THE ALBUM.
"Tis not in mortals to command success."--ADDISON.
"Ungallant!--unmilitary!" exclaimed the beautiful Orinda Melbourne, toher yet unprofessed lover, Lieutenant Sunderland, as in the decline of asummer afternoon they sat near an open window in the northwest parlourof Mr. Cozzens's house at West Point, where as yet there was no hotel."And do you steadily persist in refusing to write in my album? Really,you deserve to be dismissed the service for unofficer-like conduct."
"I have forsworn albums," replied Sunderland, "and for at least a dozenreasons. In the first place, the gods have not made me poetical."
"Ah!" interrupted Miss Melbourne, "you remind me of the well-known storyof the mayor of a French provincial town, who informed the king that theworthy burgesses had fifteen reasons for not doing themselves the honourof firing a salute on his majesty's arrival: the first reason being thatthey had no cannon."
"A case in point," remarked Sunderland.
"Well," resumed Orinda, "I do not expect you to surpass the glories ofByron and Moore."
"Nothing is more contemptible than _mediocre_ poetry," observedSunderland; "the magazines and souvenirs have surfeited the world withit."
"I do not require you to be even _mediocre_," persisted the young lady."Give me something ludicrously bad, and I shall prize it almost ashighly as if it were seriously good. I need not remind you of thehackneyed remarks, that extremes meet, and that there is but one stepfrom the sublime to the ridiculous. Look at this Ode to West Point,written in my album by a very obliging cadet, a room-mate of mybrother's. It is a perfect gem. How I admire these lines--
'The steamboat up the river shoots, While Willis on his bugle toots.'"
"Wo to the man," said Sunderland, "who subjects his poetical reputationto the ordeal of a lady's album, where all, whether gifted or ungifted,are expected to do their best."
"You are mistaken," replied Orinda; "that expectation has long sincegone by. We have found, by experience, that either from negligence orperverseness, gentlemen are very apt to write their worst in ouralbums."
"I do not wonder at it," said Sunderland. "However, I must retrieve mycharacter as a knight of chivalry. Appoint me any other task, and I willpledge myself to perform your bidding. Let your request 'take any shapebut that, and my firm nerves shall never tremble.'"
"But why this inveterate horror of albums?" asked Orinda. "Have you hadany experience in them?"
"I have, to my sorrow," replied Sunderland. "With me, I am convinced,'the course of albums never will run smooth.' For instance, I once, bymeans of an album, lost the lady of my love (I presume not to say thelove of my lady.)"
Orinda looked up and looked down, and "a change came o'er the spirit ofher face:" which change was not unnoticed by her yet undeclared admirer,whose acquaintance with Miss Melbourne commenced on a former visit shehad made to West Point, to see her brother, who was one of the cadets ofthe Military Academy.
Orinda Melbourne was now in her twenty-first year, at her own disposal(having lost both her parents), and mistress of considerable property, agreat part of which had been left to her by an aunt. She resided in thecity of New York, with Mr. and Mrs. Ledbury, two old and intimatefriends of her family, and they had accompanied her to West Point. Shewas universally considered a very charming girl, and by none more sothan by Lieutenant Sunderland. But hearing that Miss Melbourne haddeclined the addresses of several very unexceptionable gentlemen, ourhero was trying to delay an explicit avowal of his sentiments, till heshould discover some reason to hope that the disclosure would befavourably received.
Like most other men, on similar occasions, he gave a favourableinterpretation to the emotion involuntarily evinced by the young lady,on hearing him allude to his former flame.
There was a pause of a few moments, till Orinda rallied, and said withaffected carelessness, "You may as well tell me the whole story, as weseem to have nothing better to talk of."
"Well, then," proceeded Sunderland, "during one of my visits to thecity, I met with a very pretty young lady from Brooklyn. Her name is ofcourse unmentionable; but I soon found myself, for the first time in mylife, a little in love--"
"I suspect it was not merely a little," remarked Orinda, with apenetrating glance; "it is said, that in love the first fit is alwaysthe strongest."
