# A Hairdresser's Experience in High Life/Chapter 5

CHAPTER III.
SARATOGA.
I had for some time intended going to Saratoga, and, having entirely recovered my health, concluded to start immediately, and spend the summer there. I arrived in the hight of the gay season. Belles were there from all parts of the country. The North vied with the South, the West with the East in beauty and wit, in elegance and splendor.
I have always been very fond of Saratoga, and I believe it to be the favorite watering-place of all the world in the summer season. The United States Hotel, which is the rendezvous of fashion and splendor, occupies a large space of ground, extending on one extremity to the railroad depot, where passenger cars arrive from every direction, several times a day. The immense stretching lawns upon all sides of the hotel are finely ornamented with trees, gravel walks, and shrubbery. The barber's saloon, with its marble baths, basins, and perfumed attendants, are the first objects that meet the eye on entering the left gate of the premises from the depot. Then comes the room where passengers register their names; then the ladies' reception-room, adjoining which is a large hall, well supplied with servants, devoted to the service of the newly-arrived people; next to this is the ​wine-room, and then the great dining-room, within the door of which stands, like a polite statue, the ever majestic Morris, the steward of the household. The gentlemen's promenade skirts the dining-room, and leads off in a triangular direction to a long smoking gallery, which divides the dining-room from the ladies' parlor, opposite to which is the ladies' promenade. Here the fair votaries of fashion can be distinctly seen by the occupants of the smoking gallery, and commented on to their heart's content. Besides these two promenades, there is again a general promenade, fronting in another direction from the hotel, which is so commodious as to admit of eight hundred or a thousand promenaders at once, without the least crush of crinoline or inconvenience whatever. This promenade is kept so scrupulously clean and neat, that ladies have worn their dresses sweeping over it for the whole season, and then passed them off as quite fresh and new at other watering-places.
The groups of ladies and gentlemen assembled upon this immense piazza pass their time usually in comments upon each other; and here, of all the world, is the place for diamonds, brocades and satins to make a sensation. A lady might as well stay at home as to go to Saratoga without real lace and diamonds; there was a time when a lady could hire jewelry for the season, and thus impose herself upon the elite circles at the "United States Hotel" for, at least, a person of wealth, very successfully. But lynx-eyed fashion found this trick out, and wouldn't stand it; since which a lady's diamonds must be her own, or she can't shine at Saratoga; and so perfect is the system now of investigation into these matters practiced at ​Saratoga, that it would be utterly useless for any lady, from Maine to California, to go there and attempt to pass off as her own the smallest articles of hired or borrowed jewelry. It would be found out before she had been there twenty-four hours, and the whisperings of the Paul Pry circles and their accomplices would drive her out of the town in twenty-four more.
The ball-room at Saratoga is between three and four hundred feet in length, and proportionate in width; it is adorned with huge mirrors and glittering chandeliers; the floor is smooth and glassy, and the music always the finest in the world. Upon dancing evenings, dress is here displayed in every variety of elegance. A Saratoga ball is a gorgeous scene. The "Lanciers" and the round dances form the almost entire amusement of the evening at the present time—to the utter exclusion of the old-fashioned and monotonous quadrille. The German quadrille is usually danced in the drawing-room in the mornings, between breakfast and dinner.
From the ball-room, after the ladies are disposed of, the gentlemen usually repair to the club-rooms of the hotel, where they generally make a night of it—and where, by some strange process or other, many of them find themselves, at the dawn of the next day, divested of means for remaining any longer in this fashionable atmosphere—the consequence of which is that the wives and daughters who shone the most brilliantly upon the promenade and in the drawing-room the day before, are to-day hustled off for home, very mysteriously, in the first train of cars. No one knows why or wherefore, only that Mrs. So-and-So was heard scolding and ranting, and her daughters ​crying and sniveling; while Mr. So-and-So was seen pitching finery into trunks without ceremony, and piling oaths up mountain high, by way of an accompaniment. But no wonder that crying, scolding and swearing should take the place of praying sometimes, with persons so suddenly and cruelly disappointed; for Saratoga swarms with delights for people who can afford to enjoy them. From dawn till midnight, it offers a continued round of pleasures. The walks to the springs in the early morning—the display of an elegant breakfast toilet upon the gallery or promenade—bowling in the forenoon—strolls to the Indian encampments, musical matinees, private concerts, lessons in the new dances in the ball-room, battledore upon the lawns and in the parlor, sherry cobblers, mint juleps and brandy smashes, groups for intellectual conversation, everywhere—then the dinner toilet preparations, the evening drives, excursions upon the lakes, moonlight flirtations and pleasant dreams—combine the excitements of a Saratoga day and night. No wonder the ladies flare up, when the losses of the husbands at the gaming table make it necessary to hustle them away, without warning, from such pleasant scenes.
Among the elegant ladies who visited Saratoga a few summers since, was Mrs. R., daughter of Lady R., of Toronto. She was eminently handsome, sang divinely, and was the first who ventured to wear the gipsy hat and feathers, which she did with a grace I have not since seen rivaled, though I have often seen it attempted; indeed it was amusing to witness the innumerable efforts made to imitate this lady's costume and style. Occasionally there might be seen some feeble ​resemblance to them, but this was all; her tall, elegant figure had no equal among these who courted her society and envied the admiration created by her noble deportment. In this lady's party was the family of Bishop T., of Toronto, and other distinguished persons. Madame R., of Philadelphia, was her most intimate friend at the Springs. No one can ever forget this truly beautiful and accomplished lady of Toronto who has seen her.
The fancy ball of that season, which was perhaps the most brilliant for many years at Saratoga, was a scene I shall long remember. The costumes of the ladies upon that occasion could scarcely be surpassed in taste and elegance. I often wonder what are the destinies that have overtaken the fair votaries of that brilliant evening. I well remember Miss M—, of New York, in the gala costume of an Italian Peasant Girl, in a skirt of white silk, with white and crimson alternate flounces, and head dress gaily festooned with jewels. Also, Miss J. M—, of Natchez, as the "Maid of the Mist," with a rainbow across the corsage of her floating white robe, and a zephyr vail adorned with pearls like dew-drops, enveloping her entire person; Miss N., of New York, as a Spanish lady, in black lace and diamonds; Miss M. M—, of Natchez, as "The Morning Star," in a soft dress of white lace, with rose-colored vail, studded with golden stars; Miss G. M—, of Mississippi, as Night, in black tulle dress and vail, with silver stars, and a crescent upon her forehead; Miss F., of Philadelphia, a la Pompadour, with skirts of pink moire antique, looped with bunches of roses, and roses in her powdered hair; Miss C, of New York, as a Vivandiere, ​with red skirt, red shoes, blue jacket, fancy hat with streamers, and the cantin suspended from her leather girdle; Mrs. B—, of New York, as "Undine," in a dress of blue and white tulle, festooned with shells and water lilies, and pearls wreathed in her hair; Miss D—, of New York, as a Gleaner, in a white dress with corsage striped with black velvet, and hair adorned with sprays of wheat; Miss R., of Philadelphia, in a dress entirely composed of newspapers, which was much noticed—and numbers of other elegant costumes which I can not remember. It was a night for very brilliant and very lovely women to display their tastes, their jewels and their fascinations.
