 | CHAPTER IX. Elinor Wyllys, or, The young folk of Longbridge |  |
9. CHAPTER IX.
Been soothed, in all my wanderings.”
Wordsworth.
Charlie Hubbard had been at Lake George for some
days; and it was a settled thing, that after he had established
himself there, and fixed upon a point for his picture, his
friends from Saratoga were to pay him a visit. Accordingly,
the Wyllyses, with a party large enough to fill a coach, set
out for the excursion, leaving Mrs. Stanley, Jane, her sister,
Mrs. Hazlehurst, and their children, at the Springs. The
weather was fine, and they set out gaily, with pleasant prospects
before them.
Charlie was very glad to see them, and as he had already
been some time on the ground, he thought himself qualified
to play cicerone. Most of the party had a relish for natural
scenery, and of course they were prepared to enjoy very
much, a visit to such a lovely spot. Robert Hazlehurst, it is
true, was indifferent to everything of the kind; he acknowledged
himself a thorough utilitarian in taste, and avowed
his preference for a muddy canal, running between fields,
well covered with corn and pumpkins, turnips and potatoes,
rather than the wildest lake, dotted with useless islands, and
surrounded with inaccessible Alps; but as he frankly confessed
his want of taste, and assured his friends that he accompanied
them only for the sake of their society, they were
bound to overlook the defect. Mr. Stryker also said a great
deal about his indifference towards les ormeaux, les rameaux,
et les hameaux, affecting much more than he felt, and affirming
that the only lakes he liked, were the ponds of the Tuilleries,
and the parks of London; the only trees, those of the
Boulevards; and as for villages, he could never endure one,
he said, because he must follow the ladies, and was particularly
anxious to give Mrs. Creighton an opportunity of
finishing his education, and—to fish. Some of the party
were sorry he had joined them; but Mrs. Creighton had
asked him.
“Are Mrs. Hilson and her sister still at Saratoga?” inquired
Charlie Hubbard of Hazlehurst, the evening they arrived at
Caldwell.
“I believe so;—they were there the day before yesterday,
for Mrs. Hilson asked me to a pic-nic, at Barkydt's—but I
was engaged. I think I saw Miss Hubbard in the street,
yesterday.”
“Had they the same party with them still?”
“Yes; it seemed to be very much the same party.”
Hubbard looked mortified; but he was soon busy answering
inquiries as to the projected movements for the next day.
The following morning the whole party set out, in two
skiffs, to pass the day on the lake. Under Charlie's guidance,
they rowed about among the islands, now coasting the shores,
now crossing from one point to another, wherever the views
were finest; generally keeping near enough, as they moved
leisurely along, for conversation between the two boats.
“How beautifully clear the water is!” exclaimed Elinor.
“The water in the Swiss lakes is limpid I suppose,
Charlie, like most mountain streams?” observed Mr. Wyllys.
“It is clear, sir; and in the heart of the Alps it has a very
peculiar colour — a blueish tinge — from the glaciers, like
molten lapis lazuli; entirely different from the deep, ultramarine
blue of the Mediterranean.”
“Have you any views of the Swiss lakes?” asked Elinor.
“Yes; I can show you several—and, as usual, there is a
difference in their colouring: from Lugarn, a little bit of
lapis lazuli, lying like a jewel, in the green pastures, half-way
up the Alps, just below the ice and snow, to the reedy
agate,” added Charlie, smiling.
“We shall hope to see them, when we pass through New
York,” said Elinor, listening with interest.
“I will show them to you with great pleasure, faute de
mieux, Miss Elinor; but I hope you will one day see the
originals.”
“In the mean time, however, we shall be very glad to
enjoy your pictures. Have you any Italian views?”
“Yes, quite a number; wherever I went, I made sketches
at least; though I have not yet had time to finish them all
as pictures. In my boxes there are Venetian lagoons, and
Dutch canals; a view of the Seine, in the heart of Paris,
and the Thames, at London; the dirty, famous Tiber, classic
Arno, and classic Avon.”
“You make our eyes water, Charlie, with such a catalogue,”
said Mr. Wyllys. “You must certainly get up an
exhibition, and add several of your American pictures to
those you have just brought home.”
