University of Virginia Library

CHILDE ROELIFF'S PILGRIMAGE;

A TRAVELLING LEGEND.

Roeliff Orendorf,—or, as he was commonly called,
Childe Roeliff, on account of a certain conceited simplicity
which caused him to be happily insensible to
the sly ridicule called forth by his little purse-proud
pomposities,—was a worthy man, and useful
citizen of the queen of cities—I need not mention the
name,—who having got rich by a blunder, had ever
after a sovereign and hearty contempt for wisdom. He
never could see the use of turning his head inside out,
as he was pleased to call it, in thinking of this, that, and
the other thing; and truly he was right, for if he had
turned it inside out, he would, peradventure, have found
nothing there to repay him for the trouble. But, for
all this, he was a very decentish sort of a man, as
times go; for he subscribed liberally to all public-spirited
undertakings that promised to bring him in a good
profit; attended upon all public meetings whose proceedings
were to be published in the newspapers, with
the names of the chairman, secretary, and committee;
and gave away his money with tolerable liberality
where he was sure of its being recorded. In short, he
was wont to say, that he did not mind spending a dollar

any more than other people, only the loss of the
interest was what he grudged a little.

The Childe's father was an honest tinman, in times
which try men's pedigrees,—that is to say, some forty
years ago; and Roeliff being brought up to the same
trade—we beg pardon, profession,—became, as it were,
so enamoured of noise, that he never could endure the
silence of the country; was especially melancholy of
a summer evening, when all the carts had gone home;
and often used to say that Sunday would be intolerable
were it not for the ringing of the bells. Yet, for all
his attachment to noise, he never made much in the
world himself, and what little he did make was in his
sleep, he having a most sonorous and musical proboscis.
It was thought to be owing to this impatience of repose,
or rather silence, that he caused his daughter, at the expense
of a great deal of money, to be taught the piano,
by a first rate pianist, whose lessons were so eminently
successful, that Roeliff was wont to affirm her playing
always put him in mind of the tinman's shop.

His early life, until the age of nearly forty, was spent
in plodding and projecting schemes for growing rich,
but without success. Having, however, contrived to
amass a few thousands, in the good old way of saving
a part of his earnings, he was inspired to purchase six
acres of land in the outskirts of the city, in doing which
he made a most fortunate blunder—he bought in the
wrong place, as everybody assured him. In process of
years, however, it turned out to have been the right one,
for the city took it into its head to grow lustily in that
quarter. Streets were laid out lengthwise and crosswise
through it; one of which was called after his name.
The speculators turned their interests that way, and
Roeliff came out of his blunder with a great plum in
his pocket; nay, some said with a plum in each pocket.
"Where is the use," said he to his friends, "of taking
such pains to do right, when I have grown rich by what

everybody said was wrong?" His friends echoed the
sentiment; for what man of two plums was ever contradicted,
except by his wife? So Roeliff ever afterward
took his own way, without paying the least regard
to the opinions of wise people: and if, as we have
often read in a book, the proof of the pudding is in the
eating, he was right, for I have heard a man of great
experience hint, that one-half the mistakes we make
in this world come of taking the advice of other
people. "Every man," he would say, "is, after all,
the best judge of his own business. And if he at
any time asks the opinion of others, it should only be
that he may gather more reasons for following his
own."

The period in which a man grows rich in his own
estimation, is the crisis of his fate; and indeed the rule
will apply equally to nations. Every day we see people
who don't know what to do with themselves because
they have grown rich: and is not this unlucky country
of ours on the eve of a mighty struggle, merely because
she is just getting out of debt; and, forgetful of the old
proverbs, about reckoning your chickens before they are
hatched, and hallooing before you are out of the wood,
is in a convulsion of doubt and uncertainty as to what
she will do with her money afterward. So it happened
with friend Roeliff.

