University of Virginia Library

ISABEL;
OR,
SICILY. THE PILGRIMS.

There is, perhaps, no approach to the old world
more impressive to the transatlantic voyager, than
the Straits of Gibraltar. The remarkable promontory
which rises abruptly before him, is calculated to
interest his mind, wearied with the monotony of sea-life,
not less as an object of great natural curiosity
than from the historical circumstances with which it
is associated. Anciently deemed the boundary of
the world, it was fabled, that at this point Europe
and Africa were united until riven asunder by Hercules,

forming the south-western extremity of Andalusia,
and long occupied as a Moorish fortress, it
awakens the many romantic impressions which embalm
the history of Spain; constituting, as it were,
the gate of the Mediterranean, the comer from the
new world cannot pass its lofty and venerable form,
without feeling that he has left the ocean whose
waters lave his native shore, and entered a sea
hallowed by the annals of antiquity, and renowned
for scenes of southern luxuriance and beauty.

It was on a fine autumn night that an American
ship, propelled by a regular but gentle breeze, glided
through this celebrated channel. The newly-risen
moon seemed to hang just above the horizon with
that magnified and brilliant aspect which the clearness
of the atmosphere in these climates occasions.
Her soothing light illumined the Spanish coast, glittered
on the low crests of the waves, and fell at
intervals upon the prominent points of the majestic
rock. So quiet was the night, that the ripple of the
water, as it parted before the prow of the vessel,
sounded hoarsely, and the occasional orders of the
captain, although uttered in an ordinary tone, came
with a startling distinctness to the ear. Upon the
quarter deck stood two spectators of the scene, apparently
absorbed in regarding its novel features, or
yielding to the thoughts it had suggested. The elder
was a man somewhat beyond the prime of life, with
one of those countenances equally indicative of
shrewdness and benevolence, so frequently encountered
in America, and, without boasting any very

striking lineament, convey the idea of intelligence
but not necessarily of genius, and good feeling without
ardor. Beside him, her arm within his, and her
eyes turned in the same direction, stood a girl of
graceful figure and medium height. Her face was
not strictly beautiful, if such a term is only applicable
to great regularity of profile. But to those who,
abjuring this convential ordeal of female loveliness,
regard beauty as chiefly dependant on expression,
her countenance alone would excite immediate interest.
She was one of those beings who vindicate the
attractiveness of her sex beyond the most perfect
models of beauty; whose eye, smile, and manner, are
so instantly and perfectly inspired by the spirit within
them, that criticism is disarmed, standards of the beautiful
annihilated, and we are only sensible of being
interested without precisely knowing how or why.
Perhaps the secret lies in the very depths of character.
Ingenuousness and enthusiasm were the active elements
of her nature, and through their influence it was
that a spirit of beauty lived in her glance, voice, and
manner, more winning than the finest outline or the
richest tint. It was the beauty of expression, combined
with the graces of youth and rare natural
gifts—of candid, free, and earnest expression; and,
therefore, not to be described any more than any
other charm which, like music, addresses at once
both soul and sense.

The father of Isabel Otley began life with a sensitiveness
of temperament, and depth of feeling, which
ill-fitted him for the constant contact of worldly

