If I had but two little wings,
And were a little feathery bird,
To you I'd fly, my dear!
But thoughts like these are idle things,
And I stay here.
But in my sleep to you I fly:
I'm always with you in my sleep!
The world is all one's own.
But then one wakes, and where am I?
All, all alone.
Sleep stays not, though a monarch bids,
So I love to wake ere break of day:
For though my sleep be gone,
Yet, while tis dark, one shuts one's lids,
And still dreams on.
Thus much for Coleridge. Now for his original:
"Were I a little bird,
Had I two wings of mine,
I'd fly to my dear;
But that can never be,
So I stay here.
"Though I am far from thee,
Sleeping I'm near to thee,
Talk with my dear;
When I awake again,
I am alone.
"Scarce there's an hour in the night
When sleep does not take its flight,
And I think of thee,
How many thousand times
Thou gav'st thy heart to me."
"This," says Mr. Bayard Taylor, in the _Notes_ to his translation
of _Faust_, "this is an old song of the people of Germany. Herder
published it in his _Volkslieder_, in 1779, but it was no doubt
familiar to Goethe in his childhood. The original melody, to
which it is still sung, is as simple and sweet as the words."
_AMONG THE PERUVIANS._
The extremes of civilization and barbarism are nearer together
in those countries which the Spaniards have wrested from their
native inhabitants, than in any other portion of the globe.
Before other European races, aboriginal tribes, even the
fiercest, gradually disappear. They hold their own before the
descendants of the _conquistadores_, who conquered the New
World only to be conquered by it. Out of Spain the Spaniard
deteriorates, and nowhere so much as in South America. Of course
he is superior there to the best of the Indian tribes with which
he is thrown in contact; but we doubt whether he is superior to
the intelligent, but forgotten, races which peopled the regions
around him centuries before Pizzaro set foot therein, and which
built enormous cities whose ruins have long been overgrown by
forests. To compare the Spaniard of to-day, in Peru, with its
ancient Incas is to do him no honor. To be sure, he is a
good Catholic, which the Incas were not, but he is indolent,
enervated, and enslaved by his own passions. His religion has not
done much for him--at least in this world, whatever it may do in
the next. It has done still less, if that be possible, for the
aboriginal Peruvians.
"In all parts of Peru," says a recent traveler, "except amongst
the savage Indian tribes, Christianity, at least nominally
prevails. The aborigines, however, converted by the sword in the
old days of Spanish persecution, do not, as a rule, seem to have
more notion of that faith in the country parts, than such as
may be obtained from stray visits of some errant, image-bearing
friar, whose principal object is to obtain sundry _reals_ in
consideration of prayers offered to his little idols. These
wandering ministers also distribute execrably colored prints of
various saints, besides having indulgences for sale. As to the
nature of the pious offerings from their disciples, they are not
at all particular. They go upon the easy principle that all is
fish that comes into their net. If the ignorant and superstitious
givers have not 'filthy lucre' wherewithal to propitiate the ugly
represented saints, wax candles, silver ore, cacao, sugar, and
any other description of property is as readily received. Thus,
it often happens that these peripatetic friars have a long convoy
of heavily-laden mules with which to gladden the members of their
monastery when they return home.
[Illustration: FASHIONABLE LOUNGERS OF LIMA.]
"The priests in all parts of Peru dress in a very extraordinary,
not to say outlandish manner. One of the lower grade wears a very
capacious shovel hat, projecting as much in front as behind, and
looking very like a double-ended coal-heaver's _hat_. A loose
black serge robe covers him all over, as with a funereal pall,
and being fastened together only at the neck, gives to his often
obese figure an appearance the very reverse of grave or serious:
The superior of a monastery, or the priest in charge of a parish,
wears a more stately clerical costume. His hat is of formidable
dimensions--a huge, flat, Chinese-umbrella-shaped sort of a
concern, which cannot be compared to anything else in creation.
He also affects ruffles and lace, a long cassock, and a
voluminous cloak like many of those of Geneva combined together;
black silk stockings and low shoes complete the clerical array of
the higher ecclesiastics."
