Pencil Sketches: or, Outlines of Character and Manners

"I wish, indeed," said Mrs. Allerton, "that some of those influential persons would be so public-spirited as to set the example of dispensing with all customs that bear hard on people in narrow circumstances."

The mantua-maker now made her appearance, and Mrs. Bladen exclaimed, "Oh! Miss Facings, we have been waiting for you to tell us exactly how much of everything we are to get."

A long and earnest discussion now took place between Mrs. Bladen and the dressmaker, respecting the quality and quantity of the bombazine and crape.

Miss Facings having calculated the number of yards, Mrs. Bladen inquired if there was no yard-measure in the house. One was produced, and the measuring commenced forthwith; Mrs. Allerton having no longer energy to offer any further opposition. She sat with her handkerchief to her face, and her daughters wept also. Sirs. Bladen stepped up to her, and whispered, "You are aware that it will not be necessary to pay the bills immediately."

"Ah!" returned Mrs. Allerton, "I know not when they can be paid. But we will strain every nerve to do it as soon as possible. I cannot bear the idea of remaining in debt for this mourning."

Their business being accomplished, the shop-boys departed, and Miss Facings made her preparations for cutting out the dresses, taking an opportunity of assuring the weeping girls that nothing was more becoming to the figure than black bombazine, and that everybody looked their best in a new suit of mourning.

At this juncture, Constance returned to the room, and was extremely sorry to find that the fear of singularity, and the officious perseverance of Mrs. Bladen, had superseded the better sense of her sister-in-law. But as the evil was now past remedy, our heroine, according to her usual practice, refrained from any further animadversions on the subject.

Little Louisa was now brought in to be fitted: and when her frock was cut out, Constance offered to make it herself, on hearing Miss Facings declare that she would be obliged to keep her girls up all night to complete the dresses by the appointed time, as they had already more work in the house than they could possibly accomplish.

Mrs. Allerton expressed great unwillingness to allowing her sister-in-law to take the trouble of making Louisa's dress. But Constance whispered to her that she had always found occupation to be one of the best medicines for an afflicted mind, and that it would in some degree prevent her thoughts from dwelling incessantly on the same melancholy subject. Taking Louisa with her, she retired to her own apartment, and the frock was completed by next day: though the overflowing eyes of poor Constance frequently obliged her to lay down her sewing. In reality, her chief motive in proposing to make the dress, was to save the expense of having it done by the mantua-maker.

Miss Facings took Mrs. Allerton's gown home with her, saying she would send one of her girls for the two others; and Mrs. Bladen then began to plan the bonnets and shawls. She went off to a fashionable milliner, and engaged a mourning bonnet and four mourning caps for Mrs. Allerton, and a bonnet for each of her daughters. And she was going back and forwards nearly all day with specimens of black cloth for the shawls, black stockings, black gloves, &c.

The girls, at their aunt's suggestion, hemmed the crape veils, and on the following morning, she assisted them in making and trimming the shawls. Still, Constance was well convinced that the expense of the mourning (including the suit bespoken for Frederick) would be greater than they could possibly afford. The cost of the funeral she intended to defray from her own funds, and she took occasion to request Mr. Denman to have nothing about it that should be unnecessarily expensive.

The hour arrived when the sorrowing family of Mr. Allerton were to be parted for ever from all that remained of the husband, the father, and the brother. They had taken the last look of his fixed and lifeless features, they had imprinted the last kiss on his cold and pallid lips; and from the chamber of death, they had to adjourn to the incongruous task of attiring themselves in their mourning habits to appear at his funeral. How bitterly they wept as their friends assisted them in putting on their new dresses; and when they tied on their bonnets and their long veils, to follow to his grave the object of their fondest affection!

Constance, with an almost breaking heart, sat in her chamber, and little Louisa hung crying on her shoulder, declaring that she could not see her dear father buried. But Mrs. Bladen came in, protesting that all the children must be present, and that people would talk if even the youngest child was to stay away. Mrs. Bladen then put on Louisa's mourning dress almost by force. When this was done, the little girl threw her arms round the neck of her aunt and kissed her, saying with a burst of tears, "When I see you again, my dear dear father will be covered up in his grave." Mrs. Bladen then led, or rather dragged the child to the room in which the family were assembled.

