[figure description] Page 094.[end figure description]

I have bought me a horse! A horse is a good
thing to have in the country. In the city, the persevering
streets have pushed the Bloomingdale
road out of reach. Riding-habits and rosy cheeks,
bright eyes, round hats and feathers, are banished
from the metropolis. There are no more shady bypaths
a little way out of town to tempt equestrians.
There are no visions of Die Vernon and Frank
Osbaldiston at “Burnam's” now. Romance no
longer holds the bridle-rein while the delicate slipper
is withdrawn from the old red morocco stirrup.
A whirl of dust, a glitter of wheels, a stretch of
tag-rag and bobtail horses, and the young Potiphars
are contesting time with Dusty Bob and the
exquisite Mr. Farobank. That is the picture of the

[figure description] Page 095.[end figure description]

Bloomingdale road now. It is the everyday picture
too. Go when you will, you see the tag-rag
and bobtail horses, the cloud of dust, the whirl of
wheels, the young Potiphars, Dusty Bob, and the
elegant Mr. Farobank.

There was a time when I could steal away from
the dusky counting-room to inhale the fragrant
hartshorn of the stable, while the hostler was putting
the saddle on “Fanny.” Fanny was a blooded
filly, a descendant of the great Sir Henry. Her
education had been neglected. She had been
broken by a couple of wild Irishmen, who used to
“hurrup” her, barebacked, morning and evening,
through the lonely little street in the lower part of
the city, where the stable was situated. As a consequence,
the contest between her high blood and
low breeding made her slightly vicious. The first
time I backed her, she stood still for half an hour,
no more moved by the whip than a brass filly
would have been; then deliberately walked up the
street, turned the corner with a jump that almost
threw me on the curb-stone, then ran away, got on
the sidewalk, and stopped suddenly, with her fore
feet planted firmly in front of a steep flight of area
steps, which happened to be filled with children.

[figure description] Page 096.[end figure description]

I dismounted, and, in no time, was the centre of an
angry swarm of fathers and mothers, who were
going to immolate me on the spot for trying to ride
down their ragged offspring. There is much difficulty
in making an explanation under such circumstances.
As the most abusive person in the crowd
happened to be a disinterested stranger who was
passing by, it soon became a personal matter between
two of us. Accordingly, I asked him to step
aside, which he did, when I at once hired him to
lead the filly to the ferry. Once on a country road,
I was at home in the saddle, and a few days' training
made Fanny tractable. She would even follow
me with great gentleness, like a trained dog, and
really behaved in a very exemplary way, after
throwing me twice or so. Then Fanny and I were
frequently on the Bloomingdale road, in summer
evenings and mornings, and so were ladies and
gentlemen. I do not think the fine buildings that
usurp those haunted paths an improvement. Those
leafy fringes on the way-side had a charm that freestone
cannot give. That stretch of vision over
meadows, boulders, wild shrubbery and uplifted
trees, down to the blue river, is not compensated
by ornate facades, cornices, and vestibules. Where

[figure description] Page 097.[end figure description]

are the birds? In my eyes, the glimmer of sultry
fire-flies is pleasanter in a summer night than the
perspective gas-lights in streets.

Poor Fanny! my Bloomingdale bride! I believe
I was her only patron; and when the stable burnt
down, she happened to be insured, and her mercenary
owner pocketed her value with a grin.

I have bought me a horse. As I had obtained
some skill in the manége during my younger days,
it was a matter of consideration to have a saddle-horse.
It surprised me to find good saddle-horses
very abundant soon after my consultation with the
stage-proprietor upon this topic. There were
strange saddle-horses to sell almost every day
One man was very candid about his horse: he told
me, if his horse had a blemish, he wouldn't wait to
be asked about it; he would tell it right out; and,
if a man didn't want him then, he needn't take him.