[Illustration: RIDING AND FULL-DRESS COSTUME OF THE PERUVIAN
LADIES.]
Quite as odd, in their way, as these good padres, are the
Peruvian loungers, the "lions" of Lima--a long-haired, becloaked,
truculent-looking set of fellows, whose proper place would seem
to be among operatic banditti. A greater contrast and disparity
than exists between them and the beautiful brunettes to whom they
are fain to devote themselves, cannot well be imagined. That the
latter generally prefer European gentlemen to these ill-favored
beaux, follows as a matter of course. That the discarded "lion"
resents this preference of his fair countrywomen, we have the
testimony of the traveler already quoted from.
"Instinctively, as it were, a feeling of dislike and rivalry
seemed to prevail between ourselves and such of these truculent
gentry as it was our fortune to come into contact with. They were
jealous, no doubt, of the wandering foreigners, whom they chose
contemptuously to term _gringos_, but who, they know well
enough, are infinitely preferred to themselves by their handsome
coquettish countrywomen. It is, indeed, notoriously the fact,
that any respectable man of European birth can marry well, and
even far above his own social position, amongst the dark-eyed
donnas of Peru. The men don't seem exactly to like it. Judging by
their appearance, we found but little difficulty in believing the
character which report had given them--namely, their proneness to
assassination, especially in love affairs, either personally,
or, more frequently, by deputy. If the brilliant creole and
half-caste women of this warm, tropical country, are some of
the most beautiful and lovable of the sex, their sallow,
sinister-looking, natural protectors are just the very opposite.
The singular difference in the moral and physical characteristics
of the two sexes is something really remarkable, and I, for one,
cannot satisfactorily explain it to my own mind. That such is the
case I venture to affirm; the why and the wherefore I must fain
leave to wiser ethnological heads."
Not less curious, as regards costume, are the Peruvian ladies.
And, as they are _equestriennes_, we will describe their
riding-habits in the words of the same traveler:
"To commence at the top. This riding dress consisted of a huge
felt hat, both tall and broad, and generally ornamented with a
plume of three great feathers sticking up in front. Next came an
all-round sort of a cape, of no shape in particular, with a
wide collar, several rows of fringe, much needle-work (and
corresponding waste of time upon so hideous a garment), and of
a length sufficient to reach below the waist, and so completely
hide and spoil the wearer's generally fine figure. Then came a
short overskirt, extending a little below the knees, and beneath
which appeared the fair senora or senorita's most unfeminine
pantaloons, which, being carefully tied above the ankle in a
frill, were allowed to fully display that treasure of treasures,
that most valued of charms, the beautiful little foot and ankle.
In addition to this absurd dress, which conceals the graceful
form of perhaps the handsomest race of women in the world,
the fair creatures have a style of riding which, to Europeans
accustomed to the side-saddle, certainly seems more peculiar
than elegant; that is to say, they ride á la Duchesse de
Berri--_Anglicè_, like a man.
"The full dress, or evening costume, in the provinces, seemed
simply an exaggeration upon that of the towns--the crinoline
being more extensive, the petticoats shorter, and the dressing of
the hair still more wonderful and elaborate."
[Illustration: YOUNG MESTIZO WOMAN. MIDDLE-AGED LIMENA.]
Among the _mestizos_, half-castes, of white and Indian origin the
women are often very beautiful, especially when the blood of the
latter prevails. They are, we are told, the best-looking of all
the Peruvian women, possessing brilliantly fair complexions,
magnificent long black tresses, lithe and graceful figures of
exquisite proportions, regular and classic features, and the most
superb great black eyes.
"Though often glorious in youth, these dark-skinned, passionate
daughters of the sunny Pacific shore soon begin to fade. Although
their scant costume and the _manto y saya_--the dress favored at
night--serve only to expose and display the charming contour of
their youthful form, as the years roll on and rob them of
these alluring attractions, the simple array becomes ugly and
ridiculous. Often did we laugh at the absurd figure presented by
some stout, middle-aged half-caste, or a good many more caste,
lady, clad in her _manto y saya_. Especially ludicrous did these
staid females appear when viewed from behind."
