 | The coronal |  |
THE RECLUSE OF THE LAKE.
He'd been an idler in the land,
Contented if he might enjoy
The things that others understand.”
Wordsworth.
In the immediate vicinity of Lake George
there was, a few years since, an humble
dwelling, which always attracted the traveller's
attention, though there was nothing peculiar
about it, save a rich sloping greensward
in front, and a luxuriant honeysuckle, which
almost concealed the door, and loaded the
air with its fragance.
A stranger would have supposed that woman's
tasteful hand had been there, adorning
poverty itself with “wreathed smiles;” but
seldom had her foot pressed the verdant velvet
of that turf, and no female hand trained
the graceful tendrils of that exuberant vine.
The romantic little spot was the solitary
home of Arthur Vanderlyn, an artist and a
poet! No chilling disappointment, no embittered
from the world. He never indulged
that false idea, so shameful to intellect, that
the powerful tide of genius must necessarily
be turbid and restless. In him, it was a
clear, deep, sunny stream, reflecting all of
bright and beautiful in earth, or heaven; but
his nature was timid, and he shrank from the
ostentation of learning, the pageantry of
wealth, and the officiousness of vulgarity, as
things which could neither obtain his sympathy,
nor endurance. The Recluse was the
only son of a wealthy Batavian merchant,
who had sent him to New-England to be
educated.
His mother had died when he was a mere
babe; and his father carefully concealed
from him the amount of his large fortune,
lest the knowledge should early lead him to
extravagance and dissipation. This well-founded
anxiety induced him to make a very
singular arrangement in the disposal of his
wealth.
Arthur Vanderlyn was nineteen years old
when he quitted the University; and on that
and became acquainted with the contents of
his will.
Fifteen thousand dollars were to be paid
him immediately; twenty thousand more,
when he was thirty years of age; and his
whole fortune, without reserve, on his forty-fifth
birthday; but, in case one hundred
dollars were ever borrowed in advance, his
title was to be transferred to a distant relative.
Limited as this income was, compared to
what it would have been, if left to the ordinary
course of law, the young student thought
it amply sufficient to accomplish all his favourite
projects.
After travelling in New-York a few weeks,
he purchased the cottage we have mentioned,
then almost in a ruinous condition. He
made no very important change in the exterior
of the dwelling; but within, carpets,
ottomans, vases, and mirrors, proclaimed a
wealthy and tasteful resident. His own
portrait, distinguished by its strong, bold,
peculiar light; views of the surrounding
the pencil of Salvator Rosa, and others,
calm, sequestered, and luxuriant, as the spots
over which Claude loved to throw his bland,
warm colouring;—a guitar, piano, four or five
fine flutes, and a time-piece, of Genevan
workmanship, in which the hours with winged
feet flew round, offering rose-wreaths to each
other; all served to give the interior of the
mansion something of the magic beauty of
fairy land.
The neighbours made various ingenious
attempts to explore a place, of which many
a wonderful tale was told; but Arthur Vanderlyn
avoided all society with a coldness
and hauteur, which at once excited curiosity
and forbade intrusion. A stud of noble
horses, a leash of beautiful greyhounds, a
fine collection of birds, and one favourite
man servant, were his only companions.
Yet his disposition was kind, and his feelings
social. The buzzing of insects, the twittering
of birds, and the ringing laughter of
childhood, filled him with delightful sensations.
Much of religion, too, entered into his
lonely musings; for he read more on earth's
fair volume than “philosophy has ever
dreamed of.” To the “pure in heart,” the
glad melody of Nature's voice always speaks
of heaven; and her beaming face reflects
much of truth, as well as poetry, on the quiet
stream of thought. There is no place where
her silent eloquence comes upon the soul so
much like celestial music, felt, but not heard,
as from the crystal depths of placid Lake
George. There is, as it were, a holiness
attached to it, heightened by the recollection
that for years a mighty, but declining, priesthood,
resorted to this baptismal font of the
wilderness, to trace their emblem of mysterious
faith on the pure brow of infancy; and
we feel, as we gaze upon it, that “Lake of
the Holy Sacrament” was a fitting name for
waters so lucid and so tranquil. Here, at
rising and setting sun, might the Recluse be
seen, guiding his boat among the numerous
Emerald Isles, and dipping his oar almost
fearfully, as if he loved not to disturb the
sleeping beauty of the scene; and, hour after
Isle, while its wayward owner skipped pebbles
in the stream, or searched for the far-famed
crystals concealed among the clefts.
