The stately homes of England
How beautiful they stand,
Amidst their tall ancestral trees,
O'er all the pleasant land!
The deer across their greensward bound
Through shade and sunny gleam,
And the swan glides past them with the sound
Of some rejoicing stream.
The merry homes of England--
Around their hearths by night,
What gladsome looks of household love
Meet in the ruddy light!
There women's voice flows forth in song
Or childhood's tale is told
Or lips move tunefully along
Some glorious page of old.
The blessed homes of England,
How softly on their bowers,
Is laid the holy quietness
That breathes from Sabbath hours
Solemn, yet sweet, the church bell's chime
Floats through their woods at morn,
All other sounds at that still time
Of breeze and leaf are born.
Miss Vivyan was the daughter of an officer of high rank in the navy of
Queen Elizabeth, who lost his life in the royal service while his little
girl Anna was still very young. His valor had gained for him many medals
and yet more substantial honors in the form of valuable grants of land
from Her Majesty. This property, added to the family inheritance of
Anna's mother, who was a lady of old and noble race, left both the widow
and her child in very affluent circumstances. The young widow, handsome
and possessed of brilliant talents, attracted many suitors for her hand;
but her heart lay far down beneath the sea with her dead husband, and
she resolved to devote her love and her life to the care of her child.
She accordingly retired to an old manor house on the borders of Wales,
which had descended to her through many generations. The great stone
halls and corridors, the long, low rooms and the little diamond-shaped
window panes, admitting so small an amount of light, might have given to
some minds a feeling of gloom; but both mother and daughter had their
occupations, the one in giving, the other in receiving, an education,
beside the care of all the sick and poor peasants of the neighborhood.
Indeed they were so happy in their affection for each other and found so
much to do, that they had neither the time nor the inclination to
cultivate morbid or gloomy thoughts, which would, they felt, make their
companionship an infliction on every one whom they approached, and unfit
them for the duties of their position. So life went on calmly and
happily with them.
A faithful steward attended to the estates and a good old housekeeper
managed the servants, always keeping order, discipline and peace in the
establishment. Twice a year they were allowed to have a dance in the
servants' hall, one at Christmas and the other on Anna's birthday, on
which occasions they invited the sons and daughters of the neighboring
farmers, and the tradespeople who supplied the manor house. The village
shoemaker, the tailor, and the blacksmith were the musicians, and to the
strains of two violins and a clarionet, they merrily danced through the
livelong night, such good old figures as Sir Roger de Coverly, Speed the
Plough, and the Cushion dance, till the rising sun streamed in at the
windows and warned them that it was time to blow out the candles, take
off their holiday garb, and assume their daily work. As for the mistress
of the mansion, she found her pleasures in the duties of her position
and the rich companionship of a well stocked library. She had no
neighbors of her own rank within several miles distance, no one to visit
or to be visited by, with the exception of the old bachelor clergyman of
the parish, whose formal calls took place at stated intervals, unless
some sudden case of want among the poor caused him to ask her aid, for
he knew very well that her heart and hand went forth on every occasion
of distress. Hers it was to soothe and cheer and comfort and help, and
many a thorny path was made smooth and many a heavy burden lifted by her
brave and generous spirit and the pleasant, cheerful way she had of
doing such things. In the presence of others she made a duty of
cultivating cheerfulness of manner. Not that she ever for a moment
forgot the recollection of her love and her loss; but she considered her
sorrows too sacred for a subject of conversation on one hand, and on the
other, that her grief was her own, and that she had no right to intrude
it upon others, or to weigh down and sadden their lives by what was sent
for her to bear. Hence her presence was always welcome to the peasants,
who regarded her with reverence and affection, as she passed,
accompanied by her little daughter, from cottage to cottage leaving some
dainty for the sick, or an article of clothing for the needy.
Years went by and Anna had left babyhood far behind her and was now a
girl of fifteen. Her mother at this period, decided that it was time to
call in the aid of masters to assist in her daughter's education.
Accordingly, such were summoned from a distant town. There was a master
for the minuette and the gavotte, a master for the harpsichord, a master
for the French and Italian languages, and so on. The days and hours were
all laid out systematically, giving an abundance of time for physical
training and out-door life, but with the exception of the masters for
music and dancing (more especially the former) none of these instructors
made much impression upon the girl's mind. Her heart and soul were given
to music. While she was in the house her time was spent between the old
church organ that stood in the hall, and the harpsichord which adorned
the long, oak-panelled drawing-room. When out of doors she was forever
listening to the music of nature, the wind through the trees, the dash
of the water-fall, the rippling of the brook, all had their charm and
fascination, for nature never played out of tune. She would try to make
out what key these sounds were in, whether they varied at different
seasons, or if change in the weather made them alter,
Music was her passion, her love, her life.
