Elinor Wyllys, vol 2 | Page 8

to see, she
could not understand what was the beauty of such idol-like things.
"They are not at all like idols, mother; they are the most noble
conceptions of the human form."
How could they look human? He himself had told her they were made
out of marble; just such marble, she supposed, as was used for
tomb-stones.
"I only wish you could see some of the statues in Italy; the Laocoon,
Niobe, and others I have seen. I think you would feel then what I
felt--what I never can describe in words."
{"Laocoon" = A famous Greek statue, in the Vatican at Rome, of a
Trojan priest and his two sons being crushed by serpents. "Niobe" = a
famous statue, in the Uffizi Gallery in Florence (a Roman copy of a lost
Greek original attributed to Scopas), of Niobe -- in Greek mythology
the daughter of Tantalus whose children were slaughtered by Zeus and

who was transformed into a weeping image of stone}
Mrs. Hubbard said the names sounded very heathen-like to her ears;
she had never seen a statue, of any description whatever; she didn't
think she could have any satisfaction in looking at one. If they had any
colour to them, and were dressed up in uniforms, and handsome clothes,
like the wax-figures of General Washington, Napoleon Bonaparte, and
Lord Nelson, she had once seen, they would be worth looking at,
perhaps.
Miss Patsey wished to know, if among the statues he had seen, there
were any supposed to be likenesses of the great men that we read about
in history?
"There are many statues and busts in Italy, that are undeniably portraits
of some of the greatest men of antiquity," he replied.
"Do you suppose they are really like those old Romans? I don't mean
such likenesses as the portrait of our dear father; but still pretty good
for those old times?"
"Far better than anything of the kind you ever saw," replied Charlie,
drinking off a cup of tea.
Miss Patsey thought those might be worth seeing. A conversation
followed upon the delight Charlie had felt in beholding celebrated
places, the scenes of great events in past ages; a delight that an
American can never know in his own country, and which, on that very
account, he enjoys with a far keener zest than a European. Miss Patsey
seemed to enter a little into this pleasure; but, upon the whole, it was
quite evident that all the imagination of the family had fallen to
Charlie's share. The young man thought little of this, however: when
Judy had carried away the remains of the supper, he returned to his
mother's side, and the evening passed away in that pleasant family chat,
so interesting to those who feel alike. Sympathy of the heart is a tie
ten-fold stronger than sympathy of the head; people may think alike,
and hate each other; while those who feel together, are often led to
adopt the same opinions.
When Charlie had read the usual evening chapter in the Bible, and had
received his mother's kiss and blessing, he laid himself down with a
thankful heart, in the little garret-room, as in his childish years. The
young artist's dreams that night, were a mingled crowd of fancies; the
memories of his boyhood reviving in their old haunts, accompanied by

more recent images brought from beyond the Ocean, and linked with
half-formed plans and ideas for the future. Among these visions of the
night, were two more distinct than the rest; one was a determination to
commence, the very next morning, a copy of his honoured father's
portrait, in which the artist's object was unusual; for it was his chief aim
to make it as little like the original before him, as possible. Shall we
reveal the fact that another image, wearing a gentler aspect than the
stern, rigid features of the minister's portrait, seemed to flit before the
young painter's fancy, coming unbidden, and mingling more especially
with recollections of the past? As a ray of moonlight stole into the low
dormer-window, the young man turned on his humble bed, a sigh burst
from his lips, followed by the words, "No, no!"
We shall keep the secret.

CHAPTER II
{XXV}
"Yonder, sure, they are coming." As You Like It.
{William Shakespeare, "As You Like It", I.ii.147}
THE weather had been more than usually warm for several weeks, and
the morning after Charlie's return to Longbridge, when the steamboat
North America left the wharf at New-York, her decks and cabins were
filled by some five or six hundred passengers. There were men, women,
and children, of various characters, colours and conditions. The scene
on deck was pleasing and cheerful; the day was lovely, the steamer
looked neat and bright, and the great majority of