The Peruvian negress, of elderly years, compares not unfavorably
with her whiter Spanish sister of the same age. Both display
inordinate vanity, which consorts ill with the brawny calves and
large feet they cannot help showing on account of their short
though voluminous skirts, and both have a womanly love of
jewelry.
"They manifest a very apparent weakness for all sorts of
glittering ornaments, especially in the way of numerous rings,
huge ear-rings, and mighty necklaces. Indeed, it is not at all
uncommon to see pearls (their favorite gem) of great value,
rising and falling, and gleaming with incongruous lustre, upon
their bare, black, and massive bosoms; whilst ear-rings of solid
gold hang glittering from their large ears, in singular contrast
to their common and dirty clothing.
"Except for the occasional excitement of theatre, cock-fight, or
bull-fight, and the regular attendance at mass and vespers, the
life of the higher class Limena is a dreamy existence of languor,
amidst siestas, cigarettes, agua-rica, and jasmine perfumes, the
tinkling of guitars, and the melody of song. Alas! that I must
record it; she is, too, a terrible _intriguante_. The _manto y
saya_, the _bête noir_ of many a poor jealous husband, seems a
garment for disguise, invented on purpose to oblige her. It
is the very thing for an intriguing dame; and, by a stringent
custom, bears a sacred inviolate right, for no man dare profane
it by a touch, although he may even suspect the bright black eye,
it may alone allow to be seen, to be that of his own wife! He
can follow, if he likes, the graceful, muffled up figure that he
dreads to be so familiar, but woe to the wretch who dares to
pull aside a fair Limena's _manto_! If seen, he would surely
experience the resentment of the crowd, and become a regular
laughing-stock to all who knew him."
But let us be just to the women of Peru, who, in the matter of
flirting and fondness for finery, are probably not worse than the
sex elsewhere. They love where they love with a fervor unknown
to the women of Europe, their Spanish sisters, perhaps, excepted,
and they are capable of profound patriotism.
[Illustration: PERUVIAN PRIESTS.]
There is an element of real strength in the wild, stormy nature
of these beautiful and impassioned creatures: it is their
misfortune not to know how to hide their weaknesses as well
as their more sophisticated sisters. The tide of time flows so
smoothly with them, through such level summer landscapes steeped
in tropical repose, that the desire for excitement naturally
arises, and excitement itself becomes a necessity. Lacking many
of the indoor employments of the women of colder climates, time
hangs heavy on their hands, idleness wearies, and they cast about
for a way in which to amuse, enjoy, and distract themselves. They
find it in love. If no European is near upon whom they can bestow
their smiles and the lustre of their magnificent eyes, they have
to be content with their own countrymen, who woo them after the
fashion of their Spanish ancestors, by serenades at night, in
which the strumming of guitars generally plays a more important
part than the words it accompanies.
While we are among the Peruvians, we must not entirely overlook
their country, and the features of its varied landscapes. It is
divided by the Andes into three different lands, so to speak, _La
Costa_, the region between the coast and the Andes; _La Sierra_,
the mountain region, and _La Montaña_, or the wooded region
east of the Andes. _La Costa_, in which Lima is situated, at
the distance of about six miles from the sea, may be briefly
described as a sandy desert, interspersed with fertile valleys,
and watered by several rivers of no great magnitude. It seldom
or never rains there, but there are heavy dews at night which
freshen and preserve the vegetation. The magnificence of the
mountain region baffles all attempts at word-painting, as it
baffles the art of the painter. Church, the artist, gives us what
is, perhaps, the best representation we are ever likely to
have of it, but it is only a glimpse after all. Still more
indescribable, if that be possible, are the enormous wildernesses
which stretch from the Andes to the vast pampas to the eastward.
