Book: Elinor Wyllys

S >> Susan Fenimore Cooper >> Elinor Wyllys




This was the last letter Elinor received in Philadelphia, for
early in the spring the family returned to the country. She was
never happier than at Wyllys-Roof, and resumed with delight
occupations and amusements, which would have appeared very
insipid to many elegant belles whom she left behind her--since
the mornings were to be passed without visiting or shopping, the
evenings without parties or flirtations. In a quiet country
house, with no other young person in the family, there was of
course, at Wyllys-Roof, very little excitement--that necessary
ingredient of life to many people; and yet, Elinor had never
passed a tedious day there. On the longest summer morning, or
winter evening, she always found enough to occupy her time and
attention.

To her, Wyllys-Roof was home; and that is a word of a broader and
more varied meaning in the country than in a town. The cares, the
sympathies of a country home, embrace a wide circle, and bring
with them pleasures of their own. People know enough of all their
neighbours, to take part in any interesting event that may befall
them; we are sorry to hear that A., the shoemaker, is going to
move away; we are glad to find that B., the butcher, has made
money enough to build a new house. One has some acquaintance with
everybody, from the clergyman to the loafer; few are the faces
that one does not know. Even the four-footed animals of the
neighbourhood are not strangers: this is the Doctor's
Newfoundland dog; that is some old lady's tortoise-shell cat. One
knows the horses, as well as the little urchins who ride them to
water; the cows, and those who milk them. And then, country-folks
are nature's freeholders; they enjoy a full portion of the earth,
the air, the sky, with the thousand charms an ever-merciful
Creator has lavished on them. Every inanimate object--this hill,
that wood, the brook, the bridge, C.'s farm-house, and D.'s
barn--to the very highway, as far as eye can reach, all form
pleasing parts of a country home. In a city, on the contrary, we
live surrounded by strangers. Home is entirely restricted to our
own fire-side. One knows a neighbour's card, perhaps, but not his
face. There may have been a funeral or a wedding next-door, and
we learn it only from the morning paper. Then, even if a fixture
oneself, how is it possible for human sensibilities to cling very
closely to the row of brick houses opposite, which are
predestined to be burned or pulled down in a few years? Nor can
one be supposed to look with much pleasure at the omnibus horses,
or half-starved pigs that may belong to one's street. No doubt,
that with hearts warm and true, we may have a FIRESIDE in town;
but HOME with its thousand pleasant accessories--HOME, in its
fullest meaning, belongs especially to the country.

Elinor was a country girl, born and bred. Though banished from
Chesnut {sic} Street, she would have been well satisfied with the
usual occupations of a country life, varied only by quiet walks
with her aunt, rides with her grandfather, chatty meetings with a
few young companions, or long visits from old friends, whose
names and faces had been familiar to her all her life. The first
few weeks after her return to Wyllys-Roof, she had, of course,
more than usual to see and hear. Elinor had been absent from home
but a few months; yet, even in that short space, she found
changes had occurred in the neighbourhood--varied, as usual--some
of a sad, some of a pleasant nature. Miss Agnes and her niece
found one place vacant among those whom they were in the habit of
seeing often; the father of a family who lived within sight of
their own windows, had died suddenly, and left a widow and
children to struggle with the world: but they were neither
friendless nor repining, and submitted with humble resignation to
their severe affliction, prepared to meet with faith and hope the
additional cares and toils allotted to them. One of Elinor's
young friends, too, was lying on a sick-bed at Longbridge--a
beautiful girl of her own age wasted by consumption; but she was
calm and peaceful, though without hope this side the grave. We
shall scarcely forgive ourselves for making even a distant
allusion to one portion of Elinor's pleasures and labours,
although more especially connected with home; since none could
perform their religious duties with less ostentation, with more
single-hearted sincerity--none could more carefully follow the
precept, to "give with simplicity," than Miss Wyllys, and the
niece she had educated.

