University of Virginia Library

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40. CHAPTER XL.
UNDER THE GREENWOOD TREE.

“How, sir.”

“Well, madam.”

“Keep your promise.”

“Please to indicate it.”

“I refer, sir, to your college album.”

“Oh, certainly! here it is, my darling—all ready.”

And Mr. Ralph Ashley, between whom and Miss Fanny this
dialogue had taken place, seated himself beneath a magnificent
tulip-tree; and with a movement of the head suggested a similar
proceeding to the rest.

All being seated, the young man drew from his breast-pocket
a small volume, bound in leather, and with a nod to Fanny,
said:

“I have changed my mind—I can't read but two or three.”

“Broken your promise, you mean.”

“No, my own;—oh, no.”

“Ralph, you are really too impudent!”

“How, pray?”

“And presumptuous?”

“Why?”

“Because, sir—”

“I call you `my own' in advance? Eh?”

“Yes, sir!”

Fanny had uttered the words without reflection—intending

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Ralph assumed a close and cautious expression, and said:

“Well—I will be more careful in future. The fact is, that
people who are to be married, should be as chary of their endearments,
in public, as those who are married.”

General laughter and assent—except from Fanny, who was
blushing.

“Nothing is more disagreeable,” continued Ralph, philosophically,
“than these public evidences of affection; it is positively
shocking to see and hear two married people exchanging their
`dears' and `dearests,' `loves' and `darlings'—especially to
bachelors; it is really insulting! Therefore, it is equally in bad
taste with those who are to be married;—logically, consequently,
and in the third place—and lastly—it is not proper, between myself
and you, my Fanny—hum—Miss Fanny!”

This syllogistic discourse was received by Fanny with a mixture
of blushes and satirical curls of the lip. “Hum!” more
than once issued from her lips; and this expression always signified
with the young lady in question—“indeed!”—“really!”—
“you think that's mighty fine!”—or some other phrase indicative
of scorn and defiance.

On the present occasion, after uttering a number of these
“hums!” Fanny embodied her feelings in words, and replied:

“I think, Ralph, you are the most impudent gentleman I have
ever known, and you wrong me. I wonder how you got such
bad manners; at Williamsburg, I reckon. Hum! If you wait
until I marry you—!”

“I shall never repent the delay?” asked Ralph—“is that what
you mean? Well, I don't believe I shall. But a truce to jesting,
my charming cousin. You spoke of Williamsburg, and my
deterioration of manners, did you not?”

“Yes!”

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“I can prove that I have not deteriorated.”

“Try, then.”

“No, I would have to read all this book, which is full of compliments,
Fanny; that would take all day. Besides, I am too
modest.”

“Oh!” laughed Fanny, who had recovered her good humor.

“Let us hear, Mr. Ralph,” said Redbud, smiling.

“Yes—let us see how the odious college students write and
talk,” added Fanny, laughing.

“Well, I'll select one from each branch,” said Ralph: “the
friendly, pathetic, poetical, and so forth. Lithe and listen, ladies,
all!”

And while the company listened, even down to Longears, who
lay at some distance, regarding Ralph with respectful and appreciative
attention, as of a critic to whom a MS. is read, and who
determines to be as favorable as he can, consistent with his reputation—while
they listened, Ralph opened his book and read some
verses.

We regret that only a portion of the album of Mr. Ralph Ashley
has come down to modern times—the rats having devoured
a greater part of it, no doubt attracted by the flavor of the composition,
or possibly the paste made use of in the binding. We
cannot, therefore, present the reader with many of the beautiful
tributes to the character of Ralph, recorded in the album by his
admiring friends.

One of these tributes, especially, was—we are informed by
vague tradition—perfectly resplendent for its imagery and dietion;
contesting seriously, we are assured, the palm, with Homer,
Virgil and our Milton; though unlike bright Patroclus and the
peerless Lyeidas, the subject of the eulogy had not suffered
change when it was penned. The eulogy in question compared
Ralph to Demosthenes, and said that he must go on in his
high course, and gripe the palm from Græcia's greatest son; and
that from the obscure shades of private life, his devoted Tumles

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This is lost; but a few of the tributes, read aloud by Mr.
Ralph, are here inserted.

The first was poetic and pathetic:

“No names!” cried Ralph; “now for another: Good old
Bantam!”

“Oh, Mr. Bantam writes this, does he?” cried Fanny.

