THE AYLESFORD MANSION
Hark! through the dim woods sighing,
With a moan;
Faintly the winds are crying,
Summer’s gone. —Mrs. Norton.
Farewell! I will omit no opportunity
That may convey my greetings, love, to thee. —Shakespeare.
When the leaves had fallen, the November rains set in, and the winds
begun to rave and sob, alternately, around the mansion at Sweetwater,
the family departed for Philadelphia.
The old church, amid its now verdureless grove of oaks, seemed, as they
drove past, to look sadly on their departure; while the stream in its
rear audibly lamented, and the ancient cedars sighed mournfully in the
wind. Kate gazed at the dear objects, and then turned, just as the
carriage was about to enter the forest, for a last glance down the pond,
in the direction of the house. At that instant the sun, which had been
obscured by the leaden-colored clouds, suddenly burst forth, kindling
the whole landscape into life: the white mansion flashed out; the
ruffled lake sparkled like silver; and a glory was flung over the whole
western heaven, where the clouds lay piled like peaks and ridges in a
mountain region.
When the travellers reached the cross-road, which led towards Uncle
Lawrence’s farm, the old man was there waiting for them. He stood
leaning on his gun, silently enjoying the beauty of the autumn-tinted
sky, and inhaling the soft air, as one quaffs delicious wine. So
profound was his abstraction, that he did not hear the approaching
vehicle, until it was close at hand.
“Good morning, Uncle Lawrence,” said Kate, merrily. “Confess now
that we have taken you by surprise; and surrender a prisoner at
discretion. In other words, jump in and go to town; for we have a spare
seat.”
The veteran smiled kindly.
“I own that I was off my guard,” he said, “but it was the sweet
air and beautiful skies that made me forget myself. I was thinking, my
child,” he continued, his eye kindling, and looking at Kate as if he
knew she would appreciate him, “that the New Jerusalem must be as much
more splendid than the clouds yonder, as they are than the common things
of earth; and I said to myself, that if looking at ‘em made me so
happy here, what would I be should I get to the heavenly Canaan; and so
I prayed to the Lord to keep me steadfast to the end.”
Kate gazed at him almost reverently.
“But I’ve not been idle, either,” he said. “I’ve no doubt I
was up before you, after all; for I had shot a deer two hours ago; he
hangs out yonder, a mile away, where I left him for the boys to bring
home. Remember, you’re to tell the Major that I’ll look out for him
about the time he promised; and that we’ll have as great a hunt as
ever was known in these parts. Now will you be honest in telling him?”
he asked, with a sly twinkle, “for, if you won’t, I’ll get sister
Maggy to do my errand instead.”
“Oh! I’ll tell him,” replied Kate, with a blush and a gay smile,
answering in something of her old rattling style. “He’ll be getting
tiresome, I’ve no doubt, before Christmas, so that it will be a happy
deliverance to me to have him go away for awhile. But, meanwhile,” she
added, “why not come to town with us, as I have proposed? You don’t
know,” she continued, seriously, “how I shall miss you all.”
“It’s onpossible just now,” replied Uncle Lawrence, shaking his
head. “But I reckon I’ll be there next spring,” he added, with a
significant smile, “that is, if I’m alive, even though I have to
walk all the way.”
Kate blushed crimson at the allusion, but rallying, answered promptly,
while she extended her hand for a parting farewell,
“I shall be sure to expect you, and will take care that a carriage is
sent for you. You must bring my old friend, Mrs. Herman.”
“Mother’s too much of a home body, to come,” replied the veteran.
“Besides she’d be flustered so, she wouldn’t know what she was
doin’, when she found herself among all the grand folk I spose will be
there. I shouldn’t wonder now,” he added “if General Washington
himself was to be present.”
“Oh! you must come and see,” laughed Kate.
“And that you’ll be married by your own preacher. I’ve heerd they
wear black gowns, like we see in pictures. I reckon that’ll be more
cur’us to me than a’most anything else.”
“You shall see all,” said Kate, “only come; and there’ll be no
one more welcome.”
“Well, you may depend on me, as I said before; that is if I’m alive.
The Lord bless you, my child,” he concluded, with great seriousness,
“and make you as happy as you are good and beautiful.”
“Farewell,” said Kate, the tears coming into her eyes; and the
carriage drove on.
The veteran remained standing, with his hat off, and his thin gray hairs
stirring in the autumn breeze, until the coach had disappeared; when he
turned to seek his dwelling, feeling as if he had parted with one of his
own flesh and blood; and that night, when he led the family devotions,
he prayed as fervently for Kate as for any member of his own household.