“I really hope you will do so,” said Elinor. “The transparent
amber-like water of the Canada, and the emerald
colour of Niagara, would appear finely in such a collection.”
“I shall never dare attempt Niagara,” exclaimed Charlie.
“All the beauties of all the other waters in the world are
united there. It will not do to go beyond the rapids; I
should be lost if I but ventured to the edge of the whirlpool
itself.”
“I have no doubt you will try it yet,” said Harry.
The young artist shook his head. “I am sometimes disposed
to throw aside the brush in disgust, at the temerity of
man, which can attempt to copy even what is most noble, in
the magnificent variety, and the simple grandeur of nature.”
“You have been sufficiently successful in what you have
attempted hitherto,” said Harry. “I saw your view of Lake
Ontario, in Philadelphia, just after I arrived; and I can never
that I have seen, that is my favourite.”
“It is indeed a noble picture,” said Mr. Wyllys.
“And few men but yourself, Charlie, could have given so
deep an interest to a broad field of water, with only a strip
of common-place shore in the fore-ground, and a bank of
clouds in the distance. A common painter would have
thrown in some prettiness of art, that would have ruined
it; but you have given it a simple dignity that is really
wonderful!” said Hazlehurst.
“You mortify me,” said Charlie; “it is so much inferior
to what I could wish.”
“Captain C—,” continued Harry, “who was stationed
at Oswego for several years, told me he should have known
your picture without the name, for a view of one of the great
lakes; there was so much truth in the colour and movement
of the water; so much that was different from the Ocean.”
“Ladies and gentlemen, it is cruel in you to flatter a poor
young artist at this rate,” said Charlie.
“If it is criticism you want,” said Hazlehurst, “I can give
you a dose. You were very severely handled in my presence,
a day or two since, and on the very subject of your
picture of Lake Ontario.”
“Pray, let me hear the criticism; it will sober me.”
“What was the fault?” said Elinor; “what was wanting?”
“A few houses and a steamboat, to make it lively.”
“You are making up a good story, Mr. Hazlehurst,” said
Mrs. Creighton, laughing.
“I give you the critic's words verbatim. I really looked
at the young lady in astonishment, that she should see nothing
but a want of liveliness in a picture, which most of us
feel to be sublime. But Miss D— had an old grudge
against you, for not having made her papa's villa sufficiently
prominent in your view of Hell-Gate.”
“But, such a villa!” said Hubbard. “One of the ugliest
within ten miles of New York. It is possible, sometimes,
revealing columns through verdure, to make one of our
Grecian-temple houses appear to advantage in a landscape;
but, really, Mr. D—'s villa was such a jumble, so entirely
out of all just proportion, that I could do nothing with it;
and was glad to find that I could put a grove between the
spectator and the building: anybody but its inmates would
have preferred the trees.”
“Not at all; Miss D— thought the absence of the
portico, with its tall, pipe-stem columns, the row of dormer-windows
on the roof, and the non-descript belvidere crowning
all, a loss to the public.”
“The miserable architecture of this country is an obstacle
to a landscape painter, quite too serious to be trifled with, I
can assure you,” said Charlie.
“It must be confessed,” said Mr. Ellsworth, “that the
order of things has been reversed here. Architecture is
usually called the parent of the fine arts; but with us she
is the youngest of the family, and as yet the worst endowed.
We had respectable pictures, long before we had a single
building in a really good style; and now that we have some
noble paintings and statuary, architecture still lags behind.
What a noise they made in New York, only a few years
since, about St. Thomas's Church!”
“Yes,” said Mr. Stryker; “the curse of the genius of
architecture, which Jefferson said had fallen upon this country,
has not yet been removed.”
“Some of the most ludicrous objects I have ever laid my
eyes on,” said Hazlehurst, “have been pretending houses,
and, I am sorry to say, churches too, in the interior of the
country; chiefly in the would-be Corinthian and Composite
styles. They set every rule of good taste and good sense at
defiance, and look, withal, so unconscious of their absurdity,
that the effect is as thoroughly ridiculous, as if it had been
the object of the architect to make them so.”
