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6. CHAPTER VI.
“O Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?”
Romeo and Juliet.
The usual effect of punch is to cause people to see
double; but, on this occasion, the mistake was the other
way, for two boats had touched the strand, instead of
the one announced by the commodore, and they brought
with them the whole party from the Wigwam, Steadfast
and Aristabulus included. A domestic or two had
also been brought to prepare the customary repast.
Captain Truck was as good as his word, as respects
ladies in form, as soon as her feet had touched the
green sward which covers that beautiful spot. Mrs.
Hawker declined drinking, in a way to delight the gallant
seaman; for so completely had she got the better
of all his habits and prejudices, that every thing she
did seemed right and gracious in his eyes.
The party soon separated into groups, or pairs, some
being seated on the margin of the limpid water, enjoying
the light cool airs, by which it was fanned, others
lay off in the boats fishing, while the remainder plunged
into the woods, that, in their native wildness, bounded
the little spot of verdure, which, canopied by old oaks,
formed the arena so lately in controversy. In this manner,
an hour or two soon slipped away, when a summons
was given for all to assemble around the viands.
The repast was laid on the grass, notwithstanding
Aristabulus more than hinted that the public, his beloved
public, usually saw fit to introduce rude tables
for that purpose. The Messrs. Effinghams, however,
were not to be taught by a mere bird of passage, how
a rustic fête so peculiarly their own, ought to be conducted,
and the attendants were directed to spread the
dishes on the turf. Around this spot, rustic seats were
improvisés, and the business of restauration proceeded.
Of all there assembled, the Parisian feelings of Mademoiselle
Viefville were the most excited; for to her,
the scene was one of pure delights, with the noble
panorama of forest-clad mountains, the mirror-like
lake, the overshadowing oaks, and the tangled brakes
of the adjoining woods.
“Mais, vraiment ceci surpasse les Tuileries, même
dans leur propre genre!” she exclaimed, with energy.
“On passerait volontiers par les dangers du désert pour
y parvenir.”
Those who understood her, smiled at this characteristic
remark, and most felt disposed to join in the
enthusiasm. Still, the manner in which their companions
tame and unsatisfactory to Mr. Bragg and Mr. Dodge,
these two persons being accustomed to see the young
of the two sexes indulge in broader exhibitions of
merry-making than those in which it comported with
the tastes and habits of the present party to indulge.
In vain Mrs. Hawker, in her quiet dignified way,
enjoyed the ready wit and masculine thoughts of Mrs.
Bloomfield, appearing to renew her youth; or, Eve,
with her sweet simplicity, and highly cultivated mind
and improved tastes, seemed like a highly-polished
mirror, to throw back the flashes of thought and
memory, that so constantly gleamed before both; it
was all lost on these thoroughly matter-of-fact utilitarians.
Mr. Effingham, all courtesy and mild refinement,
was seldom happier; and John Effingham was
never more pleasant, for he had laid aside the severity
of his character, to appear, what he ought always to
have been, a man in whom intelligence and quickness
of thought could be made to seem secondary to the
gentler qualities. The young men were not behind
their companions, either, each, in his particular way,
appearing to advantage, gay, regulated, and full
of a humour that was rendered so much the more
agreeable, by drawing its images from a knowledge
of the world, that was tempered by observation and
practice.
Poor Grace, alone, was the only one of the whole
party, always excepting Aristabulus and Steadfast,
who, for those fleeting but gay hours, was not thoroughly
happy. For the first time in her life, she felt
her own deficiencies, that ready and available knowledge,
so exquisitely feminine in its nature and exhibition,
which escaped Mrs. Bloomfield and Eve, as it
might be from its own excess; which the former possessed
almost intuitively, a gift of Heaven, and which
the latter enjoyed, not only from the same source, but
as a just consequence of her long and steady selfdenial,
duty to herself, was denied one who, in ill-judged
compliance with the customs of a society that has no
other apparent aim than the love of display, had precluded
herself from enjoyments that none but the intellectual
can feel. Still Grace was beautiful and attractive;
and though she wondered where her cousin, in
general so simple and unpretending, had acquired all
those stores of thought, that, in the abandon and freedom
of such a fête, escaped her in rich profusion,
embellished with ready allusions and a brilliant though
chastened wit, her generous and affectionate heart
could permit her to wonder without envying. She
perceived, for the first time, on this occasion, that if
Eve were indeed a Hajji, it was not a Hajji of a common
school; and, while her modesty and self-abasement
led her bitterly to regret the hours irretrievably
wasted in the frivolous levities so common to those of
her sex with whom she had been most accustomed to
mingle, her sincere regret did not lessen her admiration
for one she began tenderly to love.
