A Little Girl of Long Ago; Or, Hannah Ann

by Amanda M. Douglas

  CHAPTER XIV

  AMONG GREAT THINGS

  Were people more enthusiastic in old New York than they are at the endof the century? We have done so much, we have had so many wonderfulhappenings since then. To be sure, Dickens had been over and made,people thought, a somewhat caustic return for the hospitable welcome;Harriet Martineau had made a tour, and gone home rather favourablyimpressed; and the winter before the intellectual circle--and it wasgetting to be quite notable--had honoured the Swedish novelist,Frederica Bremer, and been really charmed by her unaffected sweetness.If they were not quite ready to take up her theories for the advancementof women, they fell to reading the delightful "Neighbours" and "Home."And now there was to be another visitant, "The Swedish Nightingale."

  For Mr. Barnum was still the prince of entertainers. Theatres waxed andwaned, and new stars came to the front who had still their laurels towin; people strove for cards to the Steven's Terrace, just back ofColumbia College on Park Place. Bleecker Street was not out of date,though Mrs. Hamilton Fish had gone up to Stuyvesant Square, and wasgathering about her a political clique. There were card-parties anddances; there were Christy's Minstrels and the Hutchinson family; andsome of the more intellectual circles had conversaziones where the besttalent displayed itself. Still, Barnum could not be crowded out. Nosarcasm withered him; and his variety was infinite. It was a safe placefor mothers to go and take their children. The men had formed severalambitious clubs, and were beginning to entertain themselves.

  Jenny Lind had already captivated Europe. Mr. Barnum judiciously broughtinterest up to fever heat. After the bargain was made known, and theyoung singer had taken her passage with her suite, a musical ragepervaded the very city. The streets leading to the wharf were throngedby crowds in the wildest enthusiasm. Triumphal arches were built acrossCanal Street, and as she came down the gang-plank of the steamer, shoutsrent the very air.

  The young traveller and poet, Bayard Taylor, had captured the prizeoffered for the finest ode to be sung at her first concert. Two hundreddollars seemed a large price at that time, as Tennyson had not beenoffered a thousand for a poem. So great was the inquiry for tickets,that they were sold at auction a few days previous. And Mr. Genin, aBroadway hatter, signalised himself by making the highest bid for aticket,--two hundred and twenty-five dollars. Over one thousand ticketswere sold on the first day.

  The concert was to be at Castle Garden. At five, the doors were opened,and people began to throng in, though each seat had been secured to itsproper owner; and by eight, the audience was in a perfect transport ofexpectation. It was said to be the largest audience assembled to listento her. And when she was led on the stage by her manager, the enthusiasmwas beyond description. It seemed to divine beforehand that thefair-haired Swedish songstress would meet all expectations; and shepassed beyond it.

  Ben had been caught by the enthusiasm, and squandered his savings on aticket. He and Jim had been in the crowd around the hotel, that firstnight when the New York musical society had serenaded her, and she hadbowed from the old stone balcony to the admiring crowds.

  "There isn't any word to express it," declared Ben, at thebreakfast-table the next morning. "Joe, you must hear her, andHanny--all of you. Never mind the cost."

  "Ben, you have lost your senses," said his mother, with a touch of herold sharpness. "As if we were all millionaires! And I have heard peoplesing before."

  "Not anything like that. You can't imagine such melody. And theenthusiasm of the crowd is worth something!"

  The little girl looked up wistfully. She was beginning to understand thevalue of money.

  "Yes," returned Joe; "Hanny must hear her. I wouldn't have her miss itfor anything. But the tickets won't be so high after a little."

  They dropped to regular prices, but that was high for the times; and therush continued unabated. New York broke out in a Jenny Lind furore.There were gloves, and hats, and shawls, and gowns, beautiful littletables, and consoles, and furniture of all sorts that bore her name. Thebakers made Jenny Lind cake. What a time there was! Enthusiastic adorerstook her carriage from its shafts, and dragged it from Castle Garden tothe hotel. Was New York old in those days? Rather, it was the glowing,fervid impetuosity of early youth.