There was one poor hut upon the island, but
Vanderlyn had never entered it. His servant
told him that the old crone who resided
there, for the purpose of selling diamonds to
travellers, was noted for her asperity of temper;
and the fastidious refinement of the
young artist, always recoiling from everything
discordant, induced him to avoid this dwelling
with more than ordinary caution. The
first time he unconsciously approached nearer
than usual, he was warned of it by the sharpest
voice he ever heard. As he turned his
head, he saw that the old woman was scolding
a delicate-looking boy, who was endeavouring
to draw a small boat to the place
her finger indicated. Vanderlyn, disgusted
at the contest, was about to retire abruptly,
when a reply came upon his ear in tones so
soft and undulating, that it seemed more like
aerial music than any human voice.
The speaker was a young girl, whose dress,
that simple gentility, which often appears
instinctive in woman. Her face was of uncommon
and very peculiar beauty. A profusion
of light brown hair drooping about her
neck, and the deep fringe which veiled her
large blue eyes, gave the upper part of her
face an expression of pathetic, almost of melancholy,
loveliness; but her fair dimpled
cheek, and her laughing lip, rising at one
corner in most captivating archness, seemed
like sunshine bursting beneath a summer
cloud, and rapidly chasing away its shadow.
Her figure, though slender and graceful, possessed
the full round outline of perfect health.
Had it been embodied in statuary, one would
have imagined the sculptor had half finished
a Psyche, when Hebe came bounding along
his path, and fascinated him from his purpose.
Vanderlyn had always shunned the
society of women; but his fancy, cultivated
as it was to excess, had conjured up many a
romantic vision of love and beauty. Years
of total seclusion would probably have rendered
a less enthusiastic temperament than
though timidity induced him to retire hastily,
it is not surprising that the fair being, so
unexpectedly seen, should seem to more than
realize his youthful dreams. As he watched
the boat which conveyed her from the shore,
he soon perceived that the boy had great
difficulty in managing it. Experience had
made him thoroughly acquainted with the
navigation of Lake George; and he knew
that it was frequently rendered dangerous by
powerful under-currents, the irregularity of
which puzzle the ablest pilots. They are
probably occasioned by winds rushing from
caverns in the earth; for the waters of the
lake are often billowy, when not a leaflet is
stirring on its shores. Vanderlyn, while
waiting for it to subside, had sometimes compared
it to the human mind, fretting and
foaming from the contradictory influence of
its own strong passions, till the calm majesty
of Nature could leave no image there; but
he did not now waste time in poetic reverie.
With sudden impulse, he sprang into his own
light skiff; and before the object of his pur
was at her side, urging her to trust herself to
his skilful guidance. The astonished girl
blushed exceedingly. She had heard much
of the Recluse of the Lake, and she knew
that his present graciousness of manner was
very extraordinary. However, terror overcame
her bashfulness; and she told her little
brother, if the boats could be fastened together,
she should be much obliged to the
stranger gentleman for setting them on shore.
The proposal seemed to relieve the boy
from much anxiety; and he evinced his gratitude
by the most assiduous attention to
their conductor.
Vanderlyn and his companion were both
eager to speak; but embarrassment kept
them silent, and gave their interview the appearance
of a cold, accidental encounter.
However, as the boat was safely drawn up
to the margin of the lake, and the young lady
thanked him for his prompt assistance,
she could not fail to remark the delighted
expression of his eye; and the boy was surprised
by an earnest invitation to visit the
childhood watch for to-morrow with
such keen anticipation. The lad could
scarcely believe that he was indeed invited
into that abode of hidden magnificence; and
when the remarkable event had in reality
happened, he could hardly detail its particulars
to his sister, so great was the delirium
of his joy and wonder. “Oh, Mary!” exclaimed
he, “you don't know, and you can't
guess anything about it. I never was in such
a place in all my life. He is n't proud; Mr.