He was more puzzled a hundred times to know
how to spend, than he was in making his fortune;
and had it not been for his great resourse of standing
under the window of a neighbouring tinman's
shop, enjoying the merry "clink of hammers closing
rivets up," he would have been devoured by the
blue devils, which everybody knows are almost as
bad as printers' devils. At first he was smitten
with an ambition to become literary; accordingly, he
purchased all the modern romances: fitted up a library
in an elegant style, and one morning determined to set

to work improving his mind. About an hour after he
was found fast asleep, the book lying at his feet, and his
head resting on the table before him. It was with
considerable trouble that Mrs. Orendorf at last shook
his eyes open; but such was the stultification of ideas
produced by this first effort of study, that Roeliff often
declared he did not rightly come to himself until
he had spent half an hour under the tinman's shop
window. This disgusted him with learning, and he
turned his attention to the fine arts; bought pictures,
busts, casts, and got nearly smothered to death in submitting
to Browere's process for obtaining a fac-simile
of one of the ugliest faces in the city. He rode this
hobby some time with considerable complacency; and
covered his library walls with pictures christened after
the names of all the most celebrated masters of the
three great schools. One day a foreign connoisseur
came to see his collection; and on going away, made
Roeliff the happiest of men, by assuring him he had
not the least doubt his pictures were genuine, since
they had all the faults of all the great masters in the
highest perfection. "It is of no consequence," thought
Roeliff, "how bad they are, provided they are only
originals."

But to a man without taste the cultivation of the fine
arts soon loses its relish. Affectation is but short-lived
in its enjoyments, and the gratification of one vanity
creates only a vacuum for the cravings of another.
Roeliff was again becalmed for want of some excitement,
and the tinman, unfortunately, removed to a
distant part of the city, leaving, as it were, a dreadful
noiseless solitude behind him. At this critical period,
his favourite nephew, an eminent supercargo, who had
made the tour of Europe, returned like most of the touring
young gentlemen, who go abroad to acquire taste and
whiskers, with a devouring passion for music. He
had heard Paganini, and that was enough to put any

man in his senses out of them, in the quavering of a
demi-semi-quaver. Under the tuition of the regenerated
man, Roeliff soon became music-mad. He subscribed
to musical soirées; to musical importations from Italy;
to private musical parties, held in a public room, in the
presence of several hundred strangers; and enjoyed
the treat with such a zest, that it is affirmed he was
actually more than once roused from a profound sleep,
by the crashes at the end of some of the grand overtures.
"Bless me! how exquisite! it puts me in mind
of the tinman's shop," would he exclaim, yawning at the
same time like the mouth of the great Kentucky cavern.

One summer came—the trying season for people of
fashion and sensibility, and the favourite one of Roeliff,
who could then sit at the open windows, and enjoy the
excitement of noise, dust, and confusion, to the utmost
degree possible, in the paradise of Broadway, just as
our southern visiters do. But it is time to say something
of Mrs. Orendorf, who had a great deal to say for
herself, when occasion called for the exercise of her
eloquence. About this time she made the discovery,
that though she had spent every summer of her life in the
city, for more than forty years, without falling a victim
to the heat and the bad air, it was quite impossible to
do so any longer. In short, the mania of travelling
had seized her violently, and honest Roeliff was at
length wrought upon to compromise matters with her.
Mrs. Roeliff hinted strongly at a trip to Paris, but it
would not do. In the first place, he considered his wife
a beauty, as she really had been twenty years before;
and felt some apprehensions she might be run away
with by a French marquis. In the second place, he
could not bear the idea of parting for so long a time
from the music and dust of Broadway; and in the
third place, he had some rational doubts whether he
should cut any considerable figure in the saloons of
Paris. Mrs. Orendorf, however, insisted on going

abroad somewhere, and the worthy gentleman proposed
Canada. The lady, on being assured that Canada was
actually a foreign country, assented to the arrangement;
and it was determined that they should stop a
few days at the Springs, on their way to foreign parts.
Accordingly, Mrs. Orendorf, and her only daughter,
Minerva, went forth into the milliners' shops to array
themselves gorgeously for the approaching campaign.
It was settled that the travelled supercargo, for whom
Roeliff entertained an astonishing respect, and in whose
favour he had conceived a plan which will be developed
in good time, should go with him, as Minerva's beau.
Young Dibdill, so he was called, abhorred such notorious
things as a family party; and was at first inclined, as
he declared, to "cut the whole concern;" but as Minerva
was a very pretty girl, and an heiress besides, he at
length made up his mind to be bored to death, and accorded
his consent, with the air of a person conferring
a great favour.

