University of Virginia Library

8. CHAPTER VIII.

Julia Borrowdale was one of those glorious
beings whose image, once imprinted on the memory,
continues to brighten and gather lustre amid
the wrecks and fragments of a thousand succeeding
impressions. It was not that her form or
features, either in their graceful outline or their fair
proportions, exhibited the perfect symmetry of a
faultless model, but it was the living, breathing loveliness
that shed its glow over all, etherealizing that
which was earthly, and illumining the immortal
mind with the radiance of heavenly purity. The
beauty of her face was not of that commanding order
which exacts homage as its legitimate right, but

rather partook of the winning softness which invades
the citadel of the heart through its most hidden portals,
leading captive the affections ere their silken
fetters are perceived. In height she was rather
above than below the middle size, with a slight form,
whose delicate contour could be fully appreciated
only when exhibiting the “poetry of motion.” Her
complexion was passing fair; and when her fine blue
eyes glowed with the burning thoughts, the full gush
of whose thrilling eloquence could alone find utterance
through their liquid channels, she appeared
rather a truant wanderer from a higher sphere than
an erring daughter of frail humanity. Although her
mind, like a harmonious lute, gave tone to all the
varied emotions of passion and feeling, yet affection
and tenderness were the master chords, whose vibrations
ever awoke at the slightest touch of sympathy.
She possessed in an eminent degree that
archness and vivacity which impart so pleasing a
zest to the female character, blended at times with
a gentle gravity, which, like the transient shadow of
a summer cloud, but flitted across the horizon and
was lost in the sunshine. Naturally of a yielding
and plastic temperament, which bowed to the slightest
wish of her respected parents, she yet possessed
a fortitude and firmness of purpose which never
failed to resist the encroachments of arbitrary power.

The cheerful beams of a January sun had penetrated
the chamber of this lovely girl ere the spell
was dissipated that had locked her senses in oblivion.
Like Clifton, she had been unable to compose herself

to rest until the night was far spent, but we may
attribute this circumstance to the agitating scenes
through which she had passed, although anxiety for
her deliverer's recovery from the injury he had received
in accomplishing her rescue was undoubtedly
mingled with more personal considerations.

If the duties of her toilet occupied on this occasion
more than the time usually assigned them, there
was sufficient cause for delay in the exciting nature
of the emotions which still lingered and obstructed
the calm current of her thoughts. At length the reflection
of her faithful mirror was deemed satisfactory,
and she descended to the parlour, where Mr.
Clifton and her parents were seated, the former with
his injured limb reclining on the sofa, which position
Mrs. Borrowdale had compelled him to assume,
on pain of losing her services as physician in
chief.

“You see, my dear, that you have our young
friend entirely at your mercy,” said Mrs. Borrowdale
to her daughter, as she entered the room;
“fortunately for his recovery and our enjoyment,
I have peremptorily assumed the station of commander-in-chief,
and, like all self-constituted despots,
I intend to wield the sceptre with a firmness
commensurate with the brief period it will remain
in my grasp.”

“I fear Mr. Clifton will imbibe unfavourable impressions
of the depth of our attachment to the
doctrine of equal rights,” answered Julia, with vivacity;
“one would think that our guest had

reached a much more Eastern latitude than geography
assigns us, from the Asiatic character of
our domestic government. The only difference I
can perceive in the parallel will be found in the
sex of the despot. In the hemisphere alluded to,
the gentlemen alone, I believe, exercise supreme
authority.”

“If I might be permitted to question any opinion
advanced by Miss Borrowdale,” followed Clifton,
smilingly, “I should assert that the simile holds
good even in the particular which she ranks as an
exception. In all climes, I believe, the real power
is vested in the persons of the ladies. In the East,
the fair sovereign executes invisibly what your
lady mother has the grace and talent to perform
so much more attractively without the necessity of
disguise.”

“Since Mr. Clifton exhibits so commendable a
resignation to the decrees of fate,” replied Mr.
Borrowdale, “it is but fair to render his captivity
tolerable. So sturdy a rebel against even legitimate
authority is the appetite, that I question
whether your ranks would not be sensibly diminished
by desertion, if, while fasting, the bracing air
of a January morning should much longer be permitted
to undermine the citadel of your command.
But here comes Pomp to announce breakfast, so
we will adjourn farther discussion.”

