"GERMANTOWN, TENNESSEE,July 6, 1847.
"MR. GREELEY:
"DEAR SIR:—Sitting to-night 'all solitary and alone,' my mind has wandered back upon scenes that have past eleven years ago, though vivid now even as yesterday. It was about that time that I saw you first, and indeed saw you last.
"Little did I then dream that I beheld in that modest personage one who is now acknowledged as the 'distinguished and accomplished Horace Greeley.'
"You well remember your first visit to the South, I dare say. You cannot have forgotten many incidents that occurred at a little village of North Carolina, called Warrenton? No, there isonecircumstance I feel assured you never can forget while memory lasts, and there are others to which I claim the right to call your attention: for instance, do you remember your first meeting with a certain Miss Cheney at the house of Squire Bragg, the father of Capt. Bragg, who lately distinguished himself at Monterey and Buena Vista? Do you now remember to whom you related the secret of your visit, who procured the parson, and what persons accompanied you to church, and then with your beautiful bride returned to breakfast? We saw you take the solemn vows, we witnessed the plighted betrothal, and when you bore away from us this prize, you also carried our best wishes that you might be ever blessed, and she be made always happy. May it not have been otherwise."
.… "I would, my dear sir, be pleased to hear from you, and to learn something of the results and changes which time has brought about in your own family.
"Be pleased to remember me to your sweet wife, and if there be any, or many little G———s, my kind regards to them also.
"Very respectfully,"A. L. YANCEY."
Visitors—Our Neighbors—The Chappaqua Croquet Club—Gabrielle's Letter—A Hiding Party—Summer Heat—The Music-room—Friends from the City.
June 18.
While out on the croquet ground this afternoon, a lady and gentleman alighted from a carriage, and walked up to join us. They proved to be our friends, Mr. and Mrs. Charles E. Wilbour, of New York, who had driven over from White Plains to make us an afternoon call. Mrs. Wilbour is a charming, intellectual woman, the president of Sorosis, and a friend of many years of both mamma and Aunt Mary. In appearance she is tall, handsome, and queenly, dressing in perfect taste, and a graceful hostess. Her pretty daughter Linny is a school friend of Gabrielle's at St. Mary's.
Mr. and Mrs. Wilbour spend much time during the summer, driving about from one town to another; certainly the most comfortable and agreeable mode of travelling that one could adopt.
We have some agreeable neighbors here, who contribute somewhat to the general entertainment. The aristocracy of Chappaqua are chiefly Quaker families who have lived here since the days of the Indians, and who look down quite doubtfully upon the New York families who come out here for the summer only, and of whose ancestry they know nothing. The fathers and mothers wear the Quaker dress, and use the "Friends" phraseology, which I think very pretty and caressing, but the young people depart somewhat from the way of grace, in speech, costume, and habits. The young girls wear whatever color of the rainbow best suits their fresh complexions, are skilled in flirting, and with the assistance of the young gentlemen, have organized a club for weekly croquet parties and private theatricals at the residences of the different members, whilst picnics and riding-parties to Croton and Rye Lakes, and other pretty points of interest, are of frequent occurrence. But of the riding-parties Gabrielle has just written a sprightly description to a school friend, and before the letter goes to the post, I will transcribe it.
CHAPPAQUA,June 18.
"DEAR MOLLIE: I received your charming letter and photograph last week. Many thanks for both. You ask me how do I pass my time, and what is the latest excitement?
"Well, to begin with, you must know that we have just started a club in Chappaqua for mutual amusement, but as I have been indisposed for some time, I certainly have not yet derived much benefit from it, but spend most of my time reading.
"Last Saturday I was just longing for something to happen, and apostrophizing the world as a hollow sham, when Minna came up to say that we had all been invited to an equestrian party, to start after tea. You would have imagined I had been offered several kingdoms by my delight. I gave two or three screams of condensed joy, while dancing wildly around the room, much to Aunt Esther's surprise.
"But on second thoughts, whatwasI to do for a horse? My ponies had never been broken to the saddle, but having made up my mind to go, go I would, if I had to ride a wild buffalo; so I ordered Lady Alice around an hour before the time to start. When she arrived, the balcony was filled with a large and anxious audience, and rather than fail before so many, I was determined that either I should break the horse in, or she should break me. I sprang into the saddle, but before I could seat myself or put my foot in the stirrup, she jerked her head away from Bernard, and commenced a series of exciting manoeuvres, rearing, plunging, and kicking. For about five minutes I defied all the laws of gravitation. But when the coachman tried to seize her bridle, she shied so suddenly that I was surprised to find myself on terra firma. I jumped up directly and assured every one that I had not hurt myself in the least, in fact had never felt better; but between you and me, I felt very like the dog that was tossed by the cow with the crumpled horn. I am afraid that by this time I had let my little angry passions rise—in other words, I was decidedly angry.