Vanderlyn isn't proud, as they say he is.
You don't know how good he was, and how
many questions he asked about you. He
gave me the handsomest bird-cage in the
whole world, and the handsomest bird in it;
and he said that I was such a fine boy he
must send me to College. I told him your
name was Mary Campbell; and that our father
was dead; and that we used to be better
off than we are now; and that the woman at
Diamond Isle was not our own grandmother,
only father's mother-in-law; that we did not
live there, but had leave to stay a few weeks
“But you should not have told him that,
George,” interrupted his sister. “And why
not, when he asked me every word?” said
the boy. Mary Campbell could hardly answer
to her own heart, why Arthur Vanderlyn
should not be acquainted with her place
of residence, as well as her utter poverty.
She knew little of a sinful world; but she
had read in books that the poor maiden has
much to dread from the rich man's love; and
when she recalled the deference of the stranger's
manner, and the beaming expression of
his eye, as he bade her farewell, she shuddered,
and even wept, that things so pleasant
to memory should be so dangerous.
Could she have looked into Vanderlyn's
heart, her fears would have vanished. His
love was indeed wild and vehement, but it
was guileless as infant thought. It was a
poet's dream, never to be realized by imperfect
humanity; but it originated in pure and
honourable feeling, and might easily be
changed to something better and more permanent
imagination.
From the moment Mr. Vanderlyn heard
George Campbell's story, he resolved to educate
both him and his sister for that higher
grade of society, which beauty and talent so
well fitted them to adorn. After two days'
reflection upon the subject, he visited Diamond
Isle for the purpose of making his intentions
known. His repeated summons at
the door of the hut, were answered by the
old woman, who, showing a face squalid as
disease and poverty could make it, shrilly
demanded his business. “Is Miss Campbell
here?” inquired her shrinking visiter.
“Yes,” was the laconic reply. “May I see
her?” “No, that you mayn't, sir,” answered
the beldame fiercely; and, adding a torrent
of abuse, which we forbear to repeat,
she shut and fastened the door with all possible
violence.
Her loathsome appearance, and the angry
coarseness of her language, were a powerful
antidote to the romance of benevolence and
the idea that one connected with such
a woman must be tinged with her vulgarity
as well as ignorance. Nursed in the lap of
luxury, the poet made no allowance for the
corroding influence of poverty; and innocent
of all wicked intentions, he could not believe
the grandmother's harshness originated in
kind and judicious watchfulness; but the
more reluctant he felt again to encounter the
virago of the island, the more his curiosity
increased with regard to the pretty stranger.
He was revolving these thoughts in his
mind late one summer's afternoon, when he
saw Mary and her brother passing swiftly by,
as if they wished to reach home before the
twilight closed. He instantly joined them,
and urged them to walk in to look at the
birds and flowers. The girl's modest “No,
I thank you,” was uttered in a tone so mild,
he could not think it a very firm refusal; but
when he repeated his request, she replied,
with something of indignant decision, “No,
I thank you, sir. It is quite time we were at
Diamond Isle.” The Recluse perceived he
honest indignation at the thought; but he
bowed low, as he added, “Pardon the improper
request; and allow me to make some
slight atonement for my rashness.” He
darted into the house, and soon returned with
a large, beautiful boquet. George cast back
“many a lingering look;” but Mary had
walked on so fast, that it was difficult to
overtake her. She was, however, evidently
pleased with the respectful manner in which
the flowers were offered; and, before they
proceeded far, she even ventured to repeat
the fine accounts her brother had given.
“Yes,” exclaimed the light-hearted boy,
“it was every word true. My cage is the
handsomest in the whole world, and has the
handsomest bird in it; and Mr. Vanderlyn's
house is the handsomest in the whole world,
and—” “What a pity,” interrupted the
smiling Recluse, “that my handsome cage
has not the handsomest bird in the whole
world in it.” “You could never find a prettier
bird than mine at Diamond Isle,” replied
the artless boy. “I believe it,” rejoined
significantly, that Mary's cheek burned with
blushes, while honest George in vain perplexed
his mind with conjectures whether Mr.
