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diff --git a/18297-h/18297-h.htm b/18297-h/18297-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..8df6e3f --- /dev/null +++ b/18297-h/18297-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,9448 @@ +<!DOCTYPE HTML PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.01 Transitional//EN"> +<HTML> +<HEAD> + +<META HTTP-EQUIV="Content-Type" CONTENT="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1"> + +<TITLE> +The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Story of a Summer; or, Journal Leaves from Chappaqua, by Cecilia Cleveland +</TITLE> + +<STYLE TYPE="text/css"> +BODY { color: Black; + background: White; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-left: 10%; + font-size: medium; + font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; + text-align: justify } + +P {text-indent: 4% } + +P.noindent {text-indent: 0% } + +P.poem {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; + font-size: small } + +P.letter {font-size: small } + +P.contents {font-size: small; + text-indent: 0% } + +</STYLE> + +</HEAD> + +<BODY> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Story of a Summer, by Cecilia Cleveland + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Story of a Summer + Or, Journal Leaves from Chappaqua + +Author: Cecilia Cleveland + +Release Date: May 1, 2006 [EBook #18297] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE STORY OF A SUMMER *** + + + + +Produced by Al Haines + + + + + +</pre> + + +<H1 ALIGN="center"> +THE STORY OF A SUMMER; +</H1> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +OR, +</H3> + +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +JOURNAL LEAVES FROM CHAPPAQUA +</H2> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +BY +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CECILIA CLEVELAND. +</H3> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +NEW YORK: +<BR> +Carleton & Co., Publishers. +<BR> +LONDON: S. LOW, SON & CO. +<BR> +M.DCCC.LXXIV. +</H4> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H5 ALIGN="center"> +Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1874, by +<BR> +G. W. CARLETON & CO., +<BR> +In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. +</H5> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +To +<BR><BR> +MY DEAR COUSINS, +<BR> +IDA AND GABRIELLE, +<BR><BR> +THIS +<BR> +STORY OF A SUMMER +<BR> +IS AFFECTIONATELY +<BR> +Dedicated. +</H3> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<P> +This little volume is in no sense a work of the imagination, but a +simple record of a pleasant summer's residence at Chappaqua, embracing +many facts and incidents heretofore unpublished, relating to one who +once occupied a large portion of the public mind. Believing that it +may interest many who care to know more of that portion of his busy +life which was not seen by the public, but which pertained to his home +circle, the author has been persuaded to print what was written merely +for the amusement of herself and friends. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +CONTENTS. +</H2> + +<BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +<A HREF="#chap01"> +CHAPTER I. +</A> +</H3> + +<P CLASS="contents"> +Return to Chappaqua—A Walk over the Grounds—The Side-hill House—Our +First Sunday at Chappaqua—Drive to Mount Kisco—A Country Church—A +Dame Châtelaine—Our Domestic Surroundings +</P> + +<BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +<A HREF="#chap02"> +CHAPTER II. +</A> +</H3> + +<P CLASS="contents"> +Arrival of the Piano—Routine of a Day—Morning Toilettes—The +Dining-room—Pictures—Ida and Gabrielle—How occupied—The Evening +Mail—Musical Evening +</P> + +<BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +<A HREF="#chap03"> +CHAPTER III. +</A> +</H3> + +<P CLASS="contents"> +An Unexpected Visit—Morning Drives—Gabrielle's Ponies—A Repulsive +Object—A Visitor—The King of Sweden's Soup—Advantages of a Royal +Kitchen—Startling Experience—Ida's Letters—Strange Contents—A Lucky +Stone—Request for a Melodeon—Offers of Marriage—Arrival of a +Suitor—Reasons why he should marry Ida Greeley—He proves a +Lunatic—He is taken before a Magistrate—He is lodged in the County +Jail +</P> + +<BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +<A HREF="#chap04"> +CHAPTER IV. +</A> +</H3> + +<P CLASS="contents"> +A Visit from Papa—A Musical Squirrel—Letters—Croquet—Extracts from +Letters—Visitors—The Loss of the <I>Missouri</I>—The True Story of Ida's +Engagement +</P> + +<BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +<A HREF="#chap05"> +CHAPTER V. +</A> +</H3> + +<P CLASS="contents"> +Sunday in the Country—Proximity of a Meeting-house—How we pass our +Sundays—The House in the Woods—Ida's Glen—Mrs. Greeley's Favorite +Spring—The Children's Play-house—Gabrielle's Pets—Travelling in +1836—New York Society—Mr. Greeley's Friday Evenings—Mrs. Greeley as +a Bride—Her Accomplishments—A Letter concerning Mr. Greeley's Wedding +</P> + +<BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +<A HREF="#chap06"> +CHAPTER VI. +</A> +</H3> + +<P CLASS="contents"> +Visitors—Our Neighbors—The Chappaqua Croquet Club—Gabrielle's +Letter—A Riding Party—Summer Heat—The Music-room—Friends from the +City +</P> + +<BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +<A HREF="#chap07"> +CHAPTER VII. +</A> +</H3> + +<P CLASS="contents"> +Midsummer Day—An Artist's Visit—Ida's Letter—Moonlight on Croton +Lake—Morning Readings—Plato and Kohlrausch +</P> + +<BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +<A HREF="#chap08"> +CHAPTER VIII. +</A> +</H3> + +<P CLASS="contents"> +Story-telling—Mr. Greeley's Father—His Personal Appearance—His +Education—A Fine Voice—Mr. Greeley's Mother—A Handsome Woman—How +she is remembered in Vermont—Field Labor—Bankruptcy—A Journey to +Vermont—School Days—The Boy Horace—How he entertained his +Playmates—His First Ball—Separation from his Family +</P> + +<BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +<A HREF="#chap09"> +CHAPTER IX. +</A> +</H3> + +<P CLASS="contents"> +A Picnic at Croton Dam—The Waterworks—A Game of Twenty +Questions—Gabrielle as a Logician—Evangeline's +Betrothal—Marguerite's Letter—Description of +Chappaqua—Visitors—Edmonia Lewis +</P> + +<BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +<A HREF="#chap10"> +CHAPTER X. +</A> +</H3> + +<P CLASS="contents"> +Cataloguing the Library—A Thousand Volumes—Contrasting Books—Some +Rare Volumes—Mr. Greeley's Collection of Paintings—Authenticity of +the Cenci Questioned—A Portrait of Galileo—Portrait of Martin +Luther—Portrait of Mr. Greeley at Thirty—Powers' Proserpine—Hart's +Bust of Mr. Greeley—Mosaics and Medallions +</P> + +<BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +<A HREF="#chap11"> +CHAPTER XI. +</A> +</H3> + +<P CLASS="contents"> +The Fourth of July—A Quaker Celebration—The House in the Woods—Mrs. +Greeley's Life there—Pickie—Mary Inez—Raffie—Childhood of Ida and +Gabrielle—Heroism of Mrs. Greeley—The Riots of 1863—Mrs. Greeley +defends her House against the Mob +</P> + +<BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +<A HREF="#chap12"> +CHAPTER XII. +</A> +</H3> + +<P CLASS="contents"> +Pen Portraits—Lela—Majoli—Guerrabella and Celina—Their +Characteristics +</P> + +<BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +<A HREF="#chap13"> +CHAPTER XIII. +</A> +</H3> + +<P CLASS="contents"> +Biography of Mr. Greeley—Gabrielle's Questions—Mrs. Cleveland's +Corrections—The Boy Horace not Gawky, Clownish, or a Tow-head—His +Parents not in Abject Want—Mr. Greeley's Letter about his Former +Playmates—Young Horace and his Girl Friends—He Corrects their Grammar +and Lectures them upon Hygiene—He disapproves of Corsets +</P> + +<BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +<A HREF="#chap14"> +CHAPTER XIV. +</A> +</H3> + +<P CLASS="contents"> +The Morning Mail—A Letter to Mrs. Cleveland—Strange Contents—Ida's +Letter Bag—Appeals for Money, for Clothing, and for her Hand—An +Original Letter from a Trapper +</P> + +<BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +<A HREF="#chap15"> +CHAPTER XV. +</A> +</H3> + +<P CLASS="contents"> +Life in the Woods of Pennsylvania—Journey from Vermont to Pennsylvania +in 1826—Travelling on Canal-boats—Incidents by the Way—Home in the +Wilderness—Aggressions of Bears and Wolves +</P> + +<BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +<A HREF="#chap16"> +CHAPTER XVI. +</A> +</H3> + +<P CLASS="contents"> +A Birthday—A Surprise—The Day celebrated by a Dinner—An Awkward +Mistake—A Queen of Fashion—A Drive to Tarrytown—A Poem to Ida +</P> + +<BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +<A HREF="#chap17"> +CHAPTER XVII. +</A> +</H3> + +<P CLASS="contents"> +Gabrielle and her Embroidery—Life in Pennsylvania +continued—Sugar-making—Horrible Incident—A Woman devoured by +Wolves—A Domestic Picture—Evening Readings—The Library of Mr. +Greeley's Father—Mr. Greeley's Mother intellectually considered—Her +Education—Mr. Greeley's Eldest Sister—She teaches School at the Age +of Twelve +</P> + +<BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +<A HREF="#chap18"> +CHAPTER XVIII. +</A> +</H3> + +<P CLASS="contents"> +Visitors—A Sunday Drive—Croton Lake by Daylight—A Sail—A Sudden +Squall—Anxiety about our Fate—Miraculous Escape from +Drowning—Arrival of a Pretty Cousin—A Child Poetess +</P> + +<BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +<A HREF="#chap19"> +CHAPTER XIX. +</A> +</H3> + +<P CLASS="contents"> +Mr. Greeley visits his Family in Pennsylvania—He expounds Mathematics +and Philosophy to his Brother and Sisters—Fishing and Bee +Hunting—Forest Fires—A Subsequent Visit—He returns as Editor of the +<I>New Yorker</I>—He writes the 'Faded Stars'—Characteristics of Mr. +Greeley's Brother—His Children—Mr. Greeley's Younger Sisters—Their +Education +</P> + +<BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +<A HREF="#chap20"> +CHAPTER XX. +</A> +</H3> + +<P CLASS="contents"> +A Quiet Household—Absence of Marguerite and Gabrielle—Amusing Letters +from them—A Gypsy Fortune-teller—Marguerite returns with a +Visitor—The Harvest Moon—Preparing for Company—Arranging the Blue +Room—Intense Anticipation—"'He Cometh Not,' She Said" +</P> + +<BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +<A HREF="#chap21"> +CHAPTER XXI. +</A> +</H3> + +<P CLASS="contents"> +The Story of Mr. Greeley's Parents continued—He accompanies his Mother +to New Hampshire—Her Sisters—Three Thanksgivings in One Year—Pickie +as a Baby—His Childhood—Mrs. Greeley's Careful Training—His +Playthings—His Death—A Letter from Margaret Fuller +</P> + +<BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +<A HREF="#chap22"> +CHAPTER XXII. +</A> +</H3> + +<P CLASS="contents"> +The Friends' Seminary—The Principal Chappaqua +Residences—Reminiscences of Paris during the War—An Accomplished +Lady—Her Voice—Festivities—A Drive to Rye Lake—Making Tea on the +Beach—A Sail at Sunset—Fortune-telling by Firelight—The Drive +Home—Sunday Morning—A Row on the Pond—Dramatic Representations in +the Barn—A Drive to Lake Wampus—Starlight Row +</P> + +<BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +<A HREF="#chap23"> +CHAPTER XXIII. +</A> +</H3> + +<P CLASS="contents"> +Marriage of a Cousin—A Pretty Bride—Letters—Home Circle Complete—A +Letter of Adventures—Wedding Cards—A Musical Marriage—Housekeeping +under Difficulties—Telegraphic Blunders—A Bust of Mr. Greeley—More +Visitors +</P> + +<BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +<A HREF="#chap24"> +CHAPTER XXIV. +</A> +</H3> + +<P CLASS="contents"> +"All that's Bright must Fade"—Departures—Preparing the House for the +Winter—Page's Portrait of Pickie—Packing up—Studious Habits of the +Domestics—The Cook and her Admirers—Adieu to Chappaqua +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +ILLUSTRATIONS +</H2> + +<BR> + +<H3> +<A HREF="#img-014"> +The Side-Hill House +</A> +</H3> + +<H3> +<A HREF="#img-024"> +The Spring +</A> +</H3> + +<H3> +<A HREF="#img-032"> +The Rail-Road Station +</A> +</H3> + +<H3> +<A HREF="#img-060"> +The House in the Woods +</A> +</H3> + +<H3> +<A HREF="#img-062"> +The Children's Play House +</A> +</H3> + +<H3> +<A HREF="#img-254"> +The Stone Barn +</A> +</H3> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap01"></A> +<H1 ALIGN="center"> +THE STORY OF A SUMMER; +</H1> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +OR, +</H3> + +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +JOURNAL LEAVES FROM CHAPPAQUA. +</H2> + +<BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER I. +</H3> + +<P CLASS="contents"> +Return to Chappaqua—A Walk over the Grounds—The Sidehill House—Our +First Sunday at Chappaqua—Drive to Mount Kisco—A Country Church—A +Dame Châtelaine—Our Domestic Surroundings. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +CHAPPAQUA, WESTCHESTER Co., +<BR> +<I>New York</I>, May 28, 1873 +</P> + +<P> +Again at dear Chappaqua, after an absence of seven months. I have not +the heart to journalize tonight, everything seems so sad and strange. +What a year this has been—what bright anticipations, what overwhelming +sorrow! +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +<I>May 30</I>. +</P> + +<P> +I have just returned from a long ramble over the dear old place; first +up to the new house so picturesquely placed upon a hill, and down +through the woods to the cool pine grove and the flower-garden. Here I +found a wilderness of purple and white lilacs, longing, I thought, for +a friendly hand to gather them before they faded; dear little +bright-eyed pansies, and scarlet and crimson flowering shrubs, a +souvenir of travel in England, with sweet-scented violets striped blue +and white, transplanted from Pickie's little garden at Turtle Bay long +years ago. +</P> + +<A NAME="img-014"></A> +<CENTER> +<IMG SRC="images/img-014.jpg" ALT="The Side-Hill House." BORDER="2" WIDTH="511" HEIGHT="374"> +<H4> +[Illustration: The Side-Hill House.] +</H4> +</CENTER> + +<P> +Returning, I again climbed the hill, and unlocked the doors of the new +house; that house built expressly for Aunt Mary's comfort, but which +has never yet been occupied. Every convenience of the architect's art +is to be found in this house, from the immense, airy bedroom, with its +seven windows, intended for Aunt Mary, to <I>a porte cochère</I> to protect +her against the inclemency of the weather upon returning from a drive. +But this house, in the building of which she took so keen an interest, +she was not destined to inhabit, although with that buoyancy of mind +and tenacity to life that characterized her during her long years of +weary illness, she contemplated being carried into it during the early +days of last October, and even ordered fires to be lighted to carry off +the dampness before she tried her new room. By much persuasion, +however, she was induced to postpone her removal from day to day; and +finally, as she grew weaker and weaker, she decided to abandon that +plan, and journey to New York while she could. In two weeks more she +had left us forever. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +<I>June 1</I>. +</P> + +<P> +Our first Sunday at Chappaqua. We have a little church for a next-door +neighbor, in which services of different sects are held on alternate +Sundays, the pulpit being hospitably open to all denominations +excepting Papists. Three members of our little household, +however—mamma, Marguerite, and I—belong to the grand old Church of +Rome; so the carriage was ordered, and with our brother in religion, +Bernard, the coachman, for a pioneer, we started to find a church or +chapel of the Latin faith. At Mount Kisco, a little town four miles +distant, Bernard thought we might hear Mass, "but then it's not the +sort of church you ladies are used to," he added, apologetically; "it's +a small chapel, and only rough working people go there." +</P> + +<P> +I was quite amused at the idea that the presence of poor people was any +objection, for is it not a source of pride to Catholics that <I>their</I> +church is open alike to the humblest and richest; so with a suggestive +word from Bernard, Gabrielle's spirited ponies flew +<BR><BR> + "Over the hills, and far away."<BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR> + +<P> +A perpetual ascent and descent it seemed—a dusty road, for we are +sadly in want of rain, and few shade-trees border the road; but once in +Mount Kisco, the novelty of the little chapel quite compensated for the +disagreeable features of our journey there. A tiny chapel indeed—a +plain frame building, with no pretence to architectural beauty. It was +intended originally, I thought, for a Protestant meeting-house, as the +cruciform shape, so conspicuous in all Catholic-built churches was +wanting here. The whitewashed walls were hung with small, rude +pictures, representing the <I>Via Crucis</I> or Stations of the Cross, and +the altar-piece—not, I fancy, a remarkable work of art in its +prime—had become so darkened by smoke, that I only <I>conjectured</I> its +subject to be St. Francis in prayer. +</P> + +<P> +Although it was Whit-Sunday the altar was quite innocent of ornament, +having only six candles, and a floral display of two bouquets. The +seats and kneeling-benches were uncushioned, and the congregation was +composed, as Bernard said, entirely of the working class; but the +people were very clean and respectable in their appearance, and fervent +in their devotions as only the Irish peasantry can be. +</P> + +<P> +The pastor, an intelligent young Irishman, apparently under thirty, had +already said Mass at Pleasantville, six miles distant, and upon +arriving at Mount Kisco he found that about twenty of his small +congregation wished to receive Communion, as it was a festival; +consequently, he spent the next hour not <I>literally</I> in the +confessional, for there was none, but in the tiny closet dignified by +the name of a vestry. From thence, the door being open, we could with +ease, had we had nothing better to do, have heard all of the priest's +advice to his penitents. +</P> + +<P> +This ceremony over, the young Father came out in his black cassock, and +taking up his vestments which lay upon the altar-steps, he proceeded +with the utmost nonchalance to put them on, not hesitating to display a +long rent in his surplice, and a decidedly ragged sleeve. +</P> + +<P> +The Mass was a Low one, and the congregation were too poor to have an +organ or organist. Quite a contrast to a Sunday at St. Stephen's or +St. Francis Xavier's, but the <I>Mass</I> is always the same, however humble +the surroundings. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +<I>June 3</I>. +</P> + +<P> +We are unusually fortunate, I think, in our domestic surroundings. +Servants are proverbially the <I>bête noire</I> of American ladies, and the +prospect of having to train some unskilled specimens of foreign +peasantry weighed heavily, I fancy, upon our beautiful Ida in her new +responsibility of a young <I>Dame Châtelaine</I>. However, we have been, as +I said, singularly successful in obtaining servants. +</P> + +<P> +To my great delight, there is not one ugly name in our little +household, although composed of eight members, commencing with <I>Queen</I> +Esther as mamma has been named; then we four girls—<I>la Dame +Châtelaine</I>, with her fair face, dark, pensive eyes, and modest +dignity; Gabrielle, or <I>Tourbillon</I>, our brilliant pet, and the +youngest of our quartette, although her graceful figure rises above the +rest of us; my sister Marguerite, <I>la Gentille Demoiselle</I>; and I, +Cecilia. +</P> + +<P> +Then come the household retinue: Bernard, the coachman, already +introduced, a smart-looking young Irishman, whom the maids always find +very beguiling; Lina, the autocrat of the kitchen, a little, +wiry-looking woman from Stockholm, formerly cook, so <I>she</I> says, to +King Charles of Sweden; and Minna, the maid. +</P> + +<P> +Minna is a pretty young Bavarian, who has been only fifteen days in the +Land of Liberty, but she has already learnt, I am amused to see, <I>not</I> +to address a lady as "<I>gnädige</I> Frau," or "Fräulein"—a style of +address imperative in South Germany from a maid to her mistress. Minna +has not, however, imbibed all of the democratic principles that will, I +fear, come to her only too soon, for she has not yet learnt to emulate +her mistress in dress. It is really quite refreshing to see a servant +dressed as a servant. Minna is the perfection of neatness, and her +plain stuff or print gowns are <I>sans reproche</I> in their freshness. In +the matter of aprons she must be quite reckless, for they always look +as if just from the ironing-table. They are made, too, in an +especially pretty fashion that I have never before seen out of Munich. +Scorning chignons, Minna appears with her own luxuriant hair in massive +braids wound about her well-shaped head, and as to-day is Sunday and a +<I>Fest-tag</I>, she adorns herself with a large shell-comb. She has very +pretty, coquettish ways, that have already melted the heart of our +hitherto unsusceptible Bernard, and it is quite charming to hear her +attempts to converse with him in her broken English. +</P> + +<P> +Minna came to me this morning directly after breakfast, and said, +"Where shall I go to church, Fräulein Cecilia?" +</P> + +<P> +"I do not really know, Minna," I replied. "You are a Lutheran, I +suppose?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, Fräulein Cecilia." +</P> + +<P> +"There is no church of that sort here," I said, "but there is a +Reformed Church next door." +</P> + +<P> +With a very doubtful expression, she said: "I will see, Fräulein. And +<I>bitte</I>, is not the <I>Pfingsten</I> a Fest-tag in America? In our country, +you know, it is <I>more</I> than Sunday, and the people always amuse +themselves." +</P> + +<P> +I explained to her as clearly as I could, that Pfingsten (Whit-Sunday) +was only a Fest-tag in her church, mine, and the Church of England, and +that it was never in this country a Fest-tag, outside of the religious +observance. +</P> + +<P> +A very perplexed face was the result of my explanations; why Pfingsten +should not be Pfingsten the world over, and a public holiday with all +sorts of merry-makings, she could not understand. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap02"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER II. +</H3> + + +<P CLASS="contents"> +Arrival of the Piano—Routine of a Day—Morning Toilettes—The +Dining-room—Pictures—Ida and Gabrielle—How occupied—The Evening +Mail—Musical Evenings. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +<I>June 4</I>. +</P> + +<P> +Yesterday the piano was sent up from Steinway's, where it has been +stored since last fall, and now we have all settled to our different +occupations, and are as methodical in the disposition of our time as +though we were in school. +</P> + +<P> +None of us are very early risers, for mamma, who should naturally set +us a good example, has been too long an invalid to admit of it, and we +girls have become habituated to the luxury of breakfasting in bed, from +residence abroad and in the tropics. Not that we breakfast in bed at +the "Villa Greeley," however; we are much too sociable, and our +dining-room is too attractive, for that. But we gratify our taste for +reasonable hours by assembling around the table at half-past eight. +</P> + +<P> +"Shocking!" I fancy I hear Katie exclaim. "I breakfast <I>at least</I> two +hours earlier. How can you bear to lose so much of the beautiful +morning?" +</P> + +<P> +Don't imagine, dear Katie, that I <I>sleep</I> till half-past eight: you +must know the wakeful temperament of our family too well for that. I +find it, however, very poetic and delightful to listen to the matins of +the robins, thrushes, and wrens, from my pillows; and by merely lifting +my head I have as extended a panorama of swelling hills and emerald +meadows, as though promenading the piazza. +</P> + +<P> +I have been in my day as early a riser as any one—even you, dear +Katie, have not surpassed me in this, respect; for you recollect those +cold winter days when I arose at "five o'clock in the morning," not, +however, to meet Corydon, but to attack the Gradus ad Parnassum of +Clementi by gaslight, in my desire to accomplish eight hours of +practice undisturbed by visitors. At seven, however, I used to meet +with an interruption from my German professor. Poor man! I now pity +his old rheumatic limbs stumbling over the ice and snow to be with me +at that unreasonable hour of the morning. But I then was ruthless, and +would not allow him even five minutes grace, for my time was then +regulated like clockwork, and a delay of a few moments would cause an +unpardonable gap in my day. Now, however, that my education is +nominally finished, I feel that I may without self-reproach indulge in +some extra moments of repose, for it is impossible for one to work +<I>all</I> the time; and a quiet hour of reflection is often, I think, as +useful as continual reading or writing. +</P> + +<P> +We indulge in very simple morning toilettes here, as we have no +gentleman guests for whom to dress, nor ladies to criticise us; +consequently a few brief moments before the mirror suffice to make us +presentable. A black print wrapper made Gabrielle-fashion, with our +hair brushed off plain from our faces, and flowing loosely <I>à la belle +sauvage</I>, or in cool braids, is the order of the day. Even Marguerite, +who is the most conventional of our quartette, has conformed to the +fashion reigning here, and no longer coiffed in the stylish +<I>Impératrice</I> mode, her sunny brown hair floats over her shoulders +unconfined by hair-pins, cushions, or rats. Truly we live in Arcadian +simplicity, for under our roof there are neither curling nor crimping +irons, nor even a <I>soupçon</I> of the most innocent <I>poudre de riz</I>. +</P> + +<P> +At half-past eight a little hand-bell, silver in material and tone, +summons us to the breakfast-room. This room is on the ground floor, +and is one of the prettiest in the house. Four windows give us an +extended view of our Dame Châtelaine's sloping meadows and wooded +hills, and the carriage road winding off towards the pine grove and the +house in the woods. We have several pictures on the walls—first a +portrait of my dear uncle; a boyish face with fair hair, deep blue +eyes, and an expression angelic in sweetness. No one would imagine it +to be the face of a married man, but it was painted, mamma says, when +he was thirty years old. Two large and admirable photographs, taken +early last summer, hang opposite it. A striking contrast they are to +the pensive, fragile, blonde boy; these are impressed with the vigor +and mental and physical activity of his busy life, but the broad +intellectual brow, and the almost divine expression that plays about +the mouth, are the same in each. +</P> + +<P> +An engraving from a picture by Paul Delaroche, the Archangel +Gabriel—the "patron," in Catholic parlance, of our little +Gabrielle—hangs between the windows, and over the comfortable sofa is +a copy of Liotard's celebrated pastel "la belle Chocolatière" in the +Dresden Gallery. This copy Aunt Mary bought in that city when there +some years ago, and it is considered wonderfully fine. Very pretty and +coquettish she looks in her picturesque Vienna dress, with the small, +neatly-fitting cap, ample apron, and tiny Louis Quinze shoes. In her +case +<BR><BR> + "My face is my fortune,"<BR> +<BR><BR> +was exemplified, and so pretty and modest is her demeanor that it is no +wonder that Count Dietrichstein, haughty nobleman though he was, +married her. She is very different, however, from the chocolate +vendors whom I have seen in the streets of Paris. I don't think a +nobleman would ever raise one of them from their original station, for +they are as a rule past fifty, and ugly and withered as only a +Frenchwoman of that age can be. +</P> + +<P> +Breakfast is followed by a turn upon the piazza, a little stroll to the +spring, near which delicious wild strawberries nestle in a background +of sweet clover, bright buttercups, and field daisies, or a game of +croquet under the grand old oak-trees +<BR><BR> + "After the sun has dried the dew."<BR> +<BR><BR> +Then we separate, each to our own room, and our different occupations. +</P> + +<A NAME="img-024"></A> +<CENTER> +<IMG SRC="images/img-024.jpg" ALT="The Spring." BORDER="2" WIDTH="511" HEIGHT="374"> +<H4> +[Illustration: The Spring.] +</H4> +</CENTER> + +<P> +Ida is very busy now, for she is preparing a volume for publication in +the fall—her dear father's manuscript lectures and letters. +</P> + +<P> +Gabrielle throws herself upon a sofa, and lies there motionless, +absorbed in the fascinating pages of some favorite book; indeed, she is +so quiet that in my periodical fits of tidiness I often seize a print +or bombazine frock, thrown, as I suppose, carelessly upon the bed or +sofa, and only by its weight do I discover that it is animated. Last +year, Gabrielle's favorite site for reading was in the dear old +apple-tree close beside the house; but since she has attained the +dignity of sixteen and train dresses, she has abjured the apple-tree. +</P> + +<P> +Marguerite is translating a volume from the German, <I>Musikalische +Märchen</I>, and I divide my time between the piano and occasional +newspaper articles. +</P> + +<P> +But it is already one o'clock and dinner hour. The afternoon passes +much like the morning. We have letters to write, and much reading +aloud. I have two books in progress—Plato's "Dialogues," and Madame +de Stäel's incomparable "Germany:" the latter I read aloud while in +Munich, but it is a work that cannot be too often studied. +</P> + +<P> +At half-past six we dress and go down to the postoffice (about a +hundred yards distant) for the evening mail. Half an hour later we +sup, and then follows, as L. E. L. would say, "a struggle and a +sacrifice." What could be more delicious than a game of croquet, or a +drive in the cool twilight? But Chappaqua, lovely though it is, +possesses a malaria that is dangerous after sunset, they say, and much +as I love to drive when Nature is bathed in the last ruddy flush of +day, and during the soft gray hour that succeeds it, I must heed the +prediction of <I>chills</I> to all who indulge. +</P> + +<P> +The evening is always devoted to music. Both Ida and Gabrielle are +very fond of the piano, and Ida is rapidly becoming quite proficient in +the divine art. She commenced the study of music when a little child, +under an excellent teacher, and also took lessons while in +boarding-school; but one studies the piano under difficulties while in +the routine of a <I>pensionnat</I>, for the hour devoted to it must be taken +from one's recreation time, or from some other lessons. Our friends +will remember, too, that dear Ida was taken out of school while yet +very young, to become the devoted nurse that she has since shown +herself to her mother, and from the time she left the <I>Sacré Coeur</I> +until this spring she has never opened the piano. Now, however, she +practises regularly and conscientiously, and brings to her music all +the enthusiasm of her loving nature, and the intelligence of her +superior mind; consequently, when her fingers are well trained, I shall +expect to see her a thoughtful and brilliant pianist. +</P> + +<P> +Gabrielle is still in the tedious preliminary steps, for Geometry and +Latin, rather than the <I>Rhythme des Doigts</I> and the <I>Ecole de la +Velocité</I>, have hitherto engaged her attention; but time will show. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap03"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER III. +</H3> + +<P CLASS="contents"> +An Unexpected Visit—Morning Drives—Gabrielle's Ponies—A Repulsive +Object—A Visitor—The King of Sweden's Soup—Advantages of a Royal +Kitchen—Startling Experience—Ida's Letters—Strange Contents—A Lucky +Stone—Bequest for a Melodeon—Offers of Marriage—Arrival of a +Suitor—Reasons why he should marry Ida Greeley—He proves a +Lunatic—He is taken before a Magistrate—He is lodged in the County +Jail. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +<I>June 5</I>. +</P> + +<P> +As unexpected visit yesterday from Mr. O'Dwyer, a member of <I>The +Tribune</I> staff, and for several years dear uncle's private secretary. +</P> + +<P> +Mamma had invited Mr. O'Dwyer to come out and pass a quiet day with us, +and had appointed Wednesday for the visit. Desirous of a little +excitement, and already somewhat weary of our nun-like simplicity of +toilette, we decided to do honor to our guest by dressing our hair +quite elaborately, and attiring ourselves, despite the heat, in our +best bombazines with their weight of crape. We were assembled in the +dining-room after our early dinner, discussing, in our plain print +wrappers and Marguerite braids, our plans for the morrow, when Minna +announced: +</P> + +<P> +"A visit, Madame; a gentleman." +</P> + +<P> +"Probably a neighbor upon business," said mamma to us; "show him in +here, Minna." +</P> + +<P> +The door opened, and enter the guest for whom, in imagination, we were +making such extensive preparations. +</P> + +<P> +A very expressive glance was telegraphed around our circle. I was +engaged in the domestic occupation of hemming one of papa's +handkerchiefs, and although Hawthorne draws so pretty a picture of the +beautiful Miriam while engaged in "the feminine task of mending a pair +of gloves," with all deference to the poet's taste, I consider the +beguiling little scraps of canvas or kid which I produce when company +is present, much more attractive than plain sewing. +</P> + +<P> +In a moment the surprise was explained. Mr. O'Dwyer had received +orders to represent <I>The Tribune</I> somewhere, the following day, just in +time to catch the Pleasantville express, and run out to tell us that he +could not come at the time appointed. +</P> + +<P> +"The circumstances were trying," we said to each other, after his +departure; but imagine, girls, how much worse they would have been, had +the visitor been a lady! As long as a wrapper is black, I very much +doubt if a gentleman would know it from an afternoon dress. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +<I>June 8</I>. +</P> + +<P> +The usual routine of our morning occupations has been somewhat broken +of late, for these June days are too perfect to be spent within doors, +even with such grand companions as Plato or Beethoven. We plan +charming hours to be spent in the pine grove, where Marguerite will +read to us a chapter or two of Kohlrausch's "Germany," and Ida will +give us a few pages of Taine's brilliant "Angleterre;" but as we are +starting with camp chairs, books, and work, Bernard approaches: +</P> + +<P> +"Any orders, Miss?" +</P> + +<P> +Frail mortals are too weak to resist, and in a few moments we are +seated in Ida's stylish new phaeton; and Gabrielle's irrepressible +ponies, under the guidance of Tourbillon herself, are dashing away at a +pace that terrifies our sober Quaker neighbors beyond expression. +Mamma has been solemnly warned against allowing Gabrielle to drive +"those fearful horses;" but we all share our pretty Tourbillon's +fondness for a <I>tourbillon</I> pace, and know well the strength she +possesses in her little wrists, and the coolness she could exercise +were there any danger. +</P> + +<P> +While returning from a charming drive upon the Sing Sing road, a day or +two since, the horses, whose spirits were unusually high, shied +suddenly at something dark by the roadside. By a dexterous management +of the reins, Gabrielle quickly subdued them, and we all looked to see +what had startled them. An object was crouching in the grass, +evidently human, but of what sex or nationality it was impossible in +one swift glance to determine; and it was quite amusing to hear our +different opinions as we drove on. +</P> + +<P> +"I think," said mamma, "that it was an enormous woman, with a baby in +her arms, but I really cannot be sure, for I only looked at the +face—such a hideous, repulsive face. I shall dream of it to-night, I +am convinced." +</P> + +<P> +"A woman!" said Marguerite. "My impression was of a very +murderous-looking man—an Indian, I thought, he was so very dark." +</P> + +<P> +Gabrielle's view of the case differed from the others. The creature +had, she said, a heavy black beard, which, was un-Indian-like, and was +garbed in a dark calico gown with open sleeves, through which she +plainly perceived a pair of unmistakably muscular, masculine arms. In +the words of Macbeth— +<BR><BR> + "You should be woman,<BR> + And yet your beard forbids me to interpret<BR> + That you are so."<BR> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +Neither Marguerite nor Gabrielle had seen the baby, and Gabrielle's +conclusion that this frightful being was a convict who had escaped from +Sing Sing disguised as a woman, was quite logical. +</P> + +<P> +"Chappaqua is certainly in unpleasant proximity to Sing Sing," I said +with a shudder, for I have not many elements of a heroine about me. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," was mamma's cheerful rejoinder, "and you know we were told +yesterday that one or two of the most dangerous convicts had recently +escaped, and had entered several houses in Chappaqua—to say nothing of +Mr. O'Dwyer's report that that dreadful Captain Jack has escaped, and +is known to be lurking in the neighborhood of our peaceful little +village." +</P> + +<P> +"Pray let us change the subject," I entreated, "or between convicts and +Modocs I shall have the nightmare for a month." +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +<I>June 9</I>. +</P> + +<P> +We have just said good-by to Señor Delmonte, of Hayti, who has gone +down on the 4.45 train, after passing, I hope, a pleasant day with us. +</P> + +<A NAME="img-032"></A> +<CENTER> +<IMG SRC="images/img-032.jpg" ALT="The Train Station." BORDER="2" WIDTH="511" HEIGHT="374"> +<H4> +[Illustration: The Train Station.] +</H4> +</CENTER> + +<P> +We have led such a quiet life since last fall, that a visit from a +friend is a very pleasant excitement, and with the assistance of our +invaluable Minna and Lina, there is nothing to be dreaded in the +preparations. Then, too, it is so pleasant to unpack the superb linen +that Aunt Mary bought abroad—the heavy damask table-cloths with their +beautiful designs, and the immense dinner napkins, protecting one's +dress so admirably against possible accident—and to take out the +exquisite silver and Sèvres; everything is perfection, even to the +little gold, lily-shaped hand-bell. Afterwards we go to gather flowers +in all their morning freshness, and if it is ten o'clock, we walk down +to the station to meet the New York train. +</P> + +<P> +Señor Delmonte is a very agreeable gentleman, and quite a favorite in +New York circles. In figure he rises far above ordinary humanity, six +feet two inches being, I believe, his exact height—and his very dark +complexion and stately gravity render him quite conspicuous in a +drawing-room. He is reported extremely wealthy. +</P> + +<P> +Upon returning from a drive on the Pleasantville road with Señor +Delmonte, Ida ran down to the kitchen for a moment, to see if harmony +reigned there (for Lina and Minna are not, I regret to say, becoming +warm friends; but more of that to-morrow). Ida rarely troubles the +cook with her presence, for Lina, like all <I>cordons bleus</I>, is a great +despot, and impatient of <I>surveillance</I>; but as she can be trusted to +arrange an entire <I>menu</I> without any hints from Ida, la Dame Châtelaine +gladly leaves the responsibility to her. What therefore was my +surprise to see Ida return from her visit downstairs with an +unmistakable look of anxiety upon her pretty face, and beckon me out of +the music room where we were sitting. +</P> + +<P> +"What <I>do</I> you think, Cecilia?" she announced, in despairing accents. +"Lina has made a soup of sour cream, which is now reposing in the +ice-box!" +</P> + +<P> +"Of <I>what</I>?" I said, scarcely crediting her words, and running down to +the kitchen. +</P> + +<P> +Lina's feelings were considerably ruffled that her young mistress did +not appreciate the soup, which she considered a triumph of art, and +which consisted of sour cream, spices, and a little sugar—to be eaten, +of course, cold. +</P> + +<P> +"Nice soup," she said, in the most injured tones; "King of Sweden think +excellent, but Miss no like it." +</P> + +<P> +It was, however, too late to make another soup, so we consoled +ourselves with the thought that a king approved of it, and we would +show a plebeian taste if we did not also appreciate it. However, some +wry faces were made over the unlucky soup at the table, and the King of +Sweden's taste was the subject of much merriment. +</P> + +<P> +I was somewhat sceptical at first that Lina had ever been in the royal +household at Stockholm, notwithstanding that she did cook so admirably; +but she managed yesterday evening to tell me, in her broken English, +about her residence in the palace. +</P> + +<P> +It seems that inexperienced cooks can, by paying a certain sum, be +admitted into the royal kitchen to learn from the chief cook. After +they have perfected themselves in their profession, they receive wages, +and upon leaving, are presented with a diploma. Why could not a +somewhat similar institution—omitting the sovereign—become +practicable in our own country? Both housekeepers and newspapers groan +over the frightful cooking of our Bridgets; Professor Blot lectures +upon the kitchen scientifically and artistically considered, and our +fashionable ladies go to his classes to play at cooking; but the +novelty soon wears off, and home matters continue as badly as ever. +</P> + +<P> +I do not know if the President would consent to imitate the Swedish +sovereign, by throwing open the kitchen of the White House in the same +liberal fashion, but surely he ought to be willing to make some +sacrifices for the common good—perhaps even to submit occasionally to +a dinner spoilt by the experiments of young apprentices to the culinary +art. Three months' training ought to suffice to make a very good cook, +and with a diploma from the White House, situations would be plentiful, +wages higher than ever, and employers would have the satisfaction of +knowing that their money was not thrown away. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +<I>June 11</I>. +</P> + +<P> +We may pass some sad hours at Chappaqua this summer, but I do not think +we shall suffer from <I>ennui</I>—that is, if the startling events of the +past week are to be repeated often during the summer. +</P> + +<P> +I have already spoken of the escaped convict whom we saw in the grass +the other day. It is unnecessary to say that we carefully barricaded +our doors that night; for, in case of danger, our situation would not +be a cheerful one—a household of seven helpless women, save during +papa's weekly visit, and Bernard, our only protector, asleep in the +side-hill house. Our precautions, however, were superfluous; the +convict did not favor us with a visit, but something far more thrilling +than the loss of the family silver was in store for us. +</P> + +<P> +Dear Ida has received since last fall scores of letters from, I think, +every State in the Union, and even from Europe, from people of whom she +had never heard before, and upon all sorts of subjects. Some of her +correspondents are interested in her spiritual, others in her temporal, +welfare; some advise change of air as beneficial after her affliction, +and alternately she is offered a home in Colorado and Maine. But such +letters form the exception; usually the writer has a favor to request. +The most modest of the petitions are for Ida's autograph or photograph, +while others request loans of different sums from units to thousands. +She is occasionally informed that the writer has a baby named Ida +Greeley, and it is intimated that a present from the godmother would be +acceptable. Again she is asked to assist in building a church, or to +clothe and educate some poor girl—her own cast-off wardrobe of colored +clothes will be accepted, the writer graciously says, although new +dresses would be preferable. +</P> + +<P> +One letter dated Lebanon is chiefly upon the virtues of a <I>lucky +stone</I>, which the writer will as a great favor sell to Miss Greeley for +twenty-five dollars. All further misfortune will, she says, be averted +from Ida if she becomes its owner; the stone is especially recommended +as beneficial in love-affairs, and, the writer kindly adds, it is not +to be taken internally. +</P> + +<P> +Another letter is from the mother of a young invalid girl, begging Miss +Greeley, whom she knows by report to be very wealthy and charitably +inclined, to make her daughter a present of a melodeon, as music, she +thinks, might help to pass away the tedious hours of illness. +</P> + +<P> +Sometimes Ida is solicited to open a correspondence for the improvement +of her unknown friend, or to dispose of some one's literary wares, +while offers of marriage from her unseen admirers are of almost daily +occurrence. I think I would not exaggerate in saying she might reckon +by the bushel these letters, written generally in very questionable +grammar, and worse chirography. In very few instances has she ever +replied to them, for they have been usually from people possessing so +little claim upon her, that the favors they so boldly requested could +only be viewed in the light of impertinence. +</P> + +<P> +One letter, couched in somewhat enigmatical terms, was dated from +Baltimore, and was explicit upon one point only—that it was the +manifest will of Providence that Ida should marry him—S. M. Hudson. +We read the letter together, laughed a little over it, and threw it +into the waste basket. Time passed, and we came out here. Ida was +greeted upon her arrival by another letter from the mysterious Hudson, +who, not at all discomfited by the cool reception, of his proposal, +addressed her as his future wife, and announced that he had come on +from Baltimore to marry her, that he was now in New York, and would +wait there to hear from her. +</P> + +<P> +"The man is certainly crazy!" exclaimed Marguerite. +</P> + +<P> +"Indeed he is!" said mamma, reading his rambling sentences very slowly: +"I should judge him to be perfectly insane, and I only hope he will not +come out here to pay his <I>fiancée</I> a visit." +</P> + +<P> +"You know he requests me to send him funds to defray his expenses, Aunt +Esther," said Ida quietly; "perhaps the lack of money will avert such a +calamity." +</P> + +<P> +"What an unromantic conclusion to a love-letter!" said Gabrielle +scornfully. +</P> + +<P> +The conversation turned to the depredations of the neighbors and +neighbors' children upon the property. "Mr. Greeley's place" had +always been looked upon in the light of public property, and intruders +walked and drove through the grounds quite as a matter of course, and +helped themselves freely to whatever they liked in the floral, fruit, +or vegetable line. The young ladies, however, decided that they had +submitted to such conduct quite long enough, and we sent to Sing Sing +for some printed handbills warning trespassers off the place. +</P> + +<P> +Two or three days passed, and we had entirely forgotten Ida's erratic +admirer, when Gabrielle returned from a morning walk with the +information that an intoxicated man was sitting upon the steps of the +side-hill house. She met mamma and Ida starting for a little stroll, +and communicated this unpleasant news to them. Mamma, however, is not +timid, and she walked on with Ida, determined to view the invader from +afar, and then summon Bernard to dismiss him. +</P> + +<P> +A figure was sitting, as Gabrielle said, upon the piazza of the new +house, but was so motionless that Ida exclaimed laughingly: +</P> + +<P> +"It is a scarecrow placed there by some one in retaliation for our +notice to trespassers to keep off the grounds." +</P> + +<P> +As they passed it, however, the scarecrow slowly lifted its head and +addressed them with: +</P> + +<P> +"Is this Mr. Greeley's place?