8. CHAPTER VIII.
VANELY.
Early on the morning after their colloquy, Mr. St. John
and his friend, Tom Alston, had left Williamsburg far in the
distance, crossed the river, and were pursuing their way
gayly through the spring forest, in the direction of Vanely.
Mr. St. John had thrown aside his uniform, and wore a
simple but elegant cavalier's suit—a coat of drab silk, pliable
knee breeches of dressed buckskin, and fair-topped
boots, fitting closely to the leg and ankle. He rode his fine
sorrel “Tallyho,” and the animal champed the bit, and tossed
his handsome head, with evident satisfaction at the breath
of his native air.
Mr. Tom Alston prefers a “sulky” for traveling—and
mounted in the circular leather chair, high above the wheels
of the airy-looking vehicle, he holds, with dainty fingers
clad in soft gauntlets, the slender “ribbands,” cutting at
butterflies occasionally for amusement.
The simple landscape seems entertainment enough for Mr.
St. John. He looks with joyous eyes upon the smooth road
winding along beneath the budding foliage of the forest,
and his impulsive nature fills with delight as he inhales the
fresh air laden with the perfume of leaves and flowers. He
is no longer lieutenant of his Excellency's Body Guards—
only Henry St. John. He laughs, leans idly on Tallyho's
neck and talks to him, follows the flight of a hawk across
the blue sky overhead, or bursts into snatches of song, in
opposition to the oriole, whose joyous carol fills the wood
with music.
The young men passed rapidly through the green forest,
and at last, as they mounted a slope, Mr. St. John extended
his hand and cried,
“There's Vanely! See how it shines in the sun, on the
hill top! The oaks are huger to my eyes, and the sunshine
brighter there! Adieu, Williamsburg!” cried the young
man, rising in his saddle, “and welcome Vanely! I think
't is a capital exchange!”
And putting spur to his horse, Mr. Harry St. John set
forward at full gallop again.
“I think I know what makes the sun shine brighter, my
youngster,” said Mr. Alston, as he followed rapidly; “there
are two violet-colored eyes there. Well, there are two black
orbs as handsome!”
And Mr. Alston indulged in a private and confidential
nod to himself. Soon afterwards they had reached the
broad esplanade in front of the house.
Vanely was one of those old mansions whose walls still
stand in Virginia, the eloquent memorials of other times, and
the good old race who filled the past days with so many festivals,
and such high revelry.
The first brick of the edifice had been laid upon the lap
of a baby afterwards known as Colonel Vane, and passed
through his tiny fingers. The life of the mansion and the
owner thus commenced together. It was a broad, rambling
old house, perched on a sort of upland which commanded
a noble landscape of field and river; and in front of the
portal, two great oaks stretched out their gigantic arms,
gnarled and ancient, like guardians of the edifice. In these,
as in the hundred others, scattered over the undulating
lawn, and crowning every knoll, a thousand birds were
caroling, and a swarm of swallows darted backward and
forward, circling around the stacks of chimneys, and making
the air vocal with their merriment.
There was about the odd old mansion an indefinable air
of comfort and repose, and within, these characteristics
were equally discernible. The old portraits ranged along
the hall in oaken frames, looked serenely down upon the
beholder, and with powdered heads, and lace ruffs, and
carefully arranged drapery, seemed to extend a stately and
impressive welcome. Sir Arthur Vane, who fought for a
much less worthy man at Marston Moor, was there, with
his flowing locks, and peaked head, and wide collar of rich
Venice lace, covering his broad shoulders;—and Miss Maria
Vane, with towering curls, and jewel-decorated fingers,
playing with her lap-dog, smiling meanwhile with that winning
grace which made her a toast in the days of her kinsman
Bolingbroke, and Mr. Addison;—and more than one
tender and delicate child, like violets or snow-drops, in
the midst of these sturdy family trunks, or blooming roses,
added a finishing grace to the old walls—that grace which
nothing but the forms of children ever give. Deer antlers,
guns, an old sword or two, and a dozen London prints of
famous race-horses, completed the adornment of the hall;
and from this wide space, the plain oaken stairway ran up,
and the various doors opened to the apartments on the
ground floor of the mansion.
On the May morning we have spoken of, the old house
was in its glory; for the trees were covering themselves
densely with fresh green foliage, and the grounds were carpeted
with emerald grass, studded with flowers, waving their
delicate heads, and murmuring gently in the soft spring
breeze, and the golden sunshine. The oriole swung from
the topmost boughs, and poured his flood of song upon the
air; the woodpecker's bright wings flapped from tree to
tree; and a multitude of swamp-sparrows flashed in and
out of the foliage and fruit blossoms, or circled joyously
around the snowy fringe-trees sparkling in the sunshine.
From the distant fields and forests the monotonous caw of
the crows, winging their slow way through the blue sky,
indicated even on the part of these ancient enemies of the
cornfield, joyous satisfaction at the incoming of the warm
season after the long winter; and a thousand merry robins
flew about, with red breasts shaken by melodious chirpings,
and brilliant plumage burnished by the sunlight.
Every thing was bright with the youthful joy of spring,
and as Mr. St. John and his friend dismounted before the
old mansion, the very walls upon which the waving shadows
of a thousand leaves were thrown seemed smiling, and prepared
to greet them; the open portal held imaginary arms
of welcome to them.
Before this portal stood,—its old form basking pleasantly
in the sunshine,—the roomy, low-swung family chariot, with
its four long-tailed grays, as ancient, very nearly, as itself,
and showing by their well-conditioned forms and glossy
manes the results of tranquil, easy living. By their side
stood the old white-haired negro driver, time out of mind
the family coachman of the Vanes; and in the person of this
worthy African gentleman a similar mode of living was unmistakably
indicated. Old Cato had evidently little desire
to be a censor; sure of his own high position, and quite
easy on the subject of the purity of the family blood, he was
plainly satisfied with his lot, and had no desire to change the
order of things. In his own opinion he was himself one of
the family—a portion of the manor, a character of respectability
and importance.
Old Cato greeted the young gentlemen with familiar but
respectful courtesy, and received their cordial shakes of the
hand with evident pleasure. The horses even seemed to
look for personal greeting, and when the young man passed
his hand over their necks, they turned their intelligent heads
and whinnied gently in token of recognition.
Mr. St. John patted their coats familiarly, and called them
by name, and looking up to the old house said, smiling,
“Welcome, Vanely! The month I've been away seems
a whole century. After all, the town is nothing like the
country, and no other part of it's like Vanely!”