  And the serenade, when Broadway was jammed for blocks, and lighted bytorches in the street, and illuminations in the houses and stores. Therewas a wonderful cornetist, Koenig, who could have won another Eurydicefrom the shades with his playing. Out on the balcony he stood and movedthe crowd with his melody. Then she came out beside him, and, in thehush, a thousand times more appreciative than the wildest applause, themagnificent voice sang to its large, free audience, "Home, Sweet Home,"as no one will ever hear it sung again. That alone would be fame enoughfor any writer of song!

  The furore did not abate. But they must all go,--Stephen and Dolly,Margaret and her husband, Joe and the little girl, and her father.

  "It is nonsense for an old fellow like me," he declared, halfhumourously.

  "But I shall like it so much better, and then we can talk it overafterward. That's half the pleasure."

  She looked so wistful out of her soft eyes, and patted his hand with hercaressing little fingers, of course he couldn't say No.

  It was so much harder to persuade Mrs. Underhill. "It certainly _was_wicked to spend so much money just to hear one woman sing. She had heardthe 'Messiah,' with Madame Anna Bishop in it; and she never againexpected to hear anything so beautiful this side of heaven."

  They carried the day, however, in spite of her objections. Castle Gardenlooked like fairyland, with its brilliant lights, its hundred ushers inwhite gloves and rosettes, their wands tipped with ribbon as if for somegrand ball. The quiet was awe-inspiring. One did not even want towhisper to his neighbour, but just sit in fascinated silence and wonderwhat it would be like.

  Then Jenny Lind was led on the stage, and the entire audience rose withone vast, deafening cheer,--a magnificent one, as hearty as on her firstnight. It seemed as if they would never stop. There was a cloud ofwaving handkerchiefs, shaking out fragrance in the air.

  A simple Swedish maiden in her gown of soft, white silk, with no blazeof diamonds, and just one rose low down in her banded hair, only hergracious sweetness and simplicity, a thousand times finer and moreeffective than flashing beauty. She has heard the applause many a timebefore, in audiences of crowned heads; and this from the multitude isjust as sweet.

  When all is listening, attentive silence, she begins "Casta Diva." "Harkto the voice," and every one listens with such intensity that themagnificent sound swells out and fills the farthest space. There is nostriving for effect. A woman singing with a God-given voice, in simplethanks for its ownership, not a queen bidding for admiration. Had anyvoice ever made such glorious melody, or so stirred human souls?

  The applause has in it an immensity of appreciation, as if it couldnever get itself wholly expressed.

  Then another favourite, which everybody sang at for years afterward: "Idreamt I dwelt in marble halls." In some of the sorrows of herwomanhood, the little girl was to recall the sweet refrain--

  "That you loved me still the same."

  Then "Comin' thro' the Rye," with a lilt and dainty deliciousness thatone never can forget. But "Home, Sweet Home," moves to tears andenthusiasm. Surely, no voice ever put such pathos, such marvelloussweetness, into it!

  And sometimes now, when the little girl looks over to the other country,one of the many joys she thinks will be hearing such blessed voices asJenny Lind's and Parepa Rosa's. You could not shake her faith inimmortality and all these precious joys to come.

  She was quite a heroine at school for many days to come. People did notthink it worth while to spend so much money on children at that time.

  Margaret and her mother had compromised on the school question, orrather Margaret had yielded.

  Hanny would graduate at the end of the year. Margaret preferred astylish boarding-school after that. The Hoffmans were quite in the swimof that period. The Doct
or's connections, and Margaret's beauty, madethem welcome in circles that were beginning to grow a little exclusive,and demand grandfathers for vouchers. There was a little talk, eventhen, about _nouveaux riches_; but, after all, no one seemed toabsolutely despise wealth.

  Margaret was really very ambitious for the younger members of thefamily. Jim, with his good looks and the brightness that was akin towit, was her favourite. Then he took naturally to elegance.

  Dolly was very happy and jolly with her husband and children. They livedin a very pleasant manner; and society courted Dolly as well. Stephenwas prospering wonderfully, and had a fine standing among business-men.

  Hanny was extravagantly fond of the children. Stevie called her AuntieNan, now; but Annie said simply Nan. Margaret had adopted it as well.Hannah was rather awkward and old-fashioned. Even Ben sometimeswarbled,--

  "Nannie, wilt thou gang wi' me?"