Just at that time, two new inmates were added to the manor house family.
Young Cecil Vyvyan, a cousin of Anna's, who was of the same age as
herself, and his tutor, Dr. Strickland, a grave, middle-aged Scotch
doctor of philosophy. The boy's parents were in India, which caused the
widow to suggest to them that he should, for a few years, make his home
with her, in order that she might watch over his health, which was
exceedingly delicate.
It was in the twilight of a day late in the autumn that Anna waited in
the large old-fashioned library to make the first acquaintance of her
cousin. In the broad stone fireplace, logs of beech and chestnut were
piled up on the hearth, across brass dogs, where they blazed, and
glowed, and lighted up the comfortable looking room, with its dark,
massive, carved oak furniture, its painted glass windows, its rich but
faded velvet draperies, interspersed here and there with a piece of old
tapestry, the needlework of the ladies of former generations. A few
family portraits, and well-filled bookcases of vellum-bound octavos,
quartos and folios. As the butler threw open the door of the room and
announced Master Cecil Vyvyan, Anna went forward to greet the latter,
and almost gave a start of surprise at seeing the real cousin differ so
much from the ideal one which she had pictured to herself; for she
expected to find Cecil of the same type as the English boys that she had
always seen. She thought he would be large of his age, with a fresh rosy
complexion, bright eyes, an open countenance, crowned with masses of
rich, curling locks. Strong and healthy, overflowing with buoyant
spirits, agile and ready for active service either of work or play.
Instead of which there stood before her one of small stature and thin,
diminutive figure, with a pale, weary-looking face and tired eyes, which
apparently did not observe any of the objects by which he was
surrounded, but concentrated their gaze upon the young girl only, with
whom he stood face to face, carefully regarding her with that scrutiny
which we are all wont to use when we first make the acquaintance of a
new relative.
Anna gave him her hand and welcomed him with a few kind words. As the
boy and girl stood there, no two cousins could have appeared more
externally unlike, and yet never were two more alike in their highest
tastes and deepest feelings. But an ordinary looker-on would only see
the boy so small, and quiet, and weary, and the girl so tall, and
active, and healthy, abounding in lively spirits, in the full enjoyment
of her young life, with the mother she adored, thinking nothing could be
more beautiful than her picturesque old home and its surroundings of
hill and valley, and woodland, and broad green meadows, and turning over
in her mind how she would show Cecil all the favorite haunts. The lily
pond in the park, the finest view of the Welsh mountains, and the right
place for a good gallop--then the ponies, and the dogs, and the fish
pools.
"You must be tired from so long a journey, Cousin Cecil," said she, "let
me bring this armchair; it is the most restful one in the whole house.
It has a pedigree, too, the same as you and I have. It belonged to our
great-grandfather, Sir Vyell Vyvyan, and was made more than a hundred
years ago from one of the oaks which grew in the north grove in the
park," so saying she laid one hand on the back of a huge, cumbersome
piece of furniture, and rolled it across the room up in front of the
glowing logs.
It was now Cecil's turn to be amazed, how could she move that great,
clumsy thing, he pondered to himself, I could not. With a gentle thank
you, and bowing gracefully to her, he sank into their great-grandfather's
chair, and was almost lost sight of among the ample velvet cushions.
Anna who had seated herself on one side of the fireplace, was watching
the pale face, and the weary eyes that were looking dreamily at the
fantastic shapes which from time to time the glowing embers assumed.
Presently a slight, convulsive shudder passed through the boy's frame
and a quiet little sigh escaped him.
He is sad, thought Anna, perhaps he is thinking of his home in Calcutta,
poor fellow, I must do something to amuse him. At the same instant, what
she considered a very happy thought suggested itself.
"I am so glad you came, Cousin Cecil," said she "they say you will soon
get well and strong here. I have a little terrier that catches rats, you
shall take him out in the morning, if you like, and the gardener's boy
will show you where you can kill plenty."
"I don't kill rats," he replied, still keeping his eyes fixed upon the
burning logs and striving to follow the outlines of a fairy island with
palms and tropical plants and ferns as tall as forest trees, which, in
his imagination, he saw there.
"Do you go with your terrier to kill rats?" he inquired, with the
slightest tone of sarcasm in his voice.
"Oh, no," replied the girl, "but I thought you would like to. Most boys
are amused by it, they call it sport, and you know the rats must be
killed or we should have them running behind the wainscot of all the
rooms in the house, and the gamekeeper would not be able to rear the
young pheasants, and we should have no chickens nor pigeons, nor
anything of the kind."
