The moral of this tale may be summed up in a single word,-TEMPERANCE.
FROM THE PAPERS OF REGINALD RATCLIFFE, ESQ.
In college I was the "Illustrious Lazy." In my professional studies and avocations, I have been so hard driven, in order to make up for four idle years, that I am wasted almost to a shadow, and fears are entertained that I shall wholly vanish into thin air. My physician talks gravely about my having exhausted my nervous energy, and sends me to Ratborough, as the place of all others the most favorable for entire intellectual repose. I am living with an old aunt, Tabitha Flint, who was wont to rock me, and trot me, and wash my face, in my helpless infancy, and can hardly yet be convinced that I have outgrown such endearing assiduities in the twenty-five years that have intervened. I let her pet me, so far as I find it convenient, and, indeed, farther, because I feel grateful for the kind feelings of which I am the object.
There is another personage in the household, who probably thinks that in the exuberant kindness of my aunt I have a full average of civility, without the least interest on her part. Do not for a moment imagine that I am piqued at her insulting indifference of manner towards a young man who (I beg you to believe) is not wholly without claim to a glance of approbation now and then from a lady's eye. You must not suppose I care at all about the matter. But as I have not even a book allowed me to take up my thoughts, my curiosity fixes itself strangely upon this silent, sulky, meditative little person, who takes about as much notice of me as of the figure of Father Time over the clock.
What can such a body have to think about the livelong day that is so absorbing that all one's bright thoughts, and one's most whimsical sallies, pass without notice? Should I see her once move a muscle of her very plain, doggedly inexpressive, provokingly composed phiz, I should jump up and cry, "Bo!" with surprise.
She vanishes several hours at a time, and I hear her humming to herself, sometimes in one room, sometimes in another. I wish I knew how she amuses herself, for I find self-amusement the hardest drudgery I ever tried. I could stamp, I am so impatient of doing nothing but lounge about; I am as snappish as a chained cur, as cross as a caged bear. And while I gnaw my nails, and stretch, and yawn, I hear that contented, bee-like murmur, and now and then a light, rapid step on the stairs, or about rooms which I do not frequent. What can she find to be so busy about, the absurd little person? how can she be so happy in this dull house alone?
There is a piano, but as silent as she is. I do not see her wince, though I drum upon the keys with most ingenious discords, and sing false on purpose as loud as I can bellow. I will not ask her if she can play; she can have no ear at all, or she would box mine in self-defence.
There is somebody, by name Flora, who is looked for daily by stage-coach. "Flory," says my aunt, "sings like a canary-bird, and plays a sight,"-and at sight too, it seems. This Miss Flora will be found to possess a tongue, I hope, and the disposition to give it exercise. I do not know certainly that Miss Etty-By the way, what is her real name? I won't condescend to ask any question about her. But really, I wish I knew whether it is Mehitable. Perhaps Henrietta. No, no, that is too pretty a name; I shall call her Little Ugly.
Hark! I have two or three times heard a very musical laugh in the direction of the kitchen. Heigh-ho! How can any mortal laugh in Ratborough! Having nothing better to do, I will go and see who this very merry personage may be. I will inquire into this gay outbreak, in a land of stupidity. Hark, again!-how refreshing! I must and will know what caused such a gush of mirth. Irish humor, perhaps, for Norah is laughing, after her guttural fashion, too.-
As I popped my head into the kitchen, Little Ugly was just vanishing at the opposite door. I could not make Norah tell me what Miss Etty put under her arm, as she looked over her shoulder at me, and darted out of sight. O my noisy boots! I might as well wear a bell round my neck.
Stage-wheels are rattling up the road. Now they run upon the grass before the door. I rush in undignified haste to the window. Shall I-will I-go and help this long-expected Miss Flora to alight? No,-for I see forty boxes on the coach-top. A very handsome girl, really! I will get out a blameless dickey,-if such there be. First impressions are important. I wish my hair was cut!
I hear my aunt coming to inform me of Flora's arrival. I shall be hugely surprised! Humph!-will it be worth while to trouble myself about the lop-eared dickey? Little Ugly will be amused, if I do. She can laugh, it seems. I had thought there was no fun in her mental composition. Yet I have imagined a glimmer or so in her eyes, when she thought I was not looking at them, and the shadow of a dimple in her cheek now and then.
Instead of Adonizing, I will set my long locks on end, and don my slipshod slippers. "Yes, Aunt; I hear, good lady! I will presently arrive, to make my bow to Little Handsome."
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Journal, Sept. 23d. Truly, the presence of Miss Flora Cooper makes Willow Valley a new place. At least six hours are taken from the length of the days, though I have given up my afternoon slumber, and play chess and backgammon instead of drumming on the table or piano. Now am I relieved from that tedious companion, my own self. I never liked him very well; I had rather do any thing than have a sober talk with a serious personage, who always takes me to do for not making more of him. He scolds me, just as a stay-at-home wife lectures a gay husband, who never returns to his better half when he finds any thing to amuse him abroad. Good-by, old fellow; I have found better company than your rememberings or hopings; to wit, Miss Flora Cooper, alias Little Handsome, alias Aunt Tabby's Canary.
The first day or two after her arrival, Miss Flora pouted at me. I was exceedingly well amused, making all the saucy speeches I could think of, in the pure spirit of mischief, and taking no notice of her tossing her pretty head, and turning her back upon me. Finding that her displeasure was not producing any particular effect upon the object of it, I imagine the indignant beauty begins to plot a different revenge on me. "Ha, ha! Miss Flora! It is not because you like me better than you did, that you are all smiles, and grace, and sunshine. I shall not flatter you the more, I am determined. I am on my guard. You shall never boast of me on your list of obsequious admirers. No, no, Little Handsome! I am no lady's man, and never was flirted withal in my life. I defy your smiles, as stoutly as your frowns. I like your pretty face; yes, it is exceedingly beautiful, as far as form and coloring go to make up the beauty of a face. And the play of the features,-yes, very lively and pretty, only too much of it. You should not smile so often; and I am tired of your pretty surprise, your playful upbraidings, and the raps of your fan. I want more repose of feature, Little Handsome. Now, what a contrast you and sedate Miss Etty present! Ah, very good! I am glad you have given up following Little Ugly out of the room the moment we rise from table. You sit down to your tiny basket, and demurely take out something that passes for work. I don't see you do much at it, however. I give you warning that I never hold skeins to be wound, not I. I will not read aloud; so you need not offer me that 'Sonnet to Flora,' in manuscript, nor your pet poet in print. We will talk; it is a comfort to have my wit appreciated, after wasting so much on my aunt, who cannot, and Miss Etty, who will not understand. I am glad to have a chance to speak, and to hear a human voice in answer. I like especially to rattle on when any nonsense will do. Chat is truly agreeable when one's brains are not severely taxed to keep it going."
Sept. 24th. Charming little Canary! I have spent the forenoon with her at the piano. I like her playing when she does not attempt my favorite tunes. It must be confessed she is apt to vary somewhat, and not for the better always. Her singing,-Aunt Tabitha well describes it as that of a canary; sweet and liquid, and clear, and sustained, but all alike. Her throat is a fine instrument; I shall teach her to use it with more expression and feeling. We will have another lesson to-morrow.