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BY GEOFFREY CRAYON, GENT.

I WAS born among romantic scenery, in one of the
wildest parts of the Hudson, which at that time was
not so thickly settled as at present. My father was
descended from one of the old Huguenot families,
that came over to this country on the revocation of
the edict of Nantz. He lived in a style of easy, rural
independence, on a patrimonial estate that had been
for two or three generations in the family. He was
an indolent, good-natured man, who took the world
as it went, and had a kind of laughing philosophy,
that parried all rubs and mishaps, and served him in
the place of wisdom. This was the part of his character
least to my taste; for I was of an enthusiastic,
excitable temperament, prone to kindle up with new
schemes and projects, and he was apt to dash my sallying
enthusiasm by some unlucky joke; so that

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whenever I was in a glow with any sudden excitement,
I stood in mortal dread of his good-humor.

Yet he indulged me in every vagary; for I was
an only son, and of course a personage of importance
in the household. I had two sisters older than myself,
and one younger. The former were educated at
New-York, under the eye of a maiden aunt; the latter
remained at home, and was my cherished playmate,
the companion of my thoughts. We were two imaginative
little beings, of quick susceptibility, and prone
to see wonders and mysteries in every thing around
us. Scarce had we learned to read, when our mother
made us holiday presents of all the nursery literature
of the day; which at that time consisted of little
books covered with gilt paper, adorned with `cuts,'
and filled with tales of fairies, giants, and enchanters.
What draughts of delightful fiction did we then inhale!
My sister Sophy was of a soft and tender
nature. She would weep over the woes of the Children
in the Wood, or quake at the dark romance of
Blue-Beard, and the terrible mysteries of the blue
chamber. But I was all for enterprise and adventure.
I burned to emulate the deeds of that heroic prince,
who delivered the white cat from her enchantment;
or he of no less royal blood, and doughty emprise,
who broke the charmed slumber of the Beauty in the
Wood!

The house in which we lived, was just the kind
of place to foster such propensities. It was a venerable
mansion, half villa, half farm-house. The oldest
part was of stone, with loop-holes for musketry, having
served as a family fortress, in the time of the
Indians. To this there had been made various

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additions, some of brick, some of wood, according to the
exigencies of the moment; so that it was full of
nooks and crooks, and chambers of all sorts and sizes.
It was buried among willows, elms, and cherry-trees,
and surrounded with roses and holly-hocks, with
honey suckle and sweet-brier clambering about every
window. A brood of hereditary pigeons sunned
themselves upon the roof; hereditary swallows and
martins built about the eaves and chimnies; and
hereditary bees hummed about the flower-beds.

Under the influence of our story-books every object
around us now assumed a new character, and
a charmed interest. The wild flowers were no longer
the mere ornaments of the fields, or the resorts of the
toilful bee; they were the lurking places of fairies.
We would watch the humming-bird, as it hovered
around the trumpet creeper at our porch, and the butterfly
as it flitted up into the blue air, above the sunny
tree tops, and fancy them some of the tiny beings
from fairy land. I would call to mind all that I
had read of Robin Goodfellow, and his power of transformation.
Oh how I envied him that power! How
I longed to be able to compress my form into utter
littleness; to ride the bold dragon-fly; swing on the
tall bearded grass; follow the ant into his subterraneous
habitation, or dive into the cavernous depths
of the honeysuckle!

While I was yet a mere child, I was sent to a daily
school, about two miles distant. The school-house
was on the edge of a wood, close by a brook overhung
with birches, alders, and dwarf willows. We
of the school who lived at some distance, came with
our dinners put up in little baskets. In the intervals

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of school hours, we would gather round a spring,
under a tuft of hazel-bushes, and have a kind of picnic;
interchanging the rustic dainties with which
our provident mothers had fitted us out. Then,
when our joyous repast was over, and my companions
were disposed for play, I would draw forth one of my
cherished story-books, stretch myself on the green
sward, and soon lose myself in its bewitching contents.

I became an oracle among my school-mates, on account
of my superior erudition, and soon imparted
to them the contagion of my infected fancy. Often
in the evening, after school hours, we would sit on
the trunk of some fallen tree in the woods, and vie
with each other in telling extravagant stories, until
the whip-poor-will began his nightly moaning, and
the fire-flies sparkled in the gloom. Then came the
perilous journey homeward. What delight we would
take in getting up wanton panics, in some dusky part
of the wood; scampering like frightened deer; pausing
to take breath; renewing the panic, and scampering
off again, wild with fictitious terror!

Our greatest trial was to pass a dark, lonely pool,
covered with pond-lilies, peopled with bull-frogs and
water snakes, and haunted by two white cranes. Oh!
the terrors of that pond! How our little hearts would
beat, as we approached it; what fearful glances we
would throw around! And if by chance a plash of
a wild duck, or the guttural twang of a bull-frog,
struck our ears, as we stole quietly by—away we sped,
nor paused until completely out of the woods. Then,
when I reached home, what a world of adventures,

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and imaginary terrors, would I have to relate to my
sister Sophy!

As I advanced in years, this turn of mind increased
upon me, and became more confirmed. I abandoned
myself to the impulses of a romantic imagination,
which controlled my studies, and gave a bias to all
my habits. My father observed me continually with
a book in my hand, and satisfied himself that I was
a profound student; but what where my studies?
Works of fiction; tales of chivalry; voyages of discovery;
travels in the East; every thing, in short,
that partook of adventure and romance. I well remember
with what zest I entered upon that part of
my studies, which treated of the heathen mythology
and particularly of the sylvan deities. Then indeed
my school-books became dear to me. The neighborhood
was well calculated to foster the reveries of a
mind like mine. It abounded with solitary retreats,
wild streams, solemn forests, and silent valleys. I
would ramble about for a whole day, with a volume
of Ovid's Metamorphoses in my pocket, and work
myself into a kind of self-delusion, so as to identify
the surrounding scenes with those of which I had just
been reading. I would loiter about a brook that glided
through the shadowy depths of the forest, picturing
it to myself the haunt of Naiades. I would steal
round some bushy copse that opened upon a glade,
as if I expected to come suddenly upon Diana and
her nymphs; or to behold Pan and his satyrs bounding,
with whoop and halloo, through the woodland.
I would throw myself, during the panting heats of a
summer noon, under the shade of some wide-spreading
tree, and muse and dream away the hours, in a

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state of mental intoxication. I drank in the very
light of day, as nectar, and my soul seemed to bathe
with ecstasy in the deep blue of a summer sky.

In these wanderings, nothing occurred to jar my
feelings, or bring me back to the realities of life.
There is a repose in our mighty forests, that gives
full scope to the imagination. Now and then I would
hear the distant sound of the wood-cutter's axe, or the
crash of some tree which he had laid low; but these
noises, echoing along the quiet landscape, could easily
be wrought by fancy into harmony with its illusions.
In general, however, the woody recesses of the neighborhood
were peculiarly wild and unfrequented. I
could ramble for a whole day, without coming upon
any traces of cultivation. The partridge of the wood
scarcely seemed to shun my path, and the squirrel,
from his nut-tree, would gaze at me for an instant,
with sparkling eye, as if wondering at the unwonted
intrusion.

I cannot help dwelling on this delicious period of
my life; when as yet I had known no sorrow, nor
experienced any worldly care. I have since studied
much, both of books and men, and of course have
grown too wise to be so easily pleased; yet with all
my wisdom, I must confess I look back with a secret
feeling of regret to the days of happy ignorance, before
I had begun to be a philosopher.

It must be evident that I was in a hopeful training,
for one who was to descend into the arena of life, and
wrestle with the world. The tutor, also, who superintended
my studies, in the more advanced stage of
my education, was just fitted to complete the fata

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morgana which was forming in my mind. His
name was Glencoe. He was a pale, melancholy-looking
man, about forty years of age; a native of Scotland,
liberally educated, and who had devoted himself
to the instruction of youth, from taste rather than
necessity; for, as he said, he loved the human heart,
and delighted to study it in its earlier impulses. My
two elder sisters, having returned home from a city
boarding-school, were likewise placed under his care,
to direct their reading in history and belles-letters.

We all soon became attached to Glencoe. It is true,
we were at first somewhat prepossessed against him.
His meagre, pallid countenance, his broad pronunciation,
his inattention to the little forms of society,
and an awkward and embarrassed manner, on first
acquaintance, were much against him; but we soon
discovered that under this unpromising exterior existed
the kindest urbanity of temper; the warmest
sympathies; the most enthusiastic benevolence. His
mind was ingenious and acute. His reading had
been various, but more abstruse than profound; his
memory was stored, on all subjects, with facts, theories,
and quotations, and crowded with crude materials
for thinking. These, in a moment of excitement,
would be, as it were, melted down, and poured
forth in the lava of a heated imagination. At such
moments, the change in the whole man was wonderful.
His meagre form would acquire a dignity and
grace; his long, pale visage would flash with a hectic
glow; his eyes would beam with intense speculation;
and there would be pathetic tones and deep modulations
in his voice, that delighted the ear, and spoke
movingly to the heart.

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But what most endeared him to us, was the kindness
and sympathy with which he entered into all
our interests and wishes. Instead of curbing and
checking our young imaginations with the reins of
sober reason, he was a little too apt to catch the impulse,
and be hurried away with us. He could not
withstand the excitement of any sally of feeling or
fancy; and was prone to lend heightening tints to
the illusive coloring of youthful anticipation.