That our travelled readers may not turn up their
noses at Mr. Julius Dibdill for such a barbarous dereliction
of the dignity of his caste, we will describe our
heroine, before we proceed with our legend. She had a
beautiful little face, rather pale, and reflecting—a beautiful
little figure, round, and finely formed—a beautiful
little foot and hand—and the most beautiful little pocket
ever worn by woman. It held two plums,—for be it
known that Roeliff Orendorf had but this only child,
and she was lieiress to all he had in the world. She
was, moreover, accomplished, for she danced, sung,
dressed, and walked according to the best models; and
what is greatly to her credit, though rich, handsome,
and admired, she was not more than half-spoiled. It
is not to be denied that she was a little sophisticated,
a little affected, and a little too fond of the looking-glass
and the milliners' shops; but there was at bottom
a foundation of good sense, good feeling, and pure sensibility,

which, it was obvious to an attentive observer,
would, under happy auspices, in good time, redeem her
from all these little foibles.

Minerva, though scarcely eighteen, had many admirers,
and might have had many more, had it not
been for her unfortunate name, which put the young
gentlemen in mind of the goddess of wisdom; and
kept some of them at an awful distance. Among these
admirers were two who claimed and received particular
preference in different ways—her cousin Julius she
despised more than any other, and Reuben Rossmore
she cherished above all the rest in her heart. Yet,
strange to tell, she preferred a walk in Broadway at
noon with Julius, before one with Reuben; and a
walk with Reuben on the Battery of a moonlight
evening, to one with her cousin Julius. Would you
know the reason of this odd inconsistency? Julius
was one of the best dressed and most fashionable young
men in the city. He smuggled all his clothes from
London and Paris by means of a friend in one of the
packets. Whereas Reuben was generally about twelve
hours behind the march of improvement in his dress,
and wanted that indispensable requisite of a modern
Adonis, a muzzle à la Bison. So far as nature's workmanship
went, Reuben was Apollo to a satyr, when
compared with Julius; but the tailor cast his thimble,
his shears, and his goose into the scale, and restored the
balance in favour of the latter. Not one of the charming
divinities who emulate the waddle of a duck in their walk,
and the celebrated Venus de Monomotapa in their figures,
but envied Minerva, when escorted by Julius; yet not
a single one of them all would have cared, had she
walked from Dan to Beersheba, and back again, with
Reuben Rossmore. Such is the influence of the example
of others on the heart of a young girl, that our
heroine sometimes would turn a corner when she saw
Reuben coming, while she always met Julius with

smiling welcome, or at least something that answered
the purpose just as well. To sum up all in one word,
Julius was most welcome in public, Reuben in private.

"She is ashamed of me," said Reuben to himself,
when he sometimes thought she wished to avoid him in
Broadway; and he would refrain from visiting her for
several days. But when at length he overcame his feelings,
and went to see her, the manner of her reception
in the quiet parlour of the worthy Roeliff banished
these throes of pride, and he forgot his suspicions in the
joy of a smiling unaffected welcome.

It was on the 29th of June, 1828, that the party,
consisting of Roeliff, his lady, daughter, and nephew,
two servants, six trunks, and eight bandboxes, embarked
in the steamboat for Albany. Minerva recommended
the safety-barge, on account of the total absence of all
danger, and the quiet which reigns in these delightful
conveyances. But Roeliff hated quiet, and loved his
money, and, on Mrs. Orendorf observing the fare was
much higher than in the other boats, like honest John
Gilpin—

So they embarked on board one of the fast boats,
and away they went up the river as swift as the wind.
It ought to have been stated before, but it is not too
late to do it now, that young Rossmore had more than
once hinted his desire to accompany them; yet though
somewhat of a favourite with the whole party, except
Julius, who disliked him from an instinctive perception
of his superiority, somehow or another it so happened
that no one thought of giving him an invitation. He
however accompanied them to the boat; and Minerva,
at parting, could not help saying, as she gave him a

hand as soft and white as the fleecy snow before it
becomes contaminated by touching the dirty earth, accompanied
by a smile like that of Aurora, when, in the
charming month of June, she leads the rosy hours over
the high eastern hills, diffusing light, and warmth, and
gladness over the face of nature,—

"I hope we shall meet you in the course of our
journey."

