The view of the Catskills from a certain hospitable1 mansion2 on the east side of the Hudson is better than any mew from those delectable3 hills. The artist said so one morning late in June, and Mr. King agreed with him, as a matter of fact, but would have no philosophizing about it, as that anticipation4 is always better than realization5; and when Mr. Forbes went on to say that climbing a mountain was a good deal like marriage--the world was likely to look a little flat once that cerulean height was attained--Mr. King only remarked that that was a low view to take of the subject, but he would confess that it was unreasonable7 to expect that any rational object could fulfill8, or even approach, the promise held out by such an exquisite9 prospect10 as that before them.
The friends were standing11 where the Catskill hills lay before them in echelon12 towards the river, the ridges13 lapping over each other and receding14 in the distance, a gradation of lines most artistically15 drawn17, still further refined by shades of violet, which always have the effect upon the contemplative mind of either religious exaltation or the kindling18 of a sentiment which is in the young akin19 to the emotion of love. While the artist was making some memoranda20 of these outlines, and Mr. King was drawing I know not what auguries21 of hope from these purple heights, a young lady seated upon a rock near by--a young lady just stepping over the border-line of womanhood--had her eyes also fixed22 upon those dreamy distances, with that look we all know so well, betraying that shy expectancy23 of life which is unconfessed, that tendency to maidenly24 reverie which it were cruel to interpret literally25. At the moment she is more interesting than the Catskills--the brown hair, the large eyes unconscious of anything but the most natural emotion, the shapely waist just beginning to respond to the call of the future--it is a pity that we shall never see her again, and that she has nothing whatever to do with our journey. She also will have her romance; fate will meet her in the way some day, and set her pure heart wildly beating, and she will know what those purple distances mean. Happiness, tragedy, anguish--who can tell what is in store for her? I cannot but feel profound sadness at meeting her in this casual way and never seeing her again. Who says that the world is not full of romance and pathos26 and regret as we go our daily way in it? You meet her at a railway station; there is the flutter of a veil, the gleam of a scarlet27 bird, the lifting of a pair of eyes--she is gone; she is entering a drawing-room, and stops a moment and turns away; she is looking from a window as you pass--it is only a glance out of eternity28; she stands for a second upon a rock looking seaward; she passes you at the church door--is that all? It is discovered that instantaneous photographs can be taken. They are taken all the time; some of them are never developed, but I suppose these impressions are all there on the sensitive plate, and that the plate is permanently30 affected31 by the impressions. The pity of it is that the world is so full of these undeveloped knowledges of people worth knowing and friendships worth making.
The comfort of leaving same things to the imagination was impressed upon our travelers when they left the narrow-gauge railway at the mountain station, and identified themselves with other tourists by entering a two-horse wagon33 to be dragged wearily up the hill through the woods. The ascent34 would be more tolerable if any vistas36 were cut in the forest to give views by the way; as it was, the monotony of the pull upward was only relieved by the society of the passengers. There were two bright little girls off for a holiday with their Western uncle, a big, good-natured man with a diamond breast-pin, and his voluble son, a lad about the age of his little cousins, whom he constantly pestered37 by his rude and dominating behavior. The boy was a product which it is the despair of all Europe to produce, and our travelers had great delight in him as an epitome38 of American "smartness." He led all the conversation, had confident opinions about everything, easily put down his deferential39 papa, and pleased the other passengers by his self-sufficient, know-it-all air. To a boy who had traveled in California and seen the Alps it was not to be expected that this humble40 mountain could afford much entertainment, and he did not attempt to conceal41 his contempt for it. When the stage reached the Rip Van Winkle House, half-way, the shy schoolgirls were for indulging a little sentiment over the old legend, but the boy, who concealed42 his ignorance of the Irving romance until his cousins had prattled43 the outlines of it, was not to be taken in by any such chaff44, and though he was a little staggered by Rip's own cottage, and by the sight of the cave above it which is labeled as the very spot where the vagabond took his long nap, he attempted to bully45 the attendant and drink-mixer in the hut, and openly flaunted46 his incredulity until the bar-tender showed him a long bunch of Rip's hair, which hung like a scalp on a nail, and the rusty47 barrel and stock of the musket48. The cabin is, indeed, full of old guns, pistols, locks of hair, buttons, cartridge-boxes, bullets, knives, and other undoubted relics49 of Rip and the Revolution. This cabin, with its facilities for slaking50 thirst on a hot day, which Rip would have appreciated, over a hundred years old according to information to be obtained on the spot, is really of unknown antiquity51, the old boards and timber of which it is constructed having been brought down from the Mountain House some forty years ago.
The old Mountain House, standing upon its ledge32 of rock, from which one looks down upon a map of a considerable portion of New York and New England, with the lake in the rear, and heights on each side that offer charming walks to those who have in contemplation views of nature or of matrimony, has somewhat lost its importance since the vast Catskill region has come to the knowledge of the world. A generation ago it was the centre of attraction, and it was understood that going to the Catskills was going there. Generations of searchers after immortality52 have chiseled53 their names in the rock platform, and one who sits there now falls to musing54 on the vanity of human nature and the transitoriness of fashion. Now New York has found that it has very convenient to it a great mountain pleasure-ground; railways and excellent roads have pierced it, the varied55 beauties of rocks, ravines, and charming retreats are revealed, excellent hotels capable of entertaining a thousand guests are planted on heights and slopes commanding mountain as well as lowland prospects56, great and small boarding-houses cluster in the high valleys and on the hillsides, and cottages more thickly every year dot the wild region. Year by year these accommodations will increase, new roads around the gorges57 will open more enchanting58 views, and it is not improbable that the species of American known as the "summer boarder" will have his highest development and apotheosis59 in these mountains.
