For thee my borders nurse the fragrant wreath,
My fountain murmurs and my zephyrs breathe;
Slow glides the painted snail, the gilded fly
Smooths his fine down to charm thy curious eye;
On twinkling fins my scaly nations play,
Or wind, with sinuous train, their trackless way.
My plumy pairs, in gay embroidery dressed,
Form with ingenious skill the pensile nest;
To Love's sweet notes attune the listening dell,
And Echo sounds her soft symphonious shell.
_The Botanic Garden_.
Betimes the next morning the botanical party were in the saddle.
Mrs. Shortridge rode a mule, the especial favorite of the commissary,
for her sure foot and easy gaits, and Lady Mabel was mounted on her
Andalusian, on whose education Lieut. Goring had bestowed such pains:
but on this occasion she ungratefully omitted to summon her equerry to
attend her.
Descending the granite hill of Elvas, they rode westward across the
fertile valley, their road shut in on either hand by luxuriant
evergreen hedges; for here the dark clay soil was all under
cultivation, and carefully laid out into garden, orchard, or field.
They passed under the arches of the great aqueduct that stretched its
tortuous length across the undulating vale; they paused to admire its
peculiarity of style and structure, and the greatness of the work; to
wonder at the crooked course it ran, and yet more at the little use
the people of Elvas made of its waters for cleaning purposes. Then,
hastening on, they found themselves, at the end of some five miles, in
an open and elevated country. Dismounting here, they left the horses
to the care of their servants. The riding skirts fell to the ground,
the ladies stepped forth in walking costume, and the party commenced
their ramble after flowers, plants, and scenery, directing their steps
toward the high grounds to the northwest of Elvas.
For two or three hours they got on famously. There was much that was
new, curious, and beautiful, to be gazed on and admired, wondered at,
and collected. Lady Mabel, with the enthusiasm of a young botanist and
a younger traveler, found treasures at every step. The gentle morning
breeze came refreshingly down from the hills before them, laden with
the perfumes of opening spring; the rich aroma of the gum-cistus, the
fragrance of the wild rosemary, and many another sweet-scented plant,
pervading the air, yet not oppressing the breath. Mrs. Shortridge
expressed, rather strongly, perhaps, her delight at the contrast
between the sweet-smelling country and the unsavory towns of the
Portuguese. She quoted, with no little unction, the proverb: "God made
the country, man made the town," as if she had never fully felt its
force till now.
"We may say more broadly," observed L'Isle, "that God makes nature and
man defiles it."
"I am truly glad," said Mrs. Shortridge, "that these filthy people
have not been able to defile their whole land."
Gradually the sunbeams grew hotter, the mountain breeze became a
sultry breath, the ground steeper and more rugged, and their
accumulating floral treasures more and more cumbrous. Lady Mabel
seemed to take delight in adding every moment to the load L'Isle
carried. "You must know," she said, "that the pupil is always the
packhorse on these occasions," and she insisted on Mrs. Shortridge
bearing her share of the burden. This lady at first had talked
incessantly, but had gradually less and less to say, and at length was
reduced to silence from sheer want of breath. She had frequently to
rest for a few minutes, and was coming fast to the conviction that
rural excursions on a hot day, and flower-hunting over rough ground,
were less pleasant than she thought at first. The hills, bare of
trees, exposed them to the full power of the sun, yet were covered
with a growth of tall heaths, mingled with patches of the _cistus
ladaniferus_, which covers so much of the surface of the slaty hills
of this region. The close growth and gummy exudations of this plant
often made the thickets impenetrable, and forced the party to many a
long circuit, in their efforts to reach the ridge of the high
grounds. Mrs. Shortridge at length sat, or rather sunk, down upon a
fragment of rock, and L'Isle came promptly to her aid.
"Colonel L'Isle," said she, panting, "I could not take another step up
hill for all the flowers in Portugal."
"I am only astonished at your getting so far up. You are not used to
climbing mountains."
"When Lady Mabel is at home in Scotland," said Mrs. Shortridge, "I
suppose she walks up a mountain every morning, to get an appetite for
breakfast. So it is in vain to attempt to follow her. But here she
comes."
Lady Mabel now joined them; and L'Isle, pointing out a belt of low
woods that wound along the hollow ground at no great distance below
them, offered Mrs. Shortridge his arm, and induced her to make an
effort to reach its shelter.
