"Come and see," returned she, and, rising, she added, "come, sister--uncle, we will return, do not disturb yourself."

Loitering along toward them, a while after, I remarked, as I approached, the expressive faces of the group, and their graceful att.i.tudes, as they discussed Cornelia's "favorite," and reflected how much the poetry and beauty that environ youth, when refined by nature and polished by education, surpa.s.s the highest achievements of art.

"What innocence in that face! What dewy softness in the steadfast eyes!" exclaimed Cornelia. "The very shoes have an appropriate expression! dear little bird! one can't help loving her, and wanting to know all about her."

"If she were not deaf and dumb," said her cavalier, "I am sure she would rise and make a courtesy to such flattering admirers! I am getting dreadfully jealous of her!"

"You needn't be, as far as I am concerned," retorted Ida; "for my part, I don't like that brown stuff dress! She isn't _fixed up_ a bit, as children always are, when they sit for their portraits." And she tripped away to take another look at her especial admiration--the "_Peasants Returning from the Harvest-field_," which is, indeed, a gem.

"What does Miss Ida mean?" inquired Alloway, smilingly, of her sister.

"I am sure I don't know," returned Cornelia, "she is full of sentiment, which she always endeavors to hide."

"With your permission I will go and ask her," said the admirer of the truant, and bowing politely to us both, he followed Ida.

I will just add, here, that I learned afterwards, accidentally, and not even remotely through him, that the persons with whom we met Alloway that morning, were the mother and brother of that scapegrace we first saw him with. They had come to New York with the understanding that he would meet them there, at an appointed time, and a.s.sist in the care required by his dying relative; but this promising youth had suddenly left the city, without leaving any clue to his proceedings, probably, in pursuit of some pretty face, which, like Cornelia's, happened to attract his attention. Luckily, the poor mother learned that Alloway, who was slightly known to her, was in the city, and appealed to him for a.s.sistance--with what success may be inferred from the little incident I have narrated.

It has always been a matter of marvel, with the learned in such matters, how Sir Walter Scott accomplished such Herculean literary labors in conjunction with the discharge of so many public and social duties. As he himself used to say, he long had a "troop of dragoons galloping through his head," to which, as their commanding officer, he devoted much attention; he was sheriff of the county--(in the discharge of the duties of this office, by the way, he used to march through the streets of the shire-town, during court term, arrayed in a gown and bag wig, at the head of his _posse comitatus_, greatly to his own amus.e.m.e.nt and that of his friends)--and remarkable for the most urbane and diffusive hospitality. After he ceased to be the _Great Unknown_, or rather, after he was identified with that celebrity, Abbotsford became the resort of innumerable visitors, attracted thither by curiosity, interest, or friendship. Not only his beautiful residence, but the numerous points of scenery and the superb ruins in the neighborhood of Abbotsford, which had been rendered cla.s.sic by his magic pen, were to be inspected by these guests, and Scott always seemed to have time for a gallop among the hills, an excursion to Dryburgh and Melrose Abbey, a pilgrimage along the banks of the romantic river he has helped to immortalize, or a lively chat with the ladies after dinner. And he never had that air of pre-occupation that so often characterizes literary men, in general society. He took part in the most genial and hearty manner, in the conversation of the moment, bringing his full quota to the common stock of mirth, anecdote and jest. I can almost see him, as I write, sitting in the midst of a social circle, in his drawing-room, trotting the curly-pated little son of Mrs. Hemans, who was at Abbotsford on a visit, with her sister and this child, upon his _strong_ knee, and singing,

"Charley my darling, my darling, Charley my darling,"

at intervals, for the amus.e.m.e.nt of the little fellow. I chanced, too, to accompany him, when he attended the poetess to her post-chaise, on the morning of her departure, and had occasion to remark his courteous hospitality to the last. "There are some persons," said he, with his cordial smile, as he offered his hand at parting, "whom one earnestly desires to meet again. You, madam, are one of those." But I am quite forgetting the object that induced my recurrence to these well-remembered scenes.

