Poplar-Grove was comparatively a modern place; having been built by the
present proprietor at the time of his marriage. The house was of brick,
large and commodious; and flanked by neat out-houses and servants'
quarters, presenting an imposing appearance, an air of lordly beauty.
The shade trees were forest-born; the maple, oak, beech, and fairest
of all, the tulip-poplar. Excepting in the green-house, on the south
side of the mansion, and a rose-creeper that climbed upon the piazza,
not a flower was tolerated within the spacious yard, and the sward was
always green and smooth. Dr. Carleton's seat was the pride and envy of
the country. "No wonder," growled the croakers; "a man with a plenty
of money can afford to be comfortable." _They_ lived in barn-like
structures, treeless and yardless; (and who that has travelled in our
commonwealth, but knows the heart-sickening aspect of these out-of-door
habitations?) raising vegetables, because they must be had to eat;
planting orchards, and suffering them to dwindle and pine, for want
of attention; and existing themselves after the same shambling style,
because they "had it to do;" content to "get along," and not feeling
the need of anything higher, until the buried--not dead--sense of the
beautiful was exhumed by the sight of the work of taste and industry;
and the stupid stare was succeeded by jealous repinings, and the
writing down of a long score against Providence. "I tell you what, my
friend," the doctor said to one of these murmurers, "instead of harping
so much upon one P, try my three, and my word for it, your wishes will
be fulfilled sooner by fifty years--they are, Planting, Perseverance
and Paint."
In the garden, beauty and utility joined hands, and danced together
down the walks. There were squares of thrifty vegetables, deserving
a home in the visioned Eden of an ambitious horticulturist; and the
banished floral treasures here expanded in every variety of hue and
fragrance. There grew hedges of roses, and the dwarf lilac, and the
jessamine family, the star, the Catalonian, the white and yellow,
thatching one arbor; while the odorous Florida, the coral, and the more
common but dearer English honeysuckles wreathed their lithe tendrils
over another; and ever-blowing wall-flowers, humble and sweet, gaudy
beds of carnations, and brightly-smiling coreopsis, and pure lilies
with their fragrant hearts powdered with golden dust--a witching
wilderness of delights. Trellises, burdened with ripening grapes, were
the boundary line between the garden and the orchard. The same just
sense of order and well-being regulated the whole plantation. Kindness
was the main-spring of the machinery, but it was a kindness that knew
how to punish as well as reward.
"Do you believe in the unity of the human race?" asked Ida, one
evening, as she and Carry were taking their twilight promenade in the
long parlor.
"Assuredly; but what put that into your head just now?"
"I was thinking of your father; and trying to realize that he belongs
to the same species with others I could name. I am compelled to the
conclusion that he is an appendix, a later creation, a type of what man
would have been had he not 'sought out many inventions.'"
"And what new instance of his immaculateness has induced this sapient
belief?"
"I was sitting at the window this afternoon, before he went out, when
I heard him call to little Dick to bring his saddle-bags from 'the
office.' The boy scampered off, and presently appeared running, still
holding the precious load with great care in both hands. 'Steady,
my lad,' said your father, and as the warning passed his lips, Dick
tripped his foot, and came down--the saddle-bags under him. He cried
loudly, and your father ran to pick him up--what do you suppose he
said!"
"Inquired if he was hurt, of course."
"He did--but reflect! every phial was smashed, and that is no trifle
this far from the city, I take it. Yes--he set the little chap upon his
feet, and asked after the integrity of his bones; and when he sobbed,
'_I_ ain't hurt, sir--but de bottles--dey's all broke!' patted him upon
the head, and bade him 'stop crying--master isn't angry--you won't run
so fast next time,' and let him go. Then, kneeling upon the grass,
he unlocked the portable apothecary-shop, and pulled out gallipots
and packages, fractured and stained in every imaginable shape and
manner--looking seriously perplexed. 'This is an awkward business,'
he said, aloud; 'and my stock is so nearly out! but accidents will
happen.'"
