Fifteen Days: An Extract from Edward Colvil's Journal. Mary Lowell Putnam
of his! What a bright line his life-stream will lead through the happy region it is to bless! And he holds this magical power so unconsciously! Here is another point of contrast between him and his friend. Dr. Borrow is very sensible of all his advantages, and would be surprised, if others were insensible to them. No one can do him this displeasure; his merits and acquirements must be manifest on first acquaintance. But Harry Dudley—you do not think of asking whether he has this or that talent or accomplishment. You feel what he is, and love him for it, before you know whether he has anything.
These two companions, so different, are yet not ill-assorted. Harry's simplicity and strength together prevent him from being injured by his friend's love of domination, which might give umbrage to a more self-conscious, or overbear a weaker man; his frankness and courage only make his esteem of more value to the Doctor, who, with all his tendency to the despotic, is manly and loves manliness.
I shall not attempt to write down for you any of the Doctor's brilliant dissertations. You will know him some time, I hope, and he will do himself a justice I could not do him. Harry you must know. He will go to see you on his way home, and, if he does not find you, will make a visit to you the object of a special journey. He will be a new bond between us. We shall watch his course together. It will not, it cannot, disappoint us; for "spirits are not finely touched, but to fine issues."
They are gone. We have promised each other that this parting shall not be the final one. And yet my heart was heavy to-day at noon. When the gate fell to after they had passed out, it seemed to me the sound had in it something of determined and conclusive. I rebuked the regret almost before it had made itself felt. Dudley is going out into the world, which has so much need of men like him, true, brave, steadfast. I can have no fear or anxiety for him. He must be safe everywhere in God's universe. Do not all things work together for good to those that love Him?
Saturday Evening, April 6, 1844.
My date ought to be March 30th, for I have been living over again to-day the scenes of a week ago, and in my twilight talk with my mother it was last Saturday that was reviewed, instead of this.
Last Saturday! The friends who now seem to belong to us, as if we had never done without them, were then new acquisitions. The Doctor we had not yet made out. How bright and pure that morning was! I was up early, or thought I was, until I entered our little parlor, which I had expected to find cheerless with the disorder that had made it cheerful the evening before. But Tabitha, watchful against surprises, had it in receiving-trim. She was giving it the last touches as I entered. I had heard no sound from my mother's little chamber, which my present one adjoins, and had been careful in my movements, thinking her not yet awake. But here she was already in her place on the couch, wearing a look of pleased solicitude, which I understood. I was not myself wholly free from hospitable cares. Selden had been so exact in forewarning me of Dr. Borrow's tastes and habits, that in the midst of my anticipations intruded a little prosaic anxiety about the breakfast. My mother, perhaps, shared it. Tabitha did not. She heard some officious suggestions of mine with a lofty indifference. The event justified her. How important she was, and how happy! How considerately, yet how effectively, she rang the great bell! I did not know it capable of such tones. When it summoned us, Harry was absent. The Doctor and I took our places at the table without him. My mother made his apology: he must have been very tired by his long walk the day before, and had probably overslept himself. "Not he!" cried the Doctor, with energy, as if repelling a serious accusation. "It's your breakfast"—he pointed to the clock—"was ready four minutes too soon. I've known two punctual men in my life, and Harry's one of them. He's never two minutes after the time, nor two minutes before it."
The Doctor had hardly done speaking when Harry's step was heard. It was always the same, and always gave the same sensation of a joy in prospect. Nor did it ever deceive. Dr. Borrow's good-morning was very hearty. Harry had arrived just one minute before the time. If he had come a minute earlier, or three minutes later, I do not know how it might have been, for the Doctor does not like to be put in the wrong.
Harry brought in a bouquet for my mother. He did not fail in this attention a single morning while he was here. I could not but sometimes think of her who missed this little daily offering.
I had determined beforehand to give myself entirely to Dr. Borrow during the time of his visit. I have often regretted the hours my farm took from you. I had forewarned Hans of my intention of allowing myself a vacation, and had arranged for the boys some work which did not require oversight. They were to take hold of it, without further notice, as soon as the distinguished stranger arrived. I could therefore give myself up with an easy mind to the prolonged pleasures of the breakfast-table. The Doctor was in excellent spirits—full of anecdote and of argument. I was very near being drawn into a controversy more than once; but I was more willing to listen to him than to myself, and avoided it successfully. Harry was in the same peaceful disposition, but was not so fortunate.
A subject of difference between the friends, which seems to be a standing one, is the character of the French. How did the Doctor bring it on the table that morning? I think it was à-propos of the coffee. He praised it and compared it with Paris coffee, which he did not dispraise. But, once landed in France, that he should expatiate there for a time was of course; and he found himself, as it appeared, in a favorite field of animadversion. He began with some general reflection—I forget what; but, from the tone in which it was given, I understood perfectly that it was a glove thrown down to Harry. It was not taken up; and the Doctor, after a little defiant pause, went forward. He drew highly colored sketches of the Gaul and the Anglo-Saxon. Harry simply abstained from being amused. Dr. Borrow passed to his individual experiences. It appeared, that, notwithstanding the light regard in which he held the French, he had done them the honor to pass several years in their country. This intimate acquaintance had only given him the fairer opportunity of making a comparison which was entirely to the advantage of the race he himself represented. He declared, that, walking about among the population of Paris, he felt himself on quite another scale and of quite another clay. Harry here suggested that perhaps a Frenchman in London, or in one of our cities, might have the same feeling.
"He can't—he can't, if he would. No race dreams of asserting superiority over the Anglo-Saxon—least of all the French."
"If the French do not assert their superiority," Harry answered, laughing, "it is because they are ignorant that it has been questioned."
"That gives the measure of their ignorance; and they take care to maintain it: a Frenchman never learns a foreign language."
"Because—as I once heard a Frenchman say—foreigners pay him the compliment of learning his."
The Doctor burst out upon French vanity.
"At least you will admit that it is a quiet one," Harry replied. "The French are content with their own good opinion. The tribute that foreigners pay them is voluntary."
The Doctor arraigned those who foster the conceit of the French, first by trying to copy them and then by failing in it. He was very entertaining on this head. Neither Harry nor I thought it necessary to remind him that the pictures he drew of the French and their imitators did not precisely illustrate Anglo-Saxon superiority. He told the origin of several little French customs, which, founded simply in motives of economy or convenience, have been superstitiously adopted, without any such good reason, and even made a test of breeding, by weak-minded persons in England and this country. No one took up the defence of those unfortunates, but the Doctor was not satisfied with this acquiescence. He had an uneasy sense that his advantage in the encounter with Harry had not been decisive. He soon returned to the old field. Harry continued to parry his attacks playfully for a time, but at last said seriously,—
"Doctor, I know you are not half in earnest; but if I hear ill spoken of France, without replying, I feel as if I were not as true to my friends there as I know they are to me. One of the best and noblest men I ever knew is a Frenchman. This is not to argue with you. You know better than anybody what the world owes to France. If you were to take up my side, you would find a great deal more to say for it than I could. I wish you would!"
A pause followed, long enough for the bright, earnest