“For reason good,” observed Mr. Wyllys; “because they
is the root of all absurdity.”
They had now reached the spot Charlie had selected for
his picture; the young artist pointed it out to Miss Wyllys,
who was in the other boat.
“This is the spot I have chosen,” he said, “and I hope
you will agree with me in liking the position; it commands
some of the finest points on the lake: that is the Black
mountain in the back-ground.”
His friends admired his choice, acknowledging that the
view was one of the most beautiful they had seen.
“It must be difficult to choose, where every view is charming,”
said Elinor. “How beautiful those little islands are; so
much variety, and all so pleasing!”
“You will see hundreds of them, Miss Wyllys, when you
have been over the lake,” said Hubbard.
“There are just three hundred and sixty-five, marm,”
added one of the boatmen, the guide of the party; “one for
every day in the year.”
“This must be May-day island,” said Elinor, pointing to
an islet quite near them. “This one, half wood, half
meadow, which shows so many flowers.”
“May-day island it shall be for the next six weeks,” said
Charlie, smiling. “I have chosen it for another view.”
“Well, good people!” exclaimed Robert Hazlehurst, from
the other boat; “you may be feasting on the beauties of
nature; but some of us have more substantial appetites!
Miss Wyllys is a little fatigued, Mr. Stryker all impatience
to get out his handsome fishing-rod, and your humble servant
very hungry, indeed!”
As they had been loitering about for several hours, it was
agreed that they should now land, and prepare to lunch.
“We will put into port at May-day island,” said Charlie;
“I have been there several times, and there is a pretty, grassy
bank, where we may spread a table-cloth.”
They soon reached the little island pointed out by Elinor,
was prepared, and only waiting for the fish which Mr.
Stryker had promised to catch, and for a supply of salt which
one of the boatmen had gone for, to a farm-house on the
shore; this necessary having been forgotten, when the provisions
were laid in. There never was a pic-nic yet, where
nothing was forgotten.
Mr. Stryker soon prepared himself for action; he was a
famous fisherman, and quite as proud of his rod as of his
reputation, which were both Dublin-made, he said, and,
therefore, perfect in their way. Mr. Wyllys and Mrs.
Creighton admired the apparatus contained in his ebony
walking-stick, to the owner's full satisfaction: he had a great
deal to say about its perfections, the beauty of his flies, the
excellence of his hooks and lines, and so forth; and the
ladies in general, Mrs. Creighton especially, listened as
flatteringly as the gentleman cuuld desire. As he was to
supply the perch for luncheon, however, he was obliged to
begin his labours; and taking a boat, he rowed off a stone's
throw from the shore. In turning a little point, he was surprised,
by coming suddenly upon a brother fisherman: in a
rough, leaky boat, with a common old rod in his hand, sat
our acquaintance, Mr. Hopkins, wearing the usual rusty
coat; his red silk kandkerchief spread on his knee, an open
snuff-box on one side of him, a dirty tin pail on the other.
The party on shore were not a little amused by the contrast
in the appearance, manners, and equipments of the two
fishermen; the fastidious Mr. Stryker, so complete, from his
grey blouse to his fishing-basket; the old merchant, quite
independent of everything like fashion, whether alone on
Lake George, or among the crowd in Wall-Street. Charlie,
who did not know him, said that he had met the same individual
on the lake, at all hours, and in all weathers, during
the past week; he seemed devoted to fishing, heart and soul,
having left the St. Legers at Saratoga, and come on to Lake
George immediately, to enjoy his favourite pastime. It was
in his pursuit: as for Mr. Stryker, we strongly suspect
that his fancy for fishing was an acquired taste, like
most of those he cherished; we very much doubt whether
he would ever have been a follower of Izaak Walton, had
there not been a fashionable accoutrement for brothers of the
rod, at the present day.
Several of the ladies also fished for half an hour; Mrs.
Creighton begging for a seat in Mr. Stryker's boat, that she
might profit by his instructions. While they were out, a
small incident occurred, which amused the spectators not a
little. Mrs. Creighton had risen, to look at a fish playing
about Mr. Stryker's line, when she accidentally dropped a
light shawl, which fell from her arm into the water; an involuntary
movement she made as it fell, also threw a basket
of her companion's flies overboard, at the same instant: he
had just been showing them off.
