The Friends' Seminary--The Principal Chappaqua
Residences--Reminiscences of Paris during the War--An Accomplished
Lady--Her Voice--Festivities--A Drive to Rye Lake--Making Tea on the
Beach--A Sail at Sunset--Fortune-telling by Firelight--The Drive
Home--Sunday Morning--A Row on the Pond--Dramatic Representations in
the Barn--A Drive to Lake Wampas--Starlight Row.
_August 24_.
A visit last night from Mr. Collins, the Principal of Chappaqua
Institute. This gentleman is one of our neighbors; so when the duties
of school hours are over, he frequently calls in to play a game of
croquet, or to join in the evening rubber of whist, of which Marguerite
and Gabrielle are so fond. I had often heard his name before he was
introduced to us, and imagined, from his responsible position, that he
must be some staid, gray-haired Quaker; but, upon meeting him, I was
surprised to discover that, although Principal of the "Friends'
Seminary," he belonged to the "world's people"; and was quite young
enough to impress the more susceptible among his young lady pupils.
_August 27_.
In speaking of the handsome residences about and near Chappaqua, I have
unintentionally overlooked one of the finest among them. It is
situated about half-way between Chappaqua and Mount Kisco; and so far
as I can judge by a view from the road, the grounds are both extensive
and well cultivated. The house stands back from the road, and is quite
imbedded in trees, and the lawn and flower-beds are very prettily laid
out.
Upon asking Bernard one day, as we were driving to Mount Kisco, to whom
this place belonged, he said that he had forgotten the owner's name,
but believed he was now in Europe; and it was not until quite recently
that I ascertained it was the property of Mr. Elliott O. Cowdin, of New
York City, Paris, or Westchester County. I really do not know which
place to accredit to him as his residence.
Yesterday Mr. Cowdin dined with us, and we had quite a merry time
recalling our adventures upon leaving Paris in 1870. It was only three
days before the battle of Sedan, when every one was rushing away from
the doomed city, that we also decided to leave; and Mr. Cowdin was very
kind in helping us off. We had many tribulations and delays in
procuring our tickets, and having our luggage registered, for thousands
were waiting in the Gare St. Lazare to escape from the range of
Prussian shells; but between the energy of Mr. Cowdin and his servant
Harry, and the talismanic name of Washburne (for our ambassador had
kindly given us his card to present at the ticket and freight offices),
we succeeded in running the blockade much easier than we had
anticipated. Once in the waiting-room, we seated ourselves upon our
bags, for every chair had been taken hours before, and waited for the
twelve o'clock train. We sat patiently for an hour, and were then
informed it would not start until six, for what reason we could not
learn; for French officials can never be induced to give you any
information.
At the close of another hour, we were not only white with alarm,
supposing the Prussians were at the city gates, but were also in a
starving condition, having eaten nothing since our eight o'clock
breakfast of chocolate and rolls. What to do we did not know; the
doors of the waiting-room were closed, and despite the shrieks and
frantic kicks of the terrified and penned-up passengers, no egress was
permitted. Finally, our party of five helpless women decided to appeal
to Mr. Cowdin, feeling confident that he would devise some means to
relieve our forlorn condition. A piteous note was accordingly written,
informing him that we should be prisoners until six o'clock, and
appealing to his American chivalry to come and share our confinement
with us, and to fetch some bread and butter, of which we stood sorely
in need.
Among the employees of the station a messenger was found, and in less
than an hour Mr. Cowdin's friendly face was seen, as he made his way
through the crowd, followed by the invaluable Harry with a basket. An
impromptu table-cloth, consisting of newspapers, was spread upon the
floor, and we gathered about our feast, the other passengers meantime
eying us hungrily, as roast chicken, Bordeaux, and a four-pound loaf
appeared from the basket.
That was my last meal in Paris, and although the circumstances appeared
very amusing as we talked them over with Mr. Cowdin yesterday, they
were anything but entertaining at that time, expecting momentarily as
we did that a shell would explode among us.