"I got on splendidly this time, and was quite ready to start with my cousins when the time came, although my Lady Alice evinced serious objections to the gate, and preferred ambling gently along sideways up the hill. After a while I intimated kindly with my whip a desire to gallop. I fear that, like some of our friends, she is hard to take a hint, for she progressed by the most wonderful plunges, garnished with little kicks; but I kept her head well up, and clawed out several handfuls of her mane. When we came to the rendezvous, my cavalier proposed running her for two or three miles to take down her spirits a little, after which she went beautifully, and I never enjoyed a ride so much before.
"We rode to Lake Wampus, and everything looked so lovely, for the full moon lighted it up like a mirror, and we had singing and thrilling ghost stories.
"Dear me, how awfully long this letter is! Be sure you answer it soon.
"Yours lovingly,"GABRIELLE."
June 19.
The heat and dust are becoming insufferable, for we have had no rain, save in very homoeopathic doses, during the three weeks that we have been here. The shrubs and bushes by the roadside look so piteous under their weight of dust, that I feel half inclined to try the effect of a feather brush upon their drooping leaves; and Bernard, who is never prone to take cheerful views of anything, grows daily more gloomy when we inquire after the progress of the kitchen-garden. But, although we are sighing under the heat, it is nothing, we are told, to what the New Yorkers are now enduring, and our friends, Mrs. Acheson and Dr. Taylor, who came out yesterday from the city to spend the day with us, congratulated us upon the coolness of the temperature at Chappaqua.
The morning was passed out of doors playing croquet and walking"Sotto i pini del boschetto,"to use the words of the coquettish Countess and her arch waiting-maid in the "Marriage of Figaro" (that Letter Duo contains, I think, some of the most delicious music that the joyous Mozart ever wrote).
The sun was too hot after our early dinner, for us to find much pleasure in croquet; so we sat in the music-room, and upon the piazza, and listened to a few songs from Marguerite, and watched the skill of papa and the handsome blond doctor in the "Magic Rings,"—a very easy game, to all appearance, but one which really requires much dexterity of hand.
The music-room is, I think, the coolest and pleasantest room in the house. It is one of the additions built by uncle after he had purchased this house—a large, square room on the ground floor, with curtained windows opening upon the balcony, and upon the old apple-tree. It is singularly favorable for music, for it contains no heavy furniture, and the floor is uncarpeted. We had intended to remove all the pictures from the walls, that they might not deaden the sound of the music, but we could not resist an exquisite "Mary in the Desert," purchased by uncle in Florence, in 1851; so this painting is now hung over the piano.
Our sprightly brunette friend with the merry black eyes, Mrs. Acheson, looked unusually pretty and charming yesterday. I love to describe stylish toilettes as well as any fashion-writer; so here is hers in all its details: steel-colored silk trimmed with turquoise blue, demi-traine, her hair beautifully dressed (orcoiffured, to use the fashionable newspaper word) in puffs and rolls, and finished with a little blue feather; while an elegant fan attached to half a yard of gold chain depended from her belt.
When the 4.45 train was at hand, Ida and I walked down to the station with our friends. Quite luckily there was a drawing-room car attached to the train, although such luxury is generally confined to the express, which does not stop here. I learnt, however, from the station-master, that this car had borne some happy pair as far as Albany the day before, had stayed there over-night for repairs, and was now returning in a leisurely manner to New York.
Midsummer Day—An Artist's Visit—Ida's Letter—Moonlight on Croton Lake—Morning Readings—Plato and Kohlrausch.
June 21.
In honor of Midsummer Day, Marguerite and I have spent the morning at the piano, playing Mendelssohn's delicious fairy music from the Midsummer Night's Dream.
We have had little time to practise or read this week, for company has been of almost daily occurrence; Marguerite returned yesterday morning from a flying visit to the city, accompanied by our friends, Colonel Rogers and Mr. Hows, the artist, who is a neighbor of ours in our rural part of the city—Cottage Place. Colonel Rogers was dressed entirely in gray, a costume that looked delightfully cool, and was a perfect match for his eyes.
