The Essential Winston Churchill Collection. Winston Churchill
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Название: The Essential Winston Churchill Collection
Автор: Winston Churchill
Издательство: Ingram
Жанр: Контркультура
isbn: 9781456613488
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When Judge Whipple had finished, Tom rose. He awoke Mr. Brice from a trance.
"Stephen," said he, "of course you're going to the Brinsmade's."
Stephen shook his head.
"Why not?" said Tom, in surprise. "Haven't you a costume?"
"Yes," he answered dubiously.
"Why, then, you've got to come with me," says Tom, heartily. "It isn't too late, and they'll want you. I've a buggy, and I'm going to the Russells' to change my clothes. Come along!"
Steven went.
CHAPTER XIII. AT MR. BRINSMADE'S GATE
The eastern side of the Brinsmade house is almost wholly taken up by the big drawing-room where Anne gave her fancy-dress ball. From the windows might be seen, through the trees in the grounds, the Father of Waters below. But the room is gloomy now, that once was gay, and a heavy coat of soot is spread on the porch at the back, where the apple blossoms still fall thinly in the spring. The huge black town has coiled about the place the garden still struggles on, but the giants of the forest are dying and dead. Bellefontaine Road itself, once the drive of fashion, is no more. Trucks and cars crowd the streets which follow its once rural windings, and gone forever are those comely wooded hills and green pastures,--save in the memory of those who have been spared to dream.
Still the old house stands, begrimed but stately, rebuking the sordid life around it. Still come into it the Brinsmades to marriage and to death. Five and sixty years are gone since Mr. Calvin Brinsmade took his bride there. They sat on the porch in the morning light, harking to the whistle of the quail in the corn, and watching the frightened deer scamper across the open. Do you see the bride in her high-waisted gown, and Mr. Calvin in his stock and his blue tail-coat and brass buttons?
Old people will tell you of the royal hospitality then, of the famous men and women who promenaded under those chandeliers, and sat down to the game-laden table. In 1835 General Atkinson and his officers thought nothing of the twenty miles from Jefferson Barracks below, nor of dancing all night with the Louisville belles, who were Mrs. Brinsmade's guests. Thither came Miss Todd of Kentucky, long before she thought of taking for a husband that rude man of the people, Abraham Lincoln. Foreigners of distinction fell in love with the place, with its open-hearted master and mistress, and wrote of it in their journals. Would that many of our countrymen, who think of the West as rough, might have known the quality of the Brinsmades and their neighbors!
An era of charity, of golden simplicity, was passing on that October night of Anne Brinsmade's ball. Those who made merry there were soon to be driven and scattered before the winds of war; to die at Wilson's Creek, or Shiloh, or to be spared for heroes of the Wilderness. Some were to eke out a life of widowhood in poverty. All were to live soberly, chastened by what they had seen. A fear knocked at Colonel Carvel's heart as he stood watching the bright figures.
"Brinsmade," he said, "do you remember this room in May, '46?"
Mr. Brinsmade, startled, turned upon him quickly.
"Why, Colonel, you have read my very thoughts," he said. "Some of those who were here then are--are still in Mexico."
"And some who came home, Brinsmade, blamed God because they had not fallen," said the Colonel.
"Hush, Comyn, His will be done," he answered; "He has left a daughter to comfort you."
Unconsciously their eyes sought Virginia. In her gown of faded primrose and blue with its quaint stays and short sleeves, she seemed to have caught the very air of the decorous century to which it belonged. She was standing against one of the pilasters at the side of the room, laughing demurely at the antics of Becky Sharp and Sir John Falstaff,--Miss Puss Russell and Mr. Jack Brinsmade, respectively.
Mr. Tennyson's "Idylls" having appeared but the year before, Anne was dressed as Elaine, a part which suited her very well. It was strange indeed to see her waltzing with Daniel Boone (Mr. Clarence Colfax) in his Indian buckskins. Eugenie went as Marie Antoinette. Tall Maude Catherwood was most imposing as Rebecca; and her brother George made a towering Friar Tuck, Even little fifteen-year-old Spencer Catherwood, the contradiction of the family, was there. He went as the lieutenant Napoleon, walking about with his hands behind his back and his brows thoughtfully contracted.
The Indian summer night was mild. It was at tine very height of the festivities that Dorothy Carvel and Mr. Daniel Boone were making their way together to the porch when the giant gate-keeper of Kenilworth Castle came stalking up the steps out of the darkness, brandishing his club in their faces. Dorothy screamed, and even the doughty Daniel gave back a step.
"Tom Catherwood! How dare you? You frightened me nearly to death."
"I'm sorry, Jinny, indeed I am," said the giant, repentant, and holding her hand in his.
"Where have you been?" demanded Virginia, a little mollified. "What makes you so late?"
"I've been to a Lincoln meeting," said honest Tom; "where I heard a very fine speech from a friend of yours."
Virginia tossed her head.
"You might have been better employed," said she, and added, with dignity, "I have no friends who speak at Black Republican meetings."
"How about Judge Whipple?" said Tom.
She stopped. "Did you mean the Judge?" she asked, over her shoulder.
"No," said Tom, "I meant--"
He got no further. Virginia slipped her arm through Clarence's, and they went off together to the end of the veranda. Poor Tom! He passed on into the gay drawing-room, but the zest had been taken out of his antics for that night.
"Whom did he mean, Jinny?" said Clarence, when they were on the seat under the vines.
"He meant that Yankee, Stephen Brice," answered Virginia, languidly. "I am so tired of hearing about him."
"So am I," said Clarence, with a fervor by no means false. "By George, I think he will make a Black Republican out of Tom, if he keeps on. Puss and Jack have been talking about him all summer, until I am out of patience. I reckon he has brains. But suppose he has addressed fifty Lincoln meetings, as they say, is that any reason for making much of him? I should not have him at Bellegarde. I am surprised that Mr. Russell allows him in his house. I can see why Anne likes him."
"Why?"
"He is on the Brinsmade charity list."
"He is not on their charity list, nor on any other," said Virginia, quickly. "Stephen Brice is the last person who would submit to charity."
"And you are the last person who I supposed would stand up for him," cried her cousin, СКАЧАТЬ