor Mr. Jones could permit any one to question their conduct in any manner. Indeed, she was often upon the point of requesting Mr. Jones to impress it upon the minds of the silly creatures, that she could not acknowledge the acquaintance of such a promiscuous set. They had fastened upon her during her residence at "the Creek," and she could not shake them off; she never dreamed of encouraging them, and had resolved on her return from the North, not to notice any calls paid her by such an obstinate set.

"Ah, indeed!" exclaimed the bosom-friend of days gone by, upon hearing all this repeated; "she don't intend to know us! Perhaps she forgets how glad she was when aunt invited her and her sister to a party, and they mortified us so, by coming with paper crowns on their heads, and little baskets filled with artificial flowers on their arms?"

"I dressed myself from top to toe."

"Are you going out this morning, Sara?" said Mr. Jones, as he saw an unusual quantity of finery on the dressing-table, embroidered collars, cuffs, handkerchiefs and gay ribbons.

"Yes; I have some calls to make--no very important ones to be sure; I intend dining out to Mrs. Hill's place at Summerfield. But as I think it a duty to assist in putting down the pride of such people, I wish to go with some eeclaw, and will take Pushaw with me, to show off his handsome suit. Some of my friends told me it was folly in me to put myself to the trouble of calling, but I wish them to see how mistaken they were, poor things! when they took upon themselves to treat us with so much indifference when we were neighbors. The Hills are of no earthly use, everybody knows that! and I vow and declare that I saw Mrs. Hill wear that shine silk of hers two winters ago. I really must ask some of her acquaintances; it is worth while to ascertain it. I suppose I must go alone, for I could not ask any one to be charitable enough to go with me; and after this, I mean to cut the Seymour and Hill clique most decidedly."

Mrs. Jones took breath, and laughed at her own wit as though she relished it; and well she might, for the idea of her being able to "cut people" was a very funny one to be sure.

"Hill is doing a bad business this winter," said her husband, buttoning his coat, and straightening himself before the glass. "He'll be 'done up' at the end of it, I'll wager any thing, for he sold his beautiful horse a short time since, and a man must be in a poor way to part with such an animal as that is. Sinclair bought him, and hardly knows how to ride."

"Well, and who don't?" replied his wife, who felt herself subject to a similar weakness. "Besides, Mr. Jones, her acquaintance has been an advantage, consider that! I have no doubt but that through her influence we shall have Mrs. Macfuss in our house before the season is out."

"D--n Mrs. Macfuss!" exclaimed Mr. Jones, forgetting Chesterfield in his indignation at the heart-aches she had given him and his helpmate. "You expect the Saxons, too, I suppose! For they are as proud as the others, and as grand in their notions."

"The Saxons dine here on Monday," said Mrs. Jones, with a look of triumph. "They called this week, and I immediately asked them, reserving the news for one of your cross humors, and you were just beginning one at the Macfusses."

Mr. Jones was like Richard, "himself again," and almost upset the chiffoniere in the middle of the room. His wife smiled benignantly upon his playfulness, but thought it time to end his exhilaration where it began; "for," said she to herself, "if any one should hear him!" So she dismissed him by reminding him of the hour, and Mr. Jones left his Penates for his sanctuary, the counting-room. In his mind, if mind it were, there was but one idea, the one of amassing wealth, and he was as unlike that being of superiority, man, as the sloth to the bee. While his limbs moved, while his fingers marked down the all-important figures, his mind lay dormant, his soul stagnant; and forgetful of the treasures that "neither rust nor moth doth consume, where thieves do not break through nor steal," he left uneared for the harvest which we are bound to reap--the harvest of a good and useful life. Where his treasure was, there also was his heart; but such things pass away, and will be like a drop in the ocean; where then would lie the benefit of all this toil, these struggles for the vain possessions of a passing world?

"Dress him in the suit that came from the North, Cilla," said she, with an air of Zenobian authority. "I wish to take him with me. Be prompt, and do not cross him, for he would cry, and I cannot have his face swollen. It will disfigure him."

