much animation, "I shall consider both a pleasure and an honour. But
Loves and Doves, and Roses and Posies, are entirely out of my line, or
rather out of the line of my pencil. Now, where was I? I believe I was
telling of my confusion when I found that I had inadvertently cut out
the young lady's pet Cupid."
"But did it not strike you," said Orinda, "that the easiest course,
after all, was to go to your demoiselle, and make a candid confession of
the whole? which she would undoubtedly have regarded in no other light
than as a subject of amusement, and have been too much diverted to feel
any displeasure."
"Ah! you must not judge of every one by yourself," replied Sunderland.
"I thought for a moment of doing what you now suggest, but after a
little consideration, I more than suspected that my candour would be
thrown away upon the perverse little damsel that owned the album, and
that any attempt to take a ludicrous view of the business would
mortally offend her. All young ladies are not like Miss Orinda
Melbourne"--(bowing as he spoke).
Orinda turned her head towards the window, and fixed her eyes intently
on the top of the Crow's Nest. This time the suffusion on her cheeks was
not in the least doubtful.
"Well, then," continued Sunderland, "that I might remedy the disaster as
far as possible, I procured some fine paste, and was proceeding to
cement the leaf to its predecessor, when, in my agitation, a drop of the
paste fell on the Cupid's face. In trying to absorb it with the corner
of a clean handkerchief, I 'spread the ruin widely round,' and smeared
off his wings, which unfortunately grew out of the back of his neck: a
very pardonable mistake, as the fair artist had probably never seen a
live Cupid. I was now nearly frantic, and I enacted sundry ravings 'too
tedious to mention.' The first use I made of my returning senses was to
employ a distinguished artist (then on a visit to West Point) to execute
on another leaf, another Cupid, with bow and arrow, heart and roses, &c.
He made a beautiful little thing, a design of his own, which alone was
worth a thousand album drawings of the usual sort. I was now quite
reconciled to the disaster, which had given me an opportunity of
presenting the young lady with a precious specimen of taste and genius.
As soon as it was finished, I obtained leave of absence for a few days,
went down to the city, and, album in hand, repaired to my Brooklyn
beauty. I knew that, with her, there would be no use in telling the
whole truth, and nothing but the truth; and I acknowledge, with shame,
that I suppressed the fact of my copying Pope's verses. I merely said
that, not being quite satisfied with my poetry, I had cut out the leaf;
and I then went on to relate the remainder exactly as it happened. As I
proceeded, I observed her brows beginning to contract, and her lips
beginning to pout. 'Well, sir,' said she, with her eyes flashing (for I
now found that even blue eyes could flash), 'I think you have been
taking great liberties with my album: cutting and clipping it, and
smearing it with paste, and spoiling my best Cupid, and then getting a
man to put another picture into it, without asking my leave.'
"Much disconcerted, I made many apologies, all of which she received
with a very ill grace. I ventured to point out to her the superiority of
the drawing that had been made by the artist.
"'I see no beauty in it,' she exclaimed; 'the shading is not half so
much blended as Miss Cottonwool's, and it does not look half so soft.'"
"I have observed," said Orinda, "that persons who in reality know but
little of the art, always dwell greatly on what they call softness."
"I endeavoured to reconcile her to the drawing," continued Sunderland;
"but she persisted in saying that it was nothing to compare to Miss
Cottonwool's, which she alleged was of one delicate tint throughout,
while this was very light in some places and very dark in others, and
that she could actually see distinctly where most of the touches were
put on, 'when in paintings that are really handsome,' said she, 'all the
shading is blended together, and looks soft.'
"To conclude, she would not forgive me; and, in sober truth, I must
acknowledge that the petulance and silliness she evinced on this
occasion, took away much of my desire to be restored to favour. Next
day, I met her walking on the Battery, in high flirtation with an old
West Indian planter, who espoused her in the course of a fortnight, and
carried her to Antigua."
Orinda now gave an involuntary and almost audible sigh; feeling a
sensation of relief on hearing that her rival by anticipation was
married and gone, and entirely _hors de combat_.
Mr. and Mrs. Ledbury, who had been taking a long walk, now came in; and
shortly after, the bell rang for tea. And when Orinda took the offered
arm of Sunderland (as he conducted her to the table), she felt a
presentiment that, before many days, the important question would be
asked and answered.
