Read Ebook: Elinor Wyllys; Or The Young Folk of Longbridge: A Tale. Volume 2 by Cooper Susan Fenimore Cooper James Fenimore Editor

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Ebook has 2194 lines and 108070 words, and 44 pages

"At work in the vegetable-garden, as usual. He sent me a fine basket of salad, and radishes, and onions, this morning."

"Clapp has got into a new house I see."

"Yes; he is in very good business, I believe; you saw Catherine, you say?"

"Yes, for a minute only. I ran in to kiss Kate and the children, while they were harnessing a horse for me at the tavern. Kate looks very well herself. The children didn't remember much of Uncle Charlie; but they are pretty, healthy little things, nevertheless."

The grandmother assented to the commendation of her daughter's family; she thought them remarkably fine children. "Catherine was a very fortunate woman," she said; "Mr. Clapp was a very superior man, so very clever that he must do well; and the children were all healthy--they had gone through the measles wonderfully, that spring."

Charlie had not quite as elevated an opinion of his brother-in-law as the females of the family; he allowed his mother's remark to pass unnoticed, however.

"And so Mr. Taylor has given up Colonnade Manor," he continued.

"Yes; he has just sold it to Mr. de Vaux, a friend of Mr. Wyllys," replied Miss Patsey.

"Why did he sell it, pray?"

"Well, the young ladies liked better to live about at hotels and boarding-houses in the summer, I believe; they thought it was too dull at Longbridge. Mr. Taylor didn't care much for the place: you know there are some people, who, as soon as they have built a house, and got everything in nice order, want to sell; it seems as if they did not care to be comfortable; but I suppose it is only because they are so fond of change."

We may as well observe, by way of parenthesis, that this fancy of getting rid of a place as soon as it is in fine order, would probably never occur to any man but an American, and an American of the particular variety to which Mr. Taylor belonged.

"I don't wonder at his wanting to get rid of the house; but the situation and the neighbourhood might have satisfied him, I think," said Charlie, as he accepted Miss Patsey's invitation to eat the nice supper she had prepared for him.

As he took his seat at the table, Mrs. Hubbard observed, that he probably had not seen such short-cake as Patsey made, in Rome--to which Charlie assented warmly. He had wished one evening, in Florence, he said, for some of his sister's short-cake, and a good cup of tea of her making; and the same night he dreamed that the Venus de Medicis had made him some. He was ashamed of himself for having had such a dream; but it could not be helped, such was the fact.

Mrs. Hubbard thought no woman, Venus or not, ought to be ashamed of making good short-cake; if they were bad, that would be a different matter.

"Well, Charlie, now you have seen all those paintings and figures you used to talk so much about, what do you think of them?--are they really so handsome as you expected?" asked his sister.

"They are wonderful!" exclaimed Charlie, with animation; putting down a short-cake he had just buttered. "Wonderful!--There is no other word to describe them."

Mrs. Hubbard observed, that she had some notion of a painting, from the minister's portrait in the parlour--Charlie took up his short cake--she thought a person might have satisfaction in a painting; such a picture as that portrait; but as for those stone figures he used to wish to see, she could not understand what was the beauty of such idol-like things.

"They are not at all like idols, mother; they are the most noble conceptions of the human form."

How could they look human? He himself had told her they were made out of marble; just such marble, she supposed, as was used for tomb-stones.

"I only wish you could see some of the statues in Italy; the Laocoon, Niobe, and others I have seen. I think you would feel then what I felt--what I never can describe in words."

Mrs. Hubbard said the names sounded very heathen-like to her ears; she had never seen a statue, of any description whatever; she didn't think she could have any satisfaction in looking at one. If they had any colour to them, and were dressed up in uniforms, and handsome clothes, like the wax-figures of General Washington, Napoleon Bonaparte, and Lord Nelson, she had once seen, they would be worth looking at, perhaps.

Miss Patsey wished to know, if among the statues he had seen, there were any supposed to be likenesses of the great men that we read about in history?

"There are many statues and busts in Italy, that are undeniably portraits of some of the greatest men of antiquity," he replied.

"Do you suppose they are really like those old Romans? I don't mean such likenesses as the portrait of our dear father; but still pretty good for those old times?"

"Far better than anything of the kind you ever saw," replied Charlie, drinking off a cup of tea.

Miss Patsey thought those might be worth seeing. A conversation followed upon the delight Charlie had felt in beholding celebrated places, the scenes of great events in past ages; a delight that an American can never know in his own country, and which, on that very account, he enjoys with a far keener zest than a European. Miss Patsey seemed to enter a little into this pleasure; but, upon the whole, it was quite evident that all the imagination of the family had fallen to Charlie's share. The young man thought little of this, however: when Judy had carried away the remains of the supper, he returned to his mother's side, and the evening passed away in that pleasant family chat, so interesting to those who feel alike. Sympathy of the heart is a tie ten-fold stronger than sympathy of the head; people may think alike, and hate each other; while those who feel together, are often led to adopt the same opinions.