On drawing nearer to it, they found themselves in a rough path, made
by the flocks of the neighborhood, which led them at first through
thickets of evergreen shrubs, and then abruptly down the rocky and
almost precipitous bank of that stream, which a mile or two below
reached and supplied the aqueduct of Elvas.
Here the clear, cool waters glided over a rocky bed, and when they had
quenched their thirst, the ladies found time to look around. On
either hand they were shut in by masses of rock, which, with their
stratified and fractured lines, resembled walls, the rude masonry of
giants. A projecting crag shut out from sight the stream above them;
but, attracted by the sound of falling waters, they pushed their way
by a few careful steps round it, and full in view, and close at hand,
the stream fell over a ledge of rock in a beautiful cascade,
descending at once twenty feet into a rock-girdled pool, which in the
course of ages it had hollowed out for itself. Here the water ran
eddying round, as lingering on a spot it loved, and loath to resume
its onward course.
The perpetually falling waters fanned and freshened the noonday air;
while overhead, on every ledge that gave footing to their roots, the
myrtle and lauristinus, mingled with the oleander, the rhododendron
ponticum, and other evergreen shrubs, fed by the fostering moisture of
the atmosphere, almost to the size of trees, spread out their
luxurious branches to shut out each straggling sunbeam, and deepen the
shade of the narrow dell almost to twilight. It was a cavern, with
its vaulted roof removed, laying it gently open to the light of day,
without its glare. The wood-pigeon amidst the boughs mingled his
plaintive notes with the murmur of the falling water, and the speckled
trout sported in the pool--now displaying his glistening scales at the
surface, then suddenly and coyly hiding in some deep and dark recess.
Lady Mabel stood in silent, motionless delight, drinking in with eye,
and ear, and breath, the thrilling sensations crowding on her in this
enchanted spot. The exclamation in which Mrs. Shortridge's admiring
surprise found vent, jarred on her young companions' nerves, and
seemed to break a mystic spell.
The ladies were still wondering at the chance which had led them to
this spot, so cool, shady and refreshing after their fatigues, and so
charming in its happy grouping of wild, picturesque, and romantic
features on a miniature scale, when one of L'Isle's servants stepped
from behind the projecting crag, and spread a cloth over a large
fragment of rock, the stratified surface of its upper side making no
inconvenient table. Then, bringing forward a large basket, he lost no
time in setting forth the materials of a light but elegant repast. It
was now evident to the ladies that their arrival at this place of
refuge and delight, neighboring so closely the bare mountain-side, was
not so accidental as they had imagined, and they united in thanking
L'Isle for his foresight, and lauding his taste.
Smaller fragments of rock were placed as seats for the ladies, and
though they had not all the conveniences of a well-ordered
dining-room, they only enjoyed themselves the more for the want of
them, while L'Isle busied himself in doing the hospitalities of what
Lady Mabel christened "Fairy Dell." The inducements were strong to
remain here until the heat of the day was past. Mrs. Shortridge had
had her fill of heat and fatigue, in scrambling over the rugged
mountain. Lady Mabel had to place her botanical treasures with their
stems in the water, to revive their already withering bloom and rear
their drooping heads, before she could cull from their unwieldy bulk
the specimens she wished to preserve. So, after their meal, the
servant was sent to order the horses up to the nearest point that
admitted of riding, while the party reposed themselves in the shade
and rested from their labors, luxuriously enjoying the scene, sounds,
and atmosphere around them.
"How did you happen to find this lovely spot?" asked Mrs. Shortridge.
"The truth is, I yesterday morning went over the same ground we have
gone over to-day, and a good deal more," answered L'Isle. "Following
this stream upward, I came to this spot. If you would hunt out the
peculiar beauties of Portugal, you must follow the course of its
rivers and rivulets. True as this is of many countries, it is most
true of this. You may observe, Lady Mabel, that almost all the plants
you have collected, and some flowers you have not met with to-day,
were contained in the collection I brought you yesterday."
