 | CHAPTER IX. Home as found |  |
9. CHAPTER IX.
Or in the heart, or in the head?
How begot, how nourished?”
Song in Shakspeare.
The travellers were several hours ascending into the
mountains, by a country road that could scarcely be
surpassed by a French wheel-track of the same sort,
the course of the morning, that it was a thousand pities
Mr. Effingham had not the privilege of the corvée, that
he might cause the approach to his terres to be kept in
better condition. At length they reached the summit,
a point where the waters began to flow south, when
the road became tolerably level. From this time their
progress became more rapid, and they continued to
advance two or three hours longer at a steady pace.
Aristabulus now informed his companions that, in
obedience to instructions from John Effingham, he had
ordered the coachmen to take a road that led a little
from the direct line of their journey, and that they had
now been travelling for some time on the more ancient
route to Templeton.
“I was aware of this,” said Mr. Effingham, “though
ignorant of the reason. We are on the great western
turnpike.”
“Certainly, sir, and all according to Mr. John's request.
There would have been a great saving in distance,
and agreeably to my notion, in horse-flesh, had
we quietly gone down the banks of the lake.”
“Jack will explain his own meaning,” returned Mr,
Effingham, “and he has stopped the other carriage,
and alighted with Sir George,—a hint, I fancy, that we
are to follow their example.”
Sure enough, the second carriage was now stopped,
and Sir George hastened to open its door.
“Mr. John Effingham, who acts as cicerone,” cried
the baronet, “insists that every one shall put pied à
terre at this precise spot, keeping the important reason
still a secret, in the recesses of his own bosom.”
The ladies complied, and the carriages were ordered
to proceed with the domestics, leaving the rest of the
travellers by themselves, apparently in the heart of a
forest.
“It is to be hoped, Mademoiselle, there are no banditti
in America,” said Eve, as they looked around
apparently by a pure caprice of her cousin.
“Ou des sauvages,” returned the governess, who, in
spite of her ordinary intelligence and great good sense,
had several times that day cast uneasy and stolen
glances into the bits of dark wood they had occasionally
passed.
“I will ensure your purses and your scalps, mesdames,”
cried John Effingham gaily, “on condition
that you will follow me implicitly; and by way of
pledge for my faith, I solicit the honour of supporting
Mademoiselle Viefville on this unworthy arm.”
The governess laughingly accepted the conditions,
Eve took the arm of her father, and Sir George offered
his to Grace; Aristabulus, to his surprise, being left to
walk entirely alone. It struck him, however, as so singularly
improper that a young lady should be supported
on such an occasion by her own father, that he frankly
and gallantly proposed to Mr. Effingham to relieve
him of his burthen, an offer that was declined with
quite as much distinctness as it was made.
“I suppose cousin Jack has a meaning to his melodrama,”
said Eve, as they entered the forest, “and I
dare say, dearest father, that you are behind the scenes,
though I perceive determined secrecy in your face.”
“John may have a cave to show us, or some tree of
extraordinary height; such things existing in the
country.”
“We are very confiding, Mademoiselle, for I detect
treachery in every face around us. Even Miss Van
Cortlandt has the air of a conspirator, and seems to be
in league with something or somebody. Pray Heaven,
it be not with wolves.”
“Des loups!” exclaimed Mademoiselle Viefville,
stopping short, with a mien so alarmed as to excite a
general laugh—“est ce qu'il y a des loups et des sangliers
dans cette forêt?”
“No, Mademoiselle,” returned her companion—“this
Were we in le departement de la Seine, we might apprehend
some such dangers, but being merely in the
mountains of Ostego, we are reasonably safe.”
“Je l'espère,” murmured the governess, as she reluctantly
and distrustfully proceeded, glancing her
eyes incessantly to the right and left. The path now
became steep and rather difficult; so much so, indeed,
as to indispose them all to conversation. It led beneath
the branches of lofty pines, though there existed,
on every side of them, proofs of the ravages man had
committed in that noble forest. At length they were
compelled to stop for breath, after having ascended
considerably above the road they had left.
“I ought to have said that the spot where we entered
on this path, is memorable in the family history,” observed
John Effingham, to Eve—“for it was the precise
spot where one of our predecessors lodged a shot
in the shoulder of another.”