  She had another great and unexpected treat a few weeks later. She hadgone on Friday to make a real visit at Dolly's, and go from there toschool on Monday morning. And, fortunately for her, she had taken herbest Sunday frock, which she was wearing a good deal lest she mightoutgrow it.

  And who should drop in but Delia Whitney. Whether Dolly suspected allwas not clear sailing for the young people, no one could have told fromher friendly manner. She had taken quite a liking to Delia, and was muchinterested in her success.

  They talked over the Jenny Lind concert. Delia had attended two. She wasgoing about quite a good deal among literary people.

  "And to-morrow night, The. and I are going to take Ben to the Osgoods.Oh, Hanny, that's the author of the little song you sing:--

  "'I love you, I adore you; but I'm talking in my sleep.'

  And she's just lovely."

  "Oh," cried Hanny, "I should like to see her, truly. You know I told youabout seeing her in the carriage when she went up to Mr. Poe's."

  "Well, can't you go? The. has a standing invitation to bring friends.Why, Nora has gone! She sang up there one evening, and did wonderfullywell. Her teacher thinks in a year or two she can try concerts; only itisn't best to strain her voice now. And you may see some famous people,and some yet to be famous, myself among them."

  "Oh, I don't care about the others," said Hanny, naively. "And if youare quite sure--Dolly, ought I to go?"

  "Why not?" answered Dolly. "It's fortunate that you brought your bestfrock; though we could have sent for it. Why, yes, if you would liketo."

  Hanny drew a long breath. Twice of late her mother had found excuseswhen she had asked to go down to Beach Street. She, too, had a vaguefeeling there was something in the air; but her simple nature was notsuspicious. And it wasn't like going to the Whitney's. She couldn't dosuch a thing without asking permission.

  Delia finished her call, kissed the babies and Hanny, and said theywould all be up at eight, sharp.

  "I'll have Hanny in apple-pie order," answered Dolly, with her brightsmile.

  Stephen was delightful in his family; and he had the same odd littlelook in his eye as her father, suggestive of fun. He was teaching her toplay checkers; and, although Dolly helped sometimes, she found it hardwork to beat him. Dolly sat by embroidering.

  The next morning they drove down-town and did some shopping, and calledon Annette, who made them stay to luncheon. Mrs. Beekman was quitepoorly now, and had grown very, very stout. She said, "she had lost allher ambition. It was a great thing to be young, and have all your lifebefore you."

  It was so delightful; and Dolly was sure they wouldn't have many moresuch Indian summery days, so they went over to Washington Parade-ground,where the style promenaded on Saturday afternoon. Hanny wore her bestdress and a pretty cloth cape trimmed with a little edge of fur. Theytook Stevie, who was delighted of course, and who ran about, very proudof his new jacket and trousers.

  Many of the promenaders nodded to young Mrs. Stephen Underhill. Bellesand beaux went by; prettily dressed children; stylish little boys, whocarried canes, and had long tassels drooping over one side of theircaps. Hanny enjoyed it all very much.

  Then after supper, Dolly put a fine lace tucker over the edging at theneck of her frock, and found a blue sash, and curled her hair so as tomake it all wavy at the edge of her forehead; and there was a verysweet, attractive girl, if she wasn't a beauty.

  Mr. Theodore Whitney seemed very much amused and pleased, and politelyinquired if he might be Miss Underhill's escort. Delia looked unusuallynice in her new brown silk and some beautiful old lace Aunt Clem hadgiven her.

  People did not wait until ten o'clock for "functions" to begin; neitherdid they give them that uneuphonious name. Hanny had read and heard agood deal since her first visit to genius in the plain, poor, littlecottage; and this certainly had more of the true aspect one connectswith poesy. The two rooms were daintily furnished; pictures everywhere.Mr. Osgood was a painter, and his portraits were quite celebrated. Thecurtains fell with a graceful sweep. The light brocade of the chairsthrew out glisteny shades; the little tables set about held books andengravings, and great portfolios leaned against the wall. There was acase of choicely-bound books, and an open piano. Flowers were in vaseson brackets, and low, quaint china bowls. It was like a lovely pictureto the little girl; but she felt afraid of the people talking soearnestly, and wondered if they were all poets and authors.

