Studies for stories

Chapter I. The Misses Perkins

SOME years ago, while staying at the seaside, my parents renewed their acquaintance with some ladies, whom we will call the Misses Perkins. They were the daughters of a clergyman deceased, and had. a slender competence, on which they not only kept up a creditable appearance, but were charitable and useful.

It happened that, shortly before returning home, my parents remarked, in presence of these ladies, that they had intended to leave me behind for a time, because my health was delicate, but that some change of plan prevented the family with whom I was to have been domesticated from receiving me. ^

Hereupon significant looks passed between the sisters, and the next day a note arrived, which set forth, that though the Misses Perkins were not in the habit of receiving boarders, — far from it, — yet on this occasion they should be happy to step out of their usual path, and accommodate the daughter of their old friend.

Accordingly, I was sent to their house, and the ladies — that is, some of them — took care that I should derive all the benefit that care and kindness could secure to me.

The Misses Perkins covenanted to provide me with sea air, and, besides that, they provided me with many speculations on human life ; on the Providence which throws certain characters together ; the changes they are intended to work on one another ; the place each is fitted to fill in this world ; the reason why some are privileged to be almost always helpers, while others are suffiered to be uniformly hinderers ; and the cause why some, as it seems, are compelled to exert themselves so much, while others, it is evident, are determined to do so little.

But did the Misses Perkins intend to teach me all this ? Certainly not ; they were by no means metaphysical in their turn of mind and conversation. They were not given to abstract speculation. They never talked of the object of life, or of their missions. They had agreed that I should have sea air, and I had it.

And now I will just describe to you the Misses Perkins, their characters and occupations ; and you shall see whether it was not natural that I should have cogitated on them a little.

The three elder were the daughters of a first marriage, and appeared to be from forty to forty-five years of age ; the two younger were the children of a second marriage : the elder was twenty-five, and the younger twenty-three years of age.

Miss Perkins was a tall, bony woman, very plain, but with a pleasant cheerfulness and activity about her. She kept the house ; and half its comfort, and nearly all its superfluities, certainly arose from this circumstance. Assuredly she was not intellectual, but her love of order, economy, and regularity made her a very useful person. And I saw that if she were to die, her sisters, independently of their affection for her, would miss her sorely from their household.

She was somewhat garrulous, and fond of describing her day's occupations to me.

" You see, my dear," she would begin, " I always go out directly after breakfast, because I cannot order dinner till I have been to the fishnionger's and the butcher's. Things vary very much in price, and it behooves me to buy what is both good and cheap. It would never do to send Mary, who is no judge, and just say, ' Buy soles,' or ' Buy whiting ' ; because just that day those particular fish might be both stale and dear, while cod was plentiful. No ; I just look about for myself; and if all is dear, why, I take none, but go off to the butcher, and get a larger joint of meat, and perhaps make up with a fruit pie. And there again, you know, servants have no discretion. If I were to say, * Mary, go and buy damsons for a pie,' she would get them, though they were scarce and stale, and never think to tell me that apples were plentiful. No, my dear, depend on it, where the income is as limited as ours is, a great deal depends on seeing after everything one's self. It takes up a good deal of time, but I hke to have a good and plentiful table. I don't like any stinting, or \o have AmeHa complain of the butter or the fruit, or say the tradespeople cheat us."

" Certainly, that would not be pleasant," I would remark.

" Not at all pleasant, my dear," she would reply ; " so you see I have plenty to do ; for I always make the piecrust myself, Mary not being much of a cook. Indeed, we could not expect her to be, at the wages we give her. H«r crusts are heavy. Well, all that pretty nearly takes up my morning ; for, between ourselves, I very often wash the tea-things, shell peas, and do little things of that kind, so that all may go on quietly, and meals be ready at the right time ; for I like them to have everything comfortable. And but for this kind of help, I assure you we should not be nearly so comfortable as we are."

I could easily beheve this, and Miss Perkins said it as if it was the most natural thing in the world that she should like these various occupations, as they added to the happiness of others.

So much for the eldest Miss Perkins. She might perhaps have been called a twaddler in society, but in her own sphere she was useful and beloved ; and moreover, by her economy and good marketing, she saved enough to add greatly to the comfort of several poor old women and sickly children, in whose behoof I often saw very savorylooking messes carried out, smoking hot, in little tin cans, with slices of bread laid on the top, by way of lids. Her name was Robina, and her youngest sister called her " Bobby."

