Chapter I: And My Chimney (4)

Even so, Major, or much so, on the last Fourth, sitting in the club parlour didst thou by turns ruminate and expatiate, and humorously rail and feelingly evoke the bygone and glow as in the poetic fervour of youth, and involuntarily sigh the sigh of old philosophy, till in the end the home-sense of the eternal sagacity of all things did but result in awakening in thee but the more vividly thy relish for life and the _Chambertin_.

But on the forenoon of each thirtieth of May, seated--minus the aforesaid historic decoration--in thy reserved corner of the club balcony, in graven sort thou lookest down on the floral march of the _Grand Army_. Then seemed thou even less intent on returning the greetings from some hale comrade in the ranks, or less hearty hero borne along in open barouche; less dwelling, too, on the processional wains of nodding flowers, followed close by nodding plumes of the escort--to thee and the other veterans--a new generation of Mars--less absorbed by all this, than musing on the many mounds those same flowers ere nightfall shall dress. Thy constitutional good spirits seem strangely overcast that day. Thou forgoest the banquet. Nevertheless, it is observable that in the balcony thy empty sleeve is disposed more picturesquely, nay, somehow more conspicuously on that aforesaid thirtieth of every May, than on any other morning of the year. It more catches the eye. Now and then, during pauses in the procession, the crowd on the sidewalk below glance up at it, and expressively, and thou turnest not aside.

‘Ah, Major,’ I said, ‘I love thee; yes, and it is as much for thy queer little human foibles as thy not-so-common virtues. Come now, for all thy annual megrims, prouder art thou of that empty sleeve of thine than even of thy grandfather’s Revolutionary insignia, for _this_ thou didst but inherit, the other, conferred on thee at first hand, and by the God of Battles.’

Not often dost thou discuss the tactics of thy Virginia campaigns, but what things hast thou told us of its byplay--the scouting, the foraging, the riding up to lovely mansions garrisoned by a faithful old slave or two, servants to lovely damsels more terrible than Mars in their feminine indignation at the insolent invader; in other instances being coquettishly served at an improvised lunch on some broad old piazza by less implacable beauties reduced by the calamities to dispensing hospitality for the enemy’s greenbacks. In such and similar passages of the war thou aboundest, passages luckily not susceptible of being formalised into professed history.

But the better for the felicity of thy friends, thou hast more than one string to thy harp, Major. Did any listener ever tire of thy reminiscences of European travel? What signifies that they date so far back, before some of us were born? Even so do sundry inestimable vintages in the Club’s cellar. Pleasant it is when weary of the never-ending daily news, the same sort of thing forever, how pleasant to be spirited back by a tale, by some veteran’s living voice and eloquent gestures, to a period that is no news at all, a time prior to those more pronounced changes which have come over so few portions of that ancient and manifold world across the Atlantic, a world to which we are bound by unsunderable ties of genealogy.

Highly, Major, didst thou relish that title whereby, as regards so many of us Americans, a rare son of New England with happiest simplicity designated that Elder England, from which his progenitor came--_Our Old Name_. But if thy filial appreciation of the historic Past has something of Nathaniel Hawthorne in it, the medium, Dean, through which thou recallest it, viewing it as through an irradiated vapour, this is not without a touch of _our incomparable friend_, the Marquis. He, as well thou knowest, never is so happy, never so blissfully serene, as when wandering in a haze along that enchanted beach.

Among all thy over-sea reminiscences not the least entertaining to us juniors is thy liberal version of that famous _Afternoon in Naples_. In the wee hours, more especially if inspired by the beaming presence of M. de Grandvin, how affluent hast thou been on that theme; how vivid in description; and, for the rest, how frolic, pathetic, indignant, philosophic; and throughout how catholic and humane. But shall such a recital be confined to the small group of the convivially elect, brothers of the _Burgundy_? Savours that not a little of the exclusive? Have a care, Dean. With even more than is implied in that term, one not lightly to be applied in a democracy, thou hast, unbeknown to thee, perhaps, been reproached.

When General Grant, a bigot for his friends--and thou wert one of his military family in the field--when he, as President, nominated thee consul at that very Naples thou so entertainest us with, what whisper, doubtless started by some rival applicant, what ridiculous whisper, was it buzzed in the lobbies, that in spite even of Grant’s nomination, stranded thee unconfirmed by the Senate? But ‘Pshaw!’ thou exclaimest, amused at the enthusiasm of sophomores, when, ending thy Neapolitan romance we contendingly fire away with:--

‘Bravissimo!’

‘Encore!’

‘Write it out, Major!’

‘Put it in verse!’

‘Good, it will immortalise thee!’

‘And consider, Dean, the glory redounding to the Club!’

To all which thy expression ‘Pshaw!’ and the politely proffered snuff-box by way of an added parry, and little more do we get from thee, O Dean of the Burgundians!

Well, Major, what thou in thy impatience of pen-drudgery and indifference to any reputation except that old-fashioned one of being a man of honour; what thou, for these reasons, perchance, never couldst be persuaded to undertake, I, even I, unsolicited have had the temerity to essay.

And in so doing I have adopted thy earlier rendering of _That Afternoon in Naples_ ere yet thou begannest to exclaim, ‘I don’t know what the dogs is the reason, but I can’t remember anything’; that version seeming to me akin to what engravers call the first proofs, less free from the blur that ensues after repeated impressions from the plate. Moreover, not unmindful of the enthusiastic injunction, ‘Put it in verse,’ I have after a fashion done accordingly. As to the interspersed ballads and ditties--at the which, peradventure, thou mayest stare even as Rip van Winkle, after his resurrection, did at his son--I do assure thee, Dean, they are essentially but thoughts and conceits of thine own, the product of seeds which planted and spontaneously developing in me, eventually effloresced into rhyme.