The evening on which our story commences, was that of the 3d of July,
1825, and tea was scarcely over at the Mess House when an orderly
sergeant came round with a notice for the officers to assemble in
uniform at the dock, to receive General La Fayette, who was expected in
half an hour.
The guest of the nation had visited the Military Academy soon after his
arrival in America. He had there been introduced to Cadet Huger, the son
of that gallant Carolinian who, in conjunction with the generous and
enterprising Bollman, had so nearly succeeded in the hazardous attempt
of delivering him from the dungeons of Olmutz.
La Fayette was now on his return from his memorable tour throughout the
United States. Major Worth,[71] who was in command at West Point during
the temporary absence of Colonel Thayer, happened to be at Newburgh when
the steamboat arrived there, in which La Fayette was proceeding down the
river from Albany to New York; and he invited the General to stop at
West Point, and remain till the next boat. The invitation was promptly
accepted, and Major Worth instantly despatched a messenger with the
intelligence; wishing to give the residents of the post an opportunity
of making such preparations for the reception of their distinguished
visiter as the shortness of the time would allow.
[Footnote 71: Afterwards General Worth.]
The officers hastily put on their full dress uniform, and repaired to
the wharf, or dock, as it was called. The band (at that time the finest
in America) was already there. The ladies assembled on the high bank
that overlooks the river, and from thence witnessed the arrival of La
Fayette.
On the heights above the landing-place, and near the spot where the
hotel has been since erected, appeared an officer, and a detachment of
soldiers, waiting, with a lighted match, to commence the salute; for
which purpose several pieces of artillery had been conveyed thither.
The twilight of a summer evening was accelerated by a vast and heavy
cloud, portentous of a thunderstorm. It had overspread the west, and
loured upon the river, on whose yet unruffled waters the giant shadows
of the mountains were casting a still deeper gloom. Beyond Polipel's
Island was seen the coming steamboat, looking like an immense star upon
a level with the horizon. There was a solemn silence all around, which
was soon broken by the sound of the paddles, that were heard when the
boat was as far off as Washington's Valley: and, in a few minutes, her
dense shower of sparks and her wreath of red smoke were vividly defined
upon the darkening sky.
The boat was soon at the wharf; and, at the moment that La Fayette
stepped on shore, the officers took off their hats, the band struck up
Hail Columbia, and, amid the twilight gloom and the darkness of the
impending thundercloud, it was chiefly by the flashes of the guns from
the heights that the scene was distinctly visible. The lightning of
heaven quivered also on the water; and the mountain echoes repeated the
low rolling of the distant thunder in unison with the loud roar of the
cannon.
The general, accompanied by his son, and by his secretary, Levasseur,
walked slowly up the hill, leaning on the arm of Major Worth, preceded
by the band playing La Fayette's March, and followed by the officers and
professors of the Institution. When they had ascended to the plain, they
found the houses lighted up, and the camp of the cadets illuminated
also. They proceeded to the Mess House, and as soon as they had entered,
the musicians ranged themselves under the elms in front, and commenced
Yankee Doodle; the quickstep to which La Fayette, at the head of his
American division, had marched to the attack at the siege of Yorktown.
While the General was partaking of some refreshment, the officers and
professors returned for the ladies, all of whom were desirous of an
introduction to him. Many children were also brought and presented to
the far-famed European, who had so importantly assisted in obtaining
for them and for their fathers, the glorious immunities of independence.
The star has now set which shone so auspiciously for our country at that
disastrous period of our revolutionary struggle--
"When hope was sinking in dismay,
And gloom obscured Columbia's day."
Mouldering into dust is that honoured hand which was clasped with such
deep emotion by the assembled sons and daughters of the nation in whose
cause it had first unsheathed the sword of liberty. And soon will that
noble and generous heart, so replete with truth and benevolence, be
reduced to "a clod of the valley." Yet, may we not hope that from the
world of eternity, of which his immortal spirit is now an inhabitant, he
looks down with equal interest on the land of his nativity, and on the
land of his adoption: that country so bound to him by ties of
everlasting gratitude; that country where all were his friends, as he
was the friend of all.
