University of Virginia Library

9. CHAPTER IX.

Moore.

Could we wield thy pen, oh! Christopher North
(alas! on whom shall the mantle of thy genius fall
when thy earthly casket is despoiled of its jewel?),
how would we revel in the splendours that encircled
the whereabout of our hero! Verily, our love for
thee, Christopher, is passing the love of woman,
whether in the evening of thy days thou pourest
forth warblings such as were untuned until a nearer
glimpse of the bright sphere to which thou art journeying
awakened their echoes, or whether, amid the
wrecks and fragments of History, thou conjurest up
the forms of the mighty dead from the coffin and the
shroud, until the aching eyeballs refuse longer to
gaze on the glittering array!

But hark! to the rushing sound of many waters,
and the howlings of the storm spirit, and the creakings
of the swayed mast, and the moanings of the
parting cordage, and the shouts of distress, and the
shrieks of agony, and the death-groan of the shipwrecked:
when at the touch of thy wand (goose-quill
though it be) the sun bursts from behind the serried
clouds, the fisherman pours forth his rude melody,
the lulled ocean images headland, cliff, and sky,
the herd browse upon the hill, and the low murmur of
human voices comes soothingly on the ear. How often
have we essayed to track thy meteor-like wanderings,
now skirting the horizon, anon hovering in
mid air, again shooting upward into the transparent
element, until thy unearthly form was lost in the
empyrean, and while we were mourning for thee

lo! thou wert by our side, lavishing on our stolidity
the rich treasures of thy varied lore.

On the morning of the day that succeeded the
evening last described, the clouds that canopied
the heavens with their sable drapery soon broke
and scattered, like the routed squadrons of a retreating
army, when, gathering like a dark scroll in
the zenith, they slowly floated towards the eastern
horizon, until their shadowy outline was lost in the
cerulean.

The rain that deluged the country near the residence
of Mr. Borrowdale was succeeded by a

severe frost, and the liquid element, congealing
around every object on which it fell, presented a
most gorgeous and imposing spectacle when the
sun burst forth from the clouds that had obscured
his lustre. Cutting their crystal shafts upon the
sky, the spires and cupolas of the city of Bóston
appeared like giant stalactites, that had been hurled
from their sparry prisons by some mighty convulsion
of nature, while in the opposite direction
every hedge, building, tree, and eminence glittered
in the panoply of its burnished armour. One sturdy
representative of the giant race that formerly peopled
the boundless forest, which had successfully
resisted the warring elements for centuries, now
stretched forth its mailed arms in solitude and
majesty from the brow of an adjacent mountain, reminding
one of the relic of those puissant warriors,
who, arrayed in a like glittering armour, went forth
in ancient days to do battle for the Lord of Hosts,
and to rescue the holy sepulchre from the sacrilegious
grasp of the infidel!

During the morning Mr. Borrowdale found it
necessary to visit Boston, when Clifton informed
him of his intention to leave on the following day
for New-York. To this determination both Mr.
Borrowdale and his lady made strenuous opposition;
but, having stated his resolution, he felt a
reluctance to exhibit vacillation of purpose by
renouncing it, although, when dwelling on the
charms of Julia, he secretly wished that he had
been less precipitate in the declaration of his intended

departure. Soon after, Mrs. Borrowdale
desired to be excused while she gave attention to
her household duties, and the enraptured Clifton
was thus afforded an opportunity to breathe into
the ear of his mistress the love that burned in his
bosom. His cogitations during the previous night
had indeed determined him to adopt this course, if
opportunity offered, and now the important moment
which would decide his fate was accidentally
vouchsafed to him.

Perhaps the most mysterious, as well as mischievous
deity that ever swayed the destinies of
mortals, is the winged god of love. Not content
with placing two persons of opposite sexes in juxtaposition
for the purpose of causing their mutual
embarrassment, he not unfrequently deprives them
of the power of uttering the sentiments that, of all
others, they most desire to communicate; while,
in many instances, he compels them to avow opinions
in direct opposition to those they really entertain.

Our hero was unfortunately subject to the subtle
influence of this tantalizing deity, and his first
movement exhibited the desperate condition both
of his heart and of his wits. The sofa on which
he reclined was opposite the front window of the
mansion, and commanded a view of the distant
hills, irradiated by their silvery drapery. Near
him, on a rich ottoman, sat Miss Borrowdale; and
as the silence which ensued after her mother's absence

was becoming mutually embarrassing, he
essayed to commence the conversation.

“I have often thought,” he remarked, “how
charming would be a country residence if we could
enjoy the smiles of—that is to say, the friends of
our youth—that is to say, those to whom we are—”
here he paused, and, we must admit, looked particularly
silly; but at length concluded by inquiring
of Julia if she did not think it was a very fine
morning.