But to soften the liberty here taken, as well as the licence throughout, yes, and not without hope to propitiate and even please thee, I have so contrived matters that thou personated the part here allotted thee at the special instance of M. de Grandvin; thus in a literary way associating thee with one whose social companionship thou so unaffectedly lovest, and whose magnanimous spirit thou art ever fain to imbibe. Vale!

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JACK GENTIAN

(_Omitted from the final sketch of him._)

True, hardly to-day art thou what formerly thou wast. Thou thyself sometimes hintest that thy decline has even more than begun. With which confession for warrant some there be--alas for them! who in private are not slow to contribute confirmatory words and enlarge thereon.

‘Failing?’ says one. ‘To be sure! And how manifest the signs. In July you see him parrying the sun with his big white umbrella green-line; nevertheless, ere the straw hats yet begin to disappear from the promenade, reassuming his slouched felt sombrero he betakes himself to the street’s sunny side.’ ‘I have noted that,’ says another; ‘but--will you believe it?--late I espied him musing on a shaded bench in Madison Square; in the forenoon it was, too, not far from a seated file of disreputable nondescripts, non-producers in deplorable attire, plunged in lugubrious reveries on their doubtless misspent lives. Yes, and presently he rose, and after looking about him went straight up to a solitary old vagabond, and standing before him seemed making personal inquiries of him, and concluded by putting hand in pocket and bestowing something upon him. Now seems not that an indication of impaired senses?--deliberately to put a premium on improvidence and thriftlessness, or worse?’ ‘You go a little too far there,’ observes a middle-aged merchant and vestryman, the comfortable president of a charity; ‘the Major was always benevolent, as officially I have reason to know, always benevolent, but too often, as I hear, unsystematically so; and this unwisdom may very likely increase with years. But I hardly thought that he had any way so far decayed in his sense of what is beseeming in a gentleman whatever his years, as publicly to idle, and in business hours, and in such vicinity as you mention. Besides, those Madison Square benches so frequented by the untidy, how can some of them be otherwise than infected, yes, and with vermin. Dear me,’ in a tone of real concern, ‘it were almost enough to banish him from respectable society were it not the esteemed Major and the Dean.’

‘And with a warm deposit at his bank, too; forget not that, my good sir,’ gravely observed a waggish young berry-brown cynic in yachtsman’s attire, secretly amused at all this. Whereat the respectable vestryman with some severity, ‘Sir, that has nothing to do with the matter. This is America, Christian America, thank God; where, be it what it may, one’s bank account is of no account whatever in an American’s estimate of a fellow American.’ Upon which the elders cast a quiet glance toward the young gentleman, significant of their sense that he had been justly rebuked; and the rebuked wag, as conscious of the fact, assumed a contrite demeanour into which, however, he contrived to infuse a twinkle of irony.

‘I was at Mrs. Jones’s dinner,’ volunteered another sexagenarian in an arrested stage of development between the ear and the silk purse; ‘I was at Mrs. Jones’s dinner the other evening--and, by the way, there was twenty-three million represented by the group, twenty-three million dollars, think of that, so I computed it--and between certain parties there was some random talk about Major Gentian, to the effect that he did well in resigning his place as a leading director of the Dime Savings Bank, considering that he had generally outlived his usefulness.’

‘The Major ought to have an attendant,’ says a sunken-cheeked, heron-legged bachelor of uncertain years, a sort of man the natural product of the clubs and club-life, so at least the moralising enemies of clubs would doubtless maintain; ‘he ought to have an attendant, at any rate it will come to that before long. Tom Dutcher tells me that at Newport last season, instead of sedately sitting in white waistcoat and armchair on piazza talking stocks and dividends like most respectable old worthies of his kind, the Major more than ever before took to skylarking with those immature little specimens of humanity, obstreperous enough of themselves, Malthusian superfluities of the household, the chastisement of intemperate wedlock, and the bane, as we all have experienced, of many summer resorts. But you know second childhood has a natural affinity for the first.’

‘To be sure!’ chimes in a young Crœsus of complexion pink and white, recently returned from a four-in-hand coaching trip in Scotland. ‘To be sure! And how tediously, too, does he repeat in the smoking-room of the _Come-and-Goes_, where he occasionally resorts, his musty old romances of travel, and every version varies from the other. His memory is like wares at the auction--_going, going_, and anon it will be _gone_.’

‘Yes,’ says yet another, ‘I was talking with him at the ‘Windsor’ yesterday, and his sporadic ideas were like fishing smacks lost in a Newfoundland fog.’

‘Very much so,’ solemnly remarks a clerical-looking citizen, a politician high in municipal office; ‘very much so indeed. But have you observed one little circumstance, gentlemen, and weighed its significance as a marked symptom--at least some of it--of that irreparable change that, alas, comes with years? Major Gentian, though a soldier on the right side in the war, besides being of double Revolutionary descent--so I am told--nevertheless is far from being that sanguine New Yorker he used to be, and which in true patriotism we are all bound to be? What is this, I would like to know, but the natural optimist doting into the deplorable pessimist.’