Under his guidance, my sisters and myself soon
entered upon a more extended range of studies; but
while they wandered, with delighted minds, through
the wide field of history and belles-lettres, a nobler
walk was opened to my superior intellect.

The mind of Glencoe presented a singular mixture
of philosophy and poetry. He was fond of metaphysics,
and prone to indulge in abstract speculations,
though his metaphysics were somewhat fine spun
and fanciful, and his speculations were apt to partake
of what my father most irreverently termed `humbug.
' For my part, I delighted in them, and the
more especially, because they set my father to sleep,
and completely confounded my sisters. I entered,
with my accustomed eagerness, into this new branch
of study. Metaphysics were now my passion. My
sisters attempted to accompany me, but they soon
faltered, and gave out before they had got half way
through Smith's Theory of the Moral Sentiments.
I, however, went on, exulting in my strength. Glencoe
supplied me with books, and I devoured them
with appetite, if not digestion. We walked and
talked together under the trees before the house, or
sat apart, like Milton's angels, and held high converse

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upon themes beyond the grasp of ordinary intellects.
Glencoe possessed a kind of philosophic chivalry, in
imitation of the old peripatetic sages, and was continually
dreaming of romantic enterprises in morals,
and splendid systems for the improvement of society.
He had a fanciful mode of illustrating abstract subjects,
peculiarly to my taste; clothing them with the
language of poetry, and throwing round them almost
the magic hues of fiction. `How charming,' thought.
I, `is divine philosophy;' not harsh and crabbed, as
dull fools suppose,


`But a perpetual feast of nectar'd sweets,
Where no crude surfeit reigns.'

I felt a wonderful self-complacency at being on
such excellent terms with a man whom I considered
on a parallel with the sages of antiquity, and looked
down with the sentiment of pity on the feebler intellects
of my sisters, who could comprehend nothing
of metaphysics. It is true, when I attempted to
study them by myself, I was apt to get in a fog; but
when Glencoe came to my aid, every thing was soon
as clear to me as day. My ear drank in the beauty
of his words; my imagination was dazzled with the
splendor of his illustrations. It caught up the sparkling
sands of poetry that glittered through his speculations,
and mistook them for the golden ore of wisdom.
Struck with the facility with which I seemed
to imbibe and relish the most abstract doctrines, I
conceived a still higher opinion of my mental powers,
and was convinced that I also was a philosopher.

I was now verging toward man's estate, and

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though my education had been extremely irregular—
following the caprices of my humor, which I mistook
for the impulses of my genius—yet I was regarded
with wonder and delight by my mother and sisters,
who considered me almost as wise and infallible as I
considered myself. This high opinion of me was
strengthened by a declamatory habit, which made me
an oracle and orator at the domestic board. The
time was now at hand, however, that was to put my
philosophy to the test.

We had passed through a long winter, and the
spring at length opened upon us, with unusual sweetness.
The soft serenity of the weather; the beauty
of the surrounding country; the joyous notes of the
birds; the balmy breath of flower and blossom, all
combined to fill my bosom with indistinct sensations,
and nameless wishes. Amid the soft seductions of
the season, I lapsed into a state of utter indolence,
both of body and mind.

Philosophy had lost its charms for me. Metaphysics—
faugh! I tried to study; took down volume
after volume, ran my eye vacantly over a few pages,
and threw them by with distaste. I loitered about
the house, with my hands in my pockets, and an air
of complete vacancy. Something was necessary to
make me happy; but what was that something? I
sauntered to the apartments of my sisters, hoping
their conversation might amuse me. They had
walked out, and the room was vacant. On the table
lay a volume which they had been reading. It was a
novel. I had never read a novel, having conceived
a contempt for works of the kind, from hearing them
universally condemned. It is true, I had remarked

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that they were as universally read; but I considered
them beneath the attention of a philosopher, and never
would venture to read them, lest I should lessen my
mental superiority in the eyes of my sisters. Nay, I
had taken up a work of the kind, now and then, when
I knew my sisters were observing me, looked into it
for a moment, and then laid it down, with a slight
supercilious smile. On the present occasion, out of
mere listlessness, I took up the volume, and turned
over a few of the first pages. I thought I heard some
one coming, and laid it down. I was mistaken; no
one was near, and what I had read, tempted my curiosity
to read a little farther. I leaned against a window-frame,
and in a few minutes was completely lost
in the story. How long I stood there reading, I know
not, but I believe for nearly two hours. Suddenly, I
heard my sisters on the stairs, when I thrust the book
into my bosom, and the two other volumes, which lay
near, into my pockets, and hurried out of the house to
my beloved woods. Here I remained all day beneath
the trees, bewildered, bewitched; devouring the contents
of these delicious volumes; and only returned
to the house when it was too dark to peruse their
pages.

This novel finished, I replaced it in my sister's
apartment, and looked for others. Their stock
was ample, for they had brought home all that
were current in the city; but my appetite demanded
an immense supply. All this course of reading was
carried on clandestinely, for I was a little ashamed
of it, and fearful that my wisdon might be called in
question; but this very privacy gave it additional
zest. It was `bread eaten in secret;' it had the charm
of a private amour.

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But think what must have been the effect of such
a course of reading, on a youth of my temperament
and turn of mind; indulged, too, amidst romantic
scenery, and in the romantic season of the year.
It seemed as if I had entered upon a new scene of
existence. A train of combustible feelings were
lighted up in me, and my soul was all tenderness
and passion. Never was youth more completely lovesick,
though as yet it was a mere general sentiment,
and wanted a definite object. Unfortunately, our
neighborhood was particularly deficient in female
society, and I languished in vain for some divinity,
to whom I might offer up this most uneasy burthen
of affections. I was at one time seriously enamoured
of a lady whom I saw occasionally in my rides,
reading at the window of a country-seat; and actually
serenaded her with my flute; when, to my confusion,
I discovered that she was old enough to be
my mother. It was a sad damper to my romance;
especially as my father heard of it, and made it the
subject of one of those household jokes, which he
was apt to serve up at every meal-time.

I soon recovered from this check, however, but it
was only to relapse into a state of amorous excitement.
I passed whole days in the fields, and along
the brooks; for there is something in the tender
passion, that makes us alive to the beauties of nature.
A soft sunshine morning infused a sort of rapture
into my breast. I flung open my arms, like the
Grecian youth in Ovid, as if I would take in and
embrace the balmy atmosphere.[1] The song of the

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birds melted me to tenderness. I would lie by the
side of some rivulet, for hours, and form garlands of
the flowers on its banks, and muse on ideal beauties,
and sigh from the crowd of undefined emotions that
swelled my bosom.

In this state of amorous delirium, I was strolling
one morning along a beautiful wild brook, which I
had discovered in a glen. There was one place
where a small water-fall, leaping from among rocks
into a natural basin, made a scene such as a poet
might have chosen as the haunt of some shy Naiad.
It was here I usually retired to banquet on my novels.
In visiting the place this morning, I traced distinctly,
on the margin of the basin, which was of fine clear
sand, the prints of a female foot, of the most slender
and delicate proportions. This was sufficient for an
imagination like mine. Robinson Crusoe himself,
when he discovered the print of a savage foot on the
beach of his lonely island, could not have been more
suddenly assailed with thick-coming fancies.

I endeavored to track the steps, but they only
passed for a few paces along the fine sand, and then
were lost among the herbage. I remained gazing in
reverie upon this passing trace of loveliness. It
evidently was not made by any of my sisters, for
they knew nothing of this haunt; beside, the foot
was smaller than theirs; it was remarkable for its
beautiful delicacy.

My eye accidentally caught two or three halfwithered
wild flowers, lying on the ground. The
unknown nymph had doubtless dropped them from
her bosom! Here was a new document of taste and
sentiment. I treasured them up as invaluable relics.

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The place, too, where I found them, was remarkably
picturesque, and the most beautiful part of the brook.
It was overhung with a fine elm, entwined with grapevines.
She who could select such a spot, who could
delight in wild brooks and wild flowers, and silent
solitudes, must have fancy, and feeling and tenderness;
and with all these qualities, she must be beautiful!

But who could be this Unknown, that had thus
passed by, as in a morning dream, leaving merely
flowers and fairy foot-steps, to tell of her loveliness!
There was a mystery in it that bewildered me. It
was so vague and disembodied, like those `airy
tongues that syllable men's names' in solitude. Every
attempt to solve the mystery was vain. I could hear
of no being in the neighborhood to whom this trace
could be ascribed. I haunted the spot and became
daily more and more enamoured. Never, surely,
was passion more pure and spiritual, and never lover
in more dubious situation. My case could be compared
only to that of the amorous prince, in the fairy
tale of Cinderella; but he had a glass slipper on
which to lavish his tenderness. I, alas! was in love
with a footstep!

The imagination is alternately a cheat and a dupe;
nay more, it is the most subtle of cheats, for it cheats
itself, and becomes the dupe of its own delusions. It
conjures up `airy nothings,' gives to them a `local
habitation and a name,' and then bows to their control
as implicitly as though they were realities. Such
was now my case. The good Numa could not
more thoroughly have persuaded himself that the
nymph Egeria hovered about her sacred fountain, and
communed with him in spirit, than I had deceived

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myself into a kind of visionary intercourse with the
airy phantom fabricated in my brain. I constructed
a rustic seat at the foot of the tree where I had discovered
the footsteps. I made a kind of bower there,
where I used to pass my mornings, reading poetry
and romances. I carved hearts and darts on the tree,
and hung it with garlands. My heart was full to
overflowing, and wanted some faithful bosom into
which it might relieve itself. What is a lover without
a confidante? I thought at once of my sister
Sophy, my early play-mate, the sister of my affections.
She was so reasonable, too, and of such correct
feelings, always listening to my words as oracular
sayings, and admiring my scraps of poetry, as the
very inspirations of the muse. From such a devoted,
such a rational being, what secrets could I have?