"No, no!" exclaimed Sunderland; "I deny the truth of that opinion. It isa popular fallacy--I know it is," fixing his eyes on Orinda.
At that minute, the young officer would have given a year's pay to becertain whether the glow that heightened Miss Melbourne's complexion,was a _bona fide_ blush, or only the reflection of the decliningsunbeams, as they streamed from under a dark cloud that was hoveringover the western hills. However, after a few moments' consideration, heagain interpreted favourably.
"Proceed, Mr. Sunderland," said Orinda in rather a tremulous voice;"tell me all the particulars."
"Of the album I will," replied he. "Well, then--this young lady was oneof the belles of Brooklyn, and certainly very handsome."
"Of what colour were her eyes and hair?" inquired Orinda.
"Light--both very light."
Orinda, who was a brunette, caught herself on the point of saying, thatshe had rarely seen much expression in the countenance of a blonde; butshe checked the remark, and Sunderland proceeded.
"The lady in question had a splendidly bound album, which she producedand talked about on all occasions, and seemed to regard with so muchpride and admiration, that if a lover could possibly have been jealousof a book, I was, at times, very near becoming so. It was half filledwith amatory verses by juvenile rhymesters, and with tasteless insipiddrawings in water colours, by boarding-school misses: which drawings myDulcinea persisted in calling paintings. She also persisted in urging meto write 'a piece of poetry' in her album, and I persevered in declaringmy utter inability: as my few attempts at versification had hithertoproved entire failures. At last, I reluctantly consented, recollectingto have heard of sudden fits of inspiration, and of miraculous gifts ofpoetical genius, with which even milkmaids and cobblers have beenunexpectedly visited. So taking the album with me, I retired to thesolitude of my apartment at the City Hall, concluding with Macbeth thatwhen a thing is to be well done, 'tis well to do it quickly. Here Imanfully made my preparations 'to saddle Pegasus and ride upParnassus'--but in vain. With me the winged steed of Apollo was asobstinate as a Spanish mule on the Sierra Morena. Not an inch would hestir. There was not even the slightest flutter in his pinions; and themountain of the Muses looked to me as inaccessible as--as what shall Isay--"
"I will help you to a simile," replied Orinda; "as inaccessible as thesublime and stupendous precipice to which you West Pointers have giventhe elegant and appropriate title of Butter Hill."
"Exactly," responded Sunderland. "Parnassus looked like Butter Hill.Well, then--to be brief (as every man says when he suspects himself tobe tedious), I sat up till one o'clock, vainly endeavouring tomanufacture something that might stand for poetry. But I had no rhymesfor my ideas, and no ideas for my rhymes. I found it impossible to makeboth go together. I at last determined to write my verses in prose tillI had arranged the sense, and afterwards to put them into measure andrhyme. I tried every sort of measure from six feet to ten, and I essayedconsecutive rhymes and alternate rhymes, but all was in vain. I foundthat I must either sacrifice the sense to the sound, or the sound to thesense. At length, I thought of the Bouts Rimees of the French. So Iwrote down, near the right hand edge of my paper, a whole column offamiliar rhymes, such as mine, thine, tears, fears, light, bright, &c.And now I congratulated myself on having accomplished one-half of mytask, supposing that I should find it comparatively easy to do thefilling up. But all was to no purpose. I could effect nothing that Ithought even tolerable, and I was too proud to write badly and belaughed at. However, I must acknowledge that, could I have been certainthat my 'piece of poetry' would be seen only by the fair damsel herself,I might easily have screwed my courage to the sticking pla
ce; forgreatly as I was smitten with the beauty of my little nymph, I had asecret misgiving that she had never sacrificed to Minerva."
Our hero paused a moment to admire the radiance of the smile that nowlighted up the countenance of Orinda.
"In short," continued he, "I sat up till 'night's candles were burntout,' both literally and metaphorically, and I then retired in despairto my pillow, from whence I did not rise till ten o'clock in themorning.