"And is that all?" said Carry.
"'All!' I have seen men affect forbearance, and talk largely of
forgiveness, when they wanted to 'show off,' but he did not know that
I was within hearing. Some other principle was at work. I wonder," she
said, with a short laugh, "what my esteemed guardian would have said
upon the occasion! He punishes a menial more severely for an accident,
or thoughtlessness, than for deliberate villany."
"I do not pretend to uphold Mr. Read's doctrines or practice. I am
afraid he is thoroughly selfish, and Josephine is too close a copy
of him to suit my fancy--but why think or speak of them? Did you not
promise to see life through my spectacles awhile? There is a hard look
in your eye, and a scorn in your tone, when you refer to them, that
repel me. It is so unlike you!"
"So _like_ me, Carry! My character is velvet or fur--stroke it in one
direction, and you enhance whatever of beauty or gloss it possesses;
reverse the motion, and you encounter rough prickles, and in certain
states of the atmosphere, more electricity than is agreeable or safe. I
am not changed. The hand of affection is gliding over me now; you may
do what you will with me."
"But you are happier than you used to be?"
"I am--happier in you! Do you recollect the stormy November evening
when you 'took me in?' Cold, and wet, and shivering as was the body,
the heart stood more in need of comfort; and you warmed it--taught me
that woman is woman still--brow-beaten, insulted, crushed! The poor,
soiled flowerets of love will smile, despite of all--in the face
of him, or her whose pitying hand lifts them up. Carry! you do not
know what depends upon your fidelity! Have you not read in that most
wondrous of books, how the evil spirit returned to the house, which, in
his absence, was swept and garnished, and that the latter end of that
man was worse than the first?"
"Ida! my own friend! how can you hint such frightful things? I _do_
love you--very dearly? You cannot doubt me."
"Not now. But will the time never come, when other claims will
dispossess me of my place? Do not despise me, darling! Do not impute
to me the meanness of being envious of your happiness. I rejoice with,
and am proud for you--proud of your choice. He is all that a man should
be--let me say it--I have never told you so before;--but is it true
love expels friendship? You will be as dear to me married as single;
why should your affection decrease?"
"It will not!" Could it be the modest Carry who spoke? "Judge for
yourself. Arthur and I have loved from childhood. He spoke to me of
his hopes two years ago, but father exacted from us a promise that no
love but that of brother and sister should be named between us until
my school-days were at an end. Yet I knew that I was not a sister to
him; and, to me, he was more than the world besides:--and with this
sweet consciousness singing its song of hope and blessedness within my
heart, I found room for you; and lover and friend were each the dearer
for the other's company. You will understand this some day, dear Ida.
You are made to be loved--you cannot exist without it, and you will
achieve your destiny."
"That love is to be my redemption, Carry. In the upper region of the
air there is eternal calm and sunshine, while the clouds brood and
crash below. Such calm and light shall my love win for me. I have dwelt
for years in the black, noisome vapors--I am rising now! Is it not
Jean Paul who says--'Love may slumber in a young maiden's heart, but
he always dreams!' I have had dreams--day visions, more transporting
than any the night bestows. I have dreamed that my wayward will bent,
in glad humility, to a stronger and wiser mind;--that my eye fell
beneath the fondness of one that quailed at nothing; that I leaned my
tired head upon a bosom, whose every throb was to me an earnest of
his abiding truth; and drank in the music of a voice, whose sweetest
accent was the low whisper that called me 'his own!' These are not
chance vagaries; they have been the food of my heart for long and
dreary months; angel-voices about my pillow--my companions in the
still twilight hour--summoned by pleasure or pain, to sympathise and
console. Then my breast is a temple, consecrated to an ideal, but none
the less fervent in the devotion offered therein; the hoarded riches
of a lifetime are heaped upon his shrine. I have imagined him high in
the world's opinion; doing his part nobly in the strife of life;--and
I, unawed by the laurel-crown--unheeding it--say, 'Love me--only love
me!' I love to fancy, and feel him present, and sing to him the strains
which gush from my soul at his coming. This is one."