The South and the North were at one time at great rivalry at Saratoga; the Southerners had it all their own way for many years, but at length New York succeeded in taking the lead, and up to this time has kept it with unrivaled success. But the New Yorkers are very far from being at peace among themselves at Saratoga, or any other place. New York has its cliques, and the maneuvering practiced among them is curious to observe. Sometimes one is ahead, and sometimes another; but there are always certain ones whose dignity, wealth and bearing keep them beyond the fluctuations that worry and fret the rising generation; they feel that they have triumphed, that their foundation is sure, and they wear their laurels quietly but securely. These elegant people sit calmly down, and amuse themselves with beholding the heart-burnings and strivings of new aspirants to the throne of fashion.
Very romantic dramas are occasionally enacted at Saratoga; I remember one among many, worth ​relating perhaps in these pages, as causing a greatexcitement at the time it transpired. It was in the summer of 18—. Saratoga was at its hight of revelry, when one evening it was announced that the wealthy and fashionable Mrs. —, who had recently returned from Europe—where she had flown to prevent her daughter from marrying the man she preferred of all others—had just arrived at the hotel, in a high state of indignation at having caught sight, in the depot, of her daughter's still adoring lover. This was rather too much for Mrs. — to bear; but she stormed and fretted in vain. The engagement was renewed between the lovers, and arrangements forthwith made for an elopement; but the clergyman engaged to unite them was, unknown to them, one of her father's intimate friends, who immediately made the matter known to both of her parents. He, however, appeared on the ground at the appointed hour for the ceremony, accompanied by the lady's father. Here was a scene; the lady fainted, was borne to her apartments, and after a consultation with the respective parties it was deemed advisable to let them be married. Accordingly, preparations upon the grandest scale were commenced, and the wedding took place before the fashion of Saratoga, the next day, in the village church. The bride was simply but elegantly attired, and the nuptial pair, with their twelve bridesmaids and twelve groomsmen, made a splendid wedding array. All the attendants wore white satin rosettes, and the footmen and servants, carriages and horses were streaming with white satin ribbons. The bride's favorite riding horse was decorated off for the occasion, and having been left standing in the rear ​of her carriage for a few moments, quietly walked himself round to the side of it, and laid his head affectionately in his mistress' lap; she caressed him lovingly for a few moments, and the party drove to the church, elated with happiness; from the church to Saratoga Lake, where a splendid supper awaited them; after which all returned to the hotel in time for the ball in the evening.
In those times they held their balls in the dining-room, and the guests then seemed to enjoy themselves more than they do now-a-days in the new and splendid hall. I can not account for it in any way, unless it is that the ladies who reigned over society then were more ambitious, and cared more for display than those who preside at the present day. They were certainly not superior to those who congregate at this attractive spot of late years, but different tastes, I suppose, will have their sway at different periods; and it matters not to what expense gentlemen may go to change the state and tone of society, it is the ladies who give it its tone after all; and the fact is, that so many new people are springing up upon the Saratoga platform now-a-days, that the old select circles are beginning to retire from the scene to more rural and quiet retreats. Nevertheless, Saratoga will always be the great watering-place of the New World. Newport has endeavored in vain to rival it; but, being at the sea-side, Newport will always have its worshipers, and so will Nahant, Cape May, and Rye Beach—especially for Western people, and those living in the interior—but for those living permanently at the sea-side, Sara-toga, Niagara, Sharon Springs, Oatskill Mountains, and Lebanon, offer the most attractions, and are always ​crowded with elegant people. Some who formerly went habitually to those far-famed watering-places, now cross the Atlantic and pass the season in Europe: others go over in May, purposely to supply themselves with a Parisian wardrobe, and return to Saratoga with a glittering display in August.
A lady informed me, last summer, that she had made a three-months' tour in Europe, with her family, and enjoyed herself very much, at about half the expense it would have required to pass three weeks at Saratoga, and not half the trouble. But fashion, in our country, is carried to an extreme which is positively vulgar, and I, the poor hair-dresser, can see it as well as the poor devils of husbands who have it all to pay for, and who are often reduced to penury and madness by the extravagance of their wives and daughters. I knew a lady—and her name is now notoriously known—whose habit it was to travel with fifteen trunks, containing a hundred and fifty costumes. These trunks were called by the gentlemen "young log-cabins." This lady was from the South, and was monstrous hard to please. It usually required her several days to get suitably roomed; and she grumbled and scolded continually, no matter how much pains were taken by her husband to please her. Poor Mr. W———! no gentleman ever came to Saratoga more pitied than he was. He was pitied by some because he was hen-pecked, and despised by others for the little authority he asserted over his domestic affairs. But people may talk as they please on this subject, when a woman makes up her mind to govern, it is of no use for a man to interfere. Women are greater tyrants than men, all the world over. The ​poor hair-dresser has not lived in the fashionable world, and presided at the toilets of fashionable women twenty years, without having well ascertained this fact. Women, to be sure, are often imposed upon, but it can not be denied that the husbands of fashionable women are too often the most to-be-pitied-wretches that walk the earth. Mrs. W. had a hundred and fifty dresses, and made five toilets a day. Wretched slave that she was to fashion! For four successive seasons I dressed her hair, and each year she became more and more disagreeable, from a frantic desire to obtain a standing in fashionable circles, which, from some cause or other, was always a failure with her. Not that her dress was not elegant, her jewels her own (a great desideratum), her conduct perfectly proper, so far as the world could judge; but her efforts were two perceptible to succeed with the ladies, and her waist too small for the tastes of the gentlemen. She could not be the married belle she aimed at, and this was gall and bitterness to her heart. But as I said before, the ladies rule the day everywhere, and Mrs. W did not take with the ladies. This was her downfall. Undoubtedly the gentlemen would have paid her attention, but at Saratoga the gentlemen of the higher circles dare not make a movement outside of the charmed coterie to which they have been admitted; they are slaves to certain female leaders, and, if I were not a poor hair-dresser, I would not hesitate to say they are cowards under petticoat government. They dare not pay attention to a lady out of a particular set, for fear of being black-balled no matter how meritorious the lady may be, and this is a well understood thing at Saratoga. But gentlemen ​do not know how contemptible they make themselves by this servile deference to certain ton women. And these very women do not know how much good they could do, in place of the evil they yearly commit, by paying respectful attention to really clever persons, who are nevertheless weak enough to desire their notice. The unfortunate lady of the fifteen trunks and the hundred and fifty dresses, was unsuccessful with the ton, and so threw herself away upon a fashionable Lothario, whose name has figured with hers in public print since, to the scandal of all the world. He saw her craving for excitement, and won her affections. She went to Europe for her health—which is the fashion now-a-days—where her husband left her in care of a physician. The lover soon followed. A season was passed in Paris, a superb wardrobe got up, and the next summer saw them again at Saratoga, the lady making five toilets a day, as usual, and wearing shoes and gloves very much too small for her hands and feet. Her next winter at the South was a tolerable success, but Saratoga was always a failure with her. Many ladies were as critically situated, however, in love affairs as Mrs. W., but, managing their cards with more shrewdness than she did, they passed the ordeal less harmfully. For instance, there was among the belles of that very season a very young, beautiful and newly-married lady, with an old rich husband. His wealth enabled her to carry on a magnificent career, and she didn't care a fig for the tyrant women of the ton. She had a circle of her own, who hovered about her perfectly indifferent to all others. Her coachman, footman and servants were all in livery. The husband was a merchant, ​devoted to his business, but rushed up to Saratoga every Saturday night, to console his lovely wife, who was, by the by, very much more consoled all the week in his absence; but she did not let him know that. The Monday morning cars took away the husband to his business, and brought back her weekly consolation in the shape of a favorite lover, who as regularly disappeared in the Saturday evening cars. It was curious to see the sober dress and quiet habits of the lady while the poor old husband was by; and the transition to gayety was just as curious when the husband was gone and the lover came. Sometimes, it is true, suspicions of her affection occurred even to him; but all disappeared before her devoted attentions to his comfort, and her well-disguised penchant for anybody else. Her beauty fascinated him, and her arts deceived him to perfection. The utter indifference of this lady to her loving old husband, was, however, a well-established fact at Saratoga, though she managed the thing too dextrously to occasion anything more than whispers here and there. But this was only one affair among a thousand I could name, just as well carried on, at Saratoga as other places, public and private.