The morning was spent in playing croquet, and in showing our guests over the place, whose wild beauty delighted Mr. Hows' artistic eyes. We walked first to the flower-garden, where we gathered flowers to dress the table for dinner, and then visited the pine grove, the romantic dell, and the stone barn of which uncle was always so proud, where we spent an hour amid the sweet hay.
For the evening a drive was proposed, as we have now quite recovered from our former dread of malaria. Ida held the ribbons on this occasion, and as I was not one of the party, I will insert her graceful description of the pleasant evening.
"CHAPPAQUA.
"DEAR JULIA: I was so sorry to get your letter saying you could not come. I wish you had not let your tiresome old dressmaker deprive me of the pleasure of your company on our expedition to Croton Lake.
"I must tell you all about the delightful time we had. Two of the numerous friends of our blue-eyed Marguerite, Colonel Rogers and Mr. Hows, whose exquisite pictures you and I have so often enjoyed together, were our cavaliers on this occasion. As our light carriage only has room for four, I drove the ponies myself. We started just about sundown, and the pleasant coolness of evening came on while there was still daylight enough to light up the constantly changing panorama of hill and dale, and forest and distant river, beyond which the blue mountain range dimly seen, now seemed to emerge into bolder relief, and again to fade back into cloud-land.
"Mr. Hows' delight in the scenery was certainly equalled by mine in listening to its praises. I am very fond of this part of Westchester, and when people talk of the beauties of the Adirondacks, I listen with the silent conviction that we have everything here but the musquitoes and the bad cooking, with both of which I cheerfully dispense.
"But to return to our drive. The last mile the road ran through a dark forest, following the course of a stream called Roaring Brook, which generally makes good its title to the name, but now, owing to the recent drouth, was reduced to roaring as gently as Bottom's Lion promised to do. At last the lake was reached, and turning to the right, we were soon skimming along at a great pace on the wide boulevard that skirts the water as far along as Pine's Bridge. There we put up our ponies at a hotel with an impossible and unpronounceable Indian name, and accepted the Colonel's kind invitation for a row. We all regretted there was no moon, with as much self-reproach as if it had been accidentally left behind, but were glad enough to get into our little white boat, that looked quite silvery against the dark current.
"The gentlemen, who had been dying to hear Marguerite sing ever since coming out here, now suggested that her voice was all that was needed to make the hour perfect; so Marguerite, who is as sweet and unaffected about her singing as if she hadn't the most exquisite soprano ever heard off the stage, consented without any tiresome urging, and asked what it should be. We were evenly divided between 'Robin Adair' and Mario's 'Good-bye, Sweetheart,' so our pretty songstress kindly gave us both.
"I cannot recall the delicious effect of her singing as we were drifting along in the sombre twilight, better than by quoting Buchanan Read's charming lines, which I dare say you have seen before:
"'I heed not ifMy rippling skiffFloat swift or slow from cliff to cliff;With dreamful eyesMy spirit liesUnder the walls of Paradise.
"'Under the wallsWhere swells and fallsThe bay's deep breast at intervals;At peace I lie,Blown softly byA cloud upon this liquid sky.
"'No more, no moreThe worldly shoreUpbraids me with its load uproar:With dreamful eyesMy spirit liesUnder the walls of Paradise.'
"I. L. G."
June 24.
The week commenced with a dash of rain, but this morning it was again as hot as though no clouds had darkened the sky. Croquet was out of the question, and not even for the sake of trying my new beaver and stylish habit, so becoming to a slight figure, could I confront the dust and the sun's blazing rays upon Nancy's back (for such is the unromantic name of the horse that oftenest has the honor of bearing me when we ride). No one seemed inclined to drive, so Lady Alice and the Duchess, that had been for some time impatiently stamping, and arching their pretty necks, evidently impatient to be off, were sent back to the stables, much amazed, I doubt not, at our capricious conduct; while we—mamma, Marguerite, and I—sauntered up to the cool pine grove, accompanied by Arthur, bearing a camp-chair for mamma, and a couple of wise-looking tomes, in whose society we were to spend the morning.
But I have not yet introduced Arthur. He is neither brother, cousin, norfiancé, but bound to us by almost brotherly ties, having been our playmate when we were little children; and after the death of his parents (our eminent historian Richard Hildreth, and his gifted artist wife), he became mamma's ward, and was our constant companion in Italy and France. Arthur has come on from Cambridge, where he has just taken his degree as a lawyer, to make us a visit of some weeks, and we have had much pleasure talking over with him those poetic days that we passed together in Florence and Venice.