She left Carry's side. A lightly-played prelude floated through the
darkening room, then a recitative, of which the words and music seemed
alike born out of the impulse of the hour:
Thy heart is like the billowy tide
Of some impetuous river,
That mighty in its power and pride,
Sweeps on and on forever.
The white foam is its battle crest,
As to the charge it rushes
And from its vast and panting breast,
A stormy shout up gushes.
"Through all--o'er all--my way I cleave--
Each barrier down-bearing--
Fame is the guerdon of the brave,
And victory of the daring!"
While mine is like the brooklet's flow,
Through peaceful valley's gliding;
O'er which the willow boughs bend low
The tiny wavelet hiding.
And as it steals on, calm and clear,
A little song 'tis singing,
That vibrates soft upon the ear,
Like fairy vespers ringing.
"Love me--love me!" it murmurs o'er,
'Midst light and shadows ranging,
"Love me," It gurgles evermore,
The burden never changing.
Thine is the eagle's lofty flight,
With ardent hope, aspiring
E'en to the flaming source of light,
Undoubling and untiring.
Glory, with gorgeous sunbeam, throws
An Iris mantle o'er thee--
A radiant present round thee glows--
Deathless renown before thee.
And I, like a shy, timid dove,
That shuns noon's fervid beaming,
And far within the silent grove,
Sits, lost in loving dreaming--
Turn, half in joy, and half in fear,
From thine ambitions soaring,
And seek to hide me from the glare,
That o'er thy track is pouring.
I cannot echo back the notes
Of triumph thou art pealing,
But from my woman's heart there floats
The music of one feeling,
One single, longing, pleading moan,
Whose voice I cannot smother--
"Love me--love me!" its song alone,
And it will learn no other!
There was a long stillness. Carry was weeping silently. She was a
novice to the world, and believed that many were guileless and loving
as herself; but she felt, as she listened to this enthusiastic outflow
from ice-girt depths, unfathomable to her, unsuspected by others,
that terrible woe was in reserve for the heart so suddenly unveiled.
There was, about Ida, when her real character came into action, an
earnestness of passion and sentiment that forbade the utterance of
trite counsels or cautions; the tide would have its way, and one must
abide its ebb in patience. Her first words showed that it had retired.
"I appear strangely fitful to your gentle little self, dear one. It is
seldom that I yield to these humours. You have pierced to the bottom
of my heart to-night;" linking her arm again in Carry's. "Forget my
vehemence, and believe me if you will, the iceberg people say I am."
"Never! oh, Ida! Why do yourself such injustice? Why not let your
friends know that you have feeling? They would love you but the more."
"Do not believe it. I should be sent to the Insane Hospital. Hearts are
at a discount in the market just now, and hypocrisy above par."
"There you go!" exclaimed Carry. "One moment all softness--the next,
an ocean is between us. Contradictory enigma! If I loved you less,
I should be angry. You read every leaf of my heart as easily as you
unfold a newspaper; and just as I fancy that I have the key to yours,
it is shut close--a casket, whose spring I cannot find."
"Or like an oyster," said Ida. "Apropos de bottes--here come the
candles, harbingers of supper, and I hear our brace of Esculapii, upon
the porch, ready to discuss it."
Carry asked herself if it could be the impassioned improvisatrice,
who charmed her father and Arthur into forgetfulness of professional
anxieties, and the attractions of the inviting board, by her brilliant
play of wit, sparkling and pleasant as foam upon champagne, without
its evanescence. The gentlemen admired and liked her. That they
unconsciously identified her with Carry, may have accounted for this,
in part, but most was owing to her powers of pleasing. An inquiry, made
with extreme gravity, as to the number and welfare of their patients,
was the preface to a burlesque sketch of the saddle-bag scene; in
which, not a hint of the reflections it inspired, escaped her; and
when she described the doctor's rueful countenance, as he held up the
neck and stopple of a large phial, saying dolefully, "The Calomel too,
and three cases of fever on hand!" Arthur resigned knife and fork,
in despair of eating another mouthful, and Dr. Carleton drew out his
Bandanna to wipe off the coursing tears.