“Then I know precisely where we are!” cried our
heroine, “though I cannot yet imagine why we are led
into this forest, unless it be to visit some spot hallowed
by a deed of Natty Bumppo's!”
“Time will solve this mystery, as well as all others.
Let us proceed.”
Again they ascended, and, after a few more minutes
of trial, they reached a sort of table-land, and drew
near an opening in the trees, where a small circle had
evidently been cleared of its wood, though it was
quite small and untilled. Eve looked curiously about
her, as did all the others to whom the place was novel,
and she was lost in doubt.
“There seems to be a void beyond us,” said the
baronet—“I rather think Mr. John Effingham has led
us to the verge of a view.”
At this suggestion the party moved on in a body,
and were well rewarded for the toil of the ascent, by a
coup d'œil that was almost Swiss in character and
beauty.
“Now do I know where we are,” exclaimed Eve,
clasping her hands in rapture—“this is the `Vision,'
and yonder, indeed, is our blessed home!”
The whole artifice of the surprise was exposed, and
after the first bursts of pleasure had subsided, all to
whom the scene was novel felt, that they would not
have missed this piquante introduction to the valley of
the Susquehannah, on any account. That the reader
may understand the cause of so much delight, and
why John Effingham had prepared this scene for his
friends, we shall stop to give a short description of the
objects that first met the eyes of the travellers.
It is known that they were in a small open spot in a
forest, and on the verge of a precipitous mountain.
The trees encircled them on every side but one, and
on that lay the panorama, although the tops of tall
pines, that grew in lines almost parallel to the declivity,
rose nearly to a level with the eye. Hundreds of feet
beneath them, directly in front, and stretching leagues
to the right, was a lake embedded in woods and hills.
On the side next the travellers, a fringe of forest broke
the line of water; tree tops that intercepted the view
of the shores; and on the other, high broken hills, or
low mountains rather, that were covered with farms,
beautifully relieved by patches of wood, in a way to
resemble the scenery of a vast park, or a royal pleasure
ground, limited the landscape. High valleys lay
among these uplands, and in every direction comfortable
dwellings dotted the fields. The contrast between
the dark hues of the evergreens, with which all the
heights near the water were shaded, was in soft contrast
to the livelier green of the other foliage, while the
meadows and pastures were luxuriant with a verdure
unsurpassed by that of England. Bays and points
added to the exquisite outline of the glassy lake on this
shore, while one of the former withdrew towards the
north-west, in a way to leave the eye doubtful whether
it was the termination of the transparent sheet or not.
also bounded the view, all teeming with the fruits of
human labour, and yet all relieved by pieces of wood,
in the way already mentioned, so as to give the entire
region the character of park scenery. A wide, deep,
even valley, commenced at the southern end of the
lake, or nearly opposite to the stand of our travellers,
and stretched away south, until concealed by a curvature
in the ranges of the mountains. Like all the
mountain-tops, this valley was verdant, peopled, wooded
in places, though less abundantly than the hills, and
teeming with the signs of life. Roads wound through
its peaceful retreats, and might be traced working their
way along the glens, and up the weary ascents of the
mountains, for miles, in every direction.
At the northern termination of this lovely valley,
and immediately on the margin of the lake, lay the
village of Templeton, immediately under the eyes of
the party. The distance, in an air line, from their
stand to the centre of the dwellings, could not be much
less than a mile, but the air was so pure, and the day
so calm, that it did not seem so far. The children and
even the dogs were seen running about the streets,
while the shrill cries of boys at their gambols, ascended
distinctly to the ear.
As this was the Templeton of the Pioneers, and the
progress of society during half a century is connected
with the circumstance, we shall give the reader a more
accurate notion of its present state, than can be obtained
from incidental allusions. We undertake the
office more readily because this is not one of those
places that shoot up in a day, under the unnatural
efforts of speculation, or which, favoured by peculiar
advantages in the way of trade, becomes a precocious
city, while the stumps still stand in its streets; but a
sober county town, that has advanced steadily, pari
passu with the surrounding country, and offers a fair
specimen of the more regular advancement of the
whole nation, in its progress towards civilization.