Tears suffused the beautiful eyes of Orinda Melbourne, when, introduced
by her lover, she took the offered hand of La Fayette, and her voice
trembled as she replied to the compliment of the patriot of both
hemispheres. Sunderland remarked to the son of the illustrious veteran,
that it gave him much pleasure to see that the General's long and
fatiguing journey had by no means impaired his healthful appearance, but
that, on the contrary, he now looked better than he had done on his
first arrival in America. "Ah!" replied Colonel La Fayette, "how could
my father suffer from fatigue, when every day was a day of happiness!"
After Orinda had resigned her place to another lady, she said to
Sunderland, who stood at the back of her chair--"What would I not give
for La Fayette's autograph in my album!"
"Still harping on the album," said Sunderland, smiling.
"Excuse me this once," replied Orinda. "I begin to think as you do with
respect to albums, but if nothing else can be alleged in their favour,
they may, at least, be safe and convenient depositories for mementoes of
those whose names are their history. All I presume to wish or to hope
from La Fayette, is simply his signature. But I have not courage myself
to ask such a favour. Will you convey my request to him?"
"Willingly," answered Sunderland. "But he will grant that request still
more readily if it comes from your own lips. Let us wait awhile, and I
will see that you have an opportunity."
In a short time, nearly all the company had departed, except those that
were inmates of the house. The gentlemen having taken home the ladies,
returned for the purpose of remaining with La Fayette till the boat came
along in which he was to proceed to the city.
Orinda took her album; her admirer conducted her to the General, and
with much confusion she proffered her request; Sunderland brought him a
standish, and he wrote the name "La Fayette" in the centre of a blank
page, which our heroine presented to him: it having on each side other
blank leaves that Orinda determined should never be filled up. Highly
gratified at becoming the possessor of so valued a signature, she could
scarcely refrain, in her enthusiasm, from pressing the leaf to her lips,
when she soon after retired with Mrs. Ledbury.
The officers remained with General La Fayette till the arrival of the
boat, which came not till near twelve o'clock. They then accompanied him
to the wharf, and took their final leave. The thunderstorm had gone
round without discharging its fury on West Point, and everything had
turned out propitiously for the General's visit; which was perhaps the
more pleasant for having been so little expected.
The following day was the Fourth of July, and the next was the one fixed
on by Mr. and Mrs. Ledbury for returning to New York. That morning, at
the breakfast-table, the number of guests was increased by the presence
of a Mr. Jenkins, who had come from the city in the same boat with Miss
Melbourne and her friends, and after passing a few days at West Point,
had gone up the river to visit some relations at Poughkeepsie, from
whence he had just returned. Mr. Jenkins was a shallow, conceited,
over-dressed young man, and, moreover, extremely ugly, though of this
misfortune he was not in the least aware. He was of a family whose
wealth had not made them genteel. He professed great politeness to the
ladies, that is, if they had beauty and money; yet he always declared
that he would marry nothing under a hundred thousand dollars. But he was
good-natured; and that, and his utter insignificance, got him along
tolerably well, for no one ever thought it worth while to be offended at
his folly and self-sufficiency.
After breakfast, Mrs. Ledbury asked Orinda if she had prevailed on Mr.
Sunderland to write an article in her album, adding--"I heard you urging
him to that effect the other day, as I passed the front parlour."
"I found him inexorable, as to writing," replied Orinda.
"Well, really," said Mr. Jenkins, "I don't know how a gentleman can
reconcile himself to refuse anything a lady asks. And he an officer too!
For my part, I always hold it my bounden duty to oblige the ladies, and
never on any account to treat them with _hauteur_, as the French call
it. To be sure, I am not a marrying man--that is, I do not marry under a
hundred thousand--but still, that is no reason why I should not be
always polite and agreeable. _Apropos_, as the French say--_apropos_,
Miss Melbourne, you know _I_ offered the other day to write something
for you in your album, and I will do it with all the pleasure in life. I
am very partial to albums, and quite _au-fait_ to them, to use a French
term."
"We return to the city this afternoon," said Orinda. "You will scarcely
have time to add anything to the treasures of _my_ album."
"Oh! it won't take me long," replied Jenkins; "short and sweet is _my_
motto. There will be quite time enough. You see I have already finished
my breakfast. I am not the least of a _gourmand_, to borrow a word from
the French."