"Hist," said Ida, her finger uplifted, "some one is coming!" The roll
of an approaching vehicle was plainly heard; the coachman's sharp
"Whoa!" followed by a cheer, in sound like a view-hallo, but it said,
"Ship ahoy!"
"Charley! Charley!" screamed Carry, upsetting the tea-urn on her way to
the door, pursued by Arthur and Dr. Carleton. Ida went as far as the
porch. She heard Mrs. John Dana's voice, then her husband's; and Elle's
incoherent response to the efforts made to awaken her; but the stranger
was chief spokesman. "Look after your wife and the baggage, John; I
will disembark the lighter freight. Elle! Elle! don't you want to see
Aladdin's lamp? Aha! well, here is something prettier--Aunt Carry, and
a nice supper. Charley! you monkey! wide awake as usual! Feel if you
have your own head, my boy! People are apt to make mistakes in the
dark. Give me that small-sized bundle, Jenny--you'll lose it in the
weeds, and then there will be the mischief to pay. One, two, three, all
right!" And with the "small-sized bundle" in his arms, he marched up
the walk, Carry scolding and laughing.
"Charley! you are too bad! give her to me--a pretty figure you are,
playing nurse!"
"He has carried her, or Elle, before him, on the horse, all the way!"
said Mrs. Dana. "Ida, my love, how do you do?" warmly kissing her. John
Dana shook hands with her, and Elle cried, "Cousin Ida! _you_ here at
grandpa's!"
Charley gave a comic glance at his burden, when he was presented; but
his bow was respectful, and as graceful as the case admitted. Ida
hardly saw him until the second supper was served; Carry insisting
that she should occupy her accustomed seat, and go through the
form of eating. Elle petitioned for a chair by her, and the three
brothers were together on the opposite side of the table. They were an
interesting study. John, with his strong, dark, yet singularly pleasing
physiognomy, was the handsomest; but his precedence in age, and perhaps
rougher experiences in life, had imparted an air of command, which,
while it became him well, deterred one from familiarity. Charley was so
unlike him, that the supposition of their being of the same lineage,
seemed absurd. His hair and complexion were many shades lighter, and
the features cast in a different mould, his eyes the only fine ones in
the set. He was not so tall, by half a head, and more slightly built.
Arthur was the connecting link; with John's height, and Charley's
figure; the perfect mouth and teeth of one; the brown eyes of the
other; and hair and skin a _juste milieu_ between the two. Ida's
attention was most frequently directed to the new-comer. She thought
him more homely than his brothers; and it certainly was not a family
resemblance that troubled her with the notion, that she had seen him
somewhere not very long ago--when, she could not say--except that his
expression was not the same as now. Heedless of her observation, he
rattled on; doing ample justice to the edibles, in some unaccountable
manner; his gastronomical and vocal apparatus never interfering; yet
withal, he was an excellent listener; and allowed the rest of the party
to say whatever they wished. "He would be worth his weight in gold to
a comic almanac-maker," thought Ida, as he dashed off caricature and
anecdote, conveying a character in an epithet, and setting the table
in a roar, by a grimace or inflection. His pictures, however, were
coloured by his gay mood; there were no frowning portraits, and their
smiles were all broad grins.
"You have not learned to love buttermilk, yet, Charley?" said Carry, as
John called for a second tumbler of the cooling beverage.
"Can't say that I have. Did I write you an account of my begging
expedition?"
"Begging! no--tell me now."