"Here everything is on Nature's great scale. The whole country
is one continuous forest, which, beginning at very different
heights, presents an undulating aspect. One moves on his way with
trees before, above, and beneath him, in a deep abyss like the
ocean. And in these woods, as on the immensity of the waters,
the mind is bewildered; whatever way it directs the eye there it
meets the majesty of the Infinite. The marvels of Nature are in
these regions so common that one becomes accustomed to behold,
without emotion, trees whose tops exceed the height of 100 varas
(290 English feet), with a proportionate thickness, beyond the
belief of such as never saw them; and, supporting on their trunks
a hundred different plants, they, individually, present rather
the appearance of a small plantation than one great tree. It
is only after you leave the woods, and ordinary objects of
comparison present themselves to the mind, that you can realize
in thought the colossal stature of these samples of Montana
vegetation."
Peru is a fitting theatre for the great dramas which have been
played upon its wild, mountainous stage. The dark background of
its past is haunted by the shadows of the unknown race who built
its ruined cities and temples. Then come the beneficent, heavenly
Incas, and the mild, pastoral people over whom they rule. Last,
the cruel, treacherous Spaniard, slaughtering his friendly hosts
with one hand, while the other holds the Bible to their lips!
_THE OLD MAID'S VILLAGE._
I had been passing the summer on the banks of the Hudson--in
that charmed region which lies about what was once the home
of Diedrich Knickerbocker, with the enchanted ground of Sleepy
Hollow on the one hand, and the shrine of Sunnyside on the other.
In many happy morning walks and peaceful twilight rambles, I had
made the acquaintance of every winding lane, every shaded avenue,
every bosky dell and sunny glade for miles around. I had wandered
hither and thither, through all the golden season, and fairly
steeped my soul in the beauty, the languor, the poetry of the
"Irving country;" and now, filled, as it were, with rare wine,
content and happy, I was ready to return to the town, and take up
the matter-of-fact habit of life again.
But even on the last day of my sojourn, when my trunks stood
packed and corded, and the loins of my spirit were girt for
departure on the morrow; as I stood at my window somewhat
pensively contemplating, for the last time, the peculiarly
delicious river-bit which it framed, the door opened suddenly,
and Nannette, my _fidus Achates_, and the companion of my summer,
ran in.
"Do you know," she cried, "I have just learned that we were
about to leave the place without visiting one of its greatest
curiosities? We have narrowly escaped going without having seen
the 'Old Maid's Village!'"
"The 'Old Maid's Village!'" I echoed, stupidly. "But what village
is _not_ the peculiar property of the race?"
"Yes, I know; but this village is really built on an old
maid's property, and by her own hands. And there is the 'Cat's
Monument,' too. Come! don't stop to talk about it, but let us
go and see it. It will be just the thing for a last evening; in
memoriam, you know, and all that. Get on your hat, and come, and
we shall see the sunset meeting the moonrise on the river once
more, as we return."
That, at least, was always worth seeing, I reflected; and so,
without more ado, I put on my wraps as I was bid, and reported
myself under marching orders.
How lovely, how indescribably lovely, the world was that
September afternoon, as we strolled along the shaded sidewalk
where the maples were already laying a mosaic of gold and garnet,
and looked off toward the river and the hills beyond--the far
blue hills--all veiled in tenderest amber mist! The very air
was full of soft, warm color; the sunbeams, mild and level now,
played with the shadows across our path, and every now and then a
leaf, flecked with orange or crimson, fluttered to our feet.
The blue-birds sang in the goldening boughs, unaffrighted by the
constant roll of elegant equipages in which, at this hour, the
residents of the stately mansions on either side the road were
taking the air; and the crickets hopped about undisturbed in the
crevices of the gray stone walls.
We walked leisurely on, past one and another lofty gateway, until
presently reaching an entrance rather less assuming than its
neighbors, but, like them, hospitably open, Nannette said, with
promptness:
"This is the place, I am sure. Square white house; black railing;
next to the printing-press man's great gate. Come right in; all
are welcome, and not even thank you to pay, for one never sees
anyone to speak to here."
