DOI Seite / Zitierlink:
https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.62134#0157
A GROUP WORTHY OF ETTY.
149
visit them in their beautiful mountain home. What a
paradise will our visit be ! and what rainbows of real, not
imaginary., flowers will we gather !
The elegant and abundant supper was served in a dining-
room on the ground-floor. The room was hung with oil-
paintings of the lakes and mountains around their
mountain-home. All was bright and sparkling with deli-
cate china, snowy damask, and glittering silver. Different,
however, in many ways from what a supper-table in
England at Christmas-time, in a family of equal considera-
tion, would have been : it was much less sumptuous and
costly, and there was no decoration of one’s veil-beloved
old holly; but the hospitality, the grace, and the refine-
ment, might have vied with the most hospitable, the most
refined of English homes. How talkative and merry was
everybody ! How gay those nine scarlet fezes made the
supper-table look, seated alternately with the blond-haired,
blue-eyed sisters ! The swarthy oriental countenances, con-
trasting with these delicate complexions and golden hair of
the north, would have rejoiced old E tty’s heart, and made
him, had he seen them, paint more crowds than ever of
swarthy heroes and golden-haired, blue-eyed nymphs.
The little sons of the house, Angelo and Hugo, were
entertaining their guests at a supper-table in an adjoining
room. The “ Mother’"’ rose once or twice from the head
of the table during supper, and glided into the children’s
apartment, from which, as the laughter and bum of voices
in the grown-up banqueting-room sunk ever and anon, we
heard children’s shrill gay laughter and a chorus of merry
little voices. Once, as the “ Mother” passed the Blush-rose
on her return to the supper-table, the Blush-rose pressed the
“ Mother’s” hand, laid it against her cheek, and mother
and daughter exchanged a momentary glance into each
other’s eyes of the tenderest love.
149
visit them in their beautiful mountain home. What a
paradise will our visit be ! and what rainbows of real, not
imaginary., flowers will we gather !
The elegant and abundant supper was served in a dining-
room on the ground-floor. The room was hung with oil-
paintings of the lakes and mountains around their
mountain-home. All was bright and sparkling with deli-
cate china, snowy damask, and glittering silver. Different,
however, in many ways from what a supper-table in
England at Christmas-time, in a family of equal considera-
tion, would have been : it was much less sumptuous and
costly, and there was no decoration of one’s veil-beloved
old holly; but the hospitality, the grace, and the refine-
ment, might have vied with the most hospitable, the most
refined of English homes. How talkative and merry was
everybody ! How gay those nine scarlet fezes made the
supper-table look, seated alternately with the blond-haired,
blue-eyed sisters ! The swarthy oriental countenances, con-
trasting with these delicate complexions and golden hair of
the north, would have rejoiced old E tty’s heart, and made
him, had he seen them, paint more crowds than ever of
swarthy heroes and golden-haired, blue-eyed nymphs.
The little sons of the house, Angelo and Hugo, were
entertaining their guests at a supper-table in an adjoining
room. The “ Mother’"’ rose once or twice from the head
of the table during supper, and glided into the children’s
apartment, from which, as the laughter and bum of voices
in the grown-up banqueting-room sunk ever and anon, we
heard children’s shrill gay laughter and a chorus of merry
little voices. Once, as the “ Mother” passed the Blush-rose
on her return to the supper-table, the Blush-rose pressed the
“ Mother’s” hand, laid it against her cheek, and mother
and daughter exchanged a momentary glance into each
other’s eyes of the tenderest love.