Butourlife is never made up of talking and dreaming, delightful though it may be, and we have a certain amount of reading to do every day, which we despatch as conscientiously as we do our prayers. There is no rule, however, limiting the reading to any one person, and Arthur often relieves us of that duty. I enjoy his reading very much, especially when one of Plato's "Dialogues" is the lesson of the day, for into them he throws so much enthusiasm and dramatic force, that they are quite a revelation to me. I was amused this morning, upon turning over the leaves of my journal of last winter, to find my first impressions of the "Dialogues" thus laconically expressed:
"I have to-day commenced to read Plato aloud. I cannot say that I find him very refreshing as yet; still I try to admire him as much as I conscientiously can."
I must confess that at first the abstruse subtleties of Socrates and his brother logicians were too much for my little brain, but now that I am more familiar with them, I quite delight in following their arguments. These "Dialogues" remind me of a fugue in musical composition; only melody is wanting to make the resemblance perfect, for here, as in the "Well-tempered Harpsichord," one train of thought is taken up, viewed from every side and in every light—that is to say, pursued through every possible key only to return and end at the original starting-point.
Story-telling—Mr. Greeley's Father—His Personal Appearance—His Education—A Fine Voice—Mr. Greeley's Mother—A Handsome Woman—How she is remembered in Vermont—Field Labor—Bankruptcy—A Journey to Vermont—School Days—The Boy Horace—How he entertained his Playmates—His First Ball—Separation from his Family.
June 25.
"What a delightful evening for story-telling!" said Gabrielle, as she listened to the heavy rain-drops falling upon the leaves of the old apple-tree; "will you not give us one, Aunt Esther?"
"Yes," said Ida and Marguerite, drawing their chairs closer to mamma's sofa. "Do tell us about yourself when you were a young girl, and about grandpapa and grandmamma!"
"Ah," said mamma, with a sigh, "you children have never known my dear parents!"
Marguerite was the only one of the young quartette who remembered having seen grandpapa, and her recollections of him were confused with memories of people in Europe, where our childhood was spent.
"How did he look when you were a little girl, mamma?" I inquired. "I think he is quite imposing in your little picture taken the year before he died, and he must have been very handsome when he was young."
"He was not only handsome: he was an unusual man," said mamma, decidedly. "No biographer, in speaking of our family, has ever estimated him correctly, and even dear brother himself does not give sufficient importance to father's fine character and mental qualities; but you know that he left home when a boy of fifteen, and after that time he only saw father at long intervals.
"You remember, Cecilia, that all the foreign sketches you have ever read of brother, announce that his parents were 'common peasants,' while many American writers, although they do not use the word 'peasant,' convey a similar impression. Father was by no means a common man, for to be 'common' one must be vulgar or ignorant, and father was neither. He was not uneducated, although his schooling was very slight; but he was a good reader, was very skilful in arithmetic, and wrote an excellent hand—an accomplishment for which our family are not celebrated—beside possessing a hoard of self-acquired information upon different subjects. During the long winter evenings in our lonely Pennsylvania home, he taught us younger children arithmetic, and was very fond of giving us long sums to puzzle out. I have often, heard him say to brother Barnes,
"'You must store your mind with useful knowledge, that when you go out into the world you will have something to talk about as well as other people.'
"A poor farmer in those days did not have much opportunity to acquire accomplishments, as you may well imagine; but father possessed one talent that, if properly directed, might have made his fortune and ours. I have never yet heard a natural voice that excelled your grandfather's; a high, clear, powerful tenor, with unsurpassed strength of lungs, which, added to his handsome presence, would have made him one of the finest singers that has yet trodden the boards. Of course his voice was uncultivated, with the exception of the slight training of country singing-classes, and the songs that he knew were simple ballads; but his memory was very retentive, and his singing was in great demand when company was present. At husking-parties and apple-bees, when supper was over and the young people wished to dance, if no fiddler was present, father would be petitioned to sing. I have often known him to sing country dances for hours, and he sung so heartily, and marked the time so well, that the young people enjoyed the dancing as much as if the music had been furnished by the most skilful violinist.
