so surprised at the house and its furniture, that I hardly noticed our
reception. Was it possible, thought I, that those gorgeously apparelled
women came out of those low, poorly furnished rooms, with their stiff,
old-fashioned chairs, and no carpets, no sofas--no silver forks at
tea--in short, few of those little luxuries that long use makes almost
necessaries. Virginia explained the incongruity to me by saying that
cousin Tom, as she called old Mr. Buckley, refused to allow the least
change to be made in their household arrangements. His daughters might
travel and spend as much money as they pleased, but not one of their
new-fangled notions were allowed to be introduced into the family. To
make up for every other deficiency, there was a most bewildering number
of servants of all ages and sizes. They ran about the house like tame
kittens. Two accompanied me to my room at night, and three assisted, to
my great embarrassment, at my morning toilet.
Mr. Buckley was a stout, uneducated, kind-hearted sort of a man, with
a high appreciation of a mint-julep and a good cigar, and an intense
dislike of Yankees. This was so much a part of his nature that he
could not help expressing it even to me, and it was so genuine, that,
notwithstanding my natural pride in my birthright, I caught myself
insensibly sympathizing. Towards me personally, as a woman and a
stranger, he evidently felt nothing but a sort of tender pity and
concern. This he showed in the only way he could think of, by mixing me
a very strong mint-julep, and urging me to drink it. I tried to please
him--in fact, I had watched the process of making it, and thought I
should like it; but the very first attempt I made, gave me such a fit
of coughing, and came so near strangling me, that I gave up; after
that, we all sat down on the porch together until tea was ready, while
Mr. Buckley smoked his cigar and looked hopelessly at me.
After tea, we returned to the porch and our conversation, and Mr.
Buckley to his cigar. In the course of the evening, I missed Virginia
and my recreant knight, and they did not appear until we were about
separating for the night. Virginia and I were to occupy the same room;
and hardly were we alone before she turned to me, exclaiming, with a
vivacity and eagerness very unusual to her--
"Dear Pauline, how strange you must think my conduct has been lately,
after what you have seen to-day! But let me explain it to you. I would
have spoken openly to you weeks ago, if I had had anything to tell;
but I have been kept as much in the dark as any one until to-day.
When we were children, Philip--Mr. Marshall--and I were constantly
together, and became very much attached to each other; so that when he
went to West Point, though I was but about eleven years old, we were
regularly and solemnly engaged. He did not return to Louden until he
had graduated; for, you know, his father is poor, and they could not
afford him the money for the journey. Then he came, he says, with the
full intention of renewing our childish engagement, if he found me so
disposed; but he thought he ought first to speak to my father about it,
as I was still so young, and father objected so decidedly to anything
of that kind being said to me then, that Philip consented to wait a
little while. He came back in a year, and, as soon as father heard of
it, he sent me down to New Orleans on a visit to my aunt. I don't know
how I discovered the truth; but I did know very well the reason I was
sent off so hastily, and felt very badly about it. Then father and
Philip had another long talk, and Philip promised to wait until I was
eighteen before he made any other attempt to speak to me about what
father calls our ridiculous engagement."
"Oh," said I, "you were eighteen the day of Mrs. Simmons's party--last
Wednesday."
"Yes; and Philip tried to have an explanation with me then; but he
could not, for there were so many people about. He was determined, he
said, this time not to see my father until he had spoken to me, and he
asked me when he could see me alone for a little while. I told him we
had been talking of visiting Nannie and Bettie for some time, and he
said he would accompany us, as they were cousins of his, too--Virginia
cousins, that is, not very near ones."
"What can be your father's objection to Mr. Marshall?" asked I.
"None at all to him; it is to his profession. He wants me settled
near him. He says I am not strong enough to bear the wandering life
and hardships I shall have to encounter as an officer's wife. I
hope, though, that he will give his consent, now that he sees by
our constancy how much we really do like each other. Just think,
dear, until to-day, I have hardly had five minutes' uninterrupted
conversation with Philip since I was eleven, and our engagement was
never alluded to; and yet I never thought of liking any one else, and I
was sure his feelings were unchanged; though, of course, until he told
me so, I could not speak of it even to my dearest friend."