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," said mamma. +</P> + +<P> +"And is this young lady Miss Ida?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"You have received, I believe, a few letters from me, Miss Ida: my name +is Hudson." +</P> + +<P> +Fortunately our family are not of a fainting disposition, for a +<I>tête-à-tête</I> with a lunatic was a situation requiring some nerve and +perfect self-control; so, although mamma and Ida were much alarmed upon +learning the name of their visitor, they neither screamed nor fainted, +and mamma invited him quite courteously to walk up to the house. +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Hudson was a tall, powerful man, with cunning, restless, gray eyes, +was well dressed, and wore a linen duster. He had come, he said, seven +hundred miles to see Ida. Upon reaching the house, he followed mamma +into the dining-room where Marguerite, Gabrielle, and I were sitting at +work. +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, Miss Gabrielle!" he said, "I supposed you were at school." +</P> + +<P> +One or two other rational remarks of the sort, and mamma's perfect +<I>sang-froid</I> so deceived me that I decided the supposed lunatic must be +perfectly sane. In a moment, however, he looked somewhat uneasy, and +said: +</P> + +<P> +"I have a long story to tell your niece, ma'am, but I feel a little +bashful about speaking before so many young ladies." +</P> + +<P> +"Would you like to see me alone, then?" said mamma promptly; "you would +not object to telling your story to a married woman." +</P> + +<P> +Then signing to us to leave the room, she followed us to the door, and +<I>breathing</I> rather than whispering, "Run for Bernard," returned. +</P> + +<P> +It appears that the man grew more excitable when alone with mamma, and +the story he told her was not a cheerful one to hear. +</P> + +<P> +"It began," he said, "five years ago, by my father cutting his throat +with a razor. They say he was crazy, and," with a fiendish chuckle, +"some people say I am crazy too." +</P> + +<P> +"Indeed!" said mamma, sympathetically, "how sad!" +</P> + +<P> +"This we may call the first scene in the story," he added, although +what connection there was between suicide and his proposed marriage +with Ida, poor mamma could not imagine. +</P> + +<P> +I could half fill my journal with the rambling, senseless, and menacing +remarks that Hudson made to mamma, adding emphasis to his discourse by +whirling a pair of very long and sharp scissors close to her eyes (he +was further armed with two razors, we subsequently learnt). Ida, he +said, first appeared to him in a vision—a beautiful young girl in +distress, who appealed to him for aid, but some one seemed to stand +between them—a tall woman dressed as a Sister of Charity (evidently +mamma, in her mourning dress and long crape veil). He then enlarged +upon the awful punishment that inevitably overtook those who opposed +the Will of Providence (i.e., his marriage with Ida): death by some +violent means being unavoidable. At this point, the scissors were +whirled more excitedly than ever, and Hudson's eyes glared with rage. +I need not say that mamma feared every moment would be her last; but +still preserving a calm exterior, she never took her eyes off him for +an instant, and merely remarking, "It is quite warm here; shall we not +sit upon the piazza?" accompanied him there, and sat down close beside +him, that he might not suspect she feared him. The moments seemed +endless until Bernard's heavy tread was heard upon the kitchen stairs. +</P> + +<P> +"Excuse me a moment," said mamma, with a most innocent face; and in an +interview of <I>half</I> a minute explained to Bernard that Hudson was a +dangerous lunatic who must be taken away immediately; then waiting till +the valorous Bernard was safely out on the piazza, she unceremoniously +shut and locked the door. Hudson, apparently much surprised at such +inhospitable conduct, pulled the door-bell half a dozen times. When he +was quite wearied with his exertions, Bernard suggested that they +should take a little walk together. Much coaxing was requisite, for +Hudson was quite determined to effect an entrance; but finally Bernard +took his arm, and bore him off to the tavern. +</P> + +<P> +"I had much more to say to Mrs. Cleveland," he remarked, <I>en route</I>, +"but I fear it has already been too much for her nerves." +</P> + +<P> +At the tavern, Bernard found a constable, who immediately arrested the +unhappy victim of misplaced affection, and telegraphed to Mount Kisco +for a magistrate. Then ensued endless hours of waiting. Mamma lay +upon the sofa whiter than any ghost, now that the strain upon her +nerves was relaxed, and Mrs. L——, a loquacious neighbor, ran in from +time to time with reports of what people were saying, and how the +prisoner looked and felt. +</P> + +<P> +At 7 P.M. the magistrate, Mr. Clarence Hyatt, arrived, and we all went +down to the improvised court-house in the tavern. Ida and mamma were +shown into a private room, where Mr. Hyatt, a very polite and agreeable +gentleman, took their affidavits before they were confronted with the +enemy. The news had by this time spread far and near, and all +Chappaqua was assembled. The wildest reports were now circulated, to +the effect that Hudson had pointed a pistol at Ida, and vowed to kill +her instantly if she did not promise to marry him, and mamma and Ida +were advised to keep their veils down, that he might not become +familiar with their faces, and to remain at a respectful distance from +him. +</P> + +<P> +Hudson was sitting between two constables, and was being inspected by a +large crowd. He looked very quiet, and upon listening to the +affidavits, remarked that Mr. Hyatt must have misunderstood the ladies, +for he was perfectly incapable of having alarmed them to the extent +indicated; that he certainly admired Miss Ida, and desired to marry +her, but that he would not willingly injure or alarm the humblest +creature—adding reproachfully that those affidavits would suffice to +condemn him to State prison for life. He appeared so perfectly +rational and calm, that the magistrate was perfectly dumbfoundered, and +for the moment thought him sane; and even we commenced to reproach +ourselves, and doubt which was the insane party. +</P> + +<P> +"Well," said Mr. Hyatt, "I will now hear your story." +</P> + +<P> +"I will read it to you," said Hudson, drawing a book from his pocket, +and then commenced again the same incoherent nonsense with which he had +already favored mamma. The object now was to show the chain of +evidence that pointed out Ida as his bride. The most important link +was the fact that he had once seen a flock of white geese sailing +through the air. He put up his finger, and one fluttered down to him; +and as G stood both for goose and Greeley, it was a clear manifestation +of the Divine Will (at this point, the audience burst into a roar of +laughter). Besides, he liked our family, we suited him in every +respect; and especially because we so much reminded him of John the +Baptist (we inwardly hoped that the resemblance would not extend to +decapitation). If Miss Greeley would not marry him, he kindly added, +he would take her cousin Marguerite instead, but he must positively +marry one of the family. He was now perfectly wild, and when he +remarked, with a reproachful glance at Ida, that he disliked +<I>ko-kwettes</I>, and liked a girl who would say in answer to an offer, +"Yes sir-ee," or "No sir-ee," the magistrate brought the evidence to a +conclusion. He gave him to the constable to be taken to the county +jail, where he was to be detained until the Court sat, if, in the +meantime, his relatives did not appear from Massachusetts to claim him +(for his place of residence varied—at first Baltimore, then Michigan, +it was now Massachusetts). +</P> + +<P> +Hudson spent the night at the tavern, and appeared at times so +rational, that he was not strictly guarded; consequently, when the +constable looked for him after breakfast, the bird had flown. He was +instantly followed, and discovered walking on the railway track about +two miles off, swinging his little bundle quite unconcernedly. In +reply to the questions of his captors, he said that he had just +intended to make a little circuit about the country, and then return to +marry Ida. He is now, thank fortune, safely lodged <I>in jail</I>. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap04"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER IV. +</H3> + + +<P CLASS="contents"> +A Visit from Papa—A Musical Squirrel—Letters—Croquet—Extracts from +Letters—Visitors—The Loss of the Missouri—The True Story of Ida's +Engagement. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +<I>June 13</I>. +</P> + +<P> +Papa came up late last night with a supply of the latest periodicals, +weekly journals, etc., and my pet squirrels in a new and spacious cage. +These little creatures were presents to me this spring, and are very +pretty, and partially tame. I remember, however, one escapade of +theirs shortly before we left the city. +</P> + +<P> +My balcony at home is enclosed with glass, and there I frequently +allowed the squirrels to play. A game of <I>cache-cache</I>, of half an +hour or so, was generally necessary before I could induce Fliegende +Holländer, the livelier of the pair, to return to the narrow limits of +his cage. One day, however, through some carelessness, the door from +the balcony into my room was left open, and the squirrels were missing. +Senta (christened after the heroine of Wagner's clever opera) was +captured after some little difficulty, but not the Dutchman. Being a +flying squirrel, he was so very tiny that he could easily conceal +himself in a dark corner, and although I descended upon my knees to +peer under my sofa, bureau, writing-table, and <I>chiffonnière</I>, my +search was fruitless—the Flying Dutchman had evidently vanished to +join the Phantom Ship. I felt very uneasy, fearing he might fall a +prey to my two cats, who would no doubt find cold squirrel a very +tempting <I>entremet</I>; or if he escaped this Scylla, the Charybdis of +death by starvation lay before him. The hours passed, and Fliegende +Holländer did not appear. Senta was cheerful, and reigned mistress of +the revolving wheel—always the bone of contention between the pair. +Once, during the afternoon, I fancied I heard a scratching as if of +tiny claws, but could not obtain even a glimpse of his vanishing, +fan-shaped tail. +</P> + +<P> +In the evening two or three gentlemen were present, and Marguerite sang +for them. After the song (Gounod's "Naïade," a lovely <I>salon</I> piece), +we were speaking of the loss of dear little Holländer, when one of our +friends exclaimed: +</P> + +<P> +"Why, that squirrel was perched over the register while Miss Cleveland +was singing, but he was so quiet that I thought he was stuffed." +</P> + +<P> +"He evidently is fond of music," said another; "pray sing something +more, Miss Cleveland, and perhaps he may again come out." +</P> + +<P> +He had travelled down from the third story to the parlor through the +flue (fortunately there was no fire), and was now commencing to desire +society and food again. +</P> + +<P> +"Since he is fond of music," said Marguerite, "I will sing the ballad +of the Flying Dutchman from Wagner's opera—that ought certainly to +draw him out again." +</P> + +<P> +A music-loving squirrel evidently, and one versed in the art; for with +the first strains of those curious harmonies and chromatic runs, +descriptive of the howling winds that herald the coming of the Phantom +Ship, Holländer's tiny head peered out, followed, after a furtive +glance about, by his little body. Two gentlemen started to capture +him, and then a chase ensued. Holländer tried to scamper up a picture, +but tripped upon its glass, and fell. At last, the Colonel captured +him in an attempt to scale the curtains, and after much struggling, +kicking, biting, and other vigorous protestations from Holländer, +landed him safely in his cage. +</P> + +<P> +The squirrels evidently enjoy country life very much. Early this +morning Minna took them out of doors, and removed the bottom of the +cage that they might play upon the grass, which so much exhilarated +them that I am convinced they fancied they were entirely free. Then I +removed the hot cotton from their little nest, and filled it with fresh +clover-leaves, which I am sure they much prefer. They run no risk of +being devoured here, for Aunt Mary always disliked cats, so that there +is not one upon the place, and Gabrielle's pet dog, a native of +Bordeaux, has viewed them from afar, and snuffed at the cage, but is +evidently too well-bred a Frenchman to desire even to tease them. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +<I>June 14</I>. +</P> + +<P> +A letter to-day from one of my Paris friends, Jennie Ford. She says: +</P> + +<P> +"How divine it must be at Chappaqua! I am glad you are enjoying +yourself, and are well. But you do not say a word of your Western +trip. I hope you have not given it up." +</P> + +<P> +Then follows a cordial invitation for me to visit her in her beautiful +home upon Lake Erie, now looking its prettiest in the leafy month of +June. All sorts of pleasant inducements are held out: a croquet-lawn +of velvet softness, long drives, and charming rides in which to display +my stylish new beaver and habit, moonlight excursions upon Lake Erie, +and no lack of handsome cavaliers, including naval officers. However, +despite all these attractions, I do not think I shall care to leave +Chappaqua this summer. +</P> + +<P> +Jennie enclosed a photograph of the lady who reigned as belle of the +American colony in Paris, some four or five years ago—Mrs. Horace +Jenness, then Miss Carrie Deming. Three years of married life have +changed the beautiful Carrie somewhat, if this picture is a truthful +one. The perfect outline of her face is unaltered, but the haughty +expression that "La Princesse" wore in former days has vanished, and +the fond young mother, grouped with her two little children is prettier +than ever. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +<I>June 15</I>. +</P> + +<P> +I feel singularly indolent, and indisposed to journalize this evening. +Perhaps it is the result of two hours spent in croquet, a game in which +I am very unproficient and therefore find decidedly wearisome; but +Gabrielle, who is the best croquet player in Chappaqua, is in the city +to-day, and my feeble assistance was necessary to make up the quartette. +</P> + +<P> +Two entire hours spent in this game seem quite an unwarrantable loss of +time, but we have had a guest from New York to-day, and therefore both +Plato and Kohlrausch have remained under lock and key in the library. +</P> + +<P> +I think no one enjoys the country more thoroughly than a physician when +he can escape from his patients for a holiday, and Dr. Howe, our +visitor of to-day, was not an exception. This gentleman is, I fancy, +quite young in his profession, for his figure is of almost boyish +slenderness; his face, too, which reminds one somewhat of Shelley in +its delicacy and brightness, and its dark eyes and luxuriant curls, is +quite youthful for a fully fledged M.D. +</P> + +<P> +Dr. Howe returned from Europe some months since, and brought us a +letter of introduction from a friend of mamma's in Florence; but owing +to mamma's long illness and the seclusion in which we lived last +winter, we have not seen him many times. +</P> + +<P> +I have in my lap a number of letters received in this evening's mail. +One is from my dear friend, Mrs. Knox, the charming contralto of Christ +Church. We had expected her to visit us this week, but her unexpected +departure for the West has prevented her from doing so. She says: +</P> + +<P> +"You must truly be enjoying Chappaqua these heavenly June days. I hope +that the fresh air and rest are putting roses into your pale cheeks and +giving you health and strength for your literary labors. My sudden +departure compels me to forego the pleasure I had anticipated in seeing +you at Chappaqua—at least until the fall. I am appreciative of the +courtesy of your dear mamma in inviting me to spend a day in that +lovely retreat, already made sacred to me by my high regard and +admiration for your most noble uncle, whose home it was." +</P> + +<P> +Another letter is written upon most dainty stationery, bearing the +impress of Tiffany, and adorned with a prettily devised monogram in +lavender and gold (handsome stationery is one of my weaknesses). This +letter I know to be sprightly and amusing before I open it, for my +friend Lela has been for two or three years one of my most entertaining +correspondents. We were intimate friends in Paris three or four years +ago, when Lela was a school-girl, and I an <I>enfant de Marie</I>, and +although we have been separated by hundreds of miles, by the ocean, and +finally, by Lela's marriage, our attachment continues; so, no +reproaches upon school-girl friendships, I beg. +</P> + +<P> +Lela was married last winter, but she and her handsome French husband +are yet in the honeymoon, which will last, I fancy, forever—certainly +the former Queen of Hearts seems now to care for only <I>one</I> heart. She +says: +</P> + +<P> +"You must be having a lovely time in such a charming place. We have +been to Saratoga. It was stupid enough to send your worst enemy there." +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +<I>June 17</I>. +</P> + +<P> +This week has been quite lost, so far as study is concerned, for nearly +every day has been interrupted by visitors. +</P> + +<P> +Looking out of the window this morning, I saw a carriage containing two +strange young ladies stop before the house. In answer to their inquiry +for Miss Greeley and Miss Gabrielle, Minna informed them, in her broken +English, that they were both in the city for the day. They looked +quite aghast upon receiving this information, for they had already +dismissed their carriage, in which they had driven from Pleasantville, +and knew probably that there was no down train till 4.45, so quite +helplessly they inquired if <I>no</I> members of the family were at home. +Learning that Mrs. Cleveland and her daughters were here, one of the +young ladies, a stylish girl in mourning, desired Minna to announce +Miss Hempstead and her cousin. I puzzled a little over the name while +glancing in the mirror to see that my crape ruffle was properly +adjusted, and my hair in tolerable order. The name seemed familiar, +and yet I knew that no friend of mine bore it. +</P> + +<P> +I found the young ladies in the music room. Miss Hempstead introduced +herself by saying: +</P> + +<P> +"Perhaps you may have heard my name, although you do not know me. My +brother was a friend of Mrs. and Miss Greeley, and was purser of the +<I>Missouri</I>." +</P> + +<P> +I was then somewhat surprised that I had not divined Miss Hempstead's +identity from the name and her black dress; but the burning of the +<I>Missouri</I> made scarce any impression upon me at the time, surrounded +as I was last fall by such heavy family afflictions; and the name of +the young purser, whose tragic fate then filled the newspapers, had +since then almost entirely passed from my memory. +</P> + +<P> +An ordinary passenger ship is wrecked or burned, "Extras" are issued, a +three days' excitement follows, and it is then a thing of the past; but +as the <I>Missouri</I> bore, on this memorable voyage, not indeed Caesar and +his fortunes, but the supposed <I>fiancé</I> of dear Ida, its loss is an +event still interesting to the gossiping public. It was useless to try +to convince any one that no engagement had ever existed between Mr. +Hempstead and Ida: no one would credit my most solemn protestations. +Many people not personally acquainted with us, but who knew the facts +"upon the best authority," as outsiders usually do, said that the +marriage was to have taken place before the election, but after Aunt +Mary's death it was postponed for three months. Before two weeks had +elapsed, however, Mr. Hempstead was, in the poetic language of the +journals, "sleeping beneath the coral wave," and poor Ida received as +many well-meant condolences over his death as over Aunt Mary's. +</P> + +<P> +When the tragedy of last autumn was all over, the interest of the +public was greater than ever, and Ida, "who had within four short weeks +lost mother, lover, and father," formed the subject of many a pathetic +editorial and sermon. A London journal styled Ida the "maiden widow," +spoke of uncle's fond attachment to Mr. Hempstead, and announced that +the loss of his prospective son-in-law was an affliction that +precipitated Mr. Greeley's death. +</P> + +<P> +I first heard of Mr. Hempstead in the winter of 1869-70. Aunt Mary, +who was then commencing to fail, went with Ida to Nassau to spend the +cold months. Her state-room, engaged at the last moment, was a very +uncomfortable one, and Mr. Hempstead, then purser of the <I>Eagle</I>, gave +up for her use a large deck state-room with three windows—a great +comfort to Aunt Mary, who was always so partial to an airy bedroom. +The voyage proved, however, a very stormy one, and the waves dashed in +through these three windows, quite drenching poor Ida, who suffered so +much from sea-sickness as to be quite indifferent to danger or +discomfort. +</P> + +<P> +In writing to me after reaching Nassau, Ida mentioned Mr. Hempstead in +a few words: +</P> + +<P> +"The purser was an agreeable and gentlemanly officer, and so kind to +mamma." +</P> + +<P> +She did not, however, mention his name, and I never knew it till last +summer. +</P> + +<P> +After their return to New York, in the spring of 1870, Aunt Mary +invited Mr. Hempstead to visit them at Chappaqua, as she felt under +some obligations to him for having given her his state-room, and +subsequently executed some little commissions for her, between New York +and Nassau. He came out here, and made a visit of a week. In July of +the same year. Aunt Mary and Ida went abroad, and from that time the +acquaintance dropped. That he admired Ida know, but how any one could +manufacture an engagement from such slight material, I cannot imagine. +</P> + +<P> +One day last summer, during the excitement of the campaign, I had taken +up a rose-tinted society journal as a little respite from politics, +when my eyes fell upon a paragraph announcing Ida's engagement to Mr. +William Hempstead, Purser of the <I>Missouri</I>; and then I for the first +time learnt the officer's name. My astonishment can be imagined; and +to this day it remains an enigma who invented that little society item. +If a fertile-minded reporter had desired to head his column of +Engagements in High Life with Ida's name, and had announced that she +would shortly be led to the hymeneal altar (I believe that is the +correct phrase in newspaper parlance) by any one in our circle of +acquaintances with whom she was at all intimate, it would not have been +surprising; but why a person whom she had not seen or heard of for two +years should have been selected, is a mystery worthy of G. P. R. James. +</P> + +<P> +But in writing about Mr. Hempstead, I have neglected his sister. Miss +Hempstead was a tall, fine-looking young girl, with, however, a +strikingly foreign appearance for an American <I>pur sang</I>. She was +born, she told me, in Belize, Central America, where her father was +United States Consul. A tropical sun had given her a complexion of +Spanish darkness, heightened by large black eyes and jet black +hair—the exact counterpart, Ida afterwards told me, of her brother, +who was often mistaken for a Cuban. +</P> + +<P> +When the period of the consulate of Mr. Hempstead père was over, he had +become so much attached to Belize, that he decided to make it his +future residence. His daughter said she could not imagine what he +found to like in the place, for between earthquakes and yellow fever, +one was in a continual state of terror; there was no society, the +population being almost entirely negro, and no schools; consequently +the children of the few white resident families were obliged to go to +England or to the United States to be educated. +</P> + +<P> +Miss Hempstead was sent to London, and five or six years of the +discipline of a first-class English school have made her quite +different from the fully fledged society queens who graduate from our +Murray Hill <I>pensionnats</I> at sixteen or so. A little English reserve +to tone down somewhat their sparkling natures is all that our +bewitching American girls need to make them perfect, but I fear they +will for several years yet bear the stigma of, "Charming, but too wild." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap05"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER V. +</H3> + + +<P CLASS="contents"> +Sunday in the Country—Proximity of a Meeting-house—How we pass our +Sundays—The House in the Woods—Ida's Glen—Mrs. Greeley's Favorite +Spring—The Children's Play-house—Gabrielle's Pets—Travelling in +1836—New York Society—Mr. Greeley's Friday Evenings—Mrs. Greeley as +a Bride—Her Accomplishments—A Letter concerning Mr. Greeley's Wedding. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +<I>June 16</I>. +</P> + +<P> +Sunday is, I think, a very <I>triste</I> day in the country (low be it +spoken). I cannot remain longer than an hour at church, for the Mass +is a low one, and the sermon consists of fifteen minutes of plain, +practical instruction, unembellished by rhetoric, to the congregation. +The church, it is true, is four miles distant, but Gabrielle's +aristocratic ponies, Lady Alice and The Duchess, fairly fly over the +ground—up or down hill, it is immaterial to them—and consequently, I +find myself, when my religious duties are over, with many idle hours +upon my hands. +</P> + +<P> +The croquet balls and mallets, our "Magic Rings," and other out-of-door +games, are put away in the "children's play-house," a little white hut +on the borders of the croquet ground, where Ida and dear little Raffie +used to keep their toys, and where Gabrielle in later days housed her +menagerie of pets. +</P> + +<P> +The piano, too, is not only closed, but locked, for the flesh is weak, +and I fear the temptation of the beautiful cold keys. It may be the +baneful effect of a foreign education, but I cannot see that there +would be any evil result from a little music on Sundays. However, we +have a Dissenting church for a next-door neighbor, and the residents of +Chappaqua are chiefly Quakers, who frown upon the piano as an ungodly +instrument; so with a sigh, I replace in my portfolio that grand hymn +that in 1672 saved the life of the singer, Stradella, from the +assassin's knife, and a beautiful Ave Maria, solemn and chaste in its +style as though written by St. Gregory himself, but composed and +dedicated to me by mamma's friend, Professor F. L. Ritter. +</P> + +<P> +My pretty bits of fancy work with their bright-colored silks, the tiny +needle-book worked while in Munich in an especially pretty stitch, and +in the Bavarian colors—blue and white—and my Bavarian thimble—silver +and amethyst—are put away in a bureau drawer, for although a Catholic, +I do not imitate our Lutheran maid, who spends her Sundays in sewing +and knitting. +</P> + +<P> +Plato and Kohlrausch, our week-day sustenance, do not come certainly +under the head of Sunday reading, although I see nothing objectionable +in them; but after all, one requires, I think, a change of literature +on Sundays as well as a different dress, and an extra course at dinner. +</P> + +<P> +"What shall we do?" says Gabrielle. +</P> + +<P> +We have each written a letter or two, for Sunday is, I am sure, every +one's letter-writing day, and now we put on our broad-brimmed garden +hats, with their graceful trimmings of gauze and crape, and stroll off +to the spicy pine grove, where we sit down on the dry spines, and +Arthur repeats to us quaint bits from some of the rare old books he +read in the British Museum three years ago, or entertains us with some +of his own adventures when travelling on foot over beautiful France and +Italy, and "Merrie England." +</P> + +<P> +Ida and I, however, wandered away from the others this morning, and +strolled up to the dear old house in the woods where she passed her +childhood. This is, to my mind, the sweetest and most picturesque spot +upon the entire estate, and I do not wonder that Aunt Mary, with her +keen love for the beautiful in Nature, her indifference to general +society, and her devotion to her children, to study, and to reflection, +preferred the quiet seclusion of her home shut in by evergreens, with +the deep ravine, and the joyous little brook at her feet, to the most +superb mansion that graces our magnificent Hudson. +</P> + +<A NAME="img-060"></A> +<CENTER> +<IMG SRC="images/img-060.jpg" ALT="The House in the Woods." BORDER="2" WIDTH="495" HEIGHT="360"> +<H4> +[Illustration: The House in the Woods.] +</H4> +</CENTER> + +<P> +One of the purest springs on the place is in the ravine, or "Ida's +Glen," as uncle christened it long ago. Here at the foot of the long +wooden staircase is a basin of natural rock, and flowing into it is the +sweetest, coolest water in the world. This water Aunt Mary always +preferred to any other on the place—even to the spring at the foot of +the side-hill, so celebrated in the campaign times as the spot where +uncle and his visitors would stop to "take a drink," when returning +from a walk. Exquisite in her neatness, Aunt Mary would frequently +order the basin of her favorite spring to be well purified by a +thorough scrubbing with brush and soap, followed by a prolonged rinsing +with water. During her illness last fall, she frequently asked to have +a pitcher of water brought from this spring, which she always +especially relished. +</P> + +<P> +That uncle shared his wife's partiality for this spring is evident by +his description of it in his "Recollections": +</P> + +<P> +"In the little dell or glen through which my brook emerges from the +wood wherein it has brawled down the hill, to dance across a gentle +slope to the swamp below, is <I>the</I> spring,—pure as crystal, +never-failing, cold as you could wish it for drink in the hottest day, +and so thoroughly shaded and sheltered that, I am confident, it was +never warm, and never frozen over. Many springs upon my farm are +excellent, but this is peerless." +</P> + +<P> +The house in the woods was built by uncle to suit Aunt Mary's taste, +and very comfortable and complete it is. Uncle says of it: +</P> + +<P> +"It is not much—hastily erected, small, slight, and wooden, it has at +length been almost deserted for one recently purchased and refitted on +the edge of the village; but the cottage in the woods is still my home, +where my books remain, and where I mean to garner my treasures." +</P> + +<P> +The house consists of two stories with that most necessary addition to +a country house, a broad piazza. To the right stands a white cottage, +built for the servants. Almost in front of the house is a large +boulder, moss-grown and venerable. This, Aunt Mary would not have +removed, for she loved Nature in its wildest primeval beauty, and now +the rock is associated with loving memories of Raffie's little hands +that once prepared fairy banquets upon it, with acorn-cups for dishes; +but now those baby hands have long since been folded quietly in the +grave. +</P> + +<P> +The little play-house, that has since been removed to the +croquet-ground, once stood not far from this rock, and has been used, +as I said, by Gabrielle as a menagerie for her pets. A strange +assortment they often were for a little girl. Inheriting her mother's +exquisite tenderness of feeling towards helpless animals, Gabrielle +would splinter and bandage up the little legs of any baby robin or +sparrow that had met with an accident from trying its wings too early, +would nurse it till well, and then let it fly away. At one time she +had in the play-house a little regiment of twelve toads, a red +squirrel, and a large turtle. Aunt Mary never wished her to cage her +pets, as she thought it cruel; consequently they had the range of the +play-house, and Gabrielle fed them very conscientiously. She ought, +however, to have followed the example of St. Francis, who used to +preach to animals and insects when he had no human audience, and given +her pets a daily dissertation upon brotherly love and tolerance, for +they did not, I regret to say, live together in the Christian harmony +that distinguished Barnum's Happy Family. The result was, that one day +when Gabrielle went to minister to their physical wants, she found only +a melancholy <I>débris</I> of little legs. Her supposition was that the +turtle had consumed the toads and then died of dyspepsia, and that the +squirrel had by some unknown means escaped from the play-house, and +returned to primeval liberty. +</P> + +<A NAME="img-062"></A> +<CENTER> +<IMG SRC="images/img-062.jpg" ALT="The Children's Play House." BORDER="2" WIDTH="511" HEIGHT="374"> +<H4> +[Illustration: The Children's Play House.] +</H4> +</CENTER> + +<P> +Forgetting this sad experience, Gabrielle endeavored at another time to +bring up a snake and a toad in the way they should go (this time in an +empty hen-coop); but the snake certainly did depart from it, and +astonished the family much by gliding into the kitchen with the unhappy +toad in his mouth. Poor Gabrielle's feelings can be imagined. She +endeavored courageously to wrest the toad from its enemy's jaws, but +all in vain; she was obliged to see the hapless creature consumed by +the snake. +</P> + +<P> +Mamma has often described Aunt Mary to me as she looked when she first +met her. The portrait mamma draws of her as a bride would scarcely be +recognized by those who only knew her after long years of weary illness +had +<BR><BR> + "Paled her glowing cheek."<BR> +<BR><BR> +I will give it in mamma's own words: +</P> + +<P> +"Immediately after your uncle's marriage, he sent for me to come from +my parents' quiet farm in Pennsylvania, to spend the winter in the city +with himself and his wife. A great event this was to me—far greater +than your first visit to Europe, for the journey occupied double the +time that is now spent between New York and Liverpool, and I was a +young girl whose acquaintance with the world was confined to the narrow +limits of the little village of Clymer; I had never even been sent away +to boarding-school. +</P> + +<P> +"One bright September morning I started upon my eventful journey. Your +uncle Barnes drove me in a buggy to Buffalo, a distance of three days +at that time. At this city—the first large one that I had ever seen, +my brother left me in charge of a party going through, as he supposed, +to New York. Then ensued two weeks upon a canal boat; very slow +travelling you children would consider it, accustomed as you are to +whirling over the country in an express train; but at my romantic age, +this dreamy, delicious style of boat travel was the perfection of +happiness. +</P> + +<P> +"At Rochester my friends left me, first placing me under the care of +the captain of the canal-boat, who promised to put me upon the +steamboat when we should reach Albany. +</P> + +<P> +"The prospect of the day to be spent upon the Hudson possessed no +charms for me, but on the contrary, untold terror. I had never before +seen a steamboat, but they had been introduced upon Lake Erie, near +enough to my home for me to hear, with alarm, of all the accidents that +had so far befallen them upon that very turbulent sheet of water; +consequently, I embarked upon the 'Washington,' in the full conviction +that I was about to meet with my doom. +</P> + +<P> +"All that day I sat motionless in a corner of the promenade deck, +reading my Bible. Perfectly oblivious alike to the magnificent scenery +that I was passing, and to the elegant toilettes such as my +country-bred eyes had never before beheld, by which I was surrounded; I +neither spoke to nor looked at any one, nor dared to leave my seat even +to go to dinner; but endeavored to gain, from the sacred volume in my +hands, strength for the terrible fate that I was confident awaited me. +I have often since wondered what my fellow-travellers thought of the +still, shy little figure whose eyes were never once lifted from her +Bible. +</P> + +<P> +"About four o'clock a terrible explosion was heard, the boat was thrown +violently upon her side, and a scene of confusion, shrieks, and +fainting-fits then ensued. I did not faint—I was much too alarmed for +that; I merely turned very white, and trembled from head to foot. The +wheel-house had been blown away, I learnt before long, but no one +fortunately was injured, and after a delay of an hour or so the boat +was righted, and we proceeded upon our journey, at a snail's pace, +however. +</P> + +<P> +"Owing to the accident, we did not reach New York until ten o'clock. +No one was at the pier to meet me, for brother had supposed that I +would arrive before sunset. As I did not appear, however, he concluded +that I had not left Albany at the time appointed. But my adventures of +the day were not yet over. I secured a cab, and drove to the address +he had given me, 123 Hudson Street, which in 1836 was by no means the +plebeian locality it is at present, but a fashionable street, devoted +exclusively to elegant residences. Upon inquiring for Mr. Greeley, my +consternation was great to learn that although he had looked at rooms +in that house, he had not engaged them, and the landlady had no idea of +his address. I was almost as timid about cabs as I had been about the +steamboat; for I had heard stories of young girls being robbed and +murdered by New York cab-drivers, and here I was, late at night, in all +the whirl and excitement of the metropolis, driving I knew not where, +and entirely at the mercy of an assassin. However, my modest trunk did +not look very inviting, I suppose, for I reached <I>The New Yorker</I> +office—the only other address I knew in the city—without further +adventure, where I ascertained that brother was now living at 124 +Greenwich Street—a most beautiful situation close by the Battery—then +the fashionable promenade of New York. He had written to tell me of +his change of residence, but the letter failed to reach me. +</P> + +<P> +"It was half-past eleven when I finally reached my home. The large +parlor was ablaze with lights, and crowded with people; for it was +Friday, the night that <I>The New Yorker</I> went to press, and brother's +reception evening. I was trembling with fatigue and excitement, and +very faint, for I had not eaten since early in the morning; but all +these emotions vanished when I was introduced to my new sister. I had +seen no pictures of her, and knew her only through brother's +description, and a few letters she had written me since her marriage, +and I was quite unprepared for the exquisite, fairy-like creature I now +beheld. A slight, girlish figure, rather <I>petite</I> in stature, dressed +in clouds of white muslin, cut low, and her neck and shoulders covered +by massive dark curls, from which gleamed out an Oriental-looking +<I>coiffure</I>, composed of strands of large gold and pearl beads. Her +eyes were large, dark, and pensive, and her rich brunette complexion +was heightened by a flush, not brilliant like Gabrielle's, but delicate +as a rose-leaf. She appeared to me like a being from another world." +</P> + +<P> +To continue mamma's reminiscences of uncle's first year of married life: +</P> + +<P> +"I found my sister-in-law's tastes," she said, "quite different from +those of the majority of young ladies. In literature her preference +was for the solid and philosophic, rather than the romantic class of +reading; indeed, I may say that she never read, she <I>studied</I>; going +over a paragraph several times, until she had fully comprehended its +subtleties of thought, and stored them away in her retentive memory for +future use. During that year, I never knew her to read a work of +fiction; but philosophy or science formed her daily nourishment; whilst +brother, whenever he had a free evening, read aloud to Mary and I from +Gibbon's Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire, sweetened now and then +with a selection from Lord Byron or Mrs. Hemans—the two poets that at +that time he preferred. +</P> + +<P> +"But although your Aunt Mary had such severe literary tastes, she was +by no means gloomy in her disposition, as you might perhaps infer. +Your uncle being at that time editor of a weekly journal, he was +comparatively a man of leisure, and he and Mary went frequently to the +theatre, and to hear lectures—a source of great enjoyment to both of +them. They also mingled considerably in general society, for Mary was +then very fond of dancing, although there was rarely or never any at +her Friday evenings, for literary people then, as now, eschewed the +goddess Terpsichore. +</P> + +<P> +"I told you that I arrived in New York upon brother's reception-night. +Those Friday evenings wore a great source of pleasure to me, +introducing me as they did to the literary coterie of the metropolis. +Nearly all the men and women of note at that time met in our parlors on +Greenwich Street, and many of them were regular or occasional +contributors to brother's journal. Among the names that I can recall, +were Gen. Morris, then editing the <I>New York Mirror</I>; the two Clark +brothers, editors of the <I>Knickerbocker</I>, one of whom, Willis Gaylord +Clark, was at that time writing his clever 'Ollapodiana;' Fitz-Greene +Halleck, the poet; George M. Snow, who later in life became financial +editor of <I>The Tribune</I>, and is now deceased; Professor A. C. Kendrick, +of Hamilton College, the translator of Schiller's 'Victor's Triumph,' +which subsequently appeared in <I>The New Yorker</I>, and which, you will +remember, your uncle has occasionally read for us at our own Tuesday +evening receptions; Mrs. O. M. Sawyer, the accomplished wife of +brother's pastor, then making her <I>débût</I> in the literary world with +poems and occasional translations from the German; Elizabeth Jessup +Eames, who was writing stories and poems for <I>The New Yorker</I>, under +the signature of 'Stella;' Mrs. E. F. Ellet, in 1836 a handsome young +bride, who had come up from the South, and was contributing +translations from the French and German to the same journal; Anne Cora +Lynch, now Madame Botta; and many others. +</P> + +<P> +"I must not forget to mention Fisher, the sub-editor of <I>The New +Yorker</I>, and, in his own estimation, the most important person upon +that journal. He was what might be called a literary fop, and was much +given to the production of highly-wrought, Byronic poems and sketches. +I remember hearing that some one called one day at the office, and +asked to see the editor. Fisher immediately presented himself. +</P> + +<P> +"'What!' said the visitor, somewhat surprised, 'are you Mr. Greeley?' +</P> + +<P> +"'No,' said Fisher, running his fingers nonchalantly through his curls, +'I am not Mr. Greeley, but,' drawing himself up, 'I am the editor of +<I>The New Yorker</I>. Mr. Greeley is only the printer.' +</P> + +<P> +"This incident having got out among brother's friends, it was +considered so good a joke that for years he was called in the office +and by the literary fraternity, 'The Printer.' +</P> + +<P> +"The entertainment at these Friday evenings was mainly conversation, +varied by the occasional reading of a poem. Your Aunt Mary was much +admired that winter, both for her exquisite beauty and the charm of her +winning, artless manners. As I said, she was very fond of dancing; but +brother never had time to accomplish himself in the art. I remember, +however, that at a Christmas party given by his partner, Mr. Wilson, he +was induced to dance a quadrille. His mathematical accuracy enabled +him to go through the figures perfectly, when he had once seen them +danced; and he enjoyed it so thoroughly, and wore such an air of +unconscious happiness, that an old Quaker lady (the mother-in-law of +Mr. Wilson) who was looking on remarked to me, 'I didn't think thee +could find so beautiful a sight as thy brother's dancing this side of +heaven.' +</P> + +<P> +"I have described your Aunt Mary as beautiful, and perhaps you would +infer that she was also over-fond of dress. She was no devotee to +fashion, and her toilet was, even at that period, characterized by +great simplicity, but was noted, at the same time, for picturesqueness." +</P> + +<P> +Ida showed me, the other day, a very interesting letter written to her +father by a friend, Mr. Yancey, who was present at his marriage, and as +it confirms what mamma has said of Aunt Mary's beauty, I will make some +extracts from it. Mr. Yancey was the son-in-law of Squire Bragg, at +whose house Aunt Mary resided while teaching school in North Carolina. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +"GERMANTOWN, TENNESSEE, <I>July 6, 1847</I>. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +"MR. GREELEY: +</P> + +<P> +"DEAR SIR:—Sitting to-night 'all solitary and alone,' my mind has +wandered back upon scenes that have past eleven years ago, though vivid +now even as yesterday. It was about that time that I saw you first, +and indeed saw you last. +</P> + +<P> +"Little did I then dream that I beheld in that modest personage one who +is now acknowledged as the 'distinguished and accomplished Horace +Greeley.' +</P> + +<P> +"You well remember your first visit to the South, I dare say. You +cannot have forgotten many incidents that occurred at a little village +of North Carolina, called Warrenton? No, there is <I>one</I> circumstance I +feel assured you never can forget while memory lasts, and there are +others to which I claim the right to call your attention: for instance, +do you remember your first meeting with a certain Miss Cheney at the +house of Squire Bragg, the father of Capt. Bragg, who lately +distinguished himself at Monterey and Buena Vista? Do you now remember +to whom you related the secret of your visit, who procured the parson, +and what persons accompanied you to church, and then with your +beautiful bride returned to breakfast? We saw you take the solemn +vows, we witnessed the plighted betrothal, and when you bore away from +us this prize, you also carried our best wishes that you might be ever +blessed, and she be made always happy. May it not have been otherwise." +</P> + +<P> +.… "I would, my dear sir, be pleased to hear from you, and to +learn something of the results and changes which time has brought about +in your own family. +</P> + +<P> +"Be pleased to remember me to your sweet wife, and if there be any, or +many little G———s, my kind regards to them also. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +"Very respectfully, +<BR> +"A. L. YANCEY." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap06"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER VI. +</H3> + + +<P CLASS="contents"> +Visitors—Our Neighbors—The Chappaqua Croquet Club—Gabrielle's +Letter—A Hiding Party—Summer Heat—The Music-room—Friends from the +City. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +<I>June 18</I>. +</P> + +<P> +While out on the croquet ground this afternoon, a lady and gentleman +alighted from a carriage, and walked up to join us. They proved to be +our friends, Mr. and Mrs. Charles E. Wilbour, of New York, who had +driven over from White Plains to make us an afternoon call. Mrs. +Wilbour is a charming, intellectual woman, the president of Sorosis, +and a friend of many years of both mamma and Aunt Mary. In appearance +she is tall, handsome, and queenly, dressing in perfect taste, and a +graceful hostess. Her pretty daughter Linny is a school friend of +Gabrielle's at St. Mary's. +</P> + +<P> +Mr. and Mrs. Wilbour spend much time during the summer, driving about +from one town to another; certainly the most comfortable and agreeable +mode of travelling that one could adopt. +</P> + +<P> +We have some agreeable neighbors here, who contribute somewhat to the +general entertainment. The aristocracy of Chappaqua are chiefly Quaker +families who have lived here since the days of the Indians, and who +look down quite doubtfully upon the New York families who come out here +for the summer only, and of whose ancestry they know nothing. The +fathers and mothers wear the Quaker dress, and use the "Friends" +phraseology, which I think very pretty and caressing, but the young +people depart somewhat from the way of grace, in speech, costume, and +habits. The young girls wear whatever color of the rainbow best suits +their fresh complexions, are skilled in flirting, and with the +assistance of the young gentlemen, have organized a club for weekly +croquet parties and private theatricals at the residences of the +different members, whilst picnics and riding-parties to Croton and Rye +Lakes, and other pretty points of interest, are of frequent occurrence. +But of the riding-parties Gabrielle has just written a sprightly +description to a school friend, and before the letter goes to the post, +I will transcribe it. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +CHAPPAQUA, <I>June 18</I>. +</P> + +<P> +"DEAR MOLLIE: I received your charming letter and photograph last week. +Many thanks for both. You ask me how do I pass my time, and what is +the latest excitement? +</P> + +<P> +"Well, to begin with, you must know that we have just started a club in +Chappaqua for mutual amusement, but as I have been indisposed for some +time, I certainly have not yet derived much benefit from it, but spend +most of my time reading. +</P> + +<P> +"Last Saturday I was just longing for something to happen, and +apostrophizing the world as a hollow sham, when Minna came up to say +that we had all been invited to an equestrian party, to start after +tea. You would have imagined I had been offered several kingdoms by my +delight. I gave two or three screams of condensed joy, while dancing +wildly around the room, much to Aunt Esther's surprise. +</P> + +<P> +"But on second thoughts, what <I>was</I> I to do for a horse? My ponies had +never been broken to the saddle, but having made up my mind to go, go I +would, if I had to ride a wild buffalo; so I ordered Lady Alice around +an hour before the time to start. When she arrived, the balcony was +filled with a large and anxious audience, and rather than fail before +so many, I was determined that either I should break the horse in, or +she should break me. I sprang into the saddle, but before I could seat +myself or put my foot in the stirrup, she jerked her head away from +Bernard, and commenced a series of exciting manoeuvres, rearing, +plunging, and kicking. For about five minutes I defied all the laws of +gravitation. But when the coachman tried to seize her bridle, she +shied so suddenly that I was surprised to find myself on terra firma. +I jumped up directly and assured every one that I had not hurt myself +in the least, in fact had never felt better; but between you and me, I +felt very like the dog that was tossed by the cow with the crumpled +horn. I am afraid that by this time I had let my little angry passions +rise—in other words, I was decidedly angry. +</P> + +<P> +"I got on splendidly this time, and was quite ready to start with my +cousins when the time came, although my Lady Alice evinced serious +objections to the gate, and preferred ambling gently along sideways up +the hill. After a while I intimated kindly with my whip a desire to +gallop. I fear that, like some of our friends, she is hard to take a +hint, for she progressed by the most wonderful plunges, garnished with +little kicks; but I kept her head well up, and clawed out several +handfuls of her mane. When we came to the rendezvous, my cavalier +proposed running her for two or three miles to take down her spirits a +little, after which she went beautifully, and I never enjoyed a ride so +much before. +</P> + +<P> +"We rode to Lake Wampus, and everything looked so lovely, for the full +moon lighted it up like a mirror, and we had singing and thrilling +ghost stories. +</P> + +<P> +"Dear me, how awfully long this letter is! Be sure you answer it soon. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +"Yours lovingly, +<BR> +"GABRIELLE." +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +<I>June 19</I>. +</P> + +<P> +The heat and dust are becoming insufferable, for we have had no rain, +save in very homoeopathic doses, during the three weeks that we have +been here. The shrubs and bushes by the roadside look so piteous under +their weight of dust, that I feel half inclined to try the effect of a +feather brush upon their drooping leaves; and Bernard, who is never +prone to take cheerful views of anything, grows daily more gloomy when +we inquire after the progress of the kitchen-garden. But, although we +are sighing under the heat, it is nothing, we are told, to what the New +Yorkers are now enduring, and our friends, Mrs. Acheson and Dr. Taylor, +who came out yesterday from the city to spend the day with us, +congratulated us upon the coolness of the temperature at Chappaqua. +</P> + +<P> +The morning was passed out of doors playing croquet and walking +<BR><BR> + "Sotto i pini del boschetto,"<BR> +<BR><BR> +to use the words of the coquettish Countess and her arch waiting-maid +in the "Marriage of Figaro" (that Letter Duo contains, I think, some of +the most delicious music that the joyous Mozart ever wrote). +</P> + +<P> +The sun was too hot after our early dinner, for us to find much +pleasure in croquet; so we sat in the music-room, and upon the piazza, +and listened to a few songs from Marguerite, and watched the skill of +papa and the handsome blond doctor in the "Magic Rings,"—a very easy +game, to all appearance, but one which really requires much dexterity +of hand. +</P> + +<P> +The music-room is, I think, the coolest and pleasantest room in the +house. It is one of the additions built by uncle after he had +purchased this house—a large, square room on the ground floor, with +curtained windows opening upon the balcony, and upon the old +apple-tree. It is singularly favorable for music, for it contains no +heavy furniture, and the floor is uncarpeted. We had intended to +remove all the pictures from the walls, that they might not deaden the +sound of the music, but we could not resist an exquisite "Mary in the +Desert," purchased by uncle in Florence, in 1851; so this painting is +now hung over the piano. +</P> + +<P> +Our sprightly brunette friend with the merry black eyes, Mrs. Acheson, +looked unusually pretty and charming yesterday. I love to describe +stylish toilettes as well as any fashion-writer; so here is hers in all +its details: steel-colored silk trimmed with turquoise blue, +demi-traine, her hair beautifully dressed (or <I>coiffured</I>, to use the +fashionable newspaper word) in puffs and rolls, and finished with a +little blue feather; while an elegant fan attached to half a yard of +gold chain depended from her belt. +</P> + +<P> +When the 4.45 train was at hand, Ida and I walked down to the station +with our friends. Quite luckily there was a drawing-room car attached +to the train, although such luxury is generally confined to the +express, which does not stop here. I learnt, however, from the +station-master, that this car had borne some happy pair as far as +Albany the day before, had stayed there over-night for repairs, and was +now returning in a leisurely manner to New York. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap07"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER VII. +</H3> + + +<P CLASS="contents"> +Midsummer Day—An Artist's Visit—Ida's Letter—Moonlight on Croton +Lake—Morning Readings—Plato and Kohlrausch. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +<I>June 21</I>. +</P> + +<P> +In honor of Midsummer Day, Marguerite and I have spent the morning at +the piano, playing Mendelssohn's delicious fairy music from the +Midsummer Night's Dream. +</P> + +<P> +We have had little time to practise or read this week, for company has +been of almost daily occurrence; Marguerite returned yesterday morning +from a flying visit to the city, accompanied by our friends, Colonel +Rogers and Mr. Hows, the artist, who is a neighbor of ours in our rural +part of the city—Cottage Place. Colonel Rogers was dressed entirely +in gray, a costume that looked delightfully cool, and was a perfect +match for his eyes. +</P> + +<P> +The morning was spent in playing croquet, and in showing our guests +over the place, whose wild beauty delighted Mr. Hows' artistic eyes. +We walked first to the flower-garden, where we gathered flowers to +dress the table for dinner, and then visited the pine grove, the +romantic dell, and the stone barn of which uncle was always so proud, +where we spent an hour amid the sweet hay. +</P> + +<P> +For the evening a drive was proposed, as we have now quite recovered +from our former dread of malaria. Ida held the ribbons on this +occasion, and as I was not one of the party, I will insert her graceful +description of the pleasant evening. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +"CHAPPAQUA. +</P> + +<P> +"DEAR JULIA: I was so sorry to get your letter saying you could not +come. I wish you had not let your tiresome old dressmaker deprive me +of the pleasure of your company on our expedition to Croton Lake. +</P> + +<P> +"I must tell you all about the delightful time we had. Two of the +numerous friends of our blue-eyed Marguerite, Colonel Rogers and Mr. +Hows, whose exquisite pictures you and I have so often enjoyed +together, were our cavaliers on this occasion. As our light carriage +only has room for four, I drove the ponies myself. We started just +about sundown, and the pleasant coolness of evening came on while there +was still daylight enough to light up the constantly changing panorama +of hill and dale, and forest and distant river, beyond which the blue +mountain range dimly seen, now seemed to emerge into bolder relief, and +again to fade back into cloud-land. +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Hows' delight in the scenery was certainly equalled by mine in +listening to its praises. I am very fond of this part of Westchester, +and when people talk of the beauties of the Adirondacks, I listen with +the silent conviction that we have everything here but the musquitoes +and the bad cooking, with both of which I cheerfully dispense. +</P> + +<P> +"But to return to our drive. The last mile the road ran through a dark +forest, following the course of a stream called Roaring Brook, which +generally makes good its title to the name, but now, owing to the +recent drouth, was reduced to roaring as gently as Bottom's Lion +promised to do. At last the lake was reached, and turning to the +right, we were soon skimming along at a great pace on the wide +boulevard that skirts the water as far along as Pine's Bridge. There +we put up our ponies at a hotel with an impossible and unpronounceable +Indian name, and accepted the Colonel's kind invitation for a row. We +all regretted there was no moon, with as much self-reproach as if it +had been accidentally left behind, but were glad enough to get into our +little white boat, that looked quite silvery against the dark current. +</P> + +<P> +"The gentlemen, who had been dying to hear Marguerite sing ever since +coming out here, now suggested that her voice was all that was needed +to make the hour perfect; so Marguerite, who is as sweet and unaffected +about her singing as if she hadn't the most exquisite soprano ever +heard off the stage, consented without any tiresome urging, and asked +what it should be. We were evenly divided between 'Robin Adair' and +Mario's 'Good-bye, Sweetheart,' so our pretty songstress kindly gave us +both. +</P> + +<P> +"I cannot recall the delicious effect of her singing as we were +drifting along in the sombre twilight, better than by quoting Buchanan +Read's charming lines, which I dare say you have seen before: +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +"'I heed not if<BR> +My rippling skiff<BR> +Float swift or slow from cliff to cliff;<BR> +With dreamful eyes<BR> +My spirit lies<BR> +Under the walls of Paradise.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +"'Under the walls<BR> +Where swells and falls<BR> +The bay's deep breast at intervals;<BR> +At peace I lie,<BR> +Blown softly by<BR> +A cloud upon this liquid sky.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +"'No more, no more<BR> +The worldly shore<BR> +Upbraids me with its load uproar:<BR> +With dreamful eyes<BR> +My spirit lies<BR> +Under the walls of Paradise.'<BR> +</P> + +<P> + "I. L. G."<BR> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +<I>June 24</I>. +</P> + +<P> +The week commenced with a dash of rain, but this morning it was again +as hot as though no clouds had darkened the sky. Croquet was out of +the question, and not even for the sake of trying my new beaver and +stylish habit, so becoming to a slight figure, could I confront the +dust and the sun's blazing rays upon Nancy's back (for such is the +unromantic name of the horse that oftenest has the honor of bearing me +when we ride). No one seemed inclined to drive, so Lady Alice and the +Duchess, that had been for some time impatiently stamping, and arching +their pretty necks, evidently impatient to be off, were sent back to +the stables, much amazed, I doubt not, at our capricious conduct; while +we—mamma, Marguerite, and I—sauntered up to the cool pine grove, +accompanied by Arthur, bearing a camp-chair for mamma, and a couple of +wise-looking tomes, in whose society we were to spend the morning. +</P> + +<P> +But I have not yet introduced Arthur. He is neither brother, cousin, +nor <I>fiancé</I>, but bound to us by almost brotherly ties, having been our +playmate when we were little children; and after the death of his +parents (our eminent historian Richard Hildreth, and his gifted artist +wife), he became mamma's ward, and was our constant companion in Italy +and France. Arthur has come on from Cambridge, where he has just taken +his degree as a lawyer, to make us a visit of some weeks, and we have +had much pleasure talking over with him those poetic days that we +passed together in Florence and Venice. +</P> + +<P> +But <I>our</I> life is never made up of talking and dreaming, delightful +though it may be, and we have a certain amount of reading to do every +day, which we despatch as conscientiously as we do our prayers. There +is no rule, however, limiting the reading to any one person, and Arthur +often relieves us of that duty. I enjoy his reading very much, +especially when one of Plato's "Dialogues" is the lesson of the day, +for into them he throws so much enthusiasm and dramatic force, that +they are quite a revelation to me. I was amused this morning, upon +turning over the leaves of my journal of last winter, to find my first +impressions of the "Dialogues" thus laconically expressed: +</P> + +<P> +"I have to-day commenced to read Plato aloud. I cannot say that I find +him very refreshing as yet; still I try to admire him as much as I +conscientiously can." +</P> + +<P> +I must confess that at first the abstruse subtleties of Socrates and +his brother logicians were too much for my little brain, but now that I +am more familiar with them, I quite delight in following their +arguments. These "Dialogues" remind me of a fugue in musical +composition; only melody is wanting to make the resemblance perfect, +for here, as in the "Well-tempered Harpsichord," one train of thought +is taken up, viewed from every side and in every light—that is to say, +pursued through every possible key only to return and end at the +original starting-point. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap08"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER VIII. +</H3> + + +<P CLASS="contents"> +Story-telling—Mr. Greeley's Father—His Personal Appearance—His +Education—A Fine Voice—Mr. Greeley's Mother—A Handsome Woman—How +she is remembered in Vermont—Field Labor—Bankruptcy—A Journey to +Vermont—School Days—The Boy Horace—How he entertained his +Playmates—His First Ball—Separation from his Family. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +<I>June 25</I>. +</P> + +<P> +"What a delightful evening for story-telling!" said Gabrielle, as she +listened to the heavy rain-drops falling upon the leaves of the old +apple-tree; "will you not give us one, Aunt Esther?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," said Ida and Marguerite, drawing their chairs closer to mamma's +sofa. "Do tell us about yourself when you were a young girl, and about +grandpapa and grandmamma!" +</P> + +<P> +"Ah," said mamma, with a sigh, "you children have never known my dear +parents!" +</P> + +<P> +Marguerite was the only one of the young quartette who remembered +having seen grandpapa, and her recollections of him were confused with +memories of people in Europe, where our childhood was spent. +</P> + +<P> +"How did he look when you were a little girl, mamma?" I inquired. "I +think he is quite imposing in your little picture taken the year before +he died, and he must have been very handsome when he was young." +</P> + +<P> +"He was not only handsome: he was an unusual man," said mamma, +decidedly. "No biographer, in speaking of our family, has ever +estimated him correctly, and even dear brother himself does not give +sufficient importance to father's fine character and mental qualities; +but you know that he left home when a boy of fifteen, and after that +time he only saw father at long intervals. +</P> + +<P> +"You remember, Cecilia, that all the foreign sketches you have ever +read of brother, announce that his parents were 'common peasants,' +while many American writers, although they do not use the word +'peasant,' convey a similar impression. Father was by no means a +common man, for to be 'common' one must be vulgar or ignorant, and +father was neither. He was not uneducated, although his schooling was +very slight; but he was a good reader, was very skilful in arithmetic, +and wrote an excellent hand—an accomplishment for which our family are +not celebrated—beside possessing a hoard of self-acquired information +upon different subjects. During the long winter evenings in our lonely +Pennsylvania home, he taught us younger children arithmetic, and was +very fond of giving us long sums to puzzle out. I have often, heard +him say to brother Barnes, +</P> + +<P> +"'You must store your mind with useful knowledge, that when you go out +into the world you will have something to talk about as well as other +people.' +</P> + +<P> +"A poor farmer in those days did not have much opportunity to acquire +accomplishments, as you may well imagine; but father possessed one +talent that, if properly directed, might have made his fortune and +ours. I have never yet heard a natural voice that excelled your +grandfather's; a high, clear, powerful tenor, with unsurpassed strength +of lungs, which, added to his handsome presence, would have made him +one of the finest singers that has yet trodden the boards. Of course +his voice was uncultivated, with the exception of the slight training +of country singing-classes, and the songs that he knew were simple +ballads; but his memory was very retentive, and his singing was in +great demand when company was present. At husking-parties and +apple-bees, when supper was over and the young people wished to dance, +if no fiddler was present, father would be petitioned to sing. I have +often known him to sing country dances for hours, and he sung so +heartily, and marked the time so well, that the young people enjoyed +the dancing as much as if the music had been furnished by the most +skilful violinist. +</P> + +<P> +"I told you that father was a handsome man. He had large blue eyes, +soft, silky, brown curls clustering around a magnificent brow, a set +color in his cheeks, and a hand that the hardest field labor could not +deprive of its beauty—long, tapering fingers, and pointed nails, such +as novelists love to describe, but in real life are rarely seen outside +of the most aristocratic families. His teeth were small, white and +even, and at the time of his death, when eighty-seven years old, he had +only lost one. His figure, though less than six feet, gave the +impression of a much taller man; for he was slenderly built without +being thin, and his carriage was almost military. To this fine +presence was added an air of dignity and almost <I>hauteur</I>, that was +very unusual in a poor farmer. But father was proud to an unparalleled +degree. Indeed, it was his pride that caused him to plunge into the +wild forests of Pennsylvania. His haughty nature could not bear the +life of subordination that he led in Vermont, where he did not own an +acre of land, and was obliged to work under the orders of others, often +far inferior to him, and where he fancied the story of his flight from +New Hampshire was known to every one. Smarting with mortification, he +toiled until he could save a few hundred dollars to buy some acres in +the wilderness, far from all his former associates, and there he buried +himself with my dear mother and their five little children. But these +morose feelings were somewhat subdued as the years rolled on. +</P> + +<P> +"With his children he was affectionate, but, like an old-school father, +very distant. He never struck one of us in his life—a glance being +sufficient to enforce obedience, or subdue the wildest spirits. He was +always as particular about the etiquette of the table as though we were +served by footmen in livery; and in our poorest days, when cups and +saucers were scant and spoons still more so, we were obliged to observe +the utmost decorum till we were helped; and any laughing or chatter +among the younger ones was immediately quelled by the emphatic descent +of father's fork upon the coverless table, with the words, 'Children, +silence!' +</P> + +<P> +"Father was highly respected by our neighbors in Pennsylvania, and was +often urged to accept some county office. However, he always declined." +</P> + +<P> +"Do you think, mamma," said Marguerite, "that grandmamma was as +handsome as grandpapa?" +</P> + +<P> +A pause of a moment or two. +</P> + +<P> +"They were very different," was her reply. "Mother had neither +father's brilliant face, nor his imposing presence, but she was a very +handsome woman. She had soft blue eyes, a perfectly straight nose, a +mouth rather large, perhaps, for beauty, but full of character, brown +hair tinged with red, and a transparent, though not pallid complexion. +If you wish more minute details, look at your uncle's picture. No man +ever resembled a woman more strikingly than he did our dear mother." +</P> + +<P> +"In a recently published life of uncle," said I, "the author speaks of +grandmamma as often working in the fields, and describes her as large +and muscular, and possessing the strength of a man. Is not that an +exaggeration?" +</P> + +<P> +"Mother was above medium height," was mamma's reply, "but her figure +was slender, with small and well-shaped hands and feet. It was her +pride that water could flow under the arch of her instep; and her +fingers, notwithstanding the hard toil of daily life, remained so +flexible, that, when fifty years old, she could still bend them +<I>backwards</I> to form a drinking-cup." +</P> + +<P> +"Let me tell you, Aunt Esther," interposed Ida, "how grandmamma is +remembered in Vermont. When Gabrielle and I were quite small children, +we went there on a visit, and papa took us to see some old lady (whose +name I have forgotten) residing in Westhaven. This lady had known +grandmamma very well, and, after contemplating Gabrielle and I for some +time, remarked curtly, 'Neither of you children are as handsome as your +grandmother was.'" +</P> + +<P> +This uncomplimentary remark caused us all to laugh heartily. Mamma +then resumed her story. +</P> + +<P> +"As for field labor, your grandmother may, while we were in New +Hampshire, have sometimes assisted father for a day or two during the +pressure of haying or harvesting time; but never, since I was old +enough to observe, can I recollect seeing her work in the fields. +Certainly mother was not a woman to hesitate to do cheerfully whatever +necessity required. But she had quite enough to occupy herself at home +with the entire duties of a house, with the spinning, weaving, and +making up of all the linen and woollen cloth that the household used; +and the care and early instruction of her little ones—for it was her +pride that all of her children learned to read before going to school. +I remember that when I was first sent to school, at the age of four, +the teacher, with a glance at my tiny figure (for I was a small, +delicate child), called me up to read to her, and opened the book at +the alphabet. Deeply injured, I informed her that I knew my letters, +and could read over in 'An old man found a rude boy in one of his +apple-trees,'—a fable that all familiar with Webster's Spelling-book +will remember. +</P> + +<P> +"My first distinct recollection of mother is in the dark days in New +Hampshire. Father, as you know, had lost everything that he possessed, +and was obliged to fly into the next State to escape imprisonment for +debt. After he left, his furniture was attached and sold. I remember +seeing strange, rough men in the house, who pulled open all the trunks +and chests of drawers, and tossed about the beautiful bed and table +linen that mother had wrought before her marriage. Another picture, +too, is impressed indelibly upon my mind—how mother followed the +sheriff and his men about from room to room with the tears rolling down +her face, while brother Horace, then a little white-haired boy, nine +years old, held her hand and tried to comfort her, telling her not to +cry—he would take care of her. +</P> + +<P> +"But mother, although humiliated and heart-sore at the poverty and +disgrace that lay before her so early in her married life, was not a +woman to fold her hands and think sadly of what +<BR><BR> + "'--might have been.'<BR> +<BR><BR> +She wiped away her tears, and her busy fingers were soon preparing warm +hoods and dresses to protect her little ones from the bitter cold +during the journey that lay before us, for in the course of two or +three months father had by hard toil earned money sufficient to send +for us. I remember very well that journey over the mountains covered +with snow into the State of Vermont, and our establishment in what was +called the 'small house by the ledge' in the little neighborhood of +houses clustering on and about the old Minot estate. +</P> + +<P> +"You children, accustomed as you have been from your infancy to the +attractive text-books of the present day, would quite scorn the system +of instruction at the school I attended in Westhaven. I went there +three winters, but although I soon rose to the first class in reading +and spelling, in which branches I was unusually precocious, my +education was confined entirely to those two departments of learning. +Few text-books were then used in the school, for the parents of the +children were generally too poor to pay for many, and the musty old +Grammar and Arithmetic were kept in reserve for the older scholars. On +account of my youth the teacher did not advance me, and I went again +and again through the old Spelling-book, and learnt by heart what was +called the 'fore part of the book'—some dry rules of orthography, +which never conveyed the slightest idea to my mind, although I repeated +them, parrot-like, without missing a word, and which the teacher never +thought of explaining to me. From the spelling-book I was in time +promoted to the New Testament (not as easy reading as might have been +selected, by the way). This was followed by the American Preceptor, +and subsequently by Murray's 'English Reader,' a work reserved for the +most advanced scholars. +</P> + +<P> +"My brothers did not go to school during the summer months, for their +services were then required to assist father in his work; and I, too, +had to leave school every day at eleven o'clock to carry their dinner +to them at the place, a mile and a half distant, where they were +clearing a portion of the Minot estate. +</P> + +<P> +"When brother Horace was thirteen years old he was taken out of school, +as the teacher could instruct him no longer. I was kept at home also, +and brother taught me, giving me lessons in arithmetic and penmanship, +which studies had been prohibited me at school. Here commenced a most +tender attachment and sympathy between brother and I. As there were +two children—Barnes and sister Arminda—between us, our difference of +years had hitherto kept us somewhat apart; but after brother had been +for several months my instructor we were from that time the nearest in +heart in our large household. +</P> + +<P> +"I think that mother must have entirely regained her spirits during the +four years that we lived in Vermont, for I remember that men, women, +and children alike delighted in her society, and our house was the +centre of the little neighborhood. We resided very near the +school-house, and rarely did a morning pass without a visit from some +of the girls, to have a few words of greeting from mother on their way +to their lessons. When recess time came, they would arrive in numbers +to spend the time with her, and beg for a song or a story from the +inexhaustible supply with which her memory was stored, and there they +would remain, fascinated by her sweet, low voice until she would be +obliged to playfully chase them out of the house to compel them to +return to school. From the teacher, for tardiness, punishment was a +very frequent occurrence, but it made slight impression upon the girls +in comparison with the enjoyment of listening to one of mother's +thrilling or romantic stories, for the following day they would return +to our house to again risk the penalty. +</P> + +<P> +"I told you that brother taught me after we were taken out of school. +He was the gentlest and kindest of instructors, and was always ready to +lay down his own book to help me out of any difficulty that my lesson +presented, although it was by no means easy to make him close his book +under other circumstances; such as the solicitations of his young +friends to join them in a game. +</P> + +<P> +"I have described father to you as a stern man in his every-day +intercourse with us, but although his motto was 'Work,' he was always +willing to grant us a holiday or a play-hour, when he thought we had +earned it. He would relax his dignity, too, somewhat when young people +came to pass the evening with us; would encourage us to play games and +dance, and would often join us; for, although he never played cards +himself, nor would he allow them to be played in his house, he himself +taught us how to dance. +</P> + +<P> +"When our young friends came to see us, there was much rejoicing from +brother Barnes, who was full of life and spirits, and always ready to +play, and from Arminda and myself; but brother Horace, not at all +allured by blind-man's-buff or a dance, would retire to a corner with a +pine knot (for in those days candles were few), preferring the +companionship of his book to our merry games. Coaxing was all in vain: +the only means of inducing him to join us was to snatch away his book +and hide it; but even then he preferred to gather us quietly about him +and tell us stories. I remember that before he left home he had +related to us, among other things, the thousand and one stories of the +'Arabian Nights,' and 'Robinson Crusoe.' This gift of story-telling he +inherited from mother, whose talent in that line certainly equalled +that of the beautiful Sultana Scheherazade herself. At this time, +although I had never seen a copy of Shakespeare, I was familiar with +the names and plots of all his imaginative, and many of his historical +plays, which mother would relate to us in her own words, embellished +now and then with bits of the original verse, as she sat at her +spinning-wheel, or busied herself about the household work. +</P> + +<P> +"It was, I think, at this same time—our last year in Vermont—that a +large ball, for young people only, was given in our neighborhood. Much +speculation was excited among our young friends as to whether Horace +would dance at this ball, and especially if he would fetch a partner +with him. It was the general opinion that he would not, as he did not +bear a high reputation for gallantry. Great, then, was the +astonishment of all present when Horace entered the ballroom with Anne +Bush, the prettiest girl in the neighborhood, upon his arm. He opened +the ball with her, and his deportment quite silenced those who had +questioned his appearance. +</P> + +<P> +"Before long, preparations for another journey were in progress. +Father had earned money sufficient to buy some land, and I heard that +we were going to Pennsylvania. I was, however, too young to be much +impressed by this news, and it was not until I saw mother once more in +tears that its importance was apparent to me. This time mother wept as +bitterly as before, for not only was she to be separated by a greater +distance from her family in New Hampshire, to whom she was fondly +attached, and from the pleasant circle of friends she had made in +Westhaven, but her darling among us children, her beautiful eldest boy, +of whom she was so proud, was to be left in Vermont." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap09"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER IX. +</H3> + + +<P CLASS="contents"> +A Picnic at Croton Dam—The Waterworks—A Game of Twenty +Questions—Gabrielle as a Logician—Evangeline's +Betrothal—Marguerite's Letter—Description of +Chappaqua—Visitors—Edmonia Lewis. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +<I>June 26</I>. +</P> + +<P> +Gabrielle and I have just returned from spending the day at Croton Dam. +A large party from the prominent families of Chappaqua was organized by +Miss Murray, the pretty daughter of one of our neighbors, and at nine +o'clock a number of carriages, packed to overflowing with young people +and lunch-baskets, and led off by a four-horse wagon, started +caravan-wise from the place of rendezvous, Mr. Murray's elegant grounds. +</P> + +<P> +The drive was a very pretty one, skirting for some distance the +beautiful little lake that supplies the great thirsty city of New York; +and the spot chosen for the picnic—shady, terrace-like heights, with a +gradual slope to meet the water, and a rough bench here and there—was +declared the most suitable place in the world to lay the cloth. One or +two members of the party remained behind to unload the carriages, count +the broken dishes, and estimate the proportion of contributions—many +people fetching salt in abundance but forgetting sugar, whilst others +furnished elaborately frosted cakes, but omitted such necessaries as +knives and forks. Meantime, we climbed the stone steps leading to the +waterworks, and after a glimpse of the seething dark-green water +through the heavy iron grating, we hunted up the overseer and asked him +to unlock the doors for us, that we might have a nearer view. He +assented, and admitted us very obligingly, giving us meantime a graphic +description of the yearly journey of the Inspector in a boat down the +dark passage to New York, and pointing out the low narrow place of +entry from the water-house where they must lie down in the boat. +</P> + +<P> +Dinner hour is generally a most interesting moment in a picnic, and +this was the time when the young gentlemen showed their gallantry by +partaking only of such viands as had come from the baskets of their +favorites among the young ladies. +</P> + +<P> +A cloth was spread upon the ground; seats were extemporized for the +ladies out of carriage cushions, waterproofs and wraps; the knives, +forks and plates were dealt out as impartially as possible, and we +passed a very merry hour. +</P> + +<P> +When the repast was over, the party dispersed—some to play croquet, +others to row upon the lake, or to stroll about under the trees; some +young ladies produced books and bright bits of fancy-work, while +Gabrielle, Arthur and I, with our pretty captain, Miss Murray, and one +of her attendant cavaliers, decided to pass away the time by playing a +game—no trivial game, however; neither "consequences" nor +fortune-telling, but an eminently scientific one entitled "Twenty +Questions." For the benefit of the uninitiated I will remark that the +oracle chooses a subject (silently), and the others are allowed to put +twenty questions to him to enable them to divine it—usually commencing +with "Is the object that you have in your mind to be found in the +animal, vegetable, or mineral kingdom?" +</P> + +<P> +Gabrielle is very clever in this somewhat abstruse game, for she +possesses her mother's spirit of inquiry and love of reasoning, and she +passes entire evenings with Arthur, pursuing the most perplexing and +intangible subjects. She and Arthur are admirably matched in this +game; for if she is unparalleled in the quickness with which she will +follow up a clue and triumphantly announce the mysterious object, after +asking eighteen or nineteen questions, Arthur is no less adroit in +selecting unusual subjects, and so artfully parrying her questions as +to give her the least possible assistance. I often hear them call to +each other— +</P> + +<P> +"I have chosen a subject; you will never in the world guess it!" +</P> + +<P> +Then follows an hour of questions and reasoning, with inferences drawn +and rejected, and a display of sophistry that would do credit to a more +fully fledged lawyer than Arthur is at present. +</P> + +<P> +Yesterday, after dinner, they launched into one of their games, and +Gabrielle guessed after eighteen questions what would have required +forty, I am sure, from any one else—the eighty-eighth eye of a fly! +</P> + +<P> +Another was even more puzzling. The object belonged, Arthur assured +her, to the vegetable kingdom, the color was white, and he had often +met it within a dozen yards of the railway station. "A daisy," was the +first and natural solution, but she was, he assured her, very far +adrift. "A telegraph post," she next announced, but she was again +unsuccessful. At this point I left them; but after an hour had passed +Gabrielle ran up to my room to tell me that she had guessed it—a polka +dot upon one of her morning dresses! +</P> + +<P> +The object chosen by Arthur at the picnic was the right horn of the +moon. Gabrielle, this time, sat beside me and enjoyed the perplexity +of the questioners, for not until we were about to step into the +carriage to return home did they guess it. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +<I>June 27</I>. +</P> + +<P> +A letter this morning from our pretty cousin Evangeline, announcing +that she is engaged to a Dr. Ross of Chautauqua county, where she +lives. Evangeline is the only daughter of mamma's youngest sister, +Margaret. She is eighteen years old, of medium height, and well +formed, with a fair complexion, the chestnut hair that is peculiar to +the younger members of the Greeley family, and brown eyes inherited +from her father's family, for the Greeley eye <I>par excellence</I> is blue. +Although Evangeline has been brought up in the quiet little village of +Clymer, she has been well educated, and besides being uncle's favorite +among his nieces, she was much admired in general society during the +winter that she spent with us in New York two years ago. At uncle's +birthday party, which she attended, she was by many pronounced the +handsomest young lady present. +</P> + +<P> +We have never seen Dr. Ross, but mamma remembers his family well, and +says that "he comes of a good stock." He is not wealthy, but he is in +a good profession, is of unexceptionable character, and very devoted to +our dear Evangeline; so they have <I>my</I> blessing. The marriage will not +take place until December, when Evangeline will have laid off her +mourning. +</P> + +<P> +Marguerite's portfolio is open upon her writing-table, and a letter to +Evangeline, not yet sealed, lies between the blotting-sheets. As it +speaks of Evangeline's betrothal, I will insert it here: +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +"CHAPPAQUA, <I>June 27</I>. +</P> + +<P> +"DEAREST EVANGELINE:—You complain in your last letter that I do not +write enough about Chappaqua and 'the farm.' You wish particulars. My +sweet cousin, I thought that you were familiar with descriptions of +this dearest spot on earth, as I remember that dear uncle gave each of +us a copy of his 'Recollections' the last Christmas that you were with +us—the last Christmas indeed that he spent upon this earth. Peruse +that volume, dear, for in it you will find a more vivid picture, a more +poetic description of his dearly loved home and surroundings, than +anything that I can say. +</P> + +<P> +"As to Chappaqua being a large or small village—it is small, very +small, not half so large as Clymer, where you live; but it is far more +picturesque. There are only a dozen or two houses in all, including a +couple of stores, a post-office, a 'wayside inn,' and a church without +a bell. There are, however, many fine residences scattered over the +township; whichever way we drive, we see elegant mansions nestling in a +copse of wood, or crowning some hill-top. +</P> + +<P> +"The valley through which we approach Chappaqua is faced on either side +by a succession of beautiful undulating hills that are thickly covered +with dark-green foliage. This farm, consisting of eighty-four acres +(for you know that there is another lying adjacent of nearly the same +size), presents very beautiful and varied scenery. Near the house in +the woods, where uncle and aunt lived so many years, a pretty brook +winds down by the lower barn, and goes singing away through the meadows +bright +<BR><BR> + "'With steadfast daisies pure and white.'