Our American ladies are greatly taken by hyfalutin prefixes to names; they perfectly glory in being gallanted by counts and dukes, but the affections of European noblemen are generally pretty well frittered out by the time they are of age, and they rarely seek American wives, except to recruit their fallen fortunes. Saratoga is full of this sort of interesting strangers every season. Sometimes it happens they are married and bring their countesses and duchesses along; but ​if they do, they don't know how to behave themsleves as they ought; they are generally a very quarrelsome set of people, whose domestic fights are proverbial. But the foreign ladies are mostly well educated and accomplished; while their husbands are jealous and eat garlic. The ladies appreciate the true nobility of our American gentlemen, who do not eat garlic, and hence there are occasionally very audible fusses, when these delectable counts and countesses retire for the night to the solitude of their private apartments.
But very queer domestic scenes take place, even among Americans, at Saratoga. Many remember the circumstance of the married lady who roused the whole hotel by her screams of murder and fire, upon a midnight occasion, and threw a loaded pistol over the door into the hall, declaring that her husband had threatened her life with it; they remember also how the door was burst open, and the husband found quietly in bed, both of them declaring that nothing but civilities of the most proper character had passed between them; and also how, to the great astonishment of everybody, the pair had left the hotel by sunrise the next morning, and were found quietly breakfasting at Congress Hall, as though nothing had happened.
This was a queer private incident, but one night an awful general panic occurred in the hotel, occasioned by the cry of fire. Ladies in every variety of dishabille rushed into the halls like so many scared ghosts and witches; and I was then particularly struck with the transformation made by dress in the fair habitues of Saratoga. One of the most beautiful, ​for example, among the day promenaders, was certainly the ugliest woman I ever saw, in undress. In her fright she had hastily gathered up some valuables, among which was a full set of false teeth, with which she rushed into the hall; but when the alarm was over, and she returned to her room, she found, alas! that, among other things, she had dropped her false teeth, and what on earth should she do? Unfortunately for her, they had fallen into the clutches of a rival of hers in a love affair, were retained by the lady and shown to the lover, to the utter downfall of the bereft belle. The lover at first doubted the story; but as she remained in her room for days after the incident, and subsequently fled suddenly from Saratoga, his belief was confirmed, and the lover fled also from both the toothless woman and the ungenerous exposer of the defect—to be heard of no more, that season at least. It was easy to replace the teeth, however, and the owner of them flourished the next year at Cape May as brilliantly as ever.
The next excitement was that of a young man of high rank, and a guest in the hotel, being caught robbing the safe of money and valuables, and being hurried away by his parents from open disgrace, in the middle of the night. Evil doers would oftentimes be terribly nonplussed if there were no night and no darkness; but misdeeds are transacted by day as well as by night.
There came a lady during that season to Saratoga, with her husband, mother, sister, and a gentleman whom report said was the married lady's lover. The gentleman was a Baltimorean, and flourished extensively with the aforesaid lady until people of position ​began to arrive from both Kentucky and Maryland, when they quieted down a little, and became suddenly more circumspect in their conduct. Still there were whispers about the parties.
But Saratoga is a queer place, and the married belles and beaux of certain parvenu cliques play the strangest games during the watering seasons. For instance, they are fond of "euchre;" but a euchre party is generally a married belle's excuse for a supper party to her lover and a few female friends with their lovers. These parties are generally given in the absence of the husbands, but the husbands have to foot the bills, which are often very long, and the occasion of dreadful matrimonial squabbles. Still these people go, year after year, to the watering-places, getting on somehow or other, with their husbands and their lovers, the dear knows how.
There was one lady who glittered throughout a whole season in jewelry that was the admiration and envy of all who beheld it; but the lady remaining unusually long at the Springs, the owner of the jewels posted off to Saratoga to see what had become of her, taking his wife with him, as he did not wish to be seen talking with the lady alone, for fear of exposing her, knowing she had passed all summer as a person of great wealth. The lady treated the jeweler's wife very uncivilly, which she need not have done, for Saratoga at that time was greatly ruled by jewelers, brokers, pillmakers, dressmakers and servants. How the flareup was settled between them, I know not; but the lady was not politic. People never lose anything by being polite, especially to those in whose power they have placed themselves. I do not say ​they should be servile, but politeness costs nothing, and often gains a good deal. I myself upon several occasions dressed the hair of a person who had once been my fellow-servant, and though she then had her carriage and livery, she certainly lost nothing by being kind and polite to me. I do not intend to con-vey the idea by this, that I should have exposed her former humble position, if she had been otherwise; but I repeat that she lost nothing by her politeness.
I could have pointed out the daughter of a fishman, in Washington Market, N. Y., in one of the greatest dashers at Saratoga, if I had chosen; and in another dasher, who was the wife of a man in high position, the former keeper of a house of ill-fame; but though she did not obtain access to the high circles of Saratoga, she conducted herself with perfect propriety, and offended no one in any way. It is, though, astonishing to me how such people rise in the world as they do, and link themselves to respectable circles.