The second sister. Miss Anne, was a particularly ladylike woman. She had deHcate health, and required to be very much in the open air. She also, as I soon saw, had a decided Hne of work. She undertook almost the entire management of the garden.

It was really a ver^ good-sized garden, and was quite as full of scarlet geraniums, heliotropes, and all the gayer kinds of tender plants, as the gardens of the wealthier neighbors.

Miss Anne, I understood, took great pains to nurse young plants through the winter, keeping them in sunny windows and in a dry store-room. And it was surprising to see how, every day, she conscientiously went out, and worked among her flower-beds ; regularly setting herself a certain task, and doing it as a duty. She had no help, excepting that a little boy came once a week to weed the walks. And I observed that she by no means confined herself to the care of the flowers, but cultivated beetroot, lettuces, and all kinds of vegetables.

" You see, my dear," Miss Robina remarked to me, " we could not afford to keep a man : it would not pay us, but all that Ann can raise is pure gain ; for we save seeds, and exchange cuttings with our neighbors. The flower-garden

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costs nothing, and besides being a pleasure to us all, it now looks creditable and cheerful ; and if Anne did not spend her mornings in it, it would run to waste, for neither Sarah nor I have time to attend to it And you know it would be very disheartening to us to live in a wilderness ; it would affect our spirits. Now I say that Providence fits us beautifully for our several spheres : for Anne is able to sit indoors very little ; but, by taking the garden under her care, she provides herself with occupation, and prevents herself from thinking that she is of no use. She keeps us always gay and neat, and besides, without robbing the garden of more flowers than we can well spare, she gives away many every season to a poor orphan girl who sells them, and thus gains money enough to clothe herself. You must have observed Anne's violet-bed, my dear?"

" Yes " ; I said I had done so, and noticed how carefully they were watered and weeded.

Miss Robina smiled. "Anne calls them her charity purse," she replied. " Those autumn violets are very much liked by the visitors. Anne found it rather a burden to her, when first we came here, to spend so much time in the garden, but she was determined to go through with it, and now she likes it very much. I don't know what we should do without her, I am sure ; for I don't know anything more melancholy than living in a garden full of weeds ; and Ameha, who is so subject to low spirits, often complains as it is, when Anne goes out, or is ill, so that the place gets a little disorderly."

So much for the second sister : let me now introduce you to the third.

Of Miss Sarah Perkins it might certainly be affirmed, that neither in person, voice, nor manner was she an attractive individual. Excepting when she took her daily walk, she was almost always seated near a window, at work. She certainly would have thought it a great hard'

ship to go shopping, or tend flower-beds. She was never asked to do so : on the contrary, it seemed to be an understood thing that the pleasantest corner of the window belonged to her, and that there her Htde table and her great work-basket were to stand. She was to begin to stitch, and no one was to molest her.

I did not, at first, particularly like Miss Sarah. She was blunt, and not so much of a gentlewoman as the other sisters ; and sometimes when I went out with Miss Perkins to see her favorite poor people, I used to be surprised at the fervor with which they would inquire after her; and I really could not commend their taste, for I thought her by no means interesting, and perhaps a little snappish sometimes. But Miss Perkins one day put an end to my wonder. " You see, my dear," she began, for every speech of hers had this little exordium ; " you see, my dear, it is a very fortunate thing for us that Sarah is wilHng to devote herself to her needle as she does ; for Anne and I have very little time, and Amelia could never bear work, excepting fancy-work. Now, fancy-work, such as crochet and lambs'-wool patterns, are pretty, no doubt, but they are not of much use in a family like ours. However, Amelia considers it not lady-like to sit turning gowns or darning table-cloths in the drawing-room ; and as she never sits anywhere else, she does no work but what is fit for that room. So, as I was saying, my dear," she continued, "it is a most fortunate thing that Sarah is so willing to work for us all. She does nearly all our plain work, and as to trimming bonnets, making mantles, turning gowns and cloaks, and everything of that kind, she so entirely undertakes it all, that a dressmaker's bill is almost unknown to us. She has such an eye for a pattern, my dear; and that, you know, is a great advantage. We should often look very shabby, if it was not for her. And then, it is surprising how she can cut down gowns and cloaks, ancJ turn them, and make them look decent and creditable for the poor, and with what a httle expense she can make warm quilts and .wraps for our poor old rheumatic neighbors. It would be a sad thing for us, and for a good many beside us, if anything were to happen to Sarah."