"I see that," said Lady Mabel. "But to-day's work is not therefore the
less satisfactory. The title botanist--and I suppose you have found
out that I make some pretensions to that character--is not content
with merely having flowers, leaves, and parts of plants in his _hortus
siccus_, or even abortive specimens in his garden and his hot-house:
he wants to see the whole plant where nature placed it, and study its
character and habits there. Who is satisfied with seeing a Turk in
London? To know him as he is, we look for him in Constantinople, or,
better still, in some province across the Bosphorus, seated on his own
carpet, in his own shop, or in his coffee-house; or, better still, in
his harem, with his customers, or neighbors, or his family of wives
around him. How much does the Esquimaux in London resemble the
Esquimaux seated on his sledge, shouting at his team of dogs, and
posting over his frozen and trackless route, with a horizon of ice
around him? That is traveling, and this is botany; and of all sciences
botany best suits the traveler. Every variation of latitude, climate,
or season, even the smallest changes of soil, elevation, or exposure,
brings him to a new region, where he may make new acquaintances, or
meet old friends. Through a love for botany the wilderness blooms to
us like a garden, and the solitary places are made populous and glad."
"Such an enthusiastic botanist must become an adept," said L'Isle. "I
suppose you see in Portugal nothing but a land of rare and varied
vegetation?"
"By no means. I am not wedded to one pursuit; or gifted with but one
taste. I have eyes for other things beside flowers, and shall seize
every opportunity of seeing and knowing something of the people of the
country."
"The people, the real people," said L'Isle, "both of this country and
of Spain, are the peasantry. They are chiefly agricultural countries,
and the rural, or rather village population forms the bulk of both
nations, and the best part of them."
"It is the peasantry, the dear, natural, picturesque peasantry that I
most want to know."
"I am astonished to hear you say so, Lady Mabel. The ignorant, filthy,
superstitious creatures!" exclaimed Mrs. Shortridge, with an air of
infinite disgust. "Their _fidalgos_, as they call their gentry, are
bad enough; but as for the common people, any familiarity with them,
sufficient to enable you to know them, would be too disgusting. They
may be picturesque; so let us confine them to their place in the
picture. There alone it is that they do not bring their savor of
garlic with them," and she here buried her pretty little turned-up
nose in a bunch of Lady Mabel's most fragrant flowers.
"Give me those flowers, Mrs. Shortridge; you handle them so rudely,
any one might see that you are no botanist. I had just laid them aside
to be pressed. And as for the poor Portuguese, I mean to know them as
well and despise them as little as I can, and even hope to learn
something through them, if not from them. Colonel L'Isle, I have
mastered already all the ordinary phrases of Portuguese salutation and
compliment, which you know are much more various and cumbrous than in
our direct, blunt English. I can already be as polite as the most
courteous native, and that is, at least, the beginning of
conversation. I can ask, too, for the necessaries of life, and inquire
my road, should I chance to lose it. Let a woman alone for getting the
tongues. I hold frequent conferences with Antonio Lobo, the peasant
who keeps our orchard at head-quarters, and have daily talks with our
Portuguese chamber-maid, and can find fault with her, not to say
scold, in good set terms. The awkward creature gives me abundant
provocation for scolding, and for not forgetting your advice about
vociferation and gesticulation."
"You do well to remember it," said L'Isle; "it will help you on
famously."
"I had some thoughts," she continued, "in order to lose no opportunity
of familiarizing myself with these tongues, of saying my prayers in
Spanish of a morning, and Portuguese at night. But a scruple of
conscience deterred me from attempting, in prayer, to kill two birds
with one stone."
"I think," said L'Isle, laughing, "that your scruple was not out of
place."
"Yet you know that Charles V. held that God should never be addressed
but in Spanish."
"A strange doctrine for a Papist, who was always praying to him in bad
Latin," said L'Isle. "That opinion savors of heresy, and deserved the
notice of the Inquisition."
"At all events," said Lady Mabel, "it is best not to pray to him in
bad Spanish. But had I an opportunity of traveling through Spain and
Portugal, and mixing freely with the people, I would show you how
quickly both tongues could be mastered."
"I see little chance of your having that opportunity soon," said
Mrs. Shortridge.
"I am afraid I must give up all hope of it. The _Santa Hermandad_ no
longer keep the roads safe; and all the knights of Alcantara and
Calatrava to boot, of these degenerate days, would afford but little
protection to a _demoiselle errante_."
"I will offer you a more trusty escort than that of those false
knights," said L'Isle. "I will place myself and regiment at your
command."