The last bell rung—the cry of "Ashore! ashore!"
was heard fore and aft the vessel, which lay champing
the bit, as it were, like an impatient race-horse; and
heaving back and forth in a sort of convulsive effort to
be free. Reuben jumped on the wharf—the word was
given, the fasts let go, and as if by magic she glided off,
first slowly, then swifter and swifter, until the wharves,
the streets, the whole city seemed scampering behind
and gradually disappearing like the shadows of a misty
morning. For some reason or other, Minerva turned
her head towards the receding city, and to the last saw
Reuben standing at the end of the wharf, watching the
progress of the enchanted barke that bore her away.

This was the first time our heroine had set forth to
see the world, and of consequence, her imagination had
never been blighted by the disappointment of those glowing
anticipations with which the fancy of untried and inexperienced
youth gilds the yet unexplored terra incognita.
Her head was full of unknown beauties that
were to spring up under her feet and greet her at every
step; and of strange and novel scenes and adventures,
of which as yet she could form no definite conception.
The novelty of the steamboat, the swiftness of its
motion, and the quick succession of beautiful scenery on
either shore of the river, for awhile delighted her
beyond expression; but she was mortified to find by
degrees, that the monotony of motion, the heat of the
weather, increased by the effusion of so much scalding
steam and greasy vapour from the machinery, gradually

produced an irksome and impatient feeling, a peevish
wish to arrive at Albany. The confined air of the
cabin, the crowd, the clattering of plates, knives,
forks; the impatient bawlings of "waiter! boy!" from
hungry passengers, all combined, took away her appetite,
and gave her a headache, so that by the time they
arrived at the hotel in Albany, she was glad to retire to
her chamber, and seek that balmy rest she had hitherto
enjoyed at her quiet home. But in this she was sorely
disappointed. The hurly-burly of the house, which
lasted till long after midnight—and the arrival and departure
of stages just about the dawn of day; together
with that odd feeling which is experienced by persons
who go from home for the first time, of occupying a
strange bed, banished sleep from her pillow, and she
arose languid and unrefreshed. And thus ended the
first lesson.

Childe Roeliff would gladly have sojourned a day or
two in Albany. It was the city of his ancestors, one
of whom had emigrated to New-York, in high dudgeon
at beholding the progress of that pestilent practice of
building houses with the broadside in front, instead of
the gable-end, as had been the custom from time immemorial.
He was moreover smitten with admiration
of the noise and hurly-burly of the hotel, which reminded
him of his old favourite place of resort, the tinman's
shop. But Mrs. Orendorf was impatient to reach
the Springs, and Minerva, besides some little stimulus
of the same kind, longed to get clear of the racket which
surrounded her. As to friend Julius, he had explored
the larder of the hotel, and carried his researches into
the kitchen; there was nothing but commonplace materials
in the one, and no French cook in the other. He
was therefore ready to turn his back upon Albany at a
moment's warning. Accordingly they departed immediately
after dinner, and proceeded on their way to
Saratoga. The bill made Roeliff look rather blue, but

he was too much of a man of spirit to demur, though
there was a certain bottle of chateaux margaux, which
squire Julius had called for, the price of which was
above rubies.