Nevertheless Mr. King was not uninterested in renewing his memories of the old house. He could recall without difficulty, and also without emotion now, a scene on this upper veranda60 and a moonlight night long ago, and he had no doubt he could find her name carved on a beech-tree in the wood near by; but it was useless to look for it, for her name had been changed. The place was, indeed, full of memories, but all chastened and subdued61 by the indoor atmosphere, which impressed him as that of a faded Sunday. He was very careful not to disturb the decorum by any frivolity62 of demeanor63, and he cautioned the artist on this point; but Mr. Forbes declared that the dining-room fare kept his spirits at a proper level. There was an old-time satisfaction in wandering into the parlor64, and resting on the haircloth sofa, and looking at the hair-cloth chairs, and pensively65 imagining a meeting there, with songs out of the Moody66 and Sankey book; and he did not tire of dropping into the reposeful68 reception-room, where he never by any chance met anybody, and sitting with the melodeon and big Bible Society edition of the Scriptures69, and a chance copy of the Christian70 at Play. These amusements were varied by sympathetic listening to the complaints of the proprietor71 about the vandalism of visitors who wrote with diamonds on the window-panes, so that the glass had to be renewed, or scratched their names on the pillars of the piazza72, so that the whole front had to be repainted, or broke off the azalea blossoms, or in other ways desecrated73 the premises74. In order to fit himself for a sojourn75 here, Mr. King tried to commit to memory a placard that was neatly76 framed and hung on the veranda, wherein it was stated that the owner cheerfully submits to all necessary use of the premises, "but will not permit any unnecessary use, or the exercise of a depraved taste or vandalism." There were not as yet many guests, and those who were there seemed to have conned77 this placard to their improvement, for there was not much exercise of any sort of taste. Of course there were two or three brides, and there was the inevitable78 English nice middle-class tourist with his wife, the latter ram-roddy and uncompromising, in big boots and botanical, who, in response to a gentleman who was giving her information about travel, constantly ejaculated, in broad English, "Yas, yas; ow, ow, ow, really!"
And there was the young bride from Kankazoo, who frightened Mr. King back into his chamber79 one morning when he opened his door and beheld80 the vision of a woman going towards the breakfast-room in what he took to be a robe de nuit, but which turned out to be one of the "Mother-Hubbards" which have had a certain celebrity81 as street dresses in some parts of the West. But these gayeties palled82 after a time, and one afternoon our travelers, with their vandalism all subdued, walked a mile over the rocks to the Kaaterskill House, and took up their abode83 there to watch the opening of the season. Naturally they expected some difficulty in transferring their two trunks round by the road, where there had been nothing but a wilderness84 forty years ago; but their change of base was facilitated by the obliging hotelkeeper in the most friendly manner, and when he insisted on charging only four dollars for moving the trunks, the two friends said that, considering the wear and tear of the mountain involved, they did not see how he could afford to do it for such a sum, and they went away, as they said, well pleased.
It happened to be at the Kaaterskill House--it might have been at the Grand, or the Overlook--that the young gentlemen in search of information saw the Catskill season get under way. The phase of American life is much the same at all these great caravansaries. It seems to the writer, who has the greatest admiration85 for the military genius that can feed and fight an army in the field, that not enough account is made of the greater genius that can organize and carry on a great American hotel, with a thousand or fifteen hundred guests, in a short, sharp, and decisive campaign of two months, at the end of which the substantial fruits of victory are in the hands of the landlord, and the guests are allowed to depart with only their personal baggage and side-arms, but so well pleased that they are inclined to renew the contest next year. This is a triumph of mind over mind. It is not merely the organization and the management of the army under the immediate86 command of the landlord, the accumulation and distribution of supplies upon this mountain-top, in the uncertainty87 whether the garrison88 on a given day will be one hundred or one thousand, not merely the lodging89, rationing90 and amusing of this shifting host, but the satisfying of as many whims91 and prejudices as there are people who leave home on purpose to grumble93 and enjoy themselves in the exercise of a criticism they dare not indulge in their own houses. Our friends had an opportunity of seeing the machinery94 set in motion in one of these great establishments. Here was a vast balloon structure, founded on a rock, but built in the air, and anchored with cables, with towers and a high pillared veranda, capable, with its annex95, of lodging fifteen hundred people. The army of waiters and chamber-maids, of bellboys, and scullions and porters and laundry-folk, was arriving; the stalwart scrubbers were at work, the store-rooms were filled, the big kitchen shone with its burnished96 coppers97, and an array of white-capped and aproned cooks stood in line under their chef; the telegraph operator was waiting at her desk, the drug clerk was arranging his bottles, the newspaper stand was furnished, the post-office was open for letters. It needed but the arrival of a guest to set the machinery in motion. And as soon as the guest came the band would be there to launch him into the maddening gayety of the season. It would welcome his arrival in triumphant98 strains; it would pursue him at dinner, and drown his conversation; it will fill his siesta99 with martial100 dreams, and it would seize his legs in the evening, and entreat101 him to caper102 in the parlor. Everything was ready. And this was what happened. It was the evening of the opening day. The train wagons103 might be expected any moment. The electric lights were blazing. All the clerks stood expectant, the porters were by the door, the trim, uniformed bell-boys were all in waiting line, the register clerk stood fingering the leaves of the register with a gracious air. A noise is heard outside, the big door opens, there is a rush forward, and four people flock in a man in a linen104 duster, a stout105 woman, a lad of ten, a smartly dressed young lady, and a dog. Movement, welcome, ringing of bells, tramping of feet--the whole machinery has started. It was adjusted to crack an egg-shell or smash an iron-bound trunk. The few drops presaged106 a shower. The next day there were a hundred on the register; the day after, two hundred; and the day following, an excursion.