[figure description] Page 098.[end figure description]

He also proposed to put him on trial for sixty days,
giving his note for the amount paid him for the
horse, to be taken up in case the animal were
returned. I asked him what were the principal
defects of the horse. He said he'd been fired once,
because they thought he was spavined; but there
was no more spavin to him than there was to a freshlaid
egg—he was as sound as a dollar. I asked him
if he would just state what were the defects of the
horse. He answered, that he once had the pinkeye,
and added, “now that's honest.” I thought
so, but proceeded to question him closely. I asked
him if he had the bots. He said, not a bot. I
asked him if he would go. He said he would go
till he dropped down dead; just touch him with a
whip, and he'll jump out of his hide. I inquired
how old he was. He answered, just eight years,
exactly—some men, he said, wanted to make their
horses younger than they be; he was willing to
speak right out, and own up he was eight years.
I asked him if there were any other objections.
He said no, except that he was inclined to be a little
gay; “but,” he added, “he is so kind, a child
can drive him with a thread.” I asked him if he
was a good family horse. He replied that no lady

[figure description] Page 099.[end figure description]

that ever drew rein over him would be willing to
part with him. Then I asked him his price. He
answered that no man could have bought him for
one hundred dollars a month ago, but now he was
willing to sell him for seventy-five, on account of
having a note to pay. This seemed such a very
low price, I was about saying I would take him,
when Mrs. Sparrowgrass whispered, that I had better
see the horse first. I confess I was a little afraid
of losing my bargain by it, but, out of deference to
Mrs. S., I did ask to see the horse before I bought
him. He said he would fetch him down. “No
man,” he added, “ought to buy a horse unless he's
saw him.” When the horse came down, it struck
me that, whatever his qualities might be, his personal
appearance was against him. One of his fore
legs was shaped like the handle of our punch-ladle,
and the remaining three legs, about the fetlock,
were slightly bunchy. Besides, he had no tail to
brag of; and his back had a very hollow sweep,
from his high haunches to his low shoulder-blades.
I was much pleased, however, with the fondness
and pride manifested by his owner, as he held up,
by both sides of the bridle, the rather longish head
of his horse, surmounting a neck shaped like a

[figure description] Page 100.[end figure description]

peapod, and said, in a sort of triumphant voice, “three-quarters
blood!” Mrs. Sparrowgrass flushed up a
little, when she asked me if I intended to purchase
that horse, and added, that, if I did, she would
never want to ride. So I told the man he would
not suit me. He answered by suddenly throwing
himself upon his stomach across the back-bone of
his horse, and then, by turning round as on a pivot,
got up a-straddle of him; then he gave his horse a
kick in the ribs that caused him to jump out with
all his legs, like a frog, and then off went the spoonlegged
animal with a gait that was not a trot, nor
yet precisely pacing. He rode around our grass
plot twice, and then pulled his horse's head up like
the cock of a musket. “That,” said he, “is time.”
I replied that he did seem to go pretty fast.
“Pretty fast!” said his owner. “Well, do you
know Mr.—?” mentioning one of the richest
men in our village. I replied that I was acquainted
with him. “Well,” said he, “you know his horse?”
I replied that I had no personal acquaintance with
him. “Well,” said he, “he's the fastest horse in
the county—jist so—I'm willin' to admit it. But
do you know I offered to put my horse agin' his to
trot? I had no money to put up, or, rayther, to

[figure description] Page 101.[end figure description]

spare; but I offered to trot him, horse agin' horse,
and the winner to take both horses, and I tell you—
he wouldn't do it!”

Mrs. Sparrowgrass got a little nervous, and
twitched me by the skirt of the coat. “Dear,”
said she, “let him go.” I assured her I would not
buy the horse, and told the man firmly I would not
buy him. He said very well—if he didn't suit'
twas no use to keep a-talkin': but he added, he'd
be down agin' with another horse, next morning,
that belonged to his brother; and if he didn't suit
me, then I didn't want a horse. With this remark
he rode off.