Before Virginia had finished her little romance, my feelings of
annoyance were all lost in sympathy, and we passed the greater part
of the night discussing the manner in which Mr. Percy would receive
Mr. Marshall's third communication. Virginia seemed to have but little
doubt of her father's consent, and neither had I; for I had not yet
met a Southern father who had seemed able to refuse any child of his
whatever she had fixed her heart upon.
But in this case we were both disappointed. Mr. Percy, usually calm and
indulgent, seemed irritated and displeased to an uncommon degree when
Mr. Marshall urged his request. He reminded the young officer that he
was entirely dependent on his pay, which Mr. Percy said he considered
barely enough for one person; told him that, owing to an unfortunate
speculation in buying a plantation in Arkansas, which had turned out
badly, and to the failure of his cotton crop for the last two years,
he had become very much embarrassed, so that he should not be able
to assist his daughter, if she married, for some time. He ended by
repeating his former decision that, accustomed as Virginia had been to
the ease and indulgences of a settled home, he was sure she could never
endure the discomforts of a roving life. When she was twenty-one, she
might judge for herself; until that time, he wished never to hear the
subject mentioned again.
Mr. Marshall was very indignant, and tried to persuade Virginia to
renew her engagement with him without her father's knowledge; but to
this she would not consent, and he was soon afterwards obliged to
return to his post.
Virginia was almost heartbroken at this sudden rupture of a tie that
had been formed in her earliest childhood, and strengthened with every
subsequent year. I tried to persuade her that the three years which
were to intervene before she could make her own decision would pass
very quickly; but, hardly heeding my reasonings, she gave herself up
to hopeless despair. She was sure, she said, her father never would
consent to her union with Philip, and she would never marry without it.
Besides, she did not expect to live to be twenty-one. Long before that
time she should be in her grave.
At first, I paid no attention to these dismal forebodings, thinking
them only the natural expressions of an affectionate heart suffering
under such a great disappointment. But gradually I began to fear that
they should be realized. She would not eat, and grew pale and pined,
and her countenance began to wear an unearthly look of patient sorrow
and resignation that I never observed without a pang. I knew that her
parents had noticed the alteration in Virginia's health and spirits,
for hardly a week passed that some pleasant little excursion or journey
was not proposed to her. And thus the long warm summer wore away.
One afternoon, late in September, I received a note from her, saying
that she had just returned from a visit to the Mammoth Cave, and would
like to see me, to tell me about it. As I had not seen her for three
weeks, I hastened to Mr. Percy's immediately, and running up to her
room, entered without knocking at the half-open door.
Virginia was sitting in the full light of an afternoon sun, whose rays
were streaming in unobstructed by shutters or curtain, seemingly as if
the occupant of the room had lost all thought of bodily comfort. Her
eyes were fixed on a white cloud floating in the distant sky, and as
the wind lifted the heavy bands of hair from her pallid temples, she
looked so spiritualized and incorporeal, that I should hardly have been
surprised if she had floated out to mingle with the clouds on which she
was gazing.
"Why, Virginia, have you been sick?" I asked, after our first hurried
greetings.
"No, dear; do I look badly?"
"Very," was my reply, sincere, if impolitic.
"I am rather glad to hear it," said Virginia, "though of course it will
be painful to me to leave my father and mother, brothers and sisters;
still, I have so little to look forward to in this world, that I cannot
care to live. I feel, myself, that I am growing weaker every day, and
that is one reason that I hurried home; I wanted to see you and leave
some messages with you for Philip."
And Virginia went on to impress upon me a variety of tender messages
I was to remember for Mr. Marshall. I tried to listen, but I hardly
heard what she said, for I was revolving in my mind a bold undertaking.
I knew that Mr. Percy loved his daughter devotedly, and that if once
aware of her danger he would consent to any means that seemed necessary
for her recovery. If I only dared to speak to him about it--but I stood
somewhat in awe of him, which feeling I shared with his children and
most of his younger acquaintances. He had a certain grand magnificent
way with him that I have never seen, excepting in Southern planters,
and but seldom in them. I imagine a Roman patrician may have awed the
populace, and impressed the rude Gauls by somewhat the same air and
bearing.
However, the longer I listened to Virginia's plaintive words and looked
at her sorrowful face, the more I felt that my reverence for her father
was being gradually lost in anger at what I considered his cruel
regardlessness of her feelings. At last I left Virginia as abruptly
as I had entered. I had seen Mr. Percy as I passed, attending to the
grafting of some trees in the fruit orchard, and there I bent my steps.