"That is truly kind. I accept the offer; and when I set out on my
travels, will send you on with it a march or two ahead, to clear the
way, and make all safe for us, while Mrs. Shortridge and myself will
follow at ease with our civic retinue, confident that you will have
removed every danger from the path!"
"That arrangement would make the journey less pleasant to me than I
hoped to find it."
"I thought your object was our safety, not your pleasure," said Lady
Mabel.
"And for my part," said Mrs. Shortridge, "I do not care to travel any
road which requires a regiment to make it safe. I am inquisitive
enough, but my fears would be stronger than my curiosity."
"Well," Lady Mabel said, "I begin to despair of ever gratifying my
longing after a rambling life. It is probably all for the best. I dare
say I would have become a mere vagabond. But I had embraced a wide
field in my contemplated travels: romantic Spain, la belle France,
classic Italy, and that dreamy, misty Faderland. But I suppose that
this war will last always, and for all practical purposes I may as
well roll up the map of Europe."
"Do you seriously imagine that this war will last forever?" L'Isle
asked.
"Why not forever, or, at least, for a long life time? It began before
I was born, and may continue long after I am dead. I have no
recollection of a state of peace, to make me think it the natural
condition of nations."
"We are luckily not limited to our own experience in drawing our
conclusions. Take my word for it, these wars are drawing to a close. I
am only afraid that they will end before I am a Major-General."
"Why! Do you expect them to go on making a series of blunders at
headquarters, like that in the affair of that unlucky Spanish
village?"
"A series of blunders," L'Isle answered, "would be quite in accordance
with the routine at the war-office, at least. So my expectations are
not so unreasonable as you may imagine."
"Then let them blunder on as fast as possible, and make you a
major-general, and a knight of the bath, too, if it please the king.
Many of your family were knighted of old, and Sir Edward L'Isle will
sound well enough until it be merged in the peerage. But mean while
hasten to drive these French out of Spain, as the czar is driving them
out of Russia; make Spain too hot, as Muscovy is too cold for them,
that I may begin my travels at an early day."
L'Isle, out of countenance, made no answer to this sally. He did not
like being laughed at, especially by Lady Mabel.
The rays of the declining sun now touched the tops only of the
luxuriant shrubbery, that overhung this fairy dell. The heat of the
day was passed, and clambering up the steep path to the more level
ground, the party found their servants at hand with the horses, and
rode slowly back toward Elvas.
Near the foot of the range of hills, L'Isle suddenly caught sight of
three red coats, and saying, "I wonder what those fellows are doing so
far from their quarters," he turned his horse out of the path, and
rode toward them. They presently saw him approaching, and much to Lady
Mabel's surprise and amusement, in which last feeling, Mrs. Shortridge
joined, instead of waiting for him to come up, they immediately ran
off different ways, seeking concealment from the thickets and hollows.
Selecting one of them for the chase, L'Isle pushed his horse boldly
over the rough ground. But the soldier, finding the pursuit too hot,
pulled off the coat which made him conspicuous, and folding it into
small compass, pushed through an overgrown hedge and vanished. L'Isle
was soon at fault, and had to give up the chase. He returned somewhat
out of humor, with his horse somewhat blown.
"You are a bold rider," said Lady Mabel, "but those red foxes are too
cunning for you. What made you chase them? What harm were they doing?"
"None that I know of--and had they let me speak to them I would have
suspected none. But a soldier is always at mischief when he avoids
being seen and identified by his officer. The men are allowed too much
liberty in rambling over the country. No wonder we have so many
complaints lodged against them."
"You had better speak to papa about it," said Lady Mabel, in simple
confidence that so doing would set all to right.
"So I have, more than once. But he does not agree with me, and is
opposed to what he calls needless restraint."
"Oh, if papa thinks so, you need not worry yourself about the
matter. It is his business, and doubtless near forty year's experience
has taught him what amount and kinds of restraint are needed, and what
is merely burthensome and oppressive. I have heard him discuss these
matters more than once."
She seemed so little disposed to think her father might be mistaken,
that L'Isle did not venture to hint further the possibility of it. In
that father, Lady Mabel had full faith, and also some of the faith of
inexperience in the beautiful theory which teaches that the general
knows best, that after him the second in command approaches nearest to
infallibility, and so on through every gradation of rank, in all
services, civil and military. Had she made an exception to the
application of this rule, it would have been in her father's case; for
she inclined to the belief, that notwithstanding the reputation and
higher rank of the military men who stood between him and the
commander-in-chief, her father was, after Wellington, the strongest
bulwark against the torrent of invading French.
