University of Virginia Library

4. IV.

A thunder-cloud strode into the sky with the rapidity
which marks that common phenomenon of a
breathless summer afternoon in America, darkened the
air for a few minutes, so that the birds betook themselves
to their nests, and then poured out its refreshing
waters with the most terrific flashes of lightning,
and crashes of thunder, which for a moment seemed to
still even the eternal base of the sea. With the same
fearful rapidity, the black roof of the sky tore apart, and
fell back, in rolling and changing masses, upon the
horizon; the sun darted with intense brilliancy
through the clarified and transparent air; the light-stirring
breeze came freighted with delicious coolness;
and the heavy sea-birds, who had lain brooding on the
waves while the tumult of the elements went on, rose
on their cimeter-like wings, and fled away, with incomprehensible
instinct, from the beautiful and freshened
land. The whole face of earth and sky had been
changed in an hour.

Oh, of what fulness of delight are even the senses
capable! What a nerve there is sometimes in every
pore! What love for all living and all inanimate
things may be born of a summer shower! How stirs
the fancy, and brightens hope, and warms the heart,
and sings the spirit within us, at the mere animal joy
with which the lark flees into heaven! And yet, of
this exquisite capacity for pleasure we take so little
care! We refine our taste, we elaborate and finish
our mental perception, we study the beautiful, that
we may know it when it appears — yet the senses by
which these faculties are approached, the stops by
which this fine instrument is played, are trifled with
and neglected. We forget that a single excess blurs
and confuses the music written on our minds; we
forget that an untimely vigil weakens and bewilders
the delicate minister to our inner temple; we know
not, or act as if we knew not, that the fine and easily-jarred
harmony of health is the only interpreter of
Nature to our souls; in short, we drink too much
claret, and eat too much páté foie gras. Do you understand
me, gourmand et gourmet?

Blanche Carroll was a beautiful whip, and the two
bay ponies in her phaeton were quite aware of it. La
Bruyère says, with his usual wisdom, “Une belle
femme qui a les qualités d'un honnête homme est ce
qu'il y a au monde d'un commerce plus délicieux;”
and, to a certain degree, masculine accomplishments
too, are very winning in a woman — if pretty; if plain,
she is expected not only to be quite feminine, but
quite perfect. Foibles are as hateful in a woman who
does not possess beauty, as they are engaging in a woman
who does. Clouds are only lovely when the
heavens are bright.

She looked loveliest while driving, did Blanche
Carroll, for she was born to rule, and the expression
native to her lip was energy and nerve; and as she
sat with her little foot pressed against the dasher, and
reined in those spirited horses, the finely-pencilled
mouth, usually playful or pettish, was pressed together
in a curve as warlike as Minerva's, and twice
as captivating. She drove, too, as capriciously as
she acted. At one moment her fleet ponies fled over
the sand at the top of their speed, and at the next they
were brought down to a walk, with a suddenness
which threatened to bring them upon their haunches.
Now far up on the dry sand, cutting a zigzag to
lengthen the way, and again below at the tide edge,
with the waves breaking over her seaward wheel; all
her powers at one instant engrossed in pushing them
to their fastest trot, and in another the reins lying
loose on their backs, while she discussed some sudden
flight of philosophy. “Be his fairy, his page, his
everything that love and poetry have invented,” said
Roger Ascham to Lady Jane Grey, just before her
marriage; but Blanche Carroll was almost the only
woman I ever saw capable of the beau idéal of fascinating
characters.

Between Miss Carroll and myself there was a safe
and cordial friendship. Besides loving another better,
she was neither earnest, nor true, nor affectionate
enough to come at all within the range of my possible
attachments, and though I admired her, she felt that
the necessary sympathy was wanting for love; and,
the idea of fooling me with the rest once abandoned,
we were the greatest of allies. She told me all her
triumphs, and I listened and laughed without thinking
it worth while to burden her with my confidence in
return; and you may as well make a memorandum,
gentle reader, that that is a very good basis for a friendship.
Nothing bores women or worldly persons so
much as to return their secrets with your own.

As we drew near the extremity of the beach, a boy
rode up on horseback, and presented Miss Carroll with
a note I observed that it was written on a very dirty
slip of paper, and was waiting to be enlightened as to
its contents, when she slipped it into her belt, took the
whip from the box, and flogging her ponies through
the heavy sand of the outer beach, went off, at a pace
which seemed to engross all her attention, on her road
to Lynn. We reached the hotel and she had not
spoken a syllable, and as I made a point of never inquiring
into anything that seemed odd in her conduct,
I merely stole a glance at her face, which wore the
expression of mischievous satisfaction which I liked
the least of its common expressions, and descended
from the phaeton with the simple remark, that Job
could not have arrived, as I saw nothing of my stanhope
in the yard.

“Mr. Slingsby.” It was the usual preface to asking
some particular favor.