"It was in the Valley. Fitzgerald and I--you know Fitz., Arthur--were
on a hunting frolic. We went up on the mountains, and fell in with game
in abundance, but despicable accommodations. We were at it for three
days. The first night we 'camped out,' gipsy style; built a rousing
fire to scare the wild beasts; wrapped our dreadnoughts around us, and
'lay, like gentlemen taking a snooze,' feet towards the fire, and faces
towards the moon. I had made up my mind that there would be precious
little romance, and less comfort, in this very roomy hotel; but Fitz.
was sentimentally inclined, and I let him alone. 'A life in the woods
for me!' said he, as he stretched himself upon the ground. I was fast
asleep in two minutes, so far as sounds went. 'Charley!' he exclaimed,
at my heavy breathing. 'Pshaw! he's off! he has no more poetry in him
than there is in a--rock!"
"I guessed that he was helped to this illustration, by his discovery of
the quantity of the substance in the soil thereabouts, for he shifted
his position. He was tolerably still for about five minutes; then there
was a jerk, and 'I have not picked the softest spot, surely!' After
another season of quiet came, 'How he sleeps! If he were to swap sides
with me, he would not be disturbing the echoes in that style!'
"A brief objurgation to an unnamed annoyance, was comment fourth. I
slept on perseveringly. He bore it for an hour, and then got up and
mended the fire, by which he was moodily seated, when I awoke from my
first nap. 'Hallo!' said I, rubbing my eyes, 'Is it morning?' 'No!
and what's more, I don't believe it's ever coming?' with a savage
accent. 'Ah well! just hail me when it does break,' and I dropped back
'That is more than flesh and blood can bear!' said he, with awful
deliberateness, 'Here I can't get a wink of sleep, and you are snoring
away with a forty horse power. Maybe you think you are on a feather
bed, man!' fiercely ironical.
"'A feather bed!' just opening my eyes--'a feather bed is nothing to
it, Fitz.'
"'I _believe_ you!' he said.
"The morning did come, and we had splendid shooting, and happened on a
log cabin that night, where we were permitted to lodge, leaving most of
our game for its mistress, who refused money for her hospitality. By
three o'clock of the last day, we turned our faces towards home, and by
rare luck, overtook a man who lived upon Fitz.'s farm, him we loaded
with our guns and game-bags, he being on horseback, and fresh, we on
foot and tired. Presently a traveller passed us, crossing to the other
side of the road, and eyeing us suspiciously. 'Fitz.,' observed I, 'How
hard that man looked at you. You are not exactly in holiday trim, my
dear fellow!'
"'I haven't seen any man, or thought of myself, I was too much absorbed
in conjecturing how such an ugly creature as you, was ever raised--you
couldn't have been, except in Eastern Virginia.'
"After some sparring, we laid a bet as to how the people of the first
house we came to, would decide the question of our comparative beauty,
'I have it!' said he, 'We are foreigners; talk the most villainous
jargon you can invent, and trust me for the rest. We shall hear
criticisms enough, I'll warrant.'
"We were ripe for fun; and reaching a small farm-house, Fitz. opened
the gate. 'Recollect we know no Inglese!' We were grotesque figures,
wearing bell-crowned hats of white felt, drab wrappers, coated with
mud, and green-hunting shirts. Add a beard of three days' growth, and
brigandish mustachios, and you have our 'picters.' The men were off at
work, but the women peeped at us from all quarters. Fitz. walked meekly
up to a girl who was washing in the yard.
"'_Avezyouvuspaimum_?'
"'What!' said she, wringing the suds from her hands.
"'_Wevusivusfaimetsoif_,' winking at me for confirmation.
"'Yaw! pax vobiscum!' returned I, in imitation of poor Wamba; and
pointing into my throat.
"'Two forrinners,' said an older woman. 'Come, see 'em, chillen.'
'You are hungry, ain't you?' said the girl.
"'_Novuscomprendum_.'
"'And thirsty, too?' to me.
