First Love. Mrs. Loudon

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      CHAPTER VII.

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      “Yes, sweet boy, Clara will be thy mother.

       Thou hast thus her first of mother’s feelings;

       Even should there rise, to claim her fondness,

       Other beings like to thee: innocents,

       Helpless innocents.”

      Months had rolled away. It was a beautiful evening in the middle of July; and Lodore House, which had been deserted by most of its inhabitants about the latter end of last October, when the trees were almost leafless, and the voice of the fall loud with the swell of wintry torrents, now looked with a cheerful aspect from amid embowering verdure. The lofty head of Skiddaw arose with great majesty above the woods immediately behind the house, and the calm lake spread abroad in front, and bounded by the wide amphitheatre of the Keswick mountains, filled the mind with pleasing ideas of peace and retirement. The building, in its own outline, was picturesque; running along in light corridors, connecting its principal parts. Numerous glass doors, or French windows, leading out on the lawn, were all standing open. A table, covered with fruit and other refreshments, might be just peeped at through one of these; musical instruments, freed from their cases, appeared through others, and through more might be discerned, sofas, book-stands, work-tables, Turkey carpets, reposé chairs, Italian vases, bronze lamps, cut-glass lustres, hothouse plants, French beds, swing mirrors, &c.: while the intervention of silk and muslin draperies, permitting each object to be but imperfectly seen, left imagination free to deck the whole with the charms of fairy-land. Indeed, from what did appear, it was evident that the sitting-rooms were numerous, and richly furnished; that one corridor was a green house, another a conservatory; and that the wings contained library, music-room, billiard-room, and several sleeping and dressing-rooms, all on the ground floor, all opening on the smooth turf, and displaying, or rather betraying, enough of their arrangements to show that, not only convenience, but luxury had been studied in their fitting up.

      On the outside, ever-blowing roses, with jessamine, honeysuckle and clematis, bloomed in abundance, climbing around the casements, and creeping along the palings: while a gay assemblage of the choicest and sweetest flowers occupied plots, scattered irregularly on the velvet green.

      The evening song of myriads of birds was pouring from the deep woods with every wild variety of note, rendered the more remarkable by the monotonous sound of the now subdued murmur of the fall, which still went on, on, like the studied sameness of a judicious accompaniment, selected to give effect to the varied excursions of the singer’s voice.

      Though the sun was still above the horizon, many bonfires were already lit at various distances along the road. The immediate approach was crouded with people, looking full of expectation. Detached groups were advancing in different directions; and, here and there, individuals had climbed trees, or elevated portions of rock, and seemed looking out for something. Every now and then, Mrs. Smyth, dressed in a holiday suit, came forth from some one or other of the many open doors, held up her hand to shade the glare of light from her eyes, looked towards the lake for a few moments, and returned in again. Then, would some beautiful exotic be seen to change its position on some flower-stand; next a drapery would be let down from the golden pin which had held it, and hung again, we suppose, with more grace, at least in the opinion of good Mrs. Smyth, whose form glided on through long corridors, from time to time appearing, disappearing, and re-appearing; and generally followed by that of a child that seemed, at every step, to leap and gambol for very glee.

      At length, a carriage was seen driving, at a rapid pace, along the borders of Derwent-water. Every thing bright about it sparkled in the rays of the setting sun. A universal shout arose, and all became hurry and motion. The carriage approached: it was a barouche thrown open, and, seated in it, were Mrs. Montgomery and Lord and Lady L. They bowed, smiled, and waved their hands on every side. But soon the attention of the latter lady was entirely engrossed by the appearance of a lovely little boy, whom Mrs. Smyth, as she descended the lawn, led by the hand; and in whom, but for one touching expression, imperceptible perhaps to any other eye than Frances’, no one could have recognized poor Edmund. The rich dark locks, the profusion of which had formerly added the look of wild neglect to that of misery, now flew back as he ran against the wind, displaying and giving contrast to a forehead white and open. The late hollow cheeks were now rounded, dimpled, and glowing, at once with exercise and delight. His mouth, always beautiful in its form, and so very sweet in its movements, had now all the advantages of rosy lips and happy smiles. While his eyes, which from their being large, and adorned by peculiarly long lashes, had once seemed to occupy the chief part of his face, now but served to give soul to the more earthly beauties, which the good cheer of Mrs. Smyth had supplied.

      Edmund had got a few paces before his conductress. He stretched forward both hands, and leaped up with a bound towards the door, as he reached the side of the carriage. Lady L. pulled the check-string. The carriage stopped, and Edmund, whom by its rapid motion it had already passed some yards, was brought back by a servant, and lifted in. Such was his joy, that the poor little creature could not speak! He trembled excessively, and, for a moment or two, his features were almost convulsed by his struggles not to cry: he thought it would seem as if he were not glad, and he knew he was very glad. A few tears, however, forced their way; but they only hung in the long lashes, shining like early dew-drops, while happiness sparkled through them: for now, encouraged and caressed, he sat on Lady L.’s knee, and hugged one of her hands. Yet, when he looked up in her face and tried to speak, his little lip trembled again, and his little countenance assumed an expression of feeling beyond his years, which early sorrow had taught the infant features. Lady L. kissed his forehead and passed her СКАЧАТЬ