“Oh, Mr. Stryker, my shawl!” exclaimed the lady.
But the fashionable fisherman was already catching eagerly
at his own precious flies; he succeeded in regaining the
basket, and then, bethinking him of his reputation for gallantry,
turned to Mrs. Creighton, to rescue the shawl; but
he had the mortification to see old Mr. Hopkins already
stretching out an arm with the cachemere, which he had
caught almost as soon as it touched the water, and now
offered to its fair owner, with the good-natured hope that it
had not been injured, as it was hardly wet. The lady received
it very graciously, and bestowed a very sweet smile
on the old merchant; while Mr. Stryker, quite nettled at his
own flagrant misdemeanour, had to face a frown from the
charming widow. It was decidedly an unlucky hour for
Mr. Stryker: he only succeeded in catching a solitary perch;
while Mr. Hopkins, who had been invited to join the party,
contributed a fine mess. The fault, however, was all thrown
on the sunshine; and Mr. Hopkins confessed that he had
not had much sport since the clouds had broken away, earlier
when hailed from the island, for that purpose. The meal
was quite a merry one; Mrs. Creighton was the life of the
party, saying a great many clever, amusing things. She
looked charmingly, too, in a little cap, whose straw-coloured
ribbons were particularly becoming to her brown complexion.
Mr. Stryker gradually recovered from the double mortification,
of the shawl, and the solitary perch, and soon began
talking over different fishing excursions, with his friend
A—, in Ireland, and his friend B—, in Germany. The
rest of the party were all cheerful and good-humoured. Mr.
Ellsworth was quite devoted to Elinor, as usual, of late.
Mary Van Alstyne amused herself with looking on at Mrs.
Creighton's efforts to charm Harry, pique Mr. Stryker, and
flatter Mr. Wyllys into admiring her; nor did she disdain to
throw away several arch smiles on Mr. Hopkins. “She
seems successful in all her attempts,” thought Mary. Harry
was quite attentive to her; and it was evident that Mr.
Stryker's admiration had very much increased since they had
been together at the Springs. He had set out for Saratoga,
with the firm determination to play the suitor to Elinor; he
resolved that he would not fall in love with the pretty widow;
but a clever coquette and a man of the world, are adversaries
well matched; and, as usual in such encounters, feminine art
and feminine flattery seemed likely to carry the day. Mr.
Stryker, in spite of himself, often forgot to be properly attentive
to Elinor, who appeared to great disadvantage in his
eyes, when placed in constant contrast with Mrs. Creighton.
He scarcely regretted now, his little prospect of favour with
the heiress, for the poorer widow had completely fascinated
him by her graceful flatteries, the piquancy of her wit, and
her worldliness, which, with Mr. Stryker, passed for her
wisdom. Even Mary Van Alstyne, though prejudiced
against her, was obliged to confess, as she watched Mrs.
Creighton, that she admired her. The lady had thrown herself
on the grass in a graceful position; excited by admiration,
fashionable and becoming, in its minutest details; her
amusing remarks flowed freely from a conscience under no
other restraints than those of policy or good-breeding; and
her manner, though always studied for effect, was particularly
well studied and agreeable. Her companions thought
her charming. Elinor, at the same moment, was standing
by her side, in a simple dress, with no attempt to disguise a
plain face under finery, and in a perfectly quiet position,
which was graceful without her knowing it. Her whole
manner, indeed, was always natural; its simplicity was its
great charm, for one felt confident that her grace and sweetness,
her ease and quiet dignity, flowed readily from her
character itself. Whether these ideas occurred to any of the
party besides Miss Van Alstyne, we cannot say; it is certain,
however, that Mrs. Creighton was all prepared for observation,
Elinor, as usual, quite regardless of it.
“We must carry off some flowers from May-day island,”
said Mr. Ellsworth, preparing to gather a bouquet for Elinor.
He had soon succeeded in collecting quite a pretty bunch,
composed of wild roses, blue hare-bells, the white blossoms
of the wild clematis, the delicate pink clusters of the Alleghany
vine, and the broad-leaved rose-raspberry, with several
other varieties.
