“What a pity, ’Bel, that the election is over; it would be such a charming thing to ‘Hurrah for Polk and Dallas!’ ”
“Time enough for that four years hence; and, by the way, you may as well begin to prepare for the next campaign. I intend to adopt oratory as a profession; and you would do very respectably in that line, too, I think.”
I looked despairingly at the paper in my hand, and wondered if I could make a speech! At any rate, my literary career was ended. I spoke of the simplicity of my tastes, but I felt
(“My gentle boy, remember this
Is nothing but a dream.”)
a conscious weakness, as though I had suddenly been called upon to swing an axe or lift a sledge-hammer. I could admire St. Paul’s, but (I speak guardedly, lest my capabilities should be questioned,) it would not be in accordance with my taste to conceive the plan or perform the labor of building. So, though I might read some pages of Lord Verulam—nay, actually admire them—their production would not have been to me—agreeable. But the plea would do no longer: the mantle of feminine tastes had suddenly been torn from me, and the wren was to be measured by the king of birds.
“To the stump then,” thought I. “What a glorious reform this is, after all! From being a scribbler in a small way, who knows but I may in time become the first orator in the land? Women are proverbial for tonguely gifts, and orators do not require very great depth. Like the belle with her chit-chat, it is the tone and manner which do execution. To the stump! Hur—”
I didn’t finish the hurrah. I might have done so, but for a little womanly squeamishness, which could not be overcome all in a moment. Then such influences! Up started my birdie with a rustle and twitter, shaking its pretty wing, to tell me I must feed it if I would have it give me music; a “wee toddling thing” tugged at my skirt, and lisped in a way that I thought particularly bright and precocious, “take me up, sissy;” and there was many a thing about the room—the work of my own fingers, the charmed companions of holy hours—many things that laid a finger upon the lip of my spirit. There is an atmosphere hovering about the altar of a happy, love-guarded home, which—no matter! it had a very troublesome, hush-up way, in my dream of the Great Reform.
“I must get away from these reminiscences of past days,” said I, “before I can whoop or hurrah to any purpose. I will get father to take me to the city—”
“Take you to the city! Take you, you say! And why not take yourself there? What an arrant simpleton! I thought you would have more spirit, Fan.”