Evenings at Donaldson Manor

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Maria J. McIntosh's Works. _PUBLISHED BY D. APPLETON & CO_

I. EVENINGS AT DONALDSON MANOR; OR, THE CHRISTMAS GUEST.

BY MARIA J. McINTOSH.

_Illustrated with Ten Steel Engravings, 8vo., cloth, gilt edges, $3;
morocco, $4._

"The whole sparkle with strokes of pleasantry and lively criticism,
and ever and anon reveal most delightful pictures of fireside
groups. A high-toned morality pervades the whole. We feel sure that
the book will be a general favorite."--_Commercial Advertiser._

"It is a book that parents may buy for their children, brothers for
their sisters, or husbands for their wives, with the assurance that
the book will not only give pleasure, but convey lessons of love
and charity that can hardly fail to leave durable impressions of
moral and social duty upon the mind and heart of the
reader."--_Evening Mirror._

II.

WOMAN IN AMERICA; HER WORK AND HER REWARD.

BY MARIA J. McINTOSH.

_One Volume, 12mo., paper covers, 50c.; cloth, 75c._

"We like this work exceedingly, and our fair countrywomen will
admire it still more than we do. It is written in the true spirit,
and evinces extensive observation of society, a clear insight into
the evils surrounding and pressing down her sex, and a glorious
determination to expose and remove them. Read her work. She will
win a willing way to the heart and home of woman, and her mission
will be found to be one of beneficence and love. Truly, woman has
her work and her reward."--_American Spectator._

"We thank Miss McIntosh for her 'Woman in America.' She has written
a clever book, containing much good 'word and truth,' many valuable
thoughts and reflections, which ought to be carefully considered by
every American lady."--_Protestant Churchman._

III.

CHARMS AND COUNTER-CHARMS.

BY MARIA J. McINTOSH.

_One Volume, 12mo., cloth, $1; or in Two Parts, paper, 75c._

"This is one of those healthful, _truthful_ works of fiction, which
improve the heart and enlighten the judgment, whilst they furnish
amusement to the passing hour. The style is clear, easy and simple,
and the construction of the story artistic in a high degree. We
commend most cordially the book."--_Tribune._

IV.

TWO LIVES; OR, TO SEEM AND TO BE.

BY MARIA J. McINTOSH.

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"The previous works of Miss McIntosh, although issued anonymously,
have been popular in the best sense of the word. The simple beauty
of her narratives, combining pure sentiment with high principle,
and noble views of life and its duties, ought to win for them a
hearing at every fireside in our land. We have rarely perused a
tale more interesting and instructive than the one before us, and
we commend it most cordially to the attention of all our
readers."--_Protestant Churchman._

V.

AUNT KITTY'S TALES.

BY MARIA J. McINTOSH.

_A new edition, complete in One Vol., 12mo., cloth, 75c.; paper, 50c._

This volume contains the following delightfully interesting
stories: "Blind Alice," "Jessie Graham," "Florence Arnott," "Grace
and Clara," "Ellen Leslie; or, the Reward of Self Control."

POPULAR BOOKS FOR DOMESTIC READING =PUBLISHED BY D. APPLETON & CO.=

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=MISS McINTOSH'S WORKS.=

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EVENINGS

AT

DONALDSON MANOR;

OR,

The Christmas Guest.

BY MARIA J. McINTOSH,

AUTHOR OF

"TWO LIVES," "CHARMS AND COUNTER-CHARMS," ETC., ETC.

A NEW REVISED EDITION.

"Oh Winter! ruler of the inverted year,
I crown thee king of intimate delights,
Fireside enjoyments, homeborn happiness."

COWPER.

NEW-YORK:
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, 200 BROADWAY,
AND 16 LITTLE BRITAIN, LONDON.
1853.

PREFACE TO THE ENGLISH EDITION.

In Miss McIntosh we fondly and proudly greet a transatlantic sister, and
as delightedly introduce her, a "CHRISTMAS GUEST," to our own home
circle. She is worthy of all honor and affection.