Constance threw herself on her bed in a paroxysm of grief. She heard the slow tread of the company as they came in, and she fancied that she could distinguish the sound of the lid as it was laid on the coffin, and the fastening of the screws that closed it for ever. She knew when it was carried down stairs, and she listened in sympathetic agony to the sobs of the family as they descended after it. She heard the shutting of the hearse-door, and the gloomy vehicle slowly rolling off to give place to the carriages of the mourners. She started up, and casting her eyes towards an opening in the window-curtain, she saw Mr. Denman supporting to the first coach the tottering steps of her half-fainting sister-in-law. She looked no longer, but sunk back on the bed and hid her face on the pillow. By all that she suffered when indulging her grief alone and in the retirement of her chamber, she felt how dreadful it would have been to her, had she accompanied the corpse of her brother to its final resting-place.

In about an hour the family returned, pale, exhausted, and worn out with the intensity of their feelings at the grave. And they could well have dispensed with the company of Mrs. Bladen, who came home and passed the evening with them; as she foolishly said that people in affliction ought not to be left to themselves.

After some days the violence of their grief settled into melancholy sadness: they ceased to speak of him whom they had loved and lost, and they felt as if they could never talk of him again.

The unfortunate family of Mr. Allerton now began to consider what they should do for their support. Constance was willing to share with them her little income even to the last farthing, but it was too small to enable them all to live on it with comfort. Great indeed are the sufferings, the unacknowledged and unimagined sufferings of that class who "cannot dig, and to beg are ashamed" – whose children have been nursed in the lap of affluence, and who "every night have slept with soft content about their heads" – who still retain a vivid recollection of happier times, and who still feel that they themselves are the same, though all is changed around them.

Such was the condition of the Allerton family. "The world was all before them where to choose," and so low were now their finances, that it was necessary they should think and act promptly, and decide at once upon some plan for their subsistence. Constance proposed a school, but the house they now occupied was in too remote a place to expect any success. A lady had already attempted establishing a seminary in the immediate neighbourhood, but it had proved an entire failure. Mrs. Allerton thought that in a better part of the town, and in a larger house, they might have a fair chance of encouragement. But they were now destitute of the means of defraying the expense of a removal, and of purchasing such articles of furniture as would be indispensably necessary in a more commodious dwelling; particularly if fitted up as a school.

Frederick Allerton, who was twelve years old, had just completed his last quarter at the excellent academy in which he had been a pupil from early childhood, and it was now found necessary, after paying the bill, to take him away; as the present situation of the family did not seem to warrant them in continuing him there any longer. He was, however, very forward in all his acquirements, having an excellent capacity, and being extremely diligent. Still it was hard that so promising a boy should be obliged to stop short, when in a fair way of becoming an extraordinary proficient in the principal branches appertaining to what is considered an excellent education. Fortunately, however, a place was obtained for him in a highly respectable book-store.

There was now a general retrenchment in the expenditures of the Allerton family. One of their servants was discharged, as they could no longer afford to keep two – and they were obliged to endure many privations which were but ill compensated by the idea that they were wearing very genteel mourning. Again, as they had begun with black, it was necessary to go through with it. They could not wear their bombazines continually, and as black ginghams and chintzes are always spoiled by washing, it was thought better that their common dresses should be of Canton crape, an article that, though very durable, is at first of no trifling cost.

In the mean time, their only resource seemed to be that of literally supporting themselves by the work of their hands. Constance undertook the painful task of going round among their acquaintances, and announcing their readiness to undertake any sort of needle-work that was offered to them. Nobody had any work to put out just then. Some promised not to forget them when they had. Others said they were already suited with seamstresses. At this time the Ladies' Depository was not in existence; that excellent establishment, where the feelings of the industrious indigent who have seen better days are so delicately spared by the secrecy with which its operations are conducted.

