University of Virginia Library

13. CHAPTER XIII.
A MAN OF PRETENSIONS.

It is to be remarked in regard to all love affairs,
that whatever may be the embarrassment of the disclosure,
there is by no means the same difficulty in
conversing about them afterwards. When the ice
is once broken, your genuine lover is never tired of
talking about his mistress.

For twenty-four hours after our late ramble, Ned
talked, almost incessantly, upon the same subject.
He would let it drop for a moment, but he was sure
to come speedily back upon it with a new face, as if
it were a matter that required a serious deliberation;
and he would insinuate, that, in the present stage of
the business, my advice was important to determine
whether he should go on with it; although it was
easy enough to perceive that his mind was not only
quite made up, but keenly set upon the prosecution
of the affair. Then, he would affect to be greatly
undecided as to some minute particular of conduct.
Again, he had his doubts whether, upon the whole,
she really did encourage him. In this sentiment
he was sincere, although he endeavoured to persuade
himself that the matter was reasonably certain.
These doubts made him restless, droll and solemn;

but again changing his mood, he presented the entire
action to me, from beginning to end, as a laughable
affair; and that would make him swear at it, and
say it was very queer—unaccountable—extraordinary;—that
it put a man in such an awkward situation!
But his conclusion to it all was, that there was
no use in talking about it,—matters had gone so far
that there was no alternative; he was committed on
the point of honour, and bound as a gentleman to
make his pretensions good. I vexed him a little by
saying I did not think so; and that if it was distasteful
to him, I thought he was at liberty to retire when
he chose. This baulked his humour. So I consented
to admit his premises for the future, and allow
that he was bound in honour. With this admission
he proceeded in his argument. It all amounted
to the same thing, and the only varieties I discovered
after this, were in his positions. He argued it
perpendicularly, walking, jumping, dancing; then
horizontally, lolling over three chairs, stretched out
on a bed, and perched in the windows; then manually,
washing, dressing, whistling, singing and laughing.
In short, he behaved himself throughout the
whole debate, like a man in love.

We were at the height of this disquisition, on the
morning following Ned's first confessions, about an
hour before dinner, in my chamber, extended at full
length upon the bed, with our feet set up against the
bed-posts, when Rip came running in, almost out of
breath, saying, “that if we wanted to see something
worth looking at, we should come down stairs

quickly, for there was Mr. Swansdown spinning up
to the house, and making the gravel fly like hail; and
there was aunt Prue, in the drawing room, fixing a
book before her in such a hurry! and Mrs. Winkle
scolding about the custards:—And wasn't there going
to be fun!”

I went to the window, and could see the phenomenon
that excited Rip's admiration approaching
the mansion like a meteor. A new light blue curricle,
with a pair of long-tailed bay horses in fine keeping,
driven by a gentleman of a delicate, emaciated figure,
and followed by a servant in livery, had just
entered the court-yard. The plate of the harness
and mouldings glittered with an astounding brilliancy
in the sun, and the spokes of the wheels emitted
that spirited glare that belongs to an equipage of
the highest polish. The horses were reined up at
the door, and the gentleman descended. It was
very evident that Mr. Singleton Oglethorpe Swansdown
was a man to produce a sensation in the
country.

Hazard and myself repaired to the hall. Meriwether
received his guest with the plain and cordial
manner that was natural to him. Mr. Swansdown
has a tall figure, and an effeminate and sallow complexion,
somewhat impaired perhaps by ill health,
a head of dark hair, partially bald, a soft black eye,
a gentle movement, a musical, low-toned voice, and
a highly finished style of dress. He was very particular
in his inquiries after the family; and having
gone through many preliminary civilities, he was

