Chapter 21

"This day, no man thinks He has business at his house."

KING HENRY VIII.

The warm weather, which was always a little behind that of the lower
counties, had now set in among the mountains, and the season had
advanced into the first week in July. "Independence Day," as the
fourth of that month is termed by the Americans, arrived; and the
wits of Templeton were taxed, as usual, in order that the festival
might be celebrated with the customary intellectual and moral treat.
The morning commenced with a parade of the two or three uniformed
companies of the vicinity, much gingerbread and spruce-beer were
consumed in the streets, no light potations of whiskey were swallowed
in the groceries, and a great variety of drinks, some of which bore
very ambitious names, shared the same fate in the taverns.

Mademoiselle Viefville had been told that this was the great American
_fête_; the festival of the nation; and she appeared that morning in
gay ribands, and with her bright, animated face, covered with smiles
for the occasion. To her surprise, however, no one seemed to respond
to her feelings; and as the party rose from the breakfast-table, she
took an opportunity to ask an explanation of Eve, in a little
'aside.'

"_Est-ce que je me suis trompée, ma chere_?" demanded the lively
Frenchwoman. "Is not this _la célébration de votre indépendance_?"

"You are not mistaken, my dear Mademoiselle Viefville, and great
preparations are made to do it honour. I understand there is to be a
military parade, an oration, a dinner, and fire-works."

"_Monsieur votre père----?_"

"_Monsieur mon père_ is not much given to rejoicings, and he takes
this annual joy, much as a valetudinarian takes his morning draught."

"_Et Monsieur Jean Effingham----?_"

"Is always a philosopher; you are to expect no antics from him."

"_Mais ces jeunes gens, Monsieur Bragg, Monsieur Dodge, et Monsieur
Powis, même!_"

"_Se réjouissent en Américains._ I presume you are aware that Mr.
Powis has declared himself to be an American?"

Mademoiselle Viefville looked towards the streets, along which divers
tall, sombre-looking countrymen, with faces more lugubrious than
those of the mutes of a funeral, were sauntering, with a desperate
air of enjoyment; and she shrugged her shoulders, as she muttered to
herself, "_que ces Americains sont drôles!_"

At a later hour, however, Eve surprised her father, and indeed most
of the Americans of the party, by proposing that the ladies should
walk out into the street, and witness