"That evening I carried back the album to my fair one; but she stillrefused to let me off, and insisted that I should take it with me toWest Point, to which place I was to return next day. I did so, hoping tocatch some inspiration from the mountain air, and the mountain scenery.I ought to have recollected that few of the poets on record, eitherlived among mountains, or wrote while visiting them. The sons of songare too often fated to set up their household gods, and strike theirlyres, in dark narrow streets and dismal alleys.
"As soon as the steamboat had cleared the city, I took out mypocket-book and pencil, and prepared for the onset. I now regarded theever-beautiful scenery of the magnificent Hudson with a new interest. Ithought the Palisades would do something for me; but my imaginationremained as sterile and as impenetrable as their eternal rocks. Thebroad expanse of the Tappan Sea lay like a resplendent mirror around me,but it reflected no image that I could transfer to my tablets. We cameinto the Highlands, but the old Dundeberg rumbled nothing in my fancy'sears, Anthony's Nose looked coldly down upon me, and the Sugar Loafsuggested no idea of sweetness. We proceeded along, but Buttermilk Fallsreminded me not of the fountain of Helicon, and Bull Hill and BreakneckHill seemed too rugged ever to be smoothed into verse.
"That afternoon I went up to Fort Putnam, for the hundred and twentiethtime in my life. I walked round the dismantled ramparts; I looked intotheir damp and gloomy cells. I thought (as is the duty of every one thatvisits these martial ruins) on the 'pride, pomp, and circumstance ofglorious war.' But they inspired nothing that I could turn to account inmy lady's album; nothing that could serve to introduce the complimentalways expected in the last stanza. And, in truth, this compliment wasthe chief stumbling-block after all. 'But for these vile compliments, Imight myself have been an album-poet.'"
"Is it then so difficult to compliment a lady?" inquired Orinda.
"Not in plain prose," replied Sunderland, "and when the lady is a little_a l'imbecile_, nothing in the world is more easy. But even in prose, tocompliment a sensible woman as she deserves, and without danger ofoffending her modesty, requires both tact and talent."
"Which I suppose is the reason," said Orinda, "that sensible womenobtain so few compliments from your sex, and fools so many."
"True," replied Sunderland. "But such compliments as we wish to offer toelegant and intellectual females, are as orient pearls compared toFrench beads."
Orinda cast down her beautiful eyes under the expressive glance of heradmirer. She felt that she was now receiving a pearl.
"But to proceed," continued Sunderland. "I came down from the fort nobetter poet than I went up, and I had recourse again to the solitude ofmy own room. Grown desperate, and determined to get the album off mymind and have it over, an idea struck me which I almost blush tomention. Promise not to look at me, and I will amaze you with mycandour."
Orinda pretended to hold her fan before her eyes.
"Are you sure you are not peeping between the stems of the feathers?"said Sunderland. "Well, then, now for my confession; but listen to it'more in sorrow than in anger,' and remember that the album alone wasthe cause of my desperation and my dishonour. Some Mephistopheleswhispered in my ear to look among the older poets for something butlittle known, and transfer it as mine to a page in the fatal book. Iwould not, of course, venture on Scott or Moore or Byron; for though Idoubted whether my lady-love was better versed in _them_ than in thebards of Queen Anne's reign, yet I thought that perhaps some of thereaders of her album might be acquainted with the last and best of theminstrels. But on looking over a volume of Pope, I found his 'Song by aPerson of Quality.'"
"I recollect it," said Orinda; "it is a satire on the amateurlove-verses of that period,--such as were generally produced byfashionable inamoratoes. In these stanzas the author has purposelyavoided every approach to sense or connexion, but has assembled togethera medley of smooth and euphonous sounds. And could you risk such verseswith your Dulcinea?"
"Yes," replied Sunderland; "with _her_ I knew that I was perfectly safe,and that she would pronounce them sweet and delightful. And in short,that they would exactly suit the calibre of her understanding."