“Yes, Miss; for which reason I pass it—no remonstrances!—
I am inflexible; here is another:

“Dear Ralph:

“I need not say how sorry I am to part with you. We have
seen a great deal of each other, and I trust that our friendship
will continue through after life. The next session will be dull

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without you—I do not mean to flatter—as you go away. You
carry with you the sincere friendship and kindest regards of,

“Dear Ralph, your attached friend,

“— —.”

“I like that very much, Mr. Ralph,” said Redbud, smiling.

“You'd like the writer much more, Miss Redbud,” said the
young man; “really one of the finest fellows that I ever knew.
I want him to pay me a visit—I have no other friend like
Alfred.”

“Oh, Alfred's his name, is it!” cried Fanny; “what's the
rest? I'll set my cap at him.”

“Alfred-Nothing, is his name,” said Ralph, facetiously; “and
I approve of your course. You would be Mrs. Nobody, you
know; but listen—here is the enthusiastic:

“Oh, yes!” said Fanny; “why don't you!”

“I will!”

“Very likely!”

“I'm glad you agree with me; but here is the considerate.”
And turning the leaf, he read—

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241

“The fact is,” said Ralph, in explanation, “that this is probably
the finest wish in the book.”

“Were there many flies?” said Fanny.

“Myriads!”

“And mosquitos?”

“Like sands on the seashore, and of a size which it is dreadful
to reflect upon even now.”

“Very large?”

“You may judge, my dear Fanny, when I tell you, that one
of them flew against a scallop of oysters which the boots was
bringing to my apartment, and with a single flap of his wings
dashed it from the hand of the boots—it was dreadful; but let
us get on: this is the last I will read.”

And checking Miss Fanny's intended outburst at the oyster
story, Mr. Ralph read on—

“You ask me, my dear Ashley, to give you some advice, and
write down my good wishes, if I have any in your direction. Of
course I have, my dear fellow, and here goes. My advice first,
then, is, never to drink more than three bottles of wine at one
sitting—this is enough; and six bottles is, therefore, according to
the most reliable rules of logic—which I hate—too much. You
might do it if you had my head; but you havn't, and there's an
end of it. Next, if you want to bet at races, ascertain which
horse is the general `favorite,' and as our friend, the ostler, at the
Raleigh says—go agin him. Human nature invariably goes
wrong; and this a wise man will never forget. Next, if you
have the playing mania, never play with anybody but gentlemen.
You will thus have the consolation of reflecting that you have
been ruined in good company, and, in addition, had your pleasure;—blacklegs
ruin a man with a vulgar rapidity which is positively
shocking. Next, my dear boy—though this I need'nt tell
you—never look at Greek after leaving college, or Moral Philosophy,

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or Mathematics proper. It interferes with a man's education,
which commences when he has recovered from the disadvantages
of college. Lastly, my dear fellow, never fall in love with any
woman—if you do, you will inevitably repent it. This world
would get on quietly without them—as long as it lasted—and I
need'nt tell you that the Trojan War, and other interesting
events, never would have happened, but for bright, eyes, and sighs,
and that sort of thing. If you are obliged to marry, because you
have an establishment, write the names of your lady acquaintances
on scraps of paper, put them in your hat, and draw one
forth at random. This admirable plan saves a great deal of
trouble, and you will inevitably get a wife who, in all things,
will make you miserable.

“Follow this advice, my dear fellow, and you will arrive
at the summit of happiness. I trust I shall see you at the
Oaks at the occasion of my marriage—you know, to my lovely
cousin. She's a charming girl, and we would be delighted to
see you.

“Ever, my dear boy,
“Your friend
“and pitcher,

“— — —!”

“Did anybody—”

“Ever?” asked Ralph, laughing.

“Such inconsistency!” said Fanny.

“Not a bit of it!”

“Not inconsistent!”

“Why, no.”

“Explain why not, if you please, sir! I wonder if—”

“That cloud does not threaten a storm, and whether I am
not hungry?” said Ralph, finishing Miss Fanny's sentence,
putting the album in his pocket, and attacking the baskets.

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“Come, my dear cousin, let us, after partaking of mental food,
assault the material! By Jove! what a horn of plenty!”

And Ralph, in the midst of cries exclamatory, and no little
laughter, emptied the contents of the basket on the velvet
sward, variegated by the sunlight through the boughs, and fit for
kings.

The lunch commenced.