As for Messrs. Dodge and Bragg, they both determined,
in their own minds, that this was much the
most stupid entertainment they had ever seen on that
spot, for it was entirely destitute of loud laughing,
noisy merriment, coarse witticisms, and practical
jokes. To them it appeared the height of arrogance,
for any particular set of persons to presume to come
to a spot, rendered sacred by the public suffrage in its
favour, in order to indulge in these outlandish dog-in-the-mangerisms.
Towards the close of this gay repast, and when the
party were about to yield their places to the attendants,
who were ready to re-ship the utensils, John
Effingham observed—
“I trust, Mrs. Hawker, you have been duly warned
of the catastrophe-character of this point, on which
woman is said never to have been wooed in vain.
moment to use these carving knives, faute des Bowies,
in order to show our desperate devotion; and I deem it
no more than prudent in you, not to smile again this
day, lest the cross-eyed readings of jealousy should
impute a wrong motive.”
“Had the injunction been against laughing, sir, I
might have resisted, but smiles are far too feeble to
express one's approbation, on such a day as this; you
may, therefore, trust to my discretion. Is it then true,
however, that Hymen haunts these shades?”
“A bachelor's history of the progress of love, may
be, like the education of his children, distrusted; but so
sayeth tradition; and I never put my foot in the place,
without making fresh vows of constancy to myself.
After this announcement of the danger, dare you accept
an arm, for I perceive signs that life cannot be entirely
wasted in these pleasures, great as they may prove.”
The whole party arose, and separating naturally,
they strolled in groups or pairs again, along the pebbly
strand, or beneath the trees, while the attendants made
the preparations to depart. Accident, as much as
design, left Sir George and Grace alone, for neither
perceived the circumstance until they had both passed
a little rise in the formation of the ground, and were
beyond the view of their companions. The baronet
was the first to perceive how much he had been
favoured by fortune, and his feelings were touched by
the air of gentle melancholy, that shaded the usually
bright and brilliant countenance of the beautiful girl.
“I should have thrice enjoyed this pleasant day,” he
said, with an interest in his manner, that caused the
heart of Grace to beat quicker, “had I not seen that to
you it has been less productive of satisfaction, than to
most of those around you. I fear you may not be as
well, as usual?”
“In health, never better, though not in spirits, perhaps.”
“I could wish I had a right to inquire why you,
who have so few causes in general to be out of spirits,
should have chosen a moment so little in accordance
with the common feeling.”
“I have chosen no moment; the moment has chosen
me, I fear. Not until this day, Sir George Templemore,
have I ever been truly sensible of my great
inferiority to my cousin, Eve.”
“An inferiority that no one but yourself would observe
or mention.”
“No, I am neither vain enough, nor ignorant enough,
to be the dupe of this flattery,” returned Grace, shaking
her hands and head, while she forced a smile; for even
the delusions those we love pour into our ears, are
not without their charms. “When I first met my
cousin, after her return, my own imperfections rendered
me blind to her superiority; but she herself has
gradually taught me to respect her mind, her womanly
character, her tact, her delicacy, principles, breeding,
every thing that can make a woman estimable, or
worthy to be loved! Oh! how have I wasted in
childish amusements, and frivolous vanities, the precious
moments of that girlhood which can never be recalled,
and left myself scarcely worthy to be an associate of
Eve Effingham!”
