My Wife and I; Or, Harry Henderson's HistoryStowe, Harriet Beecher
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My Wife and I; Or, Harry Henderson's History
Stowe, Harriet Beecher
American fiction -- 19th century; Courtship -- Fiction; Marriage -- Fiction; Romance fiction
In short, whatever a man is secretly inclined to do there are always a
hundred sensible incontrovertible reasons to be found for doing, and so
I found myself one of the gay and festive throng on board the steamer. A
party of well-dressed people floating up the North River of a bright
Spring day is about as ideal a picture of travel as can be desired. In
point of natural scenery the Rhine is nothing compared with the Hudson,
and our American steamboats certainly are as far ahead of any that ever
appeared on the Rhine as Aladdin's palace is ahead of an ordinary
dwelling. The most superb boat on the river had been retained for the
occasion, and a band of music added liveliness to the scene as we moved
off from the wharf in triumph, as gay, glittering, festive a company as
heart could wish.
Wat Sydney as host and entertainer was everywhere present, making
himself agreeable by the most devoted attentions to the comfort of the
bright band of tropical birds, fluttering in silks and feathers and
ribbons, whom he had charge of for the day. I was presented to him by
Jim Fellows, and had an opportunity to see that apart from his immense
wealth he had no very striking personal points to distinguish him from a
hundred other young men about him. His dress was scrupulously adjusted,
with a care and nicety which showed that he was by no means without
consideration of the personal impression he made. Every article was the
choicest and best that the most orthodox fashionable emporiums
pronounced the latest thing, or as Jim Fellows phrased it, decidedly
"nobby." He was of a medium height, with very light hair and eyes, and
the thin complexion which usually attends that style, and which, under
the kind of exposure incident to a man's life, generally tends to too
much redness of face.
Altogether, my first running commentary on the man as I shook hands with
him was, that if Eva were in love with him it was not for his beauty;
yet I could see glances falling on him on all sides from undeniably
handsome eyes that would have excused any man for having a favorable
conceit of his own personal presence.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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