It seemed to my modesty rather an audacious proceeding, but
trusting to my companion's superior information, I followed her
in, and we walked up a circular carriage-drive through smooth
shaven lawns dotted with brilliant clumps of salvia and
gladiolus, towards the house--a square, solid structure, white,
and with broad verandas running across its front.
At its northern side, sloping towards the wall, was visible what
looked like an ordinary terrace, rather low, and ornamented with
small shrubs and grotto-work; but which, on nearer approach,
proved to be a veritable village in miniature, constructed with a
verisimilitude of design, and a fidelity to detail, which was at
once in the highest degree amazing and amusing. As Nannette had
been assured, no one appeared to interfere with us in any way,
and full of a curious wonder at such a manifestation of eccentric
ingenuity, we seated ourselves upon a wooden box, evidently kept
more for the purpose of protecting the odd out-of-door plaything
in bad weather, and proceeded to give it the minute inspection
which it merited; the result of which I chronicle here for the
benefit of the like curious minded.
The terrace, which forms the site of this doll-baby city, is low
and semi-circular in shape, and separated from the graveled drive
by a close border of box. Within this protecting hedge the
ground is laid out in the most picturesque and fantastic manner
compatible with a scale of extreme minuteness. Winding roads,
shady bye-paths ending in rustic stiles, willow-bordered ponds,
streams with fairy bridges, rocky ravines and sunny meadows,
ferny dells, and steep hills clambered over with a wilderness
of tangled vines, and strewn with lichen-covered stones--all are
there, and all reproduced with the most conscientious fidelity
to nature, and with Lilliputian diminutiveness. Regular streets,
"macadamized" with a gray cement which gives very much the effect
of asphaltum, separate one demesne from another; and each meadow,
lawn, field, and barn-yard has its own proper fence or wall,
constructed in the most workmanlike manner. The streets are
bordered by trees, principally evergreens, which, though rigidly
kept down to the height of mere shrubs, appear stately by the
side of the miniature mansions they overlook; and, in every
dooryard, or more pretentious greensward, tiny larches, pines yet
in their babyhood, and dwarfed cedars, cast a mimic shade, and
bestow an air of dignity and venerableness to the place.
The first object upon which the eye is apt to rest on approaching
this modern Lilliput is the squire's house, the residence of the
landed proprietor. This is a handsome edifice of some eight by
ten inches in breadth and height. It stands upon an eminence in
the midst of ornamented grounds, and with its white walls, its
lofty cupola, and high, square portico, presents a properly
imposing appearance. There are signs of social life about the
mansion befitting its own style of conscious superiority. In the
wide arched entrance hall stands a high-born dame attired in gay
Watteau costume--red-heeled slippers, brocaded petticoat, and
bodice and train of puce-colored satin. She is receiving the
adieux of an elegant gentleman, hatted, booted, and spurred, who,
with whip in hand and dog by his side, is about to descend the
steps and mount his horse for a ride over his estate. A bird-cage
swings by an open window, and, on the lawn, a group of children,
in charge of their nurse, are engaged in the time-honored game
of "Ring-around-a-rosy." Winding walks, bordered with shrubbery,
disappear among fantastic mounds of rock-work, moss-grown
grottoes, and tiny dells of fern; and under a ruined arch, gray
with lichen and green with vines, flows a placid streamlet,
spanned by a rustic bridge. In the meadow beyond, flocks of sheep
are cropping the grass, and an old negro is busily engaged in
repairing a breach in the stone wall.
Hard by this stately demesne is a humbler tenement, built of
wattled logs, but showing signs of comfort and thrift all about
it. The old grandsire sits in a high-backed chair, sunning
himself in front of the door; on a bench, at the side of the
house, stand rows of washtubs filled with soiled linen, and a
woman is busy wringing out clothes; while another, with a
bucket on her head, goes to the well to supply her with a
fresh thimbleful of water; and still a third milks a handsome
dapple-gray cow in the yard where the dairy stands. There is a
well-filled barn behind, with another cow and a horse, too,
for that matter, in the stable attached, and the farmer, who is
putting the last sheaf on his wheat-stack, looks contented enough
with his lot.