The first feelings of Grace had so far gotten the
control, that she scarce knew what she said, or to
whom she was speaking; she even wrung her hands,
in the momentary bitterness of her regrets, and in a
way to arouse all the sympathy of a lover.
“No one but yourself would say this, Miss Van
Cortlandt, and least of all your admirable cousin.”
“She is, indeed, my admirable cousin! But what
are we, in comparison with such a woman. Simple
and unaffected as a child, with the intelligence of a
scholar; with all the graces of a woman, she has the
learning and mind of a man. Mistress of so many
languages—”
“But you, too, speak several, my dear Miss Van
Cortlandt.”
“Yes,” said Grace, bitterly, “I speak them, as the
parrot repeats words that he does not understand. But
Eve Effingham has used these languages as means,
and she does not tell you merely what such a phrase
or idiom signifies, but what the greatest writers have
thought and written.”
“No one has a more profound respect for your cousin
than myself, Miss Van Cortlandt, but justice to you
requires that I should say her great superiority over
yourself has escaped me.”
“This may be true, Sir George Templemore, and
for a long time it escaped me too. I have only learned
to prize her as she ought to be prized by an intimate
acquaintance; hour by hour, as it might be. But even
you must have observed how quick and intuitively my
cousin and Mrs. Bloomfield have understood each other
to-day; how much extensive reading, and what polished
tastes they have both shown, and all so truly
feminine! Mrs. Bloomfield is a remarkable woman,
but she loves these exhibitions, for she knows she excels
in them. Not so with Eve Effingham, who, while
she so thoroughly enjoys every thing intellectual, is content,
always, to seem so simple. Now, it happens, that
the conversation turned once to-day on a subject that
my cousin, no later than yesterday, fully explained to
me, at my own earnest request; and I observed that,
while she joined so naturally with Mrs. Bloomfield in
adding to our pleasure, she kept back half what she
knew, lest she might seem to surpass her friend. No—
no—no—there is not such another woman as Eve
Effingham in this world!”
“So keen a perception of excellence in others, denotes
an equal excellence in yourself.”
“I know my own great inferiority now, and no kindness
of yours, Sir George Templemore, can ever persuade
me into a better opinion of myself. Eve has
and, instead of passing her youth in girlish trifling, has
treated the minutes as if they were all precious, as she
well knew them to be.”
“If Europe, then, does indeed possess these advantages,
why not yourself visit it, dearest Miss Van
Cortlandt?”
“I—I a Hajji!” cried Grace with childish pleasure,
though her colour heightened, and, for a moment, Eve
and her superiority was forgotten.
Certainly Sir George Templemore did not come out
on the lake that day with any expectation of offering
his baronetcy, his fair estate, with his hand, to this artless,
half-educated, provincial, but beautiful girl. For
a long time he had been debating with himself the propriety
of such a step, and it is probable that, at some
later period, he would have sought an occasion, had
not one now so opportunely offered, notwithstanding
all his doubts and reasonings with himself. If the
“woman who hesitates is lost,” it is equally true that
the man who pretends to set up his reason alone against
beauty, is certain to find that sense is less powerful
than the senses. Had Grace Van Cortlandt been more
sophisticated, less natural, her beauty might have failed
to make this conquest; but the baronet found a charm
in her naiveté, that was singularly winning to the feelings
of a man of the world. Eve had first attracted
him by the same quality; the early education of American
females being less constrained and artificial than
that of the English; but in Eve he found a mental training
and acquisitions that left the quality less conspicuous,
perhaps, than in her scarcely less beautiful cousin;
though, had Eve met his admiration with any thing
like sympathy, her power over him would not have
been easily weakened. As it was, Grace had been
gradually winding herself around his affections, and
he now poured out his love, in a language that her unpractised
and already favourably disposed feelings had
allowed to them, before the summons to the boat; but
when this summons came, Grace rejoined the party,
elevated in her own good opinion, as happy as a cloudless
future could make her, and without another
thought of the immeasurable superiority of her cousin.
