Did I stand ready to play second fiddle to her? No, no! a thousand times no! Was I not a New England lady? Did I not feel that the literature of the country had its eyes upon me? He couldn't help it; the deploring glance that he cast upon me was enough to satisfy me of that. Indeed, his feelings were so hurt that he really could not go through the figures of the cotillon, but kept dancing every which way, like a man torn with distractions. My heart ached for him. I could not bear to see his distress, and retired with dignity to my seat upstairs and looked on, while my proud New England heart burned with indignation. If I live, that committee of gentlemen shall hear from me again.
XIV.
THE NATURAL HISTORY PHILANTHROPIST.
SISTERS:—He has gone! The luminous star that has shone upon us with such refulgence for the last few weeks, has gone to our beloved "Hub of the Universe," where poets, governors, and other distinguished men of New England are now revolving around him like the spokes of a cart wheel. Mr. Holmes has written him some sweet verses; Mr. Longfellow has greeted him with welcomes. They have given him balls, dinners, and a cold in his face. In short, New England has been true to itself and its climate. When the hub turns on its axle, the spokes whirl and the tires revolve, giving a swift throb to the whole universe. As a New England woman—I beg pardon—young lady, I am proud of Boston, proud of the honor they are doing to Him. But after all, the Hub must imitate. We took the crown off.
Before he left, a new and exquisite idea came into my head—some people may think it a little flighty, but you will understand all the poetry it contains. I have a canary bird—for I love birds with all the inborn intensity of genius—so old that his feathers are nothing more than a creamy white. In that particular he—I should say she—being a female, that never sings beyond a chirp, has the gift of silence peculiar to the sex. I got her cheaper on that account. Well, she is almost dove-like in color and in sweetness of disposition. No more lovely messenger from heart to heart could be found in the whole world.
Well, sisters, I took this bird from its cage with my own hands, and I smothered it with kisses from my own lips, which quivered with intensity of emotion. Then I tied a blue ribbon about its neck, and attached to that a tenty-tointy note which contained these lines:
Farewell, noble prince, my fond heart is gushing
With thoughts that no language can ever reveal;
With the sweetest affection this warm cheek is blushing,
And hopes to my maidenly bosom will steal,
Of a time when our souls, with united expression,
Shall mingle with harmony more than divine;
And the priest—be he Greek, or of any profession—
Shall bless this poor hand as it clings unto thine.
The paper was of an exquisite rose-color on which I indited this gem. I flatter myself that genius can sometimes write beautifully. It is not just the thing to particularize here, but if that Grand Duke can read English he must have admired the sweet morsel which that lovely songster bore to him on the wings—well, of a canary.
I would not send my bird in a cage, because handsome cages are expensive, and do not carry an idea of freedom with them, which our spread eagle might have led the great Grand Duke to expect. Neither would I trust her with a street boy whose hands might be dirty and unsafe. No, I put on my bonnet, locked the bird with his blue ribbon in a box covered with gilt paper, and walked straight down to the Clarendon Tavern, and asked for one of the committee-men.