{"Chesnut Street" = Chestnut Street, a fashionable street in
Philadelphia}

Of course, the ladies had immediately resumed their intercourse
with their old friends; and they had many neighbourly visits to
pay. Not your formal, fashionable morning calls, lasting just
three minutes, when you are so unfortunate as to find at home the
individual you are paying off; no, indeed; good, honest visits of
nearly an hour's length, giving time to exchange many kindly
inquiries as to the health of all the members of the family, the
condition of the garden, and promises of the crops; and even
occasionally allowing Mr. Wyllys to take a look at some addition
to the live-stock, in the shape of calves, colts, or pigs. Then,
Mrs. Bernard had just moved into a new house, whose comforts and
conveniences must certainly be shown by herself, and appreciated
by her friends. Then, Elinor had to kiss, and make acquaintance
with several tiny pieces of humanity, in white frocks and lace
caps--little creatures born during the past winter; of course,
the finest babies one could wish to see, and the delight of their
parents' hearts. Then, Alida Van Horne was going to be married;
as Elinor was to be her bridesmaid, a great deal of talking and
consulting took place on the occasion, as matter of course. But,
although her time was fully occupied in many different ways, no
day was too pleasant or too busy for more than one thought to be
given to Harry Hazlehurst.



CHAPTER V.

"Anch' io son pittore!"
CORREGGIO.

{"Anch' io son pittore" = "I too, am a painter!" (Italian).
Antonio Allegri da Correggio (Italian painter, 1494-1534),
exclamation on viewing Raphael's "St. Cecilia" at Bologna (1525)}

THERE was one subject, in which the family at Wyllys-Roof felt
particularly interested just then, and that was, Charlie
Hubbard's picture. This piece was to decide finally the question,
whether Charlie should be an artist, or a merchant's clerk; a
question which he himself considered all important, and which
caused much anxiety to his friends.

The house in which the Hubbards lived was a grey, wooden cottage,
of the smallest size; curious gossips had, indeed, often wondered
how it had ever been made to contain a large family; but some
houses, like certain purses, possess capabilities of expansion,
quite independent of their apparent size, and connected by
mysterious sympathies with the heads and hearts of their owners.
This cottage belonged to the most ancient and primitive style of
American architecture; what may be called the comfortable, common
sense order--far superior, one might suppose to either Corinthian
or Composite, for a farm-house. The roof was low, and unequally
divided, stretching, on one side, with a long, curving slope,
over the southern front; which was scarce seven feet high:
towards the road the building was a little more elevated, for a
dormer-window gave it the dignity of a story and a half. Not only
the roof, but the walls--we have classical authority for wooden
walls--were covered with rounded shingles, long since grey, and
in spots, moss-grown. Twice the cottage had escaped a more
brilliant exterior; upon one occasion it had been inhabited by an
ambitious family, who talked of a coat of red paint; fortunately,
they moved away, before concluding a bargain with the painter.
Again, when the Hubbards took possession of the 'old grey house,'
a committee of ladies actually drove over from Longbridge, with
the intention of having it whitewashed; but, the experienced old
negro engaged to clean generally, gave it as his opinion, that
the shingles were not worth the compliment. The windows were very
small; more than half the glass was of the old, blue bull's-eye
pattern, no longer to be found at modern glaziers, and each heavy
window-shutter had a half-moon cut in its upper panel, to let in
the daylight. When we add, that there was a low porch before the
door, with a sweet-briar on one side, and a snowball on the
other, the reader will have a correct idea of the house inhabited
by our friends, the Hubbards.

{"Corinthian or Composite" = two of the classical orders of
architecture, based on the style of column used. The "Composite
order," however, was something of a Cooper family joke, first
used by James Fenimore Cooper in "The Pioneers" (1823) to
describe a pretentious building of no particular style at all.
The Coopers, father and daughter, were contemptuous of buildings
that pretended to be Greek temples}

The cottage stood within a little door-yard, near the gate which
opened on the lawn of Wyllys-Roof; and, immediately opposite the
place recently purchased by Mr. Taylor. Here the family had lived
for the last twelve years; and, from that time, Miss Patsey had
been obliged to struggle against poverty, with a large family of
younger brothers and sisters, dependent, in a great measure, upon
her prudence and exertions.

