The Crayon Papers by Irving, Washington, 1783-1859

13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23

A word from our supporters: File extension XHTML

The Crayon Papers The Seminoles Letter From Granada A Contented Man * * * * *

* * * * *

The Great Mississippi Bubble "a Time Of Unexampled Prosperity"

* * * * * Don Juan A Spectral Research

* * * * *

* * * * * Broek Of The Dutch Paradise

* * * * * Sketches In Paris In 1825 From The Traveling Note-book Of Geoffrey Crayon, Gent.

My French Neighbor

* * * * * The Englishman At Paris

* * * * * English And French Character

* * * * * The Tuileries And Windsor Castle

The Field Of Waterloo

* * * * * * * * * * Paris At The Restoration

* * * * * * * * * *

American Researches In Italy Life Of Tasso: Recovery Of A Lost Portrait Of Dante

G. C. The Taking Of The Veil * * * * *

* * * * * * * * * * The Charming Letorieres

Noted Down From His Conversations

The Seminoles

Origin Of The White, The Red, And The Black Men A Seminole Tradition

The Conspiracy Of Neamathla An Authentic Sketch

Letter From Granada Granada, 1828.

* * * * * Abderahman Founder Of The Dynasty Of The Ommiades Of Spain G.c. * * * * *

The Widow's Ordeal Or A Judicial Trial By Combat

The Creole Village A Sketch From A Steamboat

A Contented Man

While thus holding forth, I cast a side glance to see how Miss Somerville was affected. She had some embroidery stretched on a frame before her, but had paused in her labor, and was looking down as if lost in mute attention. I felt a glow of self-satisfaction, but I recollected, at the same time, with a kind of pique, the advantage she had enjoyed over me in our tete-a-tete. I determined to push my triumph, and accordingly kept on with redoubled ardor, until I had fairly exhausted my subject, or rather my thoughts.

I had scarce come to a full stop, when Miss Somerville raised her eyes from the work on which they had been fixed, and turning to her mother, observed: "I have been considering, mamma, whether to work these flowers plain, or in colors."

Had an ice-bolt shot to my heart, it could not have chilled me more effectually. "What a fool," thought I, "have I been making myself--squandering away fine thoughts, and fine language, upon a light mind and an ignorant ear! This girl knows nothing of poetry. She has no soul, I fear, for its beauties. Can any one have real sensibility of heart, and not be alive to poetry? However, she is young; this part of her education has been neglected; there is time enough to remedy it. I will be her preceptor. I will kindle in her mind the sacred flame, and lead her through the fairy land of song. But after all, it is rather unfortunate that I should have fallen in love with a woman who knows nothing of poetry."

* * * * *

I passed a day not altogether satisfactory. I was a little disappointed that Miss Somerville did not show more poetical feeling. "I am afraid, after all," said I to myself, "she is light and girlish, and more fitted to pluck wild flowers, play on the flageolet, and romp with little dogs than to converse with a man of my turn."

I believe, however, to tell the truth, I was more out of humor with myself. I thought I had made the worst first appearance that ever hero made, either in novel or fairy tale. I was out of all patience, when I called to mind my awkward attempts at ease and elegance, in the tete-a-tete. And then my intolerable long lecture about poetry to catch the applause of a heedless auditor! But there I was not to blame. I had certainly been eloquent: it was her fault that the eloquence was wasted. To meditate upon the embroidery of a flower, when I was expatiating on the beauties of Milton! She might at least have admired the poetry, if she did not relish the manner in which it was delivered: though that was not despicable, for I had recited passages in my best style, which my mother and sisters had always considered equal to a play. "Oh, it is evident," thought I, "Miss Somerville has very little soul!"