[CHAPTER I.]
“Rien n’est si contagieux qui l’exemple; et nous ne faisons jamais de grand biens: ni de grand maux, qui n’en produisent de semblables.”
The ancestry of Alida was of ancient date in English heraldry, some of whom emigrated to America a short time before the revolution, and settled in the southern provinces, while her father fixed his abode in the state of New-York.
In the calm retirement of the country, at a considerable distance from the bustle of the town, was situated his beautiful residence, which had every advantage in point of prospect that luxuriant nature could give when it is most lavish of its bounties.
The mind of its owner took particular delight in rural pleasures and amusements; in dissipating a part of his time in the innocent scenes of rustic life, and in attending to the cultivation of his estate, which was large and extensive.
Here he would contemplate, in all their variety, the natural beauties of creation, when arrayed in its richest attire; in the inimitable splendour of the surrounding scenery; or amuse himself in attendance to diversified employments, some of which, as pastimes, served the two-fold purposes of recreation and amusement.
Thus his years glided on in the most harmonious tranquillity; where his cares were dissipated alternately in the bosom of his family, and the “tumults of life, real or imaginary, fleeted away in a mutual confidence and unreserved friendship.”
Here he would accustom himself to rise at early dawn, and dwell with particular pleasure on the morning scenery. The dappled, rosy-fingered, blushing morn, arrested his attention; those mild tints that particularly express the break of day, just awakening from repose; when the curtain of the night seems insensibly withdrawn, and the varied landscape exhibits itself by degrees, while the colours of the atmosphere yet seem doubtful, and the scene imperfect to the view; when the darkness is not entirely fled, nor the light of the new day is fully seen; when coolness sits upon the hills, and the dews hang trembling upon every leaf; when the groves begin to resound with the murmurs of warbling melody, and the valleys echo with reverberated sounds.
How pleasing at such a time to adore in his works the wonders of the Creator. That period when the sun begins to diffuse his early rays, to tip the mountains with light, and the breezes in the air mildly prognosticate the soft blushes of the morning:
“For far beyond the pageantry of power,