Mr. Stryker offered a bouquet to Mrs. Creighton.
“It is really quite pretty; but to make it complete, I must
have one of those scarlet lobelias, on the next island; they
are the first I have seen this season. Mr. Hazlehurst, do be
good-natured, and step into that boat and bring me one.”
“I can do that without the boat, Mrs. Creighton, here is
a bridge,” replied Harry, springing on the trunk of a dead
tree, which nearly reached the islet she had pointed out;
catching the branch of an oak on the opposite shore, he
swung himself across. The flowers were soon gathered;
and, after a little difficulty in reaching the dead tree, he
returned to the ladies, just as they were about to embark
from Mrs. Creighton, and resented her flirting so
much with Mr. Stryker; for he did not give her all the
flowers he had gathered, but offered a few to each lady as
she entered the boat.
“Thank you, Mr. Hazlehurst, very gallantly done,” said
Mrs. Creighton, placing one of the lobelias, with a sprig of
Mr. Stryker's, in her belt.
As they rowed leisurely along, Charlie Hubbard pointed
out some of the localities to Miss Wyllys and Robert Hazlehurst.
“These mountains are very different in their character,
Mr. Hubbard, from those you have recently been sketching
in Italy and Switzerland,” observed Mr. Ellsworth.
“Entirely different; their forms are much less bold and
decided.”
“Yes; all the mountains in this country, east of the Mississippi,
partake, more or less, of the same character; forming
rounded ridges, seldom broken into those abrupt, ragged
peaks, common in other parts of the world.”
“But the elevation of these mountains is much less than
that of the Alps, or high Apennines,” observed Mr. Wyllys;
“do not the mountains in Europe, of the same height, resemble
these in formation?”
“No, sir, I think not,” replied Ellsworth. “They are
generally more bold and barren; often mere masses of naked
rock. I am no geologist, but it strikes me that the whole
surface of the earth, in this part of the world, differs in character
from that of the eastern continent; on one hand, the
mountains are less abrupt and decided in their forms with
us; and on the other, the plains are less monotonous here.
If our mountains are not grand, the general surface of the
country seems more varied, more uneven; there is not so
large a proportion of dead level in this country as in France,
Germany, Russia, for instance; we have much of what we
plains of this region, show the same swelling surface.”
“The variety of character in the landscape of different
countries, must be a great charm to one of your profession,
Hubbard,” observed Harry. “A landscape painter must
enjoy travelling more than any other man; nothing is lost
upon you—every time you look about you there is something
new to observe. How you must have enjoyed the change
from the general aspect of this country—fresh, full of life
and motion, yet half-finished in the details—to old Italy,
where the scenery and atmosphere are in perfect harmony
with the luxurious repose of a great antiquity!”
“I did indeed enjoy the change beyond expression!” exclaimed
Charlie. “I have often felt thankful, in the best
sense of the word, that I have been enabled to see those
great countries, Italy and Switzerland; it has furnished me
with materials for thought and delight, during a whole life-time.”
“It would be a good plan to get you appointed painting
attaché to the Legation, Hubbard,” said Harry. “As you
have seen the south of Europe, would you not like to take a
look at the northern regions?”
“Not much,” replied Charlie. “I should have nothing
but ice to paint there, for half the year.”
“Well, I suppose there is something selfish in my wish to
carry you to the North Pole; but when I was in Brazil, I
had a very disinterested desire that you should see the Bay
of Rio.”
“Is it really so beautiful?” asked Elinor.
“Yes; finer even than Naples, as regards scenery; though
it wants, of course, all the charm of recollection which belongs
to the old world.”
“You must forget everything like fine scenery when you
go to St. Petersburg,” said Robert Hazlehurst.
“Not at all; I hope to take a trip to the Crimea while I
the owner of some fine villa on the Black Sea.”
“And have you really made up your mind to be a regular
diplomatist?” asked Mr. Wyllys.
“For a time, sir; so long as I can serve under Mr. Henley,
or a man like him.”