With increasing arrivals opportunity was offered for the study of character. Away from his occupation, away from the cares of the household and the demands of society, what is the self-sustaining capacity of the ordinary American man or woman? It was interesting to note the enthusiasm of the first arrival, the delight in the view--Round Top, the deep gorges, the charming vista35 of the lowlands, a world and wilderness of beauty; the inspiration of the air, the alertness to explore in all directions, to see the lake, the falls, the mountain paths. But is a mountain sooner found out than a valley, or is there a want of internal resources, away from business, that the men presently become rather listless, take perfunctory walks for exercise, and are so eager for meal-time and mail-time? Why do they depend so much upon the newspapers, when they all despise the newspapers? Mr. King used to listen of an evening to the commonplace talk about the fire, all of which was a dilution107 of what they had just got out of the newspapers, but what a lively assent108 there was to a glib109 talker who wound up his remarks with a denunciation of the newspapers! The man was no doubt quite right, but did he reflect on the public loss of his valuable conversation the next night if his newspaper should chance to fail? And the women, after their first feeling of relief, did they fall presently into petty gossip, complaints about the table, criticisms of each other's dress, small discontents with nearly everything? Not all of them.
An excursion is always resented by the regular occupants of a summer resort, who look down upon the excursionists, while they condescend110 to be amused by them. It is perhaps only the common attitude of the wholesale111 to the retail112 dealer113, although it is undeniable that a person seems temporarily to change his nature when he becomes part of an excursion; whether it is from the elation114 at the purchase of a day of gayety below the market price, or the escape from personal responsibility under a conductor, or the love of being conspicuous115 as a part of a sort of organization, the excursionist is not on his ordinary behavior.
An excursion numbering several hundreds, gathered along the river towns by the benevolent116 enterprise of railway officials, came up to the mountain one day. The officials seemed to have run a drag-net through factories, workshops, Sunday-schools, and churches, and scooped117 in the weary workers at homes and in shops unaccustomed to a holiday. Our friends formed a part of a group on the hotel piazza who watched the straggling arrival of this band of pleasure. For by this time our two friends had found a circle of acquaintances, with the facility of watering-place life, which in its way represented certain phases of American life as well as the excursion. A great many writers have sought to classify and label and put into a paragraph a description of the American girl. She is not to be disposed of by any such easy process. Undoubtedly118 she has some common marks of nationality that distinguish her from the English girl, but in variety she is practically infinite, and likely to assume almost any form, and the characteristics of a dozen nationalities. No one type represents her. What, indeed, would one say of this little group on the hotel piazza, making its comments upon the excursionists? Here is a young lady of, say, twenty-three years, inclining already to stoutness119, domestic, placid120, with matron written on every line of her unselfish face, capable of being, if necessity were, a notable housekeeper121, learned in preserves and jellies and cordials, sure to have her closets in order, and a place for every remnant, piece of twine122, and all odds123 and ends. Not a person to read Browning with, but to call on if one needed a nurse, or a good dinner, or a charitable deed. Beside her, in an invalid124's chair, a young girl, scarcely eighteen, of quite another sort, pale, slight, delicate, with a lovely face and large sentimental125 eyes, all nerves, the product, perhaps, of a fashionable school, who in one season in New York, her first, had utterly126 broken down into what is called nervous prostration127. In striking contrast was Miss Nettie Sumner, perhaps twenty-one, who corresponded more nearly to what the internationalists call the American type; had evidently taken school education as a duck takes water, and danced along in society into apparent robustness128 of person and knowledge of the world. A handsome girl, she would be a comely129 woman, good-natured, quick at repartee130, confining her knowledge of books to popular novels, too natural and frank to be a flirt131, an adept132 in all the nice slang current in fashionable life, caught up from collegians and brokers133, accustomed to meet men in public life, in hotels, a very "jolly" companion, with a fund of good sense that made her entirely134 capable of managing her own affairs. Mr. King was at the moment conversing135 with still another young lady, who had more years than the last-named-short, compact figure, round girlish face, good, strong, dark eyes, modest in bearing, self-possessed in manner, sensible-who made ready and incisive136 comments, and seemed to have thought deeply on a large range of topics, but had a sort of downright practicality and cool independence, with all her femininity of bearing, that rather, puzzled her interlocutor. It occurred to Mr. King to guess that Miss Selina Morton might be from Boston, which she was not, but it was with a sort of shock of surprise that he learned later that this young girl, moving about in society in the innocent panoply137 of girlhood, was a young doctor, who had no doubt looked through and through him with her keen eyes, studied him in the light of heredity, constitutional tendencies, habits, and environment, as a possible patient. It almost made him ill to think of it. Here were types enough for one morning; but there was still another.
The artist had seated himself on a rock a little distance from the house, and was trying to catch some of the figures as they appeared up the path, and a young girl was looking over his shoulder with an amused face, just as he was getting an elderly man in a long flowing duster, straggling gray hair, hat on the back of his head, large iron-rimmed spectacles, with a baggy138 umbrella, who stopped breathless at the summit, with a wild glare of astonishment139 at the view. This young girl, whom the careless observer might pass without a second glance, was discovered on better acquaintance to express in her face and the lines of her figure some subtle intellectual quality not easily interpreted. Marion Lamont, let us say at once, was of Southern origin, born in London during the temporary residence of her parents there, and while very young deprived by death of her natural protectors. She had a small, low voice, fine hair of a light color, which contrasted with dark eyes, waved back from her forehead, delicate, sensitive features--indeed, her face, especially in conversation with any one, almost always had a wistful, appealing look; in figure short and very slight, lithe141 and graceful142, full of unconscious artistic16 poses, fearless and sure-footed as a gazelle in climbing about the rocks, leaping from stone to stone, and even making her way up a tree that had convenient branches, if the whim92 took her, using her hands and arms like a gymnast, and performing whatever feat140 of. daring or dexterity143 as if the exquisitely144 molded form was all instinct with her indomitable will, and obeyed it, and always with an air of refinement145 and spirited breeding. A child of nature in seeming, but yet a woman who was not to be fathomed146 by a chance acquaintance.