Vanderlyn wished to have his bird back again.
When they reached the lake, the Recluse
made a motion to accompany them; but
Miss Campbell said, with evident embarrassment,
“I had rather you would not go with
us. Indeed I had much rather you would
not.” The shade of vexation and disappointment,
which passed over his speaking
countenance, troubled the gentle girl; and
she turned back to add, with the most bewitching
artlessness, “I did not mean that I
had rather not have you go. It would be
very pleasant indeed to me; but—but—indeed,
you had better go back, Mr. Vanderlyn.”
“I will return to please you,
sweet girl,” exclaimed the delighted lover.
“Farewell, till you hear from me again.”
“She is not tinged with vulgarity,” thought
he, as he retraced his steps homeward. “She
has delicacy a thousand times more refined
their artificial dignity can ever imitate.”
wrote to offer her his hand, his heart, and his
fortune. In his letter, he proposed adopting
her brother; begged leave to defray the expenses
of one year's education for herself;
and voluntarily promised to make no attempt
to see her during that time, if it were unpleasant
to her. Such delicacy and generosity
might well have won the proudest and
coldest heart; but the desolate and affectionate
Mary Campbell was entirely overpowered
by it; and, in the enthusiasm of her gratitude,
she thought it honour and happiness enough
for her to be Arthur Vanderlyn's slave, to
watch his motions, and obey his every signal.
George wondered at the emotion his sister
evinced, and when he was told the letter was
from Mr. Vanderlyn, his first sorrowful idea
was that the bird must be returned; but,
when he was made to comprehend that his
new friend had offered to educate him, and
marry his sister, he could not control his
feelings. After kissing Mary a hundred
times, and crying and laughing alternately,
he rushed out of the house, and, before his
dwelling. The eloquent speech he
had prepared to say, forsook him the moment
the Recluse met him with one of his
winning smiles. He burst into tears, and exclaimed,
“You are too good, sir, indeed you
are too good; and we all love you so
much!” “Then you and Mary will go to
school, for my sake?” inquired the visionary.
“Oh, it is such a blessing to go!” rejoined
the poor boy; “and then if it was'nt, we
would do any thing and every thing for you.
I wish you could have seen Mary cry over
your letter, and heard how often she said that
you were the best man in the whole world.”
Though the poet's life had been more like
“a fairy dream,” than usually falls to the lot
of mortals, he had never known true happiness
before. Many and valuable are the
boasted delights of intellect and taste, but
one moment of the heart's bliss is worth
them all. So at least thought Arthur Vanderlyn,
when a simple, affectionate letter from
Mary, thanked him for his goodness, and expressed
her entire confidence in his integrity.
excellent schools; and though Arthur was
for a season separated from the object so
suddenly become necessary to his existence,
yet her frequent unstudied letters, showed
that he was beloved with that mingled reverence
and self-devotion so dear to the heart
of man.
In the mean time a cloud, which the young
enthusiast had not foreseen, was gradually
spreading over his sunshine of prosperity and
joy. Like Shenstone, he had surrounded
himself with luxurious elegance, to which his
funds were inadequate. Strange as it may
seem, for one educated in America, he had
an eye and a soul for all the beauties of statues,
pictures, and exotics, without the habit
of counting their cost. The result was, his
fifteen thousand were gone, twice over, before
he was aware of it. His creditors were impatient;
six years must still elapse before he
received another portion of his wealth; his
trustees warned him against borrowing the
forbidden sum; and no resource remained,
but the sale of his beautiful cottage. Unused
of life, this alternative went like a dagger to
his sensitive heart. However, he resolved
to support Mary and George at all events,
even if he were compelled to personal exertion.
Accordingly, a day was appointed,
and the retreat, with all its elegant appendages,
was sold at public auction. Much curiosity
was excited, and crowds assembled to
witness the sale. A tall, dignified, middle-aged
gentleman, appeared to take an extraordinary
interest in all that was passing. He
asked innumerable questions concerning the
character and habits of Vanderlyn; doubled
what was last offered for any article, however
extravagant the price; and left the spot undisputed
master of the whole establishment.