The ostensible object of our travellers was to explore
and admire the beauties of the country; but somehow
or other they travelled so fast all day, and were so tired
when night came, that they scarcely saw any thing except
from the carriage, on their way to the Springs,
which they reached rather late in the evening. A great
piece of good fortune befell them on their arrival. A
large party had left Congress Hall in the afternoon, and
they were consequently enabled to obtain excellent
rooms at that grand resort of beauty and fashion. That
very evening they had a ball, and Minerva was dragged
to it by her mother, though she would not have been
able to keep herself awake, had it not been for her
astonishment at seeing some of the elderly married
ladies dance the waltz and gallopade. Julius was in
his element, and created a sensation, by the exuberance
of his small-talk and whiskers. Indeed, he was so
much admired that Minerva was almost inclined to doubt
her understanding, as well as her experience, both
which had long since pronounced him a heartless,
headless coxcomb. Two fashionable married ladies
at once took him under their patronage, and Childe
Roeliff was sometimes so much annoyed at his neglect
of his daughter, that he said to himself, in the bitterness
of his heart, "I wonder what business married women
have with young beaux? In my time it was considered
very improper." Poor man, he forgot that he was but
lately initiated into high life, and that the march of intellect
had been like that of a comet since his time, as he
called it.

Minerva was at first astonished, then amused, and
then delighted with the noisy, easy system of flirtation
at that time in vogue at Congress Hall. In the course

of a few days,—such is the influence of example on the
mind of a young inexperienced female,—she lost all
that feeling of delicate shyness, which is so apt to embarrass
a timid, high-souled, intellectual girl, in her first
outset in life; she could run across a room, bounce
into a chair, talk loud and long, and quiz people
nobody knew, just as well, and with as little of that
exploded vulgarism called, if I recollect aright, blushing,
as either Mrs. Asheputtle or Mrs. Dowdykin, both
of whom had made the "grand tower," as their husbands
took care to inform everybody; and had learned
the true Parisian pronunciation, from a French fille-dechambre
of the first pretensions. These two lady
patronesses of Congress Hall took our heroine under
their special protection, and Mrs. Orendorf affirmed she
could see a great improvement in her every day. "I
declare," said she to Roeliff, "I do think Minerva could
talk to six gentlemen all at once, and even dance the gallopade
with a man she never saw before, without being in
the least frightened."—"So much the worse," said the
Childe. "In my time a young woman could not say
boo to a goose in a strange company, without your
hearing her heart beat all the while."—"So much the
worse," said Mrs. Roeliff, "what is a woman good for
if she can't talk, I wonder."—"I don't know," said the
Childe, "except it be to make puddings and mend
stockings."—"I wish to heaven you'd mend your
manners," cried Mrs. Roeliff; and thus the conference
ended, as it generally does in these cases, with a mutual
conviction in the mind of each that the other was a
most unreasonable person. Nothing, in fact, reconciled
Roeliff to the Springs, except the inspiring racket of the
drawing-room of Congress Hall, which he declared
put him always in mind of the tinman's shop. The
following letters were written by Minerva and her
cousin Julius, about a week after their arrival at Saratoga
Springs.

The same post carried the following letter from Mr.
Julius Dibdill to his friend Count Rumpel Stiltskin, a
distinguished foreigner, and eléve vice-cousul.

The morning shone bright, and "all nature smiled in
dewy tears," as the great bard Whipsyllabuh saith,
when our party set forth on their way to Lake George.
Following the advice of Seabright, who intimated a possibility
of his joining them at the lake, they chose a

route not generally followed, and not laid down in any
of the books. It led them through a fine fruitful and
picturesque country, the inspiration of which affected
the party in various ways. Minerva and Reuben
pointed out with sympathetic delight the little clear
rivulets that meandered through the meadows, crossing
the road back and forth in their devious windings—the
rich fields of golden grain in which the happy husbandman
was now reaping the harvest of his autumn and
spring labours; and the distant waving mountains that
marked the vicinity of the beautiful Hudson—beautiful
in all its course, from its departure from the little parent
lake to its entrance into the boundless ocean. Julius
took no note of the country, except that when occasionally
called upon to admire, he would lug in a comparison
with some scenery on the Rhine, the Lake of
Geneva, or the like, intimating something like pity of
those unlucky wights who never had an opportunity of
seeing them, and who could admire the homely charms
of an American landscape. Mrs. Orendorf did nothing
but talk about what a charming place they had just left,
and what a charming woman was Mrs. Asheputtle;
and Childe Roeliff, having made two or three desperate
efforts to resist the inroads of the enemy, and keep his
eyes open, fell fast asleep. Happy is he who can thus
at will shut out the world, evade the tediousness of time,
and, as it were, annihilate that awful vacuum which
intervenes between the great epochs of the day—to wit,
breakfast, dinner, and supper.

