Harper's New Monthly Magazine, No. VII, December 1850, Vol. IIVarious
General
Harper's New Monthly Magazine, No. VII, December 1850, Vol. II
Various
American literature -- Periodicals; Civilization -- Periodicals; Culture -- Periodicals
Frank looked puzzled: the thought was too deep for him--so he turned to
the pictures.
"Those are very funny," said he: "they seem capitally done--who did
'em?"
"Signorino Hazeldean, you are giving me what you refused yourself."
"Eh?" said Frank, inquiringly.
"Compliments!"
"Oh--I--no; but they are well done, arn't they, sir?"
"Not particularly: you speak to the artist."
"What! you painted them?"
"Yes."
"And the pictures in the hall?"
"Those too."
"Taken from nature--eh?"
"Nature," said the Italian sententiously, perhaps evasively, "lets
nothing be taken from her."
"Oh!" said Frank, puzzled again.
"Well, I must wish you good morning, sir; I am very glad you are
coming."
"Without compliment?"
"Without compliment."
"A _rivedersi_--good-by for the present, my young signorino. This way,"
observing Frank make a bolt toward the wrong door.
"Can I offer you a glass of wine--it is pure, of our own making?"
"No, thank you, indeed, sir," cried Frank, suddenly recollecting his
father's admonition. "Good-by--don't trouble yourself, sir; I know my
way now."
But the bland Italian followed his guest to the wicket, where Frank had
left the pony. The young gentleman, afraid lest so courteous a host
should hold the stirrup for him, twitched off the bridle, and mounted in
haste, not even staying to ask if the Italian could put him in the way
to Rood Hall, of which way he was profoundly ignorant. The Italian's eye
followed the boy as he rode up the ascent in the lane, and the Doctor
sighed heavily. "The wiser we grow," said he to himself, "the more we
regret the age of our follies: it is better to gallop with a light heart
up the stony hill than to sit in the summer-house and cry 'How true!' to
the stony truths of Machiavelli!"
With that he turned back into the Belvidere; but he could not resume his
studies. He remained some minutes gazing on the prospect, till the
prospect reminded him of the fields, which Jackeymo was bent on his
hiring, and the fields reminded him of Lenny Fairfield. He walked back
to the house, and in a few moments re-emerged in his out-of-door-trim,
with cloak and umbrella, relighted his pipe, and strolled toward
Hazeldean village.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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