At length a piece of linen was sent to the Allerton family for the purpose of being made up by them into shirts. And so great was their joy at the prospect of getting a little money, that it almost absorbed the painful feelings with which for the first time they employed their needles in really working for their living.

They all sewed assiduously, little Louisa doing the easiest parts. The linen was soon made up, and they then obtained another piece, and afterwards some muslin work. Constance, who was one of the most indefatigable of women, found time occasionally to copy music, and correct proof-sheets, and to do many other things by which she was able to add a little more to the general fund. For a short time, her not appearing in black excited much conversation among the acquaintances of the family: but these discussions soon subsided, and after a while nothing more was said or thought on the subject.

But to pay for the mourning of Mrs. Allerton and her children was a necessity that pressed heavily on them all, and they dreaded the sound of the door-bell, lest it should be followed by the presentation of the bills. The bills came, and were found to be considerably larger than was anticipated. Yet they were paid in the course of the winter, though with much difficulty, and at the expense of much comfort. The unfortunate Allertons rose early and sat up late, kept scanty fires and a very humble table, and rarely went out of the house, except to church, or to take a little air and exercise at the close of the afternoon.

Most of their friends dropped off, and the few that seemed disposed to continue their acquaintance with people whose extreme indigence was no secret, were so thoughtless as to make their visits in the morning, a time which is never convenient to families that cannot afford to be idle. Mrs. Bladen, who, though frivolous and inconsiderate, was really a good-natured woman, came frequently to see them; and another of their visiters was Mrs. Craycroft, whose chief incentive was curiosity to see how the Allertons were going on, and a love of dictation which induced her frequently to favour them with what she considered salutary counsel. Mrs. Craycroft was a hard, cold, heartless woman, who by dint of the closest economy had helped her husband to amass a large fortune, and they now had every sort of luxury at their command. The Craycrofts as well as the Bladens had formerly been neighbours of Mr. and Mrs. Allerton.

Mrs. Bladen and Mrs. Craycroft happened to meet one morning in Mrs. Allerton's little sitting-room. Mrs. Craycroft came in last, and Mrs. Bladen, after stopping for a few minutes, pursued her discourse with her usual volubility. It was on the subject of Mrs. Allerton and her daughter getting new pelisses, or coats as they are more commonly called in Philadelphia.

"I can assure you," said she, "now that the weather has become so cold, people talk about your going to church in those three-cornered cloth-shawls, which you know are only single, and were merely intended for autumn and spring. They did very well when you first got them (for the weather was then mild), but the season is now too far advanced to wear shawls of any sort. You know everybody gets their new coats by Christmas, and it is now after New-Year's."

"We would be very glad to have coats," replied Mrs. Allerton, "but they are too expensive."

"Not so very," answered Mrs. Bladen. "To be sure, fine black cloth or cassimere is the most fashionable for mourning coats. But many very genteel people wear black levantine or black mode trimmed with crape. Handsome silk coats would scarcely cost above twenty or twenty-five dollars apiece."

"We cannot afford them," said Mrs. Allerton. "We must only refrain from going out when the weather is very cold. I acknowledge that our shawls are not sufficiently warm."

"Did you not all get new olive-coloured silk coats, just before Mr. Allerton died?" inquired Mrs. Craycroft.

The abrupt mention of a name which they had long since found it almost impossible to utter, brought tears into the eyes of the whole family. There was a general silence, and Mrs. Bladen rose to depart, saying, "I would recommend to you to get the coats as soon as possible, or the winter will be over without them. And I can assure you as a friend, that people do make their remarks. I am going into Second street; shall I look among the best stores for some black levantine? or would you rather have mode? But I had best bring you patterns of both: and shall I call on Miss Facings and bespeak her to make the coats for you?"

"We thank you much," replied Mrs. Allerton, "but we will not give you the trouble either to look for the silk, or to engage the mantua-maker. We must for this winter dispense with new coats."

Mrs. Bladen then took her leave, saying, "Well, do as you please, but people think it very strange that you should be still wearing your shawls, now that the cold weather has set in."