In this way, a much larger sum was obtained
than his creditors had expected; and, after
every debt was honourably discharged, the
Recluse found that rigid economy would enable
him still to support himself and the
orphans. His first impulse was to thank the
generous unknown; but he had much of that
unbending pride, too often the fault of genius,
owed his present security to the compassion
of a stranger. An honest spirit of independence
was stirred within him, and for the first
time in his life he thought of the productions
of his pencil as a means of future support.
Among other unfinished views, he had a
favorite one, which represented Mary Campbell
as he had first seen her stepping into
the boat at Diamond Isle. He had ceased
to visit that island, together with many a beloved
haunt, during his recent distress; but
he now resolved to take his canvass to the
picturesque spot where he had first sketched
its outlines. As he approached the margin
of the lake, and saw his boat pushing off
from the shore, the painful recollection that
it was no longer his own, crowded upon him.
He made a signal to the bargeman, which
was instantly obeyed; and in the embarrassment
of offering money for a passage to Diamond
Isle, he did not at first notice that the
stately unknown was already a passenger.
The haughty Recluse would gladly have
retreated; but the gentleman ordered the
and with the most friendly politeness urged
him to enter. “I am a stranger here, Mr.
Vanderlyn,” said he; “and I hear that you
have an artist's eye and a poet's tongue. I
should really like to share this romantic
prospect with you.” He spoke with a
slightly foreign accent; and his manner was
so fascinating, that Vanderlyn could not decline
the invitation.
It was a clear, bright, autumnal day. The
lake shone beneath the sinking sun like liquid
amber; the little green islands seemed to
smile at their own shadows; the distant
mountains threw an almost imperceptible
outline on the cloudless sky; and the rugged
peaks which surrounded the lake, looked
down upon it in stern and lofty majesty.
Thus inclosed, the fair sheet of water, so pellucid
and motionless, looked like a lovely
babe sleeping at the feet of steel-clad warriors,
enjoying its dream of peace, all unconscious
of their frowns.
The gentlemen had not long admired the
beautiful sublimity of the scene, when a cloud
the summit of Rattlesnake Mountain. At
first, it was thin and shadowy, as the vapour
which enveloped Samuel when he rose at the
summons of the sorceress; but it gradually
accumulated, like the soiled plumes of a
regiment rushing from the battle-field in confusion
and dismay.
“Is that an omen of an approaching thunder
shower?” inquired the stranger. “It
forbodes a sudden and a dreadful one,” replied
Vanderlyn, speaking low, and keeping
his eye fixed upon the mountain. The
bargeman rowed with almost supernatural
strength; and the quick, convulsive heavings
of his breath had a fearful sound amid the
stillness of the coming storm.
Long before they could reach Diamond
Isle, the sky was covered with one deep,
black mantle of clouds; the lake was dimpled
by the falling rain, and illumined with forked
lightning; and the thunder rolled from mountain
to mountain, ever and anon bursting out
in echoing peals, as if the spirits of the air
shouted their far-off warnings to each other
The scene was too terrific in its majesty
for even the poet to enjoy; for an instinctive
dread of thunder was one of his peculiarities.
“Row faster, bargeman, and avoid the current,”
were the only words he uttered; but
his eye changed its wonted flash of inspiration
for the intense light of fear.
The boat cut the black waves rapidly, and,
amid the uproar of the elements, they landed
in safety. Without waiting for their hasty
summons to be answered, Vanderlyn entered
the wretched hut of Mrs. Campbell. The
old woman, crouching in the corner, seemed
to rejoice at the sight of a human being. “I
have lived here twenty long years,” said she;
“but never have I seen a storm like this.”
Few words were spoken by the gentlemen,
as they watched the clouds heavily and reluctantly
dispersing. Nearly an hour elapsed,
before a speck of clear blue sky looked
forth, like a seraph stilling the tempest; but
the sun at length shone out in its glory,
making the grass glitter with transient pearls,
and showing every spider's web studded with
diamonds, fit for the regalia of a fairy queen.
obliquely upon an embroidered genealogical
tree, which immediately attracted the stranger's
attention. Fixing his eye upon it for
an instant, he exclaimed, “James Mac Ferguson!
was he a relation of your's, ma'am?”
