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Reading books fiction Have you ever thought about what fiction is? Probably, such a question may seem surprising: and so everything is clear. Every person throughout his life has to repeatedly create the works he needs for specific purposes - statements, autobiographies, dictations - using not gypsum or clay, not musical notes, not paints, but just a word. At the same time, almost every person will be very surprised if he is told that he thereby created a work of fiction, which is very different from visual art, music and sculpture making. However, everyone understands that a student's essay or dictation is fundamentally different from novels, short stories, news that are created by professional writers. In the works of professionals there is the most important difference - excogitation. But, oddly enough, in a school literature course, you don’t realize the full power of fiction. So using our website in your free time discover fiction for yourself.



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Read books online » Fiction » Home as Found by James Fenimore Cooper (easy novels to read .txt) 📖

Book online «Home as Found by James Fenimore Cooper (easy novels to read .txt) 📖». Author James Fenimore Cooper



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the interests and prejudices of Europe, especially of our venerable

kinswoman, Old England, to circulate and think to the prejudice of

this country, which, in my poor judgment, has as much substantial

merit to boast of as any nation on earth; though, in getting rid of a

set of ancient vices and follies, it has not had the sagacity to

discover that it is fast falling into pretty tolerable--or if you

like it better--intolerable substitutes."

 

"What then do _you_ deem our greatest error--our weakest point?"

 

"Provincialisms, with their train of narrow prejudices, and a

disposition to set up mediocrity as perfection, under the double

influence of an ignorance that unavoidably arises from a want of

models, and of the irresistible tendency to mediocrity, in a nation

where the common mind so imperiously rules."

 

"But does not the common mind rule every where? Is not public opinion

always stronger than law?"

 

"In a certain sense, both these positions may be true. But in a

nation like this, without a capital, one _that is all provinces_, in

which intelligence and tastes are scattered, this common mind wants

the usual direction, and derives its impulses from the force of

numbers, rather than from the force of knowledge. Hence the fact,

that the public opinion never or seldom rises to absolute truth. I

grant you that _as_ a mediocrity, it is well; much better than common

even; but it is still a mediocrity."

 

"I see the justice of your remark, and I suppose we are to ascribe

the general use of superlatives, which is so very obvious, to these

causes."

 

"Unquestionably; men have gotten to be afraid to speak the truth,

when that truth is a little beyond the common comprehension; and thus

it is that you see the fulsome flattery that all the public servants,

as they call themselves, resort to, in order to increase their

popularity, instead of telling the wholesome facts that are needed."

 

"And what is to be the result?"

 

"Heaven knows. While America is so much in advance of other nations,

in a freedom from prejudices of the old school, it is fast

substituting a set of prejudices of its own, that are not without

serious dangers. We may live through it, and the ills of society may

correct themselves, though there is one fact that men aces more evil

than any thing I could have feared."

 

"You mean the political struggle between money and numbers, that has

so seriously manifested itself of late!" exclaimed the quick-minded

and intelligent Mrs. Bloomfield.

 

"_That_ has its dangers; but there is still another evil of greater

magnitude. I allude to the very general disposition to confine

political discussions to political men. Thus, the private citizen,

who should presume to discuss a political question, would be deemed

fair game for all who thought differently from himself. He would be

injured in his pocket, reputation, domestic happiness, if possible;

for, in this respect, America is much the most intolerant nation I

have ever visited. In all other countries, in which discussion is

permitted at all, there is at least the _appearance_ of fair play,

whatever may be done covertly; but here, it seems to be sufficient to

justify falsehood, frauds, nay, barefaced rascality, to establish

that the injured party has had the audacity to meddle with public

questions, not being what the public chooses to call a public man. It

is scarcely necessary to say that, when such an opinion gets to be

effective, it must entirely defeat the real intentions of a popular

government."

 

"Now you mention it," said Mrs. Bloomfield, "I think I have witnessed

instances of what you mean."

 

"Witnessed, dear Mrs. Bloomfield! Instances are to be seen as often

as a man is found freeman enough to have an opinion independent of

party. It is not for connecting himself with party that a man is

denounced in this country, but for daring to connect himself with

truth. Party will bear with party, but party will not bear with

truth. It is in politics as in war, regiments or individuals may

desert, and they will be received by their late enemies with open

arms, the honour of a soldier seldom reaching to the pass of refusing

succour of any sort; but both sides will turn and fire on the

countrymen who wish merely to defend their homes and firesides."

 

"You draw disagreeable pictures of human nature, Mr. Effingham."

 

"Merely because they are true, Mrs. Bloomfield. Man is worse than the

beasts, merely because he has a code of right and wrong, which he

never respects. They talk of the variation of the compass, and even

pretend to calculate its changes, though no one can explain the

principle that causes the attraction or its vagaries at all. So it is

with men; they pretend to look always at the right, though their eyes

are constantly directed obliquely; and it is a certain calculation to

allow of a pretty wide variation--but here comes Miss Effingham,

singularly well attired, and more beautiful than I have ever before

seen her!"

 

The two exchanged quick glances, and then, as if fearful of betraying

to each other their thoughts, they moved towards our heroine, to do

the honours of the reception.

 

Chapter XXVI. ("Haply, when I shall wed, That lord, whose hand must take)

 

my plight, shall carry Half my love with him, half my care and

duty."

 

CORDELIA.

 

As no man could be more gracefully or delicately polite than John

Effingham, when the humour seized him, Mrs. Bloomfield was struck

with the kind and gentleman-like manner with which he met his young

kinswoman on this trying occasion, and the affectionate tones of his

voice, and the winning expression of his eye, as he addressed her.