Constance was glad that Mrs. Bladen had not in this instance carried her point. But she grieved to think that her sister and nieces could not have the comfort of wearing their coats because the olive-colour did not comport with their mourning bonnets. For herself, having made no attempt at mourning, Constance had no scruple as to appearing in hers.

When Mrs. Bladen was gone, Mrs. Craycroft spoke again, and said, "I wonder how people can be so inconsiderate! But Mrs. Bladen never could see things in their proper light. She ought to be ashamed of giving you such advice. Now, I would recommend to you to have your olive silk coats ripped apart, and dyed black, and then you can make them up again yourselves. You know that if you were not in mourning, you might wear them as they are; but as you have begun with black, I suppose it would never do to be seen in coloured things also."

"I believe," replied Mrs. Allerton, "there is generally much trouble in getting articles dyed – at least in this city, and that they are frequently spoiled in the process."

"Your informants," said Mrs. Craycroft, "must have been peculiarly unlucky in their dyers. I can recommend you to Mr. Copperas, who does things beautifully, so that they look quite as good as new. He dyes for Mrs. Narrowskirt and for Mrs. Dingy. I advise you by all means to send your coats to him. And no doubt you have many other things, now lying by as useless, that would be serviceable if dyed black."

"I believe I will take your advice," answered Mrs. Allerton.

Mrs. Craycroft then proceeded: "Situated as you are, Mrs. Allerton, I need not say how much it behooves you to economize in everything you possibly can; now for instance, I would suggest to you all to drink rye coffee. And then as to tea, if you must have tea of an evening, I know a place where you can get it as low as half a dollar a pound – to be sure it is only Hyson Skin. In your family a pound of tea ought to go a great way, for now, of course, you do not make it strong. And then, I would advise you all to accustom yourselves to brown sugar in your tea; it is nothing when you are used to it. Of course you always take it in your coffee. And there is a baker not far off, that makes large loaves of rye and Indian mixed. You will find it much cheaper than wheat. Of course you are not so extravagant as to eat fresh bread. And as to butter, if you cannot dispense with it altogether, I would suggest that you should use the potted butter from the grocery stores. Some of it is excellent. I suppose that of course you have entirely given up all kinds of desserts, but if you should wish for anything of the kind on Sundays, or after a cold dinner, you will find plain boiled rice sweetened with a very little molasses, almost as good as a pudding. No doubt the children will like it quite as well. You know, I suppose, that if you defer going to market till near twelve o'clock you will always get things much cheaper than if you go in the early part of the day; as towards noon the market people are impatient to get home, and in their hurry to be off, will sell for almost nothing whatever they may chance to have left. In buying wood, let me recommend to you always to get it as green as possible. To be sure green wood does not always make so good a fire as that which is dry, neither does it kindle so well; but then the slower it burns the longer it lasts, and it is therefore the cheapest. And always get gum back-logs, for they scarcely burn at all. I see you still keep your black woman Lucy. Now you will find it much better to dismiss her, and take a bound girl about twelve or thirteen. Then you know you would have no wages to pay, and your daughters, of course, would not mind helping her with the work."

During this harangue, the colour came into Mrs. Allerton's face, and she was about to answer in a manner that showed how acutely she was wounded by the unfeeling impertinence of the speaker: but glancing at Constance she saw something in her countenance that resembled a smile, and perceived that she seemed rather amused than angry. Therefore Mrs. Allerton suppressed her resentment, and made no reply.

When Mrs. Craycroft had departed, the mother and daughters warmly deprecated her rudeness and insolence; but Constance, being by nature very susceptible of the ridiculous, was much more inclined to laugh, and succeeded in inducing her sister and the girls to regard it in the same light that she did.

"After all," said Mrs. Allerton, "I think we will take Mrs. Craycroft's advice about the dyeing. The olive coats may thus be turned to very good account, and so may several other things of which we cannot now make use because of their colour. It is true, that we can ill afford even the expense of dyeing them; but still we are really very much in want of such coats as we may wear in mourning."

