A PALACE READY FOR ITS MISTRESS.
At the time of our story, New York Island was not so thickly crowded
with habitations as it is to-day. Men who lived on the outskirts of the
city could afford grounds more or less spacious about their habitations.
Gardens were no uncommon luxuries, and lawns not altogether unknown.
Just far enough from the city for retirement, yet sufficiently near for
easy access, stood a large mansion, which commanded a view of the
Hudson, and was surrounded by forest trees, which had doubtless
sheltered many an Indian encampment. Sloping lawns, flower gardens, and
rustic arbors lent glow and richness to every nook and vista of these
grounds. The house--a fine old family mansion--had been renovated and
altered so completely, since it had fallen into the hands of the present
proprietor, that the most intimate friend of the former owner must have
failed to recognize it.
The solid stone walls had been faced with marble. The small paned
windows had given place to broad plate glass, transparent as crystal.
Wreaths of rich sculpture broke the snow-white front around the doors
and windows, while heavy scrolls of marble rolled down the broad
entrance steps, and antique heads enriched the balconies. Two noble
lions, with slumbrous limbs and foamlike manes, crouched on the lower
entrance steps, and graceful vases, overflowing with rare and flowering
plants, stood on either hand by the door.
The approach to this house was by a lodge gate, and along the sweep of a
gravelled carriage road, which held a beautiful flower-garden in its
curve. Every thing about the dwelling was in perfect order--not a leaf
disturbed the emerald richness of the grass, not a broken flower could
be found in all that luxuriant waste of blossoms. The English gardener
had done his work perfectly. There was not a footprint on the gravel
walk, nor a stain upon the whiteness of the marble. Pure, rich, and
beautiful, the house arose amid the bloom and shade of tall trees and
delicate flowers, like some snow-white palace in fairy-land.
Every thing was silent within this house. Servants moved about, it is
true; but they were too well trained for any thing like confusion, and a
state of expectation kept them unusually quiet. The housekeeper went
from room to room, anxious that nothing should be out of place, and a
little nervous in her desire to please a mistress whom she had never
seen.
The truth is, that the household was in a state of more general
ignorance regarding the persons they were hired to serve than usually
falls to people of their class; but what was more remarkable, they knew
as much, and more of their master than any of the neighbors, with whom
he was an object of no little curiosity.
Mr. Nelson had come upon the neighborhood suddenly, whether from the
east, west, north or south, no one could pretend to say. Of course there
was a great deal of conjecture. A man of vast wealth and liberal
education he certainly was; fine looking too, after a peculiar style.
Besides this, he appeared quite young enough to be considered a
desirable match for the most fastidious belle in any one of the hundred
and fifty circles that dispute the palm of aristocracy year by year,
without settling the question among themselves.
He had bought the old mansion house, paid for it in cash, and taken up
his residence in one wing, while the alterations we have spoken of were
going on. As a bachelor his habits were very simple and his words few.
The best artisans were employed, and the most expensive books on
gardening and architecture lay upon the table in his room. He studied
these books night and day, for some weeks before the persons necessary
to his work were called around him. When they came at last, he was
prepared not only to take specifications, but to suggest them, and that
with an air of knowledge that won profound respect from the persons with
whom he conversed.
It was impossible to tell, by this man's manners or conversation, what
his business in life had been. He was always on his guard against the
intrusiveness of curiosity, always gentle, or rather stolidly quiet; but
once or twice, when a man conceited in his art had ventured to
contradict him, the frown upon his forehead had proved an ominous
warning which no one cared to provoke a second time.
During some months he had lived entirely at the old mansion, watching
its gradual transfiguration and superintending the changes with untiring
assiduity. Two or three times he had been absent for several days, but
no one knew where, and he gave no notice either of his intended
departure or return.