"Yet still," said Orinda, "with such an opinion of her mentalqualifications, you professed to love this young lady--or rather youreally loved her--no doubt you did."
"No, no," replied Sunderland, eagerly; "it was only a passing whim--onlya boyish fancy--such as a man may feel a dozen times before he isfive-and-twenty, and before he is seriously in love. I should have toldyou that at this period I had not yet arrived at years of discretion."
"I should have guessed it without your telling," said Orinda,mischievously.
The young officer smiled, and proceeded.
"I now saw my way clear. So I made a new pen, placed Pope on my desk,and sitting down to the album with a lightened spirit, I began with thefirst stanza of his poem:
'Fluttering spread thy purple pinions, Gentle Cupid, o'er my heart-- I a slave in thy dominions, Nature must give way to art.'
And I then added the second and sixth verses, substituting the name ofmy fair one for that of Aurelia."
"What would I not give to know that name!" thought Orinda. "But, inthose verses," she remarked to Sunderland, "if I recollect aright, thereis no direct compliment to the lady's beauty."
"But there is a very great one by implication," answered the lieutenant."For instance, the line--'Hear me pay my dying vows.'--What more could Iprofess than to die for love of her! And a lady that is died for, mustof course be superlatively charming. In short, I finished the verses,and I must say they were very handsomely transcribed. Now, do not laugh.Is it not more excusable to take some pride in writing a good hand, thanto boast of scribbling a bad one? I have known persons who seemedabsolutely to plume themselves on the illegibility of their scrawls;because, unfortunately, so many men of genius have indulged in a mostshameful style of chirography.
"Well, I viewed my performance with much satisfaction, and thenproceeded to look attentively through the album (I had as yet butglanced over it), to see if any one excelled me in calligraphy. What wasmy horror, when I found among a multitude of Lines to Zephyrs andDew-drops, and Stanzas to Rose-buds and Violets, the identical versesthat I had just copied from Pope! Some other poor fellow, equally hardpressed, had been beforehand with me, and committed the very same theft;which, in his case, appeared to me enormous. I pronounced it 'flatburglary,' and could have consigned him to the penitentiary 'for thewhole term of his natural life.' To be compelled to commit a robbery isbad enough, but to be anticipated in the very same robbery, and to findthat you have burdened your conscience, and jeoparded your self-respectfor nothing, is worse still."
"There was one way," observed Orinda, "in which you could haveextricated yourself from the dilemma. You might have cut out the leaf,and written something else on another."
"That was the very thing I finally determined on doing," repliedSunderland. "So after a pause of deep distress, I took my penknife, anddid cut out the leaf: resolving that for my next 'writing-piece,' Iwould go as far back as the poets of Elizabeth's time. While pleasingmyself with the idea that all was now safe, I perceived, in moving thebook, that another leaf was working its way out; and I found, to mygreat consternation, that I had cut too deeply, and that I had looseneda page on which was faintly drawn in a lady's hand a faint Cupidshooting at a faint heart, encircled with a wreath of faint flowers. Irecollected that my 'fair one with locks of gold,' had pointed out to methis performance as 'the sweetest thing in her album.'"
"By-the-bye," r
emarked Orinda, "when you found so much difficulty incomposing verses, why did you not substitute a drawing?"
"Oh!" replied the lieutenant, "though I am at no loss in militarydrawing, and can finish my bastions, and counterscarps, and ravelins,with all due neatness, yet my miscellaneous sketches are very much inthe style of scene-painting, and totally unfit to be classed with thesmooth, delicate, half-tinted prettinesses that are peculiar to ladies'albums."
"Now," said Orinda, "I am going to see how you will bear a compliment.I know that your drawings are bold and spirited, and such as the artistsconsider very excellent for an amateur, and therefore I will excuse youfrom writing verses in my album, on condition that you make me a sketch,in your own way, of my favourite view of Fort Putnam--I mean that finescene of the west side which bursts suddenly upon you when going thitherby the back road that leads through the woods. How sublime is theeffect, when you stand at the foot of the dark gray precipice, featheredas it is with masses of beautiful foliage, and when you look up to itslofty summit, where the living rock seems to blend itself with thedilapidated ramparts of the mountain fortress!"