"I told you that father was a handsome man. He had large blue eyes, soft, silky, brown curls clustering around a magnificent brow, a set color in his cheeks, and a hand that the hardest field labor could not deprive of its beauty—long, tapering fingers, and pointed nails, such as novelists love to describe, but in real life are rarely seen outside of the most aristocratic families. His teeth were small, white and even, and at the time of his death, when eighty-seven years old, he had only lost one. His figure, though less than six feet, gave the impression of a much taller man; for he was slenderly built without being thin, and his carriage was almost military. To this fine presence was added an air of dignity and almosthauteur, that was very unusual in a poor farmer. But father was proud to an unparalleled degree. Indeed, it was his pride that caused him to plunge into the wild forests of Pennsylvania. His haughty nature could not bear the life of subordination that he led in Vermont, where he did not own an acre of land, and was obliged to work under the orders of others, often far inferior to him, and where he fancied the story of his flight from New Hampshire was known to every one. Smarting with mortification, he toiled until he could save a few hundred dollars to buy some acres in the wilderness, far from all his former associates, and there he buried himself with my dear mother and their five little children. But these morose feelings were somewhat subdued as the years rolled on.
"With his children he was affectionate, but, like an old-school father, very distant. He never struck one of us in his life—a glance being sufficient to enforce obedience, or subdue the wildest spirits. He was always as particular about the etiquette of the table as though we were served by footmen in livery; and in our poorest days, when cups and saucers were scant and spoons still more so, we were obliged to observe the utmost decorum till we were helped; and any laughing or chatter among the younger ones was immediately quelled by the emphatic descent of father's fork upon the coverless table, with the words, 'Children, silence!'
"Father was highly respected by our neighbors in Pennsylvania, and was often urged to accept some county office. However, he always declined."
"Do you think, mamma," said Marguerite, "that grandmamma was as handsome as grandpapa?"
A pause of a moment or two.
"They were very different," was her reply. "Mother had neither father's brilliant face, nor his imposing presence, but she was a very handsome woman. She had soft blue eyes, a perfectly straight nose, a mouth rather large, perhaps, for beauty, but full of character, brown hair tinged with red, and a transparent, though not pallid complexion. If you wish more minute details, look at your uncle's picture. No man ever resembled a woman more strikingly than he did our dear mother."
"In a recently published life of uncle," said I, "the author speaks of grandmamma as often working in the fields, and describes her as large and muscular, and possessing the strength of a man. Is not that an exaggeration?"
"Mother was above medium height," was mamma's reply, "but her figure was slender, with small and well-shaped hands and feet. It was her pride that water could flow under the arch of her instep; and her fingers, notwithstanding the hard toil of daily life, remained so flexible, that, when fifty years old, she could still bend thembackwardsto form a drinking-cup."
"Let me tell you, Aunt Esther," interposed Ida, "how grandmamma is remembered in Vermont. When Gabrielle and I were quite small children, we went there on a visit, and papa took us to see some old lady (whose name I have forgotten) residing in Westhaven. This lady had known grandmamma very well, and, after contemplating Gabrielle and I for some time, remarked curtly, 'Neither of you children are as handsome as your grandmother was.'"
This uncomplimentary remark caused us all to laugh heartily. Mamma then resumed her story.
"As for field labor, your grandmother may, while we were in New Hampshire, have sometimes assisted father for a day or two during the pressure of haying or harvesting time; but never, since I was old enough to observe, can I recollect seeing her work in the fields. Certainly mother was not a woman to hesitate to do cheerfully whatever necessity required. But she had quite enough to occupy herself at home with the entire duties of a house, with the spinning, weaving, and making up of all the linen and woollen cloth that the household used; and the care and early instruction of her little ones—for it was her pride that all of her children learned to read before going to school. I remember that when I was first sent to school, at the age of four, the teacher, with a glance at my tiny figure (for I was a small, delicate child), called me up to read to her, and opened the book at the alphabet. Deeply injured, I informed her that I knew my letters, and could read over in 'An old man found a rude boy in one of his apple-trees,'—a fable that all familiar with Webster's Spelling-book will remember.
"My first distinct recollection of mother is in the dark days in New Hampshire. Father, as you know, had lost everything that he possessed, and was obliged to fly into the next State to escape imprisonment for debt. After he left, his furniture was attached and sold. I remember seeing strange, rough men in the house, who pulled open all the trunks and chests of drawers, and tossed about the beautiful bed and table linen that mother had wrought before her marriage. Another picture, too, is impressed indelibly upon my mind—how mother followed the sheriff and his men about from room to room with the tears rolling down her face, while brother Horace, then a little white-haired boy, nine years old, held her hand and tried to comfort her, telling her not to cry—he would take care of her.