“Miss Carroll.”

“Will you be so kind as to walk to the library and

select me a book to your own taste, and ask no questions
as to what I do with myself meantime?”

“But, my dear Miss Carroll — your father — ”

“Will feel quite satisfied when he hears that Cato
was with me. Leave the ponies to the groom, Cato,
and follow me.” I looked after her as she walked
down the village street with the old black behind her,
not at all certain of the propriety of my acquiescence,
but feeling that there was no help for it.

I lounged away a half hour at the library, and found
Miss Carroll waiting for me on my return. There
were no signs of Bruin; and as she seemed impatient
to be off, I jumped into the phaeton, and away we flew
to the beach as fast as her ponies could be driven
under the whip. As we descended upon the sands
she spoke for the first time.

“It is so civil of you to ask no questions, Mr. Slingsby;
but you are not offended with me?”

“If you have got into no scrape while under my
charge, I shall certainly be too happy to shake hands
upon it to-morrow.”

“Are you quite sure?” she asked archly.

“Quite sure.”

“So am not I,” she said with a merry laugh; and
in her excessive amusement she drove down to the sea,
till the surf broke over the nearest pony's back, and
filled the bottom of the phaeton with water. Our wet
feet were now a fair apology for haste, and taking the
reins from her, I drove rapidly home, while she wrapped
herself in her shawl, and sat apparently absorbed
in the coming of the twilight over the sea.

I slept late after the ball though I had gone to bed
exceedingly anxious about Bruin, who had not yet
made his appearance. The tide would prevent his
crossing the beach after ten in the morning, however,
and I made myself tolerably easy till the sands were
passable with the evening ebb. The high-water mark
was scarcely deserted by the waves, when the same
boy who had delivered the note to Miss Carroll the
day before, rode up from the beach on a panting horse,
and delivered me the following note: —

I got upon the boy's horse, and hurried over the
beach with whip and spur. I stopped at the justice's
office, and that worthy seemed uncommonly pleased
to see me.

“We have got him, sir,” said he.

“Got whom?” I asked rather shortly.

“Why, the fellow that stole your stanhope and Miss
Carroll's bracelet, and passed a twenty dollar counterfeit
bill — ha'n't you hearn on't?”

The justice's incredulity, when I told him it was
probably the most intimate friend I had in the world,
would have amused me at any other time.

“Will you allow me to see the prisoner?” I asked.

“Be sure I will. I let Miss Carroll have a peep at
him yesterday, and what do you think? Oh, Lord!
he wanted to make her believe she knew him! Good!
wasn't it? Ha! ha! And such an ill-looking fellow!
Why, I'd know him for a thief anywhere!
Your intimate friend, Mr. Slingsby! Oh, Lord!
when you come to see him! Ha! ha!”

We were at the prison-door. The grating bolts
turned slowly, the door swung rustily on its hinges as
if it was not often used, and in the next minute I was
enfolded in Job's arms, who sobbed and laughed, and
was quite hysterical with his delight. I scarce won
dered at the justice's prepossessions when I looked at
the figure he made. His hat knocked in, his coat
muddy, his hair full of the dust of straw — the natural
hideousness of poor Job had every possible aggravation.

We were in the stanhope, and fairly on the beach,
before he had sufficiently recovered to tell me the
story. He had arrived quite overheated at Lynn, but,
in a hurry to execute Miss Carroll's commission, he
merely took a glass of soda-water, had Thalaba's
mouth washed, and drove on. A mile on his way, he
was overtaken by a couple of ostlers on horseback,
who very roughly ordered him back to the inn. He
refused, and a fight ensued, which ended in his being
tied into the stanhope, and driven back as a prisoner.
The large note, which he had given for his soda-water,
it appeared, was a counterfeit, and placards, offering a
reward for the detection of a villain, described in the
usual manner as an ill-looking fellow, had been sticking
up for some days in the village. He was taken
before the justice, who declared at first sight that he
answered the description in the advertisement. His
stubborn refusal to give the whole of his name (he
would rather have died, I suppose), his possession of
my stanhope, which was immediately recognised, and
lastly, the bracelet found in his pocket, of which he
refused indignantly to give any account, were circumstances
enough to leave no doubt on the mind of the
worthy justice. He made out his mittimus forthwith,
granting Job's request that he might be allowed to
write a note to Miss Carroll (who, he knew, would
drive over the beach toward evening), as a very great
favor. She arrived as he expected.

“And what in Heaven's name did she say?” said I,
interested beyond my patience at this part of the story.

“Expressed the greatest astonishment when the
justice showed her the bracelet, and declared she
never saw me before in her life!”

That Job forgave Blanche Carroll in two days, and
gave her a pair of gloves with some verses on the
third, will surprise only those who have not seen that
lady. It would seem incredible, but here are the
verses, as large as life: —