There is but little that has passed at Saratoga for years, that I have not known myself; even the village has its romances, and the hair-dresser is everywhere chatted with, and confided to. Indeed, I have often wished I could absent myself from conversations that I knew ought to be confidential, and that I had no business to hear; but I could not tell ladies to shut their mouths, and hence I was much oftener the receptacle of secrets than I desired to be. I often wished that they had better sense; though, after all, I did not care much what they did, so they paid me my wages. I could not help laughing, though, sometimes; and I was particularly amused at a quarrel ​between four married belles, about one poor unmarried beau, who had somehow or other undertaken to please them all, and ended by pleasing neither, not having tact enough to keep one from being jealous of the other.
But society is gradually changing its tone at Saratoga; the old elite set of ten and fifteen years ago, who reigned in queenly style, are passing away, and seeking more quiet resorts; some still remain, but not enough to keep up the old aristocratic prestige of the place, as is always the case when circles swell to too large an extent.
I hope the few incidents mentioned by me in these pages will injure no one. I merely write them out for the amusement of those who may wish to indulge themselves in a little gossip which has no evil intention in the world. My anecdotes are not intended to have any connection one with the other at all; and, as I said in the beginning, I hope my readers will excuse my rambling, desultory style. Some who were at Saratoga at the time of the following occurrence, may be amused to have it recalled to them, and as I shall call no names, I trust I shall do no harm.
In 1853, there came to Saratoga a wealthy widow, with her aunt. A gentleman visiting Saratoga, saw her, courted her, and married her. The next season they came to Saratoga again, where, when they had first met, all had been so bright to both—but now clouded over with discontent and misery. The aunt was still with her, and they seemed to cling to each other with great devotion, which I thought a little odd, until I saw the changed character of the husband; he dissipated in every way, and coming in ​drunk one day, to his wife's room, threw himself upon the bed in a disgusting condition. She was reading at the time, and continued doing so, until he fell into a profound sleep, when she drove off to the Lakes in company with a gentleman of their party. In a short time he awoke, started wildly up and called for his wife; flew about in every direction asking for her, and when told she had driven to the Lakes, ordered a span of fast horses, and drove after her with all speed, his dress disordered, and his hat blown off, which he did not mind. His wife, who was sitting upon the gallery of the Lake Hotel, saw him coming, and desired the gentleman who was in her company, to leave her, which he did; when the husband approached her in an infuriated manner, and ordered her to get into his buggy. In starting off hurriedly, he dropped his whip, jumped out to get it, and being evidently very much intoxicated, she desired a couple of gentlemen whom she knew, to drive her back to Saratoga, where she arrived a long time before her husband, who was brought home by somebody else. Not being able to find out by questioning who had driven his wife home, he offered a hundred dollars reward—which he placarded upon the columns of the house—to any one who would inform him who had been her escort; but no one came forward, as he expected, and steeping his senses deeper and deeper in liquor, he finally went to bed, leaving his wife the most sorrowful and mortified of human beings. At length she by some means procured morphine and drank it to put an end to her griefs; but only took enough to endanger her life, without destroying it. The husband was frantic at this, and tried in vain to rush from the apartment in ​which the proprietor had had him confined; physicians were sent for, and the greatest excitement prevailed in the house; but the lady recovering after a few days, sent for me, paid me my wages, and said she intended getting a divorce from him as quickly as possible. I, of course, never expected to see those two people together again. But, bless your heart, dear reader, they breakfasted together one morning, and went off on the cars as loving as a pair of turtle doves. I ought not to have been in the least surprised at this, for I had known several cases as strangely inconsistent before.
I knew a man who pinched his wife when they were alone together, and told her he did not love her, and tortured her in every way imaginable; while in company you would have thought him the most devoted of husbands and lovers. He was positively cruel; and I threatened to inform her mother of his conduct, when she implored me not to do so, saying, "Charles is only a little hasty; don't tell anybody about it, Iangy."
Watering-places betray many characters, and much misery, that would never be found out, if people who certainly know they must cut a ridiculous figure, and make an entire failure of it, would only be wise enough to stay at home. Envy, hatred and malice all show themselves at watering-places.
I remember one summer there was to be a fancy ball, at which it was expected Miss H., of Baltimore, would shine pre-eminent in dress and manner. Her figure was elegant, and her toilet exquisite; but it happened that on the evening of the ball news came of the death of an intimate friend of hers in Cincinnati, which, by unanimous consent of her acquaintances, ​was to be kept from her until after the ball; but there was a gentleman who had made up his mind that his two daughters might stand some chance of shining on that occasion, provided Miss H. could be kept out of the ball-room; so he slyly went and told her of this death, knowing at the same time how much her friends desired she should not know it, but the daughters did not make much of a sensation after all—there was too much brilliancy elsewhere. Miss J., as the Morning Star, in a spangled illusion robe, with a diamond star upon her forehead, was lovely. Miss F.F., from Virginia, shone as Night in black spangled illusion and a diamond tiara. Mrs. W., of New York, in a blue moire antique, covered with point lace and flounces, and diamonds among her massive curls, was superb. Miss A., of Augusta, Ga., as a Flower Girl, was spoken of as the loveliest among the lovely.
A season or so rolled on, and the ladies grew very tired of fancy balls. This was not regretted by the proprietor, as they were very expensive, and required a great deal of preparation. The whole house had to be illuminated, and the garden and trees filled with colored lights.
Full-dress balls succeeded the fancy balls, and in the hight of the season at Saratoga the ball-room presented a magnificent sight. The wealthiest persons in the country were there congregated, each trying to outvie the other in magnificence and costliness of apparel. The jewels that sparkled amid fine laces and rich silks were only outshone by the beauty of those they adorned. The proud lady of fashion was there, who, having outlived all her better feelings, was only ​happy, only really existed amid such scenes; and near her the young metropolitan beauty, brilliant in appearance, but in feeling almost as old and heartless as her companion; while not far off could be seen the belle of some small city, blushing, beautiful, trembling, showing plainly, in her innocent countenance, how unused she was to such scenes of splendor. Among the gentlemen were some celebrated over the whole country for their talents—men of high station and ability; others widely known on account of their great wealth or their energy in business; and occasionally one could see in the crowd a few well-dressed, handsome gentlemen, apparently intellectual, exceedingly agreeable in conversation, and polite in manner, yet mostly avoided by ladies and gentlemen. These are the fortune-hunters, many of whom every season congregate at Saratoga, staying from the beginning of the season until the end in search of wealth. Even then they are often able to leave only when some friend is kind enough to step forward and pay their bills, or they leave their whole wealth—their trunks—in the possession of the proprietor.