These were the ladies of the first family.

I now come to the character of her who caused me so many doubts and speculations. My doubts were (among others) what the mission of Miss Amelia Perkins could possibly be in this world, and my speculations were (among others) as to who would be the worse off if she were taken from it, and who would be the better.

Miss Amelia Perkins never did anything.

Let me not, however, be misunderstood. When I say that she never did anything, I mean that she never did anything that she designed to be for the comfort or assistance of others. There were no duties that she habitually performed ; there was no place that she occupied ; no one looked to her, or depended on her for anything ; no one seemed to be the better for her ; she seemed to have no more to do ^vith the course of that stream of life on which she floated than the least little piece of weed may have, that, being detached from its stem, goes sailing down its native brook towards the sea.

Miss Amelia Perkins was moderately good-looking, and to strangers had rather a pleasing manner. She thought it unladylike ever to bustle and be in a hurry, as her sisters sometimes were ; she often said people could do what they had to do without that. Accordingly, she was never in a bustle ; but then, as I said before, she never had anything particular to do.

She felt that it was a painful thing to be in straitened circumstances, and soon confided this pain to me. She said it often weighed on her spirits, and her sisters, being less sensitive, did not so much feel the trial ot it. "And it seems so hard," she said, " to have so little to spend on one's clothes ; the others, not, having much taste in dress, don't mind it. Besides, being so much older, it matters less to them."

" Excepting your sister Bessie," I observed.

" O yes, Bessie," she replied, " Bessie."

"Well," I remarked, "is it not natural that Bessie should like to be well dressed ? "

"Oh, Bessie," she repeated: "why, Bessie is so very plain, that it would be absurd in her to expect to be admired, even if she were handsomely dressed."

I replied that I had always heard it said, that the handsomer people were, the less dependent they were on dress.

Miss Amelia did not appear to agree with my remark, and when I went on to say that I thought Bessie a remarkably happy person, and one who seemed particularly contented, she rephed that she supposed Bessie was satisfied with her lot ; she saw no reason why she should be otherwise ; and then she said that all her sisters were very fond of Bessie. " In fact," she continued, " every one must see what an unfair difference they make between us."

I could not but open my eyes at this, and purposely misunderstanding her, I said, " You mean, perhaps, that they always ask Bessie to do the errands, and write the letters, and read the newspaper to Miss Sarah, while she is at work ; things which they never think of asking you to do. Yes, that does seem rather unfair."

Miss Amelia, on this, fixed her cold gray eyes on me, ;ind not being quite sure whether I spoke in earnest or in irony, sat down to the piano, and never favored me with any further confidence. Notwithstanding which, we became so thoroughly aware, Miss Amelia and myself, that we mutually disliked each other, that we shortly made it evident to the other ladies of the family ; in consequence

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of which, I received some hints from the excellent Miss Sarah, which I thought it incumbent on me to attend to.

You must know that Miss Bessie Perkins had a great wish to learn sketching, and I offered to teach her ; but as she had a good deal to do in helping her sisters, several days passed before she could take a lesson. One veryclear afternoon, Bessie announced that she could go with me ; and we were ready, and just about to start, when she exclaimed, " Oh, the letter ! I quite forgot it. How troublesome ! "

" Must it be written to day ? " I inquired.

" O yes," she replied ; " because it is a business letter to our trustees, and Sarah is going to dictate it to me."

" Then one person can write it as well as another," said I, mischieyously ; " you had better ask Amelia to do it."

" Ameha is just beginning to practise," said Bessie ; and in truth I heard the old cracked piano sounding up stairs.

" I will tell her you want to go out," I exclaimed, " and no doubt she will write it, for she has been out." So I ran up stairs, and delivered my message. Miss Amelia's brow clouded: "It really is a strange thing," said she, "that Bessie cannot do her own business herself. I heard her myself, at breakfast-time, offer to write that letter."

" But she has been helping Miss Sarah all the morning," said I, " and I did not know that the letter was more her business than yours."

" Sarah should have released her sooner," said Amelia, coldly.

Finding me bent on gaining my point, she at last said that perhaps she might do it when she had done practising ; but on my reminding her that that would be too late for the post, she began again at the piano, and as I could obtain no satisfactory answer as to whether she would or would not do it, I was obliged to shut the door, and come down stairs again in no very amiable humor, for

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I was angry that my favorite Bessie was to be debarred of her walk, and that Amelia should be allowed to enjoy the fruits of all her sisters' labors without contributing anything to them. Bessie had already taken off her bonnet, and was writing at Miss Sarah's dictation.