Orinda had really some curiosity to see a specimen of Jenkins's poetry:
supposing that, like the poor cadet's, it might be amusingly bad.
Therefore, having sent for her album, she put it hastily into Jenkins's
hand: for at that moment Lieutenant Sunderland, who had, as usual,
breakfasted at the mess-table with his brother officers, came in to
invite her to walk with him to Gee's Point. Orinda assented, and
immediately put on her bonnet, saying to her lover as she left the
house--
"You know this is one of my favourite walks--I like that fine mass of
bare granite running far out into the river, and the beautiful view from
its extreme point. And then the road, by which we descend to it, is so
charmingly picturesque, with its deep ravine on one side, filled with
trees and flowering shrubs, and the dark and lofty cliff that towers up
on the other, where the thick vine wanders in festoons, and the branches
of the wild rose throw their long streamers down the rock, whose utmost
heights are crowned with still-lingering remnants of the grass-grown
ruins of Fort Clinton."
But we question if, on this eventful morning, the beauties of Gee's
Point were duly appreciated by our heroine, for long before they had
reached it, her lover had made an explicit avowal of his feelings and
his hopes, and had obtained from her the promise of her hand: which
promise was faithfully fulfilled on that day two months.
In the afternoon, Lieutenant Sunderland accompanied Miss Melbourne and
her friends on their return to the city. Previous to her departure,
Orinda did not forgot to remind Mr. Jenkins of her album, now doubly
valuable to her as containing the name of La Fayette, written by his own
hand.
Jenkins begged a thousand pardons, alleging that the arrival of a friend
from New York, had prevented him from writing in it, as he had intended.
"And of course," said he, "I could not put off my friend, as he is one
of the _élite_ of the city, to describe him in French. However, there is
time enough yet. Short and sweet, you know"--
"The boat is in sight," said Sunderland.
"Oh! no matter," answered Jenkins. "I can do it in a minute, and I will
send it down to the boat after you. Miss Melbourne shall have it before
she quits the wharf. I would on no consideration be guilty of
disappointing a lady."
And taking with him the album, he went directly to his room.
"You had best go down to the dock," said the cadet, young Melbourne, who
had come to see his sister off. "There is no time to be lost. I will
take care that the album reaches you in safety, should you be obliged to
go without it."
They proceeded towards the river, but they had scarcely got as far as
Mrs. Thomson's, when a waiter came running after them with the book,
saying--"Mr. Jenkins's compliments to Miss Melbourne, and all is right."
"Really," said Sunderland, "that silly fellow must have a machine for
making verses, to have turned out anything like poetry in so short a
time."
They were scarcely seated on the deck of the steamboat, when Orinda
opened her album to look for the inspirations of Jenkins's Muse. She
found no verses. But on the very page consecrated by the hand of La
Fayette, and immediately under the autograph of the hero, was written,
in an awkward school-boy character, the name of Jeremiah Jenkins.
THE SET OF CHINA.
"How thrive the beauties of the graphic art?"--PETER PINDAR.
"Mr. Gummage," said Mrs. Atmore, as she entered a certain
drawing-school, at that time the most fashionable in Philadelphia, "I
have brought you a new pupil, my daughter, Miss Marianne Atmore. Have
you a vacancy?"
"Why, I can't say that I have," replied Mr. Gummage; "I never have
vacancies."
"I am very sorry to hear it," said Mrs. Atmore; and Miss Marianne, a
tall, handsome girl of fifteen, looked disappointed.
"But perhaps I _could_ strain a point, and find a place for her,"
resumed Mr. Gummage, who knew very well that he never had the smallest
idea of limiting the number of his pupils, and that if twenty more were
to apply, he would take them every one, however full his school might
be.
"Do, pray, Mr. Gummage," said Mrs. Atmore; "do try and make an exertion
to admit my daughter; I shall regard it as a particular favour."
"Well, I believe she may come," replied Gummage: "I suppose I can take
her. Has she any turn for drawing?"
"I don't know," answered Mrs. Atmore; "she has never tried."
"So much the better," said Gummage; "I like girls that have never tried;
they are much more manageable than those that have been scratching and
daubing at home all their lives."