The Aylesford mansion, in Philadelphia, was an imposing, aristocratic
looking edifice, standing back from the street, amid venerable trees,
and surrounded by a spacious garden. Thirty years ago, more than one
such stately relic of the ante-revolutionary times was still to be seen
in our midst; but they have all been long since demolished, or have been
so shorn of their surroundings, as to have lost most of their ancient
dignity. The town-house of the Aylesfords was among the proudest of
these old colonial mansions. It had been, in the preceding generation,
the head-quarters of fashion in the city. In the grand, wainscotted
room, every person of distinction, who had visited the metropolis,
during a period of nearly twenty years, had been entertained. There
beauty had rustled its silks, dazzled with its diamonds, conquered by
the graceful use of the fan, and awed by the haughty carriage of its
plumed and scornful head. There Washington, then a young man, had
visited, on that memorable tour in which he lost his heart to the
beautiful tory of New York. There royal governors and titled nobles,
courted heiresses and worshiped belles, officers and statesmen, the
proud Virginia planters and the wealthy Boston merchants, the chivalrous
Carolinian and the princely manorial lords of the Hudson, had assembled
to drink the rare wines of the host, dance the minuet, or exchange the
stately courtesies of the time.
But for many years the mansion had been shut up. A solitary servant had
been its sole tenant during all this time. The boys had been allowed,
unchecked, to club down the English walnuts from the trees in the yard,
and the towns-people had come to consider its desolate look as one of
the characteristics of the street where it stood.
Consequently, when the shutters were seen thrown open, one fine November
day, and the servant was observed to be carefully scrubbing the gray
stone steps in front, everybody was agog with curiosity. The arrival of
a travelling carriage, towards evening, collected quite a crowd, and
when a tall and graceful girl alighted, followed by a child, and
subsequently by a stately, dowager-like lady, the spectators spread the
intelligence that the Aylesfords had actually come to town as if to
stay, a fact which set half the teatables in the place speculating as to
whether the family could be as great tories as rumor had said, or
whether it was really true, as had begun to be whispered by those who
ought to know, that the heiress was going to marry a patriot officer,
high in the esteem of General Washington.
When Kate, the morning after her arrival, walked through the
desolate-looking garden, she almost despaired of ever being able to
restore it to order. The once clipped boxwood had grown into all sorts
of fantastic shapes; the gravel walks were covered with grass; rank
weeds had overrun the flower beds; and the grotto at the foot, which, in
her childish days, she was accustomed to regard as the greatest wonder
of the world, was damp with water, stripped of its shells, and covered
with green, slimy moss.
Mrs. Warren, who, to do her justice, was as notable a housekeeper as she
was a martinet in dress, walked through the mansion, meantime,
absolutely beside herself with dismay. Panes of glass were cracked;
spider-webs were everywhere; the wood work was almost black from damp
and want of light; the roof leaked; and the whole place, she declared,
smelt musty. The good dame exaggerated not a little; nevertheless, the
house was in sad, almost dismal disarray, and as the instructions to
have it renovated had been disregarded, maids were set to work
immediately. For nearly a fortnight buckets and scrubbing brushes had it
all their own way. Mrs. Warren, with the true spirit of an old-fashioned
Philadelphia housekeeper, was so happy amid this turmoil, that she
forgot to reflect on Kate for having ridden alone. Indeed, the excellent
dame was never better pleased than when house-cleaning, unless, perhaps,
when talking of her cousin, Lord Alvanley, or appearing in a new damask
gown.
At last, however, the dowager pronounced “things fit to be seen;”
and, ceasing to scold the maids, reassumed the great lady. To use her
own phrase, she could now go about the house without “getting the
fidgets.” We may amuse ourselves in this harmless way, with smiling at
the excellent creature’s nervous abhorrence of illy-performed
housework; but, perhaps, the dames of the present age would be none the
worse if they imitated the habits of their great-grandmothers in
personally supervising such labor more frequently than they do. The
highest in the land, in the good old times, were not above ordering
their households; and did not either delegate the duty to upper
servants, or leave things to chance.
By the close of November, the Aylesford mansion was restored to all its
pristine freshness, and to much of its former vivacity. There were no
balls, it is true. But visitors came and went continually, for it was
impossible for a family of such consideration to fix their abode in a
city so small as the metropolis then was, without all the gentry calling
upon them. A whisper of the approaching wedding, which, as we have seen,
had got abroad, assisted to stimulate these civilities; for every one
wished to be a guest at what, judging from the wealth and position of
the bride, could not fail to be an unusually brilliant affair.