Miss McIntosh's writings are eminently pure in feeling--tender,
graceful, and elegant in manner. Their moral, simply and unstrainedly
developed, is invariably excellent--generously exciting, stimulating,
encouraging all the noblest energies of our nature. To use her own
words, addressed to her friends in America, and with equal propriety may
they be accepted by the rising generation, and by every grade of
society, at every period of life, in her unforgotten fatherland--"From
the examples she will present to them, they may learn that to the brave
and true and faithful heart, 'all things are possible'--that he who
clings to the good and the holy amidst temptation and trial, will find
peace and light within him, though all without be storm and darkness;
and that in a right understanding and unfaltering performance of
duty--not in the pomps and pleasures of a self-indulgent life, lie our
true glory and happiness."

Not a tale, not a sketch, not an appeal to the heart or to the mind in
any form, does our fair sister commit to paper, that is not pervaded,
though unobtrusively, by a strain of the sweetest, gentlest, most
cheerful and soul-elevating piety; it is hers at once to soothe, to
charm, and to exhilarate.

Our "CHRISTMAS GUEST" well knows how to furnish forth a feast of
infinite variety. Few, if any, will arise from a perusal of her
delightful "word-painting" of life, incident, adventure, and character,
without being wiser, better, happier; without enjoying a more entire
confidingness in Heaven--in HIM, that _God of love and goodness_, whom
Christians unite to worship.

LONDON, December 4, 1850.

CONTENTS.

PAGE
CHAPTER I.
INTRODUCTORY, 9

CHAPTER II.
"THE MAIN CHANCE," 17

CHAPTER III.
THE CRADLE-SONG; A FREE TRANSLATION FROM KOeRNER, 35
THE BROTHERS; OR, IN THE FASHION, AND ABOVE THE FASHION, 37

CHAPTER IV.
LOSS AND GAIN; OR, HEARTS VERSUS DIAMONDS, 48

CHAPTER V.
THE BIRD'S RELEASE. BY MRS. HEMANS, 70
THE YOUNG MISANTHROPE, 72

CHAPTER VI.
LIFE IN AMERICA, 91

CHAPTER VII.
SUNDAY, 126
EVENING HYMN, 128

CHAPTER VIII.

THE WOLF CHASE, 133

CHAPTER IX.

THE HISTORY OF AN OLD MAID, 140

CHAPTER X.

THE FAMILY MEETING, 166

CHAPTER XI.

THE DYING HEBREW, 169
"ONLY A MECHANIC," 172

CHAPTER XII.

LOVE AND PRIDE, 196

CHAPTER XIII.

THE TEST OF LOVE. A STORY OF THE LAST WAR, 227

CHAPTER XIV.

THE FLOWER ANGELS, 266

THE

CHRISTMAS GUEST;

OR,

EVENINGS AT DONALDSON MANOR.

CHAPTER I.

The largest and the most picturesque country-house of all I know in
America, is the mansion house of my friends, the Donaldsons. I would
gladly inform the reader of its locality, but this Colonel Donaldson has
positively prohibited, for a reason too flattering to my self-love to be
resisted.

"You know, my dear Madam,"--I give his own words, by which I hope the
courteous reader will understand that I am really too modest even to
seem to adopt the flattering sentiment they convey--"You know, my dear
madam, that your description will be read by every body who is any body,
and that through it my simple home will become classic ground. If I
permit you to direct the tourist tribe to it, I shall be pestered out of
my life when summer comes, by travelling artists, would-be poets, and
romantic young ladies."

I may not therefore, dear reader, tell you whether this pleasant abode
be washed by the waves of the Atlantic or by the turbid current of the
Mississippi; whether it be fanned by the flower-laden zephyrs of the
South, or by the health-inspiring breezes of the North. The exterior
must indeed have been left wholly to your imagination, had I not
fortunately obtained a sketch from a young friend, an _amateur_ artist,
of whom I shall have more to say presently. As I could not in honor
present you with even this poor substitute, as I trust you will consider
it, for my word-painting, without Colonel Donaldson's consent, I have
been compelled, in deference to his wish, to divest the picture of every
thing that would mark the geographical position of the place
represented. The shape of its noble old trees we have been permitted to
retain; but their foliage we have been obliged to render so
indistinctly, that even Linnaeus himself would find it impossible to
decide whether it belonged to the elm of the North when clothed in all
its summer luxuriance, or to the gigantic live-oak of the South. Even of
the house itself we have been permitted to give but a rear view, lest
the more marked features of the landscape in front should hint of its
whereabouts. As to the figures which appear in the foreground of the
picture, they are but figments of my young artist friend's imagination.
One of them you may observe carries under the arm a sheaf of wheat, not
a stalk of which I assure you ever grew on the Donaldson lands.