"To attempt such a sketch for Miss Melbourne," replied Sunderland, withmuch animation, "I shall consider both a pleasure and an honour. ButLoves and Doves, and Roses and Posies, are entirely out of my line, orrather out of the line of my pencil. Now, where was I? I believe I wastelling of my confusion when I found that I had inadvertently cut outthe young lady's pet Cupid."
"But did it not strike you," said Orinda, "that the easiest course,after all, was to go to your demoiselle, and make a candid confession ofthe whole? which she would undoubtedly have regarded in no other lightthan as a subject of amusement, and have been too much diverted to feelany displeasure."
"Ah! you must not judge of every one by yourself," replied Sunderland."I thought for a moment of doing what you now suggest, but after alittle consideration, I more than suspected that my candour would bethrown away upon the perverse little damsel that owned the album, andthat any attempt to take a ludicrous view of the business wouldmortally offend her. All young ladies are not like Miss OrindaMelbourne"--(bowing as he spoke).
Orinda turned her head towards the window, and fixed her eyes intentlyon the top of the Crow's Nest. This time the suffusion on her cheeks wasnot in the least doubtful.
"Well, then," continued Sunderland, "that I might remedy the disaster asfar as possible, I procured some fine paste, and was proceeding tocement the leaf to its predecessor, when, in my agitation, a drop of thepaste fell on the Cupid's face. In trying to absorb it with the cornerof a clean handkerchief, I 'spread the ruin widely round,' and smearedoff his wings, which unfortunately grew out of the back of his neck: avery pardonable mistake, as the fair artist had probably never seen alive Cupid. I was now nearly frantic, and I enacted sundry ravings 'tootedious to mention.' The first use I made of my returning senses was toemploy a distinguished artist (then on a visit to West Point) to executeon another leaf, another Cupid, with bow and arrow, heart and roses, &c.He made a beautiful little thing, a design of his own, which alone wasworth a thousand album drawings of the usual sort. I was now quitereconciled to the disaster, which had given me an opportunity ofpresenting the young lady with a precious specimen of taste and genius.As soon as it was finished, I obtained leave of absence for a few days,went down to the city, and, album in hand, repaired to my Brooklynbeauty. I knew that, with her, there would be no use in telling thewhole truth, and nothing but the truth; and I acknowledge, with shame,that I suppressed the fact of my copying Pope's verses. I merely saidthat, not being quite satisfied with my poetry, I had cut out the leaf;and I then went on to relate the remainder exactly as it happened. As Iproceeded, I observed her brows beginning to contract, and her lipsbeginning to pout. 'Well, sir,' said she, with her eyes flashing (for Inow found that even blue eyes could flash), 'I think you have beentaking great liberties with my album: cutting and clipping it, andsmearing it with paste, and spoiling my best Cupid, and then getting aman to put another picture into it, without asking my leave.'
"Much disconcerted, I made many apologies, all of which she receivedwith a very ill grace. I ventured to point out to her the superiority ofthe drawing that had been made by the artist.
"'I see no beauty in it,' she exclaimed; 'the shading is not half somuch blended as Miss Cottonwool's, and it does not look half so soft.'"
"I have observed," said Orinda, "that persons who in reality know butlittle of the art, always dwell greatly on what they call softness."
"I endeavoured to reconcile her to the drawing," continued Sunderland;"but she persisted in saying that it was nothing to compare to MissCottonwool's, which she alleged was of one delicate tint throughout,while this was very light in some places and very dark in others, andthat she could actually see distinctly where most of the touches wereput on, 'when in paintings that are really handsome,' said she, 'all theshading is blended together, and looks soft.'
