A Little Girl of Long Ago by Amanda Minnie Douglas (interesting novels in english TXT) 📕

that your sister, or your niece,--the one who sang here some time ago? 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. And Dr. 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She had such an attractive face, framed in with rows of snowy puffs, quite gone out of date, but becoming to her nevertheless.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 half mistook you for Miss Whitney; but she is dark, and you are fair, so I ought not to have made the blunder. I know your brother Stephen and his wife."

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

Mrs. Kirtland took the unoccupied seat.

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

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

"That depends upon whether you restrict the word to painting a picture or writing a poem or a story. Mr. Stephen Underhill is very highly spoken of as one of the promising young business-men. And is it your brother 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 were still expected to say "Yes, sir," and "Yes, ma'am," to their elders, out of respect.

"That does very well for one family, though the Whitneys seem to have a good share. Miss Delia is quite a success, I hear. And we always find Mr. 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 young wife dying, and the devotion of Mrs. Clemm. Oh, tell me about your episode!"

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

"Oh," exclaimed Mrs. Kirtland, "Frances must hear that!" Then she glanced around. Mrs. Osgood was no longer receiving guests, but mingling with the company. Some one was going to the piano; and everybody listened to an exquisite voice singing a beautiful Italian melody. When that was finished, a young man who was to be famous in after years read a sweet, simple poem that touched every one's heart. Then the talk began in 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 as a lovely lady all in cerulean blue, and with long curls, going up to the Poe cottage. See how you have lived in the child's memory. And she sings a song of yours."

Hanny's face was scarlet for a moment; but Mrs. Osgood sat down beside her, and they talked of the poet and Mrs. Clemm, and touched lightly upon 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 sharply divided. And Mrs. Osgood had known the beautiful Virginia, whose sad fate even then was hardly realised. They talked a little about "Annabel Lee" and the "high-born kinsman;" and Hanny thought she had a delightful time.

There was coffee and chocolate and lemonade, with plates of dainty cakes and confectionery, in an ante-room. Then a gentleman sang a hunting-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 was not quite ten when Delia, Hanny, and Ben made their adieus to the hostess, who stooped and kissed Hanny for "old remembrance' sake," she said.

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

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

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

Two other poets, sisters, Alice and Ph[oe]be Cary, came to New York, and held 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 other affairs beside literature, prefiguring the new woman. Miss Delia Whitney was 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 her music, and make her visits, with a little sewing in between. She did make her father a set of shirts; but underclothing of all kinds was being manufactured; and though the older-fashioned women sneered at it, as rather poor stuff, the men seemed to like it. At gentlemen's furnishing stores, you could buy shirts cut and made in the latest style, the neckbands of which always seemed to fit, or else the men discreetly 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 Germans sent us such perfect ones. White was still all the style, unless you wore black, or blossom-coloured silk. Of course there were common people who put slate-colour on their children, because white made so much washing. And as for pantalets, there were none left.

There were other people called away beside poets, and changes made in families. Grandmother Underhill went to the country wherein the faithful abide, and Aunt Katrina. Grandmother Van Kortlandt came to make her home with her daughter. Aunt Crete and Cousin Joanna Morgan, and here and there some of the old people, as well as the young, passed over the narrow river.

But there seemed new babies all around. Dolly and Margaret had little sons, 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 quite sure it looked like her. John wanted to call her Hannah Ann.

"Oh, no," said Hanny; "there are so many beautiful names now!" Then she laughed. "I shall not promise her a hundred dollars, nor my string of gold beads. I am not sorry, for I have loved both grandmothers; and one is 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 a wee 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 of humour. "Six nephews and nieces already! And there are four of us still to marry, if George ever comes back. He hasn't made his fortune yet. He was 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 name engraved on it, and, with Dolly's help, made her a beautiful christening robe, which Cleanthe saved up for her, the sewing and tucking on it was so exquisite. She used to show it to visitors with a great deal of pride.


CHAPTER XV

THE BEGINNINGS OF ROMANCE

There was Saratoga and Newport; and Long Branch laid claim to some distinction; even Cape May was not unknown to fame,--still the Jersey coast, with all its magnificent possibilities, really had not been discovered, and was rather contemptuously termed sand wastes. It was getting to be quite the thing to go off awhile in the summer. Some of the style had spent a "season" in London, and seen the young Queen and the Prince Consort and the royal children, and gone over to Paris to see "the nephew of his uncle," who was taking a hand in the new French Republic.

But plain people still visited their relatives a good deal. Ben had taken a holiday, and gone up to Tarrytown after Hanny; and they had made pilgrimages along to different cousins. They sat on the old porch at Fordham; but one of the cousins was married, and gone to her own home, taken the tall, bright-eyed young man who had been about so much the olden summer.

It was really a delightful walk over there. Ben was finding out odd places for Delia, who was now interested in some Revolutionary sketches. They had explored Kingsbridge; they had found Featherbed Lane; they learned the Harlem River once had borne the Indian name of Umscoota. Here, more than forty years before, Robert Macomb had built his dam, in defiance of certain national laws, as he wanted a volume of water for his mill.

Many and ineffectual were the efforts made to remove it by the surrounding property-owners who had large and beautiful estates. For no one dreamed then that the great city would sometime absorb everything, and that here was to stand a beautiful bridge, the pride of the city. But the old dam was one dark night assaulted by a "piratical craft," that demanded entrance, and, on being refused a right through the waterway, demolished the old affair; and the freed and happy river went on to the sea unvexed, and still kept Manhattan an island, to be bridged over as convenience required.

Down in one of the pretty valleys was the home of Cousin Jennie, that Hanny always connected with Mrs. Clemm and the poet. All about were green fields and orchards, hills and valleys. Between them and the Harlem lay a high wooded ridge from whose top you could see the Hudson, and the Harlem was like a cord winding in and out of green valleys. There was Fort George and Harlem plains; and Hanny recalled the two old Underhill ladies whose lives had reached back to Revolutionary times.

They rambled about the historic ground, peaceful enough then. There was the old Poole house, the De Voe house, and further up the Morris mansion. What names they recalled!--Washington, Rochambeau, the Hessian General Knyphausen.

And then Cousin Jennie's husband pointed out a place with a romantic story. When the Hessian Army had swept on in the steps of General Washington's retreating men, they had been encamped for some time, foraging about for food and demanding supplies