Indeed, Dean, but they do cut and come again at thee, yes, even say these things of thee and more. But never a Burgundian among them, our Club harbouring none of that kidney. Outsiders they are, the profane; the seniors, some of them, confirmed tipplers of tea, a decoction that enlarges the spleen and warpest the brain, or lightly floating the spirit for a while at last lands it in a dry place. However, I will not gainsay these young roosters and old hens, since on some points upon which they click-clock the basis of their talk is true enough. But in the crooked mouth of the invidious, imparting its own twist to all it utters, in effect even veracity lies. Fail thou yet mayest, Major, but never degenerate. Thou mayest _outlive thy usefulness_ (execrable phrase!) but never thy loving-kindness. To the last thou wilt be Jack Gentian; not too dignified to be humane; a democrat, though less of the stump than the heart. And should mortal decline come--which Heaven long defer--and the Black Brunswicker lay siege to thee in thy bachelor tower, thy compatriots, those who best know the true temper of thy genial spirit, would still call thee _Jack_ as in the days of their youth, and though debility should then tongue-tie thee, thou wouldst still respond to them out of thy waning eyes.

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MAJOR GENTIAN AND COLONEL J. BUNKUM

... As witness this long newspaper clipping without caption inserted in somebody’s scrap-book.

‘Note that badge Major Gentian wears upon occasion. It is a military badge. It is the badge of the national brotherhood of veterans in whose Chapters the grade of the field is ignored, and the general salutes the private--comrade! Is Major Gentian’s badge this badge?’ touching a bronze button on his lapel. ‘Is it the badge of the Grand Army of the Republic? No, men and brethren, it is another sort of badge. A badge which by the original constitution of the order it symbolises was restricted to the officers of the Army of the Revolution, to them, and in primogeniture to their descendants. I remember long ago in my youth the eldest son of a revolutionary officer, and as such an inheritor of the Cincinnati badge, saying, over the Madeira, to his own son, then a stripling, “My boy, if ever there is a recognised order of nobility in this land, it will be formed of the sons of the officers of the Revolution.” What a frank letting-out was that--thanks to the old Madeira--of the spirit animating the Cincinnati in the second generation, even as in the first. And to the Cincinnati Major Gentian belongs; and he prides himself upon it; and his pride here makes him throw back his shoulders, old man though he be--yea, and lends an inch to his stature.

‘Now, gratefully and very fervently do we hold in reverence the memory of the heroes of Seventy-six. Yet who but they founded this order? Did John Hancock withstand King George’s tea-tax in the spirit of John Hampden resisting King Charles’s impost of ship-money? Yes, so; but only so. Unto John Hancock the rich merchant, no more than to John Hampden the rich country gentleman of a prior generation, had any practical purpose revealed the gospel of man’s unconditioned equality. Urge not against this aught in the Declaration of Independence. For when the passage “All men are born free and equal,” when that passage was being written were not some of the signers legalised owners of slaves?

‘Too evident is it that in throwing off the British plush, the men of Seventy-six did not shed the colonial skin. In divers respects, social and political, they remained loyal to British tradition, though justified rebels to the British crown. Assuredly no, in the characterising significance of the word as now current, they can hardly be considered _Americans_. It is we, their posterity, that are Americans--we, the people, the sovereign American people, who from English and European colonists have in process of time, and under the special guidance of God, developed into _Americans_. And in view of all this, does not Major Gentian’s Society, the Society of the Cincinnati, lag among us as much out of place as would the old Spanish Order of the Knights of the Holy Ghost.

‘I said just now that Major Gentian is vastly proud of his insignia, and I will do him the justice of admitting that this is not altogether because it is an aristocratic one, but in part because of its historic significance. But ours is a practical age. Not altogether sentimentally do we determine the relative greatness of events present and past. Into such determinations, the elements of number, man, yea, and the no less weighty element of cost, enter in. Well, then, there is Bunker Hill. A famous good fight. Yes, indeed. But how much of a muster-roll? How much of a pay-roll? Why, in Virginia we fought battles where a hundred thousand and more would be engaged. While east, west, and south, our files under arms fell not short of a million. And our war-debt, arising in no small part from generous bounties and the regular army pay-roll, soared aloft into two or three thousand millions. Then there is the pension-roll. That, too, is on a scale commensurate with the colossal magnitude of the Great Republic. Why is the blue ribbon of Major Gentian’s badge bordered with white? Major Gentian will reply, very likely, “That is in compliment to our revolutionary ally.” Indeed? But is not white the heraldic colour of the Bourbons, one of whom still preposterously advances his claim to the throne of liberated France? What a fling, then, is this white border at the tricolour of our sister the French Republic! Yes, and what a left-handed slur coming home to ourselves. Men and brethren, for aught I know, an enlightened young Englishman in superannuated old England may be at liberty to speak up for democracy; but in energetic young America, much as we respect old age, shall a hoary-headed old American be tolerated as an advocate of monarchy, or, what is equivalent to that, parading under the Stars and Stripes the craven _white_ of the monarchical Bourbons, the beggars? And is such a man--I put it to your conscience--the sort of man to take place with the law-makers of a people, the chosen people, the advance-guard of progress, a friendly people, the Levite of the nations, to whose custody Jehovah has entrusted the sacred ark of human freedom? (Cries of “No, No,” and riotous applause.)