In answer to some leading remark of mine, regarding the wonderful versatility of his father-in-law, addressed to Mr. Lockhart, as we stood together contemplating the ivy-mantled walls of Dryburgh, he informed me of the secret of his extraordinary achievements with the pen: "When you meet him at breakfast," said Mr. Lockhart, "he has already, as he expresses it, 'broken the neck of the day's work'--_he writes in the morning_. Eschewing the indulgences of late rising and slippered ease (at the last he rails incontinently), he is up with the lark--by half past four or five, dresses as you see him at a later hour, in out-door costume, visits the stables, and then sets himself resolutely to work.

By nine o'clock, when he joins us, he has accomplished the labors of a day, almost."

"His correspondence alone must occupy an immense deal of time," said I.

"And yet," returned my companion, "Sir Walter makes it a rule to answer every letter on the day of its reception. It must be an urgent cause that interferes with this habit. And I am often astonished at the length and careful composition of his replies to the queries of literary correspondents, as well as to his letters of friendship."

"One would suppose his health must be impaired by such severe mental labor," I answered.

"His cheerful temper, and his power to _leave care behind him_ in his study, are a great a.s.sistance to him," replied Mr. Lockhart, moving towards our horses, as he spoke--"but here," he added, smilingly, laying his hand on his saddle, "here is his grand preservative. It must be foul weather, indeed, even for our Northern land of mists and clouds, that keeps him from his _daily allowance of fresh air_."

"Sir Walter is an accomplished horseman, I observe," said I, as we resumed our ride.

"You may well say that!" exclaimed his son-in-law, laughing. "I wish you could have seen him at the head of his troop of horse, charging an imaginary foe. Only the other day, his favorite steed broke the arm of a groom who attempted to mount him; and yet, in Sir Walter's hands, he is as docile as need be. There seems to be some secret understanding between him and his horses and dogs. This very horse, though he will never permit another man to mount him, seems to obey his master's behests with real pride as well as pleasure. I believe he would kneel to receive him on his back, were he bidden to do so."

Dipping into an instructive and pleasant, though no longer new book,[14]

the other day, I came across the following pa.s.sage: "Brougham has recorded that the peroration of his speech in the Queen's case"--his celebrated defence of Queen Caroline against her beastly husband--"was written no less than ten times before he thought it fit for so august an occasion. The same is probably true of similar pa.s.sages in Webster's speeches; it is known to be so of Burke's." What do you think of such examples of industry and perseverance as these, young gentlemen?

[14] Sketches of Reform and Reformers,--by _H. B. Stanton_.

"Step in, ma'am, step in, if you please," said our Jehu, opening the door of a stage-coach, in which I was making a journey through a region not then penetrated by modern improvements, "would you like the back seat?" Beside him stood a slightly-formed, delicate-looking girl, in a hesitating att.i.tude.

"I cannot ride backwards without being ill," said she, timidly, "and I--I shall be sorry to disturb any one, but I would like to sit by a window."

A young man who was sitting on the middle seat with me immediately alighted, to make room for the more convenient entrance of the stranger, and, as he did so, the driver said decidedly--"Shall be obliged to ask the gentlemen on the back seat to accommodate the lady." A low-browed, surly-looking young fellow, who sat nearest the door of the vehicle, on the seat designated, doggedly kept his place, muttering something about having the first claim, "first come, first served," etc. Seeing how matters stood, a good-natured, farmer-like looking old man, who occupied the other end of the seat, called out cheerily, "The young woman is welcome to my place, if I can only get out of it!" and he began at once to suit the action to the word.

By this time the before pale face of the young girl was painfully flushed, and she said, in a low, deprecating tone, "I am very sorry to make so much trouble."

"No trouble at all, ma'am--none at all! Just reach me your hand and I'll help you up--that's it!"

"I am much obliged to you, sir--very much! I hope you will find a good seat for yourself," said the recipient of his kindness, gently.

"No doubt of it!" returned he of the cheery voice. "I ain't at all sorry to change a little--them back seat's plaguy cramped up! They say," added he, settling himself next the boot, "that the front seat's the easiest of all. One thing, there's more room [stretching his legs with an air of infinite relief between those of his opposite neighbors], a deuced sight!"

"Take your fare, gem'men," cried a bustling personage, at this moment.

"What is the fare from here to O----?" inquired the stationary biped in the corner behind me.

"Six shillings, York money," was the ready response.

"Six shillings!" growled the other; "seems to me there's great extortion all 'long this road. Yesterday I paid out three dollars, hard money--twelve shillin' for lodgin', supper, and breakfast, back here to G----!"

