Home as Found by James Fenimore Cooper (easy novels to read .txt) 📖

the excellent

father believed you were in a fair way to become Lady Templemore, the

equally excellent daughter thought the other suitor, infinitely the

most agreeable person."

 

"What! in contempt of a betrothal?"

 

"Of course I, at once, ascribed that part of the report to the usual

embellishments. We do not like to be deceived in our calculations, or

to discover that even our gossip has misled us. In pure resentment at

my own previous delusion, I began to criticise this Mr. Powis--"

 

"Criticise, Mrs. Bloomfield!"

 

"To find fault with him, my dear; to try to think he was not just the

handsomest and most engaging young man I had ever seen; to imagine

what he ought to be, in place of what he was; and among other things,

to inquire _who_ he was?"

 

"You did not think proper to ask that question of any of _us_," said

Eve, gravely.

 

"I did not; for I discovered by instinct, or intuition, or

conjecture--they mean pretty much the same thing, I believe--that

there was a mystery about him; something that even his Templeton

friends did not quite understand, and a lucky thought occurred of

making my inquiries of another person."

 

"They were answered satisfactorily," said Eve, looking up at her

friend, with the artless confidence that marks her sex, when the

affections have gotten the mastery of reason.

 

"_Cosi, cosi_. Bloomfield has a brother who is in the Navy, as you

know, and I happened to remember that he had once spoken of an

officer of the name of Powis, who had performed a clever thing in the

West Indies, when they were employed together against the pirates. I

wrote to him one of my usual letters, that are compounded of all

things in nature and art, and took an occasion to allude to a certain

Mr. Paul Powis, with a general remark that he had formerly served,

together with a particular inquiry if he knew any thing about him.

All this, no doubt, you think very officious; but believe me, dear

Eve, where there was as much interest as I felt and feel in you, it

was very natural."

 

"So far from entertaining resentment, I am grateful for your concern,

especially as I know it was manifested cautiously, and without any

unpleasant allusions to third persons."

 

"In that respect I believe I did pretty well. Tom Bloomfield--I beg

his pardon, Captain Bloomfield, for so he calls himself, at present--

knows Mr. Powis well; or, rather _did_ know him, for they have not

met for years, and he speaks of his personal qualities and

professional merit highly, but takes occasion to remark that there

was some mystery connected with his birth, as, before he joined the

service he understood he was called Assheton, and at a later day,

Powis, and this without any public law, or public avowal of a motive.

Now, it struck me that Eve Effingham ought not to be permitted to

form a connection with a man so unpleasantly situated, without being

apprised of the fact. I was waiting for a proper occasion to do this

ungrateful office myself, when accident made me acquainted with what

has passed this evening, and perceiving that there was no time to

lose, I came hither, more led by interest in you, my dear, perhaps,

than by discretion."

 

"I thank you sincerely for this kind concern in my welfare, dear Mrs.

Bloomfield, and give you full credit for the motive. Will you permit

me to inquire how much you know of that which passed this evening?"

 

"Simply that Mr. Powis is desperately in love, a declaration that I

take it is always dangerous to the peace of mind of a young woman,

when it comes from a very engaging young man."

 

"And my part of the dialogue--" Eve blushed to the eyes as she asked

this question, though she made a great effort to appear calm--"my

answer?"

 

"There was too much of woman in me--of true, genuine, loyal, native

woman, Miss Effingham, to listen to that had there been an

opportunity. We were but a moment near enough to hear any thing,

though that moment sufficed to let us know the state of feelings of

the gentleman. I ask no confidences, my dear Eve, and now that I have

made my explanations, lame though they be, I will kiss you and repair

to the drawing-room, where we shall both be soon missed. Forgive me,

if I have seemed impertinent in my interference, and continue to

ascribe it to its true motive."

 

"Stop, Mrs. Bloomfield, I entreat, for a single moment; I wish to say

a word before we part. As you have been accidentally made acquainted

with Mr. Powis's sentiments towards me, it is no more than just that

you should know the nature of mine towards him----"

 

Eve paused involuntarily, for, though she had commenced her

explanation, with a firm intention to do justice to Paul, the

bashfulness of her sex held her tongue tied, at the very moment her

desire to speak was the strongest. An effort conquered the weakness,

and the warm-hearted, generous-minded girl succeeded in commanding

her voice.

 

"I cannot allow you to go away with the impression, that there is a

shade of any sort on the conduct of Mr. Powis," she said. "So far

from desiring to profit by the accidents that have placed it in his

power to render us such essential service, he has never spoken of his

love until this evening, and then under circumstances in which

feeling, naturally, perhaps I might say uncontrollably, got the

ascendency."

 

"I believe it all, for I feel certain Eve Effingham would not bestow

her heart heedlessly."

 

"Heart!--Mrs. Bloomfield!"

 

"Heart, my dear; and now I insist on the subject's being dropped, at

least, for the present. Your decision is probably not yet made--you

are not yet an hour in possession of your suitor's secret, and

prudence demands deliberation. I shall hope to see you in the

drawing-room, and until then, adieu."

 

Mrs. Bloomfield signed for silence, and quitted the room with the

same light tread as that with which she had entered it.

 

Chapter XXV.

 

"To show virtue her own feature, scorn her own image, and the very

age and body of the time, his form and pressure."

 

SHAKSPEARE.

 

When Mrs. Bloomfield entered the drawing-room, she found nearly the

whole party assembled. The Fun of Fire had ceased, and the rockets no

longer gleamed athwart the sky; but the blaze of artificial light

within, was more than a substitute for that which had so lately

existed without.