The old man with the spectacles was presently overtaken by a stout, elderly woman, who landed in the exhausted147 condition of a porpoise148 that has come ashore149, and stood regardless of everything but her own weight, while member after member of the party straggled up. No sooner did this group espy150 the artist than they moved in his direction. "There's a painter." "I wonder what he's painting." "Maybe he'll paint us." "Let's see what he's doing." "I should like to see a man paint." And the crowd flowed on, getting in front of the sketcher152, and creeping round behind him for a peep over his shoulder. The artist closed his sketch151-book and retreated, and the stout woman, balked153 of that prey154, turned round a moment to the view, exclaimed, "Ain't that elegant!" and then waddled155 off to the hotel.
"I wonder," Mr. King was saying, "if these excursionists are representative of general American life?"
"If they are," said the artist, "there's little here for my purpose. A good many of them seem to be foreigners, or of foreign origin. Just as soon as these people get naturalized, they lose the picturesqueness156 they had abroad."
"Did it never occur to your highness that they may prefer to be comfortable rather than picturesque157, and that they may be ignorant that they were born for artistic purposes?" It was the low voice of Miss Lamont, and that demure158 person looked up as if she really wanted information.
"I doubt about the comfort," the artist began to reply.
"And so do I," said Miss Sumner. "What on earth do you suppose made those girls come up here in white dresses, blowing about in the wind, and already drabbled? Did you ever see such a lot of cheap millinery? I haven't seen a woman yet with the least bit of style."
"Poor things, they look as if they'd never had a holiday before in their lives, and didn't exactly know what to do with it," apologized Miss Lamont.
"Don't you believe it. They've been to more church and Sunday-school picnics than you ever attended. Look over there!"
It was a group seated about their lunch-baskets. A young gentleman, the comedian159 of the patty, the life of the church sociable160, had put on the hat of one of the girls, and was making himself so irresistibly161 funny in it that all the girls tittered, and their mothers looked a little shamefaced and pleased.
"Well," said Mr. King, "that's the only festive162 sign I've seen. It's more like a funeral procession than a pleasure excursion. What impresses me is the extreme gravity of these people--no fun, no hilarity163, no letting themselves loose for a good time, as they say. Probably they like it, but they seem to have no capacity for enjoying themselves; they have no vivacity164, no gayety--what a contrast to a party in France or Germany off for a day's pleasure--no devices, no resources."
"Yes, it's all sad, respectable, confoundedly uninteresting. What does the doctor say?" asked the artist.
"I know what the doctor will say," put in Miss Summer, "but I tell you that what this crowd needs is missionary165 dressmakers and tailors. If I were dressed that way I should feel and act just as they do. Well, Selina?"
"It's pretty melancholy166. The trouble is constant grinding work and bad food. I've been studying these people. The women are all--"
"Ugly," suggested the artist.
"Well, ill-favored, scrimped; that means ill-nurtured simply. Out of the three hundred there are not half a dozen well-conditioned, filled out physically167 in comfortable proportions. Most of the women look as if they had been dragged out with indoor work and little intellectual life, but the real cause of physical degeneration is bad cooking. If they lived more out-of-doors, as women do in Italy, the food might not make so much difference, but in our climate it is the prime thing. This poor physical state accounts for the want of gayety and the lack of beauty. The men, on the whole, are better than the women, that is, the young men. I don't know as these people are overworked, as the world goes. I dare say, Nettie, there's not a girl in this crowd who could dance with you through a season. They need to be better fed, and to have more elevating recreations-something to educate their taste."
"I've been educating the taste of one excursionist this morning, a good-faced workman, who was prying168 about everywhere with a curious air, and said he never'd been on an excursion before. He came up to me in the office, deferentially169 asked me if I would go into the parlor with him, and, pointing to something hanging on the wall, asked, 'What is that?' 'That,' I said, 'is a view from Sunset Rock, and a very good one.' 'Yes,' he continued, walking close up to it, 'but what is it?' 'Why, it's a painting.' 'Oh, it isn't the place?' 'No, no; it's a painting in oil, done with a brush on a piece of canvas--don't you see--, made to look like the view over there from the rock, colors and all.' 'Yes, I thought, perhaps--you can see a good ways in it. It's pooty.' 'There's another one,' I said--'falls, water coming down, and trees.' 'Well, I declare, so it is! And that's jest a make-believe? I s'pose I can go round and look?' 'Certainly.' And the old fellow tiptoed round the parlor, peering at all the pictures in a confused state of mind, and with a guilty look of enjoyment170. It seems incredible that a person should attain6 his age with such freshness of mind. But I think he is the only one of the party who even looked at the paintings."
"I think it's just pathetic," said Miss Lamont. "Don't you, Mr. Forbes?"
"No; I think it's encouraging. It's a sign of an art appreciation171 in this country. That man will know a painting next time he sees one, and then he won't rest till he has bought a chromo, and so he will go on."
"And if he lives long enough, he will buy one of Mr. Forbes's paintings."
"But not the one that Miss Lamont is going to sit for."
When Mr. King met the party at the dinner-table, the places of Miss Lamont and Mr. Forbes were still vacant. The other ladies looked significantly at them, and one of them said, "Don't you think there's something in it? don't you think they are interested in each other?" Mr. King put down his soup-spoon, too much amazed to reply. Do women never think of anything but mating people who happen to be thrown together? Here were this young lady and his friend, who had known each other for three days, perhaps, in the most casual way, and her friends had her already as good as married to him and off on a wedding journey. All that Mr. King said, after apparent deep cogitation172, was, "I suppose if it were here it would have to be in a traveling-dress," which the women thought frivolous173.
