Nashville patriot. [volume] (Nashville, Tenn.) 1858-1860, 1858-05-19
From Godey's Lady's Book for Nay.

ont here to visit mee Knowing everything as
| well as you do, must say that the joke was
| extremely practical, at my expense as well as
his. Poor fellow! he left, this morning; after
i a visit Of three days. having come under
stood, with the intention of remaining as many
4 weeks.
Last Tuesday forenoon, as was busy in
the kitchen, for it was baking day. and had
| a great deal to do, there came a knock at the
! front door. Surprising it to be some of the
neighbors, / just slipped off my apron, rolled
| down my sleeves, gave my hair dash down
with my hands, and hurried TO open it. Judge
| of my surprise, when there stood Mr.. Fitz
Foom, jaunty little cloak and cap on. a
little cane twirled in his fingers. and a smile
upon his pretty little face, as exquisite spc-
| cimen Of q small man as could be imagined
was so taken aback that could hardly ak
him in, and could not forbear sly glance at
| long streak of -four which ornamented the
| side breadth of my Bingham dress and which
had gained in passing the lour-barrel on
my last GRAND to the pantry. / saw him
| looking in the same direction; but he smoth-
cred any horror which he may have inwardly
| felt at this betrayal of my morning occupa
| tions.
II suppose you received the note which I
sent you by post announcing my intended
visit, Miss Wilmot?H
No: | had not received it. / mutely wished
that had, when l thought of how little we
we were prepared for such company
"You must pardon the very great liberty
have taken in accepting your uncle's invita-
| ton, who insisted upon my coming to see you
without further ceremony than the sending OF
note. He thought the country air would
| do me good, as was complaining a little of
| dyspepsia. That my own heart pleaded with
| me to yield to his kind persuasions, 7 will not
say, for am forced 10 silence. have sworn
| hot hata hot haot FL
it's emotions shall be kept secret from their
fair and agitating cause Do not blush, sweet
being; / have come only as a friend.r
suppose you will call me silly little girl
| if L confess that my face was redder than a
| pulpit-cushion for minute or two; but his
manner was so very impressive and overpow-
| ering, and his appearance so unexpected, that
| was discomposed. 1 gave him as cordial
| welcome as | could counterfeit. A queer look
came over his face when he entered the keep
| ing-room. He seemed little afraid of hurt
| ing his patent feathers by bringing them in
| contract with the homemade carpet; and
saw the critical glance which he gave at
fathers f,vorite picture, the portrait of
Washington, which hangs. you remember,
over the mantel, with the china dog under it.
1t was a splendid Indian-summer day; and
| thought the room was very pretty. TIE
sunshine came in the two front windows; and
| had looped the curtains back with sprays of
scarlet bittersweet, and made everything as
neat as a pink. | gave him seat by the
window, and excused myself for few mo-
ments, to go out and give mother warning of
the unexpected guest. She laughed heartily
when told her that Mr.. Fitz Foom had ar
rived with his carpet-bag; which relieved me,
for l expected she would be vexed to death.
"Well. well, Lucy! who'd have thought it?
I guess / shall not let you go to the city again
Never mind about the dinner, child. i III get
It on the table without further help. Go and
put on your merino dress, and do the best you
can to be polite to him."
| had made q nice custard, and set it to
cool; and there was plump pair of chickens
in the oven; SD | gave myself no uneasiness
about the table. Ten minutes sufficed me in
which to don my dress, smooth my hair, and
put on linen collar. When | returned to
the keeping-roOm. there sat the visitor looking
disconsolately out of the window, a very visi-
BILE shade of disappointment upon his face
you've very pretty place here Miss Lucy,
but not at all what expected from the de-
scription of your uncle. He gave me TO
understand that the house was Grecian villa
standing in the midst of noble forest of oaks,
with park stretching away upon one side,
and with out-buildings and gateways of the
most tasteful and appropriate character" he
remarked. al could hardly persuade myself
that | had been directed aright-not that
everything is not very nice, indeed, but so
different you know, from what had been led
to expect"
"Uncle Wilmot has very vivid imagina-
ton, Mr.. Fitz Foom; and you must make al
lowance for its exercise. It's only one of
his standing jokes, calling this Grease-ian
villa, because father raises so much pork.
The out-buildings are appropriate to the
business, as yon would think, if you should
see all the pig-pens. He calls the hen-house
an aviary, and the Shanghais foreign birds
The meadow is the park. As for the old oak
trees, he could not praise them too much"
The very slightest tremble of disgust dis
turbed the mOustache upon his patrician lip
as spoke of the Greasean villa. 1t was a
too horrible for him to contemplate, and for
which you, dear uncle, must be solely respon-
sible. He looked about, as if mutely asking
for his hat, but, after moment of troubled
silence, regained a forced composure.
"And is pork-raising profitable business,
Miss Wilmot?'
Il believe it is regarded as such; but cam
not positively say"
GLOW much do you think-that is. has
your father laid up any particular sum of
money out of it?''
II do not know just how much, Mr.. Fitz
Foom. Aud you must not think that il is
his especial calling. My father is farmer.
who raises wheat and corn. But of the refuse
of his fields he has enough TO fatten a few
droves. | suppose you know but little of the
country. Mr.. Fitz Foom?
VERY tile, indeed, I've been in il occa-
I. sionally, for day or two, with a party of
friends, rusticating on the estate of some
wealthy gentlemen. / don't think | should
like The country. It's very nice to talk about,
but very vulgar close at hand. | don't see
how so ethereal being as yourself Miss
Lucy. could have survived so long in it. l
trust that soon the persuasion of friends, of
your uncle, and-and your humble servant
will induce you 10 forsake it,"
my heart is welded to it.; it is my home;
and love it, sir"
"If we could wed that virgin heart to scme-
thing better! hei hei he But will not again
call up those divine bushes"
1.-THE day is lovely; would You like TO walk
over the farm little, before dinner Mr.. Fitz
Foom?" / asked, anxious to escape from an
eloquence so overwhelming.
/ swung my straw hat on my arm; and we
sailed forth. / noticed that he shivered a
little in the cool, bright air, which only in
vigorated me, and made me feel mischevous,
too, in my overflow Of animal spirits. As we
sauntered under the oaks, | gathered the
most brilliant of the dropping leaves, and
wove them in a wreath, with which offered
to crown his "Beebe's best, +" bat he was afraid
of disturbing its gloss; and so / donned the
garment myself, and laughed, without any
more bushes, at his profuse compliments.
Poor fellow! suppose it's uphill business to
him, getting trusted for his new clothes; and
felt for him in the pains he took with bis
hat; and, when he split the knee of his pant,-
loon getting over the fence into the meadow,
my condolences were sincere.
.'It's the only pair l have with me-" he
said, with n rueful smile.
Never mind Mother viii mend them
for you, after you go to bed tonight, if you
will put them out in the hail.
But l n;ver wore anything patched in
my life"
q That wiz not need patching, only darn