Eve herself was not unobservant of these peculiarities, nor was she

slow in comprehending the reason. She perceived at once that he was

acquainted with the state of things between her and Paul. As she well

knew the womanly fidelity of Mrs. Bloomfield, she rightly enough

conjectured that the long observation of her cousin, coupled with the

few words accidentally overheard that evening had even made him

better acquainted with the true condition of her feelings, than was

the case with the friend with whom she had so lately been conversing

on the subject.

 

Still Eve was not embarrassed by the conviction that her secret was

betrayed to so many persons. Her attachment to Paul was not the

impulse of girlish caprice, but the warm affection of a woman, that

had grown with time, was sanctioned by her reason, and which, if it

was tinctured with the more glowing imagination and ample faith of

youth, was also sustained by her principles and her sense of right.

She knew that both her father and cousin esteemed the man of her own

choice, nor did she believe the little cloud that, hung over his

birth could do more than have a temporary influence on his own

sensitive feelings. She met John Effingham, therefore, with a frank

composure, returned the kind pressure of his hand, with a smile such

as a daughter might bestow on an affectionate parent, and turned to

salute the remainder of the party, with that lady-like ease which had

got to be a part of her nature.

 

"There goes one of the most attractive pictures that humanity can

offer," said John Effingham to Mrs. Bloomfield, as Eve walked away;

"a young, timid, modest, sensitive girl, so strong in her principles,

so conscious of rectitude, so pure of thought, and so warm in her

affections, that she views her selection of a husband, as others view

their acts of duty and religious faith. With her love has no shame,

as it has no weakness."

 

"Eve Effingham is as faultless as comports with womanhood; and yet I

confess ignorance of my own sex, if she receive Mr. Powis as calmly

as she received her cousin."

 

"Perhaps not, for in that case, she could scarcely feel the passion.

You perceive that he avoids oppressing her with his notice, and that

the meeting passes off without embarrassment. I do believe there is

an elevating principle in love, that, by causing us to wish to be

worthy of the object most prized, produces the desired effects by

stimulating exertion. There, now, are two as perfect beings as one

ordinarily meets with, each oppressed by a sense of his or her

unworthiness to be the choice of the other."

 

"Does love, then, teach humility; successful love too?"

 

"Does it not? It would be hardly fair to press this matter on you, a

married woman; for, by the pandects of American society, a man may

philosophize on love, prattle about it, trifle on the subject, and

even analyze the passion with, a miss in her teens, and yet he shall

not allude to it, in a discourse with a matron. Well, _chacun a son

gout_; we are, indeed, a little peculiar in our usages, and have

promoted a good deal of village coquetry, and the flirtations of the

may-pole, to the drawing-room."

 

"Is it not better that such follies should be confined to youth, than

that they should invade the sanctity of married life, as I understand

is too much the case elsewhere?"

 

"Perhaps so; though I confess it is easier to dispose of a straight-

forward proposition from a mother, a father, or a commissioned

friend, than to get rid of a young lady, who, _propria persona_,

angles on her own account. While abroad, I had a dozen proposals--"

 

"Proposals!" exclaimed Mrs. Bloomfield, holding up both hands, and

shaking her head incredulously.

 

"Proposals! Why not, ma'am?--am I more than fifty? am I not

reasonably youthful for that period of life, and have I not six or

eight thousand a year--"

 

"Eighteen, or you are much scandalized."

 

"Well, eighteen, if you will," coolly returned the other, in whose

eyes money was no merit, for he was born to a fortune, and always

treated it as a means, and not as the end of life; "every dollar is a

magnet, after one has turned forty. Do you suppose that a single man,

of tolerable person, well-born, and with a hundred thousand francs of

_rentes_, could entirely escape proposals from the ladies in Europe?"

 

"This is so revolting to all our American notions, that, though I

have often heard of such things, I have always found it difficult to

believe them!"

 

"And is it more revolting for the friends of young ladies to look out

for them, on such occasions, than that the young ladies should take

the affair into their own hands, as is practised quite as openly,

here?"

 

"It is well you are a confirmed bachelor, or declarations like these

would mar your fortunes. I will admit that the school is not as

retiring and diffident as formerly; for we are all ready enough to

say that no times are egual to our own times; but I shall strenuously

protest against your interpretation of the nature and artlessness of

an American girl."

 

"Artlessness!" repeated John Effingham, with a slight lifting of the

eye-brows; "we live in an age when new dictionaries and vocabularies

are necessary to understand each other's meaning. It is artlessness,

with a vengeance, to beset an old fellow of fifty, as one would

besiege a town. Hist!--Ned is retiring with his daughter, my dear

Mrs. Bloomfield, and it will not be long before I shall be summoned

to a family council. Well, we will keep the secret until it is

publicly proclaimed."

 

John Effingham was right, for his two cousins left the room together,

and retired to the library, but in a way to attract no particular

attention, except in those who were enlightened on the subject of

what had already passed that evening. When they were alone, Mr.

Effingham turned the key, and then he gave a free vent to his

paternal feelings.

 

Between Eve and her parent, there had always existed a confidence

exceeding that which it is common to find between father and

daughter. In one sense, they had been all in all to each other, and

Eve had never hesitated about pouring those feelings into his breast,

which, had she possessed another parent, would more naturally have

been confided to the affection of a mother. When their eyes first

met, therefore, they were mutually beaming with an expression of

confidence

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