 

Mr. Effingham and Paul were conversing by themselves, in a window-

seat, while John Effingham, Mrs. Hawker, and Mr. Howel were in an

animated discussion on a sofa; Mr. Wenham had also joined the party,

and was occupied with Captain Ducie, though not so much so as to

prevent occasional glances at the trio just mentioned. Sir George

Templemore and Grace Van Cortlandt were walking together in the great

hall, and were visible through the open door, as they passed and

repassed.

 

"I am glad of your appearance among us, Mrs. Bloomfield," said John

Effingham, "for, certainly more Anglo-mania never existed than that

which my good friend Howel manifests this evening, and I have hopes

that your eloquence may persuade him out of some of those notions, on

which my logic has fallen like seed scattered by the way-side."

 

"I can have little hopes of success where Mr. John Effingham has

failed."

 

"I am far from being certain of that; for, somehow Howel has taken up

the notion that I have gotten a grudge against England, and he

listens to all I say with distrust and distaste."

 

"Mr. John uses strong language habitually, ma'am," cried Mr. Howel,

"and you will make some allowances for a vocabulary that has no very

mild terms in it; though, to be frank, I do confess that he seems

prejudiced on the subject of that great nation."

 

"What is the point in immediate controversy, gentlemen?" asked Mrs.

Bloomfield, taking a seat.

 

"Why here is a review of a late American work, ma'am, and I insist

that the author is skinned alive, whereas, Mr. John insists that the

reviewer exposes only his own rage, the work having a national

character, and running counter to the reviewer's feelings and

interests."

 

"Nay, I protest against this statement of the case, for I affirm that

the reviewer exposes a great deal more than his rage, since his

imbecility, ignorance, and dishonesty, are quite as apparent as any

thing else."

 

"I have read the article," said Mrs. Bloomfield, after glancing her

eye at the periodical, "and I must say that I take sides with Mr.

John Effingham in his opinion of its character."

 

"But do you not perceive, ma'am, that this is the idol of the

nobility and gentry; the work that is more in favour with people of

consequence in England than any other. Bishops are said to write for

it!"

 

"I know it is a work expressly established to sustain one of the most

factitious political systems that ever existed, and that it

sacrifices every high quality to attain its end."

 

"Mrs. Bloomfield, you amaze me! The first writers of Great Britain

figure in its pages."

 

"That I much question, in the first place; but even if it were so, it

would be but a shallow mystification. Although a man of character

might write one article in a work of this nature, it does not follow

that a man of no character does not write the next. The principles of

the communications of a periodical are as different as their

talents."

 

"But the editor is a pledge for all.--The editor of this review is an

eminent writer himself."

 

"An eminent writer may be a very great knave, in the first place, and

one fact is worth a thousand conjectures in such a matter. But we do

not know that there is any responsible editor to works of this nature

at all, for there is no name given in the title-page, and nothing is

more common than vague declarations of a want of this very

responsibility. But if I can prove to you that this article _cannot_

have been written by a man of common honesty, Mr. Howel, what will

you then say to the responsibility of your editor?"

 

"In that case I shall be compelled to admit that he had no connexion

with it."

 

"Any thing in preference to giving up the beloved idol!" said John

Effingham laughing. "Why not add at once, that he is as great a knave

as the writer himself? I am glad, however, that Tom Howel has fallen

into such good hands, Mrs. Bloomfield, and I devoutly pray you may

not spare him."

 

We have said that Mrs. Bloomfield had a rapid perception of things

and principles, that amounted almost to intuition. She had read the

article in question, and, as she glanced her eyes through its pages,

had detected its fallacies and falsehoods, in almost every sentence.

Indeed, they had not been put together with ordinary skill, the

writer having evidently presumed on the easiness of the class of

readers who generally swallowed his round assertions, and were so

clumsily done that any one who had not the faith to move mountains

would have seen through most of them without difficulty. But Mr.

Howel belonged to another school, and he was so much accustomed to

shut his eyes to palpable mystification mentioned by Mrs. Bloomfield,

that a lie, which, advanced in most works, would have carried no

weight with it, advanced in this particular periodical became

elevated to the dignity of truth.

 

Mrs. Bloomfield turned to an article on America, in the periodical in

question, and read from it several disparaging expressions concerning

Mr. Howel's native country, one of which was, "The American's first

plaything is the rattle-snake's tail."

 

"Now, what do you think of this assertion in particular, Mr. Howel?"

she asked, reading the words we have just quoted.

 

"Oh! that is said in mere pleasantry--it is only wit."

 

"Well, then, what do you think of it as wit?"

 

"Well, well, it may not be of a very pure water, but the best of men

are unequal at all times, and more especially in their wit."

 

"Here," continued Mrs. Bloomfield, pointing to another paragraph, "is

a positive statement or misstatement, which makes the cost of the

'civil department of the United States Government,' about six times

more than it really is."

 

"Our government is so extremely mean, that I ascribe that error to

generosity."

 

"Well," continued the lady, smiling, "here the reviewer asserts that

Congress passed a law _limiting_ the size of certain ships, in order

to please the democracy; and that the Executive privately evaded this

law, and built vessels of a much greater size; whereas the provision

of the law is just the contrary, or that the ships should not be

_less_ than of seventy-four guns; a piece of information, by the way,

that I obtained from Mr. Powis."

 

"Ignorance, ma'am; a stranger cannot be supposed to know all the laws

of a foreign country."

 

"Then why make bold and false assertions about them, that are

intended to discredit the country? Here is another assertion--'ten

thousand