I accordingly took her, one morning, to my favorite
retreat. She looked around, with delighted surprise,
upon the rustic seat, the bower, the tree carved with
emblems of the tender passion. She turned her eyes
upon me to inquire the meaning.

`Oh, Sophy,' exclaimed I, `clasping both her
hands in mine, and looking earnestly in her face, `I
am in love!'

She started with surprise.

`Sit down,' said I, `and I will tell you all.'

She seated herself upon the rustic bench, and I
went into a full history of the footstep, with all the
associations of idea that had been conjured up by my
imagination.

Sophy was enchanted; it was like a fairy tale:
She had read of such mysterious visitations in books,
and the loves thus conceived were always for beings

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of superior order, and were always happy. She
caught the illusion, in all its force; her cheek glowed;
her eye brightened.

`I dare say she's pretty,' said Sophy.

`Pretty!' echoed I, `she is beautiful!' I went
through all the reasoning by which I had logically
proved the fact to my own satisfaction. I dwelt upon
the evidences of her taste, her sensibility to the beauties
of nature; her soft, meditative habit, that delighted
in solitude; `oh,' said I, clasping my hands, `to have
such a companion to wander through these scenes;
to sit with her by this murmuring stream; to wreathe
garlands round her brows; to hear the music of her
voice mingling with the whisperings of these groves;
to —'

`Delightful! delightful!' cried Sophy; `what a
sweet creature she must be! She is just the friend I
want. How I shall dote upon her! Oh, my dear
brother! you must not keep her all to yourself.
You must let me have some share of her!'

I caught her to my bosom: `You shall—you shall!'
cried I, `my dear Sophy; we will all live for each
other!'

The conversation with Sophy heightened the illusions
of my mind; and the manner in which she had
treated my day-dream, identified it with facts and
persons, and gave it still more the stamp of reality.
I walked about as one in a trance, heedless of the
world around, and lapped in an elysium of the fancy.

In this mood I met, one morning, with Glencoe.
He accosted me with his usual smile, and was

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proceeding with some general observations, but paused
and fixed on me an inquiring eye.

`What is the matter with you?' said he; `you
seem agitated; has any thing in particular happened?'

`Nothing,' said I, hesitating; `at least nothing
worth communicating to you.'

`Nay, my dear young friend,' said he, `whatever
is of sufficient importance to agitate you, is worthy
of being communicated to me.'

`Well; but my thoughts are running on what you
would think a frivolous subject.'

`No subject is frivolous, that has the power to
awaken strong feelings.'

`What think you,' said I, hesitating, `what think
you of love?'

Glencoe almost started at the question. `Do you
call that a frivolous subject?' replied he. Believe me,
there is none fraught with such deep, such vital interest.
If you talk, indeed, of the capricious inclination
awakened by the mere charm of perishable
beauty, I grant it to be idle in the extreme; but that
love which springs from the concordant sympathies
of virtuous hearts; that love which is awakened by
the perception of moral excellence, and fed by meditation
on intellectual as well as personal beauty; that is
a passion which refines and ennobles the human
heart. Oh, where is there a sight more nearly approaching
to the intercourse of angels, than that of
two young beings, free from the sins and follies of
the world, mingling pure thoughts, and looks, and
feelings, and becoming as it were soul of one soul,
and heart of one heart! How exquisite the silent
converse that they hold; the soft devotion of the eye,

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that needs no words to make it eloquent! Yes, my
friend, if there be any thing in this weary world
worthy of heaven, it is the pure bliss of such a mutual
affection!'

The words of my worthy tutor overcame all farther
reserve. `Mr. Glencoe,' cried I, blushing still
deeper, `I am in love!'

`And is that what you were ashamed to tell me?
Oh never seek to conceal from your friend so important
a secret. If your passion be unworthy, it is for
the steady hand of friendship to pluck it forth; if
honorable, none but an enemy would seek to stifle it.
On nothing does the character and happiness so much
depend, as on the first affection of the heart. Were
you caught by some fleeting and superficial charm—
a bright eye, a blooming cheek, a soft voice, or a voluptuous
form—I would warn you to beware; I
would tell you that beauty is but a passing gleam of the
morning, a perishable flower; that accident may becloud
and blight it, and that at best it must soon pass
away. But were you in love with such a one as I
could describe; young in years, but still younger in
feelings; lovely in person, but as a type of the mind's
beauty; soft in voice, in token of gentleness of spirit;
blooming in countenance, like the rosy tints of morning
kindling with the promise of a genial day; an eye beaming
with the benignity of a happy heart; a cheerful
temper, alive to all kind impulses, and frankly diffusing
its own felicity; a self-poised mind, that needs
not lean on others for support; an elegant taste, that
can embellish solitude, and furnish out its own enjoyments'—

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`My dear Sir,' cried I, for I could contain myself
no longer, `you have described the very person!'

`Why then, my dear young friend,' said he, affectionately
pressing my hand, `in God's name, love on!'

For the remainder of the day, I was in some such
state of dreamy beatitude as a Turk is said to enjoy,
when under the influence of opium. It must be
already manifest, how prone I was to bewilder myself
with picturings of the fancy, so as to confound them
with existing realities. In the present instance, Sophy
and Glencoe had contributed to promote the transient
delusion. Sophy, dear girl, had as usual joined
with me in my castle-building, and indulged in the
same train of imaginings, while Glencoe, duped by
my enthusiasm, firmly believed that I spoke of a being
I had seen and known. By their sympathy with
my feelings, they in a manner became associated with
the Unknown in my mind, and thus linked her with
the circle of my intimacy.

In the evening, our family party was assembled in
the hall, to enjoy the refreshing breeze. Sophy was
playing some favorite Scotch airs on the piano, while
Glencoe, seated apart, with his forehead resting on
his hand, was buried in one of those pensive reveries
that made him so interesting to me.

`What a fortunate being I am!' thought I, `blessed
with such a sister and such a friend! I have only
to find out this amiable Unknown, to wed her, and
be happy! What a paradise will be my home,
graced with a partner of such exquisite refinement!
It will be a perfect fairy bower, buried among sweets
and roses. Sophy shall live with us, and be the

[figure description] Page 184.[end figure description]

companion of all our enjoyments. Glencoe, too, shall
no more be the solitary being that he now appears.
He shall have a home with us. He shall have his
study, where, when he pleases, he may shut himself
up from the world, and bury himself in his own reflections.
His retreat shall be sacred; no one shall
intrude there; no one but myself, who will visit him
now and then, in his seclusion, where we will devise
grand schemes together for the improvement of mankind.
How delightfully our days will pass, in a
round of rational pleasures and elegant employments!
Sometimes we will have music; sometimes we will
read; sometimes we will wander through the flowergarden,
when I will smile with complacency on every
flower my wife has planted; while, in the long winter
evenings, the ladies will sit at their work, and
listen, with hushed attention, to Glencoe and myself,
as we discuss the abstruse doctrines of metaphysics.'

From this delectable reverie, I was startled by my
father's slapping me on the shoulder: `What possesses
the lad?' cried he; `here have I been speaking
to you half a dozen times, without receiving an
answer.'

`Pardon me, Sir,' replied I; `I was so completely
lost in thought, that I did not hear you.'

`Lost in thought! And pray what were you
thinking of? Some of your philosophy, I suppose.'

`Upon my word,' said my sister Charlotte, with
an arch laugh, `I suspect Harry's in love again.'

`And if I were in love, Charlotte,' said I, somewhat
nettled, and recollecting Glencoe's enthusiastic eulogy
of the passion, `if I were in love, is that a matter of
jest and laughter? Is the tenderest and most fervid

[figure description] Page 185.[end figure description]

affection that can animate the human breast, to be
made a matter of cold-hearted ridicule?'

My sister colored. `Certainly not, brother!—nor
did I mean to make it so, or to say any thing that
should wound your feelings. Had I really suspected
you had formed some genuine attachment, it would
have been sacred in my eyes; but—but,' said she,
smiling, as if at some whimsical recollection, `I
thought that you—you might be indulging in another
little freak of the imagination.'

`I'll wager any money,' cried my father, `he has
fallen in love again with some old lady at a window!
'

`Oh no!' cried my dear sister Sophy, with the
most gracious warmth; `she is young and beautiful.'

`From what I understand,' said Glencoe, rousing
himself, she must be lovely in mind as in person.'

I found my friends were getting me into a fine
scrape. I began to perspire at every pore, and felt
my ears tingle.

`Well, but,' cried my father, `who is she?—what
is she? Let us hear something about her.'

This was no time to explain so delicate a matter.
I caught up my hat, and vanished out of the house.

