The Crayon Papers | Page 8

What a paradise will be my home, graced with
a partner of such exquisite refinement! It will be a perfect fairy bower,
buried among sweets and roses. Sophy shall live with us, and be the
companion of all our enjoyments. Glencoe, too, shall no more be the
solitary being that he now appears. He shall have a home with us. He
shall have his study, where, when he pleases, he may shut himself up
from the world, and bury himself in his own reflections. His retreat
shall be sacred; no one shall intrude there; no one but myself, who will
visit him now and then, in his seclusion, where we will devise grand
schemes together for the improvement of mankind. How delightfully
our days will pass, in a round of rational pleasures and elegant
employments! Sometimes we will have music; sometimes we will read;
sometimes we will wander through the flower garden, when I will
smile with complacency on every flower my wife has planted; while in
the long winter evenings the ladies will sit at their work, and listen with
hushed attention to Glencoe and myself, as we discuss the abstruse
doctrines of metaphysics."
From this delectable reverie, I was startled by my father's slapping me
on the shoulder. "What possesses the lad?" cried he; "here have I been
speaking to you half a dozen times, without receiving an answer."
"Pardon me, sir," replied I; "I was so completely lost in thought, that I
did not hear you."
"Lost in thought! And pray what were you thinking of? Some of your
philosophy, I suppose."

"Upon my word," said my sister Charlotte, with an arch laugh, "I
suspect Harry's in love again."
"And if were in love, Charlotte," said I, somewhat nettled, and
recollecting Glencoe's enthusiastic eulogy of the passion, "if I were in
love, is that a matter of jest and laughter? Is the tenderest and most
fervid affection that can animate the human breast to be made a matter
of cold-hearted ridicule?"
My sister colored. "Certainly not, brother!--nor did I mean to make it so,
or to say anything that should wound your feelings. Had I really
suspected you had formed some genuine attachment, it would have
been sacred in my eyes; but--but," said she, smiling, as if at some
whimsical recollection, "I thought that you--you might be indulging in
another little freak of the imagination."
"Ill wager any money," cried my father, "he has fallen in love again
with some old lady at a window!"
"Oh, no!" cried my dear sister Sophy, with the most gracious warmth;
"she is young and beautiful."
"From what I understand," said Glencoe, rousing himself, "she must be
lovely in mind as in person."
I found my friends were getting me into a fine scrape. I began to
perspire at every pore, and felt my ears tingle.
"Well, but," cried my father, "who is she?--what is she? Let us hear
something about her."
This was no time to explain so delicate a matter. I caught up my hat,
and vanished out of the house.
The moment I was in the open air, and alone, my heart upbraided me.
Was this respectful treatment to my father--to such a father, too--who
had always regarded me as the pride of his age--the staff of his hopes?
It is true, he was apt sometimes to laugh at my enthusiastic flights, and

did not treat my philosophy with due respect; but when had he ever
thwarted a wish of my heart? Was I then to act with reserve toward him,
in a matter which might affect the whole current of my future life? "I
have done wrong," thought I; "but it is not too late to remedy it. I will
hasten back and open my whole heart to my father!"
I returned accordingly, and was just on the point of entering the house,
with my heart full of filial piety and a contrite speech upon my lips,
when I heard a burst of obstreperous laughter from my father, and a
loud titter from my two elder sisters.
"A footstep!" shouted he, as soon as he could recover himself; "in love
with a footstep! Why, this beats the old lady at the window!" And then
there was another appalling burst of laughter. Had it been a clap of
thunder, it could hardly have astounded me more completely. Sophy, in
the simplicity of her heart, had told all, and had set my father's risible
propensities in full action.
Never was poor mortal so thoroughly crestfallen as myself. The whole
delusion was at an end. I drew off silently from the house, shrinking
smaller and smaller at every fresh peal of laughter; and, wandering
about until the family had retired, stole quietly to my bed. Scarce any
sleep, however, visited my eyes