He greeted me with a pleasant smile, and offered me a large Indian
peach he had just gathered from the tree. It almost seemed as if
he wished to propitiate me, for if I have a weakness it is for
peaches--and this particular kind, with its deep red juicy pulp, was an
especial favorite. But I took it almost unconsciously, and, looking at
him earnestly, I said--
"Mr. Percy, Virginia is very ill."
He looked anxiously upon me.
"She will die," I continued, shaking my head at him.
"Why, Pauline, do you really think so?" asked he; and I could see that
the alarm that had been half roused for some time was now thoroughly
awake, and producing its effect.
"Yes, I do not see how she can recover--unless--"
"Unless what?"
"Unless you send for Lieutenant Marshall immediately."
"Don't you think Dr. Parkinson might do as well?" asked he.
"No," I answered, shortly, looking upon that question as most unkind
trifling with mortal need.
Every one knows the effect that decided impulsive natures have on calm
meditative ones. An act Mr. Percy had been trying to make up his mind
to perform for some time, but had been putting off, in hopes that
secondary measures might avail, he now consented to at once.
"I believe I shall have to do it," he said; "you may tell Virginia so."
My work was but half done. Mr. Percy was a most inveterate dawdle, to
use Fanny Kemble's expressive word. If left to himself, the letter
might be written in a week, but more probably would be put off for a
month. If we lived in antediluvian times, this dilatory way of managing
matters might be of little consequence, but life is too short now to
afford the loss of even a few weeks' happiness.
"Could you not write to Mr. Marshall now? There is plenty of time to
send it to the post-office before dark."
Mr. Percy smiled, and yielded to my request so far as to turn his
steps towards the little building dignified with the name of his
office, though I do not know what business he had to transact there.
He loitered by the way in a manner that tired my patience to its
utmost, and once murmured something about having time to graft another
tree; but, heedless of his evident desire to escape, I walked on with
resolute purpose, and, as you may have seen some stately vessel, with
furled sail, submissively yielding herself up to be dragged into port
by an energetic little steamer, so did Mr. Perry resign himself to the
fate that had for once overtaken him--of doing the right thing at the
right time--and seated himself at his writing-desk.
"How am I to know that Mr. Marshall has not changed his mind?" asked
Mr. Percy, before beginning to write.
"Virginia showed me a letter just now that she received from him a few
hours ago, in which he said that, although she would not consent to any
engagement without your approval, he still and always should, as long
as she remained single, consider himself bound by his boyish promise."
"Desperately romantic!" said Mr. Percy, and then the movement of his
pen told me that he had commenced the epistle that was to put an end to
so much sorrow.
Unable to remain quiet, I leaned out of the window, and beckoned to a
servant I saw loitering at a little distance.
"Jack," said I, as he came near, "your master is writing a letter, wait
here until it is finished, for he will want you to take it directly to
the post-office."
The order to wait was one too congenial to his nature not to be readily
obeyed, and discovering at a glance the capabilities for enjoyment and
repose afforded by an inviting bed of hot sand in which the afternoon
sun was expending its last fierce blaze, Jack threw himself down in it,
and I had soon the satisfaction of seeing that he was sound asleep, and
therefore in no danger of being out of the way when he was wanted.
"Would you like to read the letter, Miss Pauline?" asked Mr. Percy,
when he had finished it.
I was very glad to avail myself of this permission. I found that it
contained a cordial, though dignified invitation to Mr. Marshall
to return to Louden, with a full consent to the engagement between
Virginia and himself.
Giving the letter to Jack with directions to put it in the post-office
without delay, I hurried to Virginia with the joyful tidings. I
expected a burst of tears and an infinitude of thanks. Instead of
either, when I had finished my story, she said, in a slightly aggrieved
tone--
"I am sorry, Pauline, you told father I should certainly die unless he
sent for Philip. It will make him think me so weak."
"Why, Virginia," I exclaimed, taken quite by surprise, "what should I
have said?"
"You might have said that I was not very well, or something of that
kind."
"And then he would have sent for Dr. Parkinson, and the only result
would have been a few doses of calomel or quinine. No, dear, I never
once thought of your not being well. I felt sure you would die, and I
said so. I am sorry it troubles you, but I think it was the best thing
I could do."