"I dare say that many of these poor fellows," observed Lady Mabel,
"though they are but common soldiers, enjoy a stroll into the country
as much as we do. In a rude way they admire picturesque beauty, and
observe with interest, bird, beast and plant of a country so different
from their own."
"I suspect," said Mrs. Shortridge, "they look chiefly for the
picturesque spots frequented by the pigs and poultry of the peasants,
and have a keen eye to detect where the fruits of the orchard are
stored, and where the wine skins hang."
Lady Mabel was indignant at this suggestion. "It is a libel on the
British army in general, and on our brigade in particular. They are
soldiers, not robbers; and the king's troops are too well cared for to
be driven to plunder for a living."
"But they may rob from love of mischief, of excitement, of excess,
from mere idleness, or old habits," said L'Isle. "In recruiting we
adopt a physical, and not a moral standard. A sound body, five feet
some inches long, is all we look for, and we are glad to get it. A
great many rogues fulfil these requisites, and get into the ranks; and
though we charge ourselves with the moral as well as the physical
training, we are not always successful. The sack of Badajoz, and of
Ciudad Rodrigo bear witness to this."
They reached Elvas without further incident, and this proved but the
first of many excursions made from time to time to points around that
place. Thus, altogether with a view to her profit and pleasure, L'Isle
contrived to withdraw Lady Mabel frequently from the military throng
at headquarters, and, with Mrs. Shortridge's aid, appropriate her to
himself.
By this adroit manoeuvre, L'Isle did not gain the good will of some of
his brother officers, who found their share of her ladyship's society
much curtailed. What cared L'Isle for that? No more than colonels
usually care for the inclinations of subalterns. Many were the
pleasant morning rambles on horseback and on foot that he took with
the two ladies; and this mode of life agreed with him wonderfully
well. Before long he recovered strength and activity to achieve some
tall climbing after rare plants among the rocks and crags, which would
have gained him great credit in an escalade. Occasionally too, while
Mrs. Shortridge prudently, or indolently, kept the more level ground
he would contrive to lead Lady Mabel to some elevated and perilous
spot--and she boldly putting herself into difficulties, and not always
seeing the way out of them, had to rely on his aid, and the supporting
arm he delighted to afford her. And they gave to love for botany the
credit of it all.
The zeal with which Colonel L'Isle followed up this new study, did not
escape Colonel Bradshawe's watchful eye. So his satirical tongue had
many a comment to make on the change in L'Isle's habits. To his own
cronies Bradshawe dubbed him the bushman, not as being neighbor to the
Hottentots, but from his often riding into Elvas, equipped like one of
Malcolm's soldiers, marching from Birnam wood to Dunsinane.
"Our would be Achilles, laden with that huge bunch of materials for
Lady Mabel's _hortus siccus_, thinks himself like Hercules with the
distaff. To me he looks like a florist's apprentice, selling his
flowers at a penny a bunch. It must be confessed though that the
fellow has talents and tact. How completely has he contrived to shut
out rivalry, by availing himself of my lady's weakness in imagining
herself a great botanist, and providing her with a zealous and
admiring pupil in his own person. And then to use so adroitly his
accommodating temporary female friend in decoying his lawful love into
the trap. She is certainly the finest girl of her day, and acres are
good things, even though they be Scotch acres; for in the same
proportion they are broader as well as more barren than English acres.
The whole thing is admirable. It is a combination of means to a
combination of ends, evincing genius of high order. Were I at the head
of the war office, I would promote him on the spot."
"Poor Shortridge!" sighed Colonel Bradshawe, dropping at once from a
tone of the highest admiration to one of deep commiseration, "can he
possibly be blind to what is going on? And what is Lord Strathern
dreaming of! What a pity one cannot interfere in these little matters,
and put our friends on their guard! But Shortridge is so obtuse, and
my Lord so self-willed and wrong-headed, that it would only make
matters worse. Indeed, it is too late to help Shortridge, poor fellow!
and we must console ourselves with the wise conclusion of the great
bard:
"He that is robbed, not wanting what is stolen,
Let him not know it, and he's not robbed at all."