When I reached our rural dwelling in the evening,
I brought with me the pleasant memory of a
story I had heard amid the crash and roar of the
great city. To preserve it, I wrote it down on
paper. Then I brought it in to Mrs. Sparrowgrass,
and, with a sort of premonitory smile, asked her if
she remembered “Godiva.” Mrs. S. seemed puzzled
at the question. I believe she was enumerating
the names of our former servant girls in her
mind—girls that had been discharged or gone off
of themselves, from a disinclination to cleanliness,
coupled with a certain amount of work. “Godiva,”

[figure description] Page 102.[end figure description]

said I, “or Godina, was the wife of Lord Leofrick,
of Coventry, in Warwickshire, England. He oppressed
the citizens with heavy taxes, and destroyed
their privileges. His wife interceded with him,
begged him to remit the weighty burden for her
sake. In jest, he promised to do so upon one consideration.”
“I remember it,” said Mrs. Sparrowgrass.
“The condition was, that she should ride
through the streets of Coventry stark naked.”
Mrs. Sparrowgrass blushed up to her eyes. “But,
like a noble woman, she undertook the task, and
redeemed their liberties, by fulfilling his jest in
earnest.” “Poor thing,” said Mrs. S. “You remember,”
I continued, “how splendidly Tennyson
has painted the legend:

[figure description] Page 103.[end figure description]

“How noble!” said Mrs. S. “Yes,” I replied,
“and now, after this, I want to read you my story.
I call it

THE NEW GODIVA.

Sometime after the year eighteen hundred and
fifty, a young Englishman landed at one of the
quays that afford accommodation to packet ships,
around the city of New York He had come to the
New World full of hope and enthusiasm, and he
stepped upon the quay without a penny in his
pocket. Seldom does an American find himself in
this condition, in a foreign port. Here it is so
familiar, so much of an every-day occurrence, that
sympathy has grown callous to the repetition of the
old story;—so this emigrant found, by bitter experience.
His fine, intelligent face, under a check-cloth
cap, presented itself at various counting-rooms
of the city. Check-cloth caps, in search of employment,
are common enough; and few merchants
can spare time to analyze the lineaments of a fine,
intelligent countenance.

So the young emigrant found no employment in

[figure description] Page 104.[end figure description]

the busy, active city; the fine, intelligent countenance
suffered by unwholesome resting-places,
among funeral mahogany at night, and by pride
struggling with hunger in the day, until at last the
check-cloth cap bent over a stone mallet to beat
down the city cobble stones, for a corporation contractor.
Oh, the dreary, desolate city, crowded
with strangers! Oh, the bright alien sunshine,
that never lighted up a sympathetic face! Oh, the
green shores of Merrie England, that he had seen
sinking in the distant sea, with misty eyes! There
they all were; mother and brothers, and she, the
dear one—all! and every blow of the stone-rammer
went down like a sob. In no period of life is
disappointment so poignant as in youth. The
dreams of maturity are limited by experience, and
the awakening is almost anticipated. But youth
believes its gorgeous visions, and looks upon the
real, work-day world as a monstrous fable. But,
oh, the touch of the Ithuriel spear!

The stone-rammer, for months, steadily beat
down the cobble-stones. The check-cloth cap had
lost its pristine freshness; the fine, intelligent countenance
became dead, dull, apathetic. There was
a trifling sum deposited weekly in the Emigrants'

[figure description] Page 105.[end figure description]

Saving Bank. It was all withdrawn one day. It
was the day the “Devonshire” Liverpool packet
sailed. From that day the check-cloth cap, and the
fine, intelligent countenance were seen no more by
the corporation contractor.

The “Devonshire” packet ship had a fine passage
out, and was beating up towards the Mersey
in little more than a fortnight after she bade farewell
to the American city. There she met another
packet ship, outward bound. The ships came so
near each other that passengers could recognize
faces on either deck. Amid the multitude of emigrants,
thronging the side of the outward-bound
packet, one face had particularly attracted the
attention of the passengers on the “Devonshire.”
It was that of an emigrant girl, a right English face,
in a Dunstable bonnet, but still strikingly lovely.
It was a face not simply beautiful only, it was
ideally so; one of those faces to inspire love in a
woman, adoration in a man, and respect in coarser
natures. It was not surprising, then, when one of
the younger passengers on the “Devonshire” proposed
at dinner, “the health of that English girl,”
that everybody understood it—that ladies and all
joined in the toast with enthusiasm.