‘Thou laughest at this, Major, and, after laughing, pooh-poohest it: “Bless you, I divine who it was said all that. But how? Why, much as a blind musician infers who the unseen fiddler is by the twang of his fiddle. It was Colonel Bunkum--Colonel Josiah Bunkum. And, of course, he must have declaimed it at some political meeting--yes, I think I remember reading some report of it--during the canvas, when my insistent friends ran me for the legislature. Incidentally, I became acquainted with Colonel Bunkum in Virginia, now more than five-and-twenty years ago. A sunburnt whiskerando he was, whiskers bristling like a thorn hedge; valiant, indeed, but of a contorted sort of valour, quite at odds with the magnanimities and martial amenities. Ay, brave enough, you understand, but no Chevalier Bayard. Less mature, too, in mind than in muscle. Rash in opinion, very rash, headlong. Not a man of broad judicial temper, sir, nor replete with the sapient humour and wise patriarchal quality of our good old Father Abraham. You shall judge, sir. Quoting Scripture, ‘My people perish through ignorance,’ and applying it to the South, and chafing under McClellan’s Fabian tactics, he was forthwith marching from the Potomac to the Gulf with a wagon-train of Webster’s Spelling-Books, backed by another train of heavy artillery. Shot and shell and spelling-books were to be distributed broadcast and gratis, a sort of Mahommed, sir, of the Malthusian sort. Strange, how the coolest valour may go along with a hot brain-pan. Well, well, robust as ever, the colonel is now a distinguished officer in the Grand Army; and finding that I, a brother-veteran, refrain from joining it, and knowing naught of those scruples, patriotic scruples, sir, which sway me; and, unfortunately, without the intuition that might divine them, why, being more of a hero than a philosopher, it puzzles him, it irritates him--he can’t help it, it’s all natural enough--and so, dear me, for something tangible to bite at very conscientiously, doubtless he snaps at my poor little ribbon here. The good God enlighten and redeem him!”

‘That is charity, Major, Christian charity with a vengeance. But some of us ere now have thought that by such charitable construings (or, are they indolently stoical ones?) of words or actions not charitable, thy failing to take the trouble to resent them, however absurd they may be, and vindicate thyself, thou hast--and more than once or twice--been something of a loser.’

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THE CINCINNATI

A NOTE

A member of the Burgundy, possessing an unusual library of Americana, which he is at the greatest pains and expense continually augmenting, thus evincing a singular interest in his country, but who, singularly enough, never votes, leaving that function to men wiser than himself (so he puts it), and who for this and the like eccentricities is familiarly known at the Burgundy as the philosopher; to this gentleman I submitted in manuscript my sketch of the Dean. He did not disapprove of the sketch, but pointed out one little oversight, as he civilly called it. ‘In your mention of the ribbon of the Society of the Cincinnati, or rather in Colonel Josiah Bunkum’s mention of it, you in your cursory way too severely tax the information of the general reader should you have any. Walk Broadway from Times Square to the Battery, and could you interrogate every man you should meet, with--“Excuse me, but pray, sir, would you be kind enough to tell me the reason why the blue ribbon of the Cincinnati is bordered with white?” I warrant you not ten of those tens of thousands would be able to answer you. You might as well interrogate them as to the exact form of the insignia of the old Spanish Order of the Knights of the Holy Ghost.’

‘I see your drift,’ said I, amused at his closing allusion; ‘some sort of note to the passage is needed. And who better qualified to supply it than yourself, my dear sir, with your fine library of Americana?’

He replied that he would be happy so to do, and the following somewhat simplified dissertation is the result, which is given, as I rather rashly engaged, without alteration or curtailment, and is very characteristic of the Burgundy’s eccentric philosopher.

In the ribbon of the Cincinnati, the white bounding the blue commemorates the French alliance during the War of Independence. At the founding of the Society, France was a monarchy, and its natural colour was that of the Bourbons--white. Eligible to the order were all commissioned officers of the Continental army and navy. Eligible to be life-members were also the admirals and captains of the French fleet, co-operating with the colonists in the war, as well as the generals and colonels of the allied French army, and to these in especial compliment was sent the medal of the Society. As to the Continental officers, membership was declared thereby.

Forthwith upon its establishment the Society encountered much adverse criticism, and from some noted public characters, who being civilians were ineligible to membership. Ere long the violent democratic crusade beginning in France, sympathy intensified this criticism into popular hostility. Some members of the order resigned; and even the staid mind of Washington, the General-President of the Society, was swayed on grounds of prudence to question the expediency of maintaining it. But, taking in sail, as it were, the Society rode out the tempest; and now for years has been the least demonstrative of bodies.

As at the outset, it intermeddled not with political parties, and refrained, among other things, from agitating for augmenting pensions, its members long content with the poor pittance the new government with difficulty at last provided; so throughout it has never deviated from its one main principle, the priestly one of keeping alive the sacred fire of patriotism.

If the Society of the Cincinnati, a heritage from the Fathers, be really worthy of a respect bordering upon reverence, it is of the sort that the Catholics pay to the bones of the saints; for, indeed, this venerable institution survives but as a relic.

It seems amid the bustle of another age like the Greek monolith, the Fire Column so called, in Constantinople, which unconsumed by the repeated conflagrations of that capital, and rising from among all sorts of lesser erections, attests a temper and an era that shall never be restored. It is a remarkable monument of the times when the British colonist in the spirit of John Hampden resisting the imposition of the tea-tax, and indirectly the Crown, developed in the process of time into a generation less impatient of imposts; pushing no quarrel, indeed, against fiscal arbitrariness, or any sort of power so it be but plural and domestic, wears a hat like the rest of us, and is careful to put on that same humble deference toward the People, which all kings and emperors scrupulously profess for Him Whom--with exemplary meekness ignoring themselves--they officially denominate the Supreme Arbiter of Events. In short, the Society is archaic, originating at a period before we became, to all practical purposes, a distinct People; a race which, though having various superficial traits in common with the English inheriting the same blood with ourselves, is nevertheless, at bottom, unlike; as is frequently observable in uterine brothers who, while in physical aspect a stranger can hardly tell them apart, yet brought to the test of essential character, may be even more than dissimilar.