Even from this imperfect picture of the exterior, you will perceive that
the house is, as I have said, both large and picturesque. Within, the
rooms go rambling about in such a strange fashion, that an unaccustomed
guest attempting to make his way without a guide to the _chambre de
nuit_ in which he had slept only the night before, would be very apt to
find himself in the condition of a certain bird celebrated in nursery
rhymes as wandering,

Up stairs and down stairs
And in the ladies' chambers.

In this house have the Donaldsons lived and died for nearly two hundred
years, and during all that time they have never failed to observe the
Christmas with right genuine, old English hospitality. Then, their sons
and their daughters, their men-servants and their maid-servants, and the
stranger within their gates, felt the genial influence of their
gratitude to Him who added year after year almost unbroken temporal
prosperity to the priceless gift commemorated by that festival. At many
of these _reunions_ it has been my good fortune to be present. Indeed,
though only "AUNT Nancy," by that courtesy which so often accords to the
single sisterhood some endearing title, as a consolation, I presume, for
the more honorable one of MRS. which their good or evil fortune has
denied them, I have been ever received at Donaldson Manor as at my own
familiar home; nor was it matter of surprise to myself or to our mutual
friends, when the Col. and Mrs. Donaldson named their fourth daughter
after me, modifying the old-fashioned Nancy, however, into its more
agreeable synonyme of Annie.

This daughter has been, of course, my peculiar pet. In truth, however,
she has been scarcely less the peculiar pet of father and mother,
brothers and sisters, friends and neighbors--sweet Annie Donaldson, as
all unite in calling her, and certainly a sweeter, fresher bud of beauty
never opened to the light than my name-child. And yet, reader, it may be
that could I faithfully stamp her portrait on my page, you would exclaim
at my taste, and declare there was no beauty in it. I will even
acknowledge that you may be right, and that there is nothing
artistically beautiful in the dark-gray eyes, the clear and healthy yet
not dazzlingly fair complexion, the straight though glossy dark-brown
hair, and the form, rounded and buoyant, but neither tall enough to be
dignified nor _petite_ enough to be fairy-like. But sure I am that you
could not know the spirit, gentle and playful yet lofty and earnest,
which looks out from her eyes and speaks in her clear, silvery tones and
graceful gestures, without feeling that Annie Donaldson is beautiful.
Nor am I alone in this opinion. My friend Mr. Arlington fully agrees
with me, as you would be convinced if you could see the admiring
expression with which he gazes on her. As this gentleman cannot plead
the Colonel's reason for any reserve respecting his place of residence,
I shall not hesitate to inform the reader that he is a young lawyer of
New-York, who has preserved, amidst much study and some business, the
natural taste necessary to the enjoyment of country scenes and country
sports. During those weeks of summer when New-York is deserted, alike by
the wearied man of business and the _ennuye_ idler, Mr. Arlington,
instead of rushing with the latter to the overcrowded hotels of Saratoga
and Newport, takes his gun and dog, his pencil and sketch-book, and with
an agreeable companion, or, if this may not be, some choice books, as a
resource against a rainy day, he goes to some wild spot--the wilder the
better--where he roves at will from point to point of interest and
beauty, and spends his time in reading, sketching, and--alas, for human
imperfection!--shooting. These vagrant habits first brought him into the
neighborhood of Donaldson Manor, and he had for two successive summers
hunted with the Colonel and sketched with the young ladies, when he was
invited to join their Christmas party in 18--. Here I was introduced to
him, and in a few days we were the best friends in the world.