A description of some of the dresses worn at one of the full-dress balls may not be uninteresting to some of my lady readers. Two ladies, protegees of Mrs. Captain H., attracted general attention. One was dressed in pink, flounced; each deep flounce had on the edge a small flounce, fringed; her hair arranged a la Pompadour, with pearls. The other's dress was blue, and made in the same way. She had a feronia of carbuncles, a necklace of the same; her hair put up a la Grecque, and bracelets and ear-rings of carbuncles. They were called, during the evening, the ​Southern belles. One was Miss H., from New Orleans, the only daughter of a wealthy gentleman; the other, Miss C., was from Georgia. Mrs. H.'s dress was silver-gray silk, with flounces of very costly black lace, a full set of pearls. She and her protegees were the light of the evening. Mrs. O., who is known throughout the United States for her elegance and her husband's talents, was dressed in a rose de chenie silk, with flounces edged with blond. Her ornaments were rubies and diamonds. She used her fan with more grace than any lady I have ever seen. Mrs. D., of Boston, had on a white silk dress, with over-dress of elegant Swiss, flounced; each flounce fluted and edged with costly lace. She looked really elegant.
The most beautiful dress in the ball-room that season was worn by Miss D. It was a very handsome India muslin. She was not called the belle of the evening, but belle of the season. She was not only beautiful and graceful, but so winning and attractive in her manners, so amiable and lovely, that the belle-pickers, who picked all to pieces, could not find anything to say against her. As to her mother and father, whenever they came to Saratoga they were sought after by every one. It was like mother, like daughter. She was different from the most of New Yorkers, for they generally think the Western people wild until they happen by chance to visit our Queen City of the West, and many of them are then thrown in the back ground. My readers all know every city has a belle, but we have one that is not only a city belle, but a United States belle—Miss G. From her girlhood until now I have never seen any change in her. Not only is she beautiful, but always mild, ​gentle, amiable and lovely, and remarkable for her talents and superiority of education.
An occurrence came under my observation this season that shows how trifling a circumstance can almost destroy the character of an innocent girl. A young lady from one of the Eastern cities came to Saratoga under the protection of her friend, a married lady, living in the same city. After the latter had staid her time, and was going home, Miss—wrote to her guardian to allow her to stay longer. The consent was given, should she find a suitable person to stay with. Two families having just arrived with whom she was well acquainted, she remained under their protection as long as they staid. When they left for Newport she went with them. On their leaving Newport, she wished to stay there a little longer, and was put in the charge of a married lady, who paid every attention to her.
She there became acquainted with a gentleman who paid her a great deal of attention. They in a short time were engaged to be married. This so enraged a number of ladies that he had for years past been paying attention to that they went to work to slander her. They were not satisfied with watching and peering around themselves, but set the servants of the hotel to watch her too. She having received a letter from her guardian, made an appointment with this gentleman to walk on the beach early in the morning, when she would show him her letter concerning their marriage.
It was a very common occurrence for ladies to walk on the beach as early as six o'clock. She being young, did not see any impropriety in his coming for ​her to her room at that hour. She was looking over her letters when he came, so she asked him in and handed him the letters to look over. While he was reading them the door was opened by a servant, who informed the proprietor that this gentleman had been in her room all the night.
Those would-be ladies, who were so envious of her, were exulting at her supposed downfall, because she was young, beautiful, wealthy, and connected with some of the best families in the country. The lady under whose care she was sent her immediately home, supposing that was the best thing to be done. On her arrival, her particular and best friend, Mrs.—, who was a belle at the time at Saratoga, and is known and sought after at all the watering-places, went immediately to Newport to see what the trouble was. On her arrival she made inquiries, and found there was neither more nor less the matter than her engagement with this gentleman, who had disappointed several ladies, and were angry that she should succeed where they had failed. However, they were married in a short time after, and went to Europe.
It is not often young people who try to blast each other's characters; it is the married belles who do so.
The season of 1857 was very gay at Saratoga. Ladies were there from all parts of the country. I missed but very few of the gay throng who for many seasons had added so much to the gayety of the place by their presence. There was a young married lady there under the care of her mother; her husband was not along. There was also at the hotel a gentleman who had formerly been a lover of hers, and he now paid her so much attention as to create quite a talk. ​This went on for a week or so; then the time came on that her husband was to come, when the young gallant took his departure. He could not stay and see one he had loved so fondly, and felt as though she ought to have been his, loved by another.
All this gave room for a good deal of talk. Many slandered her behind her back, while to her face they were all kindness and love. I once asked a lady why she did so? Her reply was, "She is so beautiful and gentle I love to talk to her." I said, "Excuse me, but I think it is her carriage and horses you admire, as well as herself." This lady was often out riding with her, though she slandered her.
That season Saratoga was blessed with musicians. There was a young gentleman from New Orleans there who was famous for fascinating all the ladies, both married and single, in New Orleans. He then went to New York, and was a teacher there. He gave lessons in some of the higher schools. He then came to Saratoga. While there the ladies kept him playing so much that he ruined all the pianos. At length the proprietor ordered him to leave, and I assure you it was amusing to see them go after him to the other hotel, while the ladies there were quite indignant that the ladies from the United States should come there and monopolize their favorite musician.
There are hundreds of people go to watering-places from their own birth-place to meet with those that, had they stayed at home, they never would have known. I know some in New York and Philadelphia who have spent hundreds and thousands of dollars going to watering-places to make the acquaintance ​of others from their own city. Some have succeeded, but others I know never can. In Philadelphia there is a certain set that no money, no dashing, not even the influence of friends, can get into but their own circle. I knew some young ladies in Washington City who gave a large ball every year during the sitting of Congress, and invited every person of note and every stranger of rank in the city—all would go. These self-same young ladies, on making a visit to Philadelphia, could not or would not be received into that clique. I have myself heard the ladies say they could not ask them. I asked the ladies why did they go to their balls. Their reply was, they were in Washington, and wished to see the strangers from different States.
I was quite amused one day, on looking out of the window on the promenade, to see a lady, who had always something disagreeable to say of a certain Doctor or his wife, in close conversation with the Dr.'s lady, and seeming to forget how little she thought of her; the next day when I went to comb her hair, I asked her how she could talk to, and seem so pleased with one she looked down on so much. She told me every one here thought so much of them, and the Doctor was at the head of all the gayety and amusements going on, so while there she did not care; at home, she would not know them, only as some others did, call on them. Then, when they returned the call, not be at home; and when they gave large parties, they never noticed them; but, she said, she understood they intended to sell out their establishment and go to Europe. On their return they were going on the most fashionable street in Philadelphia, and I suppose ​then we will have to call on them as they will be big folks.
I will tell you what I had the independence to do; I just waited till I got another customer or two, and then I forgot her hour. There are a great many ladies who love to speak evil of each other, and should it be spoken of again, they would pack it on to the hair-dresser.
There came along a gentleman, his wife, child, servant and dog. I was particularly and immediately sent for. When I went to her room, I wondered how she came to know me, and asked her. She told me of many ladies whose hair I dressed, and called over their names. I thought she might be one of their visitors, but I had my doubts, till I asked these ladies, one after another; none of them knew her, as she had run up to them and asked who dressed their hair. They said they did not like her, and left her very soon.
On my going to her next day, she commenced a conversation, by saying she did not like the hotel, the attendants, the people, nor anything; her husband was going to take private board; was going to take this house and that, and so on. In the meantime I found out she had been, for many years, in a Camille boarding-house in New York. On learning so much of her character, I went right in to her, and told her who and what she was, and advised her to be quiet and keep her room, as both ladies and gentlemen had arrived who knew them the last place they were at; but, before the proprietor could send in his bill, they had left.