"Miss Sarah," I began — "I understand, my dear," she answered, nodding ; " we shall find it less trouble by far to do it ourselves than get it done for us."

She did not speak bitterly, but as if it was a matter of course.

As the affair was no business of mine, it was a pity that I interfered further in it, by saying, " Miss Sarah, whose gown are you mending ? "

She smiled, as if amused at my remark and my heat in the matter, and replied that it was Amelia's. "I know Ameha means to go out again and see the steamer come in," she said ; " and I don't choose she should do it with her gown in, this state."

" But," said I, " if it were not mended, she could not go out, and then she would have time to write the letter."

" Yes, my dear, she could," said Miss Sarah ; " and it would be a discredit to us — I 've been ashamed of it some time past — or she could wear her best gown, and that we cannot afford."

This explanation was unanswerable. " Come, my dear," said Miss Sarah, who just then waf in a very good humor, "suppose you help me a little." So saying, she put a sleeve into my hand, and I took it with a very good grace, for I was ashamed of having interfered. And I sat down quietly, and proceeded to trim it with fresh gimp.

When the letter was finished, I returned the sleeve, and Miss Sarah asked me if I felt any cooler ; she laughed, and I could not forbear saying that there were some things which provoked my temper very much.

" My dear," she answered, and hesitated, but presently proceeded, with a sigh, " you would find this provocation quite beyond your powers to set right."

" I am sure if I were you," I said, " I should not be so patient."

" Sarah," said Bessie, laughing, " Miss T. says she cannot think what Amelia's mission is, — I told her Amelia had no particular mission."

" Did you, child ? " said Miss Sarah. " Well, if Miss T. lived here long, she would find that Amelia had a very decided mission."

"What may it be. Miss Sarah ?" I inquired.

" To teach you forbearance and patience, my dear," she answered, " and try your temper ; for at present I think you are ignorant what sort of a temper you happen to have. Ah ! we none of us know what we are, till we are tried."

"But, Miss Sarah," I replied, "it seems shocking to think that some people should be sent into the world to teach others forbearance, only by being useless or unaccommodating."

" My dear," she answered, " far be it from me to say that the Almighty designed any of his creatures for such a purpose ; I meant, that if we do not perform the good part that we all have it in our power to take upon us, God will make our evil subservient to the good of others. God will turn our very faults into blessings, for our neighbors. But, my dear, poor Amelia is young, and we have no right to judge her ; we hope she may improve, and I feel sorry that I have been betrayed into speaking hastily of her."

So saying, Miss Sarah rose, and folding up the dress, sent Bessie up stairs with it After which, we went to sketch ; and for Miss Amelia's further doings, I must refer you to my next chapter.

CHAPTER II. MISS Amelia's high connections

WHEN an author has no startling novelty in sentiment, no thrilling incident, no forcible argument to present to a reader, is it of any use to inform the reader of the fact, and occupy time in apologies for the same ? Or shall the reader be left to find it out for himself, as he assuredly will do ?

Much may be said on both sides.

In general I take the second course, for never having any startling novelties of sentiment, or thrilling incidents, or forcible arguments to present, I might always be apologizing.

But at the present moment I feel inclined to take the first course. The history of a Cumberer, dear reader, or fair reader, or gentle reader, or whatever else that is compHmentary, you expect to be called, (according to the deceitful practice of- authors, who are too much in the habit of flattering you with ideas of your superiority to themselves !) the history of a Cumberer can only contain accounts of those duties which the said Cumberer did not perform, those incidents in which she took no part, those projects which she hindered, those hours which she wasted, those talents which she did not improve, those acquaintances who wished her away, and those relations who bore with her as with a cross appointed for them. Such is this history, and I apologize ; but I will not again address you, my reader, by any endearing name, or any name which takes for granted imaginary excellences, since for anything I know you may be a Cumbejer ; and since, if I had not felt morally certain that among my readers were some characters like Miss AmeUa Perkins, I never would have set my pen to these pages.

