Miles Wallingford | Page 6

as a third daughter."
This was a strange subject for Mrs. Drewett to discuss with a man like
Marble, or even with Post; but some allowances were to be made for
Marble's manner of viewing his own connection with the dialogue, and
more for the excited condition of the mother's feelings. She was
scarcely yet in possession of all her faculties, and might very well
commit an indiscretion of this nature, more especially in her
conversation with a man in Post's position, overlooking or disregarding
the presence of the mate. The effect of all that had passed was to leave
a strong impression on my mind that I was too late. Lucy must be
engaged, and waited only to become of age, in order to make the
settlements she intended in favour of her brother, ere she was married.
Her manner to myself was merely the result of habit and sincere
friendship; a little increased in interest and gentleness, perhaps, on

account of the grievous wrong she felt we had received from Rupert.
What right had I to complain, admitting all this to be true? I had
scarcely been aware of my own passion for the dear girl for years, and
had certainly never attempted to make her acquainted with it. She had
made me no pledges, plighted no faith, received no assurances of
attachment, was under no obligation to wait my pleasure. So sincere
was my affection for Lucy, that I rejoiced, even in my misery, when I
remembered that not the slightest imputation could be laid on her
deportment, truth, or frankness. On the whole, it was perhaps the more
natural that she should love Andrew Drewett, one she met for the first
time after she became of an age to submit to such impressions, than to
love me, whom she had been educated to treat with the familiarity and
confidence of a brother. Yes; I was even just enough to admit this.
The scene of the morning, and the presence of Mrs. Drewett and her
daughters, produced an entire change in the spirits and intercourse of
our party. The ladies remained below most of the time; and as for
Drewett himself, he was advised by Post not to quit his berth until he
found his strength restored. Mr. Hardinge passed much time by Andrew
Drewett's side, offering such attentions as might be proper from a father
to a son. At least it so seemed to me. This left Marble and myself in
possession of the quarter-deck, though we had occasional visits from
all below--Grace, Lucy, and old Mrs. Drewett, excepted.
In the mean time, the Wallingford continued to ascend the river,
favoured until evening by a light southerly breeze. She outsailed
everything; and, just as the sun was sinking behind the fine termination
of the Cattskill range of mountains, we were some miles above the
outlet of the stream that has lent it its name.
A lovelier landscape can scarce be imagined than that which presented
itself from the deck of the sloop. It was the first time I had ascended the
river, or indeed that any of the Clawbonny party had been up it so high,
Mr. Hardinge excepted; and everybody was called on deck to look at
the beauties of the hour. The sloop was about a mile above Hudson,
and the view was to be gazed at towards the south. This is perhaps the
finest reach of this very beautiful stream, though it is not the fashion to

think so; the Highlands being the part usually preferred. It is easy
enough for me, who have since lived among the sublimity of the Swiss
and Italian lakes, to understand that there is nothing of a very sublime
character, relatively considered, in any of the reaches of the Hudson;
but it would be difficult to find a river that has so much which is
exquisitely beautiful; and this, too, of a beauty which borders on the
grand. Lucy was the first person to create any doubts in my mind
concerning the perfection of the Highlands. Just as the cockney
declaims about Richmond Hill--the inland view from Mont-Martre, of
a clouded day, is worth twenty of it--but just as the provincial London
cockney declaims about Richmond Hill, so has the provincial American
been in the habit of singing the praises of the Highlands of the Hudson.
The last are sufficiently striking, I will allow; but they are surpassed in
their own kind by a hundred known mountain landscapes; while the
softer parts of the river have scarcely a rival. Lucy, I repeat, was the
first person to teach me this distinction--Lucy, who then had never seen
either Alps or Apennines. But her eye was as true as her principles, her
tongue, or her character. All was truth about this