<BR> +<BR><BR> +But this is not all; this lovely, babbling brook fills a large pond, +high up in the woods, then flows over a stone dam, and comes rushing +down in a succession of waterfalls, stopping for breathing-space in one +of the wildest story-telling glens I ever saw. +</P> + +<P> +"And here, in the gloom of the forest-trees, where the birds love to +congregate, and a thousand perfumes of clover and new-mown hay, and the +aroma of the evergreen grove, come up, Ida and I spend many an hour, +forgetful of city life, and heedless about ever returning to it. +</P> + +<P> +"This year we are occupying the roadside house, which, although not so +beautiful as the new one on the side-hill, nor so retired and romantic +as the one in the woods still is lovely and has a very charming +prospect. It stands on sloping ground that is skirted by forest and +fruit trees. Some of them throw their grateful shade on the piazza and +balcony that run the width of the front of the house. My room opens on +the balcony by three French windows, and here I often walk to catch the +last gleam of departing day, or linger after nightfall to see the +far-away stars come out. The moonrise here is perfectly enchanting, +climbing up as it does over the eastern hills, and throwing its pensive +light over the silent meadows, and distant, dark woods. +</P> + +<P> +"But I have filled my sheet before speaking of your engagement. As I +have not seen your handsome doctor, you will not expect me to be +enthusiastic. I hear that he is intelligent, clever in his profession, +and of excellent character, but not rich. Well Evangeline, you know I +approve of wealth, combined with other good qualifications; but if I +had to choose between a man of mind and a man of money, I don't think I +would hesitate long which to take; so you are sure of my approbation, +and you have my best wishes for your future happiness. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +"Your loving cousin, +<BR> +"MARGUERITE." +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +<I>June 29</I>. +</P> + +<P> +A visit yesterday from our friend Mrs. Sarah L. Hopper, the clever +contributor to several Southern journals. Among them the <I>Washington +Gazette</I>, and the <I>True Woman</I>—the latter an anti-suffrage journal. +Mrs. Hopper not only writes well; she is also a woman of varied and +excellent reading, and the appreciation of the modern classics is +displayed in one of her poems—an admirable apostrophe to the character +and works of Dante. This poem, which was published some time since, +Mrs. Hopper once recited to us, and both mamma and I were struck with +the true ring of poesy so apparent in it. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +<I>June 30</I>. +</P> + +<P> +Upon returning from church yesterday, we found the front door standing +open, a couple of arm-chairs upon the piazza, and a newspaper or two in +lieu of the occupants—proof unmistakable of a masculine invasion. Who +it was we could not imagine; that it was not a neighbor we were +convinced by seeing the morning <I>Herald</I> and <I>Times</I>, for the Sunday +papers cannot be obtained here, save by being at the depot when the +interminable way-train comes up from New York, and waylaying the +newsboy who accompanies the cars; and for this our neighbors are rarely +sufficiently enterprising. Unmistakably our visitors had come from the +city. +</P> + +<P> +Upon questioning Minna, she gave us a graphic description of the +gentlemen. One was "tall, oh so tall! with dark hair and red +cheeks"—in him we recognized Mr. Walworth Ward—the other was a blonde +gentleman whom she had seen here before. +</P> + +<P> +"Lina has already made wine <I>padding</I>," she said, seeing Ida about to +descend and inspect the larder. "Miss no fret—all right." +</P> + +<P> +Ida and I then started to walk to the grove, where we thought we would +probably find our guests awaiting our return. Not there, indeed, but +in the vegetable garden we found them, where they were kindly looking +after the interests of the family by weeding the strawberry-beds, +regardless of the Sabbath, and notwithstanding one of the gentlemen was +a grandson of a D.D. In answer to our regrets that we should have been +absent when they arrived, they mildly intimated some surprise, one +having telegraphed his proposed coming, and the other sent a message +through papa the day previous; dear papa, however, had as usual +forgotten to deliver the message, and whither the telegram went, no one +could imagine. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +<I>July 1</I>. +</P> + +<P> +A visit yesterday from the little colored sculptress, Edmonia Lewis. +Miss Lewis was accompanied by a box of formidable size, containing, she +told us, a marble bust of Mr. Greeley, which she had brought out here +for the opinion of the family; but as Ida was in the city where she had +gone for a day's shopping, we reserved our judgment until she should +return and see it with us. +</P> + +<P> +I was very glad to learn that Miss Lewis was prospering in both a +pecuniary and an artistic point of view. She had, she told me, +received two orders for busts of uncle—one from the Lincoln Club, and +one from a Chicago gentleman. She intends returning to Rome before +long. +</P> + +<P> +Miss Lewis had already opened a studio while we were in Rome four or +five years ago, and I heard much talk about her from her brother and +sister artists. I intended at one time to visit her studio and see her +work, but several sculptors advised me not to do so; she was, they +declared, "queer," "unsociable," often positively rude to her visitors, +and had been heard to fervently wish that the Americans would not come +to her studio, as they evidently looked upon her only as a curiosity. +When, therefore, I did see her for the first time (last summer), I was +much surprised to find her by no means the morose being that had been +described to me, but possessed of very soft and quite winning manners. +She was amused when I told her what I had heard of her, and remarked, +quite pertinently: +</P> + +<P> +"How could I expect to sell my work if I did not receive visitors +civilly?" +</P> + +<P> +Miss Lewis expressed much gratitude to Miss Hosmer and Miss Stebbins +for their kindness to her in Rome, and of Miss Cushman she said +enthusiastically, "She is an angel!" +</P> + +<P> +She is, I have been told, very well received in society abroad, and +when baptized a Catholic in Rome, two ladies of high position, Countess +Cholmondeley and Princess Wittgenstein, offered to stand godmother for +her. Edmonia chose Lady Cholmondeley, whom I remember well in Rome as +a great belle and a highly accomplished woman. She wrote poetry, I was +told, and modelled in clay with much taste, and her finely trained +voice and dainty playing of the harp I well remember as one of the +attractions of Miss Cushman's receptions. +</P> + +<P> +Edmonia has, beside her somewhat hard English appellation, two pretty +baptismal names—Maria Ignatia. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap10"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER X. +</H3> + + +<P CLASS="contents"> +Cataloguing the Library—A Thousand Volumes—Contrasting Books—Some +Rare Volumes—Mr. Greeley's Collection of Paintings—Authenticity of +the Cenci Questioned—A Portrait of Galileo—Portrait of Martin +Luther—Portrait of Greeley at Thirty—Powers' Proserpine—Hart's Bust +of Mr. Greeley—Mosaics and Medallions. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +<I>July 2</I>. +</P> + +<P> +This morning we have had a family picnic at the side-hill house, where +the amusement was, however, neither "Twenty Questions," gossip, nor +croquet; but arranging and cataloguing uncle's large library. The +books had hitherto been kept in the house in the woods, with the +exception of those in daily use, filling three good-sized bookcases in +our present residence; but as the house in the woods had been twice +broken into last winter, Ida thought it safer to move them all down +this summer to the side-hill house, where Bernard sleeps. Accordingly, +a wagon-load or two was brought down the other day and deposited in the +dining-room, and this morning, as we had no guests, and no very +pressing occupations, we all, including Minna, went up there directly +after breakfast to look them over. +</P> + +<P> +"I am resolved," Ida had said, "to have the books catalogued, that I +may know in future how many I yearly lose by lending them to my +friends." Consequently the work was doubled by the necessity of +writing down the names, and we had unluckily chosen the hottest day +that we had so far experienced for this laborious task. We all went to +work, however, with as much energy as though the temperature was at a +reasonable degree, and I felt quite proud of my achievements when the +work was done, having catalogued, myself, over three hundred volumes. +</P> + +<P> +Our work was divided: mamma read off the names of the books, and +Marguerite and I wrote them down, and Minna then dusted and carried +them into the next room to Ida, who placed them upon the shelves, +dividing the library into compartments for poetry, biography, science, +fiction, etc. An endless task it seemed at first to sort the books, +for more than one thousand volumes of all sizes and in every variety of +binding from cloth to calf, had been thrown promiscuously on the floor, +and the hottest antagonists in the political and religious world were +now lying side by side in the apparent enjoyment of peace and +good-will. "Slavery Doomed" and "Slavery Justified" composed one +externally harmonious group, while "Footfalls on the Boundary of +Another World," "How I became a Unitarian," and Strauss' "Life of +Jesus," lay beside their rigidly orthodox neighbors, the "Following of +Christ," by Thomas à Kempis, Cardinal Wiseman's "Doctrines of the +Church," and a Jesuit Father's idea of the Happiness of Heaven. +</P> + +<P> +Uncle's fondness for his country home was manifested by thirty or more +large volumes upon Agriculture, and several others upon Rural +Architecture, while his literary and aesthetic taste was displayed by a +superb edition of Macaulay, in eight octavo volumes, combining the +whitest of paper and the largest and clearest type, with richest +binding; Lord Derby's translation of the Iliad, Mackay's "Thousand and +One Gems," a large and elegant volume of Byron's complete works, and +Bryant's "Library of Poetry and Song"—the two latter beautifully bound +and illustrated. Xenophon, Herodotus, Josephus, and Caesar lay off at +an aristocratic distance from their neighbors, and looked down with +scorn upon anything so modern as Noel's "Rebellion," or Draper's "Civil +War in America;" while memories of the buried "Brook Farm" arose from +the past as mamma took up a volume or two upon Co-operative +Associations. +</P> + +<P> +Uncle's strict temperance principles were illustrated by half a dozen +volumes upon the "Effects of Alcohol," including "Scriptural Testimony +against Wine;" and a work or two upon the Tariff Question recalled many +a <I>Tribune</I> editorial penned by the dear, dead hand. +</P> + +<P> +A large dark pile of some twenty volumes loomed up from a distant +corner—Appleton's useful Cyclopaedia—and beside them lay an enormous +Webster's Dictionary, handsomely put up in a chocolate-colored library +binding. +</P> + +<P> +Many elegantly bound volumes were presentation copies from their +authors—among them a magnificent album of languages, beautifully +illuminated, and bound in scarlet morocco, containing the Lord's Prayer +in one hundred different tongues. This book sold, Ida said, for one +hundred dollars a copy. +</P> + +<P> +In striking contrast with this gorgeous volume were two little +yellow-leaved, shabbily bound books, valued, however, at one hundred +dollars each, and treasures which no money could have bought from +uncle—one a copy of Erasmus, dated Basle, 1528, and the other "The +tvvoo Bookes of Francis Bacon on the Proficience and Aduancement of +Learning, diuine and humane," printed, the fly-leaf states, at London, +in 1605. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +<I>July 3</I>. +</P> + +<P> +I have not yet, I believe, spoken of more than one or two of the +pictures that uncle bought while in Europe the first time. He then +spent ten thousand dollars on paintings, a piece or two of sculpture, +and a few little curiosities of art in the way of mosaics and +antiquities from different ruins of Italy, which, for a man who was by +no means a Stewart or an Astor, showed great liberality. Uncle could +not afford, like ostentatious millionnaires, to dazzle the public with +paintings bought by the yard; but for a man of his means he displayed, +I think, a true love for art and a strong desire to encourage it. His +purchases, too, were very different from the second-rate pictures so +often purchased abroad by uncultivated eyes, for instead of depending +merely upon his own judgment, he asked the assistance of the sculptor +Story in choosing his souvenirs; and his collection, though small, is +admirable, containing two or three <I>bonâ-fide</I> old masters, purchased +at the sales of private galleries in Florence and Rome. +</P> + +<P> +The pictures, like the books, have been kept hitherto in the house in +the woods, but this spring Ida moved them all to the roadside house +that we might constantly enjoy them, and the parlor now presents quite +the appearance of a museum. It is over the music-room, and its long +French windows open upon a balcony, from which we daily admire our +tender, Italian-like sunsets. To the right it is overhung by the +branches of our favorite apple-tree, from whose clusters of tiny fruit +we each chose an apple some days since. Gabrielle then marked them +with the owner's initial cut out of paper, the form of which we will +find in the autumn indelibly impressed in the apple's rosy cheek. +</P> + +<P> +But to return to our museum. Upon ascending the stairs one's eyes +first rest upon the "very saddest face ever painted or conceived," as +Hawthorne describes the beautiful Cenci. While in Rome I resided upon +the Piazza Barberini, opposite the palace containing this exquisite +painting, and I visited it with a devotion almost equalling Hilda's. +Much excitement prevailed that winter in art circles concerning the +authenticity of this picture, and hot discussions took place wherever +the believers and unbelievers chanced to meet. No possible proof +existed, one party would declare, that Guido had ever painted Beatrice +Cenci; and no one had thought of it as other than a fancy head until +Shelley had aroused the interest of the public in the half-forgotten +tragedy of poor Beatrice's sad life by the sombre drama, "The Cenci." +From that time, they say, caprice has christened this picture Beatrice +Cenci, and Hawthorne has added much to its interest by the prominence +he gives it in the "Marble Faun." They, however, are unable to find +the traces of sorrow, the "tear-stained cheeks" and "eyes that have +wept till they can weep no more," so eloquently described by all +writers and art-critics of the present day; and so far I agree with +them—the face does not impress me with such depths of woe. +</P> + +<P> +Their opponents, however, hold the time-honored tradition that Guido +painted Beatrice in her cell upon the morning of her execution, or as +she stood upon the scaffold—for there are two versions of the +story—and that the gown and turban which she wears were made by her +own hands on the night preceding the fatal day. But no words of mine +can give a fair idea of this celebrated painting: I will transcribe +Hawthorne's description of it. +</P> + +<P> +"The picture represented simply a female head; a very youthful, +girlish, perfectly beautiful face, enveloped in white drapery, from +beneath which strayed a lock or two of what seemed a rich though hidden +luxuriance of auburn hair. The eyes were large and brown, and met +those of the spectator, but evidently with a strange, ineffectual +effort to escape. There was a little redness about the eyes, very +slightly indicated, so that you would question whether or no the girl +had been weeping. The whole face was quiet; there was no distortion or +disturbance of any single feature, nor was it easy to see why the +expression was not cheerful, or why a single touch of the artist's +pencil should not brighten it into joyousness. But in fact it was the +very saddest picture ever painted or conceived; it involved an +unfathomable depth of sorrow, the sense of which came to the observer +by a sort of intuition. It was a sorrow that removed this beautiful +girl out of the sphere of humanity, and set her in a far-off region, +the remoteness of which—while yet her face is so close before +us—makes us shiver as at a spectre." +</P> + +<P> +Next to the Cenci a St. Francis hangs, his hands devoutly folded and +his head bowed in pious meditation upon the sufferings of his Redeemer, +whose figure bound upon the Cross lies before him. The skull at his +feet and the dreary landscape surrounding him indicate his hermit-life +of isolation and penance. The Saint is dressed in the coarse brown +habit of a mendicant friar, and his face is luminous with that +gentleness that distinguished his character after his conversion; for +it is recorded of him that he would step aside rather than harm the +smallest insect. +</P> + +<P> +Above St. Francis is one of the most precious gems, historically and +intrinsically considered, of the collection. The picture is +small—only cabinet size; but it is none the less valuable on that +account, when we reflect that it dates from the sixteenth or early in +the seventeenth century. It is a portrait of Galileo painted from life +by Andrea Bartone, and was bought at a sale of the Santi Gallery. Only +the head and bust are represented—the latter clothed in a dark-brown +open vest, with a scarlet mantle thrown over the shoulders; but the +face is one that would not easily be forgotten—a rugged, powerful +face, with great, earnest eyes, scant hair well sprinkled with gray, +and deep furrows lining the dark brow. +</P> + +<P> +Over the doorway, opening into the room that was formerly Aunt Mary's, +is an antique marble medallion of Juno, the haughty Mother of the gods; +this was dug up near Tusculum. +</P> + +<P> +Next comes an exquisite Madonna and Child by Carlo Dolce (a copy). The +mother's face is youthful and radiant with divine beauty: the Infant +Jesus stands upon her knee, and extends a plump little hand in +benediction. +</P> + +<P> +Next, a portrait of uncle painted in 1839—two years earlier than the +one that hangs in the dining-room. This picture, mamma says, was an +excellent likeness of him when he was twenty-eight years old; and the +biographers who are so prone to describe him in his younger days as +having been "uncouth" and "awkward," would be, I think, much startled +if they could see it. His coat is black, with a black tie, like other +gentlemen, and his air, instead of being "rustic" or "gawky," is +expressive of gentle dignity, while his face, so often described as +plain, is to me beautiful enough to have represented a young saint. +</P> + +<P> +Next these pictures is another medallion—the "Mother of the Gracchi," +and under them a small table upon which stand several marble +curiosities: a model of the tomb of Scipio, Minerva issuing from the +head of Jupiter, and two busts of Roman soldiers in the time of +Titus—antiques, and quite yellow and valuable. +</P> + +<P> +In the centre of the parlor is a round table bought in Rome, and made +of variegated marble taken from the ruins of the palace of the Caesars. +</P> + +<P> +In a corner, upon a handsome pedestal, stands Powers' bust of +Proserpine, of which uncle was especially proud. He speaks of it in +his "Glances at Europe," in these words: +</P> + +<P> +"I defy Antiquity to surpass—I doubt its ability to rival—Powers' +Proserpine and his Psyche with any models of the female head that have +come down to us; and while I do not see how they could be excelled in +their own sphere, I feel that Powers, unlike Alexander, has still +realms to conquer, and will fulfil his destiny." +</P> + +<P> +A very prominent picture, and one that was a great favorite with uncle, +is an original portrait of Luther, by Lucas Cranach, one of the great +lights of the Flemish school of painting. I have seen in the Dresden +Gallery the counterpart to this picture, painted by the same artist, +but representing Luther after death. I much prefer the animated +expression of the <I>living</I> picture, for it is hard to think of the +fiery reformer as dead, even at this late day. +</P> + +<P> +Over the sofa is a large Holy Family, a painting in the school of +Raphael, and underneath it hangs one of our most valuable pictures—a +veritable Guercino, painted in 1648. The subject is St. Mary Magdalen. +</P> + +<P> +I wish that I had time to write in detail of all the beautiful things +in the parlor—a card-table made like the centre-table of classic +marble from the ruins of Rome, an exquisite moonlight view of a +Benedictine Convent upon the Bay of Naples, with a young girl kneeling +before the shrine of the Madonna; a Venetian scene—the Doge's palace +with its graceful, Moorish architecture; St. Peter and St. Paul; the +Cumaean Sybil, a beautiful female figure whose partly veiled face +seemed full of mystery; St. Agatha, and an Ecce Homo. There are still +some more marble medallions that I have not mentioned; several valuable +antiques, portraits of Alexander the Great and Tacitus, and a +bas-relief representing the flight of Aeneas—the former found near the +Appian Way—and two others that are comparatively modern—likenesses of +Pope Clement XI., and Vittoria Colonna, the gifted Italian poetess of +the fifteenth century. +</P> + +<P> +But I have not yet spoken of the pearl of our museum. This piece of +sculpture was not one of uncle's Italian purchases, nor does it date +back for centuries, but it is priceless to us, especially as it is, we +believe, the only copy now existing. I allude to the bust made of +uncle in 1846 by Hart, the Kentucky sculptor. This bust was the first +work of importance that Mr. Hart had ever executed, for he was then in +the first flush of manhood, and the early vigor of that genius that has +since wrought out so many beautiful creations. Then, however, he had +not modelled his fine statue of Henry Clay, ordered by the ladies of +Virginia, nor had he even dreamed of his lovely "Triumph of Woman" that +when finished will send his name down to posterity, as our greatest +<I>creative</I> American sculptor. +</P> + +<P> +Mamma was living with uncle when Mr. Hart arrived in New York with a +commission from Cassius M. Clay to make this bust, and she has often +told me all the circumstances of the sittings. Uncle was then, as +ever, extremely busy, and it was very difficult for him to give Mr. +Hart an occasional half hour for a sitting. As ordinary means failed, +Mr. Hart brought his clay and instruments to <I>The Tribune</I> office, and +there he worked whilst uncle rested from his daily editorial labors; +but even while "resting," his lap was full of newspapers, and he could +not afford the time to "pose," for his eyes were rapidly scanning their +columns. +</P> + +<P> +"I never," said mamma, "knew an artist to make such a study of +another's face as Mr. Hart did of brother's. He was not content with a +mere sitting from him now and then; he visited him at the house; he +watched his face in company, and attended every occasion when he spoke +in public, that he might model him, he said, in his best mood. +Consequently the bust was the most perfect likeness that had ever been +made of brother, and as his face was then delicate and his features so +classic in their cut, it was, I thought, the most beautiful piece of +sculpture that I had ever seen. It was quite a revelation to dear +brother, who in his modesty had never had an idea of his own beauty." +</P> + +<P> +Ten plaster busts were struck off for the family and a few intimate +friends, but as none of them were ever put into marble, they have all, +I believe, with the exception of this one, been destroyed. Mamma's +copy was overthrown by Marguerite's little hands when a child; another +belonging to one of our cousins was broken by her little son; and +although Cassius Clay's copy was buried, Mr. Hart told me, during the +war to save it from the hands of the soldiers, he had no reason to +suppose that it finally had escaped the fate of the others. Aunt Mary, +however, in her anxiety to preserve her copy, at once enveloped it in +linen, and packed it in a box. Consequently it is now as perfect as +the day it left the studio; but mamma had never seen it from that time +until this spring, when Ida exhumed it from the store-room. +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Hart and uncle were always warm friends, although Mr. Hart left for +Europe soon after completing this bust, where he has since remained, +with the exception of a flying visit to America about twelve years ago. +Uncle speaks of visiting his studio in 1851, in these words ("Glances +at Europe," page 217): +</P> + +<P> +"I saw something of three younger sculptors now studying and working at +Florence—Hart of Kentucky, Galt of Virginia, and Rogers of New York. +I believe all are preparing to do credit to their country. Hart has +been hindered by a loss of the models at sea from proceeding with the +statue of Henry Clay, which he is commissioned by the ladies of +Virginia to fashion and construct; but he is wisely devoting much of +his time to careful study, and to the modelling of the ideal, before +proceeding to commit himself irrevocably by the great work which must +fix his position among sculptors, and make or mar his destiny. I have +great confidence that what he has already carefully and excellently +done is but a foretaste of what he is yet to achieve." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap11"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XI. +</H3> + + +<P CLASS="contents"> +The Fourth of July—A Quaker Celebration—The House in the Woods—Mrs. +Greeley's Life there—Pickie—Mary Inez—Raffie—Childhood of Ida and +Gabrielle—Heroism of Mrs. Greeley—The Riots of 1863—Mrs. Greeley +defends her House against the Mob. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +<i>July 5</i>. +</P> + +<P> +Yesterday was the pleasantest Fourth I ever experienced in America. +Last year at this time I was upon the Catskill Mountains, and was +aroused at an unearthly hour by the discharge of a cannon, whose +reverberation was something appalling, and made me doubt if I was not +shot. The hotel was graced with the presence of some thirty or forty +children, whose fond parents had invested largely in fire-crackers and +toy cannon for them, and no place upon the grounds, it seemed, was so +favorable for the ebullition of youthful patriotism as the spot +directly under my window. Consequently, as I was already weak from the +effect of a prolonged attack of nervous fever, I was before nightfall +in a state akin to distraction, and filled with anything but patriotic +sentiments. I could not then but think with regret of a previous +Fourth spent upon the steamship <I>St. Laurent</I>, where fire-crackers were +tabooed, and the celebration consisted entirely of a magnificent +dinner, and speeches—during the latter I made my escape to the deck. +</P> + +<P> +This year was pleasanter still. I do not know if the Chappaqua people +are less patriotic than other citizens of the Union, but our nerves +were only disturbed by the occasional popping of a fire-cracker in the +garden of our neighbor, the train-master over the way; and when we +strayed off to the Glen after dinner, we were as free from disturbing +noise as though our country had not been born ninety-seven years ago. +But although noisy demonstrations do not seem the fashion here (perhaps +owing to the predominance of Quakers in the neighborhood), the dormant +enthusiasm of the people for the Fourth was aroused at sundown, when a +mass meeting was held at the tavern, or "Chappaqua Hotel" as it is +grandly styled, and lengthy and energetic speeches were delivered. +From our piazza we could hear the orators' voices ascending to a very +high key as they warmed with their topic, and quite congratulated +ourselves that we were not obliged to be of the audience. +</P> + +<P> +After dark there was a small display of Roman candles and sky-rockets; +and so ended the glorious Fourth. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +<I>July 6</I>. +</P> + +<P> +I have again dreamed away an entire morning upon the piazza of the +house in the woods—to me the stillest, sweetest spot in the world. I +have described this dear old house and its romantic surroundings again +and again since I have been here this summer. I can scarcely turn over +half a dozen leaves of my journal without finding some allusion to it; +but it is a subject possessing such fascination for me that I must +again revert to it. I like to pass a quiet hour upon the steps of the +piazza, or upon the large moss-grown boulder in front of the house +where Ida, Raphael, and Gabrielle have all played; and while my fingers +are busily employed with some fanciful design wrought with gold thread +or emerald-green silk, +<BR><BR> + "My thoughts wander on at their own sweet will,";<BR> +<BR><BR> +oftenest returning, however, to Aunt Mary's life here in the woods with +her little children. A lonely, comfortless life many women would have +deemed it, so entirely shut in as she was from the outer world; and to +any one less self-reliant and self-sustained than Aunt Mary it would +have been so. For that there were discomforts in her country life I do +not doubt, although they were much lessened by uncle's easy +circumstances; and the house itself was finished off with all the city +improvements and conveniences practicable to introduce into a building +of its size and situation. Still, the house was distant from good +markets, and the trees encircled it so closely that the sun's rays did +not penetrate the rooms until ten o'clock; but Aunt Mary loved her +trees as though they were human, and at that time would not allow one +to be cut down, notwithstanding the dampness that they created. An +idle woman would have regretted the distance at which the house stood +from the public road, as no distraction ensued from looking out of the +windows; and a timid or nervous one would have dreaded the long nights +in that solitary house when uncle was in the city or absent upon +lecturing tours, and no neighbor was within calling distance in case of +danger. +</P> + +<P> +Occasionally, too, Aunt Mary would be left without servants, for all +American ladies know how difficult it is to retain them in the country, +especially in so small and lonely a place as Chappaqua was then, and +although she frequently had some friend making her long visits of +months, still there were days when she would be alone with only the sad +memory of her buried darlings, her splendid Pickie, the pride and hope +of both parents, and sweet little Mary Inez, and her two living +children, too young to be very companionable. +</P> + +<P> +Raphael, mamma says, was a beautiful boy, although not perhaps so +noticeable as Pickie, for he had not his brilliant color, and his hair, +too, was not so dazzling in shade, but very much like his father's. +His features, however, were quite as finely cut as those of his much +admired brother, and his temperament was gentle and loving. Ida +cherishes very tender memories of him, for he was the only brother whom +she knew, and her constant playfellow before Gabrielle's birth. There +were seven years difference in the ages of the brothers. Pickie died +at five, of cholera; and Raffie at seven years old, of croup. +</P> + +<P> +But although Aunt Mary had such sad memories in the past, she had two +beautiful children left to her, and for them she lived this life of +seclusion at Chappaqua, remaining here six months of every year that +they might acquire a fine physical development from walking, driving, +and riding in the pure country air. Ida has often told me of the wild +games of play she used to have when a child with Osceola, a little +Indian boy, and dwelt especially upon her prowess in racing down hill +in emulation of him. The parents of this boy then occupied the +roadside house, which did not at that time belong to uncle. +</P> + +<P> +Gabrielle's stories are different. She loved to ride the unbroken +colts, and tend her menagerie in the play-house. She has, too, much to +tell about the way her mother used to train her to be as fearless in +case of fire or thieves as she was when seated upon a bare-backed +horse, and often she has made me smile, though fully recognizing the +wisdom of Aunt Mary's lessons, when telling me how she was obliged to +rehearse imaginary escapes from fire or midnight attacks. +</P> + +<P> +Besides a devoted love for her children, a passion for the beautiful in +Nature, and fondness for solitude and books, or the companionship of +some one person of congenial tastes and highly cultured mind, Aunt Mary +possessed a fund of moral strength and heroism that one might indeed +read in the flash of her black eyes, but which a casual observer would +think incompatible with her frail figure. It was, however, many times +severely tested during uncle's absence when she had no male protector +to whom to look for assistance: but then she proved all-sufficient in +herself. At one time a number of workmen were employed upon the +place—rough, sullen creatures—who used to come to her to receive +their pay; and knowing her, a delicate, sickly woman, to be there +alone, they would often clamor for more wages than they were entitled +to receive, but never could they frighten her into granting it, for +though generous and charitable, nothing was more repugnant to her +feelings than an attempt to take an unfair advantage of her. +</P> + +<P> +Upon one occasion, a man with whom she had had some business +transactions came to claim a payment that was not due him. Aunt Mary +explained to him that he was not entitled to it, and refused to see him +again. He returned another day, and she would not allow the door to be +opened. He then remained outside pulling the bell and thumping for +admittance. Aunt Mary spoke to him from the balcony above, and +requested him to leave. He vowed he would not stir without his money, +and tried to coerce her by the most frightful threats and oaths. "When +his imprecations were at their highest, Aunt Mary descended, and +throwing open the door, told him to come in; then turning to Gabrielle, +who stood beside her, said: +</P> + +<P> +"Go upstairs and fetch my pistol off from the bureau." +</P> + +<P> +Upon hearing these words the man left very quickly, and never returned +again to annoy her. In relating this incident to me, Gabrielle said: +</P> + +<P> +"Of course I knew perfectly well that I would find no pistol upon the +bureau, but I had been too well trained by mamma to show the slightest +surprise, and promptly went upstairs in quest of imaginary firearms." +</P> + +<P> +But this exhibition of cool courage paled in contrast with the true +heroism of Aunt Mary displayed at the time of the terrible anti-draft +riots in July, 1863. Living in the retirement of the woods, she was +not in the habit of going down to the village or associating with the +neighbors; consequently, she was rarely informed upon the local news. +She wondered that no letters or papers had arrived for a day or two, +but merely supposing that some accident upon the road had delayed the +mails, she went about her ordinary occupations, perfectly unconscious +of the peril she was in. Finally, Mr. Quinby, a Quaker neighbor, came +to the house by a long circuit, and informed her that a mob of about +three hundred men, who had collected from Sing Sing and other parts of +the country, were drinking at the tavern, and threatening to sack +"Greeley's house," and hang the family to the nearest trees. It was at +the risk of his life that Mr. Quinby had come to warn Aunt Mary, and he +implored her to escape as quickly as possible, and offered to conceal +her and the children in his house. +</P> + +<P> +Aunt Mary did not shriek or fall down in a fainting fit upon learning +that hundreds of desperate men were threatening her life. Although she +had been very ill and was still weak, perfectly cool and collected, she +considered what was best to be done. Her husband was in New York, and +of the dozen or so Irish laborers employed upon the place, two or three +had already been seen drinking amicably with the rioters, and the +others, as well as the Irish servant, she feared to trust Clark, the +overseer, a very competent Englishman, was an excellent shot; but what +could one man do against three hundred? As for saving herself by +deserting her house, Aunt Mary scorned to do it; but immediately +devised a plan that reminds one of the heroism of a Dame Châtelaine of +the Middle Ages. +</P> + +<P> +First of all, the valuables were to be moved, but without exciting the +suspicions of the servant or workmen, as they might inform the rioters. +The men were accordingly sent off to a distant part of the farm to +work, and the maid kept busy, while twelve trunks were lowered into a +wagon standing at the back of the house. Mr. Quinby immediately +covered them with hay, and drove to his own house, where he stored them +until the trouble should be over, and then sent his son back to help +the family. +</P> + +<P> +To Gabrielle's surprise, her mother and Ida now appeared in very +voluminous and housewifely looking aprons, and were constantly going up +and down stairs. At last an untimely draught blew Aunt Mary's apron +aside, and Gabrielle, who had not been informed of the danger, caught a +glimpse of the picture of the Archangel Gabriel. All of the pictures +and pieces of sculpture were then removed to a little hut in the +orchard near the stables, built in the side of a hillock, half under +ground, and quite overgrown by vines; and when both pictures and the +precious books were safely out of the house Aunt Mary felt that she +could breathe. By that time Clark had returned from Sing Sing, where +he had purchased a large amount of gunpowder by Aunt Mary's direction. +This he arranged in a train from the house to a distant point, and the +preparations were then completed. When the rioters should come Aunt +Mary was to speak to them from the balcony and warn them to go away, +and in the meantime Mr. Quinby and Clark were to take the children out +of the house by the back window, which was but a step to the top of a +low woodshed, from which they could easily get to the ground. Then, +while the rioters were storming the barricaded doors, Aunt Mary was to +make her escape, and when she and the children were at a safe distance +a match was to be applied to the gunpowder, blowing up alike house and +rioters. +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Quinby, being a Quaker, had looked on reluctantly while the mine +was being laid, and when he had done all he could to help Aunt Mary, he +returned to the tavern to see the state of affairs there. He found the +mob still drinking, and uttering horrible threats against the family. +His conscience then obliged him to give the wretches a hint of the doom +that awaited them, ending with these words: +</P> + +<P> +"Heed my warning, my brethren; Horace Greeley is a peace man, but Mary +Greeley <I>will</I> fight to the last!" +</P> + +<P> +After dark, the rioters came to the gates and howled, and uttered +threats, but dared not approach very close to the fortress armed by a +sick woman and two children; and when weary of exercising their lungs +went peacefully away. Meantime, Aunt Mary, being fatigued by the +exertions of the day, laid down, Ida said, when everything was in +readiness to meet the rioters, and slept peacefully till morning. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap12"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XII. +</H3> + + +<P CLASS="contents"> +Pen Portraits—Lela—Majoli—Guerrabella and Celina—Their +Characteristics. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +<I>July 8</I>. +</P> + +<P> +While looking over a box of old letters and newspapers this morning I +came across a little sketch descriptive of our quartette, written last +winter for a New York journal. This sketch, or "Pen Portraits," as it +was styled, veils our identity under fictitious names, the initials +only being preserved, and although it passes over our imperfections and +very much exaggerates our accomplishments, still it contains, I think, +so much that is characteristic that I will preserve it by copying it +into my journal. The writer commenced with a description of mamma's +room in Cottage Place, and dwelt particularly upon a picture of uncle +hanging over the mantelpiece, but that portion of the sketch has been +torn off and lost. +</P> + +<P> +…… "But let us regard the <I>living</I> pictures. You see that +youthful group! A group to inspire a poet or painter! They are +four—they are cousins. Two are orphans; you see a resemblance to the +face in the frame wreathed in <I>immortelles</I>. We will first observe +those two that sit with arms entwined, smiling up into each other's +eyes. It is the gentle Lela[1] and her cousin Majoli, <I>belle</I> Majoli +we may call her. These cousins are nigh the same age, and their hearts +beat in sweet accord. And there is a certain likeness, spiritual more +than physical—for Majoli is taller and slighter, and fairer, too, if +we reckon by the hue of the hair and color of the eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"Lela has soft, soliciting, brown eyes; Majoli is azure-eyed, laughing +or languid according to her varying mood. Lela's face is pale as +moonbeams; filial solicitude and divine sorrow have left their +chastening impression upon her exquisite lineaments. Her countenance +is Madonna-like in purity, ingenuousness, and self-abnegation. +</P> + +<P> +"Majoli's delicate features are untouched by pain or care, and though +her spiritual countenance is often tinged with melancholy, no harsh +experience has traced those pensive lines. 'Tis but the soul's +limning—a musical nature is hers, emotional and imaginative. +</P> + +<P> +"Lela's head is large, though not unfeminine, and the magnificent +wealth of tawny-colored hair reminds one of Guercino's Holy Magdalen. +She has pretty, modest ways of looking down under those pale, drooping +lids with her calm, confiding eyes, and if the mouth is somewhat large, +the teeth are white and even, and the lips are coral-tinted. The nose +is straight and slender, and suggests the chisel of Phidias, and from +the expansive brow we infer a broad culture and comprehensive +understanding. It is the seat of Philosophy, as well as the throne of +the Muses. +</P> + +<P> +"Majoli's head is smaller than Lela's, but its pose is aristocratic and +graceful. The blonde hair is artistically coiffed, and though the +features are not strikingly regular, there is sympathy and great +sweetness in the face, and art and refinement are expressed even by the +slim, pale hands. An airy, lithesome figure she has, and the beat of +her footfall is cadenced to the measure of joyous music. Frail she +seems compared with Lela's well-rounded figure, but if she has not +equal strength, she has elasticity; and if more energy and power is +indicated by the physiognomy of Lela, Majoli has ambition and judgment +to compensate. +</P> + +<P> +"We have compared Lela's face to the rich portraiture of Guercino; +Majoli's suggests the pencil of that famous old Spanish master, Ribera, +whose pictures of women were always a blending of the elegance of a +court lady with the simplicity and <I>naïveté</I> of a church devotee. Half +belle, half <I>religieuse</I> we may style her. +</P> + +<P> +"And on what have these dainty minds been nurtured, and who have been +their intellectual mentors? Lela has been bred within a cloister's +walls, and foreign travel has polished both mind and manners. +</P> + +<P> +"In no school has Majoli's mind been formed, nor is she greatly +indebted to learned professors for her mental attainments. A mother's +love has quickened the budding intellect, a mother's intelligence has +trained and directed the unfolding powers. The grace of foreign speech +is on her tongue, and scenes and pictures of distant lands are +enshrined in her memory. Ancient lore has for her a peculiar charm; +history is her delight; Plutarch, Josephus, Gibbon, Macaulay, she has +conned well. Poesy she loves much. The poetry of the Bible, Dante, +Schiller, Herbert, Browning, are her favorites. In sacred books she +finds sweet enjoyment. The Fathers of the Church afford her great +pleasure; St. Augustine, St. Basil, Thomas à Kempis, etc. She has the +grace of devotion, but her love of the Church is affected more by its +aesthetical qualities than its theological dogmas. +</P> + +<P> +"Lela is a passionate book-lover. There are few modern writers that +have not furnished entertainment to her accomplished mind, and she is +not unacquainted with the best Latin and Greek authors. English, +German, and French literature are alike open to her. Biography, +essays, dramas, poetry, with more serious reading, occupy her time. +Virgil and Horace, Bacon, Shakespeare, Racine, Victor Hugo, Heine and +George Eliot may be mentioned as among her preferences. +</P> + +<P> +"But while we are attempting to portray some noticeable characteristics +in Lela and Majoli, how are Celina and Guerrabella occupied? You see +Guerrabella has a pencil in her hand. She is sketching a head; if we +look closely, we shall probably recognize our own, grotesquely drawn, +for there is no denying that our young genius is fond of caricaturing +her friends. Celina sits by a table; her large, open eyes have a +distant, dreamy expression. Her pen moves rapidly across the page; she +is writing a Musical Recollection, we may presume. +</P> + +<P> +"Guerrabella is the youngest of the group. She is tall, picturesque, +imposing. Her face is radiant with blushes, dimples, and smiles. She +looks so fresh and beautiful that she might have set for Greuze's +picture of 'Sweet Sixteen.' A sense of thorough enjoyment flashes from +the bright, blue-gray eyes, and is indicated by the rose-bloom on cheek +and lips. There is an air of strength and courage perceptible, and a +certain dash in her manner that associates her with Scott's favorite +heroine, Di Vernon. She has great mimic powers, and might adorn the +histrionic stage. Towards art and literature she seems equally +attracted, and what she will eventually decide to follow we cannot now +predict. She will fail in nothing for want of talent. +</P> + +<P> +"Celina's height scarce reaches to Guerrabella's shoulder; her figure +is fragile and dainty; and though her cheek lacks bloom, the lines are +soft and graceful, and the face pensive and poetic. The mouth is small +and well curved, and the air of repose that rests upon the imaginative +brow resembles the Muse of Meditation. The serenity that is uniformly +spread over her unique countenance is in strong contrast to the +animated, vivacious features of her cousin. Celina's head is fashioned +after a classic model, and the mass of amber-hued hair which crowns it +might be taken for an aureola. Her pansy-like eyes are full of sweet, +poetic vision. The brow is marked by delicately defined eyebrows, and +the eyelashes are long and silken. 