shown to a chamber to make his toilet for dinner.
Soon afterwards, he appeared in the drawing room,
where he was remarkable for his sober, winning affability.
He flattered Mrs. Meriwether upon her
good health, and the fine appearance of the children.
Lucy and Victorine he thought were going to be
very beautiful (Lucy and Victorine both blushed:)
they made him feel old, when he recollected their
infant gambols: Master Philip (otherwise Rip) was
growing up to be a fine manly fellow, (at this, Rip
crept slyly behind him, and strutted in the opposite
direction with many grimaces,) it was time to give
up his nickname; he didn't like nicknames. He
was very complimentary to Prudence Meriwether,
which had a visible effect upon her, and made her
animated; and thought his friend Meriwether looked
younger and more robust than when they last met.
He told Hazard that he was very much wanting in
Richmond, by a party of ladies who were going off
to the North, and that he, Ned, had made a great
impression upon them. In short, Mr. Swansdown
seemed determined to please every body, by the concern
which he manifested in their happiness; and
this was done with such a refined address, and such
practised composure, as to render it quite taking.
There is nothing equal to the self-possession of a
gentleman who has travelled about the world, and
frequented the circles of fashion, when he comes into
a quiet, orderly, respectable family in the country.
It is pleasant to behold what delight he takes
to hear himself talk.

Swansdown had inherited from his father an estate
on the Meherrin, in the most southern quarter
of Virginia. He was now about the prime of life,
and still a bachelor. Being, therefore, a gentleman
without much to keep him at home, he had recently
travelled over Europe, and was conversant in the
principal cities of this continent. He has twice
been very nearly elected to Congress, and ascribes
his failure to his not being sufficiently active in the
canvass. Upon this foundation he considers himself
a public man, and of some importance to the government.
It is remarked of him, that he is a very decided
Virginian when he is out of the state, and a great
admirer of foreign parts when he is at home. His
memory is stored with a multitude of pretty sayings,
and many singular adventures that have befallen him
in his sundry travel, which he embellishes with a
due proportion of sentiment. He has the renown of
a poet and of a philosopher, having some years ago
published a volume of fugitive rhymes, and being
supposed now to be engaged in a work of a grave,
speculative character, which it is predicted will reflect
credit upon the literature of the South.

That he is a bachelor is the fault only of his stars,
for he has courted a whole army of belles between
Maine and Georgia, in which divers wooings he has
been observed to do remarkably well for the first
two weeks; after which, somehow or other, he falls
off unaccountably. And it is said that he can
reckon more refusals on his head than a thorough-paced,
political office-hunter. He is what the sailors

call an unlucky ship. One misfortune in love matters
makes many, and three are quite ill-omened in
the calculation of a high-toned, fashionable dame.
This calamity has been so often reduplicated upon
Swansdown, that it is thought he begins to lower his
pretensions, and talk in a more subdued tone upon
the subject. He is believed now to encourage the
opinion that your raging belles are not apt to make
the best wives; that a discreet lady, of good family
and unpretending manners, is most likely to make a
sensible man happy; great beauty is not essential;
the mad world of fashion is a bad school; and some
such other doctrines that indicate reflection, if not
disappointment.

In pursuance of this temperate philosophy, he is
supposed to be casting his eye about the country, and
investigating more minutely the products of those
regions over which he has hitherto travelled with too
much speed for accurate observation; like a military
engineer whose first survey is directed to the
most prominent points of the ground, and who retraces
his steps to make his examination of the subordinate
positions.

From an intimacy of long standing between Mr.
Tracy and the father of Swansdown, the former
has a strong prepossession in favour of the son,
which is cherished by Singleton in a course of assiduous
attentions, and, no doubt, enhanced in some
degree by the studied and formal cast of his manners.
Mr. Tracy does not fail to speak of him as a
man of excellent capacity and solid judgment; and

has therefore admitted him into a somewhat confidential
relation. He says, moreover, that Singleton
is remarkably vivacious, and a man of attic wit.
This appears odd enough to those who have the honour
of this worthy's society.

What I have said will explain how it came to pass
that this gentleman had been selected as Mr. Tracy's
arbitrator in the question of the boundary line.
It was with a view to the final arrangement of this
subject that Swansdown had lately arrived at the
Brakes; and he had now visited Swallow Barn in
respect to that identical negotiation.