Mr. Hubbard, the father, a respectable Presbyterian minister, had
been, for half his life, in charge of a congregation in
Connecticut, where, by-the-bye, Mr. Pompey Taylor, at that time a
poor clerk, had been an unsuccessful suitor for Patsey's hand.
After a while, the family had removed to Longbridge, where they
had lived very comfortably and usefully, until, at length, the
minister died, leaving his widow and seven children entirely
unprovided for. Happily, they possessed warm friends and kind
relatives. The old grey house, with a garden and a little meadow
adjoining, was purchased for his brother's family by Mr. Joseph
Hubbard, known to the young people as Uncle Josie: he was a
merchant, in easy circumstances, and cheerfully gave the thousand
dollars required. The cottage was furnished by the minister's
congregation. Many useful presents were made, and many small
debts forgiven by kind neighbours. With this humble outfit the
family commenced their new career. Mrs. Hubbard, the second wife,
and mother of the three younger children, had lost the use of one
hand, by an attack of paralysis. She had always been a woman of
very feeble character; and although treated with unvarying
kindness and respect by her step-children, could do little
towards the government or assistance of the family. It was Patsey
who toiled, and managed, and thought for them all. With the aid
of two younger sisters, mere children, at first, and an old black
woman, who came once a week to wash, all the work was done by
herself, including baking, ironing, cooking, cleaning, &c.; and
yet Patsey found time to give up four hours a day to teaching a
class of some dozen children, belonging to several neighbouring
families. This school furnished the only money that passed
through her hands, and contributed the only regular means of
support to the family. They received, however, much kind
assistance, in many different ways; indeed, otherwise, it would
have been scarcely possible to keep a fireside of their own.
There had been, in all, nine children; but the eldest son, a
missionary, died before his father; the second had already gone
to Kentucky, to seek his fortunes as a physician; he had married
young, and, with children of his own to support, it seemed but
little he could do for his step-mother; he sent for a younger
brother, however, engaging to provide for him entirely. Another
son was educated by his rich Longbridge relative, kind Uncle
Josie; another uncle, a poor old bachelor, known to the
neighbourhood as Uncle Dozie, from a constant habit of napping,
did his utmost, in paying the school-bills of his niece
Catherine. In the course of a few years, Uncle Josie's protege
became an assistant in the school where he had been educated;
Kate Hubbard, Uncle Dozie's favourite, married a quick-witted,
but poor, young lawyer, already introduced to the reader, by the
name of Clapp.

