University of Virginia Library

9. CHAPTER IX.
AN ECLOGUE.

Having now disposed of all those preliminary
sketches with which I have thought it necessary to
entertain my reader, it is my design to favour him
with some insight into certain particulars of a domestic
nature which came under my observation
during my visit. These have no other merit than
being faithful narratives of events that are apt to escape
the eye of the world, and which, nevertheless,
contribute in a conspicuous degree to illustrate some
pleasing points in the characters of individuals.

Hazard and myself were in the habit of taking
frequent rambles together; and it was now on the
morning of the first of July, that we had walked
some distance on the road leading down the river.
In these idle roamings we sometimes fell into strange
caprices. The tide of animal spirits, in this unobserved
and unfettered intercourse, is apt to rise into
exhibitions that would be called childish, by a spectator
who was ignorant of the gradual scale by
which the feelings may be elevated into the empyrean
of foolery. We accordingly, when we got into
the woods, practised ludicrous caricatures of the

drama, which Ned called imitations of the most distinguished
actors. Sometimes we delivered pompous
harangues, as if we were in the midst of a senate,
and sustained a mock debate in a very impressive
way, with abundance of action.

This day Ned was more buoyant than usual, and
strained the strings of propriety until they were ready
to crack. In the midst of these grave and sensible
pastimes, we frequently stopped to laugh at each
other, and Ned would exclaim, “Are we not a pair
of most immeasurable fools!” to which there being
a free assent, we immediately resumed our antics.
After one of these pauses, Ned commenced the following
lecture, which was delivered with a countenance
of severe gravity.

“Mark, I am astonished that you can find amusement
in this silly merriment. As for myself, you
are my guest, and I am obliged out of politeness to
accommodate myself to your follies. Are you not
aware that you make a shocking compromise of
your dignity by bawling in this fashion in the woods,
until you scare the crows from their perches? What
a frivolous witling would you be thought, if, perchance,
any sober and solemn sort of person should
be on the highway to overhear your nonsense! Your
voice is cracked, especially in its upper tones,—your
manner is bad, and your melody execrable. Now,
if you want instruction, listen to this.”—

Here Ned set up a vociferous stave, which he drew
out into a multitude of quavers.

“What do you think of that?” said he.

“Tut,” I replied; “that's a mere squall: it is an
affected and servile imitation of the Signorina: it
wants both force and majesty. Lend me your ears,
and hearken to this.”—

And here I gave him another flourish, greatly improving
on his style. “Now,” said Ned, “I know,
Mark, you are vain of that; so sit down here, upon
this large root, and give me an attentive hearing.”

I sat down upon the root, as directed.

“Let me have no clapping,” he continued, “restrain
your transports, and bestow all your thoughts
upon the expression and pathos of this strain. I challenge
criticism. So be attentive.”

With this prelude, Ned threw himself into the attitude
of a singer, pressing his hands passionately
upon his bosom, and making a great many gesticulations
of his body, while he poured forth a loud and
long bravura strain, that made the woods re-echo
from many distant points.

It is necessary here to mention, that our previous
conversation this morning had dwelt much upon the
character of the family at The Brakes, in which Ned
had communicated a good deal of what I have detailed
in the last chapter. Bel Tracy had been alternately
the subject of his satire and his praise.
Amongst other things, he had mentioned her skill in
music, and her fine voice, which, however, he qualified
by some strictures upon her over-refined style of
singing, and her attachment to Italian songs in preference
to those in her own tongue. All our volunteer
effusions had been sung to words of our own,

which were ridiculous enough. In this last flourish
of Ned's he expended all the variations of his voice
upon the doggrel couplet,—

And the concluding words, “Bel Tracy,” were
reverberated through the woods to a thousand reduplications,
and with every conceivable intonation
and inflexion of his strong and somewhat musical
voice,—increasing in vigour and animation as he
repeated the words,—and bringing his solo to a
close with a multitude of fantastical trills, and violently
magnified gestures.