There were few charms to destroy in Master Jones's little dish-face, but his mother descended to the front parlor with a Gracchi perception of greatness in embryo, and walked up and down before the pier-glass until her father's softened image followed her. Sundry shrill screams had found their way below, but as the injuries were entirely confined to poor Cilla's face and hands, Mrs. Jones was satisfied. She surveyed him attentively, and the result was satisfactory; although Master Pushaw looked very much as if he were about to mount Miss Foote for a race, or a circus pony for a ride around the ring. His clothes were remarkable for their gay color, and he wore a fools-cap, whose long gold tassel swung to and fro as his motions grew animated. We have seen little creatures dressed like, and resembling him--but they were not children.

Mrs. Jones was whirled off in triumph to Mrs. Hill's. A pretty cottage, elegantly but simply furnished, stood unmoved as the splendid equipage dashed up to the front door. A servant opened it, at sound of the bell, and answered in plain English that his mistress was "at home." Mrs. Jones descended the steps, and was ushered into the parlor. Still there was no unusual stir about the place, the pretty portraits kept in their frames on the wall, and the flowers remained unwithered at her approach. Mrs Jones's astonishment redoubled, and when Mrs. Hill entered the room, her smiling, blooming countenance completed the disappointment of her guest. Nay, her quiet manner, and indifference to the mass of ribbons, flounces and embroidery that sat before her, gave Mrs. Jones nervous twitches at the mouth, and she at length asked for Mrs. Hill's little boy, certain of seeing him, as Master Pushaw looked when he was not "dressed in the suit that came from the North."

But the nurse entered holding by the hand a beautiful boy, whose smooth, fresh complexion was ornamented with only the bloom "Nature's cunning hand had laid on." His costume was as unlike a fancy one as possible, and Mrs. Jones felt the thorn deeper in her side, as his bright dark eye rested boldly and scrutinizingly upon his visiter.

"What a funny cap!" exclaimed he, as it swung to and fro when Pushaw turned his head.

"And so it is funny, dear!" replied the nurse with true Irish naivet?.

"Take the little boy with you, Charley, and get him a nice biscuit," said Mrs. Hill, and she felt relieved as the children left the room. "A glass of wine will refresh you after the drive, Mrs. Jones," continued she, hoping to direct her attention to a different channel; and pulling the bell, she ordered a tray of refreshment for her fashionable guest, not fearing to display the contents of her pantry to such practiced eyes.

Mrs. Jones swallowed a sponge cake, and washed it down with a mouthful or two of wine; but it almost choked her, and she rose to go without having dazzled Mrs. Hill with an account of her "elegant dinner-service, and the splendid silver tea-set." She remained imperturbable during the enumeration of the parties Mrs. Jones had attended, and the invitations she had been forced to decline, so bidding her hostess good morning, the lady stepped into her carriage with a feeling of bitter disappointment, "for" said she, "Mrs. Hill don't look at all as though her husband were doing a bad business. Mr. Jones must be mistaken; no woman on the verge of poverty could ever look as undisturbed as she did this morning."

That night, while she and her husband sat together in animated, sprightly discourse over some work they had been reading, four people were assembled around the centre-table in one of Mrs. Jones's handsome parlors. The lady herself, her husband, and Miss Fawney, with her brother, a little snub-nosed, purple-visaged fellow, conceited, of course, and fond of talking.

"That's right, Sara!" said her husband, stroking his small crop of whiskers. "Go the whole hog, and give us something out of the way."

"Do mind him for once, Mrs. Jones, although you ladies don't love obedience to the conjugal yoke," observed Mr. Fawney, screwing up his face to refrain from laughing at his own wit. "All the young men in town are wishing that you would give a party. They know what they may expect, I can tell you."

"Will you, dear Mrs. Jones," cried she, embracing that lady with great affection, and filled with delight at the commission given her. "How kind of you to leave every thing to me! But then you know how much I feel--" Miss Fawney here wept a little, and wiping her eyes and snuffling, resumed: "Now we'll begin with--the Macfusses, of course--then the Fentons--"

"But none of them have called on Sara," interrupted Mr. Jones.

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