The appearance of Templeton, as seen from the
height where it is now exhibited to the reader, was generally
beautiful and map-like. There might be a dozen
streets, principally crossing each other at right-angles,
though sufficiently relieved from this precise
delineation, to prevent a starched formality. Perhaps
the greater part of the buildings were painted white, as
is usual in the smaller American towns; though a better
taste was growing in the place, and many of the dwellings
had the graver and chaster hues of the grey
stones of which they were built. A general air of
neatness and comfort pervaded the place, it being as
unlike a continental European town, south of the Rhine,
in this respect, as possible, if indeed we except the picturesque
bourgs of Switzerland. In England, Templeton
would be termed a small market-town, so far as
size was concerned; in France, a large bourg; while
in America it was, in common parlance, and legal appellation,
styled a village.
Of the dwellings of the place, fully twenty were of
a quality that denoted ease in the condition of their occupants,
and bespoke the habits of those accustomed
to live in a manner superior to the oi polloi of the human
race. Of these, some six or eight had small lawns,
carriage sweeps, and the other similar appliances of
houses that were not deemed unworthy of the honour
of bearing names of their own. No less than five little
steeples, towers, or belfries, for neither word is exactly
suitable to the architectural prodigies we wish to
describe, rose above the roofs, denoting the sites of the
same number of places of worship; an American village
usually exhibiting as many of these proofs of liberty
of conscience—caprices of conscience would perhaps
be a better term—as dollars and cents will by
any process render attainable. Several light carriages,
such as were suitable to a mountainous country, were
passing to and fro in the streets; and, here and there,
a single-horse vehicle was fastened before the door of
some customer, or client, from among the adjacent
hills.
Templeton was not sufficiently a thoroughfare to
possess one of those monstrosities, a modern American
tavern, or a structure whose roof should overtop that
of all its neighbours. Still its inns were of respectable
size, well piazzaed, to use a word of our own invention,
and quite enough frequented.
Near the centre of the place, in grounds of rather
limited extent, still stood that model of the composite
order, which owed its existence to the combined knowledge
and taste, in the remoter ages of the region, of
Mr. Richard Jones and Mr. Hiram Doolittle. We
will not say that it had been modernized, for the very
reverse was the effect, in appearance at least; but, it
had since undergone material changes, under the more
instructed intelligence of John Effingham.
This building was so conspicuous by position and
size, that as soon as they had taken in glimpses of the
entire landscape, which was not done without constant
murmurs of pleasure, every eye became fastened on it,
as the focus of interest. A long and common silence
denoted how general was this feeling, and the whole
party took seats on stumps and fallen trees before a
syllable was uttered, after the building had attracted
their gaze. Aristabulus alone permitted his look to
wander, and he was curiously examining the countenance
of Mr. Effingham, near whom he sate, with a
longing to discover whether the expression was that of
approbation, or of disapprobation, of the fruits of his
cousin's genius.
“Mr. John Effingham has considerably regenerated
and revivified, not to say transmogrified, the old dwelling,”
he said, cautiously using terms that might leave
his own opinion of the changes doubtful. “The
work of his hand has excited some speculation,
a good deal of inquiry, and a little conversation,
excitement!”
“As my house came to me from my father,” said
Mr. Effingham, across whose mild and handsome face
a smile was gradually stealing, “I knew its history,
and when called on for an explanation of its singularities,
could refer all to the composite order. But, you,
Jack, have supplanted all this, by a style of your own,
for which I shall be compelled to consult the authorities
for explanations.”
“Do you dislike my taste, Ned?—To my eye, now,
the structure has no bad appearance from this spot!”
“Fitness and comfort are indispensable requisites
for domestic architecture, to use your own argument.
Are you quite sure that yonder castellated roof, for instance,
is quite suited to the deep snows of these mountains?”
John Effingham whistled, and endeavoured to look
unconcerned, for he well knew that the very first winter
had demonstrated the unsuitableness of his plans
for such a climate. He had actually felt disposed to
cause the whole to be altered privately, at his own expense;
but, besides feeling certain his cousin would
resent a liberty that inferred his indisposition to
pay for his own buildings, he had a reluctance to admit,
in the face of the whole country, that he had made
so capital a mistake, in a branch of art in which he
prided himself rather more than common; almost as
much as his predecessor in the occupation, Mr. Richard
Jones.