Just beyond the stream, on whose bank the fisherman sits
leisurely dropping his line, stands the village church; a
fac-simile of the old Dutch Church which has stood near the
entrance of Sleepy Hollow since long before the Revolution, and
is hallowed now not only by the pious associations of centuries,
but by the near vicinage of Irving's grave. In its little
twelve-inch counterpart, every point of the ancient structure is
preserved in exact detail. The dull red walls, the beetling roof,
the narrow pointed windows and low, arched door; the quaint Dutch
weathercock, and odd-shaped tower--aye, even the bell within, no
bigger than a doll's thimble--and upon all a sentimental traveler
in the person of a china figure perhaps three inches in height,
is gazing half pensively, half curiously, as we suppose, at this
relic of by-gone years!
On the other side of the stream the village school, likewise an
ancient and steeple-crowned edifice, stands out in the midst of a
bare and clean swept playground. It bears its signature upon its
front:
"DISTRICT SCHOOL, NO. 2,"
and its worshipful character is otherwise indicated by the
presence of the master, a venerable looking puppet in cocked
hat and knee-breeches, in the doorway, and sundry china children
playing rather stiffly about the stone steps.
Ascending by a steep, rocky path, one arrives at a rather
pretentious looking wind-mill, which spreads its wide white arms
protectingly over the cottages below. Barrels of flour and sacks
of meal, well filled and plentiful in number, attest its thriving
business, and the miller himself, in a properly dusty coat, looks
about him with contented air. At the foot of the hill upon which
the mill is perched, are several dwellings--all showing signs of
more or less prosperous life, with the exception of one,
which affords the orthodox "haunted house" belonging to every
well-regulated village. The ruined walls of this old mansion,
with lichen cropping out from every crevice; the unhinged doors
and broken windows; the ladder rotting as it leans against the
moss-grown roof, the broken well-sweep and deserted barn, offer
an aspect of desolation and decay which should prove sufficient
bait to tempt any ghost of moderate demands.
In direct contrast to the gloom which surrounds this now empty
and forsaken home, one observes, in a shady grove surmounting a
ridge of hills which rise somewhat steeply here from the roadway,
a party of "pic-nickers" gaily attired and disporting themselves
after the time-honored manner of such merry-makers; swinging,
dancing, or, better still, strolling off arm in arm, in search of
cooler shades, and of that company which is never a crowd.
At the base of this rocky ridge, the same stream which one meets
above flowing darkly under arch and bridge, winds placidly along
in sunshine and shadow until it loses itself in a clump of alders
and willows quite at the edge of the box-bordered terrace; and
here the village ends.
Not so my sketch: for I have purposely left it to the last to
make mention of the great central idea round which all the rest
is gathered, and which, doubtless, formed the germ of the whole
oddly-conceived, but most admirably-executed plan. This is the
"Cat's Monument" of which Nannette had made mention, and which is
a structure so original and imposing that it deserves special and
minute description.
About midway the terrace, and conspicuous from its size and
height, rises a mound of earth shaped into the semblance of
an urn or vase, crusted thickly with bits of rock, moss, and
pebbles, and overgrown with a tangle of tiny vines. Surmounting
this picturesque pedestal is an obelisk of black-veined marble on
a granite base, the whole rising some seven feet from the ground.
On the polished surface of this memorial pillar is inscribed, in
large black capitals, the following classic and touching tribute
to the venerable departed who sleeps in peace below:
IN MEMORIAM
TOMMY
FELINI GENERIS
OPTIMUS.
DECESSIT A VITA
MENSE NOVEMBRIS
ANNO ÆTATIS 19.