Mr. Arlington's sketch-book, of which I have already spoken, served to
elicit one of our points of sympathy. Bound down by the iron chain of
necessity to that point of space occupied by my own land, and that point
of time filled by my own life, yet with a heart longing for acquaintance
with the beautiful distant and the noble past, I have ever loved the
creations of that art which furnished food to these longings; and as my
fortune has denied me the possession of fine _paintings_, I have become
somewhat noted in my own little circle for my collection of fine
_engravings_. Many of these have peculiar charms for me, from their
association, fancied or real, with some place or person that does
interest or has interested me. In the leisure of a solitary life, it has
amused me to append to these engravings a description of the scenes or a
narrative of the incidents which they suggested to my mind, and for
their association with which I particularly valued them. Annie was well
aware of the existence of these descriptions and narratives, and, with a
pretty despotism which she often exercises over those she loves, she
insisted that I should surrender them to her for the gratification of
the assembled party. One condition only was I permitted to make in this
surrender, and this was, that Mr. Arlington should also bring forth his
portfolio for inspection, and should describe the _locale_ of the scene
sketched, or relate the circumstances under which the sketches were
made. A pretty _ruse_ this, my gentle Annie, by which you furnished the
artist with an opportunity to display to others the talents which had
charmed yourself. In accordance with this compact, the drawings, with
their accompanying narratives, were produced, and received with such
approbation, that by the same sweet tyranny which drew them from their
hiding-places, we have been ordered to send this Christmas Guest to bear
the simple stories to other houses, with the hope that they may give
equal pleasure to their inmates.

CHAPTER II.

Merrily blazed the wood fire in the huge old chimney of the large parlor
in which we were accustomed to assemble in the evening, at Donaldson
Manor, and its light was thrown upon faces bright with good-humored
merriment, yet not without some touch of deeper and more earnest
feeling. That party would of itself have made an interesting picture.
There was Col. Donaldson, tall, gaunt, his figure slightly bent, yet
evincing no feebleness, his curling snow-white locks, his broad bold
forehead, and shaggy brows overhanging eyes beaming with kindness.
Beside him sat Mrs. Donaldson, still beautiful in her green old age. Her
face was usually pale, yet her clear complexion, and the bright eyes
that looked out from beneath the rich Valenciennes border of her cap,
redeemed it from the appearance of ill health. Her form, stately yet
inclining to _embonpoint_, was shown to advantage by the soft folds of
the rich and glossy satin dress which ordinarily, at mid-day, took the
place in summer of her cambric morning-dress, and in winter of her
cashmere _robe de chambre_. Mrs. Donaldson has a piece of fancy netting
which she reserves for her evening work, because, she says, it does not
make much demand upon her eyes. This the mischievous and privileged
Annie calls "Penelope's Web," declaring, that whatever is done on it in
the evening is undone the next morning. Around the table, on which the
brightest lights were placed for the convenience of those who would
read or sew, clustered the two married daughters of the house--who
always return to their "_home_," as they still continue to call
Donaldson Manor, for the Christmas holidays--Annie, Mr. Arlington, and
myself. Miss Donaldson, the eldest daughter of my worthy friends, is the
housekeeper of the family, and usually sits quietly beside her mother,
somewhat fatigued probably by the active employments of her day. The two
sons of Col. Donaldson, the elder of whom is only twenty-three, his
sons-in-law, and his grandson, Robert Dudley, a fine lad of twelve, give
animation to the scene by moving hither and thither, now joining our
group at the table, now discussing in a corner the amusements of
to-morrow, and now entertaining us with a graphic account of to-day's
adventures, of the sleighs upset, or the skating-matches won.