[figure description] Page 106.[end figure description]

One person alone, a steerage passenger on the
“Devonshire,” had been insensible to the excitement
occasioned by the passing ships. From the
time the blue land hove in sight, the inevitable
check-cloth cap, and fine intelligent countenance
had been turned shorewards, from the bowsprit.
Never once had that eager gaze been diverted from
the land; never once had it turned towards the
packet, outward bound!

A fragment of his history must be inserted in the
mosaic of the story. When he left home to seek
his fortune in the Western republic, he did so with
a feeling, a faith that seemed prophetic of success.
His talents, for he had talents; his perseverance,
for he had perseverance; his indefatigable industry,
for he had that also, assured him there could be no
failure. Nor would there have been, in time. Industry,
perseverance, and talent, may fearlessly
begin with the stone rammer, or even with a lower
calling. Begin, begin, somewhere—anywhere—
only begin. There is no position, no dignity, without
the inevitable steps. If need be, take the
lowest and surmount them. Here, then, might
have been laid the foundation of his fortunes, had
pride permitted; but that young, ardent spirit,

[figure description] Page 107.[end figure description]

crushed by drudgery, saw the future only as a continuation
of the present; the busy world had rudely
thrust him aside; it is true, pride had succumbed
to hunger, and beat down the cobble stones, -but
this, to him, was not the dawn of hope, but the
sequel. Henceforth,
one thought controlled his
mind. “Home, home! return, return!” rang out
from the flinty pavements. There was the face of
mother, there were the faces of brothers, there was
her face, the face of his beloved one—his betrothed,
to whom, in his anguish, he had not written since
he first stepped upon the shores of the busy, heartless
New World. “Home, home!” was the constant
burthen, until the “Devonshire” packet carried
him, with his slender fortunes, once more
across the Atlantic. What was that outward-bound
ship to him, when his eyes were fixed again on
Merrie England, where they all were?

Not very long after this period, Mr. Ultramarine,
the famous artist, was arranging the drapery on his
lay-figure. A lay-figure is a huge doll, usually
about five feet three in height, kept in artists'
studios. Its joints are flexible, back, arms, neck,
et cetera, movable at will; it can be made to stand
up, to sit down or lie down, in fact, may be put in

[figure description] Page 108.[end figure description]

any posture; its limbs, bust, body, are stuffed out
so as to cleverly represent womanity, in perfect
and divine proportions; its ordinary use is to be
dressed up as a lady, and to act as such in the studio.
For example, Mrs. Honiton is sitting for her
portrait, the lovely face, the rounded arms, the taper
fingers, are transferred to the canvas; but Mrs.
Honiton's elaborate dress must also be painted, and
a two hours' sitting, day after day, is tiresome and
tedious. The lay-figure then becomes useful, and
plays a brief part in society. For a period, it represents
Mrs. Honiton. While Mr. Ultramarine is
finishing the picture, it wears her brocades, velvets,
shawl, bertha, bracelets, lace-sleeves, with becoming
dignity. There is one peculiarity in lay figures,
sometimes objectionable. They are apt to transfer
an air of stiffness to the likeness; this, however,
may be also in the original, and then the effect is
wonderful.

Mr. Ultramarine could not arrange the drapery
on the lay-figure's
to suit his fancy. The delicate,
careless curve of Mrs. Honiton's arm, holding the
thrown-off shawl, was beyond the lay-figure's
ability. So Mr. Ultramarine gave it up, and went
on setting his pallet, with now and then a fiendish

[figure description] Page 109.[end figure description]

look at his lay-figure. There was that rigid arm,
stiffly holding out the shawl, with the precision of
porcelain; completely excluding the idea Mr. U.
wished to portray, of carelessness.