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FRAGMENT

Of such redundant natures can it be possible that any can at last be narrowed down to the bier? Yes, die, and in a sense, intestate, too, as leaving no intellectual estate? Nothing indeed but an imperfect memory that ages avow, and is gone? Is this the end of that splendour? But why not? According to authoritative interpreters, the evanescence, the nothingness of things glorious, redounds to the glory of Omnipotence. And with what other aim in view, the theologians would like to know, did the Magnanimous call out the worlds? Two or three hundred years ago, to the amazement of the telescopes, a strange star appeared in the constellation of Cassiopeia, and shining there like a planet for a brief term, abruptly disappeared, and was seen no more. Nor was any star-dust left to tell of the fleet passage. True, out of the same Unknown or Nothing, and back into it again, millions of small meteors come and go; but extinction is signalised in the instance of stars of magnitude; and in corresponding degree the glory of God is magnified, who can work such wonders, to whom the planets are of even less consideration than to the Grand Mogul his golden buttons.

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FRAGMENTS FROM A WRITING-DESK

CLIPPING FROM THE ‘DEMOCRATIC PRESS AND LANSINGBURGH ADVERTISER’

No. 1

LANSINGBURGH, N.Y.,
_Saturday, May 4, 1839_.

MY DEAR M----, I can imagine you seated on that dear, delightful, old-fashioned sofa, your head supported by its luxurious padding, and with feet aloft on the aspiring back of that straight-limbed, stiff-necked, quaint old chair, which, as our facetious W---- assured me, was the identical seat in which old Burton composed his _Anatomy of Melancholy_. I see you reluctantly raise your optics from the ugh-clasped [_sic_] quarto which encumbers your lap, to receive the package which the servant hands you, and can almost imagine that I see those beloved features illumined for a moment with an expression of joy, as you read the superscription of your gentle protégé. Lay down, I beseech you, that odious black-lettered volume and let not its musty and withered leaves sully the virgin purity and whiteness of the sheet which is the vehicle of so much good sense, sterling thought, and chaste and elegant sentiment.

You remember how you used to rate me for my hang-dog modesty, my _mauvaise honte_, as my Lord Chesterfield would style it. Well! I have determined that hereafter you shall not have occasion again to inflict upon me those flattering appellations of ‘Fool!’ ‘Dolt!’ ‘Sheep!’ which in your indignation you used to shower upon me, with a vigour and a facility which excited my wonder, while it provoked my resentment.

And how do you imagine that I rid myself of this annoying hindrance? Why, truly, by coming to the conclusion that in this pretty corpus of mine was lodged every manly grace; that my limbs were modelled in the symmetry of the Phidian Jupiter; my countenance radiant with the beams of wit and intelligence, and my whole person the envy of the beaux, the idol of the women, and the admiration of the tailor. And then my mind! why, sir, I have discovered it to be endowed with the most rare and extraordinary powers, stored with universal knowledge, and embellished with every polite accomplishment.

Pollux! what a comfortable thing is a good opinion of one’s self when I walk the Broadway of our village with a certain air, that puts me down at once in the estimation of any intelligent stranger who may chance to meet me, as a _distingué_ of the purest water, a blade of the true temper, a blood of the first quality! Lord! how I despise the little sneaking vermin who dodge along the street as though they were so many footmen or errand-boys; who have never learned to carry the head erect in conscious importance, but hang that noblest of the human members as though it had been boxed by some virago of an Amazon; who shuffle along the walk, with a quick, uneasy step, a hasty, clownish motion, which by the magnitude of the contrast, set off to advantage my own slow and magisterial gait, which I can at pleasure vary to an easy, abandoned sort of carriage, or to the more engaging, alert, and lively walk, to suit the varieties of time, occasion, and company.

And in society, too, how often have I commiserated the poor wretches who stood aloof, in a corner, like a flock of scared sheep; while myself, beautiful as Apollo, dressed in a style which would extort admiration from a Brummell, and belted round with self-esteem as with a girdle, sallied up to the ladies--complimenting one, exchanging a repartee with another; tapping this one under the chin, and clasping this one round the waist; and finally, winding up the operation by kissing round the whole circle to the great edification of the fair, and to the unbounded horror, amazement, and ill-suppressed chagrin of the aforesaid sheepish multitude, who, with eyes wide open and mouths distended, afforded good subjects on whom to exercise my polished wit, which like the glittering edge of a Damascus sabre ‘dazzled all it shone upon.’

And then, when the folding-doors are thrown open, as the lacquey announces supper to be ready, how often have I stepped forward and with a profound obeisance to the ladies, bowing by the bow of Cupid, and appealing to Venus for my sincerity, when I wished I had an hundred arms at their service, escorted them right gallantly and merrily to the banquet; while those poor, bashful creatures, like a drove of dumb cattle, strayed into the apartment, stumbling, blushing, stammering, and alone.

Verily, by my elegant accomplishments and superior parts, by my graceful address, and above all by my easy self-possession, I have unwittingly provoked to an irreconcilable degree the resentment of half a score of these village beaux; whom, although I had rather have their esteem, I value too little to dread their malice.

By my halidome, sir, this same village of Lansingburgh contains within its pretty limits as fair a set of blushing damsels as one would wish to look upon on a dreamy summer day! When I traverse the broad pavements of my own metropolis, my eyes are arrested by beautiful forms flitting hither and thither; and I pause to admire the elegance of their attire, the taste displayed in their embellishments; the rich mesh of the material; and sometimes, it may be, the loveliness of the features, which no art can heighten and no negligence conceal.