When Charlie had read the usual evening chapter in the Bible, and had received his mother's kiss and blessing, he laid himself down with a thankful heart, in the little garret-room, as in his childish years. The young artist's dreams that night, were a mingled crowd of fancies; the memories of his boyhood reviving in their old haunts, accompanied by more recent images brought from beyond the Ocean, and linked with half-formed plans and ideas for the future. Among these visions of the night, were two more distinct than the rest; one was a determination to commence, the very next morning, a copy of his honoured father's portrait, in which the artist's object was unusual; for it was his chief aim to make it as little like the original before him, as possible. Shall we reveal the fact that another image, wearing a gentler aspect than the stern, rigid features of the minister's portrait, seemed to flit before the young painter's fancy, coming unbidden, and mingling more especially with recollections of the past? As a ray of moonlight stole into the low dormer-window, the young man turned on his humble bed, a sigh burst from his lips, followed by the words, "No, no!"

We shall keep the secret.

"Yonder, sure, they are coming." As You Like It.

THE weather had been more than usually warm for several weeks, and the morning after Charlie's return to Longbridge, when the steamboat North America left the wharf at New-York, her decks and cabins were filled by some five or six hundred passengers. There were men, women, and children, of various characters, colours and conditions. The scene on deck was pleasing and cheerful; the day was lovely, the steamer looked neat and bright, and the great majority of the females were gaily dressed in their summer attire; most of the faces looked good-humoured, as if pleased to escape from the heat and confinement of the town, to cooler air, and a sight of the water and green woods. One might have supposed it a party of pleasure on a large scale; in fact, Americans seem always good-natured, and in a pleasant mood when in motion; such is their peculiar temperament. The passengers on board the North America soon began to collect in knots, family-groups, or parties of acquaintance; some chatting, some reading, some meditating. There was one difficulty, however, want of space to move about in, or want of seats for some of those who were stationary.

After the boat had fairly begun her trip, and people had settled themselves as well as they could, according to their different fancies, a pretty little woman appeared at the door of the ladies' cabin. In her light hair, and somewhat insipid face, encased in an extremely fashionable hat, we recognise Mrs. Hilson. Turning towards a gentleman who seemed waiting near the door for her, she addressed him.

"Now, Monsieur Bonnet, do exert your gallantry, and find me a seat on deck. The cabin is intolerably warm, I cannot stay here;--where are Emmeline and the Baron?"

"You see, Madame," he said, pointing towards the couple, "Montbrun take a tabouret at once, when we come on board, and Mademoiselle Emmeline now has it. It was very maladroit in me not to keep one for you; I beg a t'ousand pardons."

"Haven't you got a seat; that is a pity. But I dare say you can easily find one."

"Vraiment, ma chere Madame EEL-sun, there is no sacrifice I would not make to procure you one. I am desole it should be impossible. I have been looking; but all the tabourets and chair are taken by ladies and gentlemans. You have a drole de maniere of travel in this countree; so many people together, the ladies must be victimes sometime."

"Oh, no; you don't know how to manage, that is all. Has not the Baron a chair?"

"Non, Madame; you see he is debout."

"Well, there are some gentlemen seated; I see three or four--one quite near you. Ask him for his chair."

The Frenchman shrugged his shoulders, and looked bewildered.

"Pray, ask that gentleman for his chair," repeated the lady, pointing with her parasol to a person sitting at no great distance.

"But, Madame, the gentleman will not know what a charming lady wish for the chair--he will not give it."

"Oh, no danger; if you tell him it is for a lady, of course he will let you have it. Why, how slow you are about it; you are almost as bad as Captain Kockney, who never did anything when he was asked."

"Ah, Madame, de graces do not say that!--I go."

And Monsieur Bonnet, edging his way here and there behind the ladies, and begging ten thousand pardons, at length reached the person Mrs. Hilson had pointed out to him.

"What did you say?" exclaimed this individual, looking up rather gruffly, at being addressed by an utter stranger.

"Mille pardons, Monsieur," continued Monsieur Bonnet; "a lady is very much oppressed with fatigue, and send me to beg you will be aimable to give her your chair."

"What is it?" repeated the man, who looked like an Englishman; "I don't understand you."

Monsieur Bonnet again urged his request, in terms still more civil. It would be rendering a very great service to the lady, he said.

"I am not acquainted with the lady; I advise you to look for an empty chair," replied the other, resolutely turning his face in an opposite direction.

Monsieur Bonnet shrugged his shoulders, and was moving towards Mrs. Hilson au desespoir, when a gentlemanly-looking man, who was seated, reading, not far from the Englishman, rose and quietly offered his bench for the use of the lady. Monsieur Bonnet was, of course, all gratitude, and returned enchante to Mrs. Hilson, who took the matter very quietly; while M. Bonnet seemed surprised at his own success.

The gentleman who had given up his seat, was obliged to continue standing; shutting up his book, he began to look about him, among the crowd, for acquaintances. There was a very gay, noisy party, at no great distance, which first attracted his attention; it consisted of two pretty young women in the centre of a group of men. The shrill voice and rattling laugh of one lady, might be very distinctly heard across the deck; the other was leaning back listlessly in her chair: one of the young men was reading a paper with a sort of family expression, as if the ladies were his near connexions; and, on a chair, at the side of the silent lady, sat an old gentleman, with a very rusty coat, snuffy nose, and a red handkerchief spread on one knee, while on the other he held a pretty little boy, about two years old.

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