The moment I was in the open air, and alone, my
heart upbraided me. Was this respectful treatment
to my father—to such a father, too—who had always
regarded me as the pride of his age—the staff of his
hopes? It is true, he was apt, sometimes, to laugh
at my enthusiastic flights, and did not treat my philosophy
with due respect; but when had he ever
thwarted a wish of my heart? Was I then to act
with reserve toward him, in a matter which might

[figure description] Page 186.[end figure description]

affect the whole current of my future life? `I have
done wrong,' thought I; `but it is not too late to
remedy it. I will hasten back, and open my whole
heart to my father!'

I returned accordingly, and was just on the point
of entering the house, with my heart full of filial
piety, and a contrite speech upon my lips, when I
heard a burst of obstreperous laughter from my father,
and a loud titter from my two elder sisters.

`A footstep!' shouted he, as soon as he could recover
himself; `in love with a footstep! Why, this
beats the old lady at the window!' And then there
was another appalling burst of laughter. Had it been
a clap of thunder, it could hardly have astounded me
more completely. Sophy, in the simplicity of her
heart, had told all, and had set my father's risible
propensities in full action.

Never was poor mortal so thoroughly crest-fallen
as myself. The whole delusion wast at an end. I
drew off silently from the house, shrinking smaller
and smaller at every fresh peal of laughter; and
wandering about until the family had retired, stole
quietly to my bed. Scarce any sleep, however,
visited my eyes that night! I lay overwhelmed with
mortification, and meditating how I might meet the
family in the morning. The idea of ridicule was
always intolerable to me; but to endure it on a subject
by which my feelings had been so much excited,
seemed worse than death. I almost determined, at
one time, to get up, saddle my horse, and ride off, I
knew not whither.

At length, I came to a resolution. Before going
down to breakfast, I sent for Sophy, and employed

[figure description] Page 187.[end figure description]

her as ambassador to treat formally in the matter. I
insisted that the subject should be buried in oblivion;
otherwise, I would not show my face at table. It
was readily agreed to; for not one of the family
would have given me pain for the world. They
faithfully kept their promise. Not a word was said
of the matter; but there were wry faces, and suppressed
titters, that went to my soul; and whenever
my father looked me in the face, it was with such a
tragi-comical leer—such an attempt to pull down a
serious brow upon a whimsical mouth—that I had a
thousand times rather he had laughed outright.

For a day or two after the mortifying occurrence I
kept as much as possible out of the way of the family,
and wandered about the fields and woods by myself. I
was sadly out of tune: my feelings were all jarred and
unstrung. The birds sang from every grove, but I
took no pleasure in their melody; and the flowers of
the field bloomed unheeded around me. To be
crossed in love, is bad enough; but then one can fly
to poetry for relief; and turn one's woes to account
in soul-subduing stanzas. But to have one's whole
passion, object and all, annihilated, dispelled, proved
to be such stuff as dreams are made of—or, worse
than all, to be turned into a proverb and a jest—what
consolation is there in such a case?

I avoided the fatal brook where I had seen the
footstep. My favorite resort was now the banks of
the Hudson, where I sat upon the rocks, and mused
upon the current that dimpled by, or the waves that
laved the shore; or watched the bright mutations
of the clouds, and the shifting lights and shadows
of the distant mountain. By degrees, a returning

[figure description] Page 188.[end figure description]

serenity stole over my feelings: and a sigh now and
then, gentle and easy, and unattended by pain, showed
that my heart was recovering its susceptibility.

As I was sitting in this musing mood, my eye
became gradually fixed upon an object that was borne
along by the tide. It proved to be a little pinnace,
beautifully modelled, and gaily painted and decorated.
It was an unusual sight in this neighborhood,
which was rather lonely: indeed, it was rare to see
any pleasure-barks in this part of the river. As it
drew nearer, I perceived that there was no one on
board; it had apparently drifted from its anchorage.
There was not a breath of air: the little bark came
floating along on the glassy stream, wheeling about
with the eddies. At length it ran aground, almost
at the foot of the rock on which I was seated. I
descended to the margin of the river, and drawing
the bark to shore, admired its light and elegant proportions,
and the taste with which it was fitted up.
The benches were covered with cushions, and its
long streamer was of silk. On one of the cushions
lay a lady's glove, of delicate size and shape, with
beautifully tapered fingers. I instantly seized it and
thrust it in my bosom: it seemed a match for the
fairy footstep that had so fascinated me.

In a moment, all the romance of my bosom was
again in a glow. Here was one of the very incidents
of fairy tale: a bark sent by some invisible power,
some good genius, or benevolent fairy to waft me to
some delectable adventure. I recollected something
of an enchanted bark, drawn by white swans, that
conveyed a knight down the current of the Rhine,
on some enterprise connected with love and beauty.

[figure description] Page 189.[end figure description]

The glove, too, showed that there was a lady fair
concerned in the present adventure. It might be a
gauntlet of defiance, to dare me to the enterprise.

In the spirit of romance, and the whim of the
moment, I sprang on board, hoisted the light sail, and
pushed from shore. As if breathed by some presiding
power, a light breeze at that moment sprang
up, swelled out the sail, and dallied with the silken
streamer. For a time I glided along under steep
umbrageous banks, or across deep sequestered bays;
and then stood out over a wide expansion of the
river, toward a high rocky promontory. It was a
lovely evening: the sun was setting in a congregation
of clouds that threw the whole heavens in a
glow, and were reflected in the river. I delighted
myself with all kinds of fantastic fancies, as to what
enchanted island, or mystic bower, or necromantic
palace I was to be conveyed by the fairy bark.

In the revel of my fancy, I had not noticed that
the gorgeous congregation of clouds which had so
much delighted me, was in fact a gathering thundergust.
I perceived the truth too late. The clouds
came hurrying on, darkening as they advanced. The
whole face of nature was suddenly changed, and
assumed that baleful and livid tint, predictive of a
storm. I tried to gain the shore, but before I could
reach it, a blast of wind struck the water and lashed
it at once into foam. The next moment it overtook
the boat. Alas! I was nothing of a sailor; and my
protecting fairy forsook me in the moment of peril.
I endeavored to lower the sail: but in so doing, I
had to quit the helm; the bark was overturned in
an instant, and I was thrown into the water. I

[figure description] Page 190.[end figure description]

endeavored to cling to the wreck, but missed my hold:
being a poor swimmer, I soon found myself sinking,
but grasped a light oar that was floating by me. It
was not sufficient for my support: I again sank beneath
the surface; there was a rushing and bubbling
sound in my ears, and all sense forsook me.

How long I remained insensible, I know not. I
had a confused notion of being moved and tossed
about, and of hearing strange beings and strange
voices around me; but all was like a hideous dream.
When I at length recovered full consciousness and
perception, I found myself in bed, in a spacious chamber,
furnished with more taste than I had been accustomed
to. The bright rays of a morning sun
were intercepted by curtains of a delicate rose color,
that gave a soft, voluptuous tinge to every object.
Not far from my bed, on a classic tripod, was a basket,
of beautiful exotic flowers, breathing the sweetest
fragrance.

`Where am I? How came I here?'

I tasked my mind to catch at some previous event,
from which I might trace up the thread of existence
to the present moment. By degrees I called to mind
the fairy pinnace, my daring embarcation, my adventurous
voyage, and my disastrous shipwreck.
Beyond that, all was chaos. How came I here?
What unknown region had I landed upon? The
people that inhabited it must be gentle and amiable,
and of elegant tastes, for they loved downy beds,
fragrant flowers, and rose-colored curtains.

While I lay thus musing, the tones of a harp
reached my ear. Presently they were accompanied

[figure description] Page 191.[end figure description]

by a female voice. It came from the room below;
but in the profound stillness of my chamber, not a
modulation was lost. My sisters were all considered
good musicians, and sang very tolerably; but I had
never heard a voice like this. There was no attempt
at difficult execution, or striking effect; but there
were exquisite inflexions, and tender turns, which
art could not reach. Nothing but feeling and sentiment
could produce them. It was soul breathed forth
in sound. I was always alive to the influence of
music: indeed, I was susceptible of voluptuous influences
of every kind—sounds, colors, shapes, and
fragrant odors. I was the very slave of sensation.

I lay mute and breathless, and drank in every note
of this syren strain. It thrilled through my whole
frame, and filled my soul with melody and love. I
pictured to myself, with curious logic, the form
of the unseen musician. Such melodious sounds
and exquisite inflections could only be produced by
organs of the most delicate flexibility. Such organs
do not belong to coarse, vulgar forms; they are the
harmonious results of fair proportions, and admirable
symmetry. A being so organized, must be lovely.

Again my busy imagination was at work. I called
to mind the Arabian story of a prince, borne away
during sleep by a good genius, to the distant abode
of a princess, of ravishing beauty. I do not pretend
to say that I believed in having experienced a similar
transportation; but it was my inveterate habit to
cheat myself with fancies of the kind, and to give
the tinge of illusion to surrounding realities.

The witching sound had ceased, but its vibrations
still played round my heart, and filled it with a

[figure description] Page 192.[end figure description]

tumult of soft emotions. At this moment a selfupbraiding
pang shot through my bosom. `Ah, recreant!
' a voice seemed to exclaim, `is this the stability
of thine affections? What! hast thou so soon
forgotten the nymph of the fountain? Has one song,
idly piped in thine ear, been sufficient to charm away
the cherished tenderness of a whole summer?'