But here, sir, here, where woman seems to have erected her throne, and established her empire; here, where all feel and acknowledge her sway, she blooms in unborrowed charms; and the eye, undazzled by the profusion of extraneous ornament, settles at once upon the loveliest faces which our clayey natures can assume. The poet has sung:--

‘When first the Rhodian’s mimic art array’d
The queen of Beauty in her Cyprian shade,
The happy master mingled on his piece
Each look that charm’d him in the fair of Greece.
To faultless nature true, he stole a grace
From every finer form and sweeter face;
And, as he sojourn’d on the Ægean isles,
Woo’d all their love and treasured all their smiles;
Then glow’d the tints, pure, precious, and refined,
And mortal charms seemed heavenly when combined.’

Now, had this same Apelles flourished in our own enlightened day, and more particularly, had he taken up his domicile in this goodly village, I could with ease have presented him with many a Hebe, in whom were united all the requisite graces which make up the beau-ideal of female loveliness. Nor, my dear M----, does there reign in all this bright display that same monotony of feature, form, complexion, which elsewhere is beheld; no, here are all varieties, all the orders of Beauty’s architecture; the Doric, the Ionic, the Corinthian, all are here.

I have in ‘my mind’s eye, Horatio,’ three (the number of the Graces, you remember) who may stand, each at the head of their respective orders. The one, were she arrayed in sylvan garb, and did she in her hand carry her bow, might with equal justice and propriety stand, the picture of Diana herself. Her figure is bold, her stature erect and tall, her presence queenly and commanding, and her complexion is clear and fair as the face of heaven on a May day, through which sparkles an eye of that indefinable hue, which is beyond comparison the most striking that can garnish the human countenance. The vermilion in her cheeks perpetually wears that ruddy, healthful tint, which one is accustomed to behold illumine, but for a moment, alas! the face of a city belle when she takes her annual ramble in the country, to revel for a period in the retreats of rustic life.

If to these qualities you superadd that majesty of carriage and dignity of mien, which we would fancy the royal mistress of Antony to have possessed; together with that heroic and Grecian cast of countenance which the imagination unconsciously ascribes to the Jewess, Rebecca, when resisting the vile arts of the Templar--you have in my poor opinion the portraiture of ⸻.

When I venture to describe the second of this beautiful trinity, I feel my powers of delineation inadequate to the task; but nevertheless I will try my hand at the matter, although, like an unskilful limner, I am fearful I shall but scandalise the charms I endeavour to copy.

Come to my aid, ye guardian spirits of the Fair! Guide my awkward hand, and preserve from mutilation the features ye hover over and protect! Pour down whole floods of sparkling champagne, my dear M----, until your brain grows giddy with emotion; con over the latter portion of the first canto of _Childe Harold_, and ransack your intellectual repository for the liveliest visions of the Fairy Land, and you will be in a measure prepared to relish the epicurean banquet I shall spread.

The stature of this beautiful mortal (if she be indeed of earth) is of that perfect height, which, while it is freed from the charge of being low, cannot with propriety be denominated tall. Her figure is slender almost to fragility, but strikingly modelled in spiritual elegance, and is the only form I ever saw, which could bear the trial of a rigid criticism.

Every man who is gifted with the least particle of imagination, must in some of his reveries have conjured up from the realms of fancy, a being bright and beautiful beyond everything he had ever before apprehended, whose main and distinguishing attribute invariably proves to be a form the indescribable loveliness of which seems to

--‘Sail in liquid light,
And float on seas of bliss.’

The realisation of these seraphic visions is seldom permitted us; but I can truly say that when my eyes for the first time fell upon this lovely creature, I thought myself transported to the land of dreams, where lay embodied the most brilliant conceptions of the wildest fancy. Indeed, could the Promethean spark throw life and animation into the Venus de’ Medici, it would but present the counterpart of ⸻.

Her complexion has the delicate tinge of the brunette, with a little of the roseate hue of the Circassian; and one would swear that none but the sunny skies of Spain had shone upon the infancy of the being, who looks so like her own ‘dark-glancing daughters.’

The outline of her head, together with the profile of her countenance, are sketched in classic purity, and while the one indicates refined and elegant sentiment, the other is not more chaste and regular than the mind which beams from every feature of the face. Her hair is black as the wing of the raven, and is parted _à la Madonna_ over a forehead where sits, girt round with her sister graces, the very genius of poetic beauty, hope, and love.

And then her eyes! They open their dark, rich orbs upon you like the full noon of heaven, and blaze into your very soul the fires of day! Like the offerings laid upon the sacrificial altars of the Hebrews, when in an instant the divine spark falling from the propitiated God kindled them in flames; so, a single glance from that Oriental eye as quickly fires your soul, and leaves your bosom in a perfect conflagration! Odds Cupids and Darts! with one broad sweep of vision in a crowded ballroom, that splendid creature would lay around her like the two-handed sword of Minotti, hearts on hearts, piled round in semicircles! But it is well for the more rugged sex that this glorious being can vary her proud dominion, and give to the expression of her eye a melting tenderness which dissolves the most frigid heart, and heals the wounds she gave before.

If the devout and exemplary Mussulman, who dying fast in the faith of his Prophet, anticipates reclining on beds of roses, gloriously drunk through all the ages of eternity, is to be waited on by Houris such as these: waft me, ye gentle gales, beyond this lower world and,

‘Lap me in soft Lydian airs!’

But I am falling into I know not what extravagances, so I will briefly give you a portrait of the last of these three divinities, and will then terminate my tiresome lucubrations.