Next day, the olive pelisses, which were very pretty and extremely well made, were carefully ripped apart, and the silk was conveyed to the dyer's, together with a small scarlet Canton crape shawl of Mrs. Allerton's, which she thought would be convenient in cold weather to wear over her shoulders when at home. The materiel of the dismembered coats was rolled up in as small a compass as possible, wrapped in papers, and carried one afternoon by Isabella and Helen. Mr. Copperas informed them that he only dyed on Thursdays, and as this was Friday afternoon, they had come a day too late to have the things done that week. Therefore the articles could not be put into the dye before next Thursday, and then it would be another week before they could be dressed. Dressing, in the dyer's phraseology, means stiffening and ironing; and very frequently ironing only.

This delay was extremely inconvenient, as Mrs. Allerton and her daughters were absolutely very much in need of the coats; yet there was no remedy but patience. At the appointed time, two of the girls went to bring home the silk, but were told by a small-featured, mild-spoken Quaker woman, employed to attend the customers, that "the things were dyed but not yet dressed."

"Will they be finished by to-morrow afternoon?" asked Isabella.

"I rather think they will not."

"By Saturday, then?"

"It's likely they will."

On Saturday, the girls went again. Still the articles, though dyed, were not yet dressed: but they were promised for Tuesday – if nothing happened to prevent.

Every few days, for near a fortnight, some of the Allerton family repaired to the dyer's (and it was a very long walk) but without any success – the things, though always dyed, were never dressed. And when they expressed their disappointment, the Quaker woman regularly told them: "Thee knows I did not say positive – we should never be too certain of anything."

Finally, the silk was acknowledged to be dressed, and it was produced and paid for; but the crape shawl was missing. A search was made for it, but in vain; still the woman assured them that it could not be lost, as nothing ever was lost in James Copperas's house, adding: "I partly promise thee, that if I live, I will find it for thee by to-morrow."

Next day, when she had done sewing, little Louisa went again for the shawl. The woman now confessed that she had not been able to find it, and said to Louisa: "I think, child, I would not advise thee to trouble thyself to come after it again. It seems a pity to wear out thy shoes too much. One should not be too certain of anything in this life, and therefore I am not free to say that thy shawl is lost; but it seems to me likely that it will never be found."

"My mother will be sorry," said Louisa, "for she really wants the shawl, and will regret to lose it."

The little girl then turned to depart, and had reached the front door when the woman called her back, saying: "But thee'll pay for the dyeing?"86

"What!" exclaimed Louisa, "after you have lost the shawl?"

"But I can assure thee it was dyed," replied the woman. "It actually was dyed, I can speak positive to that, and we cannot afford to lose the dyeing."

Louisa, child as she was, had acuteness enough to perceive the intended imposition, and, without making an answer, she slipped out of the door: though the woman caught her by the skirt, and attempted to stop her, repeating: "But we can't afford to lose the dyeing."

Louisa, however, disengaged herself from her grasp, and ran down the street, for some distance, as fast as possible – afraid to look back lest the Quaker woman should be coming after her for the money she had brought to pay for the shawl, and which she took care to hold tightly in her hand.

In attempting to make up the coats, it was found impossible to put the different pieces together to the same advantage as before. Also, the silk did not look well, being dyed of a dull brownish black, and stiffened to the consistence of paper. The skirts and sleeves had shrunk much in dyeing, and the pieces that composed the bodies had been ravelled, frayed, and pulled so crooked in dressing, that they had lost nearly all shape. It was impossible to make up the deficiencies by matching the silk with new, as none was to be found that bore sufficient resemblance to it. "Ah!" thought Constance, "how well these coats looked when in their original state! The shade of olive was so beautiful, the silk so soft and glossy, and they fitted so perfectly well."

When put together under all these disadvantages, the coats looked so badly that the girls were at first unwilling to wear them, except in extreme cold weather – particularly as in coming out of church they overheard whispers among the ladies in the crowd, of "That's a dyed silk" – "Any one may see that those coats have been dyed."