Yet it was undeniable that the artist and Marion had a common taste for hunting out picturesque places in the wood-paths, among the rocks, and on the edges of precipices175, and they dragged the rest of the party many a mile through wildernesses176 of beauty. Sketching177 was the object of all these expeditions, but it always happened--there seemed a fatality178 in it that whenever they halted anywhere for a rest or a view, the Lamont girl was sure to take an artistic pose, which the artist couldn't resist, and his whole occupation seemed to be drawing her, with the Catskills for a background. "There," he would say, "stay just as you are; yes, leaning a little so"--it was wonderful how the lithe figure adapted itself to any background--"and turn your head this way, looking at me." The artist began to draw, and every time he gave a quick glance upwards179 from his book, there were the wistful face and those eyes. "Confound it! I beg your pardon-the light. Will you please turn your eyes a little off, that way-so." There was no reason why the artist should be nervous, the face was perfectly180 demure; but the fact is that art will have only one mistress. So the drawing limped on from day to day, and the excursions became a matter of course. Sometimes the party drove, extending their explorations miles among the hills, exhilarated by the sparkling air, excited by the succession of lovely changing prospects, bestowing181 their compassion182 upon the summer boarders in the smartly painted boarding-houses, and comparing the other big hotels with their own. They couldn't help looking down on the summer boarders, any more than cottagers at other places can help a feeling of superiority to people in hotels. It is a natural desire to make an aristocratic line somewhere. Of course they saw the Kaaterskill Falls, and bought twenty-five cents' worth of water to pour over them, and they came very near seeing the Haines Falls, but were a little too late.
"Have the falls been taken in today?" asked Marion, seriously.
"I'm real sorry, miss," said the proprietor, "but there's just been a party here and taken the water. But you can go down and look if you want to, and it won't cost you a cent."
They went down, and saw where the falls ought to be. The artist said it was a sort of dry-plate process, to be developed in the mind afterwards; Mr. King likened it to a dry smoke without lighting183 the cigar; and the doctor said it certainly had the sanitary184 advantage of not being damp. The party even penetrated185 the Platerskill Cove29, and were well rewarded by its exceeding beauty, as is every one who goes there. There are sketches186 of all these lovely places in a certain artist's book, all looking, however, very much alike, and consisting principally of a graceful figure in a great variety of unstudied attitudes.
"Isn't this a nervous sort of a place?" the artist asked his friend, as they sat in his chamber overlooking the world.
"Perhaps it is. I have a fancy that some people are born to enjoy the valley, and some the mountains."
"I think it makes a person nervous to live on a high place. This feeling of constant elevation187 tires one; it gives a fellow no such sense of bodily repose67 as he has in a valley. And the wind, it's constantly nagging188, rattling189 the windows and banging the doors. I can't escape the unrest of it." The artist was turning the leaves and contemplating190 the poverty of his sketch-book. "The fact is, I get better subjects on the seashore."
"Probably the sea would suit us better. By the way, did I tell you that Miss Lamont's uncle came last night from Richmond? Mr. De Long, uncle on the mother's side. I thought there was French blood in her."
"What is he like?"
"Oh, a comfortable bachelor, past middle age; business man; Southern; just a little touch of the 'cyar' for 'car.' Said he was going to take his niece to Newport next week. Has Miss Lamont said anything about going there?"
"Well, she did mention it the other day."
The house was filling up, and, King thought, losing its family aspect. He had taken quite a liking191 for the society of the pretty invalid girl, and was fond of sitting by her, seeing the delicate color come back to her cheeks, and listening to her shrewd little society comments. He thought she took pleasure in having him push her wheel-chair up and down the piazza at least she rewarded him by grateful looks, and complimented him by asking his advice about reading and about being useful to others. Like most young girls whose career of gayety is arrested as hers was, she felt an inclination192 to coquet a little with the serious side of life. All this had been pleasant to Mr. King, but now that so many more guests had come, he found himself most of the time out of business. The girl's chariot was always surrounded by admirers and sympathizers. All the young men were anxious to wheel her up and down by the hour; there was always a strife193 for this sweet office; and at night, when the vehicle had been lifted up the first flight, it was beautiful to see the eagerness of sacrifice exhibited by these young fellows to wheel her down the long corridor to her chamber. After all, it is a kindly194, unselfish world, full of tenderness for women, and especially for invalid women who are pretty. There was all day long a competition of dudes and elderly widowers195 and bachelors to wait on her. One thought she needed a little more wheeling; another volunteered to bring her a glass of water; there was always some one to pick up her fan, to recover her handkerchief (why is it that the fans and handkerchiefs of ugly women seldom go astray?), to fetch her shawl--was there anything they could do? The charming little heiress accepted all the attentions with most engaging sweetness. Say what you will, men have good hearts.
Yes, they were going to Newport. King and Forbes, who had not had a Fourth of July for some time, wanted to see what it was like at Newport. Mr. De Long would like their company. But before they went the artist must make one more trial at a sketch-must get the local color. It was a large party that went one morning to see it done under the famous ledge of rocks on the Red Path. It is a fascinating spot, with its coolness, sense of seclusion196, mosses197, wild flowers, and ferns. In a small grotto198 under the frowning wall of the precipice174 is said to be a spring, but it is difficult to find, and lovers need to go a great many times in search of it. People not in love can sometimes find a damp place in the sand. The question was where Miss Lamont should pose. Should she nestle under the great ledge, or sit on a projecting rock with her figure against the sky? The artist could not satisfy himself, and the girl, always adventurous199, kept shifting her position, climbing about on the jutting200 ledge, until she stood at last on the top of the precipice, which was some thirty or forty feet high. Against the top leaned a dead balsam, just as some tempest had cast it, its dead branches bleached201 and scraggy. Down this impossible ladder the girl announced her intention of coming. "No, no," shouted a chorus of voices; "go round; it's unsafe; the limbs will break; you can't get through them; you'll break your neck." The girl stood calculating the possibility. The more difficult the feat seemed, the more she longed to try it.