“If you are not pleased with your own dwelling,
Ned,” he answered, “you can have, at least, the consolation
of looking at some of your neighbours' houses,
and of perceiving that they are a great deal worse off.
Of all abortions of this sort, to my taste, a Grecian
abortion is the worst—mine is only Gothic, and that
too, in a style so modest, that I should think it might
pass unmolested.”
It was so unusual to see John Effingham on the defensive,
that the whole party smiled, while Aristabulus,
who stood in salutary fear of his caustic tongue, both
smiled and wondered.
“Nay, do not mistake me, John,” returned the proprietor
of the edifice under discussion—“it is not your
taste that I call in question, but your provision against
the seasons. In the way of mere outward show, I really
think you deserve high praise, for you have transformed
a very ugly dwelling into one that is almost
handsome, in despite of proportions and the necessity
of regulating the alterations by prescribed limits. Still,
I think, there is a little of the composite left about
even the exterior.”
“I hope, cousin Jack, you have not innovated on the
interior,” cried Eve; “for I think I shall remember
that, and nothing is more pleasant than the cattism of
seeing objects that you remember in childhood—pleasant,
I mean, to those whom the mania of mutation has
not affected.”
“Do not be alarmed, Miss Effingham,” replied her
kinsman, with a pettishness of manner that was altogether
extraordinary, in a man whose mien, in common,
was so singularly composed and masculine;
“you will find all that you knew, when a kitten, in its
proper place. I could not rake together, again, the
ashes of Queen Dido, which were scattered to the four
winds of Heaven, I fear; nor could I discover a reasonably
good bust of Homer; but respectable substitutes
are provided, and some of them have the great
merit of puzzling all beholders to tell to whom they
belong, which I believe was the great characteristic
of most of Mr. Jones's invention.”
“I am glad to see, cousin Jack, that you have, at
least, managed to give a very respectable `cloud-colour'
to the whole house.”
“Ay, it lay between that and an invisible green,”
the gentleman answered, losing his momentary spleen
the latter would be only too conspicuous in the
droughts that sometimes prevail in this climate, I
settled down into the yellowish drab, that is, indeed,
not unlike some of the richer volumes of the clouds.”
“On the whole, I think you are fairly entitled, as
Steadfast Dodge, Esquire, would say, to `the meed of
our thanks.' ”
“What a lovely spot!” exclaimed Mr. Effingham,
who had already ceased to think of his own dwelling,
and whose eye was roaming over the soft landscape,
athwart which the lustre of a June noontide was
throwing its richest glories. “This is truly a place
where one might fancy repose and content were to be
found for the evening of a troubled life.”
“Indeed, I have seldom looked upon a more bewitching
scene,” answered the baronet. “The lakes
of Cumberland will scarce compete with this!”
“Or that of Brienz, or Lungeren, or Nemi,” said
Eve, smiling in a way that the other understood to be
a hit at his nationality.
“C'est charmant!” murmured Mademoiselle Viefville.
“On pense à l'éternité, dans une telle calme!”
“The farm you can see lying near yonder wood,
Mr. Effingham,” coolly observed Aristabulus, “sold
last spring for thirty dollars the acre, and was bought
for twenty, the summer before!”
“Chacun à son gout!” said Eve.
“And yet, I fear, this glorious scene is marred by
the envy, rapacity, uncharitableness, and all the other
evil passions of man!” continued the more philosophical
Mr. Effingham. “Perhaps, it were better as it was
so lately, when it lay in the solitude and peace of the
wilderness, the resort of birds and beasts.”
“Who prey on each other, dearest father, just as
the worst of our own species prey on their fellows.”
“True, child—true. And yet, I never gaze on one
of these scenes of holy calm, without wishing that the
those who have a feeling for its perfection.”
“Do you see the lady,” said Aristabulus, “that is
just coming out on the lawn, in front of the `Wigwam?'
” for that was the name John Effingham had
seen fit to give the altered and amended abode.
“Here, Miss Effingham, more in a line with the top
of the pine beneath us.”
“I see the person you mean; she seems to be looking
in this direction.”