The quiet smile of his fair auditor was unobserved,
for, indeed, he could not assume sufficient
courage to look her in the face; but she, although a
crimson flush suffused her cheek, was much less
disconcerted than her admirer, and soon managed
to turn the discourse into a less sentimental channel
than that in which Clifton had unsuccessfully attempted
to direct it.

Although the moments flew with the speed of
thought, yet sand after sand dropped successively
from the hourglass, and still Sydney was apparently
as far from the declaration of his passion as
when he first entered the house; and although he
watched every turn of the conversation to find an
opportunity of introducing the subject, and although
hundreds of such had passed, still would his tongue
falter in its allegiance until the favoured moment
was lost.

A friendly piano, which occupied the recess
formed by the chimney and angle of the room, was
at length espied by Clifton; and conceiving that it

might be used as an instrument to attune his heart
to a less exciting solo than had been played on it
during the morning, he solicited Julia to favour
him with a song. As the lovely girl had not learned
the fashionable trick of refusing in order to be farther
urged, she readily consented, and warbled the
following ditty in a voice whose sweetness amply
compensated for its limited compass.

When the song was finished, Clifton complimented
Julia in a manner more suited to the lover than
he could have previously assumed.

“I like the melody passing well,” said he; “it
is natural and artless. The sentiments are those
of an unsophisticated and virtuous mind, untrammelled
by the fetters with which fashion and interest
enthral the youthful heart. But I fear they
are unsuited to the refined notions of the present
enlightened generation. The glare of wealth and
the allurements of luxury are too powerful in their
attractions to permit such sentiments to bud, blossom,
and bear fruit.”

“I regret,” replied Julia, gravely, “that one of
whose judgment I had formed so exalted an estimate
has imbibed impressions so unfavourable to
the character of the world around him. Suspicion
and distrust of our species, I have been taught to
believe, should not be cherished unless the faults
imputed are established by the most conclusive testimony.
I trust that Mr. Clifton has not formed
his opinion by the lights of personal experience.”

“Indeed, Miss Borrowdale,” said Clifton, “my
decision is not based on any deception the world
has practised on myself. Fortunately, my position
is too obscure to attract the notice of any but a few
devoted friends, so that my personal inexperience,
I think, forms no argument against the soundness
of my position. My views are rather the result of
a scrutiny which, as a `waif on the world's wide
common,' I have been enabled to institute into the
movements of those by whom I was surrounded.
This observation has unhappily led me to adopt the
opinion I have expressed.”

“That many of the idle votaries of pleasure in
large cities should sport with the purest and holiest
affections of the heart,” remarked Julia, “and ridicule
that which they have not sufficient soul to
comprehend, is not astonishing; but I must insist
on your giving the rustics of the country a fair trial
before they are included in your sweeping condemnation.
When you have ruralized for a year
or two among the less polished inhabitants of the remote
suburbs, I shall be prepared to be an unwilling
convert to your doctrine, if it is still entertained.”

“Would that I could adopt your theory in its
most extended sense,” returned Clifton. “There
is, however, one instance in which the solution of
the enigma is most deeply interesting to myself
personally. Could I be assured that—” Here the
entrance of Mr. Borrowdale unfortunately clipped
the thread of his discourse, and compelled him to
select a less agitating theme. “How mal-a-propos,”
thought he; “a moment more, and the mystery
would have been disclosed. It is my destiny;
an omen of my final discomfiture.”

To add to poor Clifton's melancholy, Mr. Borrowdale's
countenance had lost the pleasing expression
it had assumed on the previous day; and although
he endeavoured to amuse his guest, yet it was evident
that his thoughts were far removed from the
subjects which he endeavoured to discuss. Mrs.
Borrowdale also partook of her husband's sadness,
while Julia, silent and pensive, appeared to be lost
in revery; but whether her sensations were pleasing

or otherwise was a question to which she herself
could afford no satisfactory reply.

On Clifton's retiring for the night, he pondered
deeply on the subject of Mr. Borrowdale's altered
demeanour; and, as his natural temperament led
him to adopt hasty conclusions, he at once decided
that his passion for Julia was discovered, and that
her parents' uneasiness was caused by their opposition
to so unequal an alliance as would result from
her attachment to so humble a suiter.

When he arose in the morning he found Julia
and her parents in the parlour as he entered, and
could with difficulty determine whether to be grieved
or gratified at the pallor which overspread her beautiful
countenance.

“If,” thought he, “I could flatter myself that I
caused her lonely vigils, I should for ever bless the
hour that brought me to her rescue.”

On rising to depart, he was most urgently solicited
to revisit the mansion during the summer months,
and promised to enjoy that happiness if consistent
with his varied engagements.

“Unfortunately,” he remarked, with no little sadness
in his tone, “my movements are rarely subject
to my own volition. If they were, you might live
to repent the carte blanche you have given me to
quarter on your bounty.”

This the host and hostess assured him was impossible;
when, with a heart bending beneath the
weight of its emotions, he commenced his return to
the great commercial city.