The meal despatched, all parties resumed their
position in the parlour, and the conversational talent
of the members of this amiable family had not

for years assumed so lively and pleasing a character
as was elicited by the presence of one whose
important service they so justly held in grateful
appreciation. Mr. Borrowdale, in particular, unlocked
the stores of a rich and cultivated intellect,
endeavouring, by the introduction of a variety of
subjects, to fathom the depths of Clifton's mind, or
to bring on the discussion of such themes as would
awake a response in the bosom of his guest. While
Clifton touched sufficiently on the topics introduced
to convince his host that he possessed a rich fund
of valuable literary, scientific, and political information,
he yet exhibited the pleasing tact of a
graceful listener; and the instances were passing
rare when an auditor could have drawn forth so
complete a development of the varied powers which
had so long remained dormant in the breast of Mr.
Borrowdale, as the attractive young guest whose
atténtion was completely absorbed in the interest
excited by his discourse. Those, indeed, who had
only known Mr. Borrowdale through the usual intercourse
afforded by every-day acquaintance, would
have remarked with astonishment the enthusiasm
and fervour he displayed while in the company of
Clifton; nor would his neighbours have credited the
fact, had they been informed of the lofty, and even
chivalric, character of his mind.

After many subjects had been introduced and
their interest exhausted, Mr. Borrowdale alluded
to the genius and writings of the authors of America.

“I am sure,” he said, “that several of our accomplished
writers have attained so enviable a
celebrity, that they may safely defy the efforts of
envy or rivalry to shake the foundation of their
well-earned popularity. Of modern authors, Washington
Irving is my model for the perfection of
style. Equally free from redundance and obscurity,
he combines simplicity with mental power,
and possesses the rare merit of presenting a vivid
picture to the mind, without distracting the attention
from the subject by the introduction of far-fetched
metaphors or forced illustrations. His
narrative flows on like the placid course of a calm
but majestic stream, whose current, although broad
and deep, exhibits none of the turbid impetuosity
of more shallow rivulets.

“The associations connected with the sunny
period of youth unquestionably impart a glow to
the writings which then constituted the staple of my
reading,” continued Mr. Borrowdale; “but while
I admit a decided partiality, I should do injustice to
the manly and vigorous writers who laid the foundations
of our national literature, were I to omit a
passing tribute to their talents and worth.

“Belknap, the historian of New-Hampshire, deserves
commendation, no less for the truth and
fidelity of his details, and the industry and research
exhibited in their collection, than by the easy flow
of his narrative, and his unostentatious, yet clear
and comprehensive style.

“If he excelled in any one particular, it was in

impartiality. You cannot peruse his history without
entertaining the conviction that he disdains the
practice indulged by many modern authors, of
swaying their narratives to suit the prevailing taste
of their readers, or to minister to their own prejudices.

“Fisher Ames, so justly celebrated for his political
essays, has attained a well-earned celebrity in
the peculiar path which his genius illuminated.
Although ardent and energetic in enforcing his
opinions, while his political dissertations abound
with impassioned appeals to the judgment and feelings
of his readers, his writings exhibit none of
that coarseness and virulence which marred the
essays of too many of his contemporaries. He
possessed, in an eminent degree, an intuitive perception
of the impregnable fastnesses which surrounded
his own position, while his mental vision
was equally keen in detecting the assailable points
of his antagonist's defences. Fortified by this
prescience, he poured forth a torrent of eloquence,
argument, and satire against what he considered
errors of principle, while history, reason, and philosophy
were marshalled as his chosen allies in the
contest.”

“Although my knowledge of our early literature,”
said Clifton, “is necessarily less perfect than
I could desire, yet the little information I possess
convinces me of the truth and justice of your general
remarks. I would name the journal of Governor
John Winthrop, of Massachusetts, written

and published in the early period of the seventeenth
century, as a case in point. Although quaint and
homely in style, and the narrative at times burdened
with uninteresting details, it presents a
graphic picture of the state of society, and reveals
the moral and political history of that early period,
with its lights and shadows exhibited in bold relief.
What can be more unique than his story of the
battle between the mouse and the snake, with its
moral application? Yet, like those of the immortal
bard of Avon, his most minute descriptions tend
to `hold the mirror up to nature,' and `show the
very age and body of the time, his form and pressure.'
Through the light imparted by Governor
Winthrop's narrative we view the unbending firmness,
high moral principle, sturdy independence,
and unwavering piety of our emigrant fathers, nor
will their bright example be lost on their descendants.”

“I rejoice, my young friend,” replied Mr. Borrowdale,
“to learn that one so young as yourself
has already devoted a portion of his leisure hours
to the study of his country's early history. Unfortunately,
too many of our young countrymen devote
what little attention they bestow on literary
pursuits to the perusal of the ephemeral European
productions which the American press brings forth
in such profusion. The result is, that, if they visit
foreign shores, their utter incapacity to impart valuable
information connected with their country's
literature, history, and institutions, renders them

contemptible in the estimation of enlightened foreigners,
while the national character suffers in consequence
of the superficial specimens of our population
thus thrust on their notice.