"To conclude, she would not forgive me; and, in sober truth, I mustacknowledge that the petulance and silliness she evinced on thisoccasion, took away much of my desire to be restored to favour. Nextday, I met her walking on the Battery, in high flirtation with an oldWest Indian planter, who espoused her in the course of a fortnight, andcarried her to Antigua."
Orinda now gave an involuntary and almost audible sigh; feeling asensation of relief on hearing that her rival by anticipation wasmarried and gone, and entirely _hors de combat_.
Mr. and Mrs. Ledbury, who had been taking a long walk, now came in; andshortly after, the bell rang for tea. And when Orinda took the offeredarm of Sunderland (as he conducted her to the table), she felt apresentiment that, before many days, the important question would beasked and answered.
The evening on which our story commences, was that of the 3d of July,1825, and tea was scarcely over at the Mess House when an orderlysergeant came round with a notice for the officers to assemble inuniform at the dock, to receive General La Fayette, who was expected inhalf an hour.
The guest of the nation had visited the Military Academy soon after hisarrival in America. He had there been introduced to Cadet Huger, the sonof that gallant Carolinian who, in conjunction with the generous andenterprising Bollman, had so nearly succeeded in the hazardous attemptof delivering him from the dungeons of Olmutz.
La Fayette was now on his return from his memorable tour throughout theUnited States. Major Worth,[71] who was in command at West Point duringthe temporary absence of Colonel Thayer, happened to be at Newburgh whenthe steamboat arrived there, in which La Fayette was proceeding down theriver from Albany to New York; and he invited the General to stop atWest Point, and remain till the next boat. The invitation was promptlyaccepted, and Major Worth instantly despatched a messenger with theintelligence; wishing to give the residents of the post an opportunityof making such preparations for the reception of their distinguishedvisiter as the shortness of the time would allow.
[Footnote 71: Afterwards General Worth.]
The officers hastily put on their full dress uniform, and repaired tothe wharf, or dock, as it was called. The band (at that time the finestin America) was already there. The ladies assembled on the high bankthat overlooks the river, and from thence witnessed the arrival of LaFayette.
On the heights above the landing-place, and near the spot where thehotel has been since erected, appeared an officer, and a detachment ofsoldiers, waiting, with a lighted match, to commence the salute; forwhich purpose several pieces of artillery had been conveyed thither.
The twilight of a summer evening was accelerated by a vast and heavycloud, portentous of a thunderstorm. It had overspread the west, andloured upon the river, on whose yet unruffled waters the giant shadowsof the mountains were casting a still deeper gloom. Beyond Polipel'sIsland was seen the coming steamboat, looking like an immense star upona level with the horizon. There was a solemn silence all around, whichwas soon broken by the sound of the paddles, that were heard when theboat was as far off as Washington's Valley: a
nd, in a few minutes, herdense shower of sparks and her wreath of red smoke were vividly definedupon the darkening sky.
The boat was soon at the wharf; and, at the moment that La Fayettestepped on shore, the officers took off their hats, the band struck upHail Columbia, and, amid the twilight gloom and the darkness of theimpending thundercloud, it was chiefly by the flashes of the guns fromthe heights that the scene was distinctly visible. The lightning ofheaven quivered also on the water; and the mountain echoes repeated thelow rolling of the distant thunder in unison with the loud roar of thecannon.
The general, accompanied by his son, and by his secretary, Levasseur,walked slowly up the hill, leaning on the arm of Major Worth, precededby the band playing La Fayette's March, and followed by the officers andprofessors of the Institution. When they had ascended to the plain, theyfound the houses lighted up, and the camp of the cadets illuminatedalso. They proceeded to the Mess House, and as soon as they had entered,the musicians ranged themselves under the elms in front, and commencedYankee Doodle; the quickstep to which La Fayette, at the head of hisAmerican division, had marched to the attack at the siege of Yorktown.
While the General was partaking of some refreshment, the officers andprofessors returned for the ladies, all of whom were desirous of anintroduction to him. Many children were also brought and presented tothe far-famed European, who had so importantly assisted in obtainingfor them and for their fathers, the glorious immunities of independence.
