University of Virginia Library

4. CHAPTER IV.

Henry VI.

The arrival of letters from Harry, often accompanied by
something pretty or useful, as a souvenir for herself, were
the principal events of the next winter, to Elinor. Several
months of the cold weather were passed, as usual, by Mr.
Wyllys and his family, in Philadelphia; and Miss Agnes
thought it time that her niece should make her appearance
in society. But Elinor found less pleasure, than most girls,
in the gay world. She was seldom appreciated, in mixed
company; she was too young, at that time, and too modest,
for her intelligence to be generally known or cared for;
while her personal appearance exposed her to be entirely
overlooked and neglected by strangers; it had indeed occasionally
been the cause of mortifications, more deeply felt by
Miss Agnes, than by Elinor herself. People talk so lightly,
in what is called general society; heartless remarks are uttered
with so much careless indifference on all sides, that it
was not surprising some unkind observations should have
reached her ear. It was not until the season that she had
been introduced into a larger circle, that Elinor became better
aware of her disadvantages in this respect. She had
been so tenderly loved and watched over by her grandfather
and aunt; she was so generally liked by those who had been
hitherto her companions, that she had not been aware of all
the consequences of her position. She knew that her appearance
was not attractive, while her young friends were
more or less pretty; still, she had thought but little on the
subject, until her introduction into a larger circle led her to
remark the great importance which the world attaches to
mere beauty, in women, at least. But, with this reflection,

came also the gratifying recollection of Harry's regard for
her; and it served indeed to increase very much her attachment
to him, by giving it an additional feeling of gratitude.

Harry's letters were kind and affectionate, and Elinor
thought them very amusing. It was impossible that an
intelligent, well-educated young man, suddenly transported
from the New, to the Old World, should not find a great
deal to say; and Harry told his adventures very agreeably.
His letters to Elinor were almost as straight-forward and
matter-of-fact, as they might have been if she had already
become his wife. His brother's health was improving; so
much so, that they were talking of leaving Mrs. Hazlehurst,
and her children, in Paris, while Harry and the invalid
made a six weeks' excursion to England. Madame de Bessières
had been all kindness, and they were delighted with
the society they met at her house. “Madame de Bessières
remembers you perfectly,” said Harry, in one of his letters,
“and as she is sure, under Aunt Agnes' care, you must have
grown up with all the good and agreeable qualities that she
loved you for when a child, she agrees with your humble
servant, in thinking him a very lucky fellow, and very prudent,
in having secured you before he left home. She is
really a most excellent and charming woman, as kind as
possible to Louisa. Her American friends have every
reason to be satisfied with her recollections of them, especially
Mr. Wyllys and Aunt Agnes, whom she evidently
appreciates. Her nephew, young de Guivres, and I, are
very good friends already, and often take a gallop together
in the Bois de Boulogne. It is a settled thing, Elinor, dear,
that I am to bring you to France, one of these days; that is
to say, if you have no objections; which, of course, you will
not have. Tom Taylor is here still, and his progressive
steps in civilization are quite amusing, to a looker-on; every
time I see him, I am struck with some new change—some
fresh growth in elegance. I was going to say, that he will
turn out a regular dandy; but he would have to go to London

for that; he will prove rather a sort of second-rate petitmaître
à la Parisienne; which is entirely a different creature.
It would do your heart good to see Robert; he eats like a
ploughman, if ploughmen ever devour poulets à la Marengo,
or ortolans à la Provençale. I wish I could give as good
an account of Creighton, who arrived in the last packet;
poor fellow, he has not revived at all, and, I fear, will never
be better. His wife is with him; as pretty and agreeable
as ever. I hope Bruno behaves well, and remembers that
it is now his chief duty to devote himself to your service.”

This was the last letter Elinor received in Philadelphia,
for early in the spring the family returned to the country.
She was never happier than at Wyllys-Roof, and resumed
with delight occupations and amusements, which would have
appeared very insipid to many elegant belles whom she left
behind her—since the mornings were to be passed without
visiting or shopping, the evenings without parties or flirtations.
In a quiet country-house, with no other young person
in the family, there was of course, at Wyllys-Roof, very little
excitement—that necessary ingredient of life to many people;
and yet, Elinor had never passed a tedious day there. On
the longest summer morning, or winter evening, she always
found enough to occupy her time and attention.