_August 31_.
I have just returned from a walk to the station to meet our friend,
Mrs. George Gilman, whom we expected would spend the day with us, but
found instead a note from her saying that ill-health would prevent her
from visiting us at present.
Mrs. Gilman is a dear friend of ours, and a charming and accomplished
woman. Her elegant drawing-rooms upon Lexington Avenue are a resort
for not only the fashionable world, but a favorite rendezvous for the
principal vocalists and pianists of the city, for Mrs. Gilman is
perhaps the only amateur in New York society whose voice equals
Carlotta Patti's in extent, and the ease with which her flute-like
tones reach G in alt. Her voice has been carefully trained by many of
the great New York masters, and has also had the advantage of Paris
instruction. Therefore we may congratulate ourselves that we possess
in private life, one who would make so admirable a prima donna.
_September 6_.
My journal, about which I am usually so conscientious, has been
neglected for nearly a week, for we have had a succession of visitors,
and my time has been entirely taken up with drives, games of croquet,
and starlight walks.
On Saturday, several friends came up with papa in the morning train;
some merely to pass the day, and others to make a longer stay with us.
Mr. James Parton, the well-known author, had not visited dear Chappaqua
in twenty years, and was desirous of seeing the changes that time had
effected in this lovely spot. Others, too, were visiting us for the
first time, and preferred to see the wild, picturesque beauties of the
place, rather than to drive, ride, or play croquet; consequently the
company soon divided. One party strolled off through the woods, and
followed the course of the brook up to our tiny cascade--now, however,
swollen by the heavy rains we have recently had into quite a noisy and
impetuous waterfall, while others who had earlier in the season spent
long mornings with us under the pines and beneath the oaks on the
side-hill, now enrolled themselves in Gabrielle's regiment, confident
that she would lead them to a glorious victory on the field of croquet.
We did not assemble again until our two o'clock dinner, and as soon as
that meal was over, we started upon the long-contemplated picnic to Rye
Lake. A large six-seated carriage and a pair of stout horses had been
hired, and Ida's own phaeton and ponies were also at the door to convey
our party to that most romantic sheet of water.
Every seat in the two conveyances was occupied, and all the available
corners were filled with tightly packed baskets, containing charcoal
and pine-cones to kindle a fire upon the smooth beach, tea-kettles and
teapots, table linen, dishes and provisions. The drive was one of the
most delightful that we have yet had, and was heightened by the dreamy
haze of autumn, that is now faintly perceptible.
The lake is private property, and picnics are frowned upon; however,
the most attractive gentleman in our party was sent to ask permission
for us to pass the afternoon there, and a cordial assent was quickly
granted.
A well-trimmed sward, shaded by fine old oaks, was selected as the most
suitable place to lay the cloth, and then, to pass away the time until
six o'clock, several of the party went out in a row-boat.
"We were absent an hour or more, playing cards, singing, and drifting
about; now and then grazing a rock, or narrowly escaping an upset,
owing to the disproportion of weight among the passengers, and at
sunset returned to our encampment. Here we found a blazing fire, and
the tea-kettle singing joyously. An extensive meal was spread upon a
neat white cloth, and we grouped about it upon our bright carriage
rugs, so like leopard skins with their black spots upon a yellow
ground. Hot tea was a very agreeable substitute for the lemonade that
generally forms the beverage at picnics, and as we all had excellent
appetites, the meal passed off very pleasantly.
"What are we to do now!" inquired one restless being, as we walked down
to the beach, leaving Bernard to consume the _débris_ of the feast and
collect the dishes.
"I think this fire so comfortable," said one of the young ladies, "that
I mean to remain beside it, as it is now dark and rather chill."
"Let us play whist by the firelight," was suggested by those who had
not been out in the boat.
"Or, better still, have our fortunes told by its light," said Ida,
throwing a couple of branches upon the burning coals.