This last is a Lilliputian beauty; diminutive in stature, fair-haired, and with a foot for which Cinderella’s slipper would be too large; a countenance sweet and interesting, and in her manners eminently refined and engaging. The cast of her physiognomy is singularly mild and amiable, and her whole person is replete with every feminine grace. Her eyes

‘Effuse the mildness of their azure beam;’

and to her, above all her sex, are applicable the lines of our gentle Coleridge:--

‘Maid of my Love, sweet ⸻
In Beauty’s light you glide along:
Your eye is like the star of eve,
And sweet your Voice as Seraph’s song.
Yet not your heavenly Beauty gives
This heart with passion soft to glow:
Within your soul a Voice there lives!
It bids you hear the tale of Woe.
When sinking low the Sufferer wan
Beholds no hand outstretched to save,
Fair as the bosom of the Swan
That rises graceful o’er the wave,
I’ve seen your breast with pity heave,
And therefore love I you, sweet ⸻.’

Here, my dear M----, closes this catalogue of the Graces, this chapter of Beauties, and I should implore your pardon for trespassing so long on your attention. If you, yourself, in whose breast may possibly be extinguished the amatory flame, should not feel an interest in these three ‘counterfeit presentments,’ do not fail to show them to ⸻, and solicit her opinion as to their respective merits.

Tender my best acknowledgments to the Major for his prompt attention to my request, and, for yourself, accept the assurance of my undiminished regard; and hoping that the smiles of heaven may continue to illuminate your way,--I remain, ever yours, L. A. V.

Written in long hand (by Melville) across the inner margin:--

‘When I woke up this morning, what the devil should I see but your cane along in bed with me. I shall keep it for you when you come up here again.’

FRAGMENTS FROM A WRITING-DESK

No. 2

LANSINGBURGH, N.Y.,
_Saturday, May 18, 1839_.

‘Confusion seize the Greek!’ exclaimed I, as wrathfully rising from my chair, I flung my ancient lexicon across the room, and seizing my hat and cane, and throwing on my cloak, I sallied out into the clear air of heaven. The bracing coolness of an April evening calmed my aching temples, and I slowly wended my way to the river-side. I had promenaded the bank for about half an hour, when flinging myself upon the grassy turf, I was soon lost in revery, and up to the lips in sentiment.

I had not lain more than five minutes, when a figure, effectually concealed in the ample folds of a cloak, glided past me, and hastily dropping something at my feet, disappeared behind the angle of an adjoining house, ere I could recover from my astonishment at so singular an occurrence.

‘Cerbes!’ cried I, springing up, ‘here is a spice of the marvellous!’ and stooping down, I picked up an elegant little rose-coloured, lavender-scented _billet-doux_, and hurriedly breaking the seal (a heart, transfixed with an arrow) I read by the light of the moon the following:--

‘GENTLE SIR,--If my fancy has painted you in genuine colours, you
will on the receipt of this, incontinently follow the bearer where
she will lead you.

‘INAMORATA.’

‘The deuce I will!’ exclaimed I. ‘But soft!’ And I reperused this singular document, turned over the billet in my fingers, and examined the handwriting, which was femininely delicate, and I could have sworn was a woman’s. Is it possible, thought I, that the days of romance are revived? No, ‘The days of chivalry are over!’ says Burke.

As I made this reflection, I looked up, and beheld the same figure which had handed me this questionable missive, beckoning me forward. I started toward her; but, as I approached, she receded from me, and fled swiftly along the margin of the river at a pace, which, encumbered as I was with my heavy cloak and boots, I was unable to follow; and which filled me with sundry misgivings as to the nature of the being who could travel with such amazing celerity. At last, perfectly breathless, I fell into a walk; which my mysterious fugitive perceiving, she likewise lessened her pace, so as to keep herself still in sight, although at too great a distance to permit me to address her.

Having recovered from my fatigue, and regained my breath, I loosened the clasp of my cloak, and inwardly resolving that I would come at the bottom of the mystery, I desperately flung the mantle from my shoulders, and dashing my beaver to the ground, gave chase in good earnest to the tantalising stranger. No sooner did I from my extravagant actions announce my intention to overtake her, than with a light laugh of derision, she sprang forward at a rate, which in attempting to outstrip, soon left me far in the rear, heartily disconcerted and crestfallen, and inly cursing the _ignis fatuus_ that danced so provokingly before me.

At length, like everyone else, learning wisdom from experience, I thought my policy lay in silently following the footsteps of my eccentric guide, and quietly waiting the _dénouement_ of this extraordinary adventure. So soon as I relaxed my speed, and gave evidence of having renounced my more summary mode of procedure, the stranger, regulating her movements by mine, proceeded at a pace which preserved between us a uniform distance, ever and anon looking back like a wary general to see if I were again inclined to try the mettle of her limbs.

After pursuing our way in this monotonous style for some time, I observed that my conductress rather abated in her precautions, and had not for the last ten or fifteen minutes taken her periodical survey over her shoulder; whereat plucking up my spirits, which I can assure you, courteous reader, had fallen considerably below zero by the ill-success of my previous efforts, I again rushed madly forward at the summit of my speed, and having advanced ten or twelve rods unperceived, was flattering myself that I should this time make good my purpose; when, turning suddenly round, as though reminded of her late omission, and descrying me plunging ahead like an infuriated steed, she gave a slight audible scream of surprise, and once more fled, as though helped forward by invisible wings.

This last failure was too much. I stopped short, and stamping the ground in ungovernable rage, gave vent to my chagrin in a volley of exclamations: in which, perhaps, if narrowly inspected, might have been detected two or three expressions which savoured somewhat of the jolly days of the jolly cavaliers. But if a man was ever excusable for swearing, surely the circumstances of the case were palliative of the crime. What! to be thwarted by a woman! Peradventure baffled by a girl! Confusion! It was too bad! To be outgeneraled, routed, defeated by a mere rib of the earth? It was not to be borne! I thought I should never survive the inexpressible mortification of the moment, and in the height of my despair I bethought me of putting a romantic end to my existence upon the very spot which had witnessed my discomfiture.