“A merry morning you make of it, Mr. Hazard!”
said Bel Tracy, reining up her horse immediately at
Ned's back. “You call up spirits from the woods—
and they are here. But I think you need not have
been so violent in your invocations.”

“My sister Bel has reason to be thankful,” said
Catharine, who was close beside her sister, “for
your teaching her name so familiarly to the river-gods.
The lute of Orpheus was certainly not more
potent in its enchantment.”

“The devil!” said Ned to me, in amazement,
“what a surprise!”

“That was decidedly the most languishing assault
upon poor Bel's heart that was ever made upon
it,” said Harvey Riggs, a gentleman who was in the
train of the two ladies.

“It was as good as a dozen dogs treeing an opossum,”
said Ralph Tracy, who made up a fourth in
the party.

This cavalcade had been galloping along the sandy
and noiseless road, until they came within hearing
of Hazard's voice, when they had halted unobserved,
and listened to the whole of Ned's unlucky
strain; and, as he drew to a close, had advanced
stealthily upon us, and effected the surprise I have
related.

Ned was utterly confounded. His arms dropped
to his sides, and he wheeled suddenly round on his
heel to front the group, who were bearing him down
with peals of laughter. He looked sheepishly about
him, and when the laugh had in some degree subsided,
he introduced me to the company, saying, after
he had done so,—

“Mr. Littleton and myself, Bel, were only practising
a serenade with which we intended to regale
you at The Brakes. But as you have heard the rehearsal,
you will spare us the midnight visit we had
designed.”

Bel was somewhat piqued with this profane use of
her name, and scarcely concealed the feeling which
it had provoked, notwithstanding the merriment that
it excited at the moment. She replied,

“Perhaps we have mutual reason to rejoice in this
meeting then, for my father, I think, is not fond of
such refined and delicate strains.”

“It was in your own best style,” said Ned, with

provoking want of address, “it was a genuine Italian
flight—.”

“Is'nt it a pity, Mr. Littleton,” said Bel, “that
Edward Hazard should be so merciless upon his
friends?”

“Hazard has already created so strong an interest
in me to make your acquaintance, Miss Tracy, that
I scarcely regret the ludicrous accident that has
brought it about so soon,” I replied.

“Come, Bel, forgive me,” said Hazard, collecting
himself,—for he had been strangely fluttered through
the former part of this dialogue. “I own I am the
most egregious buffoon, and certainly the most unlucky
one, in this country. Littleton and myself
have been running riot all the morning, and, whether
in jest or earnest,”—he continued in a lower voice—
“your name is constantly upon my lips.”

As Ned said this, he had approached familiarly to
Bel's stirrup, and offered her his hand, which she
took with great kindness,—and then remarked, that
they were on their road to Swallow Barn, and would
not longer interrupt our studies. Upon this Harvey
Riggs and Bel rode forward at a gallop, the former
looking back over his shoulder, and calling out to
Ned,—

“We shall give a good account to Meriwether of
your morning occupation. I will take care to have
justice done you, Ned.”

“The devil take your justice,” said Hazard, as
they rode away.

Catharine and Ralph followed them, at a more
leisurely pace. Ned stood looking along the road at
the retreating party, for some moments. Bel was
mounted on a beautiful sleek bay mare, which sprang
forward with an uncommonly spirited motion. Her
figure showed to great advantage on horseback, being
graceful and easy. Her dress was a riding habit
of nankeen, fancifully trimmed with green, and fitting
her shape with accurate adaptation. She wore a
light hat of the same colour as her dress, sufficiently
prominent in front to guard her face from the sun,
without concealing it; and over her right shoulder
floated a green veil, that descended from the hat, and
fluttered in the breeze as she moved forward.