“You are quite right, miss; she knows that we are
to stop on the Vision, and no doubt sees us. That lady
is your father's cook, Miss Effingham, and is thinking
of the late breakfast that has been ordered to be in
readiness against our arrival.”
Eve concealed her amusement, for, by this time,
she had discovered that Mr. Bragg had a way peculiar
to himself, or at least to his class, of using many of the
commoner words of the English language. It would
perhaps be expecting too much of Sir George Templemore,
not to expect him to smile, on such an occasion.
“Ah!” exclaimed Aristabulus, pointing towards the
lake, across which several skiffs were stealing, some in
one direction, and some in another, “there is a boat
out, that I think must contain the poet.”
“Poet!” repeated John Effingham. “Have we
reached that pass at Templeton?”
“Lord, Mr. John Effingham, you must have very
contracted notions of the place, if you think a poet a
great novelty in it. Why, sir, we have caravans of
wild beasts, nearly every summer!”
“This is, indeed, a step in advance, of which I was
ignorant. Here then, in a region, that so lately was
tenanted by beasts of prey, beasts are already brought
as curiosities. You perceive the state of the country in
this fact, Sir George Templemore.”
“I do indeed; but I should like to hear from Mr.
Bragg, what sort of animals are in these caravans?”
“All sorts, from monkeys to elephants. The last
had a rhinoceros.”
“Rhinoceros!—Why there was but one, lately, in
all Europe. Neither the Zoological Gardens, nor the
Jardin des Plantes, had a rhinoceros! I never saw
but one, and that was in a caravan at Rome, that
travelled between St. Petersburgh and Naples.”
“Well, sir, we have rhinoceroses here;—and monkeys,
and zebras, and poets, and painters, and congressmen,
and bishops, and governors, and all other sorts
of creatures.”
“And who may the particular poet be, Mr. Bragg,”
Eve asked, “who honours Templeton, with his presence
just at this moment?”
“That is more than I can tell you, miss, for, though
some eight or ten of us have done little else than try to
discover his name for the last week, we have not got
even as far as that one fact. He and the gentleman
who travels with him, are both uncommonly close on
such matters, though I think we have some as good
catechisers in Templeton, as can be found any where
within fifty miles of us!”
“There is another gentleman with him—do you
suspect them both of being poets?”
“Oh, no, Miss, the other is the waiter of the poet;
that we know, as he serves him at dinner, and otherwise
superintends his concerns; such as brushing his
clothes, and keeping his room in order.”
“This is being in luck for a poet, for they are of a
class that are a little apt to neglect the decencies. May
I ask why you suspect the master of being a poet, if
the man be so assiduous?”
“Why, what else can he be? In the first place, Miss
Effingham, he has no name.”
“That is a reason in point,” said John Effingham;
“very few poets having names.”
“Then he is out on the lake half his time, gazing
up at the `Silent Pine,' or conversing with the `Speaking
Rocks,' or drinking at the `Fairy Spring.' ”
“All suspicious, certainly; especially the dialogue
with the rocks; though not absolutely conclusive.”
“But, Mr. John Effingham, the man does not take
his food like other people. He rises early, and is out
on the water, or up in the forest, all the morning, and
then returns to eat his breakfast in the middle of the
forenoon; he goes into the woods again, or on the lake,
and comes back to dinner, just as I take my tea.”
“This settles the matter. Any man who presumes
to do all this, Mr. Bragg, deserves to be called by some
harder name, even, than that of a poet. Pray, sir,
how long has this eccentric person been a resident of
Templeton?”
“Hist—there he is, as I am a sinner; and it was not
he and the other gentlemen that were in the boat.”
The rebuked manner of Aristabulus, and the dropping
of his voice, induced the whole party to look in
the direction of his eye, and, sure enough, a gentleman
approached them, in the dress a man of the world is
apt to assume in the country, an attire of itself that
was sufficient to attract comment in a place where the
general desire was to be as much like town as possible,
though it was sufficiently neat and simple. He came
from the forest, along the table-land that crowned the
mountain for some distance, following one of the footpaths
that the admirers of the beautiful landscape have
made all over that pleasant wood. As he came out
into the cleared spot, seeing it already in possession
of a party, he bowed, and was passing on, with a delicacy
that Mr. Bragg would be apt to deem eccentric,
when suddenly stopping, he gave a look of intense and
eager interest at the whole party, smiled, advanced
rapidly nearer, and discovered his entire person.