By a singular coincidence, while the baronet and
Grace were thus engaged on one part of the shore,
Eve was the subject of a similar proffer of connecting
herself for life, on another. She had left the circle,
attended by Paul, her father, and Aristabulus; but no
sooner had they reached the margin of the water, than
the two former were called away by Captain Truck,
to settle some controverted point between the latter
and the commodore. By this unlooked-for desertion,
Eve found herself alone with Mr. Bragg.
“That was a funny and comprehensive remark Mr.
John made about the `Point,' Miss Eve,” Aristabulus
commenced, as soon as he found himself in possession
of the ground. “I should like to know if it be really
true that no woman was ever unsuccessfully wooed
beneath these oaks? If such be the case, we gentlemen
ought to be cautious how we come here.”
Here Aristabulus simpered, and looked, if possible,
more amiable than ever; though the quiet composure
and womanly dignity of Eve, who respected herself
too much, and too well knew what was due to her sex,
even to enter into, or, so far as it depended on her will,
to permit any of that common-place and vulgar trifling
about love and matrimony, which formed a never-failing
theme between the youthful of the two sexes, in
Mr. Bragg's particular circle, sensibly curbed his ambitious
hopes. Still he thought he had made too good
an opening, not to pursue the subject.
“Mr. John Effingham sometimes indulges in pleasantries,”
Eve answered, “that would lead one astray
who might attempt to follow.”
“Love is a jack-o'-lantern,” rejoined Aristabulus,
so many get swamped in following his lights. Have
you ever felt the tender passion, Miss Eve?”
Now, Aristabulus had heard this question put at the
soirée of Mrs. Houston, more than once, and he believed
himself to be in the most polite road for a
regular declaration. An ordinary woman, who felt
herself offended by this question, would, most probably,
have stepped back, and, raising her form to its utmost
elevation, answered by an emphatic “sir!” Not so
with Eve. She felt the distance between Mr. Bragg
and herself to be so great, that by no probable means
could he even offend her by any assumption of equality.
This distance was the result of opinions, habits, and
education, rather than of condition, however; for,
though Eve Effingham could become the wife of a
gentleman only, she was entirely superior to those prejudices
of the world that depend on purely factitious
causes. Instead of discovering surprise, indignation,
or dramatic dignity, therefore, at this extraordinary
question, she barely permitted a smile to curl her handsome
mouth; and this so slightly, as to escape her
companion's eye.
“I believe we are to be favoured with as smooth
water, in returning to the village, as we had in the
morning, while coming to this place,” she simply said.
“You row sometimes, I think, Mr. Bragg?”
“Ah! Miss Eve, such another opportunity may
never occur again, for you foreign ladies are so difficult
of access! Let me, then, seize this happy moment,
here, beneath the hymeneal oaks, to offer you
this faithful hand and this willing heart. Of fortune
you will have enough for both, and I say nothing about
the miserable dross. Reflect, Miss Eve, how happy
we might be, protecting and soothing the old age of
your father, and in going down the hill of life in company;
or, as the song says, `and hand in hand we'll
go, and sleep the'gither at the foot, John Anderson,
my Joe.' ”
“You draw very agreeable pictures, Mr. Bragg,
and with the touches of a master!”
“However agreeable you find them, Miss Eve,
they fall infinitely short of the truth. The tie of wedlock,
besides being the most sacred, is also the dearest;
and happy, indeed, are they who enter into the
solemn engagement with such cheerful prospects as
ourselves. Our ages are perfectly suitable, our disposition
entirely consonant, our habits so similar as to
obviate all unpleasant changes, and our fortunes precisely
what they ought to be to render a marriage happy,
with confidence on one side, and gratitude on the
other. As to the day, Miss Eve, I could wish to leave
you altogether the mistress of that, and shall not be
urgent.”
Eve had often heard John Effingham comment on
the cool impudence of a particular portion of the American
population, with great amusement to herself; but
never did she expect to be the subject of an attack like
this in her own person. By way of rendering the
scene perfect, Aristabulus had taken out his penknife,
cut a twig from a bush, and he now rendered himself
doubly interesting by commencing the favourite occupation
of whittling. A cooler picture of passion could
not well have been drawn.