The ladies had just retired from the dinner-table,
and we were sitting over our wine, when Harvey
Riggs and Ralph Tracy rode up to the door. This
addition to our company gave a spur to the conversation
of the table. Swansdown had become animated
and eloquent. He descanted upon the occasion
of his visit: that to gratify his old friend, Mr.
Tracy, he had prevailed upon himself to proffer his
services to terminate a difficult controversy, which,
he had been given to understand, was of some duration.
This was one of those imperfect obligations
which appertain to the relation of friendship. He
ventured to suggest an opinion, that the issue would
be auspicious to their mutual interests, and took leave
to indulge the hope, that neither of his amiable and
excellent friends would find occasion to regret the
arrangement.

Meriwether answered these diplomatic insinuations
with a bend of the head that implied entire acquiescence,

and with an occasional remark that
showed the little importance he attached to the matter.
Ned and Harvey Riggs exchanged looks, drank
their wine, and listened to the oracle. Swansdown,
in the course of the evening, was continually reminded
of something he had seen at Florence, or Vienna,
or other places. The river, which was visible from
our windows, put him in mind of the Lake of Geneva;
it only wanted the mountains. Then, he had
choice anecdotes to tell of distinguished personages
in Boston or New York; and a most pithy piece of
scandal that had transpired last winter at Washington.
Meriwether bowed his head again, but very
much like a man who was at a loss how to reply,
and continued to listen with the utmost suavity.
Harvey Riggs, however, often drew the discourse
into a parenthesis, as if to get at such subsidiary particulars
as were necessary to elucidate the narrative,
and generally, by this mischievous contrivance, took
off the finish which the speaker studied to give to his
recital.

A neat little pamphlet of verses some time ago
made its appearance at Richmond, in hot press, and
on the finest paper. It was a delicate effusion of
superfine sentiment, woven into a plaintive tale; and
had dropped, apparently, from some amaranthine
bower formed by the sun-gilt clouds, as they floated,
on one vernal evening, over the fashionable quarter
of Richmond,—it was so dainty in its array, and so
mysterious in its origin. “From whence could it
come, but from the Empyrean, or from Hybla,” said

the ladies of Richmond; “or from the divine pen of
the fastidious and super-sentimental Swansdown?”
Ned Hazard had brought this beautiful foundling to
Swallow Barn, and had given it to Prudence Meriwether
to nurse. It was now upon the window-seat.

It is necessary to state, that amidst all the criticism
of Richmond, and the concurring determination of
every body to impute the verses to Swansdown, and
the consequent reiteration of that imputation by all
companies, he never gave a plain denial of his paternity;
but, on the contrary, took pleasure in hearing
the charge, and was so coquettish about the matter,
and insinuated such gentle doubts, that it was considered
a case of avowed detection.

This dapper and delicious little poetical sally was
christened “The Romaunt of Dryasdale,” in the title
page, but was more generally known by the name of
“The Lapdog Romance,” which Harvey Riggs had
bestowed upon it.

“I suppose you have seen this before?” said Hazard
to Swansdown, as he threw the book upon the
table before him.

Swansdown picked it up, hastily turned over the
leaves, smiled, and replied, “It has made some stir in
its day. But things like this are not long-lived, however
well executed. This seems to have kept its
ground much longer than most of its species.”

“The common opinion,” said Ned, “is not backward
to designate its author.”

“Of course,” replied Swansdown, “if a man has

ever been guilty in his life of stringing couplets, he
becomes a scapegoat ever after. Is it not somewhat
strange that I should be perpetually charged with
this sort of thing? But it is long since I have abandoned
the banks of the Helicon. I protest to you
I have not time for this kind of idling. No, no,
gentlemen, charge me with what indiscretion you
please, but spare me from the verses, as you are
Christian men!”

