STRATHER N. A NOVEL. BY THE COUNTESS OF BLESSINGTON. SANCTIONED BY THE AUTHOR FOR CONTINENTAL CIRCULATION. VOL. I. LEIPZIG BERNH. TAUCHNITZ JUN. 1844. STRATHER N. CHAPTER I. We make ourselves a pleasant home, 'T will be when age has bent us low. Who knows when he will strike the blow? Can shield us from the Tyrant's sway, He's ever near with fatal pow'r To snatch us from the realms of day, For the dark grave - where all must come. PR 4149 B5 58 1844 v.l It was a lovely morning towards the end of June, the hour about eleven, ere yet the freshness of early morn had passed from the balmy air or from the blooming plants and flowers, redolent of perfume, which filled the small garden attached to a noble mansion in Arlington-street, into which the apartment about to be described opened. The said garden was bounded by St. James's Park, and divided from it only by an ornamental iron railing. Innumerable birds were flitting from the luxuriant laurestinas which flanked the windows of this mansion, and perching on the white marble border of a limpid fountain which sent up its sparkling showers towards a sky unusually blue for our nebulous climate. The notes of these feathered choristers, mingled with the gushing sound of the water, added to the charm of the scene, and almost created a doubt whether one was in the purlieus of Strathern. 1 St. James's. Seated in a library, and looking out on the little wilderness of sweets before described, sate the owner of the mansion, a handsome young man of about five-and-twenty, only lately returned from an extended tour on the Continent. Glancing occasionally with great complacency from the blooming garden with its sparkling fountain on the exterior of the house, to the tastefully fitted-up and classically arranged library of the interior he murmured to himself "Yes, even Rhymer, with all the fastidiousness of taste attributed to him, must be satisfied with this apartment." And well might Lord Wyndermere, the owner of the said library, think so, for few, however difficult to be pleased, could have found fault with it. The chamber was large and lofty; the ceiling exquisitely painted, represented a charming group of the Muses, with their different attributes, surrounding Apollo. Book-cases of finely carved oak, the capitals of the columns that supported them, and the cornices richly gilded, were crowned by antique busts of rare beauty and great value. Between each bookcase was a niche, in which on a pedestal stood a statue of Parian marble, the workmanship of the best sculptors of our day, for Lord Wyndermere, although a warm admirer of the antique, was a most liberal patron of modern art. A large mirror over the low chimney-piece (itself a gem of sculpture, reflected back the garden and fountain, with the bright prismatic hues of the stained glass window, which formed a frame to the picture. On each side of this lofty mirror were suspended some of the choicest works of the ancient masters, collected with great judgment, and at a vast expense, by the father of the present Lord Wyndermere an acknowledged connoisseur in pictures. The curtains were of the richest satin, the precise colour of the oak book-cases, and the chairs and sofas were covered with the same costly material. The uncut velvet pile carpet, of a substance which prevented a footfall from being heard, was of the peculiar tint denominated Raphael green, from the preference evinced for the colour by that glorious artist, and the walls were of similar hue. A déjeuner, served on the most delicate and costly. Sèvres porcelain, was placed on a table, near the open window, while dumb-waiters, covered with snowy damask, and piled with plate, forks, and spoons, stood near the two chairs intended for the persons who were to partake the repast. Fruit, which might be likened to the golden produce of the fabled Hesperides, if not from its bloom, at least from the enormous cost of its culture, crowned the breakfast-table, mingled with every description of cake and bread furnished by modern refinement to stimulate the sated appetite of an Epicurean. At length the expected guest arrived; and to the no slight disappointment of his host, who expected some expression of admiration, at the really charming scene into which he was ushered, he took his seat at the table, placed his napkin on his knees, and began to discuss the dainties set before him. While doing so, he occasionally glanced around, but no look of satisfaction or approval marked his saturnine countenance. Who is your baker, my good lord?" asked he. "He is one who appertains to my establishment at Wyndermere Castle, and is considered so good that I had him up here." "Umph," uttered Rhymer, in a sound half groan, half sigh, laying down the delicate roll he had tasted. "I fear you do not like the rolls, will you try these breakfast cakes? I think you will find them good." The breakfast cake was cut, tasted, and almost as quickly relinquished as the roll, Mr. Rhymer's countenance becoming considerably lengthened after the unsuccessful experiment. A new-laid egg was recommended by the host, and, having been broken, was pronounced to have the odour of the stable. A delicate slice of cold chicken was found to be tough. A páté de Périgord was declined somewhat disdainfully. The offer of cold ham or tongue met no better chance; and the chocolate was discovered to have a peculiar, and not agreeable flavour. Marmalade was then tried, and with this dernière ressource a slight déjeûner was effected, to the no small discomfiture of the kind host; who saw with regret that his luxuriously-served board afforded nothing to satisfy the fastidious taste of his guest. "What an agreeable day we had at Strathern's," observed Lord Wyndermere, anxious to dispel the awkwardness occasioned by the total failure of his recherché breakfast. |