"Why, Cousin Anna," said the boy, "have you a Scotch governess, and does
she make you give a reason for every thing, and give you her reason in
return? That's what Dr. Strickland does with me. It tires me dreadfully,
and I don't see what use it is, for I always know things without
reasoning about them; they come to me of themselves."
Anna, in her eagerness to show kindness to the guest of the house, and
to divert what seemed to her his sad thoughts, did not stop to make any
reply, but rose and hastily crossed over to one of the bookcases,
bringing back in her arms a large folio, full of colored illustrations
of field sports.
"Now, Cousin Cecil," said she, drawing up a chair close by the side of
his, and laying the folio open upon her lap, "this will please you I am
sure; this is not about rats, but thorough-bred horses and dogs,
stag-hounds and fox-hounds. Did you ever hear that our grandfather kept
a pack of fox-hounds here, that is a hundred dogs you know. I will take
you to the kennels and the huntman's lodge some day soon."
Cecil did not know that a hundred dogs made a pack, for he had passed
all his life in India, until a few months previous to his coming to the
manor house.
"Look at this picture of coursing, here is another of hawking, and now
see these otter hounds."
"The landscape is beautiful," said the boy. "I like the soft gray light
on those distant hills in the background, but I do not care about
pictures of horses and dogs; please take them away. I like to see the
animals moving in the fields, but I think all this kind of sport is very
cruel."
This was said in an extremely gentle way, and at the same time with an
inflection of the voice which made a deep impression upon his listener.
I wonder what I can do to amuse him, thought Anna; I don't suppose he
would care to look at my last piece of embroidery, or hear how many
sonatas I can play; I am afraid he is sorry he came here, perhaps he was
thinking of the Himalaya mountains, when he said he liked those hills
in the picture. Most boys like out-door amusements, she again thought to
herself, and acting upon the idea of the moment.
"Cecil," said she, "we have two capital ponies, we will go out in the
forenoon to-morrow if you like, for we are to have a holiday from our
studies all day, in honor of your coming here."
Again a gentle "thank you" from Cecil, his tired eyes still seeking air
castles among the red and gray embers of the fire. After some minutes
silence, he turned to look at the tall old clock in the corner, which,
in addition to the hours and minutes depicted upon its face, was adorned
with supposed likenesses of the sun and moon and other heavenly bodies,
beside the terrestrial globe which represented Jerusalem as being
situated in the very center of the earth's surface.
The same old clock, which had stood in the same corner of the library
long enough to mark the hours of the births and marriages, the meetings
and partings, and death, of several generations of the Vyvyans, now
chimed in slow, subdued tones, through which ran the echo of a wail,
like the voice of a human being, who has seen much and suffered much.
"Dr. Strickland will expect me to return to him now, Cousin Anna, so I
must say 'good evening'."
"Before you go, Cecil, tell me at what time you will be ready to ride
with me to-morrow?"
"I must ask my tutor," he replied.
"Very well, you can let me know at breakfast time. I suppose you can
find your way to your part of the house, follow straight along the
corridor till you come to the south wing at the end. Your study and all
the other rooms for you and Dr. Strickland are there. Good night."
The next day the ponies were brought round to the hall door immediately
after luncheon, and the boy and girl were mounted. Cecil, whose chief
mode of locomotion had hitherto been in a palanquin, did not by any
means enjoy his present situation; but as he made no remark, his cousin
supposed he was as pleased and jubilant at having an opportunity of
seeing the beautiful surroundings of the place as she was showing them.
They rode through the park, down the long avenue of oaks and beeches,
and out by the keeper's lodge to the lake, and then away over the hill
among the scattered cottages of the peasants, who touched their hats or
curtsied as the cousins rode by. Anna always returning their salutations
with some pleasant word or nod, or an inquiry after their welfare. At
last they turned their ponies homeward. The boy all the while silent;
the girl chattering and explaining and repeating anecdotes which had
been told to her, and laughing merrily at the ludicrous passages in
them. As they were again entering the park, the boy's riding whip
slipped out of his hand and fell to the ground. Looking at his cousin
with a grave expression of face, he said,
"I have dropped my whip, what shall I do?"
"Dismount and pick it up," replied Anna.
"But I cannot," he replied, "I am afraid I could not mount again without
the groom to help me."
"Very well, then I will get it," so down she sprang, passed up the whip
to Cecil, and bounding into her saddle again was off at a canter before
the boy could say a word.
"Come along, Cecil," she cried, looking back, "come along, this is the
finest stretch of ground in the country for a race."