"For Heaven's sake don't try it, Miss Lamont," cried the artist.
"But I want to. I think I must. You can sketch me in the act. It will be something new."
And before any one could interpose, the resolute202 girl caught hold of the balsam and swung off. A boy or a squirrel would have made nothing of the feat. But for a young lady in long skirts to make her way down that balsam, squirming about and through the stubs and dead limbs, testing each one before she trusted her weight to it, was another affair. It needed a very cool head and the skill of a gymnast. To transfer her hold from one limb to another, and work downward, keeping her skirts neatly gathered about her feet, was an achievement that the spectators could appreciate; the presence of spectators made it much more difficult. And the lookers-on were a good deal more excited than the girl. The artist had his book ready, and when the little figure was half-way down, clinging in a position at once artistic and painful, he began. "Work fast," said the girl. "It's hard hanging on." But the pencil wouldn't work. The artist made a lot of wild marks. He would have given the world to sketch in that exquisite figure, but every time he cast his eye upward the peril203 was so evident that his hand shook. It was no use. The danger increased as she descended204, and with it the excitement of the spectators. All the young gentlemen declared they would catch her if she fell, and some of them seemed to hope she might drop into their arms. Swing off she certainly must when the lowest limb was reached. But that was ten feet above the ground and the alighting-place was sharp rock and broken bowlders. The artist kept up a pretense205 of drawing. He felt every movement of her supple206 figure and the strain upon the slender arms, but this could not be transferred to the book. It was nervous work. The girl was evidently getting weary, but not losing her pluck. The young fellows were very anxious that the artist should keep at his work; they would catch her. There was a pause; the girl had come to the last limb; she was warily207 meditating208 a slide or a leap; the young men were quite ready to sacrifice themselves; but somehow, no one could tell exactly how, the girl swung low, held herself suspended by her hands for an instant, and then dropped into the right place--trust a woman for that; and the artist, his face flushed, set her down upon the nearest flat rock. Chorus from the party, "She is saved!"
"And my sketch is gone up again."
"I'm sorry, Mr. Forbes." The girl looked full of innocent regret. "But when I was up there I had to come down that tree. I couldn't help it, really."
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hospitable
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| adj.好客的；宽容的；有利的，适宜的 | |
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mansion
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| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
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delectable
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| adj.使人愉快的；美味的 | |
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anticipation
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| n.预期，预料，期望 | |
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realization
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| n.实现；认识到，深刻了解 | |
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attain
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| vt.达到，获得，完成 | |
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unreasonable
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| adj.不讲道理的，不合情理的，过度的 | |
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fulfill
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| vt.履行，实现，完成；满足，使满意 | |
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exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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echelon
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| n.梯队；组织系统中的等级；v.排成梯队 | |
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ridges
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| n.脊( ridge的名词复数 )；山脊；脊状突起；大气层的)高压脊 | |
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receding
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| v.逐渐远离( recede的现在分词 )；向后倾斜；自原处后退或避开别人的注视；尤指问题 | |
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artistically
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| adv.艺术性地 | |
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artistic
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| adj.艺术(家)的，美术(家)的；善于艺术创作的 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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kindling
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| n. 点火, 可燃物 动词kindle的现在分词形式 | |
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akin
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| adj.同族的，类似的 | |
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memoranda
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| n. 备忘录, 便条 名词memorandum的复数形式 | |
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auguries
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| n.（古罗马）占卜术，占卜仪式( augury的名词复数 )；预兆 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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expectancy
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| n.期望，预期，（根据概率统计求得）预期数额 | |
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maidenly
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| adj. 像处女的, 谨慎的, 稳静的 | |
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literally
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| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
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pathos
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| n.哀婉，悲怆 | |
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scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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eternity
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| n.不朽，来世；永恒，无穷 | |
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cove
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| n.小海湾，小峡谷 | |
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permanently
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| adv.永恒地，永久地，固定不变地 | |
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affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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ledge
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| n.壁架，架状突出物；岩架，岩礁 | |
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wagon
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| n.四轮马车，手推车，面包车；无盖运货列车 | |
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34
ascent
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| n.(声望或地位)提高；上升，升高；登高 | |
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vista
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| n.远景，深景，展望，回想 | |
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vistas
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| 长条形景色( vista的名词复数 )； 回顾； 展望； （未来可能发生的）一系列情景 | |
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pestered
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| 使烦恼，纠缠( pester的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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epitome
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| n.典型，梗概 | |
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39
deferential
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| adj. 敬意的，恭敬的 | |
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40
humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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42
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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43
prattled
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| v.（小孩般）天真无邪地说话( prattle的过去式和过去分词 )；发出连续而无意义的声音；闲扯；东拉西扯 | |
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chaff
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| v.取笑，嘲笑；n.谷壳 | |
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bully
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| n.恃强欺弱者，小流氓；vt.威胁，欺侮 | |
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flaunted
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| v.炫耀，夸耀( flaunt的过去式和过去分词 )；有什么能耐就施展出来 | |
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rusty
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| adj.生锈的；锈色的；荒废了的 | |
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musket
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| n.滑膛枪 | |
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relics
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| [pl.］n.遗物，遗迹，遗产；遗体，尸骸 | |
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slaking
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| n.熟化v.满足( slake的现在分词 ) | |
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51
antiquity
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| n.古老；高龄；古物，古迹 | |
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52
immortality
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| n.不死，不朽 | |
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53
chiseled
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| adj.凿刻的，轮廓分明的v.凿，雕，镌( chisel的过去式 ) | |
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54
musing
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| n. 沉思，冥想 adj. 沉思的, 冥想的 动词muse的现在分词形式 | |
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55
varied
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| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
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prospects
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| n.希望，前途(恒为复数) | |
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57
gorges
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| n.山峡，峡谷( gorge的名词复数 )；咽喉v.（用食物把自己）塞饱，填饱( gorge的第三人称单数 )；作呕 | |
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58
enchanting
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| a.讨人喜欢的 | |
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59
apotheosis
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| n.神圣之理想；美化；颂扬 | |
