First Love. Mrs. Loudon
consisting of clustering grapes, golden pines, velvet-cheeked peaches, &c. &c. These, crowning costly dishes, and decked with fresh leaves and gay flowers, resembled, as the shining surface of the board reflected each inverted heap, so many isles of plenty, scattered on a glassy sea. While, to keep up our simile, we may add, that cruising fleets of wine decanters sailed smoothly round and round, dispensing, wherever they passed, the sparkling juice of the foreign grape, with wit and gaiety as sparkling. The busy hum of voices still went on, some in the low murmur of flirtation, some in the loud debate of politics; while others, in medium tones, discussed the merits of the last new novel, opera, or play.
Mr. Jackson, who sat next to Mrs. Montgomery, addressing Henry, said—“Pray, Mr. St. Aubin, if the question is not an impertinent one, who might the man be, whom I saw part from you last evening, at the end of the wood leading into the shrubbery walks between this and my little place? I was much struck with his figure, and the insolence, I had almost said, of his step and carriage.”
Henry, at first, affected not to hear; but, on the question being repeated, answered, with over-acted indifference—“The fellow has been, I believe, a sailor. Begging, I fancy, is his present calling.”
“He doubted then,” rejoined Mr. Jackson, “either my ability, or my will to be charitable; for he did not beg of me. Indeed, he seemed disposed to get out of my way as fast as he could.”
“Possibly,” said Henry, “he feared that, as a magistrate, you might put into force the laws against vagrants.”
“There was something very remarkable in the countenance of the man,” persisted Mr. Jackson: “handsome, certainly; but the expression sinister in the extreme!”
“Expression,” repeated Henry with a sneer, “the man is deranged! You must have heard of a mad beggar about Whitehaven, who calls himself Sir Sydney Smyth: this is the fellow. I have been foolish enough to give him money, more than once, I believe; and, consequently, he now does me the favour to consider me in the light of an old acquaintance.”
“I thought,” said Mr. Jackson, “the man spoke in a strangely loud and dictatorial tone.—And so, he is a mad beggar! Well, I have dignified him amazingly: for he presented to my fancy, why, I scarcely know, the poetical idea of Milton’s devil, walking in paradise. The spot where I first observed him certainly is equal to any garden of Eden I have ever been able to imagine!”
“The parson is always in the heroics!” whispered Lady Theodosia to her next neighbour, Colonel B—: “the last time I was down here, he could talk of nothing but angels, I remember.”
At this moment, the beautiful little twins, now between four and five years old, were ushered in. After speaking to mamma, papa, grandmamma, &c. they took up their usual station, one at each side of Edmund, who helped them to fruit, ice, &c. Indeed he had so many requisitions of attention from both young ladies, and generally at one and the same moment, that he proved himself to have no mean talent for gallantry, in being able to turn with sufficient quickness from one to the other.
“Why, my little pupil will learn to be quite an accomplished ladies’ man,” observed Mr. Jackson, aside to Mrs. Montgomery.
“Then will the list of his accomplishments be complete!” said our old friend the doctor, who happened to catch the words, though across the table; “for I understand you are teaching him everything—absolutely everything! In short, erecting, on the substratum of ancient literature, an elegant structure, adorned with all the modern additions lately made to science, and inhabited by the muses!”
“Why,” said Mr. Jackson, who always answered seriously, however foolish the speech addressed to him; “I could not feel satisfied in communicating to a mind like Edmund’s, mere dry learning: he already shows a sensibility to what I call the poetry of nature, and indeed of everything, which quite delights me.”
A young lady, beside whom Henry sat speaking at the same time to her neighbour, observed, that the little beau had quite enough to do. “It is not every gentleman who can take as good care of even one lady,” she added, with a laugh.
Henry’s attention thus aroused, (for something had thrown him into a reverie,) he perceived that the lady’s plate was quite vacant. He started, apologized, and now heaped upon it every kind of fruit; making, at the same time, so many pretty speeches, that the young lady began to suspect that love, and that for herself, must have caused his absence of manner. Henry now appeared determined to be quite gay, and even full of frolic: and the young lady, restored to perfect good-humour, seemed highly amused by his efforts.
Edmund, and his two little ladies, were on the other side of Henry; Julia the nearest to him: whenever she looked away, he stole the fruit off her plate; and laughed much, in unison with his young lady, at her look of innocent astonishment, when she turned about; and at her instant application to Edmund, to get her more fruit; which, at the next opportunity, Henry would again steal. At length he was discovered; and Julia, without condescending to remonstrate, turned her shoulder as much as possible to him, and took better care of her plate; which she pushed with both hands quite close to Edmund’s.
Henry’s young lady, now seized with a strong veneration for justice, insisted on her swain’s making restitution of the heap of fruit, by this time collected before her. He, accordingly, slipped his hand over Julia’s head, and emptied the young lady’s plate on hers. Julia turned round; hustled back from off her own chair, and on to Edmund’s knee, supporting herself with one arm over his shoulder; and now, facing the enemy, she took up her plate in her other hand, slid off its whole contents on the table near Henry, still without speaking to him, and asked Edmund to give her more fruit; which he did.
“That is not polite, my dear,” observed Lady L.; “why should you throw Henry’s fruit away, and take the same kind from Edmund?”
“Because,” answered Julia, speaking distinctly, and with an air of importance and decision which amused every one, “I don’t love Henry, and I do love Edmund!”
“Explicit, upon my word!” said a gentleman at the other side of the table, who had been all day receiving alternate smiles and frowns from an heiress, to whom he was paying his devotions.
“You love poor Henry, then, I suppose,” said that gentleman’s fair neighbour to Frances.
“No, indeed!” said Frances; “I hate Henry!”
“And so do I!” said Julia.
The twins always made it a point to be exactly of the same opinion.
“You must not hate any one, my dears,” said Lady L., looking grave.
Frances was busily engaged arranging the grey hair of the doctor; and the better to effect her purpose, she was standing on tip-toe on the seat of her chair, with her little arms stretched eagerly across the wrinkled, smiling countenance of the good old man. While Julia, having kept the strong position she had at first taken up on Edmund’s knee, was sitting perfectly still.
“How marked at this moment,” observed Mr. Jackson, aside to Mrs. Montgomery, “are the distinguishing characteristics of the two little girls! Quiescent,” he proceeded, “I should hardly know one from the other: the size, the fairness of the skin, the brilliancy of the red in the cheek, but especially the remarkable quantity of curling, floating, flaxen hair, is so exactly the same in both.”
“The eyes,” interrupted Mrs. Montgomery, “are a different colour.”
“Oh, yes; and in my opinion,” said Mr. Jackson, “the dark hazel is the most beautiful eye in the world! Yet, Frances’, it must be owned, have many of the poets on their side. Do look,” he added, “at the elastic spring of all her movements, and the picturesque air of her every attitude; while Julia’s grace is always that of repose, except at the moment of some immediate excitement—I mean, of the feelings, when the colour mounts, the eyes sparkle, and all becomes energetic expression. That little creature will require the greatest nicety of management: her very warmth of heart may lead to a too great vehemence of character.”
“She has certainly a most affectionate