Her husband was a gentleman; how he got in such ​a scrape I don't know, for he looked careworn and much troubled. To this day, in a milliner's store, a dry good's store, or a confectionary, wherever she can find any person who does not know her history, she will step up and commence a conversation, presuming on her husband's family. The proprietor or some of the salesmen will put the lady on her guard. She dressed elegantly, and used good language. Dress is the go now; I know a great many people at Saratoga, not much better than she was, but who had good friends and dressed fine, who were never noticed. There comes every year, to the States, a mysterious lady, who always has a book or newspaper, reading. She was never seen talking with any one till the last season, when there was an old gentleman, who usually sat on the opposite side of the promenade, and occasionally there would a bow pass between them.
The last season, at Saratoga, there was no head, or leader, and it was really amusing to see every one making efforts to establish a reputation as leader. At this time it was very gay and lively; many mothers brought their young sons there; it was laughable to see the young roosters strutting about, with their standing collars, making love to the ladies, some of whom were old enough to be their mothers; but, as beaux were scarce, they had to take young or old, as they had to have beaux.
On my first doing business in Saratoga, there were many gentlemen there from New York, and other places, who were clerks and bookkeepers, who could not stay long, as the board at Saratoga was more than they could afford to pay, but they certainly were a very gay set, and kept the place alive.
​There was a goodly number of gentlemen there who bore the reputation of being rich, but it was far from so, as the club-room defrayed their expenses, as often as some young greenhorn would come there and leave as much behind as would keep these old hands in style as long as they pleased.
In August, there came a young gentleman from one of our large cities, and I know two families staid there at his expense; one of them was a little better satisfied this year, than the year previous; this season he was more with his family, and caught more greenhorns than last year, and paid the madame so well that she did not awaken all the neighbors scolding him, as she had done the year before, when he came home late.
Such families as these did not always stop at the United States, for I know numbers of them who used to stop at other places until their daughters were grown up, and then would come to the States; for it is a well-known fact that there is a style at the United States no other hotel there possesses.
If there is a large family, and it is too expensive for all to board at the United States, one is sure to board there, and the balance at some cheaper place, so that they can have the liberty of the parlor and grounds. Sometimes a lady gets mad, but if she has a son or a cousin, he will board there, and she somewhere else, so that she can come and go at pleasure.
One evening, during the crowded season, when there were about fifteen hundred people at the hotel, I concluded to look around and see how such a vast crowd would amuse themselves. First I looked into the parlor where two or three hundred people were collected ​in groups of fifteen or twenty, laughing and talking with all the gayety and good humor imaginable. On the promenade was a large crowd, some walking briskly, others leisurely along, chatting and making merry; some arguing on the favorite topics of the day, discussing politics, or laying plans for the morrow's amusement.
From thence I proceeded to the grounds, meeting a few couples, who had fled from the crowded rooms to the shaded paths, and looking as though they did not like having their lonely walks interrupted. I then passed the cottages; in some the families were collected together, talking and reading, while others looked dark and deserted; in one was quite a company assembled, the older persons enjoying themselves with singing and music, chatting and laughing, while the younger were amusing themselves with childish sports and games, seeming a happy little party; in another, the habitation of a Spanish count, greatly sought after for his immense wealth, some gentlemen were playing euchre; while, before the dim light in the next, you could occasionally see a stately figure move back and forth.
These cottages are opposite the business portion of the house, so, after leaving them, I concluded I would take a look into the club-room; here I was much surprised to see more white-haired men than young ones. Two rooms were well filled, and in them I noticed some gray-headed men, so old and feeble they could scarcely get up and down stairs, but still they were there, and while the faces of some were as cold and immovable as though their features could never express an emotion; in the countenances of others could ​be traced signs of the deepest emotion—of hope and despair, of sorrow and joy.
I went to the bar-room, which, like the parlor of the club-room, was crowded. A man was playing on the harp and singing, some were listening to the music, while others were drinking brandy smashes, mint juleps, etc., and were ordering them so fast, that I could not, for the life of me, tell whether the barkeeper, when he received the money, put half into his pocket and half into the drawer, or all into one place or the other. I then went through a long hall that separated the restaurant from the staircase, that led to the ball-room. There were six large rooms on each side of this hall; the three front rooms were very large bed-rooms, the others were private dining-rooms. This restaurant was for those of the boarders who did not get up at the general breakfast hour, which was from eight to ten. Those who did not attend at these hours, had breakfast there, and paid extra for it, and those who are going on the half-past one o'clock train, their dinner.
In the private dining-rooms, on ball nights, the managers of the balls have a game supper given them, for their trouble in attending to, and getting up the ball. On passing through this hall, on that night, it was very gay and lively, some carrying refreshments to the ball-room, others busy in the preparation of the supper for the managers; all hurrying to and fro, talking, laughing, and whispering.
From here I went up the broad stairs to the ball-room. The stairway was lined with spectators, anxious to see the beauty and dress of the ball, but owing to the ill-nature of the bar-keeper, who ​generally kept the door, many were disappointed at first; in a short time, however, the managers came forward and threw open the doors; they would not have the ladies stifled with heat, to deprive a few people of the pleasure of looking in. I afterward found out the reason of the bar-keeper keeping the door shut; gentlemen from other places, not wishing to participate in the gayeties of the ball-room, would give him a little some thing, and he would slip them in to look on a while, and then slip them out again; so he thought, by keeping the door closed, he would gain more for himself. This night the ball-room was crowded with beauty and elegance. I noticed a clergyman, his daughter, and her companion, there. The first season this reverend gentleman came to Saratoga, he was accompanied by a gay young gentleman; he would strut up and down the promenade, with his white kids and high collar, during the week; on Sunday he would preach in the different pulpits, and on ball nights, he was in the ball-room. The ladies dodged round and peeped at him, thinking he was either an old bachelor or a widower; however, he managed to get acquainted with some of the bon ton of Saratoga, which so perfectly delighted him, that, this season, he brought his daughter and her associate. Then the gentlemen were all dodging and peeping round, as the report had gone out that she was wealthy.
I noticed, that night, she attracted as much attention as some belles who had been there some ten, twelve, or fifteen years. After taking a bird's-eye view of the ball-room, I passed on to the linen-room, which is the housekeeper's department, where the ​chambermaids were all assembled, some perfectly delighted with the way in which the ladies had treated them, others very much annoyed and mortified at the crossness and ill-nature of the ladies who fell to their lot; others, again, complaining of being tired to death, running up and down, getting this thing and that that was wanting for the ball. The housekeeper was trying to console those who had been aggrieved, by telling how she had been treated, herself, by some of them. I just then made my appearance, and told them where there were so many congregated, all could not be ladies.