"But mother, although humiliated and heart-sore at the poverty and disgrace that lay before her so early in her married life, was not a woman to fold her hands and think sadly of what"'--might have been.'She wiped away her tears, and her busy fingers were soon preparing warm hoods and dresses to protect her little ones from the bitter cold during the journey that lay before us, for in the course of two or three months father had by hard toil earned money sufficient to send for us. I remember very well that journey over the mountains covered with snow into the State of Vermont, and our establishment in what was called the 'small house by the ledge' in the little neighborhood of houses clustering on and about the old Minot estate.
"You children, accustomed as you have been from your infancy to the attractive text-books of the present day, would quite scorn the system of instruction at the school I attended in Westhaven. I went there three winters, but although I soon rose to the first class in reading and spelling, in which branches I was unusually precocious, my education was confined entirely to those two departments of learning. Few text-books were then used in the school, for the parents of the children were generally too poor to pay for many, and the musty old Grammar and Arithmetic were kept in reserve for the older scholars. On account of my youth the teacher did not advance me, and I went again and again through the old Spelling-book, and learnt by heart what was called the 'fore part of the book'—some dry rules of orthography, which never conveyed the slightest idea to my mind, although I repeated them, parrot-like, without missing a word, and which the teacher never thought of explaining to me. From the spelling-book I was in time promoted to the New Testament (not as easy reading as might have been selected, by the way). This was followed by the American Preceptor, and subsequently by Murray's 'English Reader,' a work reserved for the most advanced scholars.
"My brothers did not go to school during the summer months, for their services were then required to assist father in his work; and I, too, had to leave school every day at eleven o'clock to carry their dinner to them at the place, a mile and a half distant, where they were clearing a portion of the Minot estate.
"When brother Horace was thirteen years old he was taken out of school, as the teacher could instruct him no longer. I was kept at home also, and brother taught me, giving me lessons in arithmetic and penmanship, which studies had been prohibited me at school. Here commenced a most tender attachment and sympathy between brother and I. As there were two children—Barnes and sister Arminda—between us, our difference of years had hitherto kept us somewhat apart; but after brother had been for several months my instructor we were from that time the nearest in heart in our large household.
"I think that mother must have entirely regained her spirits during the four years that we lived in Vermont, for I remember that men, women, and children alike delighted in her society, and our house was the centre of the little neighborhood. We resided very near the school-house, and rarely did a morning pass without a visit from some of the girls, to have a few words of greeting from mother on their way to their lessons. When recess time came, they would arrive in numbers to spend the time with her, and beg for a song or a story from the inexhaustible supply with which her memory was stored, and there they would remain, fascinated by her sweet, low voice until she would be obliged to playfully chase them out of the house to compel them to return to school. From the teacher, for tardiness, punishment was a very frequent occurrence, but it made slight impression upon the girls in comparison with the enjoyment of listening to one of mother's thrilling or romantic stories, for the following day they would return to our house to again risk the penalty.
"I told you that brother taught me after we were taken out of school. He was the gentlest and kindest of instructors, and was always ready to lay down his own book to help me out of any difficulty that my lesson presented, although it was by no means easy to make him close his book under other circumstances; such as the solicitations of his young friends to join them in a game.
"I have described father to you as a stern man in his every-day intercourse with us, but although his motto was 'Work,' he was always willing to grant us a holiday or a play-hour, when he thought we had earned it. He would relax his dignity, too, somewhat when young people came to pass the evening with us; would encourage us to play games and dance, and would often join us; for, although he never played cards himself, nor would he allow them to be played in his house, he himself taught us how to dance.
"When our young friends came to see us, there was much rejoicing from brother Barnes, who was full of life and spirits, and always ready to play, and from Arminda and myself; but brother Horace, not at all allured by blind-man's-buff or a dance, would retire to a corner with a pine knot (for in those days candles were few), preferring the companionship of his book to our merry games. Coaxing was all in vain: the only means of inducing him to join us was to snatch away his book and hide it; but even then he preferred to gather us quietly about him and tell us stories. I remember that before he left home he had related to us, among other things, the thousand and one stories of the 'Arabian Nights,' and 'Robinson Crusoe.' This gift of story-telling he inherited from mother, whose talent in that line certainly equalled that of the beautiful Sultana Scheherazade herself. At this time, although I had never seen a copy of Shakespeare, I was familiar with the names and plots of all his imaginative, and many of his historical plays, which mother would relate to us in her own words, embellished now and then with bits of the original verse, as she sat at her spinning-wheel, or busied herself about the household work.