  The party greeted their hostess, and Hanny was introduced. Was it theglamour of the summer and the blue gown that had made Mrs. Osgood solovely sitting there in the carriage? Now she was thin, and her hair wasbanded down in the fashion of the day; then it had been flying inringlets. Her gown was black silk, and that made her look rather grave;but when she smiled, all the old sweetness was there. Hanny knew herthen.

  Delia took charge of Hanny, and seated her by a table with a book ofchoice engravings. Ben had found some one he knew, and Mr. Whitney hadgone to talk to General Morris. A tall young lady came over and begancomplimenting Miss Whitney on her story in Godey's, and Delia flushed upwith pleasure. Then she begged to introduce her to a friend. She wroteverses only, and her friend had composed music for them.

  Hanny kept watching her hostess. She knew some of the guests, fromhaving had them pointed out to her in the street. There was Mr. Greeley,thin of face and careless of attire in those early days. In the streethe could always be told by a shaggy light coat that he wore.

  A very sweet-looking elderly lady came up presently and spoke to Delia,who was in full flow of eager talk with the young musical composer.

  "Isn't that your sister, or your niece,--the one who sang here some timeago? I saw her come in with Mr. Whitney."

  "Oh, no," returned Delia. "But she is a very dear friend,--Mr.Underhill's sister."

  "Mr. Stephen Underhill?"

  "Yes, she is his sister; but it is Mr. Ben Underhill who is here."

  "I know Mr. and Mrs. Stephen Underhill very well. She was a Beekman. AndDr. Hoffman's wife belongs to the family."

  Delia turned and introduced Mrs. Kirtland.

  She had such an attractive face, framed in with rows of snowy puffs,quite gone out of date, but becoming to her nevertheless.

  "I feel that I almost know you," she said sweetly, "though I halfmistook you for Miss Whitney; but she is dark, and you are fair, so Iought not to have made the blunder. I know your brother Stephen and hiswife."

  "Oh!" Hanny gave it a glad little sound, and smiled, as she put out hersmall hand.

  Mrs. Kirtland took the unoccupied seat.

  "I suppose you have hardly begun life, you look so young. But no doubtyou are a genius of some sort. Mrs. Osgood is so extraordinarily good toyoung geniuses."

  "No, I haven't any genius," and Hanny flushed, as she gave a beguilingsmile that lighted up her face. "And though there are a good many ofus, we have not even a family genius."

  "That depends upon whether you restrict the word to painting a pictureor writing a poem or a story. Mr. Stephen Underhill is very highlyspoken of as one of the promising young business-men. And is it yourbrot
her who was in the office of old Dr. Fitch, and in the hospital?"

  "Yes, ma'am," returned Hanny, with a glow of pleasure. Young people werestill expected to say "Yes, sir," and "Yes, ma'am," to their elders, outof respect.

  "That does very well for one family, though the Whitneys seem to have agood share. Miss Delia is quite a success, I hear. And we always findMr. Whitney very entertaining. Have you known them long?"

  "Oh, for years, seven almost. And we used to be neighbours."

  "A friendship is said to be certain when you have held it seven years.Have you met Mrs. Osgood before?"

  "No, ma'am; but I saw her quite a long while ago at Fordham."

  "At Fordham! Then you must have known the poet Edgar Allan Poe."

  "A little," returned Hanny, timidly.

  "There's such a romance to his life at that place,--his lovely youngwife dying, and the devotion of Mrs. Clemm. Oh, tell me about yourepisode!"

  Hanny told the story, very simply, charmingly as well.

  "Oh," exclaimed Mrs. Kirtland, "Frances must hear that!" Then sheglanced around. Mrs. Osgood was no longer receiving guests, but minglingwith the company. Some one was going to the piano; and everybodylistened to an exquisite voice singing a beautiful Italian melody. Whenthat was finished, a young man who was to be famous in after years reada sweet, simple poem that touched every one's heart. Then the talk beganin little groups again.

  Mrs. Kirtland signalled to her hostess, who came over to them.

  "Frances," she said, "here is a youthful worshipper who remembers you asa lovely lady all in cerulean blue, and with long curls, going up to thePoe cottage. See how you have lived in the child's memory. And she singsa song of yours."

