8. CHAPTER VIII.
THE MANSION OF A GENTLEMAN AND A SCHOLAR.
The site of the Dove Cote was eminently picturesque. It was an
area of level ground, containing, perhaps, two acres, on the summit
of a hill that, on one side, overhung the Rockfish river, and on the
other rose by a gentle sweep from the champaign country below.
This summit might have been as much as two hundred feet above
the bed of the stream, and was faced on that side by a bold, rocky
precipice, not absolutely perpendicular, but broken into stages or
platforms, where grassy mould had accumulated, and where the
sweet-brier and the laurel, and clusters of the azalea, shot up in profuse
luxuriance. The fissures of the crag had also collected their
handful of soil and gave nourishment to struggling vines, and everywhere
the ash or pine, and not unfrequently the dogwood, took
possession of such spots upon the rocky wall, as these adventurous
and cliff-loving trees had found congenial to their nature. The opposite
or northern bank of the river had an equal elevation, and jutted
forward so near to the other as to leave between them a cleft, which
suggested the idea of some sudden abruption of the earth in those
early paroxysms that geologists have deemed necessary to account
for some of the features of our continent. Below was heard the
ceaseless brattle of the waters, as they ran over and amongst the
rocks which probably constituted the debris formed in the convulsion
that opened this chasm. It was along through this obscure dell
that the road, with which my reader is acquainted, found place between
the margin of the stream and the foot of the rocks. The
general aspect of the country was diversified by high knolls and
broken masses of mountain land, and the Dove Cote itself occupied
a station sufficiently above the surrounding district to give it a
prospect, eastward, of several miles in extent. From this point
the eye might trace the valley of the Rockfish, by the abrupt hill-sides
that hemmed it in, and by the growth of sombre pines that
coated the steeps where nothing else could find a foot-hold. Not
far below, in this direction, was to be seen the Fawn's tower, a
singular pinnacle of rock, which had acquired its name from the
protection it was said to have afforded to a young deer against the
assault of the hounds; the hard-pressed animal, as the tradition
relates, having gained this insulated point by a bound that baffled
the most adventurous of his pursuers, and admiration of the successful
boldness of the leap having won from the huntsman the favor that
spared his life.
With the exception of a large chestnut near the edge of the cliff,
and of some venerable oaks, that had counted centuries before the
white man rested his limbs beneath their shade, the native growth
of the forest had been removed by Lindsay from the summit I have
described, and he had substituted for the wild garniture of nature a
few of the choicest trees of the neighboring woods. Here he had
planted the elm, the holly and the linden tree, the cedar and the
arbor vitæ. This platform was semicircular, and was bounded by a
terrace or walk of gravel that swept around its circumference. The
space inclosed was covered with a natural grass, which the frequent
use of the scythe had brought to the resemblance of velvet; and
the lower side of the terrace was guarded by a hedge-row of cedar.
Over this green wall, as the spectator walked forth in fair summer
time, might he look out upon the distant woods and meadows; and
there he might behold the high-road showing itself, at distant intervals,
upon the hill-sides; and in the bottom lands, that lay open to
the sun through the forest-bound valleys, might he see herds of
grazing cattle, or fields of yellow grain, or, perchance, the slow moving
wain burdened with hay, or slower moving plough.
The mansion itself partook of the character of the place. It was
perched—to use a phrase peculiarly applicable to its position—
almost immediately at that point where the terrace made an angle
with the cliff, being defended by a stone parapet, through which an
iron wicket opened upon a flight of rough-hewn steps, that terminated
in a pathway leading down to the river.
The main building was of stone, consisting of one lofty story, and
capped with a steep roof, which curved so far over the front as to
furnish a broad rustic porch that rested almost upon the ground.
The slim pillars of this porch were concealed by lattice-work, which
was overgrown with creeping vines; and the windows of the contiguous
rooms, on either side of a spacious hall, opened to the floor,
and looked out upon the lawn and upon the quiet landscape far
beyond. One of these apartments was also accessible through the
eastern gable, by a private doorway shaded by a light veranda, and
was appropriated by Lindsay to his library. This portal seemed
almost to hang over the rock, having but the breadth of the terrace
between it and the declivity, and showing no other foreground than
the parapet, which was here a necessary defence against the cliff,
and from which the romantic dell of the river was seen in all its
wildness.
There were other portions of the mansion constructed in the same
style of architecture, united to this in such a manner as to afford an
uninterrupted communication, and to furnish a range of chambers
for the use of the family. A rustic effect was everywhere preserved.
Stacks of chimneys shot up in grotesque array; and heavy, old-fashioned
windows looked quaintly down from the peaked roof.
Choice exotics, planted in boxes, were tastefully arranged upon the
lawn; cages with singing-birds were suspended against the wall;
and the whole mass of building, extending along the verge of the
cliff, so as to occupy the entire diameter of the semicircle, perhaps
one hundred and fifty feet, sorted by its simplicity of costume, if I
may so speak, and by its tidy beauty, with the close-shaven grass-plot
and its trim shades.
Above the whole, flinging their broad and gnarled arms amongst
the chimney tops, and forming a pleasing contrast with the artificial
embellishments of this spot, some ancient oaks, in primeval magnificence,
reared their time-honored trunks, and no less sheltered the
habitation from the noon-tide heats, than they afforded an asylum to
the ringdove and his mate, or to the countless travellers of the air
that here stopped for rest or food.
Such was the general aspect of the Dove Cote; a spot where a
philosopher might glide through life in unbroken contemplation;
where a wearied statesman might betake himself to reassemble the
scattered forces of intellect for new enterprises; where the artist
might repair to study with advantage the living graces of God's
own painting; and where young beauty might bud and bloom
amongst the most delicate and graceful forms of earth.
The interior of the dwelling was capacious and comfortable. Its
furniture, suitable to the estate of the owner, was plain, and adapted
to a munificent rather than to an ostentatious hospitality. It was
only in the library that evidence might be seen of large expense.
Here, the books were ranged from the floor to the ceiling, with
scarcely an interval, except where a few choice paintings had found
space, or the bust of some ancient worthy. One or two ponderous
lounging chairs stood in the apartment; and the footstep of the visitor
was dulled into silence by the soft nap of (what, in that day, was
a rare and costly luxury) a Turkey carpet. This was in all respects
an apartment of ease, and it was provided with every incentive to
beguile a student into silent and luxurious communion with the
spirit of the sages around him,—whose subtlest thoughts and holiest
breathings, whose most volatile fancies, had been caught up, fixed,
and turned into tangible substance, more indestructible than adamant,
by the magic of letters.
I have trespassed on the patience of my reader to give him a
somewhat minute description of the Dove Cote, principally because
I hope thereby to open his mind to a more adequate conception of
the character of Philip Lindsay. By looking at a man in his own
dwelling, and observing his domestic habits, I will venture to affirm,
it shall scarcely in any instance fail to be true, that, if there be seen
a tasteful arrangement of matters necessary to his comfort; if his
household be well ordered, and his walks clean and well rolled,
and his grassplots neat; and if there be no slovenly inattention to
repairs, but thrift against waste, and plenty for all; and, if to these
be added habits of early rising and comely attire—and, above all,
if there be books, many books, well turned and carefully tended—
that man is one to warm up at the coming of a gentleman; to open
his doors to him; to take him to his heart, and to do him the kindnesses
of life. He is a man to hate what is base, and to stand apart
from the mass, as one who will not have his virtue tainted. He is a
man, moreover, whose worldly craft may be so smothered and suppressed,
in the predominance of the household affections, that the
skilful and designing, alas, may ever practise with success their plans
against him.