One of them said, I had the privilege of choosing who to work for, and if I did not like them I need not work for them, but it was not so with them, as they were obliged to, whether they were ladies or not. I told her, "Not so, remember the pocket-handkerchief scrape."
A season or two before, a lady had come there and lost her pocket handkerchief. She blamed the chambermaid, and had her almost beside herself about it; she said it was worth twenty-five or thirty dollars—that it had been taken out of her room only that day. The chambermaid cried, and said, since she had been on that floor there had no such charge been made against her.
A gentleman, who roomed opposite, hearing the noise, opened his door, called the chambermaid, and asked what was the matter. She told him, and with tears in her eyes, said the lady blamed her, and what a costly handkerchief it was. The gentleman turned into his room, and took up a handkerchief that had lain on his table for ten days, handed it to ​the chambermaid, and told her that was the missing article.
The lady's name was on it, so she could not deny it, and when it came to be looked into, it was discovered the handkerchief, instead of being worth twenty-five or thirty, was not worth more than two or three dollars. The gentleman had picked it up on the stairs, where the lady had dropped it.
I then passed through the hall, and on till I came to the ladies' saloon, where there is a notice up, "servants not admitted here." Nevertheless, the notice did not do much good, as they usually congregated there in spite of all that could be said. The question of the merits and demerits of their different ladies was the general topic in the room. One of the maids said her lady was one of the most popular ladies in the ball-room, but was very tyrannical and cross with her servants, or those living with her, even to her governess, who is refined and every way her superior. When she engaged this governess, in New York, she promised to treat her as an equal, but when she got to Saratoga, she did not wish this young lady to be with her friends. When visitors came in, she invariably said she heard the children cry, or would send them all out walking, and in many other ways she treated her badly; her eyes were often inflamed with crying, and we are all waiting, she said, till we get back to New York, to leave her, coachman, chambermaid, ladies' maid, governess, and all. After the servants had finished the discussion of their ladies' merits and demerits, they all ran off into the ball-room. I then proceeded to the dining-room, found everything put up and nicely arranged in its place; then told the ​watchman, who attends to the dining-room, I wanted him to go with me to the kitchen, as I wanted to see how it looked at night.
We went down, found the French cooks, with their white caps on, busy getting tip a sumptuous supper for the managers; everything clean and in its place. The night scene was quite different from the day scene, as, in the day time, I have seen about a hundred servants standing round, with their white aprons on, waiting for the different dishes for those they attended, while the head cook would serve choice dishes to those gentlemen who provided them for themselves, game or such like, by that means making a great confusion among the boarders and waiters, many thinking they paid high board and did not get what others did, of course not being aware these gentlemen provided their own. I then went back to the ball-room, and staid there till its dispersion.
It being late, and the night gloomy, I determined to stay all night in the hotel, so I thought I would witness the proceedings in the servant's hall. After the servants had put their ladies safely to bed, they returned to the fifth story to their apartments. About thirty or forty had a regular concert; some of them sang well, imitating ladies and gentlemen they had heard during the day. In the lower end of the hall was a party playing euchre, and from the appearance of bottles and glasses, I fancy there was as much champaigne, claret, and good brandy drank there, as in the club-room. I was amused, on going forward, to hear a toast to the health of Mr. Longworth drank by them, for his good old wine, to say nothing of how they came by it. Another set were dancing ​and making a terrific noise, regardless of those who were sick or tired below. A great many messages came up from those underneath them, saying if they did not cease their noise, they would inform the proprietor; but these did no good, for they kept it up till three o'clock in the morning.
Next morning, when I got up, I felt as though I had not slept for a week, but I was gratified to see the proceedings of one night in a crowd. On going down I met the servants belonging to Mrs. D. and Mrs. M., of Natchez. They asked me how I liked the ball; I told them it was elegant. Inquiring if I had seen their mistresses, they began praising them very highly, saying they were young, beautiful and good; they thought there were none like them in the room. I told them that was my opinion too. Both these girls were slaves, and had been treated kindly, and, as I before said, when a slave is treated kindly, no matter where they are, they will not leave their masters.
I have given you a night's scene in a crowd, now I will give you a day's scene. After leaving those girls, I proceeded to the springs, where I never go but once in the season, as I determined to notice what was going on that day.
When I got to the springs, the sun was just rising. The dew was yet on the grass, and as the sun peeped through the leaves of the trees, and made all glitter like diamonds, I thought I had never witnessed so beautiful a scene. At that instant the band struck up "God save the Queen," and in a moment it turned to the well known tune, "Hail Columbia."
All was in perfect unison with my feelings; I staid there some time; saw the different ladies ​coming down from the various hotels, some walking, enjoying the beauties of nature; some drinking a glass or so of the water; and others going down to the little circular railroad.
I amused myself going from one spring to another, seeing the different faces of the ladies as they drank the water. Some would go round the grounds, which are about half a mile, while those who did not take the usual walk on the grounds, went home and promenaded the galleries.
That morning there were between three and four hundred people there. It seemed to me they were of every nation, people and language under the sun. Going home, I saw some of the ladies and gentlemen who were at the ball the night before, promenading the gallery. The prevailing topic of conversation was the beauty and brilliance of the ball. I then went up to wait on a lady that I dressed every morning before breakfast.
She told me of numerous ladies and gentlemen who had lost their hearts the previous night, among the rest were two young ladies I knew came there to get beaux. The eldest was very good looking; she seemed to be amiable and artless, and whatever a gentleman told her she implicitly believed; but the younger was more shrewd, she believed nothing that was said to her unless she was sure it was so.
I was very glad, indeed, when I knew they had got beaux, as I could, I hoped, get their hair dressed without the interference of their mother. When I was dressing their hair, she was all the time telling me to make them look well, for Mr. So-and-So had arrived, or Mr. This-or-That danced with them, or looked at ​them in the ball-room, or they were introduced to Mr. Such-an-One, and she wished them to look their prettiest, as this was their debut.
I always did hate to get hold of any one on their first appearance at the springs, unless they were ladies of great refinement, and used to a good deal of gayety, as, if not, their whole trouble was to look better than Miss So-and-So. I know a number of ladies, who actually, when they got to the springs, were so dissatisfied with their wardrobe, that they had a full wardrobe made up to suit the times.
Having finished dressing this lady and heard all she could tell me, I went down in search of some other ladies, who I thought might be through with their breakfast. I had engagements with ladies from seven in the morning till nine or ten at night, during the rush. When I got down I looked into the dining-room, and it certainly was a beautiful sight—the ladies all dressed in different colored morning wrappers. One lady I noticed, had on a blue silk with a dotted Swiss over it; another a white Thibet, with a large cape of the same bound all round down the front, and cape with a rich green moire antique ribbon; another a white jaconet, ruffled all round the bottom, up the front and the cape, and handsomely fluted, and a pink head dress set gracefully on her head. After looking in for a few minutes, I saw some other of my ladies, and secured another victim. By the time I had finished dressing her, breakfast was over, and there was a general rush to the promenade and through the grounds. I never saw so many little groups, or so many promenading before; and the whole conversation was the ball, who looked best, and so forth; while ​those that were not talking were looking out for the Saratoga papers, to see what was said about themselves, and all the news.
