As they rode down, Captain Clifton, warming slightly from his cool reserve, said—
“I think, Fairfax, that you, poet and artist as you claim to be, will rather like Clifton. Tourists, who have visited our part of the country, think the scenery there very fine. It impresses me merely as being unique. There is something formal—but, to myself, not therefore unpleasing in that crescent of seven peaks—the tallest being in the centre and gradually declining thence to the lowest, which may be called the horns of the crescent, and point Southward. Those peaks rise from a forest of—first elms and oaks around their base; then pines farther up their sides; and last of cedars, above which rise the pinnacle of white quartz. This crescent of mountains surrounds and shelters from the North winds the family mansion, which is situated in the woods at its foot. North of the peaks, the country is wild and rugged, but partly covered with thick forest, and affording the best hunting grounds in the world. There you may course the hare; track the deer; or if your tastes aspire to a fiercer conflict, hunt the wolf, the wild cat, or the bear—!”
“—Or the rattle-snake, copper-head, or moccasin! Thank you, I have no inclination for crusade against those mountaineers,” laughed Fairfax.
“Perhaps you like angling? There is a trout stream at the foot of the wooded lawn, in front of the house. I must tell you about that, for it is the head waters of a fine river.
“From the Western cliff there springs a torrent that with many a leap, and fall, and rebound, tumbles tumultuously down the side of the mountain, and falling into a channel at the foot of the lawn flows calmly on, until it meets a second fall, from whence it goes hurrying on, through forests, fields and rocks, taking tribute from many a mountain torrent, and many a meadow-stream, and widening as it goes, until it becomes a mighty river, rushing on, to pour its floods into the majestic James. After which, they both go on, breaking through range after range of mountains, and so conquer their passage to the sea—even as in the feudal days of the olden country, some mountain chieftain, gathering his vassals together, came rushing down from his highland home, and laying all the country under tribute in his course, hurried on to throw all his treasures at the feet of his sovereign, and go with him to the wars.”
“Clifton!” said Fairfax, more seriously than he had yet spoken, “all your illustrations—all your metaphors—all your thoughts, fancies and imaginings are—not ‘of the earth, earthy,’ but worse—far worse—of the world, worldly! Of the world, its castes, customs and conventions—its pomps, vanities and falsities! You speak of the grandest, the most imposing—oh! let me call it at once, the most magnificent area of mountain scenery in the hemisphere, with all the earth, below and around, covered with a sea of vapor that rises and falls, rolling from horizon to horizon, like the waves of the ocean, and you compare it to a veiled royal bride! You describe a mighty mountain-river, rending its passage through the everlasting rocks, overleaping, uprooting, bearing down and bearing on all obstacles to its resistless rush towards the sea, and you liken it to a chieftain going to pay tribute to a King! Ah, Clifton of Clifton, the beauty, the glory, and the majesty of the earth pleases you, but the ‘pomp, pride, and circumstance’ of the world inspires you! But when was it otherwise with a Clifton, of Clifton? ‘The spirit of intense worldliness has ever been their bane and curse—their sin and its punishment!’” he concluded, relapsing into his mock-tragic air.
“Ah! so you are familiar with the popular legend that you have just quoted,” said Captain Clifton. “But,” he added, with a sarcastic smile, “were Georgia here, I think she could refute the charge, and prove one Clifton, at least, has been guided by any spirit rather than that of ‘intense worldliness.’”
“Georgia?”
“I beg her pardon! Mrs. Clifton, of Clifton.”
“Oh! your aunt! but by my soul, Captain, that was a very irreverent way of introducing the old lady! Do young men in your patriarchal part of the country call old gentlewomen by their Christian names?”