influences which scenes of traffic unavoidably engender.
Yet at the period when it became necessary
for him to fix upon an occupation, the only interest
his friends were able to exert in his behalf, lay in
the channels of trade, and soon after arriving at manhood,
he found himself fairly embarked in mercantile
persuits, in the commercial emporium of the new
world. His attention and probity won him universal
respect and confidence, but the effect of uncongenial
occupation, was to give to his manner a reserve
utterly foreign to his nature, which unhappily prevented
his associates from discerning many of the
most estimable qualities of his character. A twelve
month's residence in the south of Europe during his
youth, had, in no small degree, confirmed his natural
aversion to the path of life in which circumstances
had placed him; but soon after he had entered upon
it, too far to retreat with convenience, a happier
agency mingled with and neutralized the unpromising
hues of his destiny. In the course of business it
became necessary for him to visit Virginia. While
there, making one of those brief but pleasant sojourns
at the house of a wealthy planter, which the frank
hospitality of the South renders so delightful to the
stranger, he was attacked by a fever. A protracted
convalescence ensued, during which the amplest opportunity
was afforded him of realizing the sympathy
of taste and feeling, existing between his host's only
daughter and himself. Who can wonder that his
heart sprang to meet the boon of love with all its
long-repressed energy? Frederic Otley left the
mansion of his friend, in a mood altogether new and
delightful. An affection had been born in his bosom
which gave new interest to existence, and constant
impulse to action. In a few months life had assumed
a far happier aspect; for there were hours in every
passing day, and whole weeks in every summer,
when he was at liberty to enjoy nature, books, and
society, with a being whose sympathies were all his
own. Labouring with renewed assiduity, he was
enabled, in the course of a few years, to effect the
object for which he had long toiled, and retire with
his wife and daughter from the cares of business,
and the bustle of the metropolis, to her paternal
home, made solitary long before by the death of its
venerable proprietor. In this beautiful retreat were
passed the three happiest years of his life—too
tranquil and blessed it would seem to continue, for
its peaceful and happy tenor was suddenly and awfully
interrupted, by the death of her who was at once its
hope and inspiration. For a short time the broken
spirit of the mourner appeared to derive consolation
from the scenes once familiar with her presence; but
in the end they seemed to agonise rather than soothe.
The old elms about the church-yard, as they waved
in the twilight, no longer whispered to his saddened
fancy that her spirit was near and conscious of his
devoted grief, but moaned a melancholy echo to his
own despairing thoughts. The favorite walk, instead
of reminding him that she had been, awakened only
the gloomy conviction that she was not. It was
then that he determined to follow the oft-repeated
advice of his kindred and go abroad. Leaving his
daughter in the care of her aunt, he departed on his
lonely travels, not to forget his bereavement in the
pursuit of pleasure, or veil it in the excitement of
novelty, but to interest, if possible, his mind—now
torpid from inaction and shadowed by wo. The
letters of Otley, dated from different parts of the
continent, constituted for several years one of the
chief pleasures of the retired family. Through them
his daughter learned to estimate the mind and principles
of her father, and combined with her childish
recollections of him, they served to cherish in her
breast a sentiment of filial love, as profound as it was
fervent. Often in these epistles had he spoken of
returning, but the intention was always contravened
by some new plan or unexpected circumstance.
Indeed, the attraction of European life is generally
enhanced by a return to it, after an interval spent in
other scenes. It is on revisiting southern Europe,
especially, that an American is best prepared, justly
to estimate, and duly to feel, all that is peculiar in the
two hemispheres. The scene before him no longer
excites by its novelty. He is no longer a bewildered
stranger. With a more chastened, but deeper interest,
he regards the objects around him. With a calmer
and more intelligent patriotism he recals the characteristics
of his native land. The foreign insignia
which meets his view has something of a well
known aspect; and the eager gaze of curiosity is
exchanged for the quiet glance of recognition. Annoyances
which he once strongly deprecated now provoke
a smile, for old acquaintance has softened them;
and happy influences wake a thrill of delight, for
they are symbols of past pleasure, as well as guerdons
of future enjoyment. The landscape is arrayed
in new charms, the church breathes a dearer
solemnity, the picture glows with a brighter expressiveness,
for often since he saw them last, has memory
brooded over their quiet spells, amid the noisy activity
of his distant country. The favourite aria rises with
a richer cadence, the chime of the campanile steals
upon the night-breeze with a holier music, and the
soft accents of the South seem thrice beautiful; for,
since last heard, they have again and again been
borne, on the wings of fancy, across the trackless
deep to his delighted ear. Absence has endeared what
taste holds sacred in the old world, while a return to
the bracing air of a young republic has retaught the
inestimable value of the principles which have fled
thither for nurture, from the clogged and heavy
atmosphere of the old monarchies. In truth, no ideas
can be more false than many of those which it requires
at least one sojourn of an American in Europe
to correct. There is a vague notion prevalent among
the untravelled, that abroad there are many and
peculiar means of enjoyment. In one sense this is
true; but is it enough borne in mind, that the only
worthy pleasures peculiar to Europe, are those of
taste, and that to enjoy these, a certain preparedness
is requisite? The truth is the legitimate gratifications
of southern Europe are eminently meditative.
They are alike incompatible with a spirit of restless
ambition, or gainful passion. They address themselves
to the imaginative and enthusiastic, to the
contemplative and intellectual; to those who believe
there is a greater good than worldly success, a richer
boon than the distinctions of office; to those who
believe that the process of improvement does not
consist wholly in action; to those who do not measure
individual advancement merely by the direct results
of intellect; to those who have faith in the refining
influences of art and nature, and a life of `meek self-content,'
passed in the free and independent exercise
of thought, imagination, and love; and who, while
they acknowledge fealty to the demands of active
duty, recognise the truth, that the mind, like the earth,
is enriched by lying fallow, and that a tranquil life, if
permitted by an individual's destiny, may be rendered
more truly profitable than one passed in the most
successful and renowned course of active usefulness.
In such considerations lay the spell which prolonged
the exile of Otley.

In the meantime Isabel had reaped the advantages
of a faithful private education and occasional visits to
the principal cities of her country, and found herself,
on her eighteenth birthday, happily domesticated in
the home of her childhood, with the relatives who
had fulfilled towards her the duties of parents. At
this time she unfolded to her uncle the long-cherished
design of seeking and surprising her father in Europe.
He heard the proposal with surprise, but could not
long withhold his consent, and as Otley's last letter
expressed an intention of making the tour of Sicily,

it was soon determined that they should take advantage
of an excellent opportunity which presented
itself, and sail directly for that island. In assenting
to the wishes of Isabel, to whom he was strongly
attached, her uncle, who had travelled extensively in
early life, was influenced rather by a conviction
that the tour would benefit her mind and health than
from any deep sympathy in her views. Clifford
Frazier was a great admirer of the institutions and
manners of his country, and a thorough utilitarian.
Isabel Otley was an ardent and gifted idealist. In
her character were combined earnest and affectionate
feeling, with singular strength and independence of
mind. There are natures which seem, by virtue of
some innate principle, to preserve, almost miraculously,
their original beauty and freshness. Thus
was it with her. She possessed that depth of sentiment,
that earnest sympathy with what is deep in
the experience of the heart, and what is exalted in
the aspirations of the soul, which gives to the gifts
and graces of female character an angelic semblance.
She had not learned to repose upon a mere conventional
philosophy. The blighting breath of artificial
life had not crept like a frost over the fair and flowery
domain of her truthful spirit. Powers of no ordinary
strength and captivation were enshrined in an
inner and holy light, which chastened and rendered
star-like the native brilliancy of her mind, and subdued
to a deeper flow the earnest current of her
feelings.