Ten Books on Architecture - Vitruvius (phonics story books TXT) 📗
- Author: Vitruvius
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What! don't you know him! Ah, yes—I see you recollect Frank Leland, our modern Cœlebs.
He seems struck by the appearance of the old farm-house; its repose is, no doubt, delightful to him; and now, choosing a favorable position within the shade of a fine old tree, opens his portfolio, and commences to sketch the charmingly rural scene. And, indeed, so intent is he upon his task that the sun has already sunk behind the trees, and gentle twilight steals on with her starry train ere he rests from his employment. Then the old farmer comes out on the porch to take his evening pipe; and the good dame sits by his side with her knitting, and the sweet voice of Ursula warbles a simple ballad to please the ears of the aged pair. The young man bares his brow to the delicious breath of evening, and carefully placing his sketch within the portfolio, saunters on toward the little gate. And now Ursula hushes her song, and the old man advances with friendly greeting,
"Walk in, stranger—walk in. I should think you might be the young man I heard tell of to-day in the village—a teacher of something—I forget the name."
"A teacher of drawing," said Leland, smiling, as he took a seat on the bench by the side of the old man.
"Drawing, eh! And what may that be, young sir—some new-fangled notion, I'll be bound."
"This may, perhaps, explain better than I can tell you," replied Leland, placing the sketch he had just taken in the hand of the old man.
"Why, wife—why, bless my soul! why, if I should not think this was our old house! Why, stranger, if ever I see any thing so like in my born days!"
"Goody gracious preserve me, if it an't, sure enough!" said the dame, putting on her spectacles, and eagerly looking over the old man's shoulder. "My stars and garters, Hetty, look here—for all the world just like it—did you ever!"
The more practiced eye of Ursula detected at once a master-hand in the sketch before her; and looking admiringly upon it, she could not refrain from exclaiming, "How beautiful!" while Hetty gazed with silent wonder upon the stranger who by the magic of his pencil thus portrayed the home of her childhood.
The contents of the portfolio were now spread out upon the grass, and our masquerading millionaire was greatly amused at the naiveté the old people displayed, and not a little flattered by the pleasure with which one at least of the young girls appeared to look over his collection.
"Am I mistaken," said he, at length, "in thinking I heard singing, as I came over the meadow?"
"Well, I reckon not," said the old lady, "come, 'Sula, child, go on with your song—maybe the young man would like to hear you; it was Old Robin Gray she was singing."
Ursula was at length prevailed on to repeat the ballad, which she did in a style so simple and unaffected, that, ere she had finished, the young artist had made up his mind, that listening to a sweet voice by moonlight, beneath a wide-spreading elm, with the stars peeping down between the dancing leaves, and the soft evening breeze fanning his temples, was far more delightful, than to recline in his soft-cushioned box at the Opera, listening even to the delicious notes of a Pico, with bright jewels, and still brighter eyes flashing around him, and his cheek kissed by the inconstant air wafted from the coquettish fan in the hands of smiling beauty. And, moreover, that the book of human nature, to be studied in the country, certainly opened very beautifully.
The evening passed off pleasantly. Leland confided to the old man his poverty, and desire to obtain scholars in his art sufficient to enable him to pay his board while in the village; that he had been employed by several gentlemen to sketch scenes from nature, and that having heard much of the beautiful views in the neighborhood, he had been induced to visit the village.
But the old man thought he had much better turn farmer, and offered to hire him for eight dollars a month, as he needed a hand in haying time. This offer, however, the young man could not accept, being, as he said, already engaged to complete the drawings. Then the old man told how his fathers had lived there before him, and how by hard labor he had been able to keep the old homestead his own; and that his daughter, Hetty, had been living with a great heiress, who was very fond of her, and who had given her leave to spend the summer at home; and how she had come, and brought a poor girl with her, who made caps, and such gim-cracks, and that (in a whisper) his old woman thought she had never had any bringing-up, poor thing!"
When Leland returned to his lodgings, in the village, he thought over his evening adventure with great pleasure. The simplicity of the old people charmed him; Hetty he thought a modest, pretty girl; but it was the little cap-maker who somehow or other dwelt most forcibly in his mind.
"She is certainly quite handsome, notwithstanding she is a little, a very little, cross-eyed—it is a pity!" And Leland leaned out the window, and whistled "Auld Robin Gray." "How pathetically she warbled the line,
But she looked in my face 'til my heart was like to break;"
and Leland threw off one slipper, and stopped to hum it over again. "Her voice only wants a little cultivation"—off goes the other slipper, and out goes the head into the moonlight, and in it comes again. "Well, I must teach her to draw—her own patterns, at any rate. Pleasant old couple; the idea of hiring me for eight dollars a month—capital!" and in a fit of laughter he threw himself upon the bed. "What a roguish pair of eyes, after all, the little cap-maker has!"
Again the dreams of our hero were all Arcadian, and every shepherdess was a little cross-eyed, and warbled "Auld Robin Gray."