Such was the party assembled little more than a week before Christmas
the last year, when Annie called upon Mr. Arlington and myself to redeem
the pledges we had given, and surrender our portfolios to her. Some
slight contention arose between us on the question who should first
contribute to the entertainment of the company; Mr. Arlington exclaiming
"_Place aux Dames_," and I contending that there was great want of
chivalry in thus putting a woman into the front of the battle. This
little dispute was terminated by the proposal that Annie having been
blindfolded to secure impartial justice, the two portfolios should be
placed on the table, and she should choose, not only from which of them
our entertainment should be drawn, but the very subject that should
furnish it. Mr. Arlington vehemently applauded this proposal, and then
urged that he must himself tie the handkerchief, as no one else, he
feared, would make it an effectual blind. Annie submitted to his demand,
though she professed to feel great indignation at his implied doubt of
her honesty. No one else, we believe, would have taken so much time for
the disposal of this screen, or been so careful in the arrangement of
the bands of hair over which, or through which, the handkerchief was
passed; and the touch of no other hand, perhaps, would have called up so
bright a color to the cheeks, and even to the brow, of our sweet Annie.
When permitted to exercise her office, Annie, to my great pleasure,
without an instant's hesitation, while a mischievous little smile played
at the corners of her mouth, placed her hand on Mr. Arlington's
portfolio, and drew from it a paper, which, on being exhibited, was
found to contain the pencilled outline of many heads grouped together in
various positions, some being apparently elevated considerably above the
others.

"Ah, Miss Annie!" exclaimed Mr. Arlington, with considerable
satisfaction apparent in his voice and manner, "you must try again, and
I think I must trouble you, ladies, for another handkerchief. This seems
to me to have been scarcely thick enough."

"I appeal to the company," cried Annie, "whether this is in accordance
with Mr. Arlington's engagement. Was he not to accept any thing I should
draw from his portfolio as the foundation of his sketch?"

"Ay, ay," was responded from every part of the room.

"But pray, my good friends," persisted Mr. Arlington, "observe the
impossibility of compliance with your demand. How can I possibly hope to
entertain you by any thing based upon that memento of an idle hour in
court, which I should long ago have destroyed, had I not fancied that I
could detect in those sketchy outlines--those mere profiles--very
accurate likenesses of the heads for which they were taken?"

"Those heads look as though they might have histories attached to them,"
said Annie, as she bent to examine them more narrowly.

"Histories indeed they have," said Mr. Arlington.

"Give them to us," suggested Col. Donaldson.

"You have them already. These are all men whose histories are as well
known to the public as to their own families. There is the elder K----,
at once so simple in heart and so acute in mind. Cannot you read both in
his face? There is his son; and there is D. B. O----, and O. H----, and
G----, and J----. What can I tell you of any of them that you do not
know already?"

"Who are these?" asked Annie, pointing to two heads, placed somewhat
aloof from the rest, and near each other. "That older face is so
benevolent in its expression, and the younger has so noble a
physiognomy, and looks with such reverence on his companion, that I am
persuaded they have a history beyond that which belongs to the world. Is
it not so?"

"It is. Those are Mr. Cavendish and Herbert Latimer. They have a
history, and I will give it you if you desire it, though, thus
impromptu, I must do it very imperfectly I fear."

"No apologies," said Col. Donaldson. "Begin, and do your best; no one
can do more."

"Than _my_ best," said Mr. Arlington, with a smile, "thank you. My
narrative will have at least one recommendation--truth--as I have
received its incidents from Latimer himself."

Without further preliminary, Mr. Arlington commenced the relation of the
following circumstances, which he has since written out, by Annie's
request, at somewhat greater length for insertion here, giving it the
title of

THE MAIN CHANCE.

Herbert Latimer was only twenty when, having passed the usual
examination, he was admitted, by a special act of the legislative
assembly of his native State, to practise at the bar. Young as he was,
he had already experienced some of the severest vicissitudes of life.
His father had been a bold, and for many years a successful merchant,
and the young Herbert, his only child, had been born and nurtured in the
lap of wealth and luxury. He was only sixteen--a boy--but a boy full of
the noble aspirations and lofty hopes that make manhood honorable, when
his father died. Mr. Latimer's last illness had been probably rendered
fatal by the intense anxiety of mind he endured while awaiting
intelligence of the result of a mercantile operation, on which, contrary
to the cautious habits of his earlier years, he had risked well nigh all
he possessed. He did not live to learn that it had completely failed,
and that his wife and child were left with what would have seemed to him
the merest pittance for their support.

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