Virginia blushed the next time she saw her father, as if he had been
her lover instead; but, as he said nothing to her on the subject,
she gradually recovered from her embarrassment, and by the time Mr.
Marshall joined her she had so far recovered her health as to be able
to enjoy without a drawback what some people consider the happiest part
of one's life.
Mr. Percy did not relinquish his desire to have his daughter settled
near him, and one or two successful years enabled him to effect his
wishes. Lieutenant Marshall was induced to resign from the army, and
with his wife and six children he is now living and prospering on a
plantation; and in the substantial person of Mrs. Marshall, anxious and
troubled about many things in her household and maternal concerns, I
find it hard to discover the least trace of the shadowy and ethereal
girl who had seemed to me at one time much more a part of the spirit
world than of this material sphere.
GODEY'S COURSE OF LESSONS IN DRAWING.
LESSON II.
[Illustration: Fig. 11.]
We now proceed to the drawing of curved lines, as in Fig. 11. And as
these are the basis of innumerable forms, the pupil must not rest
satisfied with a few attempts at forming them; she must try and try
again, until she is able, with a single sweep, to draw them correctly.
They must be done in one stroke, no piecing being allowed. Let the
curved line _a_ be first produced; beginning at the top, bring the arm
or wrist down, so that at one operation the form may be traced; do this
repeatedly, until the correct outline is attained at every trial. The
pupil may next proceed to the curved line _b_, which is merely the line
_a_ in another position; then, after repeated trials, the lines _c_,
_d_, _e_, _g_, and _h_ may be drawn. These curves should be attempted
to be drawn in all manner of positions, beginning at the top, then at
the bottom, and making the curve upwards, and so on, until the utmost
facility is attained in drawing them, howsoever placed. The curved
line, generally known as the "line of beauty," _f a b´_, must next be
mastered; it is of the utmost importance to be able to do this easily
and correctly. In all these and the future elementary lessons, the
pupil must remember that when failing to draw a form correctly, she
should at once rub it out or destroy it, and commence a new attempt.
Having, then, acquired a ready facility in drawing the simple
elementary curved lines, the pupil may next proceed to the combination
of these, as exemplified in simple figures, as circles and ellipses, or
ovals. First attempt to draw the circle _a´ b_, Fig. 12; beginning at
_a´_, sweep round by the right down to _b_, then from _b_ towards the
left and up to _a´_, where the circle was first begun. The pupil may
also try to draw it by going the reverse way to the above. We are quite
aware that it will be found rather a difficult matter to draw a circle
correctly at the first, or rather even after repeated attempts; but the
pupil must not be discouraged; by dint of practice she will be able to
draw circles of any size very correctly. We have seen circles drawn by
hand so that the strictest test applied could scarcely point out an
error in their outline, so correctly were they put in. Circles within
circles may be drawn, as at _c´_; care should be taken to have the
lines at the same distance from each other all round. The ellipse _a b_
must next be attempted; this is a form eminently useful in delineating
a multiplicity of forms met with in practice. Ovals within ovals may
also be drawn, as at _c d_.
[Illustration: Fig. 12.]
At this stage, the pupil ought to be able to draw combinations of
straight and curved lines, as met with in many forms which may be
presented to her in after-practice. The examples we intend now to place
before her are all in pure outline, having no reference to picturesque
arrangement, but designed to aid the pupil in drawing outlines with
facility; and to prove to her, by a progression of ideas, that the
most complicated forms are but made up of lines of extreme simplicity;
that although in the aggregate they may look complicated, in reality,
when carefully analyzed, they are amazingly simple. Again, although
the pupil may object to them as being simple and formal--in fact, not
picturesque or decorative enough to please her hasty fancy--she ought
to recollect that, before being able to delineate objects shown to her
eye perspectively, she must have a thorough knowledge of the method of
drawing the outlines of which the objects are composed, and a facility
in making the hand follow aptly and readily the dictation of the eye.
These can be alone attained by a steady application to elementary
lessons.
[Illustration: Fig. 13.]