Suddenly I heard a great shout and huzza on the street; I looked out and heard a telegraphic dispatch had come from New York with the intelligence that the Atlantic Cable was completed and all right. Then came orders for a general jubilee; some began preparing speeches; some getting up different kinds of illuminations; some doing one thing, and some another, but none idle. Through all the excitement, I got some twenty-two or three-arranged for dinner, all dressed in their best for the occasion.
After dinner, they tried to see how many could go to the lakes. I believe there were more carriages out that day than had been out for years. After dark, the streets were full of bonfires, houses and stores were illuminated, fireworks of all kinds were set off; then came shouts for speakers; some called for Washington Irving; some for Mr. Cooley; some for Mr. Randel, of Philadelphia; some again for Gen. Cadwallader, and many others. Numbers of eloquent speeches were made; all went well till an eminent lawyer got up and began quoting Scripture; he got to the passage, "He plants his footsteps in the sea, and rides upon the storm,"—when he could neither tell whether the passage was in John, James or Genesis, and he made such a faux pas that it afforded a good deal of amusement to the spectators. After the speeches were finished, all dressed exquisitely and rushed to the ball-room, where they spent a very gay and merry evening, all in honor of the laying of the cable. It was the topic of conversation for a few ​days, till at last, as everything began to get cold, and as it were, dead, they were freshened up by the presence of three living lords—Lord Grosvenor, Lord Cavendish and the Hon. Mr. Ashley. They staid for several days, playing off on the weak minds of some of the parents who had young daughters in market, and amusing themselves generally, as they were in this country to see all that was to be seen, and for their amusement, as our young gentlemen do when they make the European tour.
I have often been amused in passing through the saloon—which, I have before mentioned, was at the head of the stairs, and was mostly used by courting characters, as a lady, gentleman or servant would not think of stopping one instant there if they saw a lady and gentleman in conversation—to see one of these young lords and a lady; his seat was a little higher than hers, and she looked up to him, receiving every word as if it nourished soul and body, as the dew of a summer's evening nourishes a delicate plant. Then on going down to the parlor in search of a lady whose hour bad come to dress her for dinner, I found her with another of these lords, occupying a coquette seat; and on a sofa at a little distance, sat the other one; beside him was a married belle from New York; her mother sat on the other side, in perfect admiration of her daughter. They were all listening with as much earnestness as if they expected to be transfigured from Miss Whatever-it-might-be, to Lady So-and-So.
There were two or three of us hair-dressers who were amused at mothers, sisters, aunts, cousins, and all who had young ladies to chaperon. 'Twas like ​the sound of an old bell—ding-dong, ding-dong—"Make her look pretty, for she might catch this lord." I would often smile at the request of some mother or chaperon—"Make her look her prettiest." I would smile and say, "That is very easy to do."
Whatever part of the house these lords would be in, there the ladies flocked, some with one question, some another; may-be a question as to the manners and customs of England, or the Palace, the Queen, the royal children, or anything else to elicit conversation; when they, as replies, would rattle off anything they would think of, let it be plausible or not; and sometimes, if the three chanced to be near each other, they would throw a sign, as well understood by them as the sign of either Mason or Odd-Fellow.
I was afraid, from the specimens at Saratoga that time, these lords would get a false impression of the American ladies, as not being sufficiently dignified; but hearing they had sought introductions to our Cincinnati and New York belles, whom I have before spoken of, I knew they would redeem the character of those who had laid aside their dignity and run after them. After these lords had amused themselves a little longer, they left for the wilds of the West.
I have given you many instances of marriages in high life. Now, before leaving Saratoga, I will give you a little account of a death in high life. It has always been a painful subject to me since. A lady who lived in great splendor and elegance, and in her queen-like mansion entertained thousands—Madame R., of Philadelphia—died at Saratoga in the summer of 1858.
After a flourishing summer, being gazed upon by ​hundreds of her admiring friends, she was stricken down by erysipelas, caught by sitting in the gallery one very cold and damp evening. Her husband had been sick, and she was very anxious to have a letter from him; so she sat out on the gallery watching for a letter. She did not frequent the parlor, as she was never known to be there more than five or ten minutes at a time.
She lay from August till October. Her friends were very kind and attentive to her while the visitors were there. After the season was over she got worse. The house was deserted, and also the cottages, except the two little rooms she occupied, with a little stove in the corner of one of them.
Sometimes friends would come with a few grapes, flowers or other delicacy for her, which would be sent up with the compliments of the sender, and a wish to be allowed to see her. A cold, stern voice would be heard in reply—"Her compliments, and she does not wish to see any person." She had not even the privilege to decide for herself, and we all know in severe sickness the kind hand of a female friend is very soothing. This she had not; she had no attendant but her husband, a man, and a maid servant, and all know servants are far from being the same around a sick bed as those friends endeared by former associations, and who are also in the same circle in life.
Let my readers picture to themselves a hall two or three hundred feet long, where some weeks before there had been hundreds or thousands of people passing to and fro. All is now deserted—the servants turned off. In this immense hall is one solitary candle burning, making darkness the more visible; two ​figures are all that are seen moving out and in to those two rooms. Had you occasion to go to the top of the stairs, yon could hear groans of mortal agony, with cries of "Lord, help me!—God have mercy on me!" And when any one would do any little kindness to her to alleviate her sufferings, if but for a moment, you would hear the same voice say, "May God bless you, my friend!"
We all know the comforts of a palace are as nothing to one who is struggling in the grasp of death; much less the bed and room which is appropriated to a few hot summer days. When many in health complain of these inconveniences of a watering-place, what must they be to one prostrated by sickness and perfectly helpless.
This lady was noble; she had made many promises what she would do for the proprietor and housekeeper, if she survived; and made provision to have all who waited on her, or were kind to her, remembered. One day she called her husband, and made him promise he would buy the very best dress he could get in New York city, and present it to the housekeeper for her kindness.
Toward the last, it seemed as if there was something on her mind she wished told, but could get no opportunity of speaking to any friend. She particularly wished to see a brother-in-law, but the wish was not gratified, as he was not sent for till too late. She often wished to have a dear friend to close her eyes.
When told her death was at hand, she replied, "God's will be done; but O, I want to see my brother-in-law." While in the very agonies of death, she was closely questioned as to her papers; she answered ​clearly and calmly; told where they were, and how to be got at; and then made arrangements how she wished her body disposed of. She said she wished a very plain shroud and coffin, and to be buried plain and quietly; she said she came into this world plain, and her desire was to leave it the same.
Her shroud was plain and her coffin of the plainest boards. When I think of this lady, her noble heart, her many kindnesses, not only to those she was acquainted with, but to those who required kindness of all nations, recur to my memory and renew the grief I felt at her death.