'Tis a melodic countenance, +foreshadowing that dream-world from which our young heroine has never +for a moment awakened. Too <I>petite</I>, some might deem her, for womanly +perfection; but physical symmetry, ease, and a dignified bearing +elevate the fairy figure to the true standard. She moves about with an +airy grace, and nothing earthly is lighter than her footfall. Her +small, delicate hands grace the keyboard, and music in her has an +enchanting interpreter. +</P> + +<P> +"Guerrabella participates in the family passion for literature. She +possesses great intellectual independence, and her preferences are +decided, usually inclining to the bold and strong. She is fond of +Macaulay's 'Heroic Lays of Many Lands;' she rejoices in Becky Sharp; +and there is a tradition that she learned to read in the works of +Thackeray, spelling out the words of that magnificent novel, Henry +Esmond. +</P> + +<P> +"Celina has explored the treasures of classic lore in music and +literature. Homer, Herodotus, Plato, she has read, with Tasso and his +chivalrous lays, and Spenser and his stately verse. In music, Glück +and Grétry, Beethoven and Boieldieu's dulcet tones have helped to +fashion her musical mind. +</P> + +<P> +"But we must not dismiss our heroines without indicating the toilettes +that most become them. Velvets and rich brocade befit the Lady Lela's +superb figure. Scarlet is her color, and diamonds her essential +ornament. The moss-rose should be her favorite flower. +</P> + +<P> +"Soft gray or pale azure of light fabrics do best agree with Majoli's +sylph-like form. Pearls and feathers are consonant to her artistic +taste. Her emblematic flower is the lily, of sacred and legendary lore. +</P> + +<P> +"All shades and fabrics of whatever texture harmonize with +Guerrabella's style. Ample should be the folds that habit her majestic +figure, and brilliant the gems that are to rival her flashing, +sparkling eyes: yet we might indicate <I>couleur de rose</I> as best +blending with her own exquisite tints, and the opal with its mysterious +light as in some way prefiguring her genius and high destiny. +</P> + +<P> +"And how shall we vest our <I>mignonne</I>—Celina? Gossamer tissues, +fabrics of airy texture—a magic web for the daintiest Lady in our +Land. No color of human invention; their dyes would oppress her. +<I>White</I> with a gleam of moonlight upon it; a reflection of the aura of +her hair, or the first pale beams of the morning. Other gems would I +not but those wondrous starlike eyes, to light up a face radiant with +thought and sensibility." +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +[1] For Lilian, Ida's second name. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap13"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XIII. +</H3> + + +<P CLASS="contents"> +Biography of Mr. Greeley—Gabrielle's Questions—Mrs. Cleveland's +Corrections—The Boy Horace not Gawky, Clownish, or a Tow-head—His +Parents not in Abject Want—Mr. Greeley's Letter about his Former +Playmates—Young Horace and his Girl Friends—He Corrects their Grammar +and Lectures them upon Hygiene—He disapproves of Corsets. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +<I>July 10</I>. +</P> + +<P> +"Auntie, is it possible," said Gabrielle, indignantly running into +mamma's room with an open volume in her hand, "that papa was as homely +and awkward when a boy and young man as this writer describes him? +'Tow-head,' 'gawky,' 'plain,' and 'clownish,' are some of the most +uncomplimentary epithets applied to him. He is described as having +'white hair with a tinge of orange at the ends,' and as 'eating as if +for a wager;' while grandpapa, the writer says, was so poor that papa +had to walk barefooted over the thistles, without a jacket, and in +trousers cut with an utter disregard of elegance or fit, and it was +remarked that they were <I>always</I> short in the legs, while one was +invariably shorter than the other. Was it possible that grandpapa +could not afford an inch more of cloth to make poor papa's trousers of +equal length, and was it true that papa never had but two shirts at a +time until he came to New York, and that he never had any gloves? When +he was an apprentice in Portland every one used to pity him, Mr. ——— +says, as he walked shivering to the <I>Spectator</I> office on cold winter +days, thinly clad, and with his gloveless hands thrust into his pockets +to protect them from being frost-bitten!" +</P> + +<P> +"My child, you overwhelm me with your questions," said mamma. "Let me +take them singly, and I will do my best to refute this writer's +unpleasant statements. +</P> + +<P> +"First as to personal appearance. You say he styles your papa 'plain' +as a boy. That is absurd, for his features, like mother's, were as +perfect as a piece of Grecian sculpture. 'Tow-head' is also a +mis-statement. Brother's hair never was at any time tow-color, and the +tinge of orange at the ends existed only in the author's imagination. +Tow-color, you know, is a sort of dirty white or gray; whereas +brother's hair, until he was thirty years old, was like Raffie's, pure +white. After that time, it commenced to change to a pale gold-color, +which never, however, deepened into orange. What was your next +question, my dear?" +</P> + +<P> +"About papa's wardrobe," said Gabrielle, her cheeks still flushed with +excitement; "were you indeed so miserably poor, auntie?" +</P> + +<P> +"We were certainly very poor after father failed," said mamma firmly, +"but we were by no means reduced to abjectness. I can never remember +the time, in our poorest days, when the boys had not, besides their +brown linen work-day shirts, cotton shirts for Sunday, and father his +'fine shirt' to wear to church and for visiting. Your papa was dressed +suitably for our station in life—neither better nor worse than the +sons of neighbors in our circumstances. As for going barefoot, all +country boys at that time did so during the summer months; your papa +was not an exception. +</P> + +<P> +"You speak of his gloveless hands. I never saw a pair of kid gloves +worn by farmers while we lived in Vermont or Pennsylvania; and +certainly they would have been very inappropriate for a boy-farmer or a +printer's apprentice to wear; but brother was always, both at home and +at Poultney, supplied with warm woollen mittens of mother's knitting. +As for the cut of his trousers, I am surprised that any sensible author +should use so unfit a word as 'elegance' in speaking of a poor farmer's +clothing. I told you the other day that our wardrobe for every-day +wear was spun, woven, and made by mother, and it is not to be expected +that home-made coats and trousers should have the cut of a fashionable +New York tailor; but they were, at all events, warm and comfortable. +That brother's trousers were always short, and especially in one leg, +is an absurd fabrication. The story may perhaps have risen from some +one who remembers his lameness in Poultney, when he acquired the habit +of dragging one leg a little after the other, and that style of walking +may have apparently shortened one of the trouser legs. Have you +anything else to ask, little one?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, auntie," said Gabrielle, smiling at mamma's methodical way of +answering: "was papa an awkward boy, and did he eat vulgarly?" +</P> + +<P> +"I have told you, dear," mamma replied, "how we were brought up. I +never saw your papa eat ravenously while he was at home; for father was +a despot at table, and any appearance of gluttony would have been +quickly checked by the dreaded descent of his fork upon the table. I +think it probable that later in life, when your papa became a +distinguished man, and every moment was of value, that he did eat +quicker than was consistent with the laws of etiquette, but not when he +was a boy. +</P> + +<P> +"As for his awkwardness, I can readily imagine that a boy so intensely +preoccupied would not appear in so favorable a light to strangers as +one who should seek the society of people rather than books, and a +superficial observer might have mistaken his air of abstraction for +rustic bashfulness. You know that he was always absorbed in a book +from the time he was three years old. Father would often send him to +do an errand—to fetch wood or the like; he would start very +obediently, but with his eyes upon his book, and by the time he had +reached the door he would have completely forgotten everything outside +the page he was reading, and it was necessary to send some one after +him to remind him of his errand. He certainly was very unlike +every-day boys, not only in appearance, but in habits and moral +qualities. Never did I hear a coarse or profane word pass his lips; +the purity of his soul was radiant in his beautiful modest countenance; +while his slender, boyish figure, with the ponderous white head poised +upon his long, slim neck, always reminded me of a lovely, swaying lily." +</P> + +<P> +"I have seen recently in some book," said Marguerite, "that uncle was +never at his ease in polite society. This I think very absurd. To be +sure he had not the manners of a dancing-master, but—" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," interrupted mamma; "this statement is another of the usual +exaggerations current about brother. As you say, he had not the +manners of a dancing-master, and when importuned and annoyed by shallow +people, may often have been abrupt with them; but when in society, I +have always seen his company as much or more courted than that of any +other person present, and have never known him to shrink or be +embarrassed in the presence of people of distinction or rank. Few men +have, I think, been more misrepresented, though often with the kindest +intentions, than my dear brother." +</P> + +<P> +"You spoke of papa's lameness while at Poultney, Aunt Esther," said +Ida, looking up from a letter that she was reading; "pray how did he +become lame? Was it serious? I do not remember hearing him mention +it." +</P> + +<P> +"It occurred, I believe, in this way," said mamma. "Whilst your papa +was in the <I>Spectator</I> office, he chanced one day to step upon a rough +box, which turned over, and hitting him upon the leg, inflicted a cut +below his knee. At first, brother thought it a mere scratch not worth +noticing; but when he subsequently took cold in it, he found it very +troublesome, and although he then consulted several medical men, they +were unable to cure it, I do not remember hearing that he was ever +confined to the house with it—probably because he could not afford to +give up his work long enough to have it properly treated; but for two +or perhaps three years he limped to and from the office. When he went +subsequently to Erie, Pennsylvania, to work as a journeyman printer, +the wound, which had partially healed, had again opened, and was very +painful. Some old woman residing there, however, gave him a simple +remedy which soon cured it permanently." +</P> + +<P> +"From whom is the letter that you are reading, Ida?" inquired +Gabrielle, putting up her father's biography in a bookcase; "does it +contain a request for a loan of $500, or is it an offer of a home in a +Christian family?" +</P> + +<P> +"Neither, for once," answered Ida. "It is from <I>The Tribune</I> office, +and contains a slip cut from the Omaha <I>Bee</I>, headed, 'Horace Greeley +upon Girls.' It appears that a lady, Miss Hewes, who did not know papa +personally, wrote to him to ask if he recollected his first +school-house, and a former playmate of his, named Reuben Nichols, whose +acquaintance Miss Hewes had just made. Here is papa's answer, dated +Washington, 1856. Let me read it to you, Aunt Esther, and tell me if +you think it is genuine." +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +"'MISS HEWES:—As I do not know you, and am little interested in any +but a part of your letter, you will allow me, in my terrible +hurry—having two days' work that ought to be done to-day, while I must +leave at evening for a journey to our Pittsburg Convention—to speak +only of that. +</P> + +<P> +"'I very well remember the red school-house in which I first began to +learn (the paint was worn off long since, and it was very far from red +when I last saw it); I remember the Nichols children, who lived, just +below the school-house, in a large house. But I was very young then, +and I do not make out a clear mental picture of Reuben Nichols. I +think he must have been considerably older than I. But I recollect one +Aseneth Nichols, one of two girls not much older than I, whom I thought +very pretty, so that while I was a very good speller, and so one of the +two at the head of the first class in spelling, who were entitled to +"choose sides" for a spelling match; I used to begin by choosing these +two pretty girls who couldn't spell hokee to save their souls. Well, +this was found not to answer; I knew enough to spell but not to choose +sides; so the <I>rôle</I> had to be altered, and the two next to the one at +the head had the honor of "choosing sides." Ask Mr. Nichols if he had +a sister Aseneth, and if he remembers any such nonsense as this. My +kind regards to him. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +"'Yours, +<BR> +"'HORACE GREELEY.'" +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +"I don't believe," said Gabrielle, "that papa ever wrote that letter." +</P> + +<P> +"It does not sound much like him," rejoined Marguerite, "with the +exception of 'Yours, Horace Greeley'; what do you think, mamma?" +</P> + +<P> +"The letter is characteristic," was mamma's reply; "the style is his, +but there are several words that I have never known him to use; +however, they may have been illegible in the original, and their place +supplied by the printer's ingenuity. I remember hearing father and +mother often speak of Reuben Nichols who lived near grandfather in +Londonderry, and I believe that he had a son named Reuben, and a +daughter named Aseneth, so the letter must be genuine, I suppose." +</P> + +<P> +"Was it true, mamma?" inquired Marguerite, "that uncle was fond of +little girls? You know it has been said of him that he was as a man +quite indifferent to women." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, he was very partial to little girls," was mamma's reply, "when +they were pretty and gentle. Not, however, in the love-making way of +the present precocious generation, but he liked to talk to them, and +relate stories from the books he had read. Perhaps the secret of his +preference lay in the fact that they made more attentive and +sympathetic listeners than his rough boy-friends. +</P> + +<P> +"I told you the other day that at the ball he attended when thirteen +years old, he was the escort of Anne Bush, the prettiest girl in the +village. She was perhaps a year younger than he, and as I remember +her, extremely pretty—a slender figure, cheeks like roses, blue eyes, +dark hair, and very gentle, ladylike ways. She had a sister Sophie, +who was as plain as Anne was pretty; and a wild, mischievous girl, but +my inseparable and dearest companion. +</P> + +<P> +"There were two other girls of whom brother was very fond at that time; +Cornelia Anne Smith and Rebecca Fish. Cornelia Anne was older than the +other girls, about fourteen, I think, and was the fondest of learning +of the trio. I remember that she often used to bring her school-books +to brother when some difficulty had arisen in her lessons, and he would +explain the hard points. I think that he always corresponded with +these girls, and visited them occasionally after they became women, for +you know with what tenacity he clung to his early associations. He has +often spoken to me of Rebecca Fish, who is now Mrs. Whipple, of +Fairhaven. +</P> + +<P> +"You would be amused if I were to tell you how he used to pass the time +that he spent with these three girls. A city-bred boy of thirteen or +fourteen would have been quite capable of arranging an elopement with +the prettiest one, but brother's style of courtship was quite unique; +he used to correct their grammar when they conversed, and gravely +lecture them upon the folly of wearing stays! +</P> + +<P> +"The corsets which so aroused his ire were quite different from those +of the present day. At that time, you must know, the Empire dress, +that you have seen in portraits of the time of the first Napoleon, was +all the fashion; no crinoline, skirts so extremely scant and gored that +they clung to the figure like drapery upon a statue, and waists a +finger and a half in depth, with inch-wide bands instead of sleeves. +This style of dress was very graceful and becoming when worn by a woman +of slender figure, and those who were not thus favored by Nature made +the best of their figures by wearing what was then called 'busks,' or +more popularly 'boards.' The corsets worn in those days did not clasp +in front, but merely laced behind, and inserted in the lining of the +front was the 'busk,' a piece of steel, or (among poorer people) wood +two inches wide, and the depth of the corset. This busk, with the +addition of very tightly drawn lacing-strings, was supposed to give +great symmetry to the figure. No village belle ever liked to own that +she laced tightly, or that she wore a board; as it was a tacit +admission that her figure could not bear unaided the test of the Empire +dress; consequently brother's remarks would be received by his young +friends with an injured air, and a vehement protest against such a +false accusation. Brother would then test their truth by dropping his +handkerchief and requesting them to pick it up; if they 'wore a board,' +stooping would be impossible, or, at all events, very difficult; an +ordeal that would cover them with confusion, when the philosopher of +thirteen years old would resume his moral lecture upon the laws of +hygiene, and the follies of fashion." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap14"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XIV. +</H3> + + +<P CLASS="contents"> +The Morning Mail—A letter to Mrs. Cleveland—Strange Contents—Ida's +Letter Bag—Appeals for Money, for Clothing, and for her Hand—An +Original Letter from a Trapper. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +<I>July 13</I>. +</P> + +<P> +Going to the post-office for the morning mail is, I think, our greatest +daily pleasure. For some reason, we seldom have many letters by our +second mail, the 6.30 P.M. train, but in the morning our box is always +well filled, for we receive regularly the dear daily <I>Tribune</I>, six +weekly journals, and the leading magazines, and as we all have quite a +number of correspondents, we feel deeply aggrieved if our box is not +filled to repletion at least <I>once</I> a day. +</P> + +<P> +Ida, of course, is blessed with the greatest number of letters in the +family, for besides those from her own and her father's friends, +<BR><BR> + "The cry is, still they come!"<BR> +<BR><BR> +in shoals from unknown people of high and low degree, sometimes +containing merely poems, or expressions of sympathy and interest in the +sad history of our beautiful cousin, but varied occasionally by some of +the extraordinary appeals for help which I have already mentioned. +</P> + +<P> +This morning I went down to the office when the mail came in. There +was the usual number of expectant faces—Miss Murray and Miss Cox in +their carriages, and our more rural neighbors standing about the +pigeon-hole; however, every one makes way for us in Chappaqua, and I +approached nearer, and asked for our letters. A very rough-looking man +standing near by, looked on with interest while the postmaster handed +out letter after letter, and finally said: +</P> + +<P> +"You belong to the family, do you not?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," I said, for I always answer the rustic salutations of the people +about here, knowing them to have had a sort of feudal attachment to +uncle. +</P> + +<P> +"I thought a great deal of the old gentleman," he said with a rude +pathos in his voice that was very touching. "I used to see him very +often, for I live in these parts, and he always used to say +good-morning so pleasant, and was never ashamed to shake my dirty, hard +hand!" +</P> + +<P> +This reminds me of a little incident that mamma related yesterday. She +was standing upon the balcony when an old gentleman who was driving +past, seeing mamma, stopped his horses, looked up and bowed, hesitated, +and then said: +</P> + +<P> +"Excuse me, but is thee the sister of Horace Greeley that was?" +</P> + +<P> +Mamma assented. +</P> + +<P> +"I thought so," he said, "I saw it in thy countenance." +</P> + +<P> +He then told mamma his name, and, after making a few remarks about +uncle that showed thoroughly good feeling, drove on. +</P> + +<P> +It is not uncommon for those driving past to slacken their horses and +gaze earnestly at the house, and, if any of us are upon the piazza or +at the windows, they always bow—a mark of respect that is also shown +us by all the farmers and working people about here. +</P> + +<P> +But I am forgetting Ida's letters. I brought her this morning as many +as six or eight, some of which were put up in yellow-brown envelopes, +and directed in very questionable chirography. In a few moments she +knocked at mamma's door and said, +</P> + +<P> +"I have brought you a few letters from some of my extraordinary +correspondents, Aunt Esther." +</P> + +<P> +"We will compare notes, my dear," said mamma, looking up from a +rose-colored sheet embellished with decidedly scrawly writing. "I have +just received one that is quite astounding." +</P> + +<P> +"From Tennessee," said Ida, looking at the postmark. "I know the +writing; that man has sent me as many as half a dozen letters, wishing +to enter into correspondence. I suppose that finding me so +unresponsive he thinks he will try another member of the family." +</P> + +<P> +"He comes to the point in a most emphatic manner this time," said +mamma, "by asking me for your hand; and as the letter is really a +curiosity in a literary point of view, I will read it to you." [1] +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +"NASHVILLE, TENN. +</P> + +<P> +"MRS. JOHN F. CLEVELAND:—I reckon I am one of the spoilt children of +the South, similar to what Mr. Greeley says of South Carolina. I want +to Marry Miss Ida, because she is the daughter of the most powerful Man +that has yet appeared on the American Continent. Mr. Greeley turned +four millions of slaves loose with the Pen can't I win his daughter +with the same facile weapon? Now Mrs. Cleveland won't you help me? I +am not a Humbug, I have too many bullet holes through my body to be +classed with that tribe of insects. I begin to feel a little skittish +about my age, 35 and not yet Married. Yet I have always been rather a +fatalist and incline to Worship some star. The Greeks Worshiped the +sun, And moon under the Name of Isis and Osiris, but I am more like the +Arab look to the stars for something sublime and unchanging among all +the bright lights that hang and move in the firmament. The North Star +Appears to be the most important. The Axis on which our Earth daily +turns. The point from which all Mariners calculate their course in mid +ocean, and safely guides Them from continent to continent. Without the +North Star there would be no Magnetic Meridian by which Governments +could be surveyed and divided equitably to its inhabitants and +civilization would lose its strong hold in being based on Justice. If +there is any South Star that plays such an important part on this +continent or Europe I have never heard of it. Miss Ida is the North +Star made so by the fact her father was the great center around Which +The whole country swung. And As she is the oldest the crown of +greatness ought to rest on her head. And if she will Marry Me I will +do as hard fighting as Caesar did to put it there. With great respects +yours Truly +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +"——— ———." +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +This letter would have excited more astonishment than it did, had it +not been only a fair specimen of what Ida has been daily receiving +since her father's death. She then read us one from Indiana, addressed +to herself, and written, as the newspapers would say, with a view to +matrimony, but couched in quite a business-like strain: +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +"MISS IDA GREELEY: +</P> + +<P> +"May I not surprise you by the fact that I desire an acquaintance with +you. I send you my photograph (which however is too light to be +perfect), hoping yours in return. If answered, I in my next will give +my age and history generally. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +"Yours truly +<BR> +"——— ———." +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +Another was from a widow with a son at college, who was very badly in +debt. The mother appealed to Ida as a lady of fortune and generosity, +and the only person to whom they could look for aid, to pay the son's +debts, "And," Ida added with mock indignation, "she does not even +promise that I shall be ultimately rewarded with the young man's hand." +</P> + +<P> +A third was dated Illinois, and bore the sonorous signature of Greeley +Barnum M———. This epistle was extremely prolific, inasmuch as it +gave the occupations, ages, and a personal description of not only the +immediate members of the writer's family, but even extended to cousins +once or twice removed. He had also much to say about his name of +Greeley; sometimes he was proud of it, and sometimes the reverse, +according to the company he was in. Passing over all this prelude, we +discovered that Greeley Barnum M———'s object in writing was to +request a complete outfit for his sister who was about to go to school. +"You are a young Lady, Miss greeley," the writer touchingly said, "and +know everything that my sister would be likely to want." The clothes, +he kindly intimated, could be put up in a box, and sent by express, +prepaid; and having done so, Ida was requested to notify his sister and +also an uncle and aunt at some distant point, that they might not be +distressed by thinking their niece was going to school without a +suitable outfit. +</P> + +<P> +The next letter that Ida took up was from a Kansas man, more modest in +his requests than the others, for he neither asked for her hand nor a +loan, but being anxious for self-improvement, solicited a little +assistance from her in that line. This letter was written in an even, +flowing hand, with very few mis-spelt words. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +"WICHITA, KANSAS. +<BR><BR> +"MISS IDA GREELY: +</P> + +<P> +"Well, here is another fool, will no doubt be the first thought that +will pass through your mind, and it is quite likely that you may in the +main be correct. +</P> + +<P> +"I have a very high regard for all womankind. I have read so much +about your sympathetic nature, I thought perhaps our sympathies might +be mutual in some respects. +</P> + +<P> +"I am always desirous of improving, and have heretofore looked to much +to persons no better qualified than myself to instruct or improve in +correspondence of any kind. Knowing that you are educated and refined +I apply to you as a perfect Gentleman for a small portion of your time +say one half-hour in four weeks as a time set aside to answer any +letter I might write, at same time corract misspell'd words etc. And +do it unreservedly. I am formerly from the east: come west less than +one year ago, have lost my wife, am thirty years old, and like you +without friends. In return for your favor I can write you a +description of this great Arkansas Valley and county beyond, of the +rapid growth of the country etc. which may in part repay you for your +trouble to please one lonely heart far from home. Will not give you +any description of Self or business unless I receive some answer but +will say that I am of good family, in good business, and doing well. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +"With respect +<BR><BR> +"——— ———." +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +"Here is another letter that at all events is short," said Ida, +continuing to read: +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +"MISS GREELEY: +</P> + +<P> +"For some years past your father very kindly gave me assistance during +three months of the year; if you can continue this, it will be a great +charity, as I am very much in need of it. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +"Yours respectfully +<BR><BR> +"——— ———." +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +"Have you not yet exhausted your mail?" enquired Gabrielle. +</P> + +<P> +"No," said Ida, "I have still two or three letters to read to Aunt +Esther. Here is one in which you will be interested, Gabrielle. The +writer calls you familiarly 'Elite': I think he must have read that +very accurate description of you that went the rounds of the papers +last summer, in which you remember you are a shy and shrinking +flaxen-haired fawn. He would be quite surprised, I think, if he could +see what a majestic 'Elite' you are." +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +"ALLEGHANY CO. PENN. +<BR><BR> +"<I>To whom it may concern</I>: +</P> + +<P> +"Know ye that I have had a desire to know more about the Greeley girls +for several months, and that the desire for acquaintance became so +strong after meeting your father and sister a few nights since (while +sleeping) that I concluded to write. +</P> + +<P> +"It seems to be Gabrielle's acquaintance I particularly desire, but she +being young and inexperienced I address you as her natural guardian, +allowing you to dispose of my communication as you think best. +</P> + +<P> +"Being what some folks call an eccentric individual; feeling <I>lonely</I> +in the world, and believing, from what I know of the laws of Hereditary +Descent and your parents that you and your sister must possess the +noblest natures; and believing that no harm but good—<I>at least to +me</I>—can come from our acquaintance, I write to ask a correspondence. +</P> + +<P> +"If you or 'Ellie' feel like sending a reply—well; if not, there shall +be no hard feelings, but it would be a satisfaction to me to know that +my letter had been received. +</P> + +<P> +"Sincerely wishing you and all the world all happiness, I close. +Accept my warmest sympathy in your bereavement, and believe me to be +the friend of Humanity. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +"VICTOR MELVIN. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +"P.S. For reasons not necessary to mention, I write under an assumed +name. <I>Write</I>, PLEASE." +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +The next one was from Chicago, addressed to Miss ida greeley. The +writer said: +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +"I am about to pen you a few lines, hopeing you will not receive them +in a contemptious manner, but rather in a business than a formal way. +</P> + +<P> +"Pleas to put the form of introduction and society regulations aside, +and consider your future happiness, pleasure and welfare only. I am +well aware that you are very much anoid and persecuted, thereby I mean +persistant attentions from undesirable persons; now my obgect at +present is to aid you in a manner that you can soon and forever shut +down on all disagreeable attentions. +</P> + +<P> +"now I would suggest some beautiful locality in California or orogon +there to live a quiet retired life free from former acquaintances and +continnad anoyances. now if you think you could accept my services, +they are honorably tendered and would be kindly and heartily given. +Pleas to inform me at the earliest conveniance. Pleas to not +misinterpret my intentions. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +"yours in sincerity +<BR><BR> +"pleas to +<BR><BR> +"Address ———— ————." +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +After listening to this extraordinary epistle, mamma said dryly: +</P> + +<P> +"I think, my dear, that that is the strangest letter you have yet +received." +</P> + +<P> +"It is nothing, auntie," was the reply, "to one I have in reserve, in +which the writer not only has a request to make, but actually proposes +making me a present; it is <I>not</I>, however, his hand, for a wonder!" +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +"DEERLODGE, MONTANA. +<BR><BR> +"To MISS IDA GREELY: +</P> + +<P> +"Young lady I suppose you will be surprised at receiving a letter from +the frontier, my motive for writing is this. I am a mountaineer—that +is a trapper a good many years ago I met with your father Horace Greely +on the plains, and greatly admired the old gentleman. The way I came +to make his acquaintance is this. A drunken, unruly Cuss seeing that +your father appeared quiet and peaceable thought it safe to play the +bully at his expence so he commenced to insult and threaten Mr. Greely +in a pretty rough manner. Seeing that your father was quiet and +peaceable and did not wish to quarrel with the Cuss I took the Cuss in +hand, and spoiled his beauty for him, and taught him a lesson to mind +his own business. Mr. Greely greatly overated the trifleing service I +had done, he thanked me warmly, he became very friendly with me and +gave me good advice. Among other things he advised me to do was to get +a breach loading rifle instead of my muzlle loading rifle. I laughed +at the idea I supposed my old muzlle loader was the best. Since then I +have found out that Mr. Greely was right and that I was rong. Mr. +Greely at the time offered to purchase one and give it to me I refused +to accept it. He then told me any time I changed my mind to let him +know, and he would send me a good breech loading rifle. I have often +thought about it since, but never wrote to him. My reasons for writing +to you now are these; I and my partner Beaver Bob started down the +Yellow Stone last fall to trap near the Big Horn river. We were pretty +successful and made the Beaver mink martin and other vermin suffer—but +one day we were attaced by a hunting party of 15 or 20 Ogallala Sioux. +In the fight my old partner Beaver bob was wiped out I was wounded but +managed to make my escape and after a pretty hard time reached the +Mission on the head of the Yellow Stone—I mean near the head. I lost +my horses all my outfit in fact almost everything. When my ammunition +was expended—I mean used up—I threw my rifle away and took to the +brush and ran for it—I mean the chance of life. Lately I have heard +that Mr. Greely has handed in his chips—that is passed in his +checks—I mean gone to limbo you know. I'm sorry for the old man but +we must all go some time you know. and now miss what I want to know is +will you instead of your father send me a breech loading rifle. If you +do I shall be much obliged to you and if you don't I hope there is no +harm done. The kind of rifle I want is one of Sharps new improved +shooting rifles with a barrell 36 inches in length and a barrell 16 +pound weight Calibre 44. They are mad in Sharps factory Connetticot in +a place called Hartford. If one was sent to me by Wells and Fargoes +express to Deerlodge city Montana Territory, I should get it. The name +or rather the nickname by which I am known among mountain men is Death +Rifle. The redskins I mean the Indians gave me that name many years in +Dacotah Territtory and it stuck to me ever since. My right name is +Hugh De Lacey so when you wish to adress or direct any thing to me +direct to Hugh De Lacey, Deerlodge City, Montana. Miss Greely a great +many eastern men we remarked seem to think that we mountaineers are to +blame for having trouble with the redskins I can assure you we never +bother the infernal vermin only when they bother us and that is pretty +often for when they get a chance to go for our hair they take it no +more at present I remain +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +"Yours respectfully +<BR><BR> +"HUGH DE LACEY. +</P> + +<P> +"N.B. I have heard you eastern ladies are in the habit of useing a +deal of false hair in your toilets if you choose miss Greely I will +send you a lot of Indians hair any time you want it. I remain yours +respectfully +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +"HUGH DE LACEY." +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +"It reads like a chapter from one of Cooper's novels," said mamma, "and +the romantic name of Hugh De Lacey would be more appropriate to the +handsome young descendant of some old Huguenot refugee family than such +a rough trapper as your correspondent 'Death Rifle;' but the present he +offers you is most singularly inappropriate; no one who had ever seen +your wealth of hair, my child, would think of presenting you with a +chignon;" and as she spoke she loosened and shook out Ida's heavy +clusters of hair, which, released from their orderly Marguerite braids, +swept over her black dress like a tawny mantle. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +[1] I insert this and the subsequent letters precisely as they are +written, merely withholding some of the signatures. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap15"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XV. +</H3> + + +<P CLASS="contents"> +Life in the Woods of Pennsylvania—Journey from Vermont to Pennsylvania +in 1826—Travelling on Canal-boats—Incidents by the Way—Home in the +Wilderness—Aggressions of Bears and Wolves. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +<I>July 14</I>. +</P> + +<P> +"Aunt Esther, in all the stories of your early days that you have told +us, you have not yet described your life in Pennsylvania," said Ida one +evening, when we were gathered about the piano. "Do tell us about it. +You have once or twice merely alluded to living in the woods, and my +curiosity is quite excited. Were they veritable forests? I do not +remember hearing papa say much about them." +</P> + +<P> +Mamma smiled sadly. +</P> + +<P> +"What makes you think of Pennsylvania to-night, my child?" she asked. +</P> + +<P> +"I do not know, auntie," was the reply, "unless perhaps it was hearing +Cecilia sing 'My love is like the red, red rose.' You told me, I +remember, that grandmamma used often to sing that pretty little Scotch +ballad." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, it was one of mother's favorite songs," said mamma. "I can +remember perfectly the way she used to sing it. Not in your English +version, Cecilia, but with Burns' own Scotch words, and in her sweet, +low voice, with a ring of passion that one rarely hears in a +drawing-room at the present day. As Charles Reade says of one of his +heroines, 'She sung the music for the sake of the words, not the words +for the sake of the music—which is something very rare.' +</P> + +<P> +"I am not surprised that you have never heard your papa say much of our +life in Pennsylvania, for you remember that he did not accompany us +there, but only made us occasional visits. Before we left Vermont +father had already apprenticed him, at his earnest desire, to the +publishers of the <I>North American Spectator</I>, at Poultney, and brother +Barnes (who is fifteen months his junior) then took his place in the +household. I think that your papa had been some time in the +<I>Spectator</I> office before our departure for the woods, in September." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," said Marguerite, who always remembers dates; "he was apprenticed +the April before you left, and came over to Westhaven to bid you all +good-by. I remember what he says of the parting in his +'Recollections:' [1] +</P> + +<P> +"'It was a sad parting. We had seen hard times together, and were very +fondly attached to each other. I was urged by some of my kindred to +give up Poultney (where there were some things in the office not +exactly to my mind), and accompany them to their new home, whence, they +urged, I could easily find in its vicinity another and better chance to +learn my chosen trade. I was strongly tempted to comply, but it would +have been bad faith to do so; and I turned my face once more towards +Poultney, with dry eyes but a heavy heart. A word from my mother, at +the critical moment, might have overcome my resolution. But she did +not speak it, and I went my way, leaving the family soon to travel much +farther and in an opposite direction. After the parting was over, and +I well on my way, I was strongly tempted to return; and my walk back to +Poultney (twelve miles) was one of the slowest and saddest of my life.' +</P> + +<P> +"Do commence at the beginning, mamma," Marguerite continued, "and tell +us all about the journey to Pennsylvania, and how your new home looked +when you arrived. How large was the family then? Aunt Margaret was +born in Vermont, was she not?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, and a very pretty little creature she was," said mamma, with a +sister's pride in the youngest of the family. "She was extremely small +for her age—indeed, she weighed only three pounds and a half at her +birth, and I recollect hearing some one say that the nurse put her into +the family coffee-pot and shut down the lid." +</P> + +<P> +"The coffee-pot!" we all exclaimed, in chorus. "Pray how large was it? +Somewhat over the ordinary size, I trust." +</P> + +<P> +Mamma laughed. "Yes, it was larger than coffee-pots of the present +day," she said; "an old-fashioned tin coffee-pot, broad at the bottom +and gradually narrowing towards the top. But still it was +extraordinary that a baby could be put in it, and the lid shut down." +</P> + +<P> +"What induced grandpapa to select Pennsylvania for a residence, Aunt +Esther?" inquired Ida. "Was land cheaper there than elsewhere?" +</P> + +<P> +"You have answered your question yourself, dear," was mamma's reply. +"Land was very cheap there, and through our careful economy in Vermont, +father had saved enough money to buy about two hundred acres, to which +he subsequently added, from time to time, so that the old Greeley +homestead now consists of between three and four hundred acres. Then +two of father's brothers, Uncle Benjamin and Uncle Leonard, had settled +in Wayne township three or four years previous, and, to use your papa's +words, had 'made holes in the tall, dense forest that covered nearly +all that region for twenty to fifty miles in every direction.' Father +went to Pennsylvania in advance of us, bought his land, and then +returned to fetch us to our new home. +</P> + +<P> +"I remember seeing mother weep bitterly when she left Vermont; but, as +ever through her brave life, she made no complaint. As for myself, I +remember no regrets, save at parting with dear brother; for I was too +young to feel other than childish exultation at the prospect of making +a long journey; and that journey from Vermont to our new home upon the +'State line,' between New York and Pennsylvania, I must here remark, +occupied a month. Locomotion, you see, was not so rapid in the year +1826 as it is now." +</P> + +<P> +"I should think not!" exclaimed Gabrielle. "Pray, auntie, in what way +did you travel to advance at such a snail's pace? I should think you +could almost have walked the distance in that length of time." +</P> + +<P> +"You will be amused when I tell you the length of the first day's +journey," replied mamma. "Father hired a large wagon, and stowed away +our trunks, furniture, and all of his family in it, and we went as far +as Whitehall, a distance of about nine miles. Here we stopped over +night, and the next day took the boat for Troy, where we again broke +the journey after travelling, I believe, two days. At that time there +were no regular ferry-boats to cross the river from East to West Troy, +and passengers were taken over in row-boats. I remember that the +boatmen stood by the river-side and called all day and night: +</P> + +<P> +"'Over, over, over, going o-o-o-o-ver!' to attract custom. +</P> + +<P> +"Now came the most delightful part of the journey—going from Troy to +Buffalo upon the canal-boat. There were two different kinds of boats +that went between those cities; the packet-boats, carrying the mails +and passengers but no freight, and the line-boats, which took both +freight and passengers, and were consequently cheaper. These were used +by people like ourselves, who were moving from one part of the country +to the other, with furniture, who wished to economize, and to whom time +was no object; for the packet-boats travelled twice or thrice as +rapidly as the line-boats. +</P> + +<P> +"I think I never enjoyed myself so thoroughly when a child, as at that +time. My sisters and I were much petted by the captain and the +passengers; and the excitement of being on the water, and the constant +change of scene, kept up our spirits to the highest pitch. Margaret, +who was then four years old, was, I remember, an especial favorite on +the boat; for she was extremely pretty, with her fragile, doll-like +figure, her clear complexion, bright blue eyes, and reddish gold curls. +She inherited the family talent for spelling, and was very fond of +displaying her accomplishments in that line; for sister Margaret was a +very self-possessed little creature, and was afraid of no one—not even +of father himself. I recollect that when the boat stopped at any small +town to take on passengers, Margaret's bright eyes would if possible +discover a shop with the sign 'Grocery;' and then, going up to some one +of her new friends, would gravely spell 'G-r-o, gro, c-e, ce, groce, +r-y, ry, grocery;' followed usually by an intimation that a reward of +merit would be acceptable. She was so extremely small for her age, +that her achievement of spelling a three-syllable word was looked upon +as something marvellous by the passengers, and some one would +immediately take her ashore, and buy her some candy or fruit from the +grocery. +</P> + +<P> +"Another incident that impressed itself strongly upon me during this +journey, was eating a peach for the first time. I had never seen a +peach in either New Hampshire or Vermont. +</P> + +<P> +"But, during those long September days that we children spent running +over the boat, and indulging in all sorts of wild mischief, poor mother +had by no means an easy life. It was impossible for her to keep us +together and under her eyes; and what with the fear that we might fall +overboard, or meet with some accident from the bridges, I know that she +only looked forward to the time when the journey should be over, and we +safe on land again." +</P> + +<P> +"The bridges, mamma!" said Marguerite, "to what danger were you exposed +from them?" +</P> + +<P> +"The bridges crossing the canal," explained mamma, "were so extremely +low, that no one upon the boat could stand upright; often the boat +could barely glide under them without grazing the rails of the deck. +The captain used to keep on the lookout, and as we approached one, +would call, 'Bridge ahead.' Then the women and children would rush +down the staircase to the little cabin, and the gentlemen would usually +throw themselves at full length upon the dock until the bridge was +passed. That was always a moment of terrible anxiety for poor mother +if we were out of sight; for accidents and even loss of life had been +known to occur; indeed, on father's previous journey, he witnessed an +accident of a most terrible character. A woman, who was going only a +short distance in the boat, was very much afraid that she would be +taken past the town where she wished to stop, and paid no attention to +the warning to go below as they approached a bridge. The captain, +seeing the danger she was in, seized her by the arm, and thrust her +downstairs. She rushed up, and he again pulled her down. Confident +that she was about to be taken past her destination, the poor woman for +the third time broke away from him, and reached the deck just in time +to be struck by the bridge and instantly killed." +</P> + +<P> +"Frightful!" said Marguerite with a shudder. "Tell us about the rest +of your journey, mamma. How did you travel after you left Buffalo? +Upon Lake Erie, I suppose?