There is always, in every studio, of every artist
in the city of New York, in the morning, before
visitors arrive, a respectable, elderly female. Her
duties are sweeping and dusting. By constantly
breathing its magic atmosphere, she often gains an
intuitive conception of art, beyond even the skill
of the newspaper critic. The respectable elderly
female who was putting Mr. Ultramarine to rights,
understood the difficulty at once. She glanced at
the artist and at the shawled manikin. Then she
hushed the music of the broom, and said, timidly,
“Please, sir, there is a poor creature, a young English
girl, sir, at my room, a living with me, that
would be glad to earn a shilling or two; and she
would hold you shawl just as you want it.” Mr.
Ultramarine squeezed a little vermilion out of the
capsule upon his pallet, and looked up. “Hum,”
he replied, “a coarse creature, I presume.” This
was said in a kind voice, with a lingering accent
on “coarse creature,” that did not convey hurshness
by any means. “No, sir,” she answered, “I

[figure description] Page 110.[end figure description]

would call her an English beauty. The finest face
and figure, sir.” “Dear me,” said the artist, “why
did you not speak of it before? Can you bring her
now, Mrs. Hill?” “I can, sir,” she replied, “immegently.”
So Mrs. Hill left the studio for the
model, and Mr. U. went on preparing Mrs. Honiton's
toilet on his pallet. He squeezed a tiny pod
of blue in one place, then mixed it with white, in a
variety of tints' then he smeared another place
over with Vandyke brown; then he dropped a
curious little worm of yellow ochre, out of another
capsule; then the pallet-knife dipped into a patch
of white, and then the ochre was graduated into
various tints; then he dug a mass of magilp out of
a bottle, and put that on the board; then glanced
on the lovely Honiton, and again took up another
capsule, from which he pressed a cogent blush of
carmine. Then the door opened, after a short
knock, and in walked Mrs. Hill and the model.
Under a plain English bonnet was the same face
the passengers on the “Devonshire” had seen
looking over the side of the packet, outward-bound.

Mr. Ultramarine was a painter, and felt the
divine inspiration of his profession realized in that
face. But when the model had been arrayed by

[figure description] Page 111.[end figure description]

Mrs. Hill in the ante-room in the splendid dress of
Mrs. Honiton, and stood upon the dais, the effect
was bewildering. “Such,” said the artist to himself,
“was the face Raphael knew and painted, and
men turned from Divinity to worship art in the
ideal Virgin. It is not surprising the church has
made so many proselytes.”

Mr. Ultramarine was an artist; he set to work
manfully and painted the shawl. There was an
ease and grace in the careless curve of the living
arm holding it, that made lay-figure absolutely
repulsive. He put lay-figure in one corner of his
studio, and covered her all over with old coats,
pantaloons, a rug, and bit of curtain, besides piling
on his fishing-rod, and laying a cracked pallet on
top, by way of cap-stone. In a few days Mrs.
Honiton was done. Alas, Mr. Ultramarine had not
another lady sitter just then; there were a score of
gentlemen whose portraits had to be painted.
They must be painted; he had a family to support,
and not much to do it with. He must pay the
model and send her away. So he told her simply
and kindly, and then—

The model turned deadly pale, essayed to speak,
failed, and fainted outright.

[figure description] Page 112.[end figure description]

Mr. Ultramarine took it into his head that the
model had fallen in love with him. Never was he
more mistaken, nor more relieved when he found
he was mistaken. He carried the helpless form to
a chair, bathed the Madonna face with water, and
brought the model to.

Then came the story. She was betrothed; her
lover had left England for America months ago;
she had waited patiently to hear from him by letter;
steamer after steamer arrived, but no letter.
In the seclusion of her native village suspense had
become intolerable. She determined to follow him.
Not for an instant doubting his faith, but fearing
all that woman can fear save that. Never did she
think she could not find him; no, not if he were in
the world. She had traced him even in the wilderness
of New York, until at last she found he had
taken passage to England again by the “Devonshire.”
For her there was but one thought, one
hope, one overpowering desire. That was also to
return, speedily, instantly, if possible, but—she
was almost penniless.

When she had concluded, a bright idea suggested
itself to Mr. Ultramarine, and played with a
lambent light over his features. “My child,” said

[figure description] Page 113.[end figure description]

he, “it would be impossible for me to assist you
with means sufficient for your purpose, but I can
tell you of a way by which you can make enough
to enable you to return, and make it speedily too.
We are in want of a nude model for the National
Academy of Design. Our present models have
been so long on the carpet that they have grown
too stringy even for high art. You understand me,
we are in want of a nude model for the life school.
If you will consent to sit, you can speedily earn
enough to enable you to return, say in a few
weeks.”