“If we could believe the rumours,” said Harvey,
“we should not doubt the origin of this effusion; but
I rely more on my own judgment. I can pretty
surely detect the productions of persons I am acquainted
with: there is a spice, a flavour, in a man's
conversation, which is certain to peep out in the efforts
of his pen. Now this work is diametrically opposite
to every thing we know of Mr. Swansdown.
In the first place, it is studied and solemn, and wants
Swansdown's light and familiar vivacity. Secondly,
there is an affectation of elegance utterly at war
with his ordinary manners. Thirdly,”—

“Oh, my dear sir,” cried Swansdown, “save me
from this serious vindication of my innocence. You
can't be in earnest in thinking any one believes the
report?”

“They do say so,” replied Harvey, “but I have
always defended you. I have said that if you chose
to devote your time in this way, something of a more
permanent and solid character would be given to the
world.”

“I have been bantered with it by my friends in

the North,” added Swansdown, “but that is a gantlet
which every man, who dabbles in literature, must
expect to run.”

“I have forgotten the name of the poem,” said
Meriwether, with innocent gravity.

“It is called The Romaunt of Dryasdale,” said
Swansdown.

“Or The Lapdog Romance,” added Ned.

Swansdown coloured slightly, and then laughed,
but without much heart.

“Fill up your glass, Mr. Swansdown,” said Meriwether,
“the truth of wine is better than all the fiction
of poetry. Is this thing much admired?”

“A good deal,” replied Swansdown.

“Amongst the young ladies of the boarding-school,
especially,” said Harvey.

“If I were disposed to criticise it,” said Ned, “I
should say that the author has been more successful
in his rhyme than in his story.”

“Yes,” added Harvey, “the jingle of the verse is
its great merit, and seems to have so completely satisfied
the writer, that he has forgotten to bring the
story forward at all. I have never been able to make
out exactly what is the subject of it.”

“Then the sentiment,” continued Hazard, “in
which it abounds, is somewhat over-mystical;—one
flight runs so into the other, that it is not very easy
to comprehend them.”

“That,” said Harvey, “is an admirable invention
in writing. The author only gives you half of what
he means, leaving you to fill up the rest for yourself.

It saves time, and enables him to crowd a great deal
into a small space.”

At this, Swansdown gave another laugh, but somewhat
dry and feeble.

“There is another thing about this poem,” said
Ned, “it has some strange comparisons. There is
one here that Prudence has marked; I suppose she
has found out its meaning, and as that is a fortunate
enterprise, she has taken care to note it. The poet
has endeavoured to trace a resemblance between
the wing of Cupid and his mistress's breath; and he
sets about it by showing, that when Cupid takes a
flight on a spring morning, with his wings bound with
roses, he must necessarily, at every flutter, shake off
some of these odoriferous flowers; and then, as the
lady's breath is redolent of aromatic flavours, the resemblance
is complete. I'll read the passage aloud,
if you please.”

“Meriwether,” said Swansdown in evident embarrassment,
but still endeavouring to preserve a
face of gaiety, “suppose we take a turn across your
lawn before dark?—We want a little motion.”

“Wont you stay to hear this flight of Cupid?”
asked Ned, taking up the book.

“I have no doubt it is very fine,” said Swansdown.
“But your account of it is so much better,
that I should not like to weaken the impression
of it.”

Saying this, he retreated from the dining room,
and waited at the front door for Meriwether, who
almost immediately followed.

In the evening our party played at whist; Prudence
and the poet making partners against Meriwether
and Harvey; whilst the rest of us sat round
as spectators of the game. Mr. Chub, as usual,
smoked his pipe in the porch, and the children slept
about the corners of the room. Swansdown had
grown dull, and his particularly accomplished bearing
appeared somewhat torpid, except now and then,
when he had occasion to make an inquiry respecting
the game, which he did in a manner that no vulgar
whist-player may ever hope to emulate: as thus,—
putting on an interrogative look, gently bending his
body forward, extending his left arm a little outward
from his breast, and showing a fine diamond ring on
his little finger, and asking with a smile,—so soft
that it could hardly be called a smile,—“spades are
trumps?”