“I ought not to be surprised,” he said, as he advanced
so near as to render doubt any longer impossible, “for
arrival, and yet this meeting has been so unexpected
as to leave me scarcely in possession of my faculties.”
It is needless to dwell upon the warmth and number
of the greetings. To the surprise of Mr. Bragg, his
poet was not only known, but evidently much esteemed
by all the party, with the exception of Miss Van Cortlandt,
to whom he was cordially presented by the name
of Mr. Powis. Eve managed, by an effort of womanly
pride, to suppress the violence of her emotions, and the
meeting passed off as one of mutual surprise and pleasure,
without any exhibition of unusual feeling to attract
comment.
“We ought to express our wonder at finding you
here before us, my dear young friend,” said Mr. Effingham,
still holding Paul's hand affectionately between
his own; “and, even now, that my own eyes assure
me of the fact, I can hardly believe you would arrive
at New-York, and quit it, without giving us the satisfaction
of seeing you.”
“In that, sir, you are not wrong; certainly nothing
could have deprived me of that pleasure, but the knowledge
that it would not have been agreeable to yourselves.
My sudden appearance here, however, will be
without mystery, when I tell you that I returned from
England, by the way of Quebec, the Great Lakes, and
the Falls, having been induced by my friend Ducie to
take that route, in consequence of his ship's being sent
to the St. Lawrence. A desire for novelty, and particularly
a desire to see the celebrated cataract, which
is almost the lion of America, did the rest.”
“We are glad to have you with us on any terms,
and I take it as particularly kind, that you did not pass
my door. You have been here some days?”
“Quite a week. On reaching Utica I diverged from the
great route to see this place, not anticipating the pleasure
of meeting you here so early; but hearing you were
expected, I determined to remain, with a hope, which I
sorry to see an old fellow-traveller again.”
Mr. Effingham pressed his hands warmly again, before
he relinquished them; an assurance of welcome
that Paul received with thrilling satisfaction.
“I have been in Templeton almost long enough,”
the young man resumed, laughing, “to set up as a candidate
for the public favour, if I rightly understand the
claims of a denizen. By what I can gather from casual
remarks, the old proverb that `the new broom
sweeps clean' applies with singular fidelity throughout
all this region.”
“Have you a copy of your last ode, or a spare epigram,
in your pocket?” inquired John Effingham.
Paul looked surprised, and Aristabulus, for a novelty,
was a little dashed. Paul looked surprised, as a matter
of course, for, although he had been a little annoyed
by the curiosity that is apt to haunt a village imagination,
since his arrival in Templeton, he did not in the
least suspect that his love of a beautiful nature had
been imputed to devotion to the muses. Perceiving,
however, by the smiles of those around him, that there
was more meant than was expressed, he had the tact
to permit the explanation to come from the person who
had put the question, if it were proper it should come
at all.
“We will defer the great pleasure that is in reserve,”
continued John Effingham, “to another time. At present,
it strikes me that the lady of the lawn is getting
to be impatient, and the déjeuner à la fourchette, that I
have had the precaution to order, is probably waiting
our appearance. It must be eaten, though under the
penalty of being thought moon-struck rhymers by the
whole State. Come, Ned; if you are sufficiently satisfied
with looking at the Wigwam in a bird's-eye view,
we will descend and put its beauties to the severer test
of a close examination.”
This proposal was readily accepted, though all tore
not until they had paused to take another look.
“Fancy the shores of this lake lined with villas,”
said Eve, “church-towers raising their dark heads
among these hills; each mountain crowned with a
castle, or a crumbling ruin, and all the other accessories
of an old state of society, and what would then
be the charms of the view!”
“Less than they are to-day, Miss Effingham,” said
Paul Powis; “for though poetry requires—you all
smile, is it forbidden to touch on such subjects?”
“Not at all, so it be done in wholesome rhymes,”
returned the baronet. “You ought to know that you
are expected even to speak in doggerel.”
Paul ceased, and the whole party walked away from
the place, laughing and light-hearted.
| CHAPTER IX. Home as found | |