"It was, I think, at this same time—our last year in Vermont—that a large ball, for young people only, was given in our neighborhood. Much speculation was excited among our young friends as to whether Horace would dance at this ball, and especially if he would fetch a partner with him. It was the general opinion that he would not, as he did not bear a high reputation for gallantry. Great, then, was the astonishment of all present when Horace entered the ballroom with Anne Bush, the prettiest girl in the neighborhood, upon his arm. He opened the ball with her, and his deportment quite silenced those who had questioned his appearance.
"Before long, preparations for another journey were in progress. Father had earned money sufficient to buy some land, and I heard that we were going to Pennsylvania. I was, however, too young to be much impressed by this news, and it was not until I saw mother once more in tears that its importance was apparent to me. This time mother wept as bitterly as before, for not only was she to be separated by a greater distance from her family in New Hampshire, to whom she was fondly attached, and from the pleasant circle of friends she had made in Westhaven, but her darling among us children, her beautiful eldest boy, of whom she was so proud, was to be left in Vermont."
A Picnic at Croton Dam—The Waterworks—A Game of Twenty Questions—Gabrielle as a Logician—Evangeline's Betrothal—Marguerite's Letter—Description of Chappaqua—Visitors—Edmonia Lewis.
June 26.
Gabrielle and I have just returned from spending the day at Croton Dam. A large party from the prominent families of Chappaqua was organized by Miss Murray, the pretty daughter of one of our neighbors, and at nine o'clock a number of carriages, packed to overflowing with young people and lunch-baskets, and led off by a four-horse wagon, started caravan-wise from the place of rendezvous, Mr. Murray's elegant grounds.
The drive was a very pretty one, skirting for some distance the beautiful little lake that supplies the great thirsty city of New York; and the spot chosen for the picnic—shady, terrace-like heights, with a gradual slope to meet the water, and a rough bench here and there—was declared the most suitable place in the world to lay the cloth. One or two members of the party remained behind to unload the carriages, count the broken dishes, and estimate the proportion of contributions—many people fetching salt in abundance but forgetting sugar, whilst others furnished elaborately frosted cakes, but omitted such necessaries as knives and forks. Meantime, we climbed the stone steps leading to the waterworks, and after a glimpse of the seething dark-green water through the heavy iron grating, we hunted up the overseer and asked him to unlock the doors for us, that we might have a nearer view. He assented, and admitted us very obligingly, giving us meantime a graphic description of the yearly journey of the Inspector in a boat down the dark passage to New York, and pointing out the low narrow place of entry from the water-house where they must lie down in the boat.
Dinner hour is generally a most interesting moment in a picnic, and this was the time when the young gentlemen showed their gallantry by partaking only of such viands as had come from the baskets of their favorites among the young ladies.
A cloth was spread upon the ground; seats were extemporized for the ladies out of carriage cushions, waterproofs and wraps; the knives, forks and plates were dealt out as impartially as possible, and we passed a very merry hour.
When the repast was over, the party dispersed—some to play croquet, others to row upon the lake, or to stroll about under the trees; some young ladies produced books and bright bits of fancy-work, while Gabrielle, Arthur and I, with our pretty captain, Miss Murray, and one of her attendant cavaliers, decided to pass away the time by playing a game—no trivial game, however; neither "consequences" nor fortune-telling, but an eminently scientific one entitled "Twenty Questions." For the benefit of the uninitiated I will remark that the oracle chooses a subject (silently), and the others are allowed to put twenty questions to him to enable them to divine it—usually commencing with "Is the object that you have in your mind to be found in the animal, vegetable, or mineral kingdom?"
Gabrielle is very clever in this somewhat abstruse game, for she possesses her mother's spirit of inquiry and love of reasoning, and she passes entire evenings with Arthur, pursuing the most perplexing and intangible subjects. She and Arthur are admirably matched in this game; for if she is unparalleled in the quickness with which she will follow up a clue and triumphantly announce the mysterious object, after asking eighteen or nineteen questions, Arthur is no less adroit in selecting unusual subjects, and so artfully parrying her questions as to give her the least possible assistance. I often hear them call to each other—
"I have chosen a subject; you will never in the world guess it!"
Then follows an hour of questions and reasoning, with inferences drawn and rejected, and a display of sophistry that would do credit to a more fully fledged lawyer than Arthur is at present.
Yesterday, after dinner, they launched into one of their games, and Gabrielle guessed after eighteen questions what would have required forty, I am sure, from any one else—the eighty-eighth eye of a fly!