Still, there remained in the family two younger daughters, and
Charlie, besides Miss Patsey and Mrs. Hubbard. By the exertions
and guidance of Patsey, the assistance of friends, and their own
good conduct, the young people, in due time, were all growing up,
endowed with good principles, good educations, and with
respectable prospects opening before them. At the period of our
narrative, the third daughter hoped shortly to become an
under-governess in the school where she had been educated; and
Mary, the youngest of the family, had such a decided taste for
music, that it was thought she would have no difficulty in
supporting herself, by giving lessons, in the course of two or
three years. Of all the family, Charlie was the one that caused
his friends the most anxiety. He was a fine, spirited,
intelligent boy; and Uncle Josie had promised to procure a
situation for him, with his son-in-law, a commission-merchant and
auctioneer, in New York. This plan was very pleasing to Mrs.
Hubbard and Miss Patsey; but, unfortunately, Charlie seemed to
have no taste for making money, and a fondness for pictures and
pencils, that amounted almost to a passion. Here was an
unexpected obstacle; Charlie was the pet and spoiled child of the
family. All the rest of the young people had been quite satisfied
with the different means of support that had offered for each;
and they had followed their respective careers with so much quiet
good sense, that Charlie's remonstrances against the
counting-house, and his strong fancy for an artist's life, was
something quite new, and which Miss Patsey scarcely knew how to
answer. There was nothing in the least poetical or romantic about
Patsey Hubbard, who was all honest kindness and straight-forward
common sense. She had no feeling whatever for the fine arts;
never read a work of imagination; scarcely knew one tune from
another; and had never looked with pleasure at any picture, but
one, a portrait of her own respected father, which still occupied
the place of honour in their little parlour, nearly covering one
side of the wall. This painting, to speak frankly, was anything
but a valuable work of art, or a good likeness of the worthy
minister. The face was flat and unmeaning, entirely devoid of
expression or relief; the body was stiff and hard, like
sheet-iron, having, also, much the color of that material, so far
as it was covered by the black ministerial coat. One arm was
stretched across a table, conspicuous from a carrot-coloured
cloth, and the hand was extended over a pile of folios; but it
looked quite unequal to the task of opening them. The other arm
was disposed of in some manner satisfactory to the artist, no
doubt, but by no means easy for the spectator to discover, since
the brick-coloured drapery which formed the back-ground to the
whole, certainly encroached on the side where nature had placed
it. Such as it was, however, Miss Patsey admired this painting
more than any she had ever seen, and its gilt frame was always
carefully covered with green gauze, no longer necessary to
preserve the gilding, but rather to conceal its blackened lustre;
but Charlie's sister belonged to that class of amateurs who
consider the frame as an integral part of the work of art. It
was, perhaps, the most promising fact regarding any future hopes
of young Hubbard's, as an artist, that this same portrait was far
from satisfying his taste, uncultivated as it was. Charlie was,
for a long time, so much ashamed of his passion for drawing, that
he carefully concealed the little bits of paper on which he made
his sketches, as well as the few old, coarse engravings he had
picked up to copy. But, one day, Miss Patsey accidentally
discovered these treasures between the leaves of a number of the
Longbridge Freeman, carefully stowed away in an old chest of
drawers in the little garret-room where Charlie slept. She found
there a head of Washington; one of Dr. Blair; a view of Boston;
and an old French print called L'Ete, representing a shepherdess
making hay in high-heeled shoes and a hoop; there were copies of
these on bits of paper of all sizes, done with the pen or
lead-pencil; and lastly, a number of odd-looking sketches of
Charlie's own invention. The sight of these labours of art, was
far from giving Miss Patsey pleasure, although it accounted for
the surprising disappearance of her writing-paper, and the
extraordinary clipping, she had remarked, of late, on all notes
and letters that were left lying about, from which every scrap of
white paper was sure to be cut off. She spoke to Charlie on the
subject, and, of course, he had to confess. But he did not
reform; on the contrary, matters soon grew worse, for he began to
neglect his studies. It happened that he passed the whole summer
at home, as the school where his brother had been assistant, and
he himself a pupil, was broken up. At last, Miss Patsey talked to
him so seriously, about wasting time on trifles, that Charlie,
who was a sensible, warm-hearted boy, and well aware of the
exertions his sister had made for him, promised amendment, and
actually burnt all his own sketches, though the precious
engravings were still preserved. This improvement only lasted a
while, however, when he again took to drawing. This time he
resolutely respected Miss Patsey's paper, but that only made
matters worse, for he became more ambitious; he began to sketch
from nature; and, having a special fancy for landscape, he used
to carry his slate and arithmetic into the fields; and, instead
of becoming more expert in compound interest, he would sit for
hours composing pictures, and attempting every possible variety
in the views of the same little mill-pond, within a short
distance of the house. He soon became quite expert in the
management of his slate and pencil, and showed a good deal of
ingenuity in rubbing in and out the white shading on the black
ground, something in the manner of a stump-drawing; but, of
course, these sketches all disappeared before Charlie went to
take his regular lesson in book-keeping, from the neighbour who
had promised to keep him in practice until the winter, when he
was to enter the counting-house.

{"Dr. Blair" = possibly Robert Blair (Scottish poet, 1699-1747),
author of "The Grave"; or James Blair (1656-1743), founder of the
College of William and Mary in Williamsburg, Virginia. "L'Ete" =
summertime (French); "stump drawing" = probably from "stump", a
pencil-like drawing implement of rolled paper or of rubber, used
to smooth or rub in dark lines}

At last, however, Charlie determined to have an explanation with
his mother and sister; he made a clean breast as to the misdoings
on the slate, and boldly coming to the point, suggested the
possibility of his being able to support himself, one day, as an
artist, instead of a commission merchant. Poor Miss Patsey, this
was a sad blow to her! It had been her cherished ambition to see
Charlie an upright, prosperous merchant; and now that his
prospects were brightening, and a situation was provided for him,
that he should be only a painter! She had a very low opinion of
artists, as a class, and she would almost as soon have expected
Charlie to become a play-actor, or a circus-rider. When the boy
found that both Uncle Josie and Uncle Dozie thought his idea a
very foolish one, that Miss Patsey was very much distressed, and
Mrs. Hubbard could not be made to comprehend the difference
between an artist and a house-painter, he again abandoned his own
cherished plans, and resumed his commercial studies.
Unfortunately, one day, Elinor was choosing a book as a present
for her old play-fellow, at a bookstore in Philadelphia, when she
laid her hand on the Lives of the Painters. These volumes finally
upset Charlie's philosophy; he immediately set to work to
convince Miss Patsey and Uncle Josie, by extracts from the
different lives, that it was very possible to be a good and
respectable man, and not only support himself, but make a
fortune, as an artist. Of course, he took care to skip over all
unpleasant points, and bad examples; but when he came to anything
creditable, he made a note of it--and, one day, pursued Miss
Patsey into the cellar, to read to her the fact that Reubens had
been an ambassador.