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60
veranda
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| n.走廊；阳台 | |
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61
subdued
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| adj. 屈服的，柔和的，减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
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frivolity
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| n.轻松的乐事，兴高采烈；轻浮的举止 | |
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demeanor
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| n.行为；风度 | |
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parlor
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| n.店铺，营业室；会客室，客厅 | |
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pensively
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| adv.沉思地，焦虑地 | |
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moody
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| adj.心情不稳的，易怒的，喜怒无常的 | |
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repose
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| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
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68
reposeful
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| adj.平稳的，沉着的 | |
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scriptures
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| 经文，圣典( scripture的名词复数 )； 经典 | |
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Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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proprietor
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| n.所有人；业主；经营者 | |
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piazza
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| n.广场；走廊 | |
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73
desecrated
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| 毁坏或亵渎( desecrate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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premises
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| n.建筑物，房屋 | |
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sojourn
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| v./n.旅居，寄居；逗留 | |
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neatly
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| adv.整洁地，干净地，灵巧地，熟练地 | |
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conned
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| adj.被骗了v.指挥操舵( conn的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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beheld
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| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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celebrity
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| n.名人，名流；著名，名声，名望 | |
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82
palled
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| v.（因过多或过久而）生厌，感到乏味，厌烦( pall的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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83
abode
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| n.住处，住所 | |
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84
wilderness
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| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
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85
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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86
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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87
uncertainty
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| n.易变，靠不住，不确知，不确定的事物 | |
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88
garrison
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| n.卫戍部队；驻地，卫戍区；vt.派(兵)驻防 | |
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lodging
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| n.寄宿，住所；(大学生的)校外宿舍 | |
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rationing
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| n.定量供应 | |
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WHIMS
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| 虚妄，禅病 | |
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whim
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| n.一时的兴致，突然的念头；奇想，幻想 | |
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grumble
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| vi.抱怨；咕哝；n.抱怨，牢骚；咕哝，隆隆声 | |
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machinery
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| n.(总称)机械，机器；机构 | |
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annex
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| vt.兼并，吞并；n.附属建筑物 | |
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burnished
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| adj.抛光的，光亮的v.擦亮（金属等），磨光( burnish的过去式和过去分词 )；被擦亮，磨光 | |
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coppers
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| 铜( copper的名词复数 )； 铜币 | |
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triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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siesta
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| n.午睡 | |
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martial
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| adj.战争的，军事的，尚武的，威武的 | |
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entreat
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| v.恳求，恳请 | |
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102
caper
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| v.雀跃，欢蹦；n.雀跃，跳跃；续随子，刺山柑花蕾；嬉戏 | |
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103
wagons
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| n.四轮的运货马车( wagon的名词复数 )；铁路货车；小手推车 | |
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104
linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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106
presaged
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| v.预示，预兆( presage的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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107
dilution
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| n.稀释，淡化 | |
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108
assent
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| v.批准，认可；n.批准，认可 | |
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109
glib
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| adj.圆滑的，油嘴滑舌的 | |
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110
condescend
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| v.俯就，屈尊；堕落，丢丑 | |
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111
wholesale
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| n.批发；adv.以批发方式；vt.批发，成批出售 | |
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112
retail
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| v./n.零售；adv.以零售价格 | |
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113
dealer
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| n.商人，贩子 | |
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114
elation
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| n.兴高采烈，洋洋得意 | |
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115
conspicuous
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| adj.明眼的，惹人注目的；炫耀的，摆阔气的 | |
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116
benevolent
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| adj.仁慈的，乐善好施的 | |
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117
scooped
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| v.抢先报道( scoop的过去式和过去分词 )；（敏捷地）抱起；抢先获得；用铲[勺]等挖（洞等） | |
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118
undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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119
stoutness
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| 坚固，刚毅 | |
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120
placid
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| adj.安静的，平和的 | |
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121
housekeeper
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| n.管理家务的主妇，女管家 | |
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122
twine
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| v.搓，织，编饰；（使）缠绕 | |
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123
odds
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| n.让步，机率，可能性，比率；胜败优劣之别 | |
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124
invalid
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| n.病人，伤残人；adj.有病的，伤残的；无效的 | |
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125
sentimental
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| adj.多愁善感的，感伤的 | |
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126
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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127
prostration
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| n. 平伏, 跪倒, 疲劳 | |
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128
robustness
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| 坚固性，健壮性；鲁棒性 | |
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129
comely
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| adj.漂亮的，合宜的 | |
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130
repartee
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| n.机敏的应答 | |
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131
flirt
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| v.调情，挑逗，调戏；n.调情者，卖俏者 | |
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132
adept
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| adj.老练的，精通的 | |
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133
brokers
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| n.（股票、外币等）经纪人( broker的名词复数 )；中间人；代理商；（订合同的）中人v.做掮客（或中人等）( broker的第三人称单数 )；作为权力经纪人进行谈判；以中间人等身份安排… | |
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134
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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135
conversing
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| v.交谈，谈话( converse的现在分词 ) | |