Fig. 13 is the moulding, or form known in architecture as the
"echinus," or quarter-round. First draw the line _a c_, then _b b_ at
the proper distance; next mark with the eye the point _b_ on the line
_b b_, to which the curve from _a_ joins; then put in the curve _a b_
with one sweep. The curved portion of the moulding in Fig. 14, known
as the "ogee," must be put in at one stroke of the pencil or chalk,
previously drawing the top and bottom lines.
[Illustration: Fig. 14.]
Fig. 15 is the "scotia;" it is formed geometrically by two portions of
a circle, but the pupil should draw the curve at once with the hand.
It is rather a difficult one to draw correctly, but practice will soon
overcome the difficulty.
[Illustration: Fig. 15.]
Fig. 16 is termed the "cyma recta;" it affords an exemplification of
the line of beauty given in Fig. 11.
[Illustration: Fig. 16.]
Should the pupil ever extend the practice of the art beyond the simple
lessons we have given her, she will find, in delineating the outlines
of numerous subjects presented her, the vast utility of the "practice"
which we have placed before her in the foregoing examples. In sketching
ancient or modern architectural edifices, she will find the forms we
have presented of frequent recurrence.
We shall now proceed to give examples of the combinations of the forms
or outlines we have just noticed.
Fig. 17 is half of the base of an architectural order frequently met
with, called the "Doric."
[Illustration: Fig. 17.]
[Illustration: Fig. 18.]
[Illustration: Fig. 19.]
Fig. 18 affords an exemplification of the outline of part of a
"cornice" belonging to the Tuscan order. Let us slightly analyze the
supposed proceedings of the pupil in delineating this. Suppose Fig.
19 to be the rough sketch as first attempted. On examining the copy as
given in Fig. 18, the pupil will at once perceive that the proportions
are very incorrect; thus, the distance between the two upper lines, as
at _d_, is too little, the fillet being too narrow; again, the point
_c_, which regulates the extent of the curve from _a_, is too far from
_a_, while the line _c c´_ is too near the line _d_; the space between
_c c´_ and the line below it is too wide, and the line _f_ is not
perpendicular, but slopes outwards towards _f_; the distance between
the line _f g_ and the one immediately above it is also too narrow by
at least one-third. Again, the point _h_, where the portion of the
circle begins, is too near the point _f_; the line _i_ is also too
near that of _f g_; the outline of the curve is not correct, it being
too much bulged out near the point _k_; the line _n_ is not straight,
and that marked _m_ is too far from the extreme end of the line.
The pupil has here indicated a method of analyzing her proceedings,
comparing them with the correct copy, which she would do well, in her
earlier practice, to use pretty frequently, until she is perfectly at
home in correct delineation of outlines. It may be objected that this
analysis is hypercriticism utterly uncalled for, from the simplicity
of the practice; but let it be noted that if the pupil is not able, or
unwilling to take the necessary trouble to enable her to draw simple
outlines correctly, how can she be prevented, when she proceeds to more
complicated examples, from drawing difficult outlines incorrectly? We
hold that if a thing is worth doing at all, it is worth doing well;
and how can a pupil do a thing correctly, unless from correct models
or rules? and how can she ascertain whether she is following them,
unless by careful comparison and examination? How often are the works
of painters and artists found fault with, from the incorrectness of
outline, and the inconsistency of measurement observable, which might
be obviated by a more careful attention to the minute details, but are
too frequently spurned at by aspiring artists; but of which, after all,
the most complicated picture is but a combination? Thus the outline
in Fig. 19 presents all the lines and curves found in Fig. 18, but
the whole forms a delineation by no means correct; and if a pupil is
allowed to run from simple lessons without being able to master them,
then the foundation of the art is sapped, and the superstructure
certainly endangered. Correct outlining must be attained before the
higher examples of art can be mastered.
[Illustration: Fig. 20.]
Fig. 20 is an outline sketch of the ornament called a quatre-foil,
frequently met with in architectural and artistic decoration. It will
be a somewhat difficult example to execute at first, but it affords
good and useful practice.
Fig. 21 is part of the arch and mullion of a window.
Fig. 22 is an outline sketch of a Gothic recess in a wall.
[Illustration: Fig. 21.]
[Illustration: Fig. 22.]
The reader will perceive that in all the foregoing designs, although
consisting of pure outline, there exists a large amount of practice,
which, if she has carefully mastered, will be of eminent service to her
in the higher branches of the art.
* * * * *
CELESTIAL LOVE LETTERS.