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, indeed!" replied mamma, "although there were at that time +steamboats upon the lake; but father had had so terrible an experience +upon his previous journey, that he would not subject his family to the +caprices of Lake Erie. He had started from Buffalo upon a schooner, +but a dreadful storm arose, in which the boat struggled for three days +and was then obliged to put back to Buffalo a complete wreck. Father +declared at that time that he would never expose his family to the +hair-breadth escape from death that he had undergone; consequently, he +hired a strong wagon at Buffalo, and we travelled along what was called +the 'Lake Shore Road' to the town of North East, whence we took a +southern course to Wattsburgh. +</P> + +<P> +"When at Wattsburgh, we were only eight miles distant from our +destination, but as we were now to leave the main road and plunge into +the deep forest, father exchanged his horses and wagon for a heavy +wooden sled and a yoke of oxen. Then we commenced to realize what our +new life was to be. There was no road through the woods, and the only +indication of the route was blazed or marked trees. Huge logs, so high +that the oxen could barely step over them, lay occasionally across our +path, and from time to time we had to stop while father and brother +Barnes hewed down the trees that obstructed the way. We children +thought this pioneer episode even preferable to our experience upon the +boat, but I remember that dear mother sighed often and deeply. +</P> + +<P> +"At the close of the second day, the eight miles were accomplished, and +we reached father's property. He had bought with the land a rough +little log-house, or rather hut, as it had but one room, and in this we +were to live until he could build a better one. At the sight of her +dreary home, mother's heart fairly sunk, and I shall never forget her +tears." +</P> + +<P> +Mamma paused for a moment; then steadying her voice, said: +</P> + +<P> +"I am prouder than ever of my mother when I think how nobly she bore +the separation from her darling son, and her exile from her family, +and, you may almost say, from civilization. She could not, at first, +it is true, restrain her tears, but from that moment never a murmur of +complaint crossed her brave lips, and we children never dreamed, till +years later, how keenly she felt the sacrifice that she had been +compelled to make." +</P> + +<P> +"But were you really so far out of the world, Aunt Esther?" inquired +Ida. "Did you have no neighbors at all? We had two uncles there, I +thought. Surely they must have been some society for grandmamma?" +</P> + +<P> +"I do not believe," mamma replied, "that any other spot upon the globe, +not even Robinson Crusoe's island, could now seem so desolate and shut +off from all communication as our home in the woods did then. You must +remember that there were no railways in 1826, which fact made us still +more remote from the rest of the world. Now, with the railways +spreading in every direction over our vast Republic, you can scarcely +imagine what it was to live with an almost impenetrable forest between +yourself and your nearest neighbor. Uncle Benjamin occupied what was +called the 'next lot,' and had the ground been cleared, the distance +from us would still have been three-quarters of a mile; but when the +distance was increased three-fold by the darkness of the forest, and +there was in addition every probability of meeting a bear or two on the +way, you can imagine that being neighborly was scarcely practicable." +</P> + +<P> +"Bears!" exclaimed Gabrielle, her eyes sparkling with excitement; "how +lovely! Darling auntie, do tell us more about them. It must have been +like one of Captain Mayne Reid's stories, to live in that delightful +Pennsylvania!" +</P> + +<P> +"Our life there," said mamma, "certainly equalled the wildest tales of +adventures experienced by early settlers that I have ever read, and we +children found it quite as 'lovely' as you imagine it to have been. We +never felt isolated, although our entire 'clearing' consisted of only +four acres, upon which our house stood, and any further prospect was +shut out by the woods. To us it was delightful to realize the +adventures of Robinson Crusoe, which, as I told you, brother had read +to us in Vermont, merely changing tropical animals and scenery for that +of the North. I do not remember ever being afraid, but the wolves, who +nightly howled in gangs about our slightly built house, the bears who +ate up the corn in our little patch, the porcupines who gnawed the +hoops off our pork barrels, and the frightful, screaming owls, struck +terror to poor mother's heart. +</P> + +<P> +"I recollect that one night father went out to drive away a porcupine +whose teeth and claws he heard busily at work upon a barrel hoop, but +the creature rushed into the house through the open door, and ran +across the trundle bed where sister Arminda and I slept. I need not +tell you how dangerous it would have been had one of his quills +penetrated our flesh." +</P> + +<P> +"Do go on, auntie; this is delightful," said Gabrielle. +</P> + +<P> +"When father had paid for his land," said mamma, "and bought a yoke of +oxen and a cow—two essential things for a farmer—he had very little, +if any, money left. There was no danger, however, that we should +suffer from want, for the woods were so full of game that father would +take his gun in the morning and go out to shoot something for dinner +with the same confidence that he would have gone to a market to buy it. +Partridges and pigeons in the greatest abundance formed our daily fare, +while the deer used to walk into our corn-patch and almost offer +themselves as targets for father's or brother Barnes' gun. Venison, I +recollect, was so plentiful that a farmer, after shooting a deer, would +only trouble himself to fetch home the hind-quarters and hide—the +latter being marketable. In the spring there were cowslips and other +wood plants in abundance, which made a delicious substitute for +spinach. Tea was very scarce with us, and was kept for Sundays; but +beech nuts, burnt and ground, made a very palatable coffee, that formed +our daily beverage. Butter must have been an unmarketable article, for +I remember that during the first three years we spent there, it sold +for six cents a pound." +</P> + +<P> +"Did you grow anything on the farm to sell, mamma?" I inquired. "I +suppose not, during the first years." +</P> + +<P> +"'No," said mamma; "and if we had, there would have been no market for +it." +</P> + +<P> +"Then what did you do for money, Aunt Esther?" said Ida. "Grandpapa +had very little, you say." +</P> + +<P> +"I must not forget," said mamma, "that we had one marketable +production, and one that you would not easily guess. +</P> + +<P> +"I wonder, Gabrielle, if your favorite chemistry goes back so far into +elementary principles, as to tell you from what black salts are made? +School-books seldom, I think, trouble themselves with the origin of +things, so I will tell you that after the great logs were burnt that +father had felled in clearing, the ashes were collected and leeched, +and the lye boiled down in immense cauldrons till it became granulated +like sugar. It then formed what was called 'black salts,' and these +salts are the basis of potash, soda, etc. The salts could always find +a ready market, and with them we paid our taxes, and bought what +necessaries we could not raise ourselves." +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +[1] Page 62. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap16"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XVI. +</H3> + + +<P CLASS="contents"> +A Birthday—A Surprise—The Day celebrated by a Dinner—An Awkward +Mistake—A Queen of Fashion—A Drive to Tarrytown—A Poem to Ida. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +<I>July 16</I>. +</P> + +<P> +An air of mystery has pervaded the house for the past week. My offers +to take Ida's letters to the post, or to go and fetch home the mail, +have been met with a hasty negative, and Minna despatched forthwith to +attend to them; and whenever I might enter Ida's room, it would appear +to be at a most inopportune moment, for the earnest conversation that +had been going on between herself and Gabrielle would instantly stop, +and their countenances assume a most transparent expression of +indifference. Long whispered conversations with mamma were continually +taking place, and Ida seemed to be more frequently called to the +kitchen by Lina than I had ever before known her to be, that autocrat +being ordinarily by no means tolerant of her presence there. Finally, +Ida was summoned to New York upon important business—to meet her +lawyer, I supposed, but wondered why she did not simply authorize papa +to represent herself, as well as Gabrielle, whose guardian he is, and +thus spare herself a tedious day in the city in such sultry weather. +</P> + +<P> +Yesterday was my birthday, and to-day is Marguerite's. As the fêtes +occur in midsummer, we are usually—if in America—upon the Catskill +Mountains, or some equally inaccessible place, so that a celebration is +not practicable; indeed, our birthdays have not been celebrated since +1869, when some friends in Paris took us all to St. Germain, where we +passed a most delightful week at the Pavilion Henri Quatre (a hotel +built upon the spot where Louis XIV. was born), and daily drove and +picniced in the grand old forest for which St. Germain is noted. The +events of yesterday were therefore most unexpected and agreeable. +</P> + +<P> +Ida and Gabrielle, after congratulating Marguerite and I, and giving us +some elegant presents (for we usually receive our presents upon the +same day, as less than twenty-four hours separate our anniversaries), +asked us to drive down to the station with them to meet the train, and +gently intimated that as some one might come up from New York with +papa, we had better put on our best bombazines. Quite obediently I +went upstairs, put on the dress with its weight of crape, clasped on my +new black velvet <I>ceinture</I>, with its buckles of oxidized silver in +delicate filagree work, (Marguerite's gift), and obtuse to the +inappropriateness of a dress fan for morning use, suspended from the +châtelaine another birthday gift—a black lace fan. Then, when I had +put the finishing touch, in the shape of dear Ida's present—a +vinaigrette of oxidized silver formed like a half-furled fan—I was +quite satisfied with my toilette; before the day was over, however, my +<I>ceinture</I> was adorned with a tortoise-shell châtelaine, whistle, and +tablets, as well as a dainty riding-whip—papa's present—and I deeply +mourned the impossibility of wearing two beautiful pictures, a new +novel, and a large box of Iauch's best bonbons. +</P> + +<P> +When the train arrived, papa emerged, followed by our artist neighbor, +Mr. John Hows. +</P> + +<P> +"Why, papa has brought up Mr. Hows!" I said. "How very—" my +exclamation of pleasure was checked by surprise at the appearance of +his brother, the musical editor of the <I>Express</I>, followed by our +friends, Dr. Taylor and Colonel Rogers. +</P> + +<P> +"Is this a surprise party?" Marguerite and I inquired blankly. +</P> + +<P> +My dear friend Lela Paraf then tripped out, assisted by her elegant +husband, and followed by Mr. Eugene Durkee and his brother, two Paris +friends of ours. Then the car door opened once more, and "our young +chief," as papa calls Mr. Reid, and Colonel Hay issued—a surprise +party indeed. +</P> + +<P> +Ida had intended to invite only a few young gentlemen to spend the day +with us, fearing that if she sent out invitations to ladies to dinner, +some enterprising reporter might announce that she had given at least a +<I>fête champêtre</I>, if not a <I>bal masqué</I>, which in our deep mourning +would not be an agreeable report to be in circulation; but Lela is so +charming and dear to us all, and has remained so faithfully my most +intimate friend for the last six months, notwithstanding the rival that +I dreaded in her husband, that Ida made an exception for her. +</P> + +<P> +As we were marshalling our regiment to return to the house, a tall, +dark, distinguished-looking gentleman, elegantly dressed, hastened +towards us. Who he was I could not imagine, but as his face seemed +familiar, I welcomed him with a beaming smile. He must, however, be +very near-sighted, I thought, for he overlooked my extended hand, +merely bowing very low, and going on towards the house. +</P> + +<P> +"Who is he, Ida?" I said in a whisper; "I don't remember his name." +</P> + +<P> +"I suppose not," said Ida, laughing; "though you have seen him often +enough. It is Emile, from Delmonico's. I sent for him to help Minna +serve the table." +</P> + +<P> +I was no longer surprised that my distinguished-looking gentleman did +not shake hands with me. +</P> + +<P> +When we were upon the croquet ground, I had an opportunity to admire +Lela's toilette. A born Queen of Fashion, her dresses even when as a +school-girl were my admiration, and her toilette for my birthday showed +the refinement of delicacy and taste: for, not wishing to be the only +lady present in colors, she wore a black grenadine, with black bows and +a black lace hat; her diamond ear-drops and one half-blown deep red +rose alone testifying that her mourning robe was only worn through +sympathy. +</P> + +<P> +We had sat three hours at the table, and were lingering over the ices +and awaiting the coffee and fruit, when a shrill whistle, warning the +guests that the train was nigh, caused a flight more rapid than that of +Cinderella. Farewells were left unspoken, and "French leave" taken in +good earnest, as our friends made a short cut through the garden of +Bischoff, the trainmaster, who lives opposite us. Their departure +could scarcely be said to be graceful, but as they had only three +minutes' time to meet the train, it was obligatory. +</P> + +<P> +Lina had exercised all of her art in preparing the birthday dinner, and +as Ida gave her <I>carte blanche</I> in her most extravagant demands—such +as twenty pounds of beef for gravies, and an entire bottle of Madeira +for the soup, the dinner was very elegant and satisfactory. Lina +would, I fancy, have been much aggrieved, had she known that her +artistic dishes were supposed to have been sent up from Delmonico's. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +<I>July 20</I>. +</P> + +<P> +A drive to Tarrytown to-day. After two months of inland air, the +change to the exhilarating salt breeze blowing up from the Hudson was +very refreshing, and made us quite regret, during the few hours we +spent there, that Chappaqua could not be occasionally transported to +the seaside. +</P> + +<P> +"I am especially fond," said Ida, "of living by the sea, although I do +not enjoy an ocean voyage; but a cottage at Newport is my ideal home +for the summer." +</P> + +<P> +"Newport air," said mamma, "would, I think, be too strong for me. The +most agreeable sea air that I ever experienced was upon the Isle of +Wight. There the climate was so mild as to be very beneficial to me. +But you must know as much or more than I do about the Isle of Wight +air, for you spent several months there with your mother when last in +Europe, did you not?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, we spent a winter and spring at Ventnor," said Ida; "that town, +you know, is especially recommended to people with lung troubles, +although I could never see that it did poor mamma much good." +</P> + +<P> +"Did you ever see, Aunt Esther," inquired Gabrielle, "the poem that was +addressed to Ida while she was at Ventnor?" +</P> + +<P> +Mamma had not before heard of it; therefore, upon our return, Ida took +it out of her portfolio, and showed it to us. It was written by a New +York editor and poet, and was, we all thought, very beautiful and +appropriate. As it was in MSS., Ida allowed me to copy it into my +journal. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +A FAMILIAR IDYL.<BR> +<BR> +FOR IDA LILLIAN GREELEY.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Dear friend! If I could step to-day<BR> + Upon your cosey English isle,<BR> + Victoria's chosen home erewhile,<BR> +And hallowed by the Laureate's lay;<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Though beauty breaks from every view,<BR> + And one long splendor edge the shore,<BR> + I should not pause an hour before<BR> +I touched the terrace graced by you.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +For what's a Queen's or Poet's worth?<BR> + The light that lies on land and sea<BR> + Resplendent? Dearer far to me<BR> +The friendship which outweighs the earth.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Should I not find you--happy chance--<BR> + Just where your ivied cottage stands,<BR> + Dreaming with hope of western lands,<BR> +Or facing torn and tortured France?<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +And you could tell of sunny days?<BR> + Of chalky cliffs and spreading downs;<BR> + Nature is more than bustling towns,<BR> +And country life than city ways.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +But hearing now a robin sing,<BR> + I wonder if his English mate<BR> + May not be hopping near your gate,<BR> +A harbinger, with ours, of Spring.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +I know the precious charge you hold;<BR> + But now, when comes the budding year,<BR> + I wish the rather you were here<BR> +To see our leafy months unfold.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +To watch the coming choir of birds,<BR> + And note the lengthening twilight hours,<BR> + The miracles of buds and flowers,<BR> +And tender shows too sweet for words.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +But you who hear the throstle sing,<BR> + And greet the lark's high ecstasies,<BR> + May learn to care no more for these,<BR> +And spurn each weaker voice and wing.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +I will not think it--home is home;<BR> + And much as other skies may do,<BR> + Ours will not reach its sweetest blue,<BR> +Nor May seem perfect, till you come.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +<I>March 1, 1871</I>. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap17"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XVII. +</H3> + + +<P CLASS="contents"> +Gabrielle and her Embroidery—Life in Pennsylvania +continued—Sugar-making—Horrible Incident—A Woman devoured by +Wolves—A Domestic Picture—Evening Readings—The Library of Mr. +Greeley's Father—Mr. Greeley's Mother intellectually considered—Her +Education—Mr. Greeley's Eldest Sister—She teaches School at the Age +of Twelve. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +<I>July 25</I>. +</P> + +<P> +"It is some time, auntie," said Gabrielle, from the sofa, "since you +have told us any stories. Now I wish that this evening, while I am +working upon my pin-cushion, you would relate some more episodes of +your Pennsylvania life;" and she opened her work box, and took out a +little roll of canvas, upon which she was busy delineating in pale +yellow wool a stiff little canary, with a surprising eye, and an +impossible tail. +</P> + +<P> +"I have forgotten what I have already related, dear," replied mamma; +"you must tell me where to take up my story." +</P> + +<P> +"You left off at the manufacture of black salts," said Gabrielle, "and +I want you to commence at that very point, and not forget anything that +occurred." +</P> + +<P> +"Perhaps you would like to hear about sugar making," said mamma; "that +was one of father's yearly enterprises, and great sport we young people +thought it." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, do tell us about it," said Gabrielle, with sparkling eyes; "that +will be delightful; almost as good as meeting a bear." +</P> + +<P> +"Although not so exciting, I fear," said mamma, laughing; "I am sorry +that I have no encounters with bears to meet your demands for thrilling +adventures to-night; but if, as I suppose, you have never seen the +process of sugar making, you will find an account of it quite +interesting." +</P> + +<P> +"Father had upon his extensive acres hundreds of grand old forest +maples, which, growing as they did, in patches in the wilderness, +formed what were called in country parlance 'sugar bushes,' or, in the +more elegant language of books, 'sugar orchards.' Early in the spring, +when the sun stood high, and the snow began to melt, the maples would +be 'tapped,' as the farmers say; sometimes by boring into them, and +often by driving in a chisel; then a wooden spout would be inserted +through which the sweet sap would begin to trickle down into the +troughs placed there to receive it. From these troughs it was +collected and carried in buckets and pails to an immense receptacle +hollowed out of the trunk of some great tree; usually selecting what +was called the 'cucumber tree,' as its soft wood could be more easily +excavated than that of other trees. The men used to wear a yoke upon +their shoulders with hooks from which the pails were suspended; and +thus equipped they would traverse to and fro with the sap. I well +remember lending my assistance to father by trudging valiantly through +snow that reached my knees, to carry buckets of sap, but without the +assistance of a yoke. +</P> + +<P> +"The process of making sugar is very like that I described in the +manufacture of black salts. The sap is poured into immense cauldrons, +and boils sometimes for several days. As fast as it evaporates, fresh +sap is poured in until the syrup becomes thick, and then follows +granulation, or, as the farmers call it, 'sugaring off.' These periods +of sugaring off, which occurred usually once or twice a week during the +sugar season, were participated in by the neighbors from far and near, +who would come to eat sugar and make merry. +</P> + +<P> +"I forgot, however, to tell you that while the sap was boiling, some +one had to spend the night in the woods to refill the cauldron, and to +keep up the fire. In our family this duty fell to brother Barnes, who +took much delight in it. With some boy friend he would camp out upon a +bundle of straw before the fire, and with a nice supper, and songs and +stories, diversified by rising every half hour to stir up the fire, and +watch the cauldron, and to have a private sugaring off for their own +benefit, the boys would pass away the night. +</P> + +<P> +"But were they in no danger from wild animals, mamma?" inquired +Marguerite. +</P> + +<P> +"Not much," replied mamma; "the boys always took their guns with them, +but although the deer would rustle over the leaves, and bears and +wolves would creep softly up to the little encampment, the fire was +usually sufficient protection, and the wolves would content themselves +with howling, and with a dissatisfied grunt the bears would move slowly +away. +</P> + +<P> +"Often the boys would see through the darkness a pair of fiery eyes +glaring at them, and seizing their rifles they would shoot; but if they +missed aim, the bears or wolves would have been sufficiently alarmed by +the noise to make their escape whilst they could. Boys accustomed to a +pioneer's life feared nothing; such adventures were as great sport to +them in the woods, as they are to you, Gabrielle, while listening to +them safely housed." +</P> + +<P> +"But in novels, and books of travel in new countries, auntie," said +Gabrielle with a dissatisfied shake of her pretty head, "when you fire +at a bear or other wild animal and do not kill him, he instantly turns +and kills you. Were the bears and wolves of Pennsylvania less +ferocious than those of other countries?" +</P> + +<P> +"They did not often seem bloodthirsty," replied mamma, "for the reason, +I suppose, that the woods were full of smaller animals on which they +could prey, and consequently they did not need to attack human beings +for sustenance. I remember, however, one incident that may perhaps +satisfy your desire for more thrilling adventures. +</P> + +<P> +"An old woman living near what was called 'the Carter settlement,' some +six miles from us, started to pay a visit to a friend in the next +'clearing.' To reach her destination she had to pass through the +densest part of the forest, with no indication of a path to guide her: +but she never thought of danger as she started upon her long, lonely +walk. +</P> + +<P> +"Several days elapsed before it was fairly realized that the old lady +was missing; and then the neighbors started en masse through the forest +with tin pans, tin horns, and stalwart lungs, to look for her. Their +shouts met with no response, but after a long search they met a pack of +wolves who fled rapidly past them. Fairly alarmed now lest the old +woman should have perished from fatigue and exposure, they pursued the +search with desperate haste, and not far from the spot where they had +met the wolves, found some scraps of a dress that was recognized as +hers, a few bones, and her feet, which, encased as they were in stout +boots, the wolves had disdained to devour. Whether the old woman had +fallen a live victim to the wolves, or had died of hunger and fatigue +and then furnished a repast to them, we never knew; this latter +supposition, however, seemed hardly probable, for she could have found +in the woods wild berries, succulent roots, and water sufficient to +subsist upon for several days." +</P> + +<P> +A shiver of horror went around our little circle, and even Gabrielle's +love for the terrible was satisfied. +</P> + +<P> +After a short pause, Marguerite said: +</P> + +<P> +"You must often have felt lonely, mamma, did you not, living so far +away from all places of amusement, lectures, and the like? Indeed, I +suppose that buried as you were in the woods, you did not even have the +excitement of going to church." +</P> + +<P> +"No," said mamma; "we were dependent for entertainment entirely upon +our own resources and the few books we had brought with us from +Vermont; but we children were never conscious of a lonely hour, and if +dear mother felt sad and weary of our uneventful life, we never knew it. +</P> + +<P> +"We worked hard all day, every one of us, even little Margaret having +something to do; but in the evening we had a change of occupation. At +twilight, when father and brother Barnes had come home, and our early +supper was over, father would say: +</P> + +<P> +"'Mary, what have you to read to us to-night?' +</P> + +<P> +"Immediately fresh logs would be piled up in the great open fireplace, +the candles lighted, we girls would draw up to the table with our +knitting or sewing, Barnes would throw himself down before the fire, +and mother would take up a book for the evening's reading. This +reading was as much a part of the routine of the day as dinner or +supper, and was indeed our only means of culture that winter, distant +as we were from schools and all other educational advantages. Mother +always monopolized the position of reader; indeed, until after her +death, father seldom read a book, but contented himself with being a +listener." +</P> + +<P> +"And was he a good listener, mamma?" I inquired, "or did he stop +grandmamma from time to time to comment upon the author and the events?" +</P> + +<P> +"Father's intentions were the best in the world," replied mamma +smiling, "but you must remember that he would sit down to listen, +completely exhausted from a day's work that had commenced with the +first tinge of dawn, and before very long, soothed by mother's musical +voice, his breathing would become more and more audible, and his head +commence to nod. Quite patiently mother would continue her chapter, +feigning not to be conscious of the heavy breathing that proceeded from +the arm-chair, and often from the boyish figure stretched before the +fire, until their slumber would become <I>too</I> apparent, when, closing +the book, she would call them severely to task for their inattention. +</P> + +<P> +"Rubbing his eyes, father would rouse up, and indignantly refuting the +accusation, declare that he had heard every word. +</P> + +<P> +"Instantly putting him to the test, mother would inquire what she had +been reading about? +</P> + +<P> +"After a moment of deep reflection, father would say penitently: +</P> + +<P> +"'Well, Mary, if you will just read back a page or two, I will remember +all about it.' +</P> + +<P> +"Very indulgently mother would turn back, but often before she had +reached the former stopping-place, father's breathing would announce +that he was again resting from the hard day's toil. +</P> + +<P> +"Barnes was somewhat better as a listener, but he, like father, worked +hard, and it was often difficult for him to keep awake during the +reading of history or novels; but we three girls were a most interested +audience, and somewhat compensated for masculine inattention. +</P> + +<P> +"But father was not always drowsy; at times he would listen with keen +interest to the evening reading, and very much vexed he would be if the +arrival of any neighbor should put a stop to it. +</P> + +<P> +"'My wife is reading something extremely interesting to us,' he would +artfully say; 'perhaps you would like to listen to it also?' +</P> + +<P> +"'By all means,' the unsuspecting visitor would reply, and not another +opportunity would he have to speak until it was time to take leave." +</P> + +<P> +"What books did grandmamma read to you?" inquired Marguerite. "You +have mentioned both history and novels, but without giving any names." +</P> + +<P> +"Your uncle," replied mamma, "supplied us with light literature from +the resources of the <I>Spectator</I> office—newspapers, pamphlets, +periodicals, etc., and mother's own little library was sterling in its +quality as her own old-fashioned ballads; it was quite varied, too, +considering how few volumes it contained. +</P> + +<P> +"One of the books that I remember was Butler's 'History of the United +States;' a ponderous tome that I presume you children have never seen. +</P> + +<P> +"Another volume from which we derived much information and pleasure was +a large 'Universal History;' the name of its author I have forgotten. +</P> + +<P> +"The 'History of the Jews,' by Josephus, was also a great favorite with +mother; this work did not, however, belong to us, but was lent us by +your other grandfather, Marguerite. Mr. Cleveland, a neighbor of ours, +you know, had, like us, a small library of standard books, which he was +always glad to lend to an <I>appreciative</I> reader. +</P> + +<P> +"The 'Wonders of Nature and Providence' was another book that I +remember well, and a 'Life of Napoleon,' by what author I do not know, +but which was a source of endless delight both to father and mother. +The emperor, you know, had been dead only since 1821, consequently his +exploits were fresh in every one's memory, and some of mother's most +stirring songs were about 'General Bonaparte.' You four children come +legitimately by your devotion to Napoleon, for both father and mother +were enthusiastic in their admiration for the great French hero. +</P> + +<P> +"Among our smaller books was a life of Prince Eugene of Savoy, and the +memoirs of Baron Trenck, whose romantic history we enjoyed as much as +the most thrilling novel. +</P> + +<P> +"As for novels, we had not many at that time, although the newspapers +with which brother furnished us usually contained serial stories that +mother used to read aloud. I remember, however, that mother owned +'Waverley,' 'Rob Roy,' and 'Francis Berrian,' a romance of which father +was especially fond, and all of which she read to us. +</P> + +<P> +"For poetry, we had a volume of selections from English poets, +accompanied with brief sketches of their lives, a volume about +two-thirds the size of Dana's 'Household Book of Poetry,' a copy of +Cowper, whose poems mother particularly liked, especially 'The Task'; a +small, unbound copy of Byron's 'Corsair,' and a volume of English +songs, a collection that I have never since seen. This list refers, +you know, to our first years in the woods, and everything that I have +mentioned was read aloud to us by mother. +</P> + +<P> +"On Sundays we had a change of literature. Father, although not what +would be called a religious man, as he was not a member of any church, +had a great respect for the observance of the Sabbath, and unlike his +less scrupulous neighbors, rested from work on that day. The morning +was devoted to reading the Bible, and in the evening father would sing +with his splendid voice, 'God of Israel,' the 'Rock of Ages,' and other +fine old psalm tunes. One hymn of which he was especially fond, I +remember commenced, +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +"'The day is past and gone,<BR> + The evening shades appear;<BR> +Oh, may we all remember well<BR> + The day of Death draws near.'<BR> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +"This he used to sing with great expression of devotion. +</P> + +<P> +"I have often wished that I had had the advantage of living in New York +when a child, but I would not now exchange a city education for the +sweet memory of our quiet evenings at home, and the sphere of +intelligence and affection in which I was nurtured." +</P> + +<P> +Mamma paused a moment, then continued: +</P> + +<P> +"These books that I have mentioned were not new to mother: she had read +and knew them almost by heart long before she commenced reading them to +us, and her mind was an inexhaustible source of knowledge. Although +her school-days were limited, she was not ignorant of the common +branches. She had studied, she told me, the 'Ladies' Lexicon,' from +which she had obtained a very thorough knowledge of English grammar. +She wrote a trim hand, she had a practical knowledge of arithmetic, and +geography had claimed a portion of her time in school; but what she had +learnt there was but a commencement. She must subsequently have +studied astronomy, for she taught me without books to recognize the +planets and trace the constellations, and at any hour of the night she +could tell the time by looking at the position of the stars. She had +the talent for dates that you have inherited, Marguerite, and was +authority for the neighborhood upon all disputed points in politics +since the days of Washington; indeed, it was quite amusing to see the +men all come to consult 'Aunt Mary' rather than father, when a knotty +question arose." +</P> + +<P> +"As you have described grandmamma," said Marguerite, "she appears to be +superior to grandpapa. Do you so consider her?" +</P> + +<P> +"Mother was father's superior," replied mamma, "intellectually and +morally. Father was rather cold in his nature, but mother had a warm +heart. She was an enthusiastic friend, and she loved every living +thing. I do not remember ever hearing her speak an ill word of a +neighbor, and I am sure she never had an enemy in her life. +</P> + +<P> +"Though I do not call father warm-hearted, he certainly had great +affection for mother, and was sincerely attached to his family. I have +heard him say that he would walk all night, rather than stop short of +his home. +</P> + +<P> +"Father was sometimes called by our neighbors a hard parent. He never +was, it is true, demonstrative in his affection, but he was strictly +just, and never harsh in his treatment of us. As I have often told +you, he believed in work for himself and his family, and I have heard +him say that sooner than have a child of his grow up idle, he would +make him pick up stones in one lot, and throw them over into the next +one. He considered that he had been generous in allowing brother +Horace to leave home, or, as country people call it, 'giving him his +time,' six years before he became of age, and he was willing at any +time to allow his daughters to seek their fortunes away from home, +should they desire to do so. +</P> + +<P> +"This winter of 1826-27 was the last one that we four children spent at +home together. The next year sister Arminda, although only twelve +years old, opened a school in the little log-house upon our west farm—" +</P> + +<P> +"When only twelve years old!" we interrupted in chorus; "pray whom did +she teach? Babies?" +</P> + +<P> +"No," replied mamma, "she had a dozen or fourteen pupils, little boys +and girls, some of whom were older than herself, for very young +children could not have walked that distance—three and four miles." +</P> + +<P> +"But I should think," interposed Gabrielle, "that the scholars would +have felt more inclined to play with Aunt Arminda, than to learn the +lessons she gave them; she was such a child." +</P> + +<P> +"Your aunt was tall and well-developed," replied mamma, "and had a +natural air of dignity that gave her the appearance of being older than +she really was. She did not find it difficult to impress her pupils +with respect, or to enforce obedience." +</P> + +<P> +"What did she teach them, Aunt Esther?" inquired Ida; "only the +elementary branches, I suppose?" +</P> + +<P> +"Reading, writing, and spelling," replied mamma; "arithmetic and +grammar, geography, sewing and knitting." +</P> + +<P> +"And how much did she make?" I inquired, being of a practical turn of +mind at that moment. +</P> + +<P> +"She was paid by the week," said mamma, "and received the same salary +as the majority of school-mistresses in those primeval days; +seventy-five cents and her board. She 'boarded around,' as the phrase +was, among her pupils. This may seem very little to you, but you must +remember that in those days a good milch cow cost only ten dollars, and +everything else was proportionately cheap. +</P> + +<P> +"The next two winters, sister Arminda was in school herself, and the +following year, when she was fifteen, she was married to our handsome +cousin Lovel, Uncle Benjamin's son." +</P> + +<P> +Another exclamation of amazement from the little group, and a chorus +of— +</P> + +<P> +"Married at fifteen! How surprising! And did she make a pretty bride?" +</P> + +<P> +"She was a very handsome girl," replied mamma, and made a striking +contrast to her blonde brothers and sisters, for she had a rich +brunette complexion, large, dark-blue eyes, glossy dark hair, and set +roses in her cheeks, which, even now that she is a great-grandmother +have not entirely faded. She was womanly far beyond her years; not so +romantic, perhaps, as sister Margaret and I were at her age, but that +she possessed talent, enterprise, and ambition, is shown by the success +of her school, established at an age when most girls are contentedly +dressing their dolls. +</P> + +<P> +"Sister Arminda is a woman of superior character, and a devoted wife +and mother. She has had many severe trials to contend with during her +long married life. Her heart has known bitter sorrow, for of her +family of eleven beautiful children only four are now living; but she +has borne all these afflictions with enduring heroism. The devotion of +herself and her husband is something people of the world would consider +quite Arcadian in these days of matrimonial infelicity, for until your +Aunt Arminda paid me that visit three years ago, she had never, since +her marriage, left her husband two successive nights." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap18"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XVIII. +</H3> + + +<P CLASS="contents"> +Visitors—A Sunday Drive—Croton lake by Daylight—A Sail—A Sudden +Squall—Anxiety about our Fate—Miraculous Escape from Drowning—Arrival +of a Pretty Cousin—A Child Poetess. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +<I>August 4</I>. +</P> + +<P> +A gap in my journal of several days, during which time I have found it +impossible to write. I have now several events to record. +</P> + +<P> +Papa came out Saturday afternoon to make us his weekly visit, accompanied +by Mr. Reid. +</P> + +<P> +Papa's "young chief" looked as well as though he had not the weight of +the new nine-story Tribune building upon his shoulders this hot weather, +and was exceedingly agreeable. Those who have only known Mr. Reid in New +York <I>salons</I> and in editorial rooms can have no idea what a different +man he is when enjoying the relaxation of the country. Never could I +have imagined that the haughty young proprietor of <I>The Tribune</I> would +condescend to participate in "ring toss," croquet, and similar +frivolities; but I have found this summer that, besides being an adept in +the masculine accomplishments of driving and riding, he is an +enthusiastic champion of croquet, taking apparently the same pleasure in +sending an adversary's ball to the extreme limits of the croquet-ground +that he would in refuting a <I>Times</I> editorial. +</P> + +<P> +The evening was devoted to cards and ballad-singing, for, although so +prominent a member of New York literary society, Mr. Reid does not, I am +glad to say, think it necessary to dislike music. +</P> + +<P> +For the next day an expedition to Croton Lake had been planned. When +alone, we never drive on Sunday, except to church, lest our sober Puritan +neighbors should be shocked; but as we had a guest for that day, we made +an exception to our usual severe rules; for a Sunday in Chappaqua is +somewhat gloomy to a visitor. Immediately after breakfast, therefore, +the carriage came, and Ida and I, with papa and Mr. Reid, started on this +pleasant little excursion, papa mischievously suggesting that we should +<I>look</I> pious, and the neighbors would never know that we were <I>not</I> going +to church. +</P> + +<P> +One little <I>contretemps</I> marked our departure. The Duchess had been lame +for a day or two, and another horse had been hired for the day to replace +her. The strange horse was evidently the property of a Quaker, and more +accustomed to going to meeting than on frivolous pleasure parties, for +she was a very staid and subdued animal, and strongly <I>dis</I>inclined to +keep up with the lively pace adopted by spirited little Lady Alice. The +drive, therefore, was decidedly an interesting one. Papa held the reins, +and Mr. Reid devoted himself to whipping up the laggard beast. In this +style we proceeded over the country at a moderate pace, and finally +reached the beautiful lake and the hotel upon its banks. The shade of +the broad piazza formed a very pleasant relief from the heat overhead, +and we were glad to rest a little while. We had not been there many +minutes before some one recognized Mr. Reid, and informed the portly +landlord, who immediately hastened upon the scene, and welcomed him to +Croton Lake with enthusiasm. +</P> + +<P> +In the parlor the piano was open, and half a dozen children were drumming +upon it; therefore, seeing that "music" on Sundays was not prohibited by +the rules of the house, I went to the piano when the children wearied of +it, and sung, at Ida's request, an Ave Maria, and grandpapa's favorite +"Rock of Ages." We had some little amusement over the necessity of going +four miles from home in order to enjoy music on Sundays. +</P> + +<P> +The water looked very inviting, rippling up to the beach, and a row to +Croton Dam was proposed. After some little delay, a boat and a very +good-natured negro boatman were procured, and we departed. +</P> + +<P> +The sun, I must own, was rather hot at that hour of the day, and struck +with peculiar force upon our hot bombazine dresses, and heavy crape +veils. Ida and I looked with a sigh at Mr. Reid's cool white flannel +suit. Sam, the boatman, ceased to row, and let the boat drift, being +overcome by the heat, while papa sat in the bow, and looked disconsolate +that he had not the morning news to read. +</P> + +<P> +We were now at quite a distance from the shore, and as there was no one +present but the boatman to be shocked by hearing secular music, I +ventured to sing a few simple ballads, for music and water I think blend +most harmoniously. +</P> + +<P> +Soon light, fleecy clouds commenced to shield us from the sun's scorching +rays; we closed our parasols, and played with the deliciously cool water, +wondering meantime like Miss Helen, in that exquisite "Atlantic" story, +if we could call up a mermaid front below. But while we were drifting +along so charmingly, the clouds had become heavier and blacker, and +seizing the oars, Sam commenced to row with desperate haste. We were, +however, beaten in our race with the storm, and reached Croton Dam in a +perfect tempest of thunder, and lightning, and dashing rain. +Unfortunately Ida and I had worn slippers, not having expected to walk, +and there was only one umbrella in the party—our little parasols with +their crape borders and bows being more suitable for ornament than +service; however, we scrambled up the steep bank as best we could, and +ran to the protecting doorway of the water-house (the house itself was +locked as it was Sunday). Here we stowed ourselves away like so many +sardines, and waited patiently under the umbrella for an hour. Finally +the sun broke out, and we made our way over deep ponds of water back to +our boat. Sam looked up with a dejected expression as we approached, and +feared the boat wasn't fit for the ladies to go home in; he was bailing +it out as fast as he could, but it was very wet. +</P> + +<P> +Wet indeed! Why Sam had not drawn the boat up on the beach and turned it +over during the rain, no one could imagine; but that brilliant idea had +not occurred to him. Therefore we were obliged to row back with our feet +reposing in little pools of water. +</P> + +<P> +Before long, down came the rain again in torrents, but stimulated by the +prospective fee, Sam rowed with giant strokes. About a mile from the +hotel, we met the landlord rowing with desperate haste. It seems that +the rain had been even more violent at <I>his</I> end of the lake, having been +magnified into a squall upon the water, and a tornado upon land, blowing +down trees, and breaking away the lattice-work of the hotel piazza; +consequently he supposed our boat must have been ingulfed, and had come +to look for the corpses. His amazement at finding us alive, and, though +very wet, in excellent spirits, was great. +</P> + +<P> +An entrée into the hotel in our wet dresses was rather a formidable +affair for Ida and myself, as all the boarders were assembled upon the +piazza to see, I suppose, how we looked after our "miraculous escape from +drowning." Hastening past them into a private room, we took off our +dripping wraps, and supplied their places with brilliant plaid shawls +lent us by the landlady, in which we drove back to Chappaqua—to the +wonder, I doubt not, of all who recognized us on the way. The horses +this time went more evenly, and the entire strain of propelling the +carriage did not fall upon poor Lady Alice. But when we reached home, +Mr. Reid's white suit, and our dresses, veils, and even faces, were a +sight to behold from the liquid mud with which we were bespattered. We +had to turn out of our way for a couple of miles, as a tree blown down by +the storm lay across the main road, and this second detention did not +increase the enthusiasm of our welcome from Lina, for dinner had been +ordered at half-past three, and it was five when we reached the house. +Her pet dessert, a lemon <I>soufflée</I>, intended to be eaten as soon as +baked, was not, I must own, improved by standing so long; but otherwise +no serious damage was done to the dinner, and we were thankful that our +adventures when indulging in pleasure parties on Sunday were over. +</P> + +<P> +The evening passed quietly, but very agreeably. Mr. Reid went down to +the city in the six o'clock train, and papa read aloud to us Byron's +splendid, stirring "Isles of Greece," and portions of "Childe Harold." +Reading poetry is quite an accomplishment of papa's, and although he is +very happy in sentimental and heroic verse, he has also a keen sense of +humor, and his reading of comic and dialect poems, especially those of +Hans Breitmann, have been much complimented; indeed, in "our circle" he +is the reader par excellence of Bret Harte, John Hay, and Hans Breitmann. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +<I>August 7</I>. +</P> + +<P> +Marguerite and Ida went down yesterday to the city for a day's shopping, +a relaxation of which we are all quite fond. I walked down to the +station to meet them upon their return, and was not a little surprised to +see a third black-robed figure emerge from the cars with them. Too +<I>petite</I> to be Gabrielle, who has been visiting a school-friend for the +last week, it was not until the second glance that I recognized the +abundant golden-brown hair and romantic eyes of our pretty cousin, +Theresa Walling. +</P> + +<P> +Theresa is Aunt Arminda's granddaughter, and although only eighteen, is +entitled to pass through a door in advance of Marguerite, Ida and I, and +to occupy the back seat in a carriage, for she is married, and has had +two sweet little girls, one of whom died during that sad month of +November, last year, and the oldest, her pretty Theresa Beatrice, only a +week ago. Quite delicate from her childhood, the loss of her babies has +been a great affliction to their poor little mother, and Ida brought her +out to visit us, hoping that change of scene might bring back the former +rose-flush to her pale cheeks. +</P> + +<P> +Early marriages appear hereditary in that branch of the family, for Aunt +Arminda was married at fifteen, and Theresa's mother at fourteen; +consequently, Aunt Arminda found herself a great-grandmother when some +years short of sixty. +</P> + +<P> +I said that Theresa lost her youngest child within the thirty days that +elapsed between uncle's and Aunt Mary's deaths; but those were not the +only bereavements in our family that sad winter; before the spring came, +Theresa's father and a little girl, our cousin Victoria's child, had also +died. +</P> + +<P> +Theresa's beauty is not the true Greeley type—blonde, with blue eyes. +Her complexion is somewhat like her grandmother's—a delicate olive with +an exquisite flush, when in health. The contour of her face is a perfect +oval; her eyes are dark and pensive, and although her hair is almost +golden in its brightness, both her eyebrows and lashes are of a dark +chestnut brown. In figure she is, as I said, very <I>petite</I>; she and I +are the two "little ones" of the family. +</P> + +<P> +Theresa displays considerable taste for literature; and, notwithstanding +the demand that her children made upon her time, has written some +romantic stories that have been published in New York journals. +</P> + +<P> +She has a bright little brother, and three sisters—Fannie, Jessie, and +Lillian; all pretty and clever children. Fannie, who is now only +fourteen, will, I hope, when older, become a graceful poetess; for the +verses that she has already had published under her pretty signature, +"Fannie Fawn," are very musical, and promise well for the future. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap19"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XIX +</H3> + + +<P CLASS="contents"> +Mr. Greeley visits his Family in Pennsylvania—He expounds Mathematics +and Philosophy to his Brother and Sisters—Fishing and Bee +Hunting—Forest Fires—A Subsequent Visit—He returns as Editor of the +<I>New Yorker</I>—He writes the 'Faded Stars'—Characteristics of Mr. +Greeley's Brother—His Children—Mr. Greeley's Younger Sisters—Their +Education. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +<I>August 9</I>. +</P> + +<P> +"Mamma," said Marguerite, looking up from the tea-table where we were +all assembled, "did uncle visit you often in Pennsylvania? I suppose +so, for I know what an affectionate family you wore, and how very fond +he was of his parents." +</P> + +<P> +"He visited us as often as he could," replied mamma, "but you know that +the distance was great, and during the four years that he spent in +Poultney, his time was not at his command. I can only remember two +visits that he made us during that period; each one, however, lasted a +month. +</P> + +<P> +"It was, I think, during our second year in the woods that he came home +for the first time. I well remember, after the first joy of the +reunion was over, examining his trunk to see what books he had brought +with him. Those that I found there were quite different from what many +boys of seventeen would have chosen, when going home for a vacation. I +do not recollect meeting any books of adventure or romance; but works +upon the higher mathematics and philosophy were there to show that dear +brother's education was by no means at a standstill, although he was +working hard to earn his own living. +</P> + +<P> +"During the evenings, he would gather us about him, and illustrate some +mathematical problem, or, giving us a dissertation upon natural +science, would expound the laws of gravitation, etc. +</P> + +<P> +"In the daytime, when not fishing or bee hunting, he would work in the +fields with father and brother Barnes. There was excellent trout +fishing, I remember, in the brooks; and that, with bee hunting and +watching the forest fires, was his only amusement; for shooting was a +pastime in which he never indulged." +</P> + +<P> +"I thought," said Marguerite, "that boys in the country were always +fond of shooting." +</P> + +<P> +"As a rule they are," replied mamma; "but your uncle was not. His +delicate, sensitive nature was always shocked by the sharp report of a +gun. I remember that when we were in Vermont he and brother Barnes +would go out together to hunt squirrels, Barnes carrying the gun; and +that when the game was found, brother Horace would cover his ears with +his hands, to soften the noise of the discharge. +</P> + +<P> +"I suppose, my dears, that you do not know how hunters find wild honey?" +</P> + +<P> +We knew little of wild honey save that John the Baptist used to eat it, +so mamma continued: +</P> + +<P> +"The bees, having no hives provided for them, made their honey in the +hollow trunks of trees; and as it was one of the luxuries of our table, +it was quite important to trace out their hiding-places. Brother +Barnes would go out with a little box of syrup or honey, and when he +found a bee upon a flower would imprison it in the box, detaining it +there until it had had time to load itself with sweetness. When it was +released, it would make a 'bee line' for its home in the tree; never +pausing by the way, even for the sweetest flowers. Barnes would note +the direction it had taken, and follow it as well as he could; but +often he would be obliged to capture several bees, and sometimes pass +days in the pursuit, before he would be rewarded by hearing in some +tree a buzzing that could almost be called roaring. The next step was +to fell the tree, which would cause the bees to quickly disperse; not, +however, without stinging the intruder; but the result compensated for +a sting or two, for it was not unusual for Barnes to find from twenty +to thirty pounds in a tree, often, however, so mixed with the soft wood +that we were obliged to strain it before it was fit to put upon the +table." +</P> + +<P> +"You spoke of the forest fires, mamma," said Marguerite; "pray, what +were they? The woods were never literally on fire, I suppose." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh yes," replied mamma, "and the fire often lasted a long time. One +means of clearing the ground to make a farm was to fell the trees, +while in full leafage, in what were called 'winrows.' They lay in +great piles for a year and sometimes longer; then when quite dry they +would be ignited, and a glorious bonfire on a gigantic scale would +ensue. The fire would burn up not only all the logs and dead leaves +upon the ground, but, spreading its way through the forest, would do +considerable damage to the living trees, burning as it often did for +weeks. It was, however, a grand sight to watch it through the darkness +of the night, and when the fire running up the hollow trunk of some +dead tree would burst out in a blaze at the top, we children were +filled with enthusiasm, and used to call them 'our beacon lights.' +Never did brother Horace seem happier than during that fiery season, +and often he and brother Barnes spent the greater portion of the night +among the burning log-piles, stirring up the fires when they +smouldered, and throwing on brush and fresh logs. +</P> + +<P> +"During the year that he worked at his trade upon the shores of Lake +Erie, we saw him more frequently; but the visit that I remember with +the greatest pleasure was one that he made us just after establishing +his <I>New Yorker</I>. I was much impressed during this last visit with a +marked change in brother's taste and character—a change indicated as +much by his reading as by his external appearance. His trunk was now +filled with standard works and volumes of poems, instead of treatises +upon science, and he appeared in a perpetual rose-dream. He seemed to +me the embodiment of romance and poesy, and now as I think of him with +his pure, unselfish nature, so early devoted to what was noblest and +best, I can only compare him to the high-minded boy-saint, the chaste, +seraphic Aloysius. +</P> + +<P> +"It was while at home this time that he wrote his poem 'The Faded +Stars,' that was published in the <I>New Yorker</I>, and copied into several +leading journals—" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I am so fond of that poem," interrupted Ida, "that I have copied +it into my album of poetical selections. Papa wrote it, you say, while +visiting you?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, he wrote it in the room where the family were all assembled. I +recollect sitting beside him and watching his face as line after line +flowed from his pen. I had never before seen any one write a poem, and +it seemed to me quite wonderful. Read it to me, Ida, if your album is +at hand; I do not recollect all the stanzas." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +"THE FADED STARS." +<BR><BR> +BY HORACE GREELEY. +<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +I +<BR><BR> +"I mind the time when Heaven's high dome<BR> + Woke in my soul a wondrous thrill--<BR> +When every leaf in Nature's tome<BR> + Bespoke Creation's marvels still;<BR> +When morn unclosed her rosy bars,<BR> + Woke joys intense; but naught e'er bade<BR> +My soul leap up like ye bright stars!<BR> + [1]<BR> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +II. +<BR><BR> +"Calm ministrants to God's high glory!<BR> + Pure gems around His burning throne!<BR> +Mute watchers o'er man's strange, sad story<BR> + Of crime and woe through ages gone!<BR> +'Twas yours, the wild and hallowing spell,<BR> + That lured me from ignoble glens--<BR> +Taught me where sweeter fountains<BR> + Than ever bless the worldling's dreams.<BR> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +III. +<BR><BR> +"How changed was life! A waste no more<BR> + Beset by Pain, and Want, and Wrong,<BR> +Earth seemed a glad and fairy shore,<BR> + Made vocal with Hope's impassioned song.<BR> +But ye bright sentinels of Heaven!<BR> + Far glories of Night's radiant sky!<BR> +Who when ye lit the brow of Even<BR> + Has ever deemed man born to die?<BR> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +IV. +<BR><BR> +"'Tis faded now! That wondrous grace<BR> + That once on Heaven's forehead shone:<BR> +I see no more in Nature's face<BR> + A soul responsive to mine own.<BR> +A dimness on my eye and spirit<BR> + Has fallen since those gladsome years,<BR> +Few joys my hardier years inherit,<BR> + And leaden dulness rules the spheres.<BR> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +V. +<BR><BR> +"Yet mourn not I! A stern high duty<BR> + Now nerves my arm and fires my brain.<BR> +Perish the dream of shapes of Beauty!<BR> + And that this strife be not in vain<BR> +To war on fraud intrenched with power,<BR> + On smooth pretence and specious wrong,<BR> +This task be mine tho' Fortune lower--<BR> + For this be banished sky and song."<BR> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +"How did it happen, mamma," inquired Marguerite, "that Uncle Barnes has +not become a distinguished man? Is he not clever like Uncle Horace, or +was he not fond of learning? It seems strange that he never left home +to seek his fortune in the world." +</P> + +<P> +"Brother Barnes has quite as much genius," mamma quickly replied, "as +your Uncle Horace, and under equally favoring circumstances would have +made as brilliant a man. A farmer's life was distasteful to him, and +it was for years his dream to go away from home, and receive an +education that would fit him for the bar or the pulpit, towards both of +which 'callings' he was strongly attracted. It would, however, have +been impossible for father to have hewn a farm unaided out of the +wilderness, and he could not afford to hire any assistance, so brother +Barnes generously sacrificed all his own aspirations and preferences, +and devoted his life, which might have been a brilliant and successful +one, to the dull routine of farm acres." +</P> + +<P> +"Did Uncle Barnes resemble papa much, as a boy?" inquired Ida. +</P> + +<P> +"Your uncle was of a very different temperament," replied mamma; "he +was as gay and loquacious as your papa was silent and abstracted. He +was very fond of reading and of study, but he lacked your papa's +perseverance; he was more awake to the outer world and its +distractions, whereas brother Horace was oblivious to everything else, +when he once held a book in his hand. +</P> + +<P> +"I have told you what a splendid voice your grandfather had. Brother +Barnes was the only one of the five children who inherited it, and with +it a very quick ear for music. I remember hearing mother say, that +when he was three and four years old, he was often called upon to sing +for our friends, who not unfrequently rewarded his talent with +presents; however, at the time when his voice changed, it completely +lost its musical qualities, to our great regret. +</P> + +<P> +"As he grew older, he developed a taste for argument, that would have +done him good service had he been able to follow out his darling +project of becoming a lawyer; indeed, as it was, he was always called +upon, unprofessionally, to settle the neighbors' disputes, and was +renowned for making all the love-matches of the neighborhood. In his +reading he had rather a peculiar taste; he delighted in theological and +controversial books, and I never knew any one who was more thoroughly +acquainted with the Bible. He could not only give the precise chapter +and verse from which any text was taken, but was able to detect the +slightest verbal error in the quotation. +</P> + +<P> +"He had a passion for preaching, and although unordained, was always +ready to deliver a sermon whenever he could find a vacant church and an +audience. +</P> + +<P> +"Every one in America has heard of your papa's benevolent disposition, +and the amount he used to spend in private charities. Your Uncle +Barnes was, if possible, more generous. I have known him to part with +his last dollar to relieve another from want or embarrassment, and this +was not done through weakness or inability to refuse, but from a +genuine impulse of sympathy with those in need. +</P> + +<P> +"I am very proud to say of my only surviving brother, that although he +has never had the advantage of a good education, he has lived to the +age of sixty without indulging in tobacco, wine, or profane language, +and has brought up his boys in the same temperate habits." +</P> + +<P> +"How many children has Uncle Barnes, Aunt Esther?" inquired Ida. "I +have, I think, seen only three." +</P> + +<P> +"There are ten living," replied mamma. "Brother Barnes, you know, has +been twice married. His first wife was a woman of fine character, but +became, soon after her marriage, a confirmed invalid, and brother +Barnes' constant attention and care of her during her years of illness +was almost unparalleled for devotion. +</P> + +<P> +"Victoria is the oldest of the children: she was a very bright, clever +little girl, and a great pet with mother, as she was the first +grandchild born at home. Sister Arminda's children, living at some +distance, were not so available for instruction, and in that occupation +consisted mother's happiness. She taught Victoria to read when she was +two years and a half old, and I remember seeing her stand, a few years +later, at mother's knee, reading one of Hans Christian Andersen's +stories, with the tears streaming down her cheeks at the pathos—a +proof of appreciation that delighted mother's heart. +</P> + +<P> +"Victoria is married, and lives in Kansas. She is a fine, intelligent +woman, and since the loss of her little girl, last winter, has shown a +strong disposition to write. She has the ability to do so, and if her +health and her home duties permit, I am sure she will make a clever +writer. +</P> + +<P> +"Horace, whom you have seen, is next Victoria in age; he is also +married, and lives in New Jersey. +</P> + +<P> +"Two married daughters, Mary and Esther, follow. Mary's mind resembles +mother's in her grasp for politics and history, but she inherits her +own mother's feeble health, which unfits her for giving expression to +her masculine intellect. Esther, who was named for me, is a sweet and +lovely woman, and a devoted wife and mother. +</P> + +<P> +"Poor Woodburn came next on the list—a sensitive, silent youth, more +resembling his Uncle Horace than any of the other children. You all +recollect his sad death three years ago. +</P> + +<P> +"Oscar and Clarence are the youngest of Sally's, the first wife's, +children. Clarence is the cleverest of the family among the boys. He +is very well educated, and now supports himself as a land surveyor, +although not yet twenty years old." +</P> + +<P> +"Where does he live, Aunt Esther?" inquired Gabrielle, "With his +father?" +</P> + +<P> +"No; in Kansas with Victoria," was the reply. "I must not forget to +tell you that he taught school in Indiana when only sixteen years old, +and received a diploma from the State. His half-sister, Eugenia, who +is only fourteen, has had very pretty verses published in different New +York journals." +</P> + +<P> +"Did Aunt Margaret receive as good an education as you did, when a +young girl, mamma?" inquired Marguerite. "I remember hearing you say +that you were sent away to school for two or three years." +</P> + +<P> +"No," replied mamma, "her advantages for learning were not so good as +mine; indeed, I was her principal teacher. As I have told you, I went +to school very little as a child, and the village school at Vermont +gave only the most meagre and elementary instruction, but I was always +an eager reader of whatever came in my way, as well as an attentive +listener, and thus I contrived while in the woods to pick up +considerable information. I remember seeing at that time in a +neighbor's house, a little, cheaply bound volume, 'Blair's Rhetoric,' +which so interested me that I offered to take care of the owner's baby +for two weeks, if she would give me the book. A bargain was +accordingly made; I 'tended baby' for fifteen days, and received in +exchange the precious volume, which I studied until I learnt it by +heart. +</P> + +<P> +"Then I saved pennies until I had collected a sufficient number to send +to Erie and purchase a copy of Comstock's Natural Philosophy—the first +one by the way that had ever been brought into our township—and these +two books, together with my self-acquired knowledge, and my own +experience of two years as a teacher, sufficed to fit me to enter the +Fredonia Academy, and to compete fairly with the other girls whose +instruction had not been so dearly bought. +</P> + +<P> +"I spent four of the happiest years of my life in school at Fredonia, +and only regretted that sister Margaret could not have shared my +advantages. +</P> + +<P> +"Meantime, Margaret commenced to teach school at the age of fifteen, +and continued to do so, until she was married, when twenty years old, +giving great satisfaction to every one. She has, you know, three +children. Her two boys, Eugene and Arthur, are promising young men, +and are both employed in <I>The Tribune</I> office. Arthur is married, and +has several children. We all know how pretty his sister Evangeline is; +she, you know, is to become Mrs. Dr. Ross this winter." +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +[1] Here a line is missing. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap20"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XX. +</H3> + + +<P CLASS="contents"> +A Quiet Household—Absence of Marguerite and Gabrielle—Amusing Letters +from them—A Gypsy Fortune-teller—Marguerite returns with a +Visitor—The Harvest Moon—Preparing for Company—Arranging the Blue +Room—Intense Anticipation—"'He Cometh Not,' She Said." +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +<I>August 14</I>. +</P> + +<P> +Our little household has been unusually quiet for the past week, owing +to the absence of the two lively members of the family, Marguerite and +Gabrielle, who are visiting friends by the seaside and upon the shores +of Seneca Lake. Their absence makes a great change in the ways of the +household, for Ida and I have not the high spirits and constant flow of +words that distinguish our sisters, and we spend our time as quietly +and busily as two little nuns, not even dreaming of asking any one to +come up from the city and pass Saturday with us. We miss them very +much, especially at the table, and in the half hour after tea, when we +always gather about mamma's sofa for a little chat, before separating +for our evening's work—writing, practising, or whatever it may be. +</P> + +<P> +Ida and I usually form the audience upon these occasions, and listen +with great interest to Marguerite's entertaining stories of adventures +at home and abroad, or Gabrielle's droll mimicry of the strongly marked +characteristics of some one she has met or dreamed of. Sometimes the +candles are extinguished, and a ghost story is told, for Gabrielle is +fond of the supernatural, and her dramatic style of narration adds much +to our enjoyment; indeed, chancing the other day to read in a magazine +one of her pet stories, I was astonished to find how tame it sounded. +</P> + +<P> +Ida and I find, however, some compensation for our sisters' absence in +their sprightly letters, which arrive while we are at the tea-table. +Marguerite writes every day, and her letters are inimitable in their +humor and <I>esprit</I>, for she writes exactly as she talks. She is +visiting some friends whose acquaintance we made in Paris, and who have +a beautiful country-seat upon Long Island. Her letters are filled with +accounts of drives, fishing-parties, and excursions in yachts and +row-boats, and, lastly, of meeting a <I>real</I> gypsy encampment (not the +time-honored one in "Trovatore") and having her fortune told. +</P> + +<P> +A gypsy woman, it seems, stopped the carriage as Marguerite was driving +past, and expressed so strong a desire to "unveil the future for the +young lady," that Marguerite consented, and held out her hand. Quite +scornfully the gypsy said that her <I>own</I> palm must first be crossed +with money. Marguerite accordingly gave her a dollar bill, thinking +that would be the full value of any fortune she would receive from a +wandering gypsy, but the money was indignantly returned—the oracle did +not tell one-dollar fortunes. +</P> + +<P> +Somewhat astonished at so extensive a demand upon her purse, Marguerite +gave her another dollar, whereupon the gypsy at once declared that the +young lady had a lucky face, and would never want for anything during +her life. The usual dark and fair gentlemen figured largely in her +fortune, and—with a glance at Marguerite's blonde complexion—she was +to beware the treachery of a brunette rival; however, she was destined +to triumph in the end, and would indeed succeed in all her +undertakings. I am sure the gypsy could have promised no less, +considering the high price she placed upon her predictions. +</P> + +<P> +Gabrielle's experience is very different. She is visiting a former +schoolmate, a young girl of her own age. Bessie is now a pupil of +Vassar College, and enthusiastic over her studies: consequently the +amusements of the two girls are of a very sedate nature: in Gabrielle's +words, "A hermit in his cell, my dear Cecilia, never had a more quiet +life than I at present enjoy." +</P> + +<P> +She and Bessie had commenced, Gabrielle told me, to write a story +together. The <I>débût</I> was most brilliant, and for a time they worked +very harmoniously, but unluckily the two little authoresses had +different views respecting the <I>proposal</I> (not drawn from life, I +imagine, considering their years), and in Gabrielle's letter of +yesterday no mention was made of the progress of the story. +</P> + +<P> +The letter, which was very vivacious, was chiefly devoted to the girls' +exploits while taking a buggy drive. Gabrielle, who is so fearless +with her own ponies, quite scorned the lamb-like animal that was sent +up from the livery stable, but she appears to have had much diversion, +nevertheless, to judge from her letter. She says: +</P> + +<P> +"Yesterday I tried to break the monotony of life at Seneca Lake by +hiring a buggy and horse for Bessie and me to drive. You should have +heard the shriek of horror that rent the air at the approach of the +peaceful old nag. Miss Carpenter exclaimed: +</P> + +<P> +"'Oh mercy, he points his ears!' +</P> + +<P> +"Poor beast, his ears were pointed by nature, and <I>he</I> could not help +it. Mrs. Brown burst forth to the astonished stableman: +</P> + +<P> +"'Does he kick, roll, rear, bite, or shy? Tell me quick, for I know he +must do some of them.' +</P> + +<P> +"We did have our drive though, and an adventure too, for we were caught +in the rain, and entered a barn where a handsome young man acted the +part of host, and generously bestowed hay upon our horse." +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +<I>August 16</I>. +</P> + +<P> +A telegram last night from Marguerite, saying, "Will come on the early +train with the Honorable Francis"—a very pleasant surprise, for, +knowing the habits of that gentleman, we had supposed him to be, if not +at the Antipodes, at least in Europe; accordingly, we went down to meet +the train in quite a flutter of excitement. +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Colton is "honorable" from having represented his government for +four years at Venice. In appearance he is tall and swarthy, with a +foreign and picturesque cast of features not unlike the Italian type: a +"lovely brigand" we sometimes call him. Notwithstanding his easy and +somewhat nonchalant air, he is a true American in his active and +restless disposition and his love for travelling. I would be afraid to +state the number of miles he has travelled since we made his +acquaintance in Paris four years ago, and I have known him to start at +forty-eight hours' notice to make a tour of the world. +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Colton made us a visit of two days, and was sufficiently +enthusiastic over dear Chappaqua to satisfy even our exacting demands. +</P> + +<P> +We had some sport over the probable speculations of the telegraph +operators concerning our visitor. Out of mischief, Marguerite had +mentioned him in her telegram merely as "the Honorable Francis;" for so +deep an interest is taken in the messages we receive and send, that we +enjoy puzzling the operators a little; indeed, we may say that our +telegrams are common property here, for seldom do we receive them until +they have been carefully read by the telegraph and railroad officials, +and then handed to any interested outsider who may chance to be in the +office. I will give a little scene that occurred not long ago, by way +of illustration. +</P> + +<P> +Our friend Mr. A—— alights from the morning train, and is welcomed by +a friend of his who is stopping for a week or so in Chappaqua. +</P> + +<P> +"Delighted to see you, A——. Knew you were coming up this morning, so +thought I would run down to the train and meet you." +</P> + +<P> +"How in the world did you know I was coming, my dear fellow?" inquires +the astonished A——. "You don't know Mrs. Cleveland or her niece, do +you?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, I don't know them," is the prompt reply, "but I was in the +telegraph office yesterday, and saw your acceptance when it arrived." +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +TABLEAU. +<BR><BR> +<I>August 19</I>. +</P> + +<P> +I am not partial to Friday, as it is often an unlucky day for me—a +superstition that has come down to me from grandmamma; but, although I +try to think it absurd, our experience of yesterday proved a singular +confirmation. +</P> + +<P> +Ida and I had thought to celebrate the return of Marguerite and +Gabrielle by inviting several friends from the city to enjoy the +delicious moonlight with us. Mamma accordingly wrote the invitations, +and we at once commenced our preparations. The <I>fête</I> we decided +should last three days, and was to commence Friday afternoon—ominous +day! We were to have moonlight walks and drives; we were to kindle a +fire of pine cones and charcoal upon the beach at Rye Lake, and boil +the kettle and make tea; a boat was to be placed upon our own little +pond, and a tent pitched near by; and, last and most brilliant, Ida's +lovely Southern friend, Miss Worthington, and Gabrielle, were to occupy +the tent, dressed as gypsies, and tell the fortunes of the company. +</P> + +<P> +We could scarcely wait for Friday to arrive, but there were many +preparations to be made, so we curbed our impatience and worked very +industriously. As we were now seven in the household, not counting the +servants, and had invited quite a number of guests, the resources of +our house were not extensive enough to stow them all away, consequently +we spent a lively morning at the side-hill house fitting up three +rooms, with Minna's assistance. +</P> + +<P> +The blue room, with its pretty outlook upon the meadows, was our +favorite, and upon it we bestowed the most attention. The carpet was +gray and blue, of an especially pretty pattern, and the handsome +marble-topped bureau, exhumed from the never-failing resources of the +house in the woods, looked as fresh as though purchased yesterday. We +made the bed with our own hands, touching with reverent care the superb +blankets with their inscription: +</P> + +<P> +"To Horace Greeley, the Protector of American Industry." +</P> + +<P> +Then, when the blue silk eider-down counterpane was adjusted to our +satisfaction, and one or two little ornaments added to the bureau and +chimney-piece—"Cupid" in the Naples Gallery, and my dear Lela's +portrait, both framed in blue velvet, and a beautiful Sèvres vase which +mamma calls "the one that Pickie <I>didn't</I> break" (his little hands +destroyed its mate)—we congratulated ourselves upon the effect of the +room. +</P> + +<P> +<I>Apropos</I> of the Cupid, Ida sent it last winter with Annibal Caracci's +"Magdalen" and one or two other religious pictures to be framed at +Schaus'. When they were sent home, to our surprise, the frames were +all surmounted by crosses—an emblem that, although quite <I>en règle</I> +for the Holy Magdalen, was, we thought, singularly inappropriate for +Cupid. Stopping in at Schaus' a day or two later, I inquired of young +Mr. Schaus, to whose taste we had left the selection of the frames, his +reason for this extraordinary innovation. His reply was as naïve as +unexpected: +</P> + +<P> +"But, mademoiselle, does Cupid, then, never meet with crosses?" +</P> + +<P> +Having done our best for the blue room, we walked over the grounds to +see that they were all in order, and when we had admired the pretty +blue boat, the white tent, and the water-lilies in full bloom (planted +that morning), and gone down to the express office to receive a package +due by the ten o'clock train—a copy of the poems of one of the +expected guests, which was to be left carelessly in his room with a +mark at one of the ballads,—we congratulated ourselves that we had +done all in our power to make the rooms look tasteful and pretty. +</P> + +<P> +Lina was in her glory, having had an unrestricted order to do her best. +I had a slight foreboding of disappointment, as it was Friday, +remembering, too, that the dining-room was lighted by three candles the +previous night (a French superstition); but we all dressed in good +spirits. +</P> + +<P> +The somewhat spectral appearance of five ladies in mourning was +somewhat relieved by the recent addition to our little circle, Miss +Worthington, whose dress, though black, was enlivened by a little dash +of pale blue—a most becoming match for her fair complexion and golden +curls. +</P> + +<P> +We did not wish to ruffle our hair unnecessarily by playing croquet or +walking, so we all sat very sedately in the music-room watching for the +5.15 train to arrive. It came at last. We rushed out on the piazza, +but recognized no one among the few passengers who alighted. +</P> + +<P> +Disappointment number one. However, they will surely come at half-past +six, we argued, and taking up some books and work, we waited patiently +until the next train arrived. Again we ran out upon the piazza. Papa +was upon the platform at the depot, but we saw no other figure that +looked familiar. +</P> + +<P> +"What did I tell you, Ida," said I solemnly, "when, against my +entreaties, three candles were lighted last night?" +</P> + +<P> +Never before was papa so long in walking up from the station—I suppose +for the reason that he came laden with messages, notes, and telegrams. +His "young chief" was detained in the editorial rooms by affairs of +great moment; another gentleman had been summoned to the bedside of his +father, who was in a dying condition; two other gentlemen had plunged +rashly into the preliminary steps to matrimony, and were, I suppose, +engaged in serenading their <I>fiancées</I>, while the other two had +apparently been made way with, for from them we had no message of any +sort. +</P> + +<P> +The crowning injury was the receipt of a book from a friend who is in +the habit of supplying me with the latest novels. Usually I am pleased +with the books she sends me, but a glance at the title, "'He Cometh +Not,' She Said," made me hurl it to the farthest corner of the room; +that was too much for any one to bear. +</P> + +<P> +We sat down with small appetites to the elaborate dinner that Lina had +prepared, and went gloomily to bed at an early hour. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap21"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XXI. +</H3> + + +<P CLASS="contents"> +The Story of Mr. Greeley's Parents continued—He accompanies his Mother +to New Hampshire—Her Sisters—Three Thanksgivings in One Year—Pickie +as a Baby—His Childhood—Mrs. Greeley's Careful Training—His +Playthings—His Death—A Letter from Margaret Fuller. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +<I>August 31</I>. +</P> + +<P> +"Mammi," said I, waking from a deep reverie as I sat beside our bright +wood-fire (for we have had two days of dashing rain, and fires have not +been at all disagreeable), "did grandpapa ever return to New Hampshire +after he left it in 1821?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, my dear," was the reply; "he never returned, nor did he manifest +any desire to see his former home and his old friends again. I suppose +that all of his pleasant recollections of New Hampshire were superseded +by the thought that it was the scene of his bankruptcy, and his proud +spirit shrunk from meeting those who might remember that he had left +Amherst a fugitive. He was deeply attached to his forest home, and I +do not think he ever had an hour of discomfort after he came there. +Father always expressed the wish that he might be buried upon his farm. +His old age was very serene and happy; he lived to see his 'hole in the +forest' become an extensive farm, and the vast wilderness that had +surrounded him disappear, while the little tavern and cluster of +log-houses across the State line from us grew to be the village of +Clymer. +</P> + +<P> +"Father died in 1867, at the age of eighty-seven. +</P> + +<P> +"As for mother, she had the happiness before her death of seeing her +fondly loved relatives once more. In the autumn of 1843, mother and I +went to New Hampshire to visit the old home and friends. Father was +urged to accompany us, but he chose to cling to his Western home. For +the third time I now travelled in a canal-boat, but this time it was a +packet, and not one of the slow 'line-boats' that I described to you in +speaking of our journey from Vermont to Pennsylvania. +</P> + +<P> +"Brother Horace accompanied us from New York to New Hampshire, where we +spent several weeks visiting mother's old friends and relatives. The +meeting between mother and her sister, Aunt Margaret Dickey, was +especially tender, for they had been separated many years, and did not +expect to meet again. +</P> + +<P> +"Aunt Margaret is still living, although now in her ninetieth year. I +remember hearing that she read your uncle's 'Recollections,' as they +appeared in the <I>Ledger</I>, with the liveliest interest. She was at that +time eighty-four years old. +</P> + +<P> +"In her youth Aunt Margaret was a decided beauty, with luxuriant hair +of the real golden shade, neither flaxen, ash-color, nor red. She was +naturally refined and amiable. +</P> + +<P> +"From New Hampshire we went to Fitchburg, Massachusetts, where mother's +half-sister, Sally, resided. Aunt Sally was doubly my aunt, having +married father's brother, Dustin Greeley. She was a slender, handsome +woman, with blue eyes and light hair, and possessed mother's happy +temperament, which all the trials of her hard life had not been able to +change. +</P> + +<P> +"That year I celebrated three Thanksgivings within as many weeks." +</P> + +<P> +"Pray how did that happen, auntie?" inquired Gabrielle, who had just +entered the room. +</P> + +<P> +"Thanksgiving Day was not then restricted to the last Thursday in the +month," was the reply, "but was appointed by the Governor of each State +at any time that he saw fit between harvest and the holidays; +therefore, being in three different States within a month, I had three +Thanksgiving dinners. +</P> + +<P> +"When we returned to New York, we stopped for a short visit at Turtle +Bay. Pickie was then eight months old, and as sweet and poetic-looking +as one of Correggio's cherubs. Your mamma was then in the first flush +of her maternal enthusiasm. She and your papa were desirous that +mother should remain in New York and spend the winter with them; but +fondly as she loved your papa, and dear as her daughter-in-law and her +little grandson were to her, she felt that her duty and her strongest +love recalled her to her husband and her home in the woods. She +returned to Pennsylvania, and took up again her life of daily care, but +she brought back little joy with her, although no word of discontent +escaped her. Her favorite seat was by the window looking east, and +there we often surprised her gazing with an intent look down the road. +When we would ask her if she was expecting any one, or for whom she was +looking, she would say with a startled expression, 'Oh, no one;' but we +always fancied that she was thinking of her early home that she had now +left forever. +</P> + +<P> +"A year or two later, slowly, silently, and peacefully she passed away." +</P> + +<P> +"I thought, auntie," said Gabrielle, "that you lived with mamma when +Pickie was a baby. I am sure I have heard her say that you helped her +to take care of him." +</P> + +<P> +"That is true, dear," replied mamma, "but I did not remain in New York +at the time of which we are now speaking. I accompanied mother home to +Pennsylvania, and the following spring, when Pickie was a year old, +your mamma wrote to ask me to come back, and assist her in the care of +her beautiful boy. I remained with her until my marriage, consequently +Pickie became very near to me, and his death was almost as great a +shock to me as it was to his parents." +</P> + +<P> +"Do tell us, mamma," said Marguerite, "about Pickie's childhood. I +have always heard that he was brought up in a very remarkable way, but +beyond the fact of Aunt Mary's great devotion to him, I know very +little concerning him." +</P> + +<P> +"Your Aunt Mary," mamma replied, "looked upon Pickie's birth as much in +the light of a miracle as if no other child had ever before been born. +He was Heaven-sent to her, and she sacrificed herself completely for +the better development of Pickie's individuality, or, to use the +language of the reformers of those days, in 'illustrating the +independence of the child's self-hood.' Nothing could have been more +boundless than her enthusiasm for her baby; and it was night and day +her study to guard his health, and to watch and cherish his opening +intellect. No child prince could have been more tenderly and daintily +nurtured than he was; as his father often said, 'Pickie is a dear boy +in every sense of the word;' for nothing was too rare or too costly for +him. +</P> + +<P> +"You have heard of the brilliancy of his complexion: this was owing in +part to his mother's watchful care of his diet, and to his bathing. An +hour was allowed for his daily bath, and for brushing out his +luxuriant, silken hair. This was one of my duties, and no doubt it was +that scrupulous care that gave it so rare a shade. +</P> + +<P> +"As for his food, it was quite peculiar. He never ate baker's bread, +nor indeed any bread prepared by other hands than his mother's or mine, +and he was not given meat or cake—with the exception of oatmeal +cake—while candies, or indeed sugar in any form, butter, and salt were +rigidly excluded from his diet; but white grapes, and every choice +fruit that this or foreign markets afforded, he was allowed to eat in +abundance, and the result of this system was a sturdy constitution, and +a complexion unparalleled for beauty. +</P> + +<P> +"I said that he never ate butter; but cream and milk were given him +instead." +</P> + +<P> +"What sort of toys did he have, mamma?" I inquired. "I can never +imagine him playing with dolls like an ordinary child." +</P> + +<P> +"He never did," replied mamma; "his toys, like his meals, were +peculiar. One of the largest rooms in the house was chosen for his +nursery, and as his mother would not have a carpet upon the floor, it +was scrubbed daily. Here his playthings were kept—a singular +assortment one would think them, but your aunt seldom gave him what +would simply amuse him for the moment, but sought rather to surround +him by objects that would suggest ideas to his mind—on a plan somewhat +like that of the <I>Kindergarten</I> system, but more poetic, and entirely +original with herself. He had lovely pictures, and a real violin, +while the shops were constantly searched for whatever was curious, +instructive, or beautiful. +</P> + +<P> +"Pickie's mind and conversation were very unlike those of the children +even of our best families, for he never had children for playfellows, +and those friends whom his mother permitted to be near him were of the +most cultivated and noble character. His language consequently was as +choice as that of the minds who surrounded him, and very quaint it +sounded from a child's lips. At this time Margaret Fuller was with us, +and Pickie lived in most intimate relations to this pure, high-minded +woman. +</P> + +<P> +"In her care to prevent Pickie from knowing of the existence of +wickedness and cruelty in this world, your Aunt Mary would rarely +permit him to converse long with any save the chosen few that I have +mentioned, lest the innocence of his child-mind should be shocked by +hearing of war, or murder, or cruelty to animals, while she was ever +guarding him lest his eyes might rest upon some painful or disagreeable +object." +</P> + +<P> +"Don't you think, mamma," said Marguerite, "that that letter of +Margaret Fuller's upon Pickie's death shows remarkable feeling for a +child unrelated to her?" +</P> + +<P> +"Which letter?" inquired Ida. +</P> + +<P> +"The one that is copied in the 'Recollections,'" was the reply. +</P> + +<P> +"I think," returned Ida, "that the one she wrote to papa which has +never been published is much finer." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, do read it to us," said Marguerite. So, unlocking a little box, +Ida took out a sheet quite yellow and worn, and read it to us: +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +"RIETI, <I>August 25, 1848</I>. +</P> + +<P> +"MY BELOVED FRIEND:—Bitterest tears alone can answer those +words—<I>Pickie is dead</I>. My heart has all these years presaged them. +I have suffered not a few sleepless hours thinking of our darling, +haunted with fears never again to see his sweet, joyous face which on +me, also, always looked with love and trust. But I always thought of +small-pox. Now how strangely snatched from you, oh poor mother; how +vain all your feverish care night and day to ward off the least +possible ill from that fair frame. Oh, how pathetic it seems to think +of all that was done for dear, dear Pickie to build up strong that +temple from which the soul departed so easily. +</P> + +<P> +"You say I left him too soon to know him well, but it was not so. I +had spiritual sight of the child, and knew his capacities. I hoped to +be of use to him if he lived, for sweet was our communion beside the +murmuring river, and when he imitated the low voices of the little +brook, or telling him stories in my room, which even then he well +understood. A thousand times I have thought of the time when he first +said the word <I>Open</I> to get into my room, and my heart always was open +to him. He was my consolation in hours sadder than you ever +guessed—my spring-flower, my cheerful lark. None but his parents +could love him so well; no child, except little Waldo Emerson, had I +ever so loved. In both I saw the promise of a great future: its +realization is deferred to some other sphere; ere long may we follow +and aid it there. +</P> + +<P> +"Ever sacred, my friend, be this bond between us—the love and +knowledge of the child. I was his aunty; and no sister can so feel +what you lose. My friend, I have never wept so for grief of my own, as +now for yours. It seems to me <I>too</I> cruel; you are resigned; you make +holy profit of it; the spear has entered and forced out the heart's +blood, the pure ichor follows. I know not yet how to feel so; I have +not yet grieved away the bitter pang. +</P> + +<P> +"My mother wrote me he said sometimes he would get a boat and carry +yellow flowers to his Aunty Margaret. I suppose he had not yet quite +forgotten that I used to get such for him. I often thought what I +should carry him from Europe—what I should tell him—what teach? He +had a heart of natural poetry; he would have prized all that was best. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, it is all over; and indeed this life is over for me. The +conditions of this planet are not propitious to the lovely, the just, +the pure; it is these that go away; it is the unjust that triumph. Let +us, as you say, purify ourselves; let us labor in the good spirit here, +but leave all thought of results to Eternity. +</P> + +<P> +"I say this, and yet my heart is bound to earth as never before; for I, +too, have a dearer self—a little son. He is now about the age sweet +Pickie was when I was with him most; and I have thought much of the one +in the dawning graces of the other. But I accept the lesson, and will +strive to prepare myself to resign him. Indeed, I had the warning +before; for, during the siege of Rome, when I could not see him, my +mind, agonized by the danger of his father, as well as all the +overpowering and infamous injuries heaped upon the noble, sought refuge +in the thought of him safe, in his green nook, and, as I thought, in +care of worthy persons. When at last we left, our dearest friends laid +low, our fortunes finally ruined, and every hope for which we +struggled, blighted, I hoped to find comfort in his smiles. I found +him wasted to a skeleton; and it is only by a month of daily and hourly +most anxious care (in which I was often assisted by memories of what +Mrs. Greeley did for Pickie) that I have been able to restore him. But +I hold him by a frail tenure; he has the tendency to cough by which I +was brought so low. +</P> + +<P> +"Adieu. You say, pray for you; oh, let us all pray together. I hope +we shall yet find dear Pickie where he is; that earthly blemishes will +be washed out, and he be able to love us all. Till then, God help and +guide us, dear friend. Amen. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +"M. F. O. +</P> + +<P> +"You may address me in future as Marchioness Ossoli." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap22"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XXII. +</H3> + + +<P CLASS="contents"> +The Friends' Seminary—The Principal Chappaqua +Residences—Reminiscences of Paris during the War—An Accomplished +Lady—Her Voice—Festivities—A Drive to Rye Lake—Making Tea on the +Beach—A Sail at Sunset—Fortune-telling by Firelight—The Drive +Home—Sunday Morning—A Row on the Pond—Dramatic Representations in +the Barn—A Drive to Lake Wampas—Starlight Row. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +<I>August 24</I>. +</P> + +<P> +A visit last night from Mr. Collins, the Principal of Chappaqua +Institute. This gentleman is one of our neighbors; so when the duties +of school hours are over, he frequently calls in to play a game of +croquet, or to join in the evening rubber of whist, of which Marguerite +and Gabrielle are so fond. I had often heard his name before he was +introduced to us, and imagined, from his responsible position, that he +must be some staid, gray-haired Quaker; but, upon meeting him, I was +surprised to discover that, although Principal of the "Friends' +Seminary," he belonged to the "world's people"; and was quite young +enough to impress the more susceptible among his young lady pupils. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +<I>August 27</I>. +</P> + +<P> +In speaking of the handsome residences about and near Chappaqua, I have +unintentionally overlooked one of the finest among them. It is +situated about half-way between Chappaqua and Mount Kisco; and so far +as I can judge by a view from the road, the grounds are both extensive +and well cultivated. The house stands back from the road, and is quite +imbedded in trees, and the lawn and flower-beds are very prettily laid +out. +</P> + +<P> +Upon asking Bernard one day, as we were driving to Mount Kisco, to whom +this place belonged, he said that he had forgotten the owner's name, +but believed he was now in Europe; and it was not until quite recently +that I ascertained it was the property of Mr. Elliott O. Cowdin, of New +York City, Paris, or Westchester County. I really do not know which +place to accredit to him as his residence. +</P> + +<P> +Yesterday Mr. Cowdin dined with us, and we had quite a merry time +recalling our adventures upon leaving Paris in 1870. It was only three +days before the battle of Sedan, when every one was rushing away from +the doomed city, that we also decided to leave; and Mr. Cowdin was very +kind in helping us off. We had many tribulations and delays in +procuring our tickets, and having our luggage registered, for thousands +were waiting in the Gare St. Lazare to escape from the range of +Prussian shells; but between the energy of Mr. Cowdin and his servant +Harry, and the talismanic name of Washburne (for our ambassador had +kindly given us his card to present at the ticket and freight offices), +we succeeded in running the blockade much easier than we had +anticipated. Once in the waiting-room, we seated ourselves upon our +bags, for every chair had been taken hours before, and waited for the +twelve o'clock train. We sat patiently for an hour, and were then +informed it would not start until six, for what reason we could not +learn; for French officials can never be induced to give you any +information. +</P> + +<P> +At the close of another hour, we were not only white with alarm, +supposing the Prussians were at the city gates, but were also in a +starving condition, having eaten nothing since our eight o'clock +breakfast of chocolate and rolls. What to do we did not know; the +doors of the waiting-room were closed, and despite the shrieks and +frantic kicks of the terrified and penned-up passengers, no egress was +permitted. Finally, our party of five helpless women decided to appeal +to Mr. Cowdin, feeling confident that he would devise some means to +relieve our forlorn condition. A piteous note was accordingly written, +informing him that we should be prisoners until six o'clock, and +appealing to his American chivalry to come and share our confinement +with us, and to fetch some bread and butter, of which we stood sorely +in need. +</P> + +<P> +Among the employees of the station a messenger was found, and in less +than an hour Mr. Cowdin's friendly face was seen, as he made his way +through the crowd, followed by the invaluable Harry with a basket. An +impromptu table-cloth, consisting of newspapers, was spread upon the +floor, and we gathered about our feast, the other passengers meantime +eying us hungrily, as roast chicken, Bordeaux, and a four-pound loaf +appeared from the basket. +</P> + +<P> +That was my last meal in Paris, and although the circumstances appeared +very amusing as we talked them over with Mr. Cowdin yesterday, they +were anything but entertaining at that time, expecting momentarily as +we did that a shell would explode among us. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +<I>August 31</I>. +</P> + +<P> +I have just returned from a walk to the station to meet our friend, +Mrs. George Gilman, whom we expected would spend the day with us, but +found instead a note from her saying that ill-health would prevent her +from visiting us at present. +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Gilman is a dear friend of ours, and a charming and accomplished +woman. Her elegant drawing-rooms upon Lexington Avenue are a resort +for not only the fashionable world, but a favorite rendezvous for the +principal vocalists and pianists of the city, for Mrs. Gilman is +perhaps the only amateur in New York society whose voice equals +Carlotta Patti's in extent, and the ease with which her flute-like +tones reach G in alt. Her voice has been carefully trained by many of +the great New York masters, and has also had the advantage of Paris +instruction. Therefore we may congratulate ourselves that we possess +in private life, one who would make so admirable a prima donna. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +<I>September 6</I>. +</P> + +<P> +My journal, about which I am usually so conscientious, has been +neglected for nearly a week, for we have had a succession of visitors, +and my time has been entirely taken up with drives, games of croquet, +and starlight walks. +</P> + +<P> +On Saturday, several friends came up with papa in the morning train; +some merely to pass the day, and others to make a longer stay with us. +Mr. James Parton, the well-known author, had not visited dear Chappaqua +in twenty years, and was desirous of seeing the changes that time had +effected in this lovely spot. Others, too, were visiting us for the +first time, and preferred to see the wild, picturesque beauties of the +place, rather than to drive, ride, or play croquet; consequently the +company soon divided. One party strolled off through the woods, and +followed the course of the brook up to our tiny cascade—now, however, +swollen by the heavy rains we have recently had into quite a noisy and +impetuous waterfall, while others who had earlier in the season spent +long mornings with us under the pines and beneath the oaks on the +side-hill, now enrolled themselves in Gabrielle's regiment, confident +that she would lead them to a glorious victory on the field of croquet. +</P> + +<P> +We did not assemble again until our two o'clock dinner, and as soon as +that meal was over, we started upon the long-contemplated picnic to Rye +Lake. A large six-seated carriage and a pair of stout horses had been +hired, and Ida's own phaeton and ponies were also at the door to convey +our party to that most romantic sheet of water. +</P> + +<P> +Every seat in the two conveyances was occupied, and all the available +corners were filled with tightly packed baskets, containing charcoal +and pine-cones to kindle a fire upon the smooth beach, tea-kettles and +teapots, table linen, dishes and provisions. The drive was one of the +most delightful that we have yet had, and was heightened by the dreamy +haze of autumn, that is now faintly perceptible. +</P> + +<P> +The lake is private property, and picnics are frowned upon; however, +the most attractive gentleman in our party was sent to ask permission +for us to pass the afternoon there, and a cordial assent was quickly +granted. +</P> + +<P> +A well-trimmed sward, shaded by fine old oaks, was selected as the most +suitable place to lay the cloth, and then, to pass away the time until +six o'clock, several of the party went out in a row-boat. +</P> + +<P> +"We were absent an hour or more, playing cards, singing, and drifting +about; now and then grazing a rock, or narrowly escaping an upset, +owing to the disproportion of weight among the passengers, and at +sunset returned to our encampment. Here we found a blazing fire, and +the tea-kettle singing joyously. An extensive meal was spread upon a +neat white cloth, and we grouped about it upon our bright carriage +rugs, so like leopard skins with their black spots upon a yellow +ground. Hot tea was a very agreeable substitute for the lemonade that +generally forms the beverage at picnics, and as we all had excellent +appetites, the meal passed off very pleasantly. +</P> + +<P> +"What are we to do now!" inquired one restless being, as we walked down +to the beach, leaving Bernard to consume the <I>débris</I> of the feast and +collect the dishes. +</P> + +<P> +"I think this fire so comfortable," said one of the young ladies, "that +I mean to remain beside it, as it is now dark and rather chill." +</P> + +<P> +"Let us play whist by the firelight," was suggested by those who had +not been out in the boat. +</P> + +<P> +"Or, better still, have our fortunes told by its light," said Ida, +throwing a couple of branches upon the burning coals. +</P> + +<P> +"Delightful!" exclaimed Marguerite. "I have not forgotten that we have +among us a Gypsy Queen, whose predictions are always realized;" turning +to a pretty blonde, whose delicate features and sunny curls testified +that she was only a gypsy through her talent for unveiling the future +to her friends. +</P> + +<P> +The rugs were accordingly spread out upon the beach, and we gathered +about the fire whilst the cards were being shuffled and cut for the +past, present, and future. A weird sight it was, and one that the +great Rembrandt would have delighted to paint: a background of dark, +silent trees, before us the motionless lake, illumined by the silver +crescent then setting, while the faint glimmer of starlight, and the +fiery glow of the burning wood, lit up the face of our young seeress, +as with a puzzled brow, but a pretty air of faith, she bent over the +talismanic cards. +</P> + +<P> +In turn our fortunes were all told, and not a little wonder was excited +when some hidden page of the past, as a former engagement, or a +never-mentioned marriage, was disclosed. +</P> + +<P> +One young man was told that he would live happily, but always be +poor—a destiny that he received with a droll air of resignation and +philosophy; while another was warned to beware of a blonde enemy, +causing him to recoil with a look of mock terror from the fair-haired +Philippe Hubert who sat beside him. +</P> + +<P> +An elegant young Englishman was alternately inspirited and depressed, +by hearing that an uncle in India was about to leave him a legacy, and +that a tailor's bill of many years' standing was now upon its way to +him, whilst for all the young ladies a brilliant future was predicted. +</P> + +<P> +My fortune was, however, quite mysterious. I was told to beware of a +male enemy, and two rivals, a blonde and a brunette, and was in +imminent danger of poison. I was soon to be engaged to a poor man, but +was to marry a millionnaire, who would leave me a widow at the end of +five years' time. Whether I was then to +<BR><BR> + "--marry my own love," +<BR><BR> +the oracle did not disclose. +</P> + +<P> +Then ensued the long drive home. The air was chill but exhilarating, +and we sung and told ghost stories, and were astonished, when at last +we dashed through a white gate, to find ourselves at home once more. +It was ten o'clock the next morning before we were all assembled at the +breakfast-table, and we had scarcely risen from our last cups of +coffee, when a couple of friends arrived upon the slow Sunday train. +How we were now to amuse ourselves was the question for the proximity +of a church compelled very quiet demeanor. Finally we had a brilliant +idea: the stone barn which had been filled only a few days previous +with fresh, sweet hay, would be just the place to spend the morning. +Accordingly we walked up there, pausing, however, on the way for a row +on the pond in our pretty blue boat, and then ensued two charming +hours. We mounted the hay-loft, and nestled down in the soft mounds +(to the detriment of our black dresses, by the way, for upon emerging +we were covered with burrs and straws), and being far from reproving +ears we sung both sacred and secular music, and laughed at a droll +impersonation, of Fechter's Claude— +<BR><BR> + "Ah! false one,<BR> + It is ze Prince zow lovest, not ze man," etc., +<BR><BR> +and an equally comic burlesque upon Forrest, and were very sorry to +learn that the carriages were waiting to take us to Lake Wampas. +</P> + +<A NAME="img-254"></A> +<CENTER> +<IMG SRC="images/img-254.jpg" ALT="The Stone Barn." BORDER="2" WIDTH="511" HEIGHT="374"> +<H4> +[Illustration: The Stone Barn.] +</H4> +</CENTER> + +<P> +"A new lake?" inquired a friend who had already accompanied us to Rye +and Croton Lakes; "pray how many does Westchester County possess?" +</P> + +<P> +Each new one is of course the prettiest, and beautiful as Rye Lake had +been the previous night under the influence of the setting sun, and +starlight, we all decided that Lake Wampas was simply perfect. +</P> + +<P> +Dinner was ready upon our return, and before the dessert was placed +upon the table a warning whistle was heard, and several of our friends +were obliged to bid us a hasty adieu, and rush through Bischoff's +garden to catch the train. +</P> + +<P> +In the evening we walked up to the pond for a row among the +water-lilies by starlight. There we found the bonny blue boat awaiting +us, but the oars had disappeared. Whether Bernard disapproved of +water-parties on Sunday, or had merely put the oars away for safety, we +could not tell, but having gone so far, we were determined not to be +disappointed, so we embarked, and with an old garden-rake, and a long +pole to propel the boat, we succeeded, at all events, in having a very +laughable row. +</P> + +<P> +The next morning our friends left us; the play-days were over, and we +once more settled ourselves to study. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap23"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XXIII. +</H3> + + +<P CLASS="contents"> +Marriage of a Cousin—A Pretty Bride—Letters—Home Circle Complete—A +Letter of Adventures—Wedding Cards—A Musical Marriage—Housekeeping +under Difficulties—Telegraphic Blunders—A Bust of Mr. Greeley—More +Visitors. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +<I>September 10</I>. +</P> + +<P> +A letter yesterday from our cousin Estelle Greeley, signed, however, by +a new name, for she was married last week. Estelle is Aunt Arminda's +youngest daughter, and although not yet eighteen, was before the death +of Theresa's children a great-aunt. She sent us her picture, taken +with her husband. She is a very pretty girl, with large, dreamy, blue +eyes, and lashes so long and dark as to cast deep shadows—a +languishing effect often produced on city belles by artificial means. +Her hair is of that sunny brown shade peculiar to so many of our +cousins, and she has hitherto worn it floating over her shoulders <I>à la +belle sauvage</I>; but now I suppose she thinks so <I>negligée</I> and girlish +a coiffure incompatible with her new dignity as a married woman, for I +observed in her picture that it was wreathed into an imposing diadem +braid. +</P> + +<P> +Although Estelle is rather young to have married, the match has +received the cordial approbation of tho entire family. She was married +at home, but has now gone to live at Columbus, Pennsylvania, where her +father-in-law is a prominent merchant. Her letter was full of +enthusiasm over her happiness, but I was glad to learn that she did not +intend, like so many young brides, to give up her music in the +excitement of her new married life. +</P> + +<P> +Our mail was not large this morning, for our friends are now returning +to the city, and are busy with the demands of upholsterers and +dress-makers in anticipation of the gayeties of the coming season; some +few, however, are still enjoying this delicious September weather by +the seaside or inland. +</P> + +<P> +Our friend, Mrs. Cutler, the pretty Virginia novelist and society star, +is now in Westchester County, and promises us a visit very soon. She +speaks with deep feeling of the pleasure it will afford her to visit +dear uncle's loved home, and in conclusion sends many kind messages to +mamma's "bouquet of girls." +</P> + +<P> +One of my most intimate friends, Marguerite Aymar, after having visited +several watering-places, and contributed sparkling letters to different +New York journals this summer, has now come to Westchester County to +pass away quietly the remainder of the season, and gather up strength +for her literary labors during the coming winter. I learn by a letter +received from her yesterday, that she is boarding within driving +distance of Chappaqua—a very agreeable prospect for me, for Marguerite +and I are much given to long talks together, and are very fond of an +exchange of ideas over our many literary plans. +</P> + +<P> +Miss Aymar is a clever young writer, by no means confining herself to +the graceful poems, stories, and sketches that she dashes off with such +ease, but evincing talent and tact in her more thoughtful magazine +articles. She is now, she tells me, at work upon a novel. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +<I>September 13</I>. +</P> + +<P> +Our home circle is once more complete, for Mrs. Lamson, who left us +some weeks ago to visit friends in Connecticut, has now returned to +remain with us until we go down to the city. +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Lamson was one of dear uncle's earliest friends, their +acquaintance dating back indeed to the days of Poultney—and we are all +deeply attached to her. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +<I>September 15</I>. +</P> + +<P> +Arthur's name, I believe, has not yet been mentioned in my journal +since he left us early in August. He is a very tormenting +correspondent, for he never writes with the promptitude that would be +agreeable, but his letters when they do come are always entertaining, +and one that arrived this morning, detailing his adventures since his +departure from Chappaqua, we found especially so. Before making some +extracts from it, I must explain that he left us to join a number of +young men from Chappaqua, headed by our neighbor, Mr. Carpenter, who +were to camp out at Rye Beach, and indulge in unlimited fishing +parties. This out-of-doors life delighted Arthur, accustomed as he had +been to foot journeys in Europe, and when the party broke up he bought +a waterproof suit, hired a boat and a tent, and rowed up the Sound to +Boston, where he lives, sleeping meantime on land or in his boat, as +best suited his caprice. I will now give his exploits in his own words. +</P> + +<P> +"I remained on the beach some time after Mr. Carpenter and the others +left, caught and made food of many fishes, and came near making myself +food for them, for in hauling up anchor in a rough sea I tipped out of +the boat, but luckily saved myself by clutching its side, and lifting +myself in at imminent risk of turning the whole concern bottom upwards. +</P> + +<P> +"Being wrapped in slumber on the rocks one night with a big fire +burning beside me, my bed of dry seaweed caught fire, and woke me by +its fierce breath; but escaping an evil fate for the present, I came +safely home to Boston, which I felt keen joy to see once more. +</P> + +<P> +"I have gone into the office of a lawyer here, and am engaged in the +delightful occupation of 'sooing folks' (as the old fellow pronounces +it). You may imagine me seated on the extreme top of a high stool, +forging like a young Cyclops with malignant pleasure, the writs and +summonses which are presently to be flourished by the Sheriff in the +face of the astonished Defendant." +</P> + +<P> +Among our other letters this morning was a package from London +containing the dainty wedding-cards of a beautiful young American +pianist (Teresa Carreño) and her handsome violinist husband, +accompanied by a long letter from the bride. The letter was +overflowing with happiness, and the naïveté with which she described +all the little annoyances of her new married life, and especially the +trials of a young housekeeper, was quite delicious. Her furniture had +not yet come from Paris, and there were but two chairs in the parlor; +consequently, when a visitor came, her husband was obliged to stand, +she said, with the greatest ceremony. She sat by the kitchen table to +write to me, and the cook overturned her ink, making a blot upon the +page: all of these little details made up a perfect picture of her +life. Of course the letter was full of "my husband," and the signature +was no longer the impulsive, girlish—"With a thousand kisses, my +darling, ever your own Teresita," but a decorous and matronly ending: +"Yours affectionately, Teresa Carreño Sauret." +</P> + +<P> +Two more letters by the evening mail; one having the features of the +"Re Galantuomo" upon the postage stamps, is from a young American music +student in Florence, a pupil of Hans Von Bülow, who will, upon her +return to her own country, be known as one of our finest amateur +pianists. +</P> + +<P> +There is also a letter from our estimable friend, Miss Booth, the +accomplished Editress of Harper's Bazar. She will spend next Saturday +with us, accompanied by her friend, Mrs. Wright. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +<I>September 20</I>. +</P> + +<P> +Ida went down to the city yesterday, to see both her lawyer and +dress-maker, saying that she would return by the half past six o'clock +train. We went down accordingly to meet the cars, but she did not +arrive upon them; a telegram, however, was shortly sent up to the +house, announcing that she would come on the eight o'clock train, +accompanied by Mrs. and Miss Wiss. +</P> + +<P> +"Mrs. Wiss!" exclaimed mamma, upon reading the telegram, "who can she +be? I do not know any such person." +</P> + +<P> +Gabrielle could not remember any one by the name of Wiss among Ida's +friends, and suggested that the ladies might be old friends of her +father's, whom Ida had never before seen; so remarking that the eight +o'clock train was a late one for ladies to travel upon alone, mamma +rang for Minna, and told her to delay our tea an hour and a half longer. +</P> + +<P> +When we heard the footsteps of the travellers upon the piazza, we all +went out with some curiosity to meet our unknown visitors. For a +moment we were speechless, as we recognized in the matron of the party, +Ida's charming Southern friend, Mrs. Ives, and in the tall young man +(her son) who accompanied her, the supposed Miss Wiss. How the +telegraph operator could have so confused the names, no one could +imagine. +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Ives is a brilliant talker, and a woman of great polish and high +family connections. She has lived North for several years, but will +return to Baltimore this winter to our great regret, for her +picturesque home near the Manhattanville Convent was a most delightful +place to spend an hour, while listening to the entertaining +conversation of the hostess, and the exquisite harp-playing of her +sister. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +<I>September 25</I>. +</P> + +<P> +A letter this morning from the little sculptress, Vinnie Ream. She is +at Washington, and writes me that she has sold her bust of dear uncle +to the Cornell University. I have not seen the bust since it was put +into marble, but when I saw it in clay at her New York studio two years +ago, I considered it a spirited and excellent likeness. Vinnie is full +of the high courage that never deserts her through all of her trials +from public and private criticism, and she has my best wishes for a +bright and successful future. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +<I>September 28</I>. +</P> + +<P> +Two arrivals by the morning train: Mrs. Gibbons, a friend of many years +of dear uncle, Aunt Mary, and mamma, and a lady at whose hospitable +residence uncle often found a pleasant home, when his family were +absent, and Lucy White, an intimate friend of Ida and myself. +</P> + +<P> +Miss White has just returned from a three months' visit to Europe, and +she gave us a very lively account of her gay season in London, and her +visit to Paris. I was glad to learn from her that my favorite Italian +and Spanish pictures again occupied their accustomed places in the +<I>Salon Carré</I> at the Louvre, and that the diadem mode of dressing the +hair, so becoming to my tiny figure, was by no means out of style in +Paris, but was, on the contrary, more fashionable than ever. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +<I>September 30</I>. +</P> + +<P> +A letter this morning from Katie Sinclair. I rejoice to learn that her +health is improving, for, when we visited her some weeks ago, her +cheeks were almost as white as the pillows upon which they rested. +</P> + +<P> +We were disappointed that we could not hear Katie sing that day, for we +had anticipated quite a little musical matinée; but her sister Mary, +who is an enthusiastic pianoforte student, made amends by playing with +much taste and expression, a dreamy "Melody," by Rubenstein. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap24"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XXIV. +</H3> + + +<P CLASS="contents"> +"All that's Bright must Fade"—Departures—Preparing the House for the +Winter—Page's Portrait of Pickie—Packing up—Studious Habits of the +Domestics—The Cook and her Admirers—Adieu to Chappaqua. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +<I>October 1</I>. +</P> + +<P> +"All that's bright must fade." +</P> + +<P> +This long, delightful summer is now over, and the time approaches for +us to return to the din and whirl of city life. +</P> + +<P> +Miss Worthington left us this morning to return to her beautiful +Southern home, and Gabrielle, too, has gone back to the quiet of her +convent school, guided by the Protestant Sisters of St. Mary. +</P> + +<P> +Ida is busily counting, and packing away the dainty china and silver, +suggestive of so many pleasant gatherings of friends that we have had +this summer, and Minna has brought down from the store-room large +chests to contain the heavy linen sheets with Aunt Mary's initials +beautifully embroidered in scarlet. +</P> + +<P> +The guest-room and the parlors commence to wear a dismantled look, for +one by one the pretty trifles that ornamented them are being removed, +and although many of the pictures still hang upon the walls, dear +little Pickie's portrait stands in an unoccupied bedroom swathed in +linen, and ready to journey to the city when we do, for Ida prizes it +so highly that she will not box it up and send it by express, but +intends to have one of the servants carry it under her supervision, +lest some harm may befall it. I do not wonder that it is priceless to +her; I also think it of inestimable value, for not only is it a +portrait of the beautiful little cousin whom I never saw, but even one +uninterested in Pickie would, I am sure, be attracted by it as a rare +work of art. It is a full-length picture: the child holds in his hands +a cluster of lilies—a fit emblem of his spotless purity, and his +undraped limbs are perfectly moulded as those of an infant St. John. +His hair, of the line that Titian and Tintoretto loved to paint, falls +upon his shoulders like a shower of ruddy gold, and for depth of tone +and richness of color the picture more resembles the work of one of the +old Venetian Masters than a painting by modern hands. +</P> + +<P> +Whilst in town the other day, I called in the Tenth Street Studio +Buildings to ask Mr. Page when he could give a few days of his time to +restoring Pickie's portrait, as it has been somewhat affected by the +dampness during the years that it has stood in the house in the woods. +Mr. Page gave me a very amusing account of the difficulty he +experienced in obtaining sittings from Pickie. +</P> + +<P> +"Young children," he said, "are always averse to having their portraits +painted, and there is usually a struggle to induce them to submit to +the confinement of posing for me; but in Master Pickie's case, the +child was so full of life that I might almost as well have tried to +obtain sittings from a butterfly as from him." +</P> + +<P> +Pickie's rapid illness and sudden death occurred before the picture was +completed, and although Mr. Page worked upon it for some time from +memory and from daguerrotypes of the child, a few finishing touches +remain to be added. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +<I>October 3</I>. +</P> + +<P> +This morning I at last realized what I have been endeavoring to banish +from my mind—that the day of our departure from dear Chappaqua is at +hand. This fact was brought home to me in a very practical manner by +the arrival of our immense French trunks from the side-hill house, +where they have been stored this summer, and the necessity of packing +them, coupled with an intimation from mamma that it would be as well to +put my books and music in the bottom, and my dresses in the top of my +trunk. I am somewhat of a novice in packing, for during the +preparations for our eight ocean voyages that duty never once fell to +my lot; however I flatter myself that such <I>very</I> elementary +instructions were not necessary. +</P> + +<P> +Quite tenderly I took down from the shelves the books that I had +brought from New York for summer reading, for mingled with every page +was some pleasant association. One chapter in Kohlrausch's "Germany" +seemed still to retain the faint perfume of the pale primroses that I +gathered in the meadow that day to mark my stopping-place, and my +little volume of Voltaire's "Charles Douze" recalled an interesting +argument upon the relative claims to greatness of that hero, and my +hero par excellence, the first Napoleon. +</P> + +<P> +My ponderous volumes of Plato brought before my mind Arthur's reading, +and the life with which he invested the words of these old-time +philosophers that had so keen an interest for him; while Madame de +Staël's "Allemagne," and my little copy of Ehlert's "Letters on Music" +were associated with almost every hour of the day. They had lain upon +my writing-table the entire summer, and it was my habit whenever I laid +down my pen for a moment to take up one book or the other, and glance +at a page of Ehlert's criticisms upon opera, symphony, or song, or +Madame de Staël's profound essays upon art, morals, and politics. +</P> + +<P> +This long summer has been one of great sweetness and content to us all. +A tinge of sadness has, it is true, been mingled with our daily life, +but we have felt the spiritual presence of our loved ones always near +us, urging and encouraging us to persevere and fit ourselves to join +them hereafter. With this feeling we have worked constantly and +closely, and our record of improvement has been somewhat +satisfactory—to ourselves at least. We have gone through the weighty +volumes that we had given ourselves as summer tasks; we have written +and practised; and, although Minna constantly exclaims upon our close +attention to study, a desire for improvement has extended +(unconsciously to ourselves) from the parlor to the kitchen. Going +down there one night to give some orders for the next day, I was amused +by overhearing Lina say, "It is time to go to school now." Immediately +Minna's bright-colored knitting was laid aside, and the two women drew +up to the table with their books. After studying their English lesson, +they recited it to each other, followed by a brief reciprocal lesson of +Swedish and German. +</P> + +<P> +Bernard also had his book, and was studying with great apparent +industry, although in what foreign tongue he was accomplishing himself +I do not know. Perhaps he was trying to master the intricacies of the +German language, that he might offer himself to Minna through the +medium of her own tongue. I was amused to see that he occupied what +might be called the neutral ground, at a table lighted by a flickering +candle, and at an equal distance from his sweetheart and his foe; for +since Bernard has commenced to take moonlight strolls with Minna, Lina +has taken deadly umbrage, which she manifests by giving him +candle-ends, cutting off his supply of coffee, and reducing his +comforts generally. +</P> + +<P> +At first I felt quite sorry for Lina, so completely excluded as she was +at one time from the society of the other two, especially as she was +much older than Minna, and not at all prepossessing in appearance; but +since I have learned that she has in the village four Swedish admirers +who make her weekly visits, I have ceased to waste any sympathy upon +her. We were quite amazed one Sunday afternoon to see four stalwart +blond men wending their way kitchen-wards, and inquiring in broken +English for "Swedish girl;" for of all places our quiet little +Chappaqua is the last one where we would have thought of seeing any of +Lina's compatriots. These men, it seems, are employed in repairing the +railroad track; and learning that they had a countrywoman in the +village, called to make her acquaintance; so Lina can now triumph over +Minna. I have heard from Minna that each one of the four men has +already offered himself to Lina, and that she refused them, remarking, +however, that she knew a girl in New York who would like to marry one +of them. The men thanked her, but thought the distance rather too +great to go for a wife. +</P> + +<P> +Despite their little difference over Bernard, the two women have lived +together quite amicably this summer; and it has been a great relief to +dear Ida, while so gracefully presiding as mistress of the house, to +feel that harmony reigned in the kitchen. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +<I>October 5</I>. +</P> + +<P> +Our last day in dear Chappaqua; we go down to the city to-morrow +morning. How dread is the thought of leaving the poetic quiet of our +country home, to return to the confusion and excitement of city life; +that city, too, that will be fraught with such sad memories for us +during the last days of October and November. +</P> + +<P> +How quickly it has gone, this long, sweet summer. I cannot realize +that near five months have passed since that bright May morning that we +arrived here, and found dear Chappaqua in all her tender spring +freshness. Imperceptibly the days have flown; the delicate hues of +leafy May have deepened and gone; the summer is over, and autumn with +her glowing tints has stolen upon us. Now in vain do we hunt for +daisies to pull apart petal by petal with the old French rhyme that +every schoolgirl knows, +<BR><BR> + "Il m'aime un peu--beaucoup,<BR> + Passionément,--pas du tout!"<BR> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +The daisies have gone with the sweet double violets and roses, and the +fragrant heliotrope and mignonette, of which we used to make bouquets +to dress the table and adorn the rooms; whilst brilliant, scentless +flowers now fill our garden beds, and the maples with their aureolas of +flame color and molten cold tell the same sad story—summer has fled. +</P> + +<P> +For the last time I have walked up to the pine grove, and have taken +leave of that spot where dear uncle's feet have so often trodden, and +said farewell, too, to the forest trees whose trunks still bear the +impress of the axe once wielded by that hand now forever at rest; I +have drunk once more from the spring that Aunt Mary so dearly loved, +and which is far sweeter to me than the vaunted waters of Trevi, and +entered for the last time her loved home in the woods over whose +threshold her weary feet will never pass again. +<BR><BR> + "Tempo passato, perche non ritorni a me?"<BR> +</P> + +<P> +Adieu to Chappaqua and to my journal. My daintily bound volume, so +large that I feared not easily to fill its pages, is closely covered, +and only a few blank lines remain whereon to take leave of it forever. +Adieus are always saddening, and I close it with the words unspoken. +</P> + +<P> +And for dear, dear Chappaqua, I can find no words more fitting to +express my love than those verses written, it is true, in honor of +another Westchester Home, but so appropriate that I will insert them +here, trusting their author, Mr. JOHN SAVAGE, will pardon me for so +doing. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +OUR DEAR WESTCHESTER HOME. +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Where'er my hopeful fancy dares,<BR> + Or toiling footstep falls--<BR> +Through ancient cities' thoroughfares<BR> + Or Fortune's festal halls;<BR> +O'er mountains grand, through forests deep,<BR> +Or crest the yielding foam,<BR> + I find no spot<BR> + Like that dear cot,<BR> +My own Westchester Home!<BR> +</P> + +<BR> +<HR WIDTH="60%" ALIGN="center"> +<BR> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Bedecked with every sylvan charm,<BR> + By loving Nature blest,<BR> +Embraced between the ocean's arm<BR> + And Hudson's bounteous breast,<BR> +Westchester, in her beauty smiles<BR> +To Heaven's protecting dome,<BR> + For all the good.<BR> + By field or flood<BR> +That crowns our happy home!<BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE END +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR><BR> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Story of a Summer, by Cecilia Cleveland + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE STORY OF A SUMMER *** + +***** This file should be named 18297-h.htm or 18297-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/8/2/9/18297/ + +Produced by Al Haines + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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