The wise may smile—but I am in a confiding
mood, and must confess my weakness. I felt a degree
of compunction at this sudden infidelity, yet I
could not resist the power of present fascination.
My peace of mind was destroyed by conflicting
claims. The nymph of the fountain came over my
memory, with all the associations of fairy footsteps,
shady groves, soft echoes, and wild streamlets; but
this new passion was produced by a strain of soulsubduing
melody, still lingering in my ear, aided
by a downy bed, fragrant flowers, and rose-colored
curtains. `Unhappy youth!' sighed I to myself,
`distracted by such rival passions, and the empire of
thy heart thus violently contested by the sound of a
voice, and the print of a footstep!'

I HAD not remained long in this mood, when I
heard the door of the room gently opened. I turned
my head to see what inhabitant of this enchanted
palace should appear; whether page in green, a
hideous dwarf, or haggard fairy. It was my own
man Scipio. He advanced with cautious step and
was delighted, as he said, to find me so much myself
again. My first questions were as to where I was,
and how I came there? Scipio told me a long story
of his having been fishing in a canoe, at the time of

[figure description] Page 193.[end figure description]

my hair-brained cruise; of his noticing the gathering
squall, and my impending danger; of his hastening
to join me, but arriving just in time to snatch me
from a watery grave; of the great difficulty of restoring
me to animation; and of my being subsequently
conveyed, in a state of insensibility, to this
mansion.

`But where am I?' was the reiterated demand.

`In the house of Mr. Somerville.'

`Somerville—Somerville!' I recollected to have
heard that a gentleman of that name had recently
taken up his residence at some distance from my
father's abode, on the opposite side of the Hudson.
He was commonly known by the name of `French
Somerville,' from having passed part of his early life
in France, and from his exhibiting traces of French
taste in his mode of living, and the arrangements of
his house. In fact, it was in his pleasure-boat, which
had got adrift, that I had made my fanciful and disastrous
cruise. All this was simple, straight-forward
matter of fact, and threatened to demolish all the cobweb
romance I had been spinning, when fortunately
I again heard the tinkling of a harp. I raised myself
in bed, and listened.

`Scipio,' said I, with some little hesitation, `I heard
some one singing just now. Who was it?'

`Oh, that was Miss Julia.'

`Julia! Julia! Delightful! what a name! And,
Scipio—is she—is she pretty?'

Scipio grinned from ear to ear. `Except Miss
Sophy, she was the most beautiful young lady he
had ever seen.'

[figure description] Page 194.[end figure description]

I should observe, that my sister Sophia was considered
by all the servants a paragon of perfection.

Scipio now offered to remove the basket of flowers;
he was afraid their odor might be too powerful; but
Miss Julia had given them that morning to be placed
in my room.

These flowers, then, had been gathered by the fairy
fingers of my unseen beauty; that sweet breath which
had filled my ear with melody, had passed over them.
I made Scipio hand them to me, culled several of the
most delicate, and laid them on my bosom.

Mr. Somerville paid me a visit not long afterward.
He was an interesting study for me, for he was the
father of my unseen beauty, and probably resembled
her. I scanned him closely. He was a tall and
elegant man, with an open, affable manner, and an
erect and graceful carriage. His eyes were bluishgray,
and though not dark, yet at times were sparkling
and expressive. His hair was dressed and powdered,
and being lightly combed up from his forehead,
added to the loftiness of his aspect. He was fluent in
discourse, but his conversation had the quiet tone of
polished society, without any of those bold flights of
thought, and picturings of fancy, which I so much
admired.

My imagination was a little puzzled, at first, to
make out of this assemblage of personal and mental
qualities, a picture that should harmonize with my
previous idea of the fair unseen. By dint, however,
of selecting what it liked, and rejecting what it did
not like, and giving a touch here and a touch there,
it soon furnished out a satisfactory portrait.

`Julia must be tall,' thought I, `and of exquisite

[figure description] Page 195.[end figure description]

grace and dignity. She is not quite so courtly as her
father, for she has been brought up in the retirement
of the country. Neither is she of such vivacious deportment;
for the tones of her voice are soft and
plaintive, and she loves pathetic music. She is rather
pensive—yet not too pensive; just what is called
interesting. Her eyes are like her father's, except
that they are of a purer blue, and more tender and
languishing. She has light hair—not exactly flaxen,
for I do not like flaxen hair, but between that and
auburn. In a word, she is a tall, elegant, imposing,
languishing, blue-eyed, romantic-looking beauty.'
And having thus finished her picture, I felt ten times
more in love with her than ever.

I FELT so much recovered, that I would at once
have left my room, but Mr. Somerville objected to it.
He had sent early word to my family of my safety;
and my father arrived in the course of the morning.
He was shocked at learning the risk I had run, but
rejoiced to find me so much restored, and was warm
in his thanks to Mr. Somerville for his kindness.
The other only required, in return, that I might remain
two or three days as his guest, to give time for
my recovery, and for our forming a closer acquaintance;
a request which my father readily granted.
Scipio accordingly accompanied my father home, and
returned with a supply of clothes, and with affectionate
letters from my mother and sisters.

The next morning, aided by Scipio, I made my
toilet with rather more care than usual, and descended
the stairs, with some trepidation, eager to see the

[figure description] Page 196.[end figure description]

original of the portrait which had been so completely
pictured in my imagination.

On entering the parlor, I found it deserted. Like
the rest of the house, it was furnished in a foreign
style. The curtains were of French silk; there
were Grecian couches, marble tables, pier-glasses,
and chandeliers. What chiefly attracted my eye,
were documents of female taste that I saw around
me; a piano, with an ample stock of Italian music:
a book of poetry lying on the sofa; a vase of fresh
flowers on a table, and a port-folio open with a skilful
and half-finished sketch of them. In the window
was a Canary bird, in a gilt cage, and near by, the
harp that had been in Julia's arms. Happy harp!
But where was the being that reigned in this little
empire of delicacies?—that breathed poetry and song,
and dwelt among birds and flowers, and rose-colored
curtains?

Suddenly I heard the hall door fly open, the quick
pattering of light steps, a wild, capricious strain of
music, and the shrill barking of a dog. A light frolic
nymph of fifteen came tripping into the room, playing
on a flageolet, with a little spaniel romping after
her. Her gipsy hat had fallen back upon her shoulders;
a profusion of glossy brown hair was blown in
rich ringlets about her face, which beamed through
them with the brightness of smiles and dimples.

At sight of me, she stopped short, in the most
beautiful confusion, stammered out a word or two
about looking for her father, glided out of the door,
and I heard her bounding up the stair-case, like a
frighted fawn, with the little dog barking after her.

When Miss Somerville returned to the parlor, she

[figure description] Page 197.[end figure description]

was quite a different being. She entered, stealing
along by her mother's side with noiseless step, and
sweet timidity: her hair was prettily adjusted, and a
soft blush mantled on her damask cheek. Mr. Somerville
accompanied the ladies, and introduced me regularly
to them. There were many kind inquiries, and
much sympathy expressed on the subject of my nautical
accident, and some remarks upon the wild scenery
of the neighborhood, with which the ladies seemed
perfectly acquainted.

`You must know,' said Mr. Somerville, `that we
are great navigators, and delight in exploring every
nook and corner of the river. My daughter, too, is a
great hunter of the picturesque, and transfers every
rock and glen to her port-folio. By the way, my dear,
show Mr. Mountjoy that pretty scene you have lately
sketched.' Julia complied, blushing, and drew from
her port-folio a colored sketch. I almost started at
the sight. It was my favorite brook. A sudden
thought darted across my mind. I glanced down my
eye, and beheld the divinest little foot in the world.
Oh, blissful conviction! The struggle of my affections
was at an end. The voice and the footstep
were no longer at variance. Julia Somerville was
the nymph of the fountain!

What conversation passed during breakfast, I do
not recollect, and hardly was conscious of at the time,
for my thoughts were in complete confusion. I wished
to gaze on Miss Somerville, but did not dare. Once,
indeed, I ventured a glance. She was at that moment
darting a similar one from under a covert of ringlets.
Our eyes seemed shocked by the rencontre, and fell;

[figure description] Page 198.[end figure description]

hers through the natural modesty of her sex, mine
through the bashfulness produced by the previous
workings of my imagination. That glance, however,
went like a sun-beam to my heart.

A convenient mirror favored my diffidence, and
gave me the reflection of Miss Somerville's form. It
is true it only presented the back of her head, but
she had the merit of an ancient statue; contemplate
her from any point of view, she was beautiful.
And yet she was totally different from every thing I
had before conceived of beauty. She was not the
serene, meditative maid that I had pictured the nymph
of the fountain; nor the tall, soft, languishing, blue-eyed,
dignified being, that I had fancied the minstrel
of the harp. There was nothing of dignity about
her: she was girlish in her appearance, and scarcely
of the middle size; but then there was the tenderness
of budding youth; the sweetness of the half-blown
rose, when not a tint or perfume has been withered or
exhaled; there were smiles and dimples, and all the
soft witcheries of ever-varying expression. I wondered
that I could ever have admired any other style
of beauty.

After breakfast, Mr. Somerville departed to attend
to the concerns of his estate, and gave me in charge
of the ladies. Mrs. Somerville also was called away
by household cares, and I was left alone with Julia!
Here then was the situation which of all others I had
most coveted. I was in the presence of the lovely
being that had so long been the desire of my heart.
We were alone; propitious opportunity for a lover!
Did I seize upon it? Did I break out in one of my

[figure description] Page 199.[end figure description]

accustomed rhapsodies? No such thing! Never
was more awkwardly embarrassed.