“He was father to my husband's first wife,”
answered the woman. “Has he any heirs
living?” “Yes, there are two great grandchildren,
George and Mary Campbell; but
it is precious little they'll be heir to, I guess.”
“George and Mary Campbell,” repeated the
stranger, as if talking to himself. “Did I
not hear—” He paused, and looked inquiringly
at Vanderlyn; who, blushing slightly,
replied, “If you have heard that I am
educating the young lady, and intend to
marry her, you have heard the truth.” The
unknown glanced his eye round the miserable
dwelling. A frown flitted over his brow for
an instant; but it passed away, as he added,
half audibly, “Well, she is beautiful and
virtuous, I am told. How can you support
her, young man?” continued he, aloud.
Recent circumstances rushed at once upon
with indignation at the unfeeling question;
and he answered haughtily, “By the exertion
of my talents, sir. My mind is my kingdom.”
“It is nobly said,” rejoined the
stranger. “When romance leads us to be
useless, it is not without sin. Have you any
papers belonging to James Mac Ferguson?”
continued he, turning toward Mrs. Campbell,
“There are some writings in that case-of-drawers,”
she replied, “which my old man
would never have burned.” “Will you
trust Mr. Vanderlyn and myself to look at
them?” “Folks that know Mr Vanderlyn,
trust him with any thing,” rejoined the old
woman. “I would not trust him when he
was rich, but I will now.”
The young man looked gratefully at her;
for he loved to remember what had softened
her stern heart towards him. The papers
were produced with alacrity; and, on opening
the third roll, the unknown exclaimed,
“I have found it at last!” After examining
it carefully, he explained to Arthur and Mrs.
Campbell that it was the grant of a large tract
for services rendered the United States during
the revolutionary war; that a lead-mine
of immense value had been discovered in this
tract; and that he had come to New-York
with forty thousand dollars, prepared for the
purchase, provided any heirs could be found.
“And I am delighted,” continued he, “to
find those heirs are George and Mary Campbell.”
“I am glad, too, for their sakes,” rejoined
the Recluse. “I am not the rich man now
that I was when I first became their friend;
and I shall not allow any trifling services I
have rendered to interfere with their choosing
a wealthier one.” “Oh, shame fall on
her, if she should forsake you, after all your
goodness,” cried the old woman. “Arthur
Vanderlyn, thou art a noble creature!” said
the stranger, warmly pressing his hand, and
fixing his admiring eye upon him. “But,”
added he, with an arch smile, “you are not
fit for the world you live in. Suppose, instead
of taking it for granted that Mary
Campbell is going to cast off a disinterested
twenty thousand dollars, you should make a
little more inquiry into the value of this
property?” “You told me it was worth
forty thousand,” replied the Recluse. “If
I did, I told you truly,” said the stranger,
smiling; “for I came both ready and willing
to give eighty thousand for this valuable
tract.”
The young man looked upon him with
unrestrained surprise. Who could it be, that
thus lavished gold around him like a successful
alchymist! Whoever he was, he continued
to speak to the Recluse with more
freedom than any other man would have
dared; and he was listened to with increasing
and even affectionate respect. After a long
conversation, the important paper was placed
in Arthur's hands, at Mrs. Campbell's request.
A letter was immediately written to
apprise Mary of her good fortune, and the
stranger offered to take it to Miss Campbell
in person. Vanderlyn's reserve had been
entirely conquered by the gracious nobility
of his character and manners; and, when he
expressed an earnest wish that their acquaintance
might be renewed. “Perhaps it may,
at some future time,” replied the unknown;
and he spoke it so emphatically, that his
friend could not drive it from his mind, until
a letter from Mary, a few hours after, changed
the current of his thoughts. She wrote
to tell him she had heard of his late misfortunes,
and to reproach him for his kindness
in concealing them from her. She said she
did not ask permission for George and herself
to work for him, until his debts were
paid; that she had resolved upon it, and
would not change her purpose. Arthur
almost rejoiced at the distress which had procured
him such a proof of her attachment
and energy; and his curiosity was doubly
excited to know how far unexpected wealth
would have power to dazzle her unsophisticated
nature.
