Most persons, at their first entrance, felt impelled to remove their hats, and
pay such reverence as was due to the richly dressed and beautiful young lady,
who seemed to stand in a corner of the room, with oaken chips and shavings scattered
at her feet. Then came a sensation of fear; as if, not being actually human,
yet so like humanity, she must therefore be something preternatural. There was,
in truth, an indefinable air and expression that might reasonably induce the
query–who and from what sphere this daughter of the oak should be. The strange
rich flowers of Eden on her head; the complexion, so much deeper and more brilliant
than those of our native beauties; the foreign, as it seemed, and fantastic
garb, yet not too fantastic to be worn decorously in the street; the delicately
wrought embroidery of the skirt; the broad gold chain about her neck; the curious
ring upon her finger; the fan, so exquisitely sculptured in open work, and painted
to resemble pearl and ebony;–where could Drowne, in his sober walk of life,
have beheld the vision here so matchlessly embodied! And then her face!
In the dark eyes, and around the voluptuous mouth, there played a look made
up of pride, coquetry, and a gleam of mirthfulness, which impressed Copley with
the idea that the image was secretly enjoying the perplexed admiration of himself
and all other beholders.