`What can be the cause of this?' thought I.
`Surely, I cannot stand in awe of this young girl. I
am of course her superior in intellect, and am never
embarrassed in company with my tutor, notwithstanding
all his wisdom.'

It was passing strange. I felt that if she were an
old woman, I should be quite at my ease; if she were
even an ugly woman, I should make out very well;
it was her beauty that overpowered me. How little
do lovely women know what awful beings they are,
in the eyes of inexperienced youth! Young men
brought up in the fashionable circles of our cities will
smile at all this. Accustomed to mingle incessantly
in female society, and to have the romance of the
heart deadened by a thousand frivolous flirtations,
women are nothing but women in their eyes; but to
a susceptible youth like myself, brought up in the
country, they are perfect divinities.

Miss Somerville was at first a little embarrassed
herself; but, some how or other, women have a natural
adroitness in recovering their self-possession;
they are more alert in their minds, and graceful in
their manners. Beside, I was but an ordinary personage
in Miss Somerville's eyes; she was not under
the influence of such a singular course of imaginings
as had surrounded her, in my eyes, with the illusions
of romance. Perhaps, too, she saw the confusion in
the opposite camp, and gained courage from the discovery.
At any rate, she was the first to take the field.

Her conversation, however, was only on commonplace
topics, and in an easy, well-bred style. I

[figure description] Page 200.[end figure description]

endeavored to respond in the same manner; but I was
strangely incompetent to the task. My ideas were
frozen up; even words seemed to fail me. I was excessively
vexed at myself, for I wished to be uncommonly
elegant. I tried two or three times to turn a
pretty thought, or to utter a fine sentiment; but it
would come forth so trite, so forced, so mawkish, that
I was ashamed of it. My very voice sounded discordantly,
though I sought to modulate it into the
softest tones. `The truth is,' thought I to myself, `I
cannot bring my mind down to the small talk necessary
for young girls; it is too masculine and robust
for the mincing measure of parlor gossip. I am a
philosopher—and that accounts for it.'

The entrance of Mrs. Somerville at length gave me
relief. I at once breathed freely, and felt a vast deal
of confidence come over me. `This is strange,'
thought I, `that the appearance of another woman
should revive my courage; that I should be a better
match for two women than one. However, since it
is so, I will take advantage of the circumstance, and
let this young lady see that I am not so great a simpleton
as she probably thinks me.'

I accordingly took up the book of poetry which lay
upon the sofa. It was Milton's Paradise Lost. Nothing
could have been more fortunate; it afforded a fine
scope for my favorite vein of grandiloquence. I went
largely into a discussion of its merits, or rather an
enthusiastic eulogy of them. My observations were
addressed to Mrs. Somerville, for I found I could talk
to her with more ease than to her daughter. She
appeared perfectly alive to the beauties of the poet,
and disposed to meet me in the discussion; but it

[figure description] Page 201.[end figure description]

was not my object to hear her talk; it was to talk
myself. I anticipated all she had to say, overpowered
her with the copiousness of my ideas, and supported
and illustrated them by long citations from the
author.

While thus holding forth, I cast a side glance to
see how Miss Somerville was affected. She had
some embroidery stretched on a frame before her, but
had paused in her labor, and was looking down as if
lost in mute attention. I felt a glow of self-satisfaction,
but I recollected, at the same time, with a kind
of pique, the advantage she had enjoyed over me in
our tête-à-tête. I determined to push my triumph,
and accordingly kept on with redoubled ardor, until
I had fairly exhausted my subject, or rather my
thoughts.

I had scarce come to a full stop, when Miss
Somerville raised her eyes from the work on which
they had been fixed, and turning to her mother, observed:
`I have been considering, mamma, whether
to work these flowers plain, or in colors.'

Had an ice-bolt been shot to my heart, it could not
have chilled me more effectually. `What a fool,'
thought I, `have I been making myself—squandering
away fine thoughts, and fine language upon a
light mind, and an ignorant ear! This girl knows
nothing of poetry. She has no soul, I fear, for its
beauties. Can any one have real sensibility of heart,
and not be alive to poetry? However, she is young;
this part of her education has been neglected: there
is time enough to remedy it. I will be her preceptor.
I will kindle in her mind the sacred flame, and lead
her through the fairy land of song. But after all, it

[figure description] Page 202.[end figure description]

is rather unfortunate, that I should have fallen in love
with a woman who knows nothing of poetry.'

I PASSED a day not altogether satisfactory. I was
a little disappointed that Miss Somerville did not
show more poetical feeling. `I am afraid, after all,'
said I to myself, `she is light and girlish, and more
fitted to pluck wild flowers, play on the flageolet, and
romp with little dogs, than to converse with a man
of my turn.'

I believe, however, to tell the truth, I was more
out of humor with myself. I thought I had made
the worst first appearance that ever hero made, either
in novel or fairy tale. I was out of all patience,
when I called to mind my awkward attempts at ease
and elegance, in the tête-à-tête. And then my intolerable
long lecture about poetry, to catch the applause
of a heedless auditor! But there I was not to
blame. I had certainly been eloquent: it was her
fault that the eloquence was wasted. To meditate
upon the embroidery of a flower, when I was expatiating
on the beauties of Milton! She might at
least have admired the poetry, if she did not relish
the manner in which it was delivered; though that
was not despicable, for I had recited passages in my
best style, which my mother and sisters had always
considered equal to a play. `Oh, it is evident,'
thought I, `Miss Somerville has very little soul!'

Such were my fancies and cogitations, during
the day, the greater part of which was spent in my
chamber, for I was still languid. My evening was
passed in the drawing-room, where I overlooked Miss
Somerville's port-folio of sketches. They were

[figure description] Page 203.[end figure description]

executed with great taste, and showed a nice observation
of the peculiarities of nature. They were all her
own, and free from those cunning tints and touches
of the drawing-master, by which young ladies' drawings,
like their heads, are dressed up for company.
There was no garish and vulgar trick of colors,
either; all was executed with singular truth and
simplicity.

`And yet,' thought I, `this little being, who has
so pure an eye to take in, as in a limpid brook, all
the graceful forms and magic tints of nature, has no
soul for poetry!'

Mr. Somerville, toward the latter part of the evening,
observing my eye to wander occasionally to the
harp, interpreted and met my wishes with his accustomed
civility.

`Julia, my dear,' said he, `Mr. Mountjoy would
like to hear a little music from your harp; let us
hear, too, the sound of your voice.'

Julia immediately complied, without any of that
hesitation and difficulty, by which young ladies are
apt to make company pay dear for bad music. She
sang a sprightly strain, in a brilliant style, that came
trilling playfully over the ear; and the bright eye
and dimpling smile showed that her little heart
danced with the song. Her pet Canary bird, who
hung close by, was wakened by the music, and burst
forth into an emulating strain. Julia smiled with a
pretty air of defiance, and played louder.

After some time, the music changed, and ran into
a plaintive strain, in a minor key. Then it was,
that all the former witchery of her voice came over
me; then it was, that she seemed to sing from the

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heart and to the heart. Her fingers moved about the
chords as if they scarcely touched them. Her whole
manner and appearance changed; her eyes beamed
with the softest expression; her countenance, her
frame, all seemed subdued into tenderness. She rose
from the harp, leaving it still vibrating with sweet
sounds, and moved toward her father, to bid him
good night.

His eyes had been fixed on her intently, during
her performance. As she came before him, he parted
her shining ringlets with both his hands, and looked
down with the fondness of a father on her innocent
face. The music seemed still lingering in its lineaments,
and the action of her father brought a moist
gleam in her eye. He kissed her fair forehead, after
the French mode of parental caressing: `Good night,
and God bless you,' said he, `my good little girl!'

Julia tripped away, with a tear in her eye, a dimple
in her cheek, and a light heart in her bosom. I
thought it the prettiest picture of paternal and filial
affection I had ever seen.

When I retired to bed, a new train of thoughts
crowded into my brain. `After all,' said I to myself,
`it is clear this girl has a soul, though she was not
moved by my eloquence. She has all the outward
signs and evidences of poetic feeling. She paints
well, and has an eye for nature. She is a fine musician,
and enters into the very soul of song. What a
pity that she knows nothing of poetry! But we will
see what is to be done. I am irretrievably in love
with her: what then am I to do? Come down to
the level of her mind, or endeavor to raise her to some
kind of intellectual equality with myself? That is

[figure description] Page 205.[end figure description]

the most generous course. She will look up to me as
a benefactor. I shall become associated in her mind
with the lofty thoughts and harmonious graces of
poetry. She is apparently docile: beside the difference
of our ages will give me an ascendancy over
her. She cannot be above sixteen years of age, and
I am full turned of twenty.' So, having built this
most delectable of air-castles, I fell asleep.

The next morning, I was quite a different being.
I no longer felt fearful of stealing a glance at Julia;
on the contrary, I contemplated her steadily, with the
benignant eye of a benefactor. Shortly after breakfast,
I found myself alone with her, as I had on the
preceding morning; but I felt nothing of the awkwardness
of our previous tête-à-tête. I was elevated
by the consciousness of my intellectual superiority,
and should almost have felt a sentiment of pity for
the ignorance of the lovely little being, if I had not
felt also the assurance that I should be able to dispel
it. `But it is time,' thought I, `to open school.'

Julia was occupied in arranging some music on
her piano. I looked over two or three songs; they
were Moore's Irish melodies.

