Home as Found by James Fenimore Cooper (books to read as a couple .TXT) 📖

little lawn in front of the house, by following a winding foot-path--"as kind-hearted a man, Sir George Templemore, as exists; one who is really American, for he has scarcely quitted the county half-a-dozen times in his life, and one of the honestest fellows of my acquaintance."

"Ay," put in John Effingham, "as real an American as any man can be, who uses English spectacles for all he looks at, English opinions for all he says, English prejudices for all he condemns, and an English palate for all he tastes. American, quotha! The man is no more American than the Times' newspaper, or Charing Cross! He actually made a journey to New-York last war, to satisfy himself with his own eyes that a Yankee frigate had really brought an Englishman into port."

"His English predilections will be no fault in my eyes," said the baronet, smiling--"and I dare say we shall be excellent friends."

"I am sure Mr. Howel is a very agreeable man," added Grace--"of all in your Templeton côterie , he is my greatest favourite."

"Oh! I foresee a tender intimacy between Templemore and Howel," rejoined John Effingham; "and sundry wordy wars between the latter and Miss Effingham."

"In this you do me injustice, cousin Jack. I remember Mr. Howel well, and kindly; for he was ever wont to indulge my childish whims, when a girl."

"The man is a second Burchell, and, I dare say never came to the Wigwam when you were a child, without having his pockets stuffed with cakes, or bonbons ."

The meeting was cordial, Mr. Howel greeting the gentlemen like a warm friend, and expressing great delight at the personal improvements that had been made in Eve, between the ages of eight and twenty. John Effingham was no more backward than the others, for he, too, liked their simple-minded, kind-hearted, but credulous neighbour.

"You are welcome back--you are welcome back," added Mr. Howel, blowing his nose, in order to conceal the tears that were gathering in his eyes. "I did think of going to New-York to meet you, but the distance at my time of life is very serious. Age, gentlemen, seems to be a stranger to you."

"And yet we, who are both a few months older than yourself, Howel," returned Mr. Effingham, kindly, "have managed to overcome the distance you have just mentioned, in order to come and see you! "

"Ay, you are great travellers, gentlemen, very great travellers, and are accustomed to motion.--Been quite as far as Jerusalem, I hear!"

"Into its very gates, my good friend; and I wish, with all my heart, we had had you in our company. Such a journey might cure you of the home-malady."

"I am a fixture, and never expect to look upon the ocean, now. I did, at one period of my life, fancy such an event might happen, but I have finally abandoned all hope on that subject. Well, Miss Eve, of all the countries in which you have dwelt, to which do you give the preference?"

"I think Italy is the general favourite," Eve answered, with a friendly smile; "although there are some agreeable things peculiar to almost every country."

"Italy!--Well, that astonishes me a good deal! I never knew there was any thing particularly interesting about Italy! I should have expected you to say, England."

"England is a fine country, too, certainly; but it wants many things that Italy enjoys."

"Well, now, what?" said Mr. Howel, shifting his legs from one knee to the other, in order to be more convenient to listen, or, if necessary, to object. "What can Italy possess, that England does not enjoy in a still greater degree?"

"Its recollections, for one thing, and all that interest which time and great events throw around a region."

"And is England wanting in recollections and great events? Are there not the Conqueror? or, if you will, King Alfred? and Queen Elizabeth, and Shakspeare--think of Shakspeare, young lady--and Sir Walter Scott, and the Gun-Powder Plot; and Cromwell, Oliver Cromwell, my dear Miss Eve; and Westminster Abbey, and London Bridge, and George IV., the descendant of a line of real kings,--what, in the name of Heaven, can Italy possess, to equal the interest one feels in such things as these?'

"They are very interesting no doubt;" said Eve, endeavouring not to smile--"but Italy has its relics of former ages too; you forget the Cæsars."

"Very good sort of persons for barbarous times, I dare say, but what can they be to the English monarchs? I would rather look upon a bonâ fide English king, than see all the Cæsars that ever lived. I never can think any man a real king but the king of England!"

"Not King Solomon!" cried John Effingham.

"Oh! he was a Bible king, and one never thinks of them. Italy! well, this I did not expect from your father's daughter! Your great-great- great-grandfather must have been an Englishman born, Mr, Effingham?"

"I have reason to think he was, sir."

"And Milton, and Dryden, and Newton, and Locke! These are prodigious names, and worth all the Cæsars put together. And Pope, too; what have they got in Italy to compare to Pope?"

"They have at least the Pope," said Eve, laughing.

"And, then, there are the Boar's Head in East-Cheap; and the Tower; and Queen Anne, and all the wits of her reign; and--and--and Titus Oates; and Bosworth field; and Smithfield, where the martyrs were burned, and a thousand more spots and persons of intense interest in Old England!"

"Quite true," said John Effingham, with an air of sympathy--"but, Howel, you have forgotten Peeping Tom of Coventry, and the climate!"