"I put my finger to my mouth, with a voracious snap. Away she ran, and
was back in a minute, with a plate of cold Irish potatoes and a bowl of
buttermilk; a younger sister following with another."
"What _did_ you do?"
"I drank it! absolutely! I, who had never looked at a churn without
shuddering. I desired to make a favorable impression. The children
were gaping at the sights; and I contrived, before handing the bowl to
one of them, to drop a piece of money into the milk left in the bottom
'for manners.' I wished it back in my pocket, as the old hag, after a
prolonged stare, pointed her skinny hand at me, '_Sary, I think this
'ere one is rayther the wuss looking, don't you_?'
"Fitz. burst into a laugh, that scared them all in one direction, while
we beat a retreat in the other."
"A hearty laugh helpeth digestion," said Dr. Carleton, setting back in
his chair. "Miss Ida, if you and Charley will undertake my practice, I
am in hopes that the casualty of the afternoon will be less disastrous
than we apprehend."
"What casualty?" asked Charley.
The doctor explained:
"And you seize upon a prime lot of choice spirits, as a substitute for
your tinctures and drugs. Fie, Doctor! I thought you were a temperance
man!"
"I have the best right to your services," said Carry, clasping her
hands around his arm, and walking with him towards the parlor. "And I
forewarn you, I have enough for you to do. Ida and I have moped here
for a fortnight, without a single frolic, and with an alarmingly scanty
supply of beaux."
He looked down at her, as he would have done at Elle.
"You ride, do you not?"
"There is a pleasant fiction that we have morning excursions, daily;
but history records but three such felicitous events."
"Where was Arthur?"
"Hush, my dear sir, the country is sickly; and----" she said, _sotto
voce_, "He will not hear of father's going out after nightfall; and
they have had several difficult cases, of late, demanding almost
constant attendance."
"Then, if you are willing, I will enter upon my duties as escort,
to-morrow morning."
"Oh! not so soon! you may have time to recover from your fatigue."
"Fatigue! fudge! I could dance all night. Are you fond of riding, Miss
Ross?"
"I used to like it; I am sadly out of practice now."
"A fault easily cured, if you are not timid."
"Not she!" said Carry; "and want of practice notwithstanding, she is a
better horsewoman than I."
This was demonstrated in the course of the first ride; and both
improved rapidly under the tuition of their self-constituted instructor.
John returned to the city; Arthur's time was never at his own disposal;
the care of the girls devolved entirely upon Charley. From the moment
of his arrival, Ida studied him intently, and each hour brought
difficulties, instead of elucidation. Easy and kind, always at their
service; and performing the tasks assigned him, as if they were
real pleasures, he was nothing of a "ladies' man;" eschewed gallant
speeches, and consigned flatterers to the tender mercies of Mrs. Opie.
She felt that he was affectionate, but would have been at a loss to
produce proof thereof. He never let fall a syllable of endearment, yet
Carry and the children read something in his face which said more.
His tastes were cultivated, and his mind well-informed, but he set at
naught the laws of conversational etiquette; his sayings had as marked
a style as his features; a style, which those who did not know better,
termed "droll," and those who did, dubbed "Charley's;" it was referable
to no thing or person else. His candor was not his least remarkable
trait. He was obstinately silent when appealed to for an opinion, or
gave it rough-hewn; no rounding-off of sharp corners; no filling out
here, or sloping in there, so as to fit neatly to another's. He made
no distinctions of rank; pulled off his hat to the meanest field-hand,
with as gentle courtesy as though he had been the President; and
severed the thread of her most sprightly narrations, to thank the
ragged urchin, who unfastened gates, or let down drawbars, in their
desultory excursions.
"He is one of the best of men," delivered Mammy, as foreman of the
kitchen jury. Ida smiled at the harum-scarum figure, which arose in
her mind, in opposition to the image of sanctity, Mammy's description
should have summoned.
"You do not do him justice, Ida," observed Carry.
