August 2nd. Saturday. [1851]
In the morning we got up at about half -past six, and, Julian being bathed, and also myself, and Julian's wool duly frizzled, we set out for the milk. For the first time since some immemorial date, it was really a pleasant morning; not a cloud to be seen, except a few white and bright streaks, far off to the southward. Monument Mountain, however, had a fleece of sun-brightened mist, entirely covering it except its western summit, which emerged. There were also mists along the western side, hovering on the tree-tops, and portions of the same mist had flitted upward, and become real clouds in the sky. These vapors were rapidly passing away; and by the time we had done our errand, and returned, they had wholly disappeared.
I forgot to say, in the record of last night, that Herman Melville invited me to bring Julian and spend several days at his house, next week, when E. A. Duyckinck and his brother are to be there. I accepted for at least one night, and so Melville is to come for us.
At ten o'clock I sent Julian over to High- wood with Bunny, whom he is going to offer as a present to Ellen. The truth is, our house is too small, and we have not the proper accommodations for the excellent Bunny, for whom I have a great regard, but whose habits do not exactly fit him to be a constant occupant of the sitting- room. Our straw carpet was beginning to suffer seriously from some of his proceedings. At Highwood they can give him a room to himself, if they like — or, in short, do what they please with him. I really liked Bunny, who has very pleasant little ways, and a character well worth observing. He had grown perfectly familiar with us, and seemed to show a fondness for our society, and would always sit himself near us, and was attentive to all our motions. He has, I think, a great deal of curiosity, and an investigating disposition, and is very observant of what is going on around him. I do not know any other beast, and few human beings, who, always present, and thrusting his little paw into all the business of the day, could at the same time be so perfectly unobtrusive. I cannot but regret his departure, both for our sakes and his own; for I am afraid Ellen will squeeze and otherwise torment him, and that he will find nobody at Highwood so attentive to his habits as I was. What a pity that he could not have put himself under some restraint and rule, as to certain matters. Julian, too, seemed half-sorry to part with Bunny, but was so pleased with the idea of giving him to Ellen that he made no objection. He has not yet returned to say how the offering was accepted.
Quarter of eleven, Julian has come back, and reports that they did not thank him for Bunny, and that Ellen began to squeeze him very hard the first minute. He saw Deborah and Caroline and Ellen. They did not understand, at first, that Bunny was to remain there, and when Julian was coming away, they asked him if he was going to leave Bunny. " Why," said the little man," he is to be Ellen's own!" Whereat they said nothing. He says, however, that they seemed to be glad to have it. Poor Bunny, I am afraid, is doomed to be a sufferer for the rest of his life. Ellen, according to Julian's account, took the poor little fellow up by his fur, and by his hind leg, keeping him dangling in the air, and committed odious other outrages. Perhaps I had better have drowned him. Possibly I may yet have a chance to do so, for I should not wonder if they were to send him back. Julian says he had a great mind to snatch him away and run home.
Before dinner we took a walk to the lake, where we found a boat drawn up on the shore, and if it had not been fastened to the root of a tree and locked, I think we should have taken a trip to foreign parts. The little man got into the boat, and enjoyed himself greatly, especially when he discovered some little old fish, evidently of some days' continuance, in the bottom of the boat.
After dinner came Mr. Farley, as he had partly given me to expect when I saw him yesterday. He came with the purpose of trying to catch some fish; so all three of us went down to the lake. Julian was quite in ecstasy. There is no use in trying to keep him from becoming a fisherman; there is the genuine instinct in him, and sooner or later it will gratify itself. Neither do I perceive any reason why it should not; it is as harmless a propensity as he could have. However, there was nothing in our luck, this afternoon, to make him enamoured of the pursuit. We caught only a few bream and perch, each of which the old gentle- man immediately took up by the tail, surveying it with most delighted interest, and frisking all the while as if in sympathy with the frisky movements of the poor fish. After a while, Mr. Farley and I became tired, and we set out for home. The afternoon was as perfect as could be, as to beauty and comfort; just warm enough, nothing to be added or taken away. He did not stay to tea, but went home, taking Herman Melville's " White Jacket " with him.
I put Julian to bed at seven, or thereabouts, and went out to pick some currants. While thus engaged, Mrs. Tappan passed by the edge of the garden, towards the lower barn; and I asked her whether Julian made his offering of the rabbit to Ellen with due grace. She laughed, and said that he did, but said that they found Bunny quite troublesome, and that Ellen maltreated him and that the dog was always trying to get him — and, in short. Bunny turned out not to be a desirable acquisition. She spoke of giving him to little Marshall Butler, and suggested, moreover (in reply to something that I said about putting him out of existence) , that he might be turned out into the woods, to shift for himself. There is some- thing characteristic in this idea. It shows the sort of sensitiveness that finds the pain and misery of other people disagreeable, just as it would a bad scent, but is perfectly at ease when once they are removed from her sphere. I suppose she would not for the world have killed Bunny, al- though she would have exposed him to the cer- tainty of lingering starvation without scruple or remorse. Seeing nothing else to be done, I pro- posed to take Bunny back, and she promised to bring him to-morrow.
Mrs. Peters went home immediately after sup- per. I read " Pendennis " during the evening, ate about a quart of crushed currants, and went to bed at ten.