`These are pretty things,' said I, flirting the leaves
over lightly, and giving a slight shrug, by way of
qualifying the opinion.

`Oh I love them of all things!' said Julia, `they're
so touching!'

`Then you like them for the poetry,' said I, with
an encouraging smile.

`Oh yes; she thought them charmingly written.'

Now was my time. `Poetry,' said I, assuming a

[figure description] Page 206.[end figure description]

didactic attitude and air, `poetry is one of the most
pleasing studies that can occupy a youthful mind. It
renders us susceptible of the gentle impulses of humanity,
and cherishes a delicate perception of all that
is virtuous and elevated in morals, and graceful and
beautiful in physics. It —'

I was going on in a style that would have graced
a professor of rhetoric, when I saw a light smile
playing about Miss Somerville's mouth, and that she
began to turn over the leaves of a music book. I
recollected her inattention to my discourse of the preceding
morning. `There is no fixing her light
mind,' thought I, `by abstract theory; we will proceed
practically.' As it happened, the identical volume
of Milton's Paradise Lost was lying at hand.

`Let me recommend to you, my young friend,'
said I, in one of those tones of persuasive admonition,
which I had so often loved in Glencoe, `let me recommend
to you this admirable poem: you will find
in it sources of intellectual enjoyment far superior to
those songs which have delighted you.' Julia looked
at the book, and then at me, with a whimsically
dubious air. `Milton's Paradise Lost?' said she; `oh,
I know the greater part of that by heart.'

I had not expected to find my pupil so far advanced;
however, the Paradise Lost is a kind of
school book, and its finest passages are given to
young ladies as tasks.

`I find,' said I to myself, `I must not treat her as
so complete a novice; her inattention, yesterday,
could not have proceeded from absolute ignorance,
but merely from a want of poetic feeling. I'll try her
again.'

[figure description] Page 207.[end figure description]

I now determined to dazzle her with my own
erudition, and launched into a harangue that would
have done honor to an institute. Pope, Spenser,
Chaucer, and the old dramatic writers, were all
dipped into, with the excursive flight of a swallow.
I did not confine myself to English poets, but gave a
glance at the French and Italian schools: I passed
over Ariosto in full wing, but paused on Tasso's
Jerusalem Delivered. I dwelt on the character of
Clorinda: `There's a character,' said I, `that you
will find well worthy a woman's study. It shows
to what exalted heights of heroism the sex can rise;
how gloriously they may share even in the stern
concerns of men.'

`For my part,' said Julia, gently taking advantage
of a pause, `for my part, I prefer the character of
Sophronia.'

I was thunderstruck. She then had read Tasso!
This girl that I had been treating as an ignoramus in
poetry! She proceeded, with a slight glow of the
cheek, summoned up perhaps by a casual glow of
feeling:

`I do not admire those masculine heroines,' said
she, `who aim at the bold qualities of the opposite
sex. Now Sophronia only exhibits the real qualities
of a woman, wrought up to their highest excitement.
She is modest, gentle, and retiring, as it becomes a
woman to be; but she has all the strength of affection
proper to a woman. She cannot fight for her
people, as Clorinda does, but she can offer herself up,
and die, to serve them. You may admire Clorinda,
but you surely would be more apt to love Sophronia;
at least,' added she, suddenly appearing to recollect

[figure description] Page 208.[end figure description]

herself, and blushing at having launched into such a
discussion, `at least, that is what papa observed, when
we read the poem together.'

`Indeed,' said I, dryly, for I felt disconcerted and
nettled at being unexpectedly lectured by my pupil;
`indeed, I do not exactly recollect the passage.'

`Oh,' said Julia, `I can repeat it to you;' and she
immediately gave it in Italian.

Heavens and earth!—here was a situation! I knew
no more of Italian than I did of the language of
Psalmanazar. What a dilemma for a would-be-wise
man to be placed in! I saw Julia waited for my
opinion.

`In fact,' said I, hesitating, `I—I do not exactly
understand Italian.'

`Oh,' said Julia, with the utmost naïveté, `I have
no doubt it is very beautiful in the translation.'

I was glad to break up school, and get back to my
chamber, full of the mortification which a wise man
in love experiences on finding his mistress wiser than
himself. `Translation! translation!' muttered I, to
myself, as I jerked the door shut behind me: `I am
surprised my father has never had me instructed in
the modern languages. They are all-important.
What is the use of Latin and Greek? No one speaks
them; but here, the moment I make my appearance
in the world, a little girl slaps Italian in my face.
However, thank Heaven, a language is easily learned.
The moment I return home, I'll set about studying
Italian; and to prevent future surprise, I will study
Spanish and German at the same time; and if any
young lady attempts to quote Italian upon me again,
I'll bury her under a heap of High Dutch poetry!'

[figure description] Page 209.[end figure description]

I FELT now like some mighty chieftain, who has
carried the war into a weak country, with full confidence
of success, and been repulsed and obliged to
draw off his forces from before some inconsiderable
fortress.

`However,' thought I, `I have as yet brought only
my light artillery into action; we shall see what is
to be done with my heavy ordinance. Julia is evidently
well versed in poetry; but it is natural she
should be so; it is allied to painting and music, and
is congenial to the light graces of the female character.
We will try her on graver themes.'

I felt all my pride awakened; it even for a time
swelled higher than my love. I was determined completely
to establish my mental superiority, and subdue
the intellect of this little being: it would then be
time to sway the sceptre of gentle empire, and win
the affections of her heart.

Accordingly, at dinner I again took the field, en
potence. I now addressed myself to Mr. Somerville,
for I was about to enter upon topics in which a young
girl like her could not be well versed. I led, or
rather forced, the conversation into a vein of historical
erudition, discussing several of the most prominent
facts of ancient history, and accompanying them
with sound, indisputable apothegms.

Mr. Somerville listened to me with the air of a
man receiving information. I was encouraged, and
went on gloriously from theme to theme of school
declamation. I sat with Marius on the ruins of
Carthage; I defended the bridge with Horatius Cocles;
thrust my hand into the flame with Martius
Scævola, and plunged with Curtius into the yawning
gulph; I fought side by side with Leonidas, at the

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straits of Thermopylæ; and was going full drive into
the battle of Platæa, when my memory, which is the
worst in the world, failed me, just as I wanted the
name of the Lacedemonian commander.

`Julia, my dear,' said Mr. Somerville, `perhaps you
may recollect the name of which Mr. Somerville is
in quest?'

Julia colored slightly: `I believe,' said she, in a
low voice, `I believe it was Pausanias.'

This unexpected sally, instead of reinforcing me,
threw my whole scheme of battle into confusion, and
the Athenians remained unmolested in the field.

I am half inclined, since, to think Mr. Somerville
meant this as a sly hit at my school-boy pedantry;
but he was too well bred not to seek to relieve me
from my mortification. `Oh!' said he, `Julia is our
family book of reference for names, dates and distances,
and has an excellent memory for history and
geography.'

I now became desperate; as a last resource, I turned
to metaphysics. `If she is a philosopher in petticoats,
' thought I, `it is all over with me.'

Here, however, I had the field to myself. I gave
chapter and verse of my tutor's lectures, heightened
by all his poetical illustrations: I even went farther
than he had ever ventured, and plunged into such
depths of metaphysics, that I was in danger of sticking
in the mire at the bottom. Fortunately, I had
auditors who apparently could not detect my flounderings.
Neither Mr. Somerville nor his daughter
offered the least interruption.

When the ladies had retired, Mr. Somerville sat
some time with me; and as I was no longer anxious
to astonish, I permitted myself to listen, and found

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that he was really agreeable. He was quite communicative,
and from his conversation I was enabled to
form a juster idea of his daughter's character, and the
mode in which she had been brought up. Mr. Somerville
had mingled much with the world, and with
what is termed fashionable society. He had experienced
its cold elegancies, and gay insincerities; its
dissipation of the spirits, and squanderings of the
heart. Like many men of the world, though he had
wandered too far from nature ever to return to it, yet
he had the good taste and good feeling to look back
fondly to its simple delights, and to determine that
his child, if possible, should never leave them. He
had superintended her education with scrupulous
care, storing her mind with the graces of polite literature,
and with such knowledge as would enable it
to furnish its own amusement and occupation, and
giving her all the accomplishments that sweeten and
enliven the circle of domestic life. He had been particularly
sedulous to exclude all fashionable affectations;
all false sentiment, false sensibility, and false
romance. `Whatever advantages she may possess,'
said he, `she is quite unconscious of them. She is a
capricious little being, in every thing but her affections;
she is, however, free from art; simple, ingenious,
innocent, amiable, and, I thank God! happy.'

Such was the eulogy of a fond father, delivered
with a tenderness that touched me. I could not help
making a casual inquiry, whether, among the graces
of polite literature, he had included a slight tincture
of metaphysics. He smiled, and told me he had not.

On the whole, when, as usual, that night, I summed
up the day's observations on my pillow, I was
not altogether dissatisfied. `Miss Somerville,' said I,

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`loves poetry, and I like her the better for it. She
has the advantage of me in Italian: agreed; what
is it to know a variety of languages, but merely to
have a variety of sounds to express the same idea?
Original thought is the ore of the mind; language is
but the accidental stamp and coinage, by which it is
put into circulation. If I can furnish an original idea,
what care I how many languages she can translate
it into? She may be able, also, to quote names, and
dates, and latitudes, better than I; but that is a mere
effort of the memory. I admit she is more accurate
in history and geography than I; but then she knows
nothing of metaphysics.'