The star has now set which shone so auspiciously for our country at thatdisastrous period of our revolutionary struggle--
"When hope was sinking in dismay, And gloom obscured Columbia's day."
Mouldering into dust is that honoured hand which was clasped with suchdeep emotion by the assembled sons and daughters of the nation in whosecause it had first unsheathed the sword of liberty. And soon will thatnoble and generous heart, so replete with truth and benevolence, bereduced to "a clod of the valley." Yet, may we not hope that from theworld of eternity, of which his immortal spirit is now an inhabitant, helooks down with equal interest on the land of his nativity, and on theland of his adoption: that country so bound to him by ties ofeverlasting gratitude; that country where all were his friends, as hewas the friend of all.
Tears suffused the beautiful eyes of Orinda Melbourne, when, introducedby her lover, she took the offered hand of La Fayette, and her voicetrembled as she replied to the compliment of the patriot of bothhemispheres. Sunderland remarked to the son of the illustrious veteran,that it gave him much pleasure to see that the General's long andfatiguing journey had by no means impaired his healthful appearance, butthat, on the contrary, he now looked better than he had done on hisfirst arrival in America. "Ah!" replied Colonel La Fayette, "how couldmy father suffer from fatigue, when every day was a day of happiness!"
After Orinda had resigned her place to another lady, she said toSunderland, who stood at the back of her chair--"What would I not givefor La Fayette's autograph in my album!"
"Still harping on the album," said Sunderland, smiling.
"Excuse me this once," replied Orinda. "I begin to think as you do withrespect to albums, but if nothing else can be alleged in their favour,they may, at least, be safe and convenient depositories for mementoes ofthose whose names are their history. All I presume to wish or to hopefrom La Fayette, is simply his signature. But I have not courage myselfto ask such a favour. Will you convey my request to him?"
"Willingly," answered Sunderland. "But he will grant that request stillmore readily if it comes from your own lips. Let us wait awhile, and Iwill see that you have an opportunity."
In a short time, nearly all the company had departed, except those thatwere inmates of the house. The gentlemen having taken home the ladies,returned for the purpose of remaining with La Fayette till the boat camealong in which he was to proceed to the city.
Orinda took her album; her admirer conducted her to the General, andwith much confusion she proffered her request; Sunderland brought him astandish, and he wrote the name "La Fayette" in the centre of a blankpage, which our heroine presented to him: it having on each side otherblank leaves that Orinda determined should never be filled up. Highlygratified at becoming the possessor of so valued a signature, she couldscarcely refrain, in her enthusiasm, from pressing the leaf to her lips,when she soon after retired with Mrs. Ledbury.
The officers remained with General La Fayette till the arrival of theboat, which came not till near twelve o'clock. They then accompanied himto the wharf, and took their final leave. The thunderstorm had goneround without discharging its fury on West Point, and everything hadturned out propitiously for the General's visit; which was perhaps themore pleasant for having been so little expected.
The following day was the Fourth of July, and the next was the one fixedon by Mr. and Mrs. Ledbury for returning to New York. That morning, atthe breakfast-table, the number of guests was increased by the presenceof a Mr. Jenkins, who had come from the city in the same boat with MissMelbourne and her friends, and after passing a few days at West Point,had gone up the river to visit some relations at Poughkeepsie, fromwhence he had just returned. Mr. Jenkins was a shallow, conceited,over-dressed young man, and, moreover, extremely ugly, though of thismisfortune he was not in the least aware. He was of a family whosewealth had not made them genteel. He professed great politeness to theladies, that is, if they had beauty and money; yet he always declaredthat he would marry nothing under a hundred thousand dollars. But he wasgood-natured; and that, and his utter insignificance, got him alongtolerably well, for no one ever thought it worth while to be offended athis folly and self-sufficiency.
After breakfast, Mrs. Ledbury asked Orinda if she had prevailed on Mr.Sunderland to write an article in her album, adding--"I heard you urginghim to that effect the other day, as I passed the front parlour."