"Delightful!" exclaimed Marguerite. "I have not forgotten that we have
among us a Gypsy Queen, whose predictions are always realized;" turning
to a pretty blonde, whose delicate features and sunny curls testified
that she was only a gypsy through her talent for unveiling the future
to her friends.
The rugs were accordingly spread out upon the beach, and we gathered
about the fire whilst the cards were being shuffled and cut for the
past, present, and future. A weird sight it was, and one that the
great Rembrandt would have delighted to paint: a background of dark,
silent trees, before us the motionless lake, illumined by the silver
crescent then setting, while the faint glimmer of starlight, and the
fiery glow of the burning wood, lit up the face of our young seeress,
as with a puzzled brow, but a pretty air of faith, she bent over the
talismanic cards.
In turn our fortunes were all told, and not a little wonder was excited
when some hidden page of the past, as a former engagement, or a
never-mentioned marriage, was disclosed.
One young man was told that he would live happily, but always be
poor--a destiny that he received with a droll air of resignation and
philosophy; while another was warned to beware of a blonde enemy,
causing him to recoil with a look of mock terror from the fair-haired
Philippe Hubert who sat beside him.
An elegant young Englishman was alternately inspirited and depressed,
by hearing that an uncle in India was about to leave him a legacy, and
that a tailor's bill of many years' standing was now upon its way to
him, whilst for all the young ladies a brilliant future was predicted.
My fortune was, however, quite mysterious. I was told to beware of a
male enemy, and two rivals, a blonde and a brunette, and was in
imminent danger of poison. I was soon to be engaged to a poor man, but
was to marry a millionnaire, who would leave me a widow at the end of
five years' time. Whether I was then to
"--marry my own love,"
the oracle did not disclose.
Then ensued the long drive home. The air was chill but exhilarating,
and we sung and told ghost stories, and were astonished, when at last
we dashed through a white gate, to find ourselves at home once more.
It was ten o'clock the next morning before we were all assembled at the
breakfast-table, and we had scarcely risen from our last cups of
coffee, when a couple of friends arrived upon the slow Sunday train.
How we were now to amuse ourselves was the question for the proximity
of a church compelled very quiet demeanor. Finally we had a brilliant
idea: the stone barn which had been filled only a few days previous
with fresh, sweet hay, would be just the place to spend the morning.
Accordingly we walked up there, pausing, however, on the way for a row
on the pond in our pretty blue boat, and then ensued two charming
hours. We mounted the hay-loft, and nestled down in the soft mounds
(to the detriment of our black dresses, by the way, for upon emerging
we were covered with burrs and straws), and being far from reproving
ears we sung both sacred and secular music, and laughed at a droll
impersonation, of Fechter's Claude--
"Ah! false one,
It is ze Prince zow lovest, not ze man," etc.,
and an equally comic burlesque upon Forrest, and were very sorry to
learn that the carriages were waiting to take us to Lake Wampas.
[Illustration: The Stone Barn.]
"A new lake?" inquired a friend who had already accompanied us to Rye
and Croton Lakes; "pray how many does Westchester County possess?"
Each new one is of course the prettiest, and beautiful as Rye Lake had
been the previous night under the influence of the setting sun, and
starlight, we all decided that Lake Wampas was simply perfect.
Dinner was ready upon our return, and before the dessert was placed
upon the table a warning whistle was heard, and several of our friends
were obliged to bid us a hasty adieu, and rush through Bischoff's
garden to catch the train.
In the evening we walked up to the pond for a row among the
water-lilies by starlight. There we found the bonny blue boat awaiting
us, but the oars had disappeared. Whether Bernard disapproved of
water-parties on Sunday, or had merely put the oars away for safety, we
could not tell, but having gone so far, we were determined not to be
disappointed, so we embarked, and with an old garden-rake, and a long
pole to propel the boat, we succeeded, at all events, in having a very
laughable row.
The next morning our friends left us; the play-days were over, and we
once more settled ourselves to study.