"And Holyrood-House; and York-Minster; and St Paul's;" continued the worthy Mr. Howel, too much bent on a catalogue of excellencies, that to him were sacred, to heed the interruption, "and, above all, Windsor Castle. What is there in the world to equal Windsor Castle as a royal residence?"

Want of breath now gave Eve an opportunity to reply, and she seized it with an eagerness that she was the first to laugh at herself, afterwards.

"Caserta is no mean house, Mr. Howel; and, in my poor judgment, there is more real magnificence in its great stair-case, than in all Windsor Castle united, if you except the chapel."

"But, St. Paul's!"

"Why, St. Peter's may be set down, quite fairly, I think, for its pendant at least."

"True, the Catholics do say so;" returned Mr. Howel, with the deliberation one uses when he greatly distrusts his own concession; "but I have always considered it one of their frauds. I don't think there can be any thing finer than St. Paul's. Then there are the noble ruins of England! They , you must admit, are unrivalled."

"The Temple of Neptune, at Pæstum, is commonly thought an interesting ruin, Mr. Howel."

"Yes, yes, for a temple , I dare say; though I do not remember to have ever heard of it before. But no temple can ever compare to a ruined abbey /"

"Taste is an arbitrary thing, Tom Howel, as you and I know when as boys we quarrelled about the beauty of our ponies," said Mr. Effingham, willing to put an end to a discussion that he thought a little premature, after so long an absence. "Here are two young friends who shared the hazards of our late passage with us, and to whom, in a great degree, we owe our present happy security, and I am anxious to make you acquainted with them. This is our countryman, Mr. Powis, and this is an English friend, who, I am certain, will be happy to know so warm an admirer of his own country--Sir George Templemore."

Mr. Howel had never before seen a titled Englishman, and he was taken so much by surprise that he made his salutations rather awkwardly. As both the young men, however, met him with the respectful ease that denotes familiarity with the world, he soon recovered his self- possession.

"I hope you have brought back with you a sound American heart, Miss Eve," resumed the guest, as soon as this little interruption had ceased. "We have had sundry rumours of French Marquisses, and German Barons; but I have, all along, trusted too much to your patriotism to believe you would marry a foreigner."

"I hope you except Englishmen," cried Sir George, gaily: "we are almost the same people."

"I am proud to hear you say so, sir. Nothing flatters me more than to be thought English; and I certainly should not have accused Miss Effingham of a want of love of country, had----"

"She married half-a-dozen Englishmen," interrupted John Effingham, who saw that the old theme was in danger of being revived. "But, Howel, you have paid me no compliments on the changes in the house. I hope they are to your taste."

"A little too French, Mr. John."

"French!--There is not a French feature in the whole animal. What has put such a notion into your head?"

"It is the common opinion, and I confess I should like the building better were it less continental."

"Why, my old friend, it is a nondescript--original--Effingham upon Doolittle, if you will; and, as for models, it is rather more English than any thing else."

"Well, Mr. John, I am glad to hear this, for I do confess to a disposition rather to like the house. I am dying to know, Miss Eve, if you saw all our distinguished contemporaries when in Europe?-- That to me, would be one of the greatest delights of travelling!"

"To say that we saw them all , might be too much; though we certainly did meet with many."

"Scott, of course."

"Sir Walter we had the pleasure of meeting, a few times, in London."

"And Southey, and Coleridge, and Wordsworth, and Moore, and Bulwer, and D'Israeli, and Rogers, and Campbell, and the grave of Byron, and Horace Smith, and Miss Landon, and Barry Cornwall, and--"

" Cum multis aliis " put in John Effingham, again, by way of arresting the torrent of names. "Eve saw many of these, and, as Tubal told Shylock, 'we often came where we did hear' of the rest. But you say nothing, friend Tom, of Goethe, and Tieck, and Schlegel, and La Martine, Chateaubriant, Hugo, Delavigne, Mickiewicz, Nota, Manzoni, Niccolini, &c. &c. &c. &c. &c. &c."

Honest, well-meaning Mr. Howel, listened to the catalogue that the other ran volubly over, in silent wonder; for, with the exception of one or two of these distinguished men, he had never even heard of them; and, in the simplicity of his heart, unconsciously to himself, he had got to believe that there was no great personage still living, of whom he did not know something.

"Ah, here comes young Wenham, by way of preserving the equilibrium," resumed John Effingham, looking out of a window--"I rather think you must have forgotten him, Ned, though you remember his father, beyond question."

Mr. Effingham and his cousin went out into the hall to receive the new guest, with whom the latter had become acquainted while superintending the repairs of the Wigwam.

Mr. Wenham was the son of a successful lawyer in the county, and, being an only child, he had also succeeded to an easy independence. His age, however, brought him rather into the generation to which Eve belonged, than into that of the father; and, if Mr. Howel was a reflection, or rather a continuation, of all the