"I found him inexorable, as to writing," replied Orinda.
"Well, really," said Mr. Jenkins, "I don't know how a gentleman canreconcile himself to refuse anything a lady asks. And he an officer too!For my part, I always hold it my bounden duty to oblige the ladies, andnever on any account to treat them with _hauteur_, as the French callit. To be sure, I am not a marrying man--that is, I do not marry under ahundred thousand--but still, that is no reason why I should not bealways polite and agreeable. _Apropos_, as the French say--_apropos_,Miss Melbourne, you know _I_ offered the other day to write somethingfor you in your album, and I will do it with all the pleasure in life. Iam very partial to albums, and quite _au-fait_ to them, to use a Frenchterm."
"We return to the city this afternoon," said Orinda. "You will scarcelyhave time to add anything to the treasures of _my_ album."
"Oh! it won't take me long," replied Jenkins; "short and sweet is _my_motto. There will be quite time enough. You see I have already finishedmy breakfast. I am not the least of a _gourmand_, to borrow a word fromthe French."
Orinda had really some curiosity to see a specimen of Jenkins's poetry:supposing that, like the poor cadet's, it might be amusingly bad.Therefore, having sent for her album, she put it hastily into Jenkins'shand: for at that moment Lieutenant Sunderland, who had, as usual,breakfasted at the mess-table with his brother officers, came in toinvite her to walk with him to Gee's Point. Orinda assented, andimmediately put on her bonnet, saying to her lover as she left thehouse--
"You know this is one of my favourite walks--I like that fine mass ofbare granite running far out into the river, and the beautiful view fromits extreme point. And then the road, by which we descend to it, is socharmingly picturesque, with its deep ravine on one side, filled withtrees and flowering shrubs, and the dark and lofty cliff that towers upon the other, where the thick vine wanders in festoons, and the branchesof the wild rose throw their long streamers down the rock, whose utmostheights are crowned with still-lingering remnants of the grass-grownruins of Fort Clinton."
But we question if, on this eventful morning, the beauties of Gee'sPoint were duly appreciated by our heroine
, for long before they hadreached it, her lover had made an explicit avowal of his feelings andhis hopes, and had obtained from her the promise of her hand: whichpromise was faithfully fulfilled on that day two months.
In the afternoon, Lieutenant Sunderland accompanied Miss Melbourne andher friends on their return to the city. Previous to her departure,Orinda did not forgot to remind Mr. Jenkins of her album, now doublyvaluable to her as containing the name of La Fayette, written by his ownhand.
Jenkins begged a thousand pardons, alleging that the arrival of a friendfrom New York, had prevented him from writing in it, as he had intended."And of course," said he, "I could not put off my friend, as he is oneof the _elite_ of the city, to describe him in French. However, there istime enough yet. Short and sweet, you know"--
"The boat is in sight," said Sunderland.
"Oh! no matter," answered Jenkins. "I can do it in a minute, and I willsend it down to the boat after you. Miss Melbourne shall have it beforeshe quits the wharf. I would on no consideration be guilty ofdisappointing a lady."
And taking with him the album, he went directly to his room.
"You had best go down to the dock," said the cadet, young Melbourne, whohad come to see his sister off. "There is no time to be lost. I willtake care that the album reaches you in safety, should you be obliged togo without it."
They proceeded towards the river, but they had scarcely got as far asMrs. Thomson's, when a waiter came running after them with the book,saying--"Mr. Jenkins's compliments to Miss Melbourne, and all is right."
"Really," said Sunderland, "that silly fellow must have a machine formaking verses, to have turned out anything like poetry in so short atime."
They were scarcely seated on the deck of the steamboat, when Orindaopened her album to look for the inspirations of Jenkins's Muse. Shefound no verses. But on the very page consecrated by the hand of LaFayette, and immediately under the autograph of the hero, was written,in an awkward school-boy character, the name of Jeremiah Jenkins.