In the bright moonlight, which, glancing through the flickering leaves, streams across the chamber-floor, filling it with her softened radiance, sits Ursula. But why so pensive; is it the influence of the hour, I wonder—has the gentle moon thus power to sadden her, or—
"Hetty, he has a very fine countenance."
There, you see her pensiveness has found a voice.
"Who, Miss Ursula?"
"Why, this young stranger. He has a fine figure, too; and his manners are certainly quite refined."
"Yes, and what pretty pictures he makes."
"True, Hetty, very pretty; he certainly has a genius for the art." A long silence. "What a pity he is poor."
"What's a pity, Miss Ursula?" cries Hetty, half asleep.
"O, nothing, nothing—go to sleep, Hetty."
But Ursula still sits in the moonlight, and thinks of the handsome young artist. Her generous little heart has already smoothed his path to eminence. Yes, she resolves if, upon acquaintance, he proves as worthy as he appears—and does she doubt it—not she—that neither money nor patronage shall be wanting to his success. Generous little cap-maker! And when at length she sought her couch, young Love, under the harmless guise of honest Benevolence, perched himself at her pillow.
And now, every morning sees Leland taking his way to the farm-house; and the villagers, good people, have made up their minds that there must be some very pretty scenes in that neighborhood.
And so there are, very fine scenes; for, reclining under the shady trees, the young artist may be seen, with crayons in hand, the little cap-maker in his eye, as, seated on a little bench, she busily plies her needle, and sings for his entertainment, meanwhile, some rustic ballad. Sometimes, forgetting herself, she executes a brilliant roulade; and when Leland starts, astonished, and expresses his delight, she blushes deeply, and says she once went to the theatre.
And the old dame wonders what on earth they can find to talk about day after day, "a sittin' under trees," and tells Hetty to mind her work, and not take up any such silly ways. And the old man thinks a hale, hearty fellow like that, had better lend a hand to the plough, and not sit there spoiling so much white paper; and Hetty roguishly watches her young mistress, and smiles slily, and thinks there will be a wedding before long.
Ah! happy, satisfied Leland!
For he has won the heart of the charming little cap-maker. He, the poor, unpretending artist, he has won her away from the rich Esquire, who came rolling down in his carriage to woo her; and from the pale young doctor, who knelt tremblingly before her; and from the honest farmer, who swore he loved her better than his cattle. He, without fortune, without friends, has won her. She loves him, and through poverty and hardship will share his fate. And then, when bearing her off a happy bride, he thought how she would blush and tremble with surprise and sweet timidity when he should reveal his rank, and place her in that sphere she was born to grace—what rapturous visions danced through his brain!
And no less rapturous were the thoughts of Ursula. She was now beloved, truly loved for herself alone—she, a poor, friendless girl. No money had shed its enticements around her—there was nothing to gain but an innocent heart, and a portionless hand; and yet the gifted, but poor artist, who might, by the rank of genius, have aspired to the favor of any high-born lady; he has chosen her to share his fate and fortunes. How her heart throbs, when she thinks of the wealth her hand will confer upon him—of the pride with which she shall see him adorning that station for which he is so eminently qualified.
Ah! after all, what happiness to be an heiress!
Three months flew by, and brings us to the night before the wedding. The lovers are alone, and, for lovers, extremely taciturn—for their thoughts are doubtless far into the bright future, o'er which no cloud is floating. The countenance of Ursula beams with happiness, yet her manner is somewhat abstracted—she is evidently agitated. At length Leland speaks,
"Dearest Ursula, it seems to me that no wealth could contribute to our happiness; we have youth, health, strength, and loving hearts to bear us on our life-journey, as hand-in-hand we meet its pains and pleasures. Ah! I can already fancy our pleasant fire-side. No one's caps will find so ready a sale as yours, dear Ursula; and my pencil, too, will be inspired to greater effort by your praise." And Leland turned aside to conceal the smile which played round his mouth at the deception he was practicing. "But what is the matter, Ursula—what agitates you thus; you surely do not repent your promise, beloved one!"
"O, no, no, dear Frank! but I have something to tell you, which, perhaps, may forfeit me your love."
"Good heavens, Ursula! what mean you! tears, too—speak, speak, what is it! is not your heart mine, or have you loved another more truly!"
"No! O, no! and yet, Frank, I am not what I seem—I have deceived you. You think me but a poor, friendless girl, dependent upon my needle for my maintenance, when, in fact, O, Frank, how shall I say it, I am—
"Speak, dearest!"
"I am an heiress."
Frank sprang to his feet in amazement.
"You—you—dear, artless girl that you are—you an heiress! It can't be—it is impossible! and—what a pity!" he adds, aside, as one half his airy castle fell to the ground.
"Now, sit down, Frank, and when you have heard my story, and my motives for doing as I have done, you will, I trust, pardon the duplicity I have been guilty of toward you."
And before she had finished her recital Frank's plans were formed; so, falling at her feet, he poured out his acknowledgments for her condescension in honoring with her hand
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