"Take your fare _now_, sir," interrupted the bustling little man at the door, stepping upon the wheel, in sublime indifference to the muttered anathemas, half addressed to him. "What name, sir?"--preparing to write on the "way-bill"--"_always_, sir! it is rulable--always put down the name."

The low voice of the lady, when she was reached, in due order, was almost lost in the grumbling kept up by the agreeable occupant of the corner seat. The most amusing commingling of opposite sounds reached my ears, somewhat like the soft tones of a distant flute, and the growling--not loud, but deep--of a hungry mastiff. "Julia Peters"--"takes off the silver, by thunder!"--"Is my band-box put on?"

here a c.h.i.n.king, as of money counted, and then a hurried fumbling appeared to take place in the "deepest depths" of various pockets. "How soon will we be there," in silvery murmurs--"By George! I swear I b'lieve I lost two shillin'!"--"Before dark!" chimed in the flute-notes.

"I am glad to hear it!" "I'll be hanged if any one shall come it over me!" surged over the musical ripple. "When you stop at my brother-in-law's," concluded the softer voice, in this unique duet.

Having been sometime on the wing, I fell into a doze, as we proceeded.

As I roused myself, at length, the young man who had alighted to make room for the entrance of Miss Peters, whispered, "That young lady seems very ill--what can we do for her relief?" A moment's attention convinced me that the poor thing was horribly _stage-sick_. When she appeared to rally a little, I turned round to her, and said, that I trusted she would allow me to render her any service in my power. Forcing a smile, she thanked me, and replied that she would soon be better she thought, adding, in a still lower tone, that the _smell of tobacco_ always affected her very sensibly. This last remark was at the time unintelligible to me, but I afterwards learned that the animal on the same seat with her had regaled himself upon the vilest of cigars while I was napping, and that the only attempt at an apology he had offered was a mumbled remark that, "as the wind blew the smoke out of the stage, he s'posed no one hadn't no objections!"

Despite the hope expressed by my suffering neighbor, she did _not_ get better, but continued to endure a most exhausting ordeal. Every decent man in the coach seemed to sympathize with her, the rather that she so evidently tried to make the best of it, and to avoid annoying others.

Every one had a different remedy to suggest, but, unfortunately, none of them available, as there was no stopping place near. Though a somewhat experienced traveller, my ingenuity could, until we should stop, effect no more than disposing my large woollen shawl so as to aid in supporting the weary head of the poor child.

As soon as we reached the next place for changing horses, I sprang out, in common with the other pa.s.sengers, and, inquiring for the nearest druggist, hastened to procure a little reliable _brandy_.

Having previously arranged a change of seats with the harmless stripling who had thus far occupied the middle back seat, I entered the stage, and quietly told the young lady that, as there was no one of her own s.e.x aboard, I should claim the privilege of age, and prescribe for her, if she would permit me.

"This is not a pleasant dose, I must warn you," said I, offering her a _single teaspoonful of clear brandy_, "but I can safely promise you relief, if you will swallow it; this is a nice, clean gla.s.s, too," I added, smilingly, for I well knew how much that a.s.surance would encourage my patient.

"I do not know how to thank you sufficiently, sir," said the young lady, striving to speak cheerfully, as she attempted to raise her head. Taking the tumbler, with a trembling hand, she bravely swallowed my prescription. I must own she gasped a little afterwards, but I could not allow her the relief of water, without nullifying the proper effect, so I a.s.sisted her in removing her bonnet (which the good-natured farmer, who had re-entered the coach with me, carefully pinned upon the lining of the vehicle, where it would safely swing), and in enveloping her head in her veil, adjusting her shawl comfortably about her, and wrapping my own about her feet.

"If I become your physician," said I, as I stooped to make the latter process more effectual, "you must allow me the right to do as I think best."

"I shall be only too much obliged by your kindness, sir," returned she.

"All I fear is, that you will give yourself unnecessary trouble on my account."

"The gentleman don't seem to think it's no trouble," interposed the old farmer, "'taint never no trouble to good-hearted folks to help a fellow-cretur in distress! I wish my wife was here; she knows a great sight better than I do, how to take care o' sick folks."

"I am sure," replied the invalid, "if kindness could make people well, I should be restored. I feel myself greatly indebted to you, gentlemen."