“Thus much then is certain,” mentally ejaculated the vicar, “that she is enabled, by the aid of music, to signify her approbation, or disapprobation, of any act which I may attempt to perform. I accordingly predicate of this said music, that it is, bonâ fide, a logical weapon; inasmuch as it can affirm and deny. It, therefore, only remains for me, knowing as I do that I have some act to perform, to ascertain the ‘locus’ or ‘ubi,’ for the act in question, whatever it may be, must of necessity be done or accomplished ‘in proprio loco,’ or in some definite part of the room.” With this determination, founded, as he believed it to be, on the unerring basis of Aristotelian logic, he advanced towards the table; but the loud and discordant sounds of the instrument at once convinced him, that, however correct his notions might be with reference to the ‘substance’ or first ‘predicament,’ they were evidently erroneous as to the ‘accidents,’ of ‘time,’ ‘place,’ and ‘relation;’ at least, such were the ideas that floated through the categorical organ of his cranium, and he accordingly faced about, and made a retreat towards the window; but the notes now became still more clamorous, and increased in vehemence. Ay, ay, thought he, it is quite evident that I am receding from the theatre of action; and with this conviction he diverted his steps into a different direction, and, in a slow pace, tracked the path by his ear, with as much sagacity as a dog follows his prey by his nose. As he approached the fire-place, the storm of sounds gradually subsided, until a peaceful murmur breathed around, which finally died away as the vicar placed his hand upon the chimney-piece. So then it appears, after all, that I have some service to perform at the fire-side. It is, doubtless, to sit down, thought he, as he espied the elbow-chair, which, at that moment, appeared to his fancy, as if stretching forth its hospitable arms to receive him; but scarcely had he answered the imaginary invitation of his old friend, by presenting the nether part of his person to its luxurious lap of down, than a sudden sforzato, or crash in the minor key, made him rebound upon his legs, as nimbly as though the cushion had been a bed of thorns. Miss Villers now resolved the discord, and dexterously dashed into an allegro movement, in which she introduced the air of “How sweet are the flowers that grow!”
The vicar’s face mantled with a smile, as the bouquet on the chimney-piece met his eye, and harmonised with the sounds that floated in his ear. It is evident, thought he, that those flowers are the objects of my pursuit,--but what was he to do with them? The musician solved the question, by tastefully exchanging the former air for that of “Ask if yon damask rose be sweet.” No sooner had these notes delivered their melodious errand to the subtle ear of the vicar, than he instantly seized the rose, and carried it in triumph to his olfactory organs; at the same moment the music ceased. The pause, however, was but of short duration; for Miss Villers, by resuming her labours, intimated that some farther service was expected. Was he to return the rose? Certainly not; for the attempt was marked by strong disapprobation. Was he to take it out of the room? The music put a decided negative upon that movement; for the vicar had scarcely measured half the distance of the apartment before the air of “Fly not yet” arrested his steps. By a continuation of the same varying style of expression, and strongly marked rhythm, the vicar was shortly led to affix the rose upon the harp.
“Upon my word,” exclaimed the vicar, “I shall no longer hesitate to credit the story related in ‘Peter Simple,’ of a certain lady who played so exquisitely, that upon introducing an imitation of thunder, the cream for tea became sour, besides three casks of beer in the cellar!”
In closing our account of this interesting scene, it is scarcely necessary to describe the delight and mirth of the juvenile party. It was, in truth, a very extraordinary exhibition; and when the reader considers that, beyond what was furnished by the expressive language of music, the vicar did not receive a single hint for his guidance, he may, perhaps, cherish some scepticism upon the subject; but we can assure him that we have repeatedly witnessed, not only a similar but a still more complicated performance of the same kind, and with equal success.[(45)]
The evening of the day on which this musical divertisement was performed, was one of those which so frequently occur in August, when sultry heat is succeeded by refreshing coolness. Isabella Villers possessed a quick sensibility to the beauties of nature, and she quitted the drawing-room to enjoy, without interruption, that pensive quiet which maintained an undisputed dominion. The moon had but just risen, tipping the summits of the wood with silver, while it left the mass of foliage in deeper shadow. Never was there a fairy scene better calculated to awaken the emotions of the heart, or to kindle the energies of the imagination. The hour too was propitious to the indulgence of that undefined species of reverie which is the refinement of intellectual pleasure. Having traversed the winding path of the wood for some distance, she found herself in one of those sequestered glades we have formerly described. She seated herself on a rustic bench, tastefully formed out of an aged oak, whose venerable figure was bending under the hand of Time, and her mind was gratefully lulled into a pensive calm by the review of past events, as the ear is soothed by the murmur of wild and distant music. A sudden breath of wind, as it swept the foliage, aroused her from her reverie, and turned the current of her ideas from past scenes to future prospects. The moon, as if in sympathy, suddenly peered through the sylvan avenue, and threw her rays upon one of those statues which we have already described as giving such an air of classic sanctity to these secluded glades. It was the figure of Time, which in the gloom of the wood had hitherto escaped her observation. To a mind of exuberant fancy, a leaf cannot fall to the ground, nor a zephyr waft the fragrance of the violet on its dewy pinions, without conveying some beautiful emblem of morality. Isabella rose from her seat, and approached the figure, whose hoary countenance appeared as if lighted up into a placid smile by the beams of the moon, which fell directly upon it; her eye glanced from his face to his scythe; its blade was hidden in a cluster of roses--Were I susceptible of a superstitious impression, thought Isabella, did ever a circumstance present itself better calculated to justify its indulgence? On the pedestal of the figure was a basso relievo, in which Time appeared in the act of shivering into pieces the club of Hercules with a crutch. In a few minutes, she quitted the scene, which, in spite of her better reason, she could not wholly divest of its prophetic influence, and proceeding along the winding path, at length descended into the valley. The moon was at this time shrouded in dark clouds, and although, by a painful effort, Isabella Villers summoned all the powers of her vision, the objects around her remained invisible, until the eye had so far accommodated itself to the gloom, as to recognise the white foam of the waterfall. The moon now gave a coy and furtive glance, the water for an instant sparkled in her beams, and then was lost in deeper shadow. A spectre of human form, but of gigantic stature, arose from the spot to which the eyes of Isabella had been directed--was it the spirit of the Fountain? It appeared to advance, but the moon once again shining forth in splendour, it vanished.
“And what seem’d corporal melted
As breath into the wind.”
The courage of Isabella was destined to sustain another trial, for scarcely had the vision disappeared than she distinctly heard her own name pronounced; and since, from the direction of the sound, she well knew that the spot from which it issued was inaccessible, we ought not to feel surprised at her having at the instant referred it to a supernatural origin--it was, however, but the illusion of the moment, and she determined to return to the house and submit the events of the evening to the judgment of Mr. Seymour.
We shall not trespass any longer upon the patience of the reader, than to state that Miss Villers arrived safely at the lodge, and very shortly afterwards retired to rest. With your permission, gentle reader, we will follow her example; for, to say the truth, our lamp--that midnight sun which illumines the path of the author, is dimmed by the dark clouds that lower at its setting; our Pegasus, the pen, which has raced for so many hours over the snowy plains of foolscap, is fairly “done up,” and refuses any longer to sip of that spring which can alone sustain its powers, and impart utility to its movements.
Ecce!