But when the first transports of my wrath had passed away, and perceiving that the waters of the river, instead of presenting an unruffled calm, as they are wont to do on so interesting an occasion, were discomposed and turbid; and remembering, that beside this, I had no other means of accomplishing my heroic purpose except the vulgar and inelegant one of braining myself against the stone wall which traversed the road; I sensibly determined after taking into consideration the afore-mentioned particulars, together with the fact that I had an unfinished game of chess to win, on which depended no inconsiderable wager, that to commit suicide under such circumstances would be highly inexpedient, and probably be attended with many inconveniences. During the time I had consumed in arriving at this most wise and discreet conclusion, my mind had time to recover its former tone, and had become comparatively calm and collected; and I saw my folly in endeavouring to trifle with one apparently so mysterious and inexplicable.

I now resolved, that whatever might betide, I would patiently await the issue of the affair, and advancing forward in the direction of my guide, who all this time had maintained her ground, steadfastly watching my actions, we both simultaneously strode forward, and were soon on the same footing as before.

We walked on at an increased pace, and were just past the suburbs of the town when my conductress, plunging into a neighbouring grove, pursued her way with augmented speed, till we arrived at a spot, whose singular and grotesque beauty, even amidst the agitating occurrences of the evening, I could not refrain from observing. A circular space of about a dozen acres in extent had been cleared in the very heart of the grove, leaving, however, two parallel rows of lofty trees, which at the distance of about twenty paces, and intersected in the centre by two similar ranges, traversed the whole diameter of the circle. These noble plants shooting their enormous trunks to an amazing height, bore their verdant honours far aloft, throwing their gigantic limbs abroad and embracing each other with their rugged arms. This fanciful union of their sturdy boughs formed a magnificent arch, whose grand proportions, swelling upward in proud pre-eminence, presented to the eye a vaulted roof, which to my perturbed imagination at the time, seemed to have canopied the triumphal feasts of the sylvan god. This singular prospect burst upon me in all its beauty, as we emerged from the surrounding thicket, and I had unconsciously lingered on the borders of the wood, the better to enjoy so unrivalled a view, when, as my eye was following the dusky outline of the grove, I caught sight of the diminutive figure of my guide, who, standing at the entrance of the arched way I have been endeavouring to describe, was making the most extravagant gesture of impatience at my delay. Reminded at once of the situation, which put me for a time under the control of this capricious mortal, I replied to her summons by immediately throwing myself forward, and we soon entered the Atlantian arbour, in whose umbrageous shades we were completely hid.

Lost in conjecture, during the whole of this eccentric ramble, as to its probable termination, the sombre gloom of these ancestral trees gave a darkening hue to my imaginings, and I began to repent the inconsiderate haste which had hurried me on in an expedition so peculiar and suspicious. In spite of all my efforts to exclude them, the fictions of the nursery poured in upon my recollections, and I felt with Bob Acres in the _Rivals_, that ‘my valour was certainly going.’ Once, I am almost ashamed to own it to thee, gentle reader, my mind was so haunted with ghostly images, that in an agony of apprehension I was about to turn and flee, and had actually made some preliminary movements to that effect, when my hand, accidentally straying into my bosom, gripped the billet, whose romantic summons had caused this nocturnal adventure. I felt my soul regain her fortitude, and smiling at the absurd conceits which infested my brain, I once more stalked proudly forward, under the overhanging branches of these ancient trees.

Emergent from the shades of this romantic region, we soon beheld an edifice, which seated on a gentle eminence, and embowered amidst surrounding trees, bore the appearance of a country villa; although its plain exterior showed none of those fantastic devices which usually adorn the elegant châteaux. My conductress, as we neared this unpretending mansion, seemed to redouble her precautions, and although she evinced no positive alarm, yet her quick and startled glances bespoke no small degree of apprehension. Motioning me to conceal myself behind an adjacent tree, she approached the house with rapid but cautious steps; my eyes followed her until she disappeared behind the shadow of the garden wall, and I remained waiting her reappearance with the utmost anxiety. An interval of several moments had elapsed, when I descried her, swinging open a small postern, and beckoning me to advance. I obeyed the summons, and was soon by her side, not a little amazed at the complacency which, after what had transpired, brooked my immediate vicinity. Dissembling my astonishment, however, and rallying all my powers, I followed with noiseless strides the footsteps of my guide, fully persuaded that this mysterious affair was now about to be brought to an _éclaircissement_.

The appearance of this spacious habitation was anything but inviting; it seemed to have been built with a jealous eye to concealment; and its few, but well-defended windows were sufficiently high from the ground, as effectually to baffle the prying curiosity of the inquisitive stranger. Not a single light shone from the narrow casement; but all was harsh, gloomy, and forbidding. As my imagination, ever alert on such an occasion, was busily occupied in assigning some fearful motive for such unusual precautions, my leader suddenly halted beneath a lofty window, and making a low call, I perceived slowly descending therefrom, a thick silken cord, attached to an ample basket, which was silently deposited at our feet. Amazed at this apparition, I was about soliciting an explanation: when laying her fingers impressively upon her lips, and placing herself in the basket, my guide motioned me to seat myself beside her. I obeyed, but not without considerable trepidation; and, in obedience to the same low call which had procured its descent, our curious vehicle, with sundry creakings, rose in the air.