About midday they came in sight of Jesup's Landing,
as it is called, a little village close to the banks of
the Hudson, which here presents a scene of exquisite
beauty. The river is scarcely half a quarter of a mile
wide, and seems to sleep between its banks, one of
which rises into irregular hills, bounded in the distance
by lofty mountains, the other is a velvet carpet, just
spread above the surface of the stream, and running

back to the foot of a range of round full-bosomed hills,
that are succeeded by a range of rugged cliffs. Several
little streams abounding in trout, and as clear as crystal,
meander through these meadows, fringed with alders
and shrubs of various kinds, wild flowers, and vines;
and here and there a copse of lofty trees. The little
village consisted of a few comfortable houses, scattered
along the right bank of the river, and extending
perhaps a quarter of a mile. At sight of this charming
scene Reuben and Minerva exchanged looks of mutual
pleasure, indicating that sympathy of taste and feeling
which forms one of those imperceptible ties which
finally bind two hearts together, and constitute the basis
of the purest species of youthful love. There was
nobody present to call in question the orthdoxy of
Reuben's coat; no coterie of fashion to make Minerva
ashamed of so unfashionable a beau, and she resigned
herself gently into that respect and admiration which
his goodness of heart, his natural talents, and extensive
acquirements merited, and which nothing but the fear
of being laughed at could repress in her bosom.

It was decided that they should take dinner at a neat
comfortable inn, the names of whose owners we would
certainly immortalize in this our story, did we chance
to recollect them. But as there is but one public house
in the village, the traveller, who we hope may be
tempted to visit this scene, when peradventure he shall
peruse the adventures of the good Childe Roeliff, cannot
well mistake the house. While dinner was preparing
Minerva proposed a walk, for the purpose of viewing a
fall distant about half a mile, which Mr. Seabright had
excited her curiosity to see. The old folks were too
tired; and Julius had seen the cascade of Lauterbrunn,
and a dozen besides, in foreign parts, so there was no
use in his going to visit one that by no possibility could
be supposed equal to these. Minerva and Reuben
therefore set out together, after being enjoined by the

old gentleman not to keep them waiting dinner. Julius,
in the mean time, meditated a scrutiny into the
kitchen, to see into the flesh-pots of Egypt.

After proceeding over a high ridge which hid the
river from their view, the road suddenly turned to the
left down a steep hill, and they beheld the river raging
in violent whirlpools, covered with foam, and darting
through its narrow channel with noisy vehemence.
A few houses, and a sawmill lay far beneath them,
scattered among rocks and little gardens, where the
sunflower paid its homage to the god of its idolatry,
and the cabbage grew in luxuriant and chubby rotundity.
Descending the hill, they began to notice the
white spray rising above the tops of the pine-trees
which crowned the perpendicular cliff on the opposite
side of the river, and gradually the roar of the torrent
strengthened into sublimity. At length they turned the
corner of the mill, and beheld one of the finest scenes
to be found in a state abounding in the beautiful and
sublime of nature.

Minerva had taken the arm of the young man in descending
the hill, and she continued to lean on it, with a
more perceptible pressure, as they stood, in the silence
of strong emotion, gazing at the scene before them.
Perhaps we should have said Minerva stood gazing at
the scene—for it is due to the strict accuracy we mean to
preserve throughout our progress, to state that Reuben,
after glancing at the fall, happened to cast his eye
upon the damsel leaning on his arm, and pressing unconsciously
against him in thrilling admiration, mixed with
apprehension of the tremendous uproar of the waters,
which shook the earth at their feet. He there beheld a
countenance so beautiful, yet so apparently unconscious
of beauty, so lighted up with feeling, intelligence, and
delight, that for some moments he forgot the charms of
inanimate nature in the contemplation of a rarer masterpiece.

As he stood thus gazing in her face, their eyes
happened to meet, and the rose was never