Mr. Gummage was no gentleman, either in appearance or manner. But he
passed for a genius among those who knew nothing of that ill-understood
race. He had a hooked nose that turned to the right, and a crooked mouth
that turned to the left--his face being very much out of drawing,--and
he had two round eyes that in colour and expression resembled two
hazel-nuts. His lips were "pea-green and blue," from the habit of
putting the brushes into his mouth when they were overcharged with
colour. He took snuff illimitably, and generally carried half a dozen
handkerchiefs, some of which, however, were to wrap his dinner in, as he
conveyed it from market in his capacious pockets; others, as he said,
were "to wipe the girl's saucers."
His usual costume was an old dusty brown coat, corduroy pantaloons, and
a waistcoat that had once been red, boots that had once been black, and
a low crowned rusty hat--which was never off his head, even in the
presence of the ladies--and a bandanna cravat. The vulgarity of his
habits, and the rudeness of his deportment, all passed off under the
title of eccentricity. At the period when he flourished--it was long
before the time of Sully--the _beau ideal_ of an artist, at least among
the multitude, was an ugly, ill-mannered, dirty fellow, that painted an
inch thick in divers gaudy colours, equally irreconcileable to nature
and art. And the chief attractions of a drawing master--for Mr. Gummage
was nothing more--lay in doing almost everything himself, and producing
for his pupils, in their first quarter, pictures (so called) that were
pronounced "fit to frame."
"Well, madam," said Mr. Gummage, "what do you wish your daughter to
learn? figures, flowers, or landscapes?"
"Oh! all three," replied Mrs. Atmore. "We have been furnishing our new
house, and I told Mr. Atmore that he need not get any pictures for the
front parlour, as I would much prefer having them all painted by
Marianne. She has been four quarters with Miss Julia,[72] and has worked
Friendship and Innocence, which cost, altogether, upwards of a hundred
dollars. Do you know the piece, Mr. Gummage? There is a tomb with a
weeping willow, and two ladies with long hair, one dressed in pink, the
other in blue, holding a wreath between them over the top of the urn.
The ladies are Friendship. Then on the right hand of the piece is a
cottage, and an oak, and a little girl dressed in yellow, sitting on a
green bank, and putting a wreath round the neck of a lamb. Nothing can
be more natural than the lamb's wool. It is done entirely in French
knots. The child and the lamb are Innocence."
[Footnote 72: Miss Julianna Bater, an old Moravian lady, from Bethlehem,
Pennsylvania, who was well known in Philadelphia, many years since, as a
teacher of embroidery.]
"Ay, ay," said Gummage, "I know the piece well enough--I've drawn them
by dozens."
"Well," continued Mrs. Atmore, "this satin piece hangs over the front
parlour mantel. It is much prettier and better done than the one Miss
Longstitch worked, of Charlotte at the tomb of Werter, though she _did_
sew silver spangles all over Charlotte's lilac gown, and used chenille,
at a fi'-penny-bit a needleful, for all the banks and the large tree.
Now, as the mantel-piece is provided for, I wish a landscape for each of
the recesses, and a figure-piece to hang on each side of the large
looking-glass, with flower-pieces under them, all by Marianne. Can she
do all these in one quarter?"
"No, that she can't," replied Gummage; "it will take her two quarters'
hard work, and may be three, to get through the whole of them."
"Well, I won't stand about a quarter more or less," said Mrs. Atmore;
"but what I wish Marianne to do most particularly, and, indeed, the
chief reason why I send her to drawing-school just now, is a pattern for
a set of china that we are going to have made in Canton. I was told the
other day by a New York lady (who was quite tired of the queer,
unmeaning things which are generally put on India ware), that she had
sent a pattern for a tea-set, drawn by her daughter, and that every
article came out with the identical device beautifully done on the
china, all in the proper colours. She said it was talked of all over New
York, and that people who had never been at the house before, came to
look at and admire it. No doubt it was a great feather in her daughter's
cap."
"Possibly, madam," said Gummage.
"And now," resumed Mrs. Atmore, "since I heard this, I have thought of
nothing else than having the same thing done in my family; only I shall
send for a dinner set, and a very long one, too. Mr. Atmore tells me
that the Voltaire, one of Stephen Girard's ships, sails for Canton early
next month, and he is well acquainted with the captain, who will attend
to the order for the china. I suppose in the course of a fortnight
Marianne will have learnt drawing enough to enable her to do the
pattern?"