The Youth of Jefferson | Page 3

a fop! I a pretender to wit? No, no, my dear Sir Asinus, you do me injustice: I am the simplest of mortals, and a very child of innocence. But I was speaking of Shadynook and the fairies of that domain. Never have I seen Belinda, or rather Belle-bouche, so lovely, and I here disdainfully repel your ridiculous calumny that she's in love with you, you great lump of presumption and overweening self-conceit! Philippa too was a pastoral queen--in silk and jewels--and around them they had gathered together a troop of shepherds from the adjoining grammar-school, called William and Mary College, of which I am an aspiring bachelor, and you were an ornament before your religious opinions caught from Fauquier drove you away like a truant school-boy. The shepherds were as usual very ridiculous, and I had no opportunity to whisper so much as a single word into my dear Belle-bouche's ear. Ah! how lovely she looked! By heaven, I'll go to-morrow and request her to designate some form of death for me to die--all for her sake!"
With which words the forlorn Jacques gazed languidly through the window.
At the same moment a bell was heard ringing in the direction of the College; and yawning first luxuriously, the young man rose.
"Lecture, by Jove!" he said.
"And you, unfortunate victim, must attend," said his companion.
"Yes. You remain here?"
"To the end."
"Still resisting?"
"To the death!"
"Very well," said Jacques, putting on his cocked hat, which was ornamented with a magnificent feather. "I half envy you; but duty calls--I must go."
"If you see Ned Carter, or Tom Randolph of Tuckahoe, tell them to come round."
"To comfort you? Poor unfortunate prisoner!"
"No, most sapient Jacques: fortunately I do not need comfort as you do."
"I want comfort?"
"Yes; there you are sighing: that 'heigho!' was dreadful."
"Scoffer!"
"No; I am your rival."
"Very well; I warn you that I intend to push the siege; take care of your interests."
"I'm not afraid."
"I am going to see Belle-bouche again to-morrow.
"Faith, I'll be there, then."
"Good; war is opened then--the glove thrown?"
"War to the death! Good-by, publican!"
"Farewell, sinner!"
And with these words the melancholy Jacques departed.
CHAPTER II.
JACQUES SHOWS THE ADVANTAGE OF BEING LED CAPTIVE BY A CROOK.
It was a delicious day, such a day as the month of flowers alone can bring into the world, and all nature seemed to be rejoicing. The peach and cherry blossoms shone like snow upon the budding trees, the oriole shot from elm to elm, a ball of fire against a background of blue and emerald, and from every side came the murmuring flow of streamlets, dancing in the sun and filling the whole landscape with their joyous music.
May reigned supreme--a tender blue-eyed maiden, treading upon a carpet of young grass with flowers in their natural colors; and nowhere were her smiles softer or more bright than there at Shadynook, which looks still on the noble river flowing to the sea, and on the distant town of Williamsburg, from which light clouds of smoke curl upward and are lost in the far-reaching azure.
Shadynook was one of those old hip-roofed houses which the traveller of to-day meets with so frequently, scattered throughout Virginia, crowning every knoll and giving character to every landscape. Before the house stretched a green lawn bounded by a low fence; and in the rear a garden full of flowers and blossoming fruit trees made the surrounding air faint with the odorous breath of Spring.
Over the old house, whose dormer windows were wreathed with the mosses of age, stretched the wide arms of two noble elms; and the whole homestead had about it an air of home comfort, and a quiet, happy repose, which made many a wayfarer from far countries sigh, as he gazed on it, embowered in its verdurous grove.
In the garden is an arbor, over which flowering vines of every description hover and bloom, full of the wine of spring. Around the arbor extend flower plats carefully tended and fragrant with violets, crocuses, and early primroses. Foliage of the light tender tint of May clothes the background, and looking from the arbor you clearly discern the distant barn rising above the trees.
In this arbor sits or rather reclines a young girl--for she has stretched herself upon the trellised seat, with a languid and careless ease, which betrays total abandon--an abandon engendered probably by the warm languid air of May, and those million flowers burdening the air with perfume.
This is Miss Belle-bouche, whom we have heard the melancholy Jacques discourse of with such forlorn eloquence to his friend Tom, or Sir Asinus, as the reader pleases.
Belle-bouche, Pretty-mouth, Belinda, or Rebecca--for this last was the name given her by her sponsors--is a young girl of about seventeen, and of a beauty so fresh and rare that the enthusiasm of Jacques was scarcely strange. The girl has about her the freshness