I had now sufficiently recovered, to return home;
yet I could not think of leaving Mr. Somerville's,
without having a little farther conversation with him
on the subject of his daughter's education.

`This Mr. Somerville,' thought I, `is a very accomplished,
elegant man; he has seen a good deal of
the world, and, upon the whole, has profited by what
he has seen. He is not without information, and, as
far as he thinks, appears to think correctly; but after
all, he is rather superficial, and does not think profoundly.
He seems to take no delight in those metaphysical
abstractions, that are the proper aliment of
masculine minds. I called to mind various occasions
on which I had indulged largely in metaphysical
discussions, but could recollect no instance where I
had been able to draw him out. He had listened, it
is true, with attention, and smiled as if in acquiescence,
but had always appeared to avoid reply. Beside,
I had made several sad blunders in the glow of
eloquent declamation; but he had never interrupted

[figure description] Page 213.[end figure description]

me, to notice and correct them, as he would have
done had he been versed in the theme.

`Now it is really a great pity,' resumed I, `that he
should have the entire management of Miss Somerville's
education. What a vast advantage it would
be, if she could be put for a little time under the
superintendence of Glencoe. He would throw some
deeper shades of thought into her mind, which at
present is all sunshine; not but that Mr. Somerville
has done very well, as far as he has gone; but then
he has merely prepared the soil for the strong plants
of useful knowledge. She is well versed in the
leading facts of history, and the general course of
belles lettres,' said I; `a little more philosophy would
do wonders.'

I accordingly took occasion to ask Mr. Somerville
for a few moments' conversation in his study, the
morning I was to depart. When we were alone, I
opened the matter fully to him. I commenced with
the warmest eulogium of Glencoe's powers of mind,
and vast acquirements, and ascribed to him all my
proficiency in the higher branches of knowledge. I
begged, therefore, to recommend him as a friend calculated
to direct the studies of Miss Somerville; to
lead her mind, by degrees, to the contemplation of
abstract principles, and to produce habits of philosophical
analysis; `which,' added I, gently smiling,
`are not often cultivated by young ladies.' I ventured
to hint, in addition, that he would find Mr.
Glencoe a most valuable and interesting acquaintance
for himself; one who would stimulate and evolve the
powers of his mind; and who might open to him
tracts of inquiry and speculation, to which perhaps
he had hitherto been a stranger.

[figure description] Page 214.[end figure description]

Mr. Somerville listened with grave attention.
When I had finished, he thanked me in the politest
manner for the interest I took in the welfare of his
daughter and himself. He observed that, as it regarded
himself, he was afraid he was too old to
benefit by the instruction of Mr. Glencoe, and that
as to his daughter, he was afraid her mind was but
little fitted for the study of metaphysics. `I do not
wish,' continued he, `to strain her intellects with
subjects they cannot grasp, but to make her familiarly
acquainted with those that are within the limits
of her capacity. I do not pretend to prescribe the
boundaries of female genius, and am far from indulging
the vulgar opinion, that women are unfitted by
nature for the highest intellectual pursuits. I speak
only with reference to my daughter's taste and talents.
She will never make a learned woman; nor in truth
do I desire it; for such is the jealousy of our sex, as
to mental as well as physical ascendancy, that a
learned woman is not always the happiest. I do not
wish my daughter to excite envy, or to battle with
the prejudices of the world; but to glide peaceably
through life, on the good will and kind opinions of
her friends. She has ample employment for her
little head, in the course I have marked out for her;
and is busy at present with some branches of natural
history, calculated to awaken her perceptions to the
beauties and wonders of nature, and to the inexhaustible
volume of wisdom constantly spread open
before her eyes. I consider that woman most likely
to make an agreeable companion, who can draw
topics of pleasing remark from every natural object;
and most likely to be cheerful and contented, who is
continually sensible of the order, the harmony, and

[figure description] Page 215.[end figure description]

the invariable beneficence, that reign throughout the
beautiful world we inhabit.'

`But,' added he, smiling, `I am betraying myself
into a lecture, instead of merely giving a reply to
your kind offer. Permit me to take the liberty, in
return, of inquiring a little about your own pursuits.
You speak of having finished your education; but
of course you have a line of private study and mental
occupation marked out; for you must know the
importance, both in point of interest and happiness,
of keeping the mind employed. May I ask what
system you observe in your intellectual exercises?'

`Oh, as to system,' I observed, `I could never
bring myself into any thing of the kind. I thought
it best to let my genius take its own course, as it
always acted the most vigorously when stimulated
by inclination.'

Mr. Somerville shook his head. `This same
genius,' said he, `is a wild quality, that runs away
with our most promising young men. It has become
so much the fashion, too, to give it the reins,
that it is now thought an animal of too noble and
generous a nature to be brought to the harness. But
it is all a mistake. Nature never designed these
high endowments to run riot through society, and
throw the whole system into confusion. No, my
dear Sir; genius, unless it acts upon system, is very
apt to be a useless quality to society; sometimes an
injurious, and certainly a very uncomfortable one, to
its possessor. I have had many opportunities of seeing
the progress through life of young men who
were accounted geniuses, and have found it too often
end in early exhaustion and bitter disappointment;
and have as often noticed that these effects might be

[figure description] Page 216.[end figure description]

traced to a total want of system. There were no
habits of business, of steady purpose, and regular
application, superinduced upon the mind every
thing was left to chance and impulse, and native
luxuriance, and every thing of course ran to waste
and wild entanglement. Excuse me, if I am tedious
on this point, for I feel solicitous to impress it upon
you, being an error extremely prevalent in our country,
and one into which too many of our youth have
fallen. I am happy, however, to observe the zeal
which still appears to actuate you for the acquisition
of knowledge, and augur every good from the elevated
bent of your ambition. May I ask what has
been your course of study for the last six months?'

Never was question more unluckily timed. For
the last six months I had been absolutely buried in
novels and romances.

Mr. Somerville perceived that the question was
embarrassing, and with his invariable good breeding,
immediately resumed the conversation, without waiting
for a reply. He took care, however, to turn it in
such a way as to draw from me an account of the
whole manner in which I had been educated, and the
various currents of reading into which my mind had
run. He then went on to discuss briefly, but impressively,
the different branches of knowledge most
important to a young man in my situation; and to
my surprise I found him a complete master of those
studies on which I had supposed him ignorant, and
on which I had been descanting so confidently.

He complimented me, however, very graciously,
upon the progress I had made, but advised me for the
present to turn my attention to the physical rather
than the moral sciences. `These studies,' said he,

[figure description] Page 217.[end figure description]

`store a man's mind with valuable facts, and at the
same time repress self-confidence, by letting him know
how boundless are the realms of knowledge, and
how little we can possibly know. Whereas metaphysical
studies, though of an ingenious order of intellectual
employment, are apt to bewilder some minds
with vague speculations. They never know how
far they have advanced, or what may be the correctness
of their favorite theory. They render many of
our young men verbose and declamatory, and prone
to mistake the aberrations of their fancy for the inspirations
of divine philosophy.'

I could not but interrupt him, to assent to the truth
of these remarks, and to say that it had been my lot, in
the course of my limited experience, to encounter
young men of the kind, who had overwhelmed me
by their verbosity.

Mr. Somerville smiled. `I trust,' said he, kindly,
`that you will guard against these errors. Avoid
the eagerness with which a young man is apt to hurry
into conversation, and to utter the crude and ill-digested
notions which he has picked up in his recent
studies. Be assured that extensive and accurate knowledge
is the slow acquisition of a studious life time;
that a young man, however pregnant his wit, and
prompt his talent, can have mastered but the rudiments
of learning, and, in a manner, attained the implements
of study. Whatever may have been your
past assiduity, you must be sensible that as yet you
have but reached the threshold of true knowledge;
but at the same time, you have the advantage that
you are still very young, and have ample time to
learn.'

Here our conference ended. I walked out of the

[figure description] Page 218.[end figure description]

study, a very different being from what I was on entering
it. I had gone in with the air of a professor
about to deliver a lecture; I came out like a student,
who had failed in his examination, and been degraded
in his class.

`Very young,' and `on the threshold of knowledge!
' This was extremely flattering, to one who
had considered himself an accomplished scholar, and
profound philosopher!

`It is singular,' thought I; `there seems to have
been a spell upon my faculties, ever since I have been
in this house. I certainly have not been able to do
myself justice. Whenever I have undertaken to advise,
I have had the tables turned upon me. It must
be that I am strange and diffident among people I am
not accustomed to. I wish they could hear me talk
at home!'

`After all,' added I, on farther reflection, `after all,
there is a great deal of force in what Mr. Somerville
has said. Some how or other, these men of the world
do now and then hit upon remarks that would do
credit to a philosopher. Some of his general observations
came so home, that I almost thought they were
meant for myself. His advice about adopting a system
of study, is very judicious. I will immediately
put it in practice. My mind shall operate henceforward
with the regularity of clock-work.

How far I succeeded in adopting this plan, how I
fared in the farther pursuit of knowledge, and how
I succeeded in my suit to Julia Somerville, may
afford matter for a farther communication to the
public, if this simple record of my early life is fortunate
enough to excite any curiosity.

eaf230.n1

[1] Ovid's Metamorphoses, Book vii.