In the morning we got up at about half -past six, and, Julian being bathed, and also myself, and Julian's wool duly frizzled, we set out for the milk. For the first time since some immemorial date, it was really a pleasant morning; not a cloud to be seen, except a few white and bright streaks, far off to the southward. Monument Mountain, however, had a fleece of sun-brightened mist, entirely covering it except its western summit, which emerged. There were also mists along the western side, hovering on the tree-tops, and portions of the same mist had flitted upward, and become real clouds in the sky. These vapors were rapidly passing away; and by the time we had done our errand, and returned, they had wholly disappeared.
I forgot to say, in the record of last night, that Herman Melville invited me to bring Julian and spend several days at his house, next week, when E. A. Duyckinck and his brother are to be there. I accepted for at least one night, and so Melville is to come for us.
At ten o'clock I sent Julian over to High- wood with Bunny, whom he is going to offer as a present to Ellen. The truth is, our house is too small, and we have not the proper accommodations for the excellent Bunny, for whom I have a great regard, but whose habits do not exactly fit him to be a constant occupant of the sitting- room. Our straw carpet was beginning to suffer seriously from some of his proceedings. At Highwood they can give him a room to himself, if they like — or, in short, do what they please with him. I really liked Bunny, who has very pleasant little ways, and a character well worth observing. He had grown perfectly familiar with us, and seemed to show a fondness for our society, and would always sit himself near us, and was attentive to all our motions. He has, I think, a great deal of curiosity, and an investigating disposition, and is very observant of what is going on around him. I do not know any other beast, and few human beings, who, always present, and thrusting his little paw into all the business of the day, could at the same time be so perfectly unobtrusive. I cannot but regret his departure, both for our sakes and his own; for I am afraid Ellen will squeeze and otherwise torment him, and that he will find nobody at Highwood so attentive to his habits as I was. What a pity that he could not have put himself under some restraint and rule, as to certain matters. Julian, too, seemed half-sorry to part with Bunny, but was so pleased with the idea of giving him to Ellen that he made no objection. He has not yet returned to say how the offering was accepted.
Quarter of eleven, Julian has come back, and reports that they did not thank him for Bunny, and that Ellen began to squeeze him very hard the first minute. He saw Deborah and Caroline and Ellen. They did not understand, at first, that Bunny was to remain there, and when Julian was coming away, they asked him if he was going to leave Bunny. " Why," said the little man," he is to be Ellen's own!" Whereat they said nothing. He says, however, that they seemed to be glad to have it. Poor Bunny, I am afraid, is doomed to be a sufferer for the rest of his life. Ellen, according to Julian's account, took the poor little fellow up by his fur, and by his hind leg, keeping him dangling in the air, and committed odious other outrages. Perhaps I had better have drowned him. Possibly I may yet have a chance to do so, for I should not wonder if they were to send him back. Julian says he had a great mind to snatch him away and run home.
Before dinner we took a walk to the lake, where we found a boat drawn up on the shore, and if it had not been fastened to the root of a tree and locked, I think we should have taken a trip to foreign parts. The little man got into the boat, and enjoyed himself greatly, especially when he discovered some little old fish, evidently of some days' continuance, in the bottom of the boat.
After dinner came Mr. Farley, as he had partly given me to expect when I saw him yesterday. He came with the purpose of trying to catch some fish; so all three of us went down to the lake. Julian was quite in ecstasy. There is no use in trying to keep him from becoming a fisherman; there is the genuine instinct in him, and sooner or later it will gratify itself. Neither do I perceive any reason why it should not; it is as harmless a propensity as he could have. However, there was nothing in our luck, this afternoon, to make him enamoured of the pursuit. We caught only a few bream and perch, each of which the old gentle- man immediately took up by the tail, surveying it with most delighted interest, and frisking all the while as if in sympathy with the frisky movements of the poor fish. After a while, Mr. Farley and I became tired, and we set out for home. The afternoon was as perfect as could be, as to beauty and comfort; just warm enough, nothing to be added or taken away. He did not stay to tea, but went home, taking Herman Melville's " White Jacket " with him.
I put Julian to bed at seven, or thereabouts, and went out to pick some currants. While thus engaged, Mrs. Tappan passed by the edge of the garden, towards the lower barn; and I asked her whether Julian made his offering of the rabbit to Ellen with due grace. She laughed, and said that he did, but said that they found Bunny quite troublesome, and that Ellen maltreated him and that the dog was always trying to get him — and, in short. Bunny turned out not to be a desirable acquisition. She spoke of giving him to little Marshall Butler, and suggested, moreover (in reply to something that I said about putting him out of existence) , that he might be turned out into the woods, to shift for himself. There is some- thing characteristic in this idea. It shows the sort of sensitiveness that finds the pain and misery of other people disagreeable, just as it would a bad scent, but is perfectly at ease when once they are removed from her sphere. I suppose she would not for the world have killed Bunny, al- though she would have exposed him to the cer- tainty of lingering starvation without scruple or remorse. Seeing nothing else to be done, I pro- posed to take Bunny back, and she promised to bring him to-morrow.
Mrs. Peters went home immediately after sup- per. I read " Pendennis " during the evening, ate about a quart of crushed currants, and went to bed at ten.
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