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136
incisive
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| adj.敏锐的，机敏的，锋利的，切入的 | |
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137
panoply
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| n.全副甲胄，礼服 | |
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138
baggy
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| adj.膨胀如袋的，宽松下垂的 | |
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139
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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140
feat
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| n.功绩；武艺，技艺；adj.灵巧的，漂亮的，合适的 | |
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141
lithe
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| adj.(指人、身体)柔软的，易弯的 | |
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142
graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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143
dexterity
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| n.(手的)灵巧，灵活 | |
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144
exquisitely
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| adv.精致地；强烈地；剧烈地；异常地 | |
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145
refinement
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| n.文雅；高尚；精美；精制；精炼 | |
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146
fathomed
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| 理解…的真意( fathom的过去式和过去分词 )； 彻底了解； 弄清真相 | |
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147
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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148
porpoise
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| n.鼠海豚 | |
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149
ashore
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| adv.在(向)岸上，上岸 | |
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150
espy
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| v.（从远处等）突然看到 | |
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151
sketch
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| n.草图；梗概；素描；v.素描；概述 | |
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152
sketcher
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| n.画略图者，作素描者，舞台布景设计者 | |
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153
balked
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| v.畏缩不前，犹豫( balk的过去式和过去分词 )；（指马）不肯跑 | |
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154
prey
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| n.被掠食者，牺牲者，掠食；v.捕食，掠夺，折磨 | |
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155
waddled
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| v.（像鸭子一样）摇摇摆摆地走( waddle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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156
picturesqueness
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157
picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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158
demure
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| adj.严肃的；端庄的 | |
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159
comedian
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| n.喜剧演员；滑稽演员 | |
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160
sociable
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| adj.好交际的，友好的，合群的 | |
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161
irresistibly
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| adv.无法抵抗地，不能自持地；极为诱惑人地 | |
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162
festive
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| adj.欢宴的，节日的 | |
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163
hilarity
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| n.欢乐；热闹 | |
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164
vivacity
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| n.快活，活泼，精神充沛 | |
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165
missionary
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| adj.教会的，传教(士)的；n.传教士 | |
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166
melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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167
physically
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| adj.物质上，体格上，身体上，按自然规律 | |
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168
prying
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| adj.爱打听的v.打听，刺探（他人的私事）( pry的现在分词 )；撬开 | |
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169
deferentially
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| adv.表示敬意地，谦恭地 | |
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170
enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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171
appreciation
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| n.评价；欣赏；感谢；领会，理解；价格上涨 | |
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172
cogitation
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| n.仔细思考，计划，设计 | |
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173
frivolous
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| adj.轻薄的；轻率的 | |
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174
precipice
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| n.悬崖，危急的处境 | |
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175
precipices
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| n.悬崖，峭壁( precipice的名词复数 ) | |
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176
wildernesses
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| 荒野( wilderness的名词复数 )； 沙漠； （政治家）在野； 不再当政（或掌权） | |
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177
sketching
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| n.草图 | |
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178
fatality
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| n.不幸，灾祸，天命 | |
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179
upwards
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| adv.向上，在更高处...以上 | |
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180
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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181
bestowing
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| 砖窑中砖堆上层已烧透的砖 | |
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182
compassion
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| n.同情，怜悯 | |
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183
lighting
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| n.照明，光线的明暗，舞台灯光 | |
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184
sanitary
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| adj.卫生方面的，卫生的，清洁的，卫生的 | |
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185
penetrated
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| adj. 击穿的，鞭辟入里的 动词penetrate的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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186
sketches
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| n.草图( sketch的名词复数 )；素描；速写；梗概 | |
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187
elevation
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| n.高度；海拔；高地；上升；提高 | |
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188
nagging
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| adj.唠叨的，挑剔的；使人不得安宁的v.不断地挑剔或批评（某人）( nag的现在分词 )；不断地烦扰或伤害（某人）；无休止地抱怨；不断指责 | |
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189
rattling
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| adj. 格格作响的, 活泼的, 很好的 adv. 极其, 很, 非常 动词rattle的现在分词 | |
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190
contemplating
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| 深思，细想，仔细考虑( contemplate的现在分词 )； 注视，凝视； 考虑接受（发生某事的可能性）； 深思熟虑，沉思，苦思冥想 | |
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191
liking
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| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
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192
inclination
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| n.倾斜；点头；弯腰；斜坡；倾度；倾向；爱好 | |
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193
strife
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| n.争吵，冲突，倾轧，竞争 | |
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194
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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195
widowers
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| n.鳏夫( widower的名词复数 ) | |
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196
seclusion
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| n.隐遁，隔离 | |
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197
mosses
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| n. 藓类, 苔藓植物 名词moss的复数形式 | |
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198
grotto
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| n.洞穴 | |
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199
adventurous
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| adj.爱冒险的；惊心动魄的，惊险的，刺激的 | |
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200
jutting
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| v.（使）突出( jut的现在分词 )；伸出；（从…）突出；高出 | |
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201
bleached
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| 漂白的，晒白的，颜色变浅的 | |
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202
resolute
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| adj.坚决的，果敢的 | |
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203
peril
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| n.(严重的)危险；危险的事物 | |
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204
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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205
pretense
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| n.矫饰，做作，借口 | |
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206
supple
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| adj.柔软的，易弯的，逢迎的，顺从的，灵活的；vt.使柔软，使柔顺，使顺从；vi.变柔软，变柔顺 | |
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207
warily
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| adv.留心地 | |
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208
meditating
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| a.沉思的，冥想的 | |
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