“You are bashfully silent, Miss Eve! I make all
due allowances for natural timidity, and shall say no
more at present—though, as silence universally `gives
consent—' ”
“If you please, sir,” interrupted Eve, with a slight
motion of her parasol, that implied a check. “I presume
our habits and opinions, notwithstanding you
seem to think them so consonant with each other,
are sufficiently different to cause you not to see the
impropriety of one, who is situated like yourself,
abusing the confidence of a parent, by making such a
proposal to a daughter without her father's knowledge;
and, on that point, I shall say nothing. But as you
offer of your hand, I wish that the answer
may be as distinct as the proposal. I decline the advantage
and happiness of becoming your wife, sir—”
“Time flies, Miss Eve!”
“Time does fly, Mr. Bragg; and, if you remain
much longer in the employment of Mr. Effingham, you
may lose an opportunity of advancing your fortunes at
the west, whither I understand it has long been your
intention to emigrate—”
“I will readily relinquish all my hopes at the west,
for your sake.”
“No, sir, I cannot be a party to such a sacrifice. I
will not say forget me, but forget your hopes here, and
renew those you have so unreflectingly abandoned beyond
the Mississippi. I shall not represent this conversation
to Mr. Effingham in a manner to create any
unnecessary prejudices against you; and while I thank
you, as every woman should, for an offer that must infer
some portion, at least, of your good opinion, you
will permit me again to wish you all lawful success in
your western enterprises.”
Eve gave Mr. Bragg no farther opportunity to
renew his suit; for, she curtsied and left him, as she
ceased speaking. Mr. Dodge, who had been a distant
observer of the interview, now hastened to join his
friend, curious to know the result, for it had been privately
arranged between these modest youths, that
each should try his fortune in turn, with the heiress,
did she not accept the first proposal. To the chagrin
of Steadfast, and probably to the reader's surprise,
Aristabulus informed his friend that Eve's manner and
language had been full of encouragement.
“She thanked me for the offer, Mr. Dodge,” he
said, “and her wishes for my future prosperity at the
west, were warm and repeated. Eve Effingham is,
indeed, a charming creature!”
“At the west! Perhaps she meant differently from
of art.”
“Art, sir! she spoke as plainly as woman could
speak, and I repeat that I feel considerably encouraged.
It is something, to have had so plain a conversation
with Eve Effingham.”
Mr. Dodge swallowed his discontent, and the whole
party soon embarked, to return to the village; the
commodore and general taking a boat by themselves,
in order to bring their discussion on human affairs in
general, to a suitable close.
That night, Sir George Templemore, asked an
interview with Mr. Effingham, when the latter was
alone in his library.
“I sincerely hope this request is not the forerunner
of a departure,” said the host kindly, as the young
man entered, “in which case I shall regard you as one
unmindful of the hopes he has raised. You stand
pledged by implication, if not in words, to pass another
month with us.”
“So far from entertaining an intention so faithless,
my dear sir, I am fearful that you may think I trespass
too far on your hospitality.”
He then communicated his wish to be allowed to
make Grace Van Cortlandt his wife. Mr. Effingham
heard him with a smile, that showed he was not altogether
unprepared for such a demand, and his eye
glistened as he squeezed the other's hand.
“Take her with all my heart, Sir George,” he said,
“but remember you are transferring a tender plant into
a strange soil. There are not many of your countrymen
to whom I would confide such a trust, for I know
the risk they run who make ill-assorted unions—”
“Ill-assorted unions, Mr. Effingham!”
“Yours will not be one, in the ordinary acceptation
of the term, I know; for in years, birth and fortune, you
and my dear niece are as much on an equality as can
be desired: but it is too often an ill-assorted union for
much depends on the man, that with one in whom I
have less confidence than I have in you, I might justly
hesitate. I shall take a guardian's privilege, though
Grace be her own mistress, and give you one solemn
piece of advice—always respect the country of the
woman you have thought worthy to bear your name.”
“I hope always to respect every thing that is hers;
but, why this particular caution?—Miss Van Cortlandt
is almost English in her heart.”