“I used to see a good deal of Henley, some twenty years
since,” observed Mr. Wyllys. “I should think him particularly
well fitted for his duties.”
“I have the highest respect for him,” replied Harry.
“He is a good model for an American diplomatist,” added
Robert Hazlehurst. “A man of ability, good education, and
just principles, with simple, gentlemanly manners; always
manly in his tone, and firm as a rock on all essential points.”
“But those are only a small portion of the qualifications
of a diplomatist,” said Mr. Stryker. “According to the
most approved models, the largest half should be cunning.”
“Mr. Henley is particularly clear-sighted—not easily deceived
either by himself or by others; and that is all that
American diplomacy requires,” said Harry. “I am proud
to say that our government does not give us any dirty work
to do; we have chiefly to act on the defensive.”
“Set a thief to catch a thief,” said Mr. Stryker, with his
usual dry manner. “I don't believe in the full success of
your virtuous diplomatist. How is a man to know all the
turnings and windings of the road that leads to treaties, unless
he has gone over it himself?”
“But an honest man, if he is really clear-headed and firm,
has no need of these turnings and windings; he goes more
directly to the point, and saves a vast deal of time and principle,
by taking a more honourable road.”
“Suppose a man has to make black look white, I should
like to see your honourable diplomatist manage such a job,”
said Mr. Stryker.
“But our government has never yet had such jobs to
power that we have not believed just. Intrigue is unpardonable
in American diplomacy, for it is gratuitous; a man
need not resort to it, unless his own taste inclines him that
way. It is an honourable distinction of our government, as
a government, that it has never committed a single act of
injustice against any other power, either by open force, or
underhand manœuvres. We have been wronged sometimes,
and omitted to demand justice as firmly as we might have
done; but there is, probably, no other government among
the great powers of Christendom, that has been so free from
offensive guilt, during the last sixty years, as that of this
country.”
It was evident that Mr. Stryker was not in the least convinced
by Harry's defence of honest diplomacy.
“The ladies must find great fault with Washington diplomacy,”
he added, turning to Mrs. Creighton and Elinor:
“they are never employed; not a single fair American has
ever figured among les belles diplomates of European saloons,
I believe.”
“Perhaps the ladies in this country would not condescend
to be employed,” said Elinor.
“Don't say so, Miss Wyllys!” exclaimed Mrs. Creighton,
laughing; “I should delight in having some delicate mission
to manage: when Mr. Stryker gets into the cabinet, he may
send me as special envoy to any country where I can find a
French milliner.”
“You had better go to Russia with Mr. Henley and Mr.
Hazlehurst; I have not the least doubt but they would find
your finesse of great service,” said the gentleman.
Mrs. Creighton blushed; and Harry coloured, too.
“The very idea of such an ally would frighten Mr.
Henley out of his wits,” said the lady, recovering herself;
“he is an incorrigible old bachelor; that, you must allow, is
a great fault of his, Mr. Hazlehurst.”
“If he be incorrigible,” said Harry.
“But that is not clear,” said Mr. Stryker to the lady;
“he is a great admirer of yours.”
“Come, a truce to diplomacy, Josephine; I am going to
beg Miss Wyllys for a song,” said Ellsworth.
Elinor sang very readily, and very sweetly; the Swiss
airs sounded charmingly among the hills; and she was accompanied
by Mary Van Alstyne, while Charlie, with the
two Hazlehursts, made up a respectable second for several
songs.
Some gathering clouds at length warned the party to turn
inn-ward again.
“It is to be hoped the shower won't reach us, for your
sake, ladies,” said Robert Hazlehurst.
“I hope not, for the sake of my bibi!” said Mrs. Creighton.
“It is the prettiest little hat I have had these three
years; it would be distressing to have it spoilt before it has
lost its freshness.”
“There is no danger, marm,” said one of the boatmen,
with a good-natured gravity, that made Mrs. Creighton smile.
“Them 'ere kind of clouds often goes over the lake, without
coming up this way.”
And so it proved; the party reached the hotel safely, all
agreeing that they had had a very pleasant day, and were
not at all more tired than was desirable after such an excursion.
| CHAPTER IX. Elinor Wyllys, or, The young folk of Longbridge | |