“Was there ever,” said Ned, turning round to me,
after this troop had disappeared, “was there ever
a more unlucky discovery than that! of all persons
in the world, to be caught in the height of our tomfoolery
by that little elf Bel Tracy! Just to be taken
in the high flood of our nonsense! And with her
name, too, most sacrilegiously burlesqued to these silly
woods! I should scarcely have regarded it if it had
happened with any body else; but she has such a
superserviceable stock of conceit about elegance and
refinement in her mind, that I don't doubt she will
find in this cursed adventure a pretext to abuse me
in her prayers for the next twelvemonth. And then,
she will go home and tell that stiff old curmudgeon,
her father, that I am the very antipodes of a polished
man. Faith, she has said that before! And Harvey

Riggs,” added Ned, musing, “will not improve the
matter, because he will have his joke upon it. And
then sister Kate,—Heaven save the mark!—who is
like a simpering, stately mother abbess, will pronounce
my conduct undignified; that's her word:
and so will Bel, for that matter. Why, Mark, in the
name of all the trumpery devils! had'nt you your
eyes about you?”

“Egad,” said I, “they surprised our camp without
alarming the sentinels. But after all, what is it?
They can only say they met a pair of `fools in the
forest,' and, certainly, they need not travel far to do
that, any day!”

“By the by, Mark,” said Ned, changing his
mood, and brightening up into a pleasanter state of
feeling, “did you note Bel's horsemanship,—how
light, and fearless, and debonair she rides? And, like
a fairy, comes at your bidding, too! She studies
postures, sir, from the pictures; reads descriptions of
the ladies of chivalry, and takes the field in imitation
of them. Her head is full of these fancies, and she
almost persuades herself that this is the fourteenth
century. Did you observe her dainty fist, `miniardly
begloved,'—as the old minstrels have it?—
she longs to have a merlin perched upon it, and, is
therefore endeavouring to train a hawk, that, when
she takes the air, she may go in the guise of an ancient
gentlewoman. She should be followed by her
falconer.”

“And have a pair of greyhounds in her train,”
said I.

“Aye, and a page in a silk doublet,” added
Ned.

“And a gallant cavalier,” I rejoined, “to break
a lance for her, instead of breaking jokes upon her.
I am almost tempted to champion her cause, against
such a lurdan as you, myself. But let us hasten
back to Swallow Barn, for our presence will be
needed.”

After this adventure we returned to the mansion-house,
with some misgiving on the part of Hazard.
He talked about it all the way, and dwelt somewhat
fearfully upon the raillery of Harvey Riggs
and Meriwether, who, he observed, were not likely
to drop a joke before it was pretty well worn.

The servants were leading off the horses as we arrived
at the gate, and the family, with their visiters,
were collected in the porch, with all eyes turned to
us as we approached. There was a general uproar
of laughter at Ned, who took it in good part, though
with not many words.

When the mirth of the company had run through
its destined course, Bel called Hazard up to her, and
said:

“You are a shabby fellow, Edward. I have two
causes of quarrel with you. You have not been at
The Brakes for a week or more,—and you know we
don't bear neglect:—and secondly, I don't think you
have a right to be frightening Mr. Littleton with my
name, however lawful it may be to amuse the gentle
geese of the James River with it.”

“Bel,” replied Hazard, “upon my honour, I

never was more solemn in my life than at the very
moment you rode upon us. And as to my remissness,
I have had no sentiment on hand since Mark
Littleton has been with me, and I did not know
what I should say to you. Besides, I have a regard
for Mark's health, and I was not disposed to interrupt
it with one of your flirtations. He is a little
taken already, for he has been praising you and your
mare ever since you passed us. If he knew what a
jockey you were, in all things, he would give you
very little encouragement.”

“Pray heaven,” said Bel, “if he be a virtuous
man, he be not spoiled by such a madcap jester as
yourself! Mr. Littleton, I hope you will not believe
Edward, if he has been telling you any thing to my
disadvantage;—I am never safe in his hands.”

“I will tell you what I told him, Bel,” said
Hazard, getting round close to her ear, where he
whispered what was too low to be heard.

“You are incorrigible!” cried Bel, laughing and
at the same time shaking her riding whip at him.
And with these words she ran into the hall, and
thence up stairs at full speed, followed by the rest
of the ladies.

“Is 'nt she a merry creature?” said Ned to me,
in an affectionate tone, as we entered the door in the
rear of the party.