“Doctor Timothy Dwight, of Yale College, is
my model for pulpit eloquence,” continued Mr.
Borrowdale. “There may be those whose minds
have soared on more discursive wing along the
firmament of the ideal than Doctor Dwight; but in
presenting the true philosophy of religion; in illustrating
the beauty of holiness; in spanning, as far
as a finite being is capable, the attributes of Deity;
in moulding his subject in such fashion that the
most illiterate can comprehend, while the profound
thinker admires, its beauty and symmetry; in energetic
and forcible appeals to the reason and judgement,
and in concentrating the essence of his discourse,
at its close, in a climax of irresistible
strength and clearness, his superiority is manifest.
As a lecturer no less than as a divine, Dr. Dwight's
claims to distinction are neither few nor equivocal.
Possessing a mind of great comprehensiveness and
power, he is peculiarly well qualified to unfold the
hidden secrets appertaining to the various branches
of mental philosophy, and his students and hearers
are enlightened by his illustrations, while their
hearts are softened and their affections purified by
his application of the subject to all the duties and
relations of life. It is only in such hands that the
science of metaphysics can be beneficially expounded.
He whose genius and talents qualify

him to analyze the subtile elements which compose
our mental structure, but the perversity of whose
intellect impels him to wield the weapons of sophistry
against the faith of the Christian and the consolations
of his religion, is the minister of evil, and
fearful must be his reward.”

“Is it not surprising,” said Clifton, “that among
the many gifted authors of which we can boast, so
few have exercised their powers in illustrating the
more abstruse sciences?”

“Nothing, to my mind, is more natural than such
a result,” said Mr. Borrowdale. “The genius of
our people is essentially utilitarian. The same
talent which in Germany would expend its force in
threading the mazes of metaphysical discussion,
here displays itself in the invention of labour-saving
machinery; or, with far-seeing eye, watches the
movements of states and empires, gathering in the
scrutiny the experience necessary to the successful
prosecution of commercial enterprise. The poet
and the novelist, indeed, flourish in our soil, but the
reason is sufficiently obvious. A period of repose
is needful to the most assiduous; and, while our
vast population press forward with alacrity in the
race of interest or ambition, they take by the hand
him who can charm their leisure hours by the exciting
narrativesof poesy or romance.”

Thus passed the day, enlivened by the cheerfulness
and vivacity of this interesting family. Julia,
while listening with much pleasure to the animated
conversation of her father and his guest, could not

disguise from herself the increasing interest that the
tall and handsome young stranger excited in her
bosom.

While Mr. Borrowdale continued to converse,
Sydney was too deeply interested to direct his attention
to the ladies; but when that gentleman retired
for a time during the afternoon, he made ample
amends for his previous abstraction, in dwelling
with delight on the beauty and loveliness of Miss
Borrowdale.

On seeking his chamber, he commenced the analyzation
of the emotions that agitated his bosom,
and was not a little surprised to find his future happiness
so completely identified with the image of
the lovely girl. “But why,” he asked himself, “do
I foster this passion, whose flame but illumines to
destroy? Alas! what am I but a poor wanderer
and outcast—the offspring of misfortune and crime—
while Julia Borrowdale is the accomplished heiress
of a princely fortune. Fool that I am, like a moth
to hover around the light that lures me to destruction.
But let me fly ere it is too late. Too late did
I say? Already the poison pervades every artery
of my mental system, and impotent will be my efforts
to arrest the progress of the subtle element. If
even I could induce the charming girl to listen to
my vows, how impossible to secure the assent of
her father. The scion of an aristocratic and noble
house, it is easy to perceive that ambition is his
master passion. Even in his conversation this
morning he evinced his sense of superiority; and

thinks, by unbending from his dignity and reserve
for a day, to requite the obligation his daughter owes
me. Having now ascertained the sentiments that
burn in my bosom, I will no longer subject myself
to the danger that lurks in the presence of the enchantress.
To-morrow I will continue to enjoy the
sweet delusion, and on the following morning bid a
final adieu to happiness and Julia.”

With this resolution, based, we must admit, on
most unphilosophical and unjust data, Clifton resigned
himself to the quiet of his couch.

As the day declined, the atmosphere had become
thick and gloomy; and when the shadows of evening
began to darken the horizon, a severe storm of hail
and rain succeeded, which continued to increase
until it almost reached the intensity of a hurricane.
As the gale swept around the exposed wing of the
mansion in which the sleeping apartment of Julia
was situated, now expending its wrath in the deep,
shrill tones of vengeance, and again displaying its
exhausted energies in the faint moanings of despair,
her heart first experienced that undefined sadness
which ever flings it shadow across the pathway of
young Love. On retiring to rest, she but exchanged
the theatre of her reflections, without possessing the
power to control their wanderings; and long after
the midnight chimes of the city bell had mingled
with the murmurings of the storm, her solitary lamp
shot its ray athwart the gloom, like humble piety
amid the moral darkness of a benighted world!