To her, Wyllys-Roof was home; and that is a word of a
broader and more varied meaning in the country than in a
town. The cares, the sympathies of a country home, embrace
a wide circle, and bring with them pleasures of their
own. People know enough of all their neighbours, to take
part in any interesting event that may befall them; we are
sorry to hear that A., the shoemaker, is going to move away;
we are glad to find that B., the butcher, has made money
enough to build a new house. One has some acquaintance
with everybody, from the clergyman to the loafer; few are the
faces that one does not know. Even the four-footed animals
of the neighbourhood are not strangers: this is the Doctor's
Newfoundland dog; that is some old lady's tortoise-shell cat.

One knows the horses, as well as the little urchins who ride
them to water; the cows, and those who milk them. And
then, country-folks are nature's freeholders; they enjoy a full
portion of the earth, the air, the sky, with the thousand charms
an ever-merciful Creator has lavished on them. Every inanimate
object—this hill, that wood, the brook, the bridge,
C.'s farm-house, and D.'s barn—to the very highway, as far
as eye can reach, all form pleasing parts of a country home.
In a city, on the contrary, we live surrounded by strangers.
Home is entirely restricted to our own fire-side. One knows
a neighbour's card, perhaps, but not his face. There may
have been a funeral or a wedding next-door, and we learn it
only from the morning paper. Then, even if a fixture
oneself, how is it possible for human sensibilities to cling
very closely to the row of brick houses opposite, which are
predestined to be burned or pulled down in a few years?
Nor can one be supposed to look with much pleasure at the
omnibus horses, or half-starved pigs that may belong to one's
street. No doubt, that with hearts warm and true, we may
have a fireside in town; but home with its thousand pleasant
accessories—home, in its fullest meaning, belongs especially
to the country.

Elinor was a country girl, born and bred. Though
banished from Chesnut Street, she would have been well
satisfied with the usual occupations of a country life, varied
only by quiet walks with her aunt, rides with her grandfather,
chatty meetings with a few young companions, or long visits
from old friends, whose names and faces had been familiar
to her all her life. The first few weeks after her return to
Wyllys-Roof, she had, of course, more than usual to see
and hear. Elinor had been absent from home but a few
months; yet, even in that short space, she found changes
had occurred in the neighbourhood—varied, as usual—some
of a sad, some of a pleasant nature. Miss Agnes and her
niece found one place vacant among those whom they were
in the habit of seeing often; the father of a family who lived

within sight of their own windows, had died suddenly, and
left a widow and children to struggle with the world: but
they were neither friendless nor repining, and submitted with
humble resignation to their severe affliction, prepared to meet
with faith and hope the additional cares and toils allotted to
them. One of Elinor's young friends, too, was lying on a
sick-bed at Longbridge—a beautiful girl of her own age—
wasted by consumption; but she was calm and peaceful,
though without hope this side the grave. We shall scarcely
forgive ourselves for making even a distant allusion to one
portion of Elinor's pleasures and labours, although more
especially connected with home; since none could perform
their religious duties with less ostentation, with more single-hearted
sincerity—none could more carefully follow the precept,
to “give with simplicity,” than Miss Wyllys, and the
niece she had educated.

Of course, the ladies had immediately resumed their intercourse
with their old friends; and they had many neighbourly
visits to pay. Not your formal, fashionable morning-calls,
lasting just three minutes, when you are so unfortunate
as to find at home the individual you are paying off; no,
indeed; good, honest visits of nearly an hour's length, giving
time to exchange many kindly inquiries as to the health of
all the members of the family, the condition of the garden,
and promises of the crops; and even occasionally allowing
Mr. Wyllys to take a look at some addition to the live-stock,
in the shape of calves, colts, or pigs. Then, Mrs. Bernard
had just moved into a new house, whose comforts and conveniences
must certainly be shown by herself, and appreciated
by her friends. Then, Elinor had to kiss, and make
acquaintance with several tiny pieces of humanity, in white
frocks and lace caps—little creatures born during the past
winter; of course, the finest babies one could wish to see,
and the delight of their parents' hearts. Then, Alida Van
Horne was going to be married; as Elinor was to be her
bridesmaid, a great deal of talking and consulting took place

on the occasion, as a matter of course. But, although her
time was fully occupied in many different ways, no day was
too pleasant or too busy for more than one thought to be
given to Harry Hazlehurst.