  Hanny's face was scarlet for a moment; but Mrs. Osgood sat down besideher, and they talked of the poet and Mrs. Clemm, and touched lightlyupon the sad after-happenings. He had at one time been a frequent guest.There was even yet a deep interest in him, though opinion was sharplydivided. And Mrs. Osgood had known the beautiful Virginia, whose sadfate even then was hardly realised. They talked a little about "AnnabelLee" and the "high-born kinsman;" and Hanny thought she had a delightfultime.

  There was coffee and chocolate and lemonade, with plates of dainty cakesand confectionery, in an ante-room. Then a gentleman sang ahunting-song in a fine tenor voice; and another paper on Art was read.

  If people came early, they also dispersed at a reasonable hour. It wasnot quite ten when Delia, Hanny, and Ben made their adieus to thehostess, who stooped and kissed Hanny for "old remembrance' sake," shesaid.

  Mr. Whitney was going down with some of the older men. Ben saw hislittle sister safe in Stephen's hands, and then went on with Delia.

  "I've had such a splendid time!" exclaimed Hanny. "I wouldn't havemissed it for the world."

  When she told the home-folks about it, her mother made no comment; butJoe and her father were very much interested. And when, not long afterthat, "the high-born kinsman" came for the charming woman who had givenmuch pleasure in her brief way through the world, and who had notdisdained to write a verse and her name in many a society album, Hannyfelt quite as if she had lost a dear friend.

  Two other poets, sisters, Alice and Ph[oe]be Cary, came to New York, andheld receptions that were quite famous as time went on. To be sure,there was the old name of blue-stocking applied to them now and then;for people, women especially, were taking a wider interest in otheraffairs beside literature, prefiguring the new woman. Miss Delia Whitneywas very much interested. They were not quite up to clubs in those days,or she would have been a charter-member.

  But the child Hanny had enough to do to study her lessons, practise hermusic, and make her visits, with a little sewing in between. She didmake her father a set of shirts; but underclothing of all kinds wasbeing manufactured; and though the older-fashioned women sneered at it,as rather poor stuff, the men seemed to like it. At gentlemen'sfurnishing stores, you could buy shirts cut and made in the lateststyle, the neckbands of which always seemed to fit, or else the mendiscreetly refrained from grumbling when they had spent so much money.And women began to find it eased their burdens.

  No one wanted home-knit stockings, the English and French and Germanssent us such perfect ones. White was still all the style, unless youwore black, or blossom-coloured silk. Of course there were common peoplewho put slate-colour on their children, because white made so muchwashing. And as for pantalets, there were none left.

  There were other people called away beside poets, and changes made infamilies. Grandmother Underhill went to the country wherein the faithfulabide, and Aunt Katrina. Grandmother Van Kortlandt came to make her homewith her daughter. Aunt Crete and Cousin Joanna Morgan, and here andthere some of the old people, as well as the young, passed over thenarrow river.

  But there seemed new babies all around. Dolly and Margaret had littlesons, and Cleanthe a daughter. John was quite jealous of Hanny's notice;for his little girl was fair, and had light hair, and they were quitesure it looked like her. John wanted to call her Hannah Ann.

  "Oh, no," said Hanny; "there are so many beautiful names now!" Then shelaughed. "I shall not promise her a hundred dollars, nor my string ofgold beads. I am not sorry, for I have loved both grandmothers; and oneis gone--"

  "Why don't we name her after _her_ grandmothers?" exclaimed Cleanthe."One of hers is gone," and she sighed. "It seems such a long name for awee baby."

  "Margaret Elizabeth,--it is a beautiful name," said Hanny, with delight."Mother will give her something, I know. And I will be her godmother,and endow her for the Elizabeth."

  "With all your worldly goods?" asked John.

  "Not _quite_ all--"

  "You'll be impoverished, Hanny," interrupted John, with a glint ofhumour. "Six nephews and nieces already! And there are four of us stillto marry, if George ever comes back. He hasn't made his fortune yet. Hewas crazy to go. The good times here suit me well enough."

  Grandmother Underhill put fifty dollars in the bank for the new baby,and gave it a silver spoon. Hanny gave her a silver cup with her nameengraved on it, and, with Dolly's help, made her a beautiful christeningrobe, which Cleanthe saved up for her, the sewing and tucking on it wasso exquisite. She used to show it to visitors with a great deal ofpride.