“An affectionate wife will take her bias in such matters,
generally from her husband. Your country will
be her country, your God her God. Still, Sir George
Templemore, a woman of spirit and sentiment can
never wholly forget the land of her birth. You love
us not in England, and one who settles there will often
have occasion to hear gibes and sneers on the land from
which she came—”
“Good God, Mr. Effingham, you do not think I shall
take my wife into society where—”
“Bear with a proser's doubts, Templemore. You
will do all that is well-intentioned and proper, I dare
say, in the usual acceptation of the words; but I wish
you to do more; that which is wise. Grace has now
a sincere reverence and respect for England, feelings
that in many particulars are sustained by the facts,
and will be permanent; but, in some things, observation,
as it usually happens with the young and sanguine,
will expose the mistakes into which she has been
led by enthusiasm and the imagination. As she knows
other countries better, she will come to regard her
own with more favourable and discriminating eyes,
losing her sensitiveness on account of peculiarities she
now esteems, and taking new views of things. Perhaps
you will think me selfish, but I shall add, also,
that if you wish to cure your wife of any homesickness,
the surest mode will be to bring her back to
her native land.”
“Nay, my dear sir,” said Sir George, laughing,
“this is very much like acknowledging its blemishes.”
“I am aware it has that appearance, and yet the
fact is otherwise. The cure is as certain with the
Englishman as with the American; and with the German
as with either. It depends on a general law,
which causes us all to over-estimate by-gone pleasures
and distant scenes, and to undervalue those of
the present moment. You know I have always maintained
there is no real philosopher short of fifty, nor
any taste worth possessing that is a dozen years old.”
Here Mr. Effingham rang the bell, and desired
Pierre to request Miss Van Cortlandt to join him in
the library. Grace entered blushing and shy, but with
a countenance beaming with inward peace. Her
uncle regarded her a moment intently, and a tear glistened
in his eye, again, as he tenderly kissed her burning
cheek.
“God bless you, love,” he said—“'tis a fearful
change for your sex, and yet you all enter into it radiant
with hope, and noble in your confidence. Take her,
Templemore,” giving her hand to the baronet, “and
deal kindly by her. You will not desert us entirely.
I trust I shall see you both once more in the Wigwam
before I die.”
“Uncle—uncle—” burst from Grace, as, drowned
in tears, she threw herself into Mr. Effingham's arms;
“I am an ungrateful girl, thus to abandon all my
natural friends. I have acted wrong—”
“Wrong, dearest Miss Van Cortlandt!”
“Selfishly, then, Sir George Templemore,” the simple-hearted
girl ingenuously added, scarcely knowing
how much her words implied—“Perhaps this matter
might be reconsidered.”
“I am afraid little would be gained by that, my
love,” returned the smiling uncle, wiping his eyes at
the same instant. “The second thoughts of ladies
usually confirm the first, in such matters. God bless
too, in its holy keeping. Remember what I have said,
and to-morrow we will converse further on the subject.
Does Eve know of this, my niece?”
The colour went and came rapidly in Grace's
cheek, and she looked to the floor, abashed.
“We ought then to send for her,” resumed Mr.
Effingham, again reaching towards the bell.
“Uncle—” and Grace hurriedly interposed, in time
to save the string from being pulled. “Could I keep
such an important secret from my dearest cousin!”
“I find that I am the last in the secret, as is generally
the case with old fellows, and I believe I am even
now de trop.”
Mr. Effingham kissed Grace again affectionately,
and, although she strenuously endeavoured to detain
him, he left the room.
“We must follow,” said Grace, hastily wiping her
eyes, and rubbing the traces of tears from her cheeks
—“Excuse me, Sir George Templemore; will you
open—”
He did, though it was not the door, but his arms.
Grace seemed like one that was rendered giddy by
standing on a precipice, but when she fell, the young
baronet was at hand to receive her. Instead of quitting
the library that instant, the bell had announced the
appearance of the supper-tray, before she remembered
that she had so earnestly intended to do so.
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