"My smile was not of unbelief, but amusement; I like him. There is a
rich vein of quaint humor in his mind; and his unebbing spirits entitle
him to the honors of the laughing philosopher."
"He is more than that--"
"Who was it I heard wishing for a frolic?" asked Charley, coming in.
"I met a boy with a basket full of perfumery and white satin ribbon,
at the gate. I had to stand between him and the wind, while he gave me
these. 'Miss Carleton'--'Miss Ross'--'Dr. Dana _and brother_,' they
would swindle a fellow out of his birth-right! 'Mr. and Mrs. Truman
solicit the pleasure--' hum--no doubt they will be overjoyed--'evening,
27th August'--what is it, Carry?"
"We were talking of it this morning, the bridal party given to William
Truman and lady."
"Whom did he marry?"
"He isn't married at all; on the 26th, he is to conduct to the hymeneal
altar, the beautiful Miss Sophia Morris, of Richmond, Virginia."
"No newspaper reporter could be more explicit. You will go?"
"That depends upon Miss Ross' inclinations, and somebody's gallantry."
"Poor dependence--that last! Do you know the bride elect--that is to
be?"
"The bride elect, that _is_--is sister to a school-mate of ours; and I
have some acquaintance with herself."
"Ellen will be with her sister," said Ida. "I shall enjoy meeting her.
Her laugh will carry us back to days of yore."
"To days of yore," said Charley, balanceing to an imaginary partner.
"Is it three or four weeks since you parted! In a young lady's
calendar, a month is an age, six months eternity. You look upon me as a
miracle of longevity, do you not?"
"As old enough to be less saucy," said Carry. "Do you know that this
habit of catching up one's words is very rude?"
He threw a quick glance to Ida. "Miss Ross is not offended, I trust.
Nothing was further from my intention than to wound or offend. I am too
prone to speak without thought. Forgive me this time."
"Upon two conditions."
"Name them."
"First, that you never again imagine an apology due, when no offence
has been committed; secondly, that you drop that very punctilious 'Miss
Ross,' and adopt your brother's manner of address."
"Agreed! to both. If I presume upon my privileges, I rely upon you for
admonition."
"And this party?" said Carry. "Sit down and be a good boy, while Ida
and I talk it over."
He brought up a stool in front of their sofa, and, knees at a right
angle, feet close together; and folded hands, waited humbly for the
crumbs that might be flung to him.
"It is eight miles off," said Carry, "but there will be a moon--"
("Most generally is!")
"Be quiet, sir! it will be moonlight, and the road is level and dry--"
("It stops at the creek to get a drink!")
She aimed a blow at him with her fan, which he dodged.
"I am so little acquainted with them," objected Ida.
"That's nothing. Mr. and Mrs. Truman are the most hospitable of human
beings, and Mary is a lovely girl--"
("Per latest steamer from Paradise.")
"We must go. Sister is here to keep father company. Now the last
query--what shall we wear?"
("The first shall be last.")
"White muslins," returned Ida.
"Yes; and the thinnest we have. Nothing else is endurable this
weather--"
("Except iced juleps!")
"Arthur!" cried Carry, with a pretty affectation of vexation. "Come in,
and keep your brother quiet!"
"What is he doing? he seems very harmless," said Dr. Dana, stepping
through the window from the piazza.
The maligned individual applied his fist to his eye. "I ain't
a-touching nothin!"
"I am security for his good behaviour," continued Arthur, laying his
arm across his shoulder. "Proceed with the case in hand."
The rival merits of peach-blossoms and azure were set forth; bandeaux
preferred to curls--the gentlemen giving the casting vote;--kid and
satin slippers paraded--Charley advocating "calf-skin;"--a muttering of
"patriotism" and "domestic manufacture," checked by a pinch from his
brother;--every knot of ribbon;--each bud and leaf of the bouquets were
settled to the taste of the fair wearers before the council adjourned.