But what, after all, did Ameha Perkins do, and what did she leave undone, that she is so severely spoken of ? Let me answer the question by an illustration/ If you have a piano, one note of which in the treble is mute, not one tune, even of the simplest kind, can be played on it, — no music worth having can be drawn from it, without making this defect manifest ; and yet the note is not actively offensive, it merely does not sound. But now suppose your note not mute, but merely out of harmony with the others, would it not spoil your music still ?

Now, call the piano a family, and call the Cumberer a faulty note, and you at once see the harm she does ; she makes the tune imperfect when it does not sound, and when it does sound, jars.

But to return to my story.

Bessie and I went out to sketch, and, sitting on the warm sea-beach, we talked together about many things, and among those things, about Ameha.

" It surprises me to see you all take this so coolly," I said.

" How can we help it ? " answered Bessie. " Sometimes Bobby says she thinks it was at school that Ameha learned to be ashamed of jnaking herself useful in the house."

" But that does not apply to writing letters."

" No ; but there are many things that she thinks not proper for a gentlewoman's occupation, and she does not do them."

" She went to school, then ? "

" Yes, to be sure. The elder ones thought we ought to have a good education, for the property we Uve on is principally theirs. It was their mother's, and does not come to us when they die. Bobby blames herself for sending us to such a good school, but then Anne says, if we had gone tp an inferior one we should not have learnt accomplishrfients so well ; and as we may have to live by teaching, if we survive our sisters, they thought accomplishments necessary."

So, then, it was through the kindness and self-denial of her sisters that Miss Amelia had learnt those accomplishments which gave her now, as she thought, a right to despise them !

How many mothers there are who are in the same case ! How many parents have toiled to give their children advantages which they principally use in finding out those parents' deficiencies !

I went on diligently with the sketching, and said nothing, but, unlike the parrot in the fable, " I thought the more."

That night, after I was in bed, I heard a great deal of noise in the street, but it did not hinder me from going to sleep, though it filled my dreams with impressions of jangling bells, rumbling carts, passing footsteps, and great confusion.

I woke later than usual, and, to my astonishment, was told that scarcely a person in the town had slept but myself, for that a village, not two miles off, was discovered at midnight to be on fire in three places. The cottages were thatched and closely built, and by sunrise were almost entirely burnt down.

There was great commotion in the town all that day ; the sufferers were lodged in the public library, a soup ' kitchen was opened, committees were formed, and the ladies of the town set a clothing fund on foot, and, to make the money go further, agreed to cut out and make all the garments themselves.

Now it happened that Amelia, during a visit, had made

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the acquaintance of a certain Mrs. Blount, — the Honorable Mrs. Blount, of G Hall, — and had contrived to

please her very much. This lady had just arrived at the place with her family, and Amelia was only waiting till a certain etiquette, peculiar to the place, had been complied with, to call upon her.

Being charitable and influential, this lady was chosen to canvass a portion of the town for the clothing fund, and when Amelia heard it she became extremely anxious that ever)('thing in their house and garden should appear to the best advantage during Mrs. Blount's call. She dressed early in her best, and was seated in the drawing-room, occupied with some elegant piece of fancy-work, when Mrs. Blount was announced, with Captain White, her brother.

They sat a few minutes with Amelia, and then the sisters entered, bringing me with them to contribute my mite.

Mrs. Blount unfolded her errand, and Miss Anne said that they heartily approved of the cause, and gave most willingly, though they could give but little.

Mrs. Blount politely remarked, that if all families gave a little, the sufferers would have no reason to complain.

Miss Bobby then produced the purse, and laid some money on the table. I saw Amelia color and look annoyed as her eye dropped on the money.

Mrs. Blount received it graciously. " And will you help us to make up some of the clothing ? " said she, persuasively.

" With pleasure," cried Bobby.

" With all my heart," said Miss Ann.

"I shall be very happy," said Miss Sarah. They all spoke at once, and Bessie and I expressed our wish to join.

" There is nearly a week to do it in," said Mrs. Blount. "On Saturday evening it is to be returned finished; how much may I send ? "

"You are reckoning on my assistance of course, dear Mrs. Blount," said Amelia.

" O yes," said Mrs. Blount, smiling, and laying her hand on Amelia's arm, " that, of course, but don't over-fatigue yourself, my dear. Miss Perkins, I hope you don't allow Amelia to do too much."

There was an awkward silence for an instant, then Miss Anne came to the rescue of Bobby. " My dear sister is so careful of our comfort," she said kindly, " that no one is overworked here when it depends upon her."