Another was even more puzzling. The object belonged, Arthur assured her, to the vegetable kingdom, the color was white, and he had often met it within a dozen yards of the railway station. "A daisy," was the first and natural solution, but she was, he assured her, very far adrift. "A telegraph post," she next announced, but she was again unsuccessful. At this point I left them; but after an hour had passed Gabrielle ran up to my room to tell me that she had guessed it—a polka dot upon one of her morning dresses!
The object chosen by Arthur at the picnic was the right horn of the moon. Gabrielle, this time, sat beside me and enjoyed the perplexity of the questioners, for not until we were about to step into the carriage to return home did they guess it.
June 27.
A letter this morning from our pretty cousin Evangeline, announcing that she is engaged to a Dr. Ross of Chautauqua county, where she lives. Evangeline is the only daughter of mamma's youngest sister, Margaret. She is eighteen years old, of medium height, and well formed, with a fair complexion, the chestnut hair that is peculiar to the younger members of the Greeley family, and brown eyes inherited from her father's family, for the Greeley eyepar excellenceis blue. Although Evangeline has been brought up in the quiet little village of Clymer, she has been well educated, and besides being uncle's favorite among his nieces, she was much admired in general society during the winter that she spent with us in New York two years ago. At uncle's birthday party, which she attended, she was by many pronounced the handsomest young lady present.
We have never seen Dr. Ross, but mamma remembers his family well, and says that "he comes of a good stock." He is not wealthy, but he is in a good profession, is of unexceptionable character, and very devoted to our dear Evangeline; so they havemyblessing. The marriage will not take place until December, when Evangeline will have laid off her mourning.
Marguerite's portfolio is open upon her writing-table, and a letter to Evangeline, not yet sealed, lies between the blotting-sheets. As it speaks of Evangeline's betrothal, I will insert it here:
"CHAPPAQUA,June 27.
"DEAREST EVANGELINE:—You complain in your last letter that I do not write enough about Chappaqua and 'the farm.' You wish particulars. My sweet cousin, I thought that you were familiar with descriptions of this dearest spot on earth, as I remember that dear uncle gave each of us a copy of his 'Recollections' the last Christmas that you were with us—the last Christmas indeed that he spent upon this earth. Peruse that volume, dear, for in it you will find a more vivid picture, a more poetic description of his dearly loved home and surroundings, than anything that I can say.
"As to Chappaqua being a large or small village—it is small, very small, not half so large as Clymer, where you live; but it is far more picturesque. There are only a dozen or two houses in all, including a couple of stores, a post-office, a 'wayside inn,' and a church without a bell. There are, however, many fine residences scattered over the township; whichever way we drive, we see elegant mansions nestling in a copse of wood, or crowning some hill-top.
"The valley through which we approach Chappaqua is faced on either side by a succession of beautiful undulating hills that are thickly covered with dark-green foliage. This farm, consisting of eighty-four acres (for you know that there is another lying adjacent of nearly the same size), presents very beautiful and varied scenery. Near the house in the woods, where uncle and aunt lived so many years, a pretty brook winds down by the lower barn, and goes singing away through the meadows bright"'With steadfast daisies pure and white.'But this is not all; this lovely, babbling brook fills a large pond, high up in the woods, then flows over a stone dam, and comes rushing down in a succession of waterfalls, stopping for breathing-space in one of the wildest story-telling glens I ever saw.
"And here, in the gloom of the forest-trees, where the birds love to congregate, and a thousand perfumes of clover and new-mown hay, and the aroma of the evergreen grove, come up, Ida and I spend many an hour, forgetful of city life, and heedless about ever returning to it.
"This year we are occupying the roadside house, which, although not so beautiful as the new one on the side-hill, nor so retired and romantic as the one in the woods still is lovely and has a very charming prospect. It stands on sloping ground that is skirted by forest and fruit trees. Some of them throw their grateful shade on the piazza and balcony that run the width of the front of the house. My room opens on the balcony by three French windows, and here I often walk to catch the last gleam of departing day, or linger after nightfall to see the far-away stars come out. The moonrise here is perfectly enchanting, climbing up as it does over the eastern hills, and throwing its pensive light over the silent meadows, and distant, dark woods.
"But I have filled my sheet before speaking of your engagement. As I have not seen your handsome doctor, you will not expect me to be enthusiastic. I hear that he is intelligent, clever in his profession, and of excellent character, but not rich. Well Evangeline, you know I approve of wealth, combined with other good qualifications; but if I had to choose between a man of mind and a man of money, I don't think I would hesitate long which to take; so you are sure of my approbation, and you have my best wishes for your future happiness.
"Your loving cousin,"MARGUERITE."