What was passing in that young mind while the
artist was saying this, in a plain matter-of-fact way?
What terrible thoughts were being balanced there?
What years of blinding toil, to earn even a pittance
for daily support, with no hope of regaining far-off
England, were being weighed against this startling
alternative? With all there was a little flush of
hope;—in a month she could be on the broad
ocean; once more she would see him for whom she
had suffered so much; and in that pure, maiden
heart arose the determination to make the sacrifice.
So, when the burning blush left her features, and
she had heard all, it was a face as calm as marble

[figure description] Page 114.[end figure description]

that bowed assent, meekly but firmly, and then she
went forth from the studio.

In the National Academy of Design there are
two schools of art—the Antique and the Life. The
first comprises casts of the famous statues, the Farnese
Hercules, the Venus de Medici, the Apollo
Belvidere, Thorwaldsen's Mercury with the pipe,
and Venus with the apple, the Nymph of the bath,
Venus Victrix, the Greek Suppliant, and other immortal
achievements. Here the neophytes of the
Academy assemble in winter to draw from the
casts. In the adjoining room maturer students
copy from life. In no place is the ennobling influence
of art more apparent than in the Life-school.
The sacred stillness of the place, the calm, earnest
faces of the sketchers, the statue-like repose of the
living model; the analytical experience constantly
suggested by the nude figure—the muscles, first
round and firm, then flattened, then lax and
shrunken by the hour's duty, teaching the physical
aspects of nature in various conditions, from which
the true painter draws the splendid corollary,
“that art represents nature best, when art comprehends
nature in all its developments.”

Was there no shrinking in that young creature's

[figure description] Page 115.[end figure description]

heart when they had left her alone in the unrobing
room? Was there no touch of unconscious pride
as she stood at last, in her abundant beauty, before
the mirror? Did she not hesitate as she opened
the door, and stepped forth upon the curtained
dais? Or, was that pure, innocent breast so unsullied,
that even to shame it was alien? The truly
good alone can answer this question.

To the most discreet, the wisest, and the gravest
counsellors of the Academy is confided the delicate
task of arranging the pose of the nude model on the
dais. Then the curtains are drawn, and the figure
is revealed to the students. There are usually three
of these counsellors; for, “in a multitude of counsellors
is wisdom.” This time no artistic interference
was needed. The natural posture of the
nude figure upon the dais-sofa was one of such exquisite
grace that it rivalled even the Greek marble.
So the wise greybeards of the Academy besought
the model to sit perfectly still, and with this
slight premonition, the curtains were swept away,
and a flood of light fell upon the dais and Godiva.

Thou white chastity! Amid that blaze of eager
eyes now fastened upon thy beauties, there is not a
soul so base as to harbor one evil thought of thee!

[figure description] Page 116.[end figure description]

Here, where “art's pure dwellers are,” thou art
secure as in a shrine!

The hour's probation is over: the curtains close.
And now the touching history of her love is told
by Mr. Ultramarine to the listening students, and
ere the Madonna face is hidden again in the Dunstable
bonnet, the artists before the curtain have
a little gift for the model. It is a purse, not heavy,
but sufficient. Young artists cannot give much.
But there was an unanimous determination that
she should be protected by them until such time as
she could be safely placed on a steamer “outward
bound.” And before a week had elapsed she stood
again upon a deck; and never were farewells,
waved to the departing passengers of the “Atlantic,”
fuller of generous sympathy, than those that
bade adieu to Godiva!

“Is that all?” said Mrs. Sparrowgrass, as I rolled
up the manuscript. “That is all, my dear.”
“Did she find her lover?” said Mrs. Sparrowgrass.
“I do not know,” I replied; “but I suppose she
did.” “I hope she did,” said Mrs. S., “from the
bottom of my heart I do.”—(A pause.)—“Come,”

[figure description] Page 117.[end figure description]

said I, “it is late. To-morrow we must rise early,
for you know the man is to bring the other horse
here;—the one that belongs to his brother, Mrs.
Sparrowgrass.”

p529-127

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