Two days elapsed before he received
a reply to the letter he had sent by the stranger.
Its contents convinced him that Mary
rejoiced at her change of fortune, only because
to him. Her first request was, that
a comfortable house and good nurse should
be immediately provided for her grandmother.
She then proceeded to tell him, that
the dark-eyed man, who offered to purchase
the lead-mine, visited her continually, and
urged her to marry his eldest son; who, he
said, was handsome, twenty times as rich as
Arthur Vanderlyn, even when she first knew
him, and besides all that he had seen her,
and was desperately in love with her. Mary
added, she knew not what to make of all
this; but her instructress thought him a
needy adventurer, who wished to secure her
money; and she really wished Mr. Vanderlyn
would come and transact her business with
him, without delay.
This summons was of course readily obeyed.
On his arrival, he was astonished to
find how much art had been used to dazzle
Mary's ambition, and win her affections from
him; and many a time he sighed that hypocrisy
should have the power to move so
majestically in the disguise of high-minded
virtue.
For various reasons, it seemed desirable
than Vanderlyn should possess a legal right
to protect the orphan and her property; and
an immediate marriage was decided upon.
The unknown could not be found; but eighty
thousand dollars were remitted, with a promise
to see Miss Campbell in a few days.
A new mansion was purchased in the immediate
vicinity of New-York; and the morning
after a very private wedding, little George
accompanied the bride and bridegroom there.
Mary was delighted with the tasteful arrangement
of every thing around her; but what
was Vanderlyn's surprise when he found all
his beloved pictures and statues, with many
a valuable addition! Even his birds and
flowers were there; and the servant joyfully
announced that the horses and greyhounds
had arrived! Before he had time to allude
to the mysterious benefactor, whose conduct
had been so strangely contradictory, the door
opened, and he appeared. Forgetful of his
suspicions, Vanderlyn eagerly stepped forward
to meet him. The stranger seized his
hand, and looked upon him with unutterable
may your romantic loves be happy.”
Then sinking his head upon the young man's
shoulder, he added, in a troubled voice,
“My son, my son!”
* * * * * *
When the first agitating moments of surprise
and happiness were over, Arthur inquired
why he had been led to suppose he
had no father. “I was obliged to take a
long and perilous voyage,” replied the elder
Vanderlyn. “I thought it very probable I
might never return. I wished you to inherit
my fortune; yet I feared to trust you with
so large a sum in the heyday of youth and
passion. If I died, I believed you would,
sooner or later, thank me for the precautions
I took; and if I lived, I should have the
satisfaction of seeing how my son would bear
wealth and freedom. I have seen it, Arthur;
and it has been balm to my heart that your
life, though a visionary one, has been unstained
by anything of sin or shame. But
society has its duties, and its pleasures too;
a world which needs all the assistance of the
good and the gifted. When the long winter
evenings come, I will tell you, George, how
I landed in Mexico, went to view the lead-mines
in Missouri, and finally hastened to
New-York, on account of letters I received
from my son's trustees; but I shall not tell
you how much I have learned to love your
sweet sister Mary; nor shall I ask Mrs.
Vanderlyn's pardon for urging her to marry
my son.”
Never was there a happier family than the
one now assembled around him who was once
called the Recluse of the Lake. Mary's
mind gradually expanded under the influence
of her husband and father, until she sympathized
with the artist and the poet in his
most refined and intellectual pleasures. The
grandmother was amply provided for, and
many a kind indication of remembrance sent
her. As for little George, he was in a perfect
ecstasy with every thing he saw and
heard. His bird-cage was suspended in the
breakfast room; but, when he began to sound
Vanderlyn would affectionately part the hair
on the boy's forehead, and answer playfully,
“Nay, brother George; now I have the
handsomest bird-cage; and the handsomest
bird in the whole world in it.”
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