{"Reubens" = Peter Paul Rubens (1577-1640), famous Flemish
painter, who served as a diplomat in Spain from 1626-30}

Miss Patsey confided her anxieties to Mr. Wyllys, who was already
aware of Charlie's propensities, and, indeed, thought them
promising. He advised Mrs. Hubbard and Patsey, not to oppose the
boy's wishes so strongly, but to give him an opportunity of
trying what he really could do; and as the expense was a very
important consideration with the Hubbards, he made Charlie a
present of a palette and colours, and kindly took him, one day,
to Philadelphia, to see Mr. S-----, who gave him some advice as
to the way in which he should go to work. This assistance Charlie
received, upon condition that he should also, at the same time,
continue his other studies; and in case any two artists that his
friend might consult, should declare, on seeing his work, that he
did not show talent enough to promise reasonable success, he was,
from that time, to devote himself to business. For a while,
Charlie was a great deal happier than a king. He immediately
began a view of his beloved little mill-pond, and then attempted
one of a small sheet of water in the neighbourhood, called
Chewattan Lake. These, after having been touched and re-touched,
he carried, with a portfolio of drawings, to New York, and with a
fluttering heart and trembling hands laid them before two
distinguished artists, Mr. C----- and Mr. I-----, to whom Mr.
Wyllys had given him letters. The decision of these gentlemen was
not discouraging, upon the whole; but they found that he had set
out wrong in the arrangement of his colours, and having corrected
the mistake, they proposed his painting another piece in oils, to
determine whether the faults in the first were the result of
ignorance, or of a false eye for colour; for on this point his
judges disagreed. It must be confessed that Charlie's clouds
might give some idea of such vapours as they may exist in the
moon; but certainly the tints the youth had given them were very
remarkable for an earthly atmosphere.

It was upon this last picture--another view of Chewattan
Lake--that Charles was engaged, heart and soul, when the Wyllyses
returned home. One afternoon, Mr. Wyllys proposed to Miss Agnes
and Elinor, to walk over and call upon Miss Patsey, and see what
their young friend had done.

"Here we are, Charlie, my lad; you promised us a look at your
work this week, you know;" said Mr. Wyllys, as he walked into the
neat little door-yard before the Hubbards' house, accompanied by
the ladies.

Charlie was at work in the vegetable garden adjoining the
door-yard, weeding the radishes.

"Everything looks in very good order here, Charles," observed
Miss Wyllys. "You have not given up the garden, I see, although
you have so much to do now."

"Your beds and your flowers look as neat as possible," said
Elinor; "just as usual. You don't seem to have gone far enough in
your career to have learned that, un beau desordre is the effect
of art," she added, smiling.

{"un beau desordre" = a pleasing lack of order (French)}

"No, indeed; it is to be hoped I never shall, for that would
throw my mother and sister into despair, at once!"

Miss Patsey, who had heard the voices of the party, now came from
the little kitchen, where she had been baking, to receive her
friends.

"Elinor has just remarked that things do not look as if you had
an artist in the house; everything is neat as wax," said Mr.
Wyllys, stepping into the little parlour.

Miss Patsey was beginning to resign herself to hearing Charlie
called an artist, although the word had still an unpleasant sound
to her ear.

"Charles is very good," she replied, "about keeping his things in
their place; he does not make much litter."

After some inquiries about Mrs. Hubbard--who, it seems, was
taking her afternoon nap--Mr. Wyllys asked to see Charlie's work.

"You must let us look at it, Charles," said Miss Agnes; "we have
been waiting, you know, quite impatiently for the last week."

"If we must go up to your STUDIO for it, we'll rest awhile
first," said Mr. Wyllys taking a seat.

"You mortify me, sir," said Charlie, "by using such great words
about my little doings, even in pleasantry. I am half afraid to
show my work; but I will bring it down."

"I hope we shall find some improvement--that is all we can expect
at present, my boy. We don't look for a Claude yet."

{"Claude" = Claude Lorrain (1600-1662), French painter famous for
his landscapes, who was an important influence on the American
Hudson River School}

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