* * * * *
_Quid me ploras? Nonne decessi gravis senectute? Nonne vivo
amicorum ardentium memoria?_
* * * * *
On the reverse side of the column appears an inscription even
more pathetic and poetic, to yet another departed favorite, who
seems, not like Tommy to have been gathered to his fathers ripe
in years and honors but to have been cut down in the bloom
of youth by some untimely and tragic fate. He is all the more
felin'ly lamented:
HIC JACET
PUSSY
SUI GENERIS
PULCHERRIMUS.
OCCISUS EST
MENSE APRILIS
ÆTAT. 9.
* * * * *
"_Vixi, et quum dederat cursum fortuna, peregi. Felix! heu nimium
felix! si litora ista nunquam tetigissem!_"
* * * * *
Thanks to certain by no means homoeopathic doses of the Latin
grammar in my early years, I was able to gather the meaning of
these elegiac effusions, and when the last stanza embodying poor
Pussy's posthumous wail was discovered to be none other than the
despairing death-cry of the "infelix Dido" as immortalized by
Virgil--the one step from the sublime to the ridiculous seemed to
have been passed.
I looked at Nannette, and Nannette looked at me, and we burst
into silent but irrepressible laughter. Nannette was the first to
recover herself.
"We ought to be ashamed of ourselves," said she severely: "Honest
grief is always respectable; and a fitting tribute to departed
worth, no more than what is due from the survivors. I have no
doubt but that Tommy and Pussy were most esteemed members of
society, and that their loss has left an aching void in the
family of which they were the youngest and most petted darlings.
I have heard the history of this monument, and the village that
has grown up around it, and if you will comport yourself more as
a Christian being should in the presence of a solemn memorial, I
will relate to you the interesting facts in my possession."
I immediately signified a due contrition and full purpose of
amendment; when Nannette continued, still speaking with the
gravity befitting the subject.
"This estate then, this large and respectable mansion, and these
pleasant grounds in which we now sit, are the property in common
of three most estimable ladies, all past their first youth, and
all possessed of sufficient good sense and strength of mind to
remain their own mistresses, which has procured for the very
remarkable specimen of ingenuity now before us, from some
ignorant townspeople, the sobriquet of the 'Old Maid's Village.'
"There is only one of the ladies, however, I am informed, who
interests herself in the construction of these most ingenious
toys. Possessed of ample means, and more than ample leisure,
she amuses herself in hours which might otherwise be devoted
to gossip and tea, in putting together these various models
of buildings, all differing in style, and of most singular
materials. The church, for instance, is built of fragments of
clinker, gathered from stove and grate, and held firmly together
by cement. Nothing could have reproduced so exactly the rough
reddish stone of which the old Sleepy Hollow Church is built.
The window-glass is represented by carefully framed pieces of tin
foil; the gray stone of the gate-posts is imitated by sand rubbed
on wooden pillars with a coating of cement. The streets are paved
in much the same clever fashion. The well, the pond, the stream,
are filled with water each day by the chatelaine's own careful
hands. Many of the mimic creatures, human and otherwise, are
automata, manufactured to order; the others are wooden or china
figures selected with extreme care as to their fitness for their
purpose. So rare and so exceedingly pretty are some of these
little figures, that they have become objects of unlawful desire
to certain soulless curiosity-mongers, who have rewarded an open
and confiding hospitality with base attempts at spoliation; and
now a person is employed to live in the cottage just beyond us,
and do little else than take care of these unique possessions.
"No, you need not start. The woman is probably there at her
post, and surveying our operations from time to time. But we
have behaved like decent people. We are taking away nothing but
a remembrance of a singularly interesting hour, and an admiring
impression of the originality, the ingenuity, the industry, and
the independence of one of our own sex.
"Is it not so, my friend? And now, by the length of those cedar
shadows, it is time for us to rise up and be gone. Else the
moonlight will have met and parted with the sunset ere we reach
home."
There was nothing to be said; the tale had been told, and with
one last, lingering glance, one parting smile, half amused, half
touched, I rose, and together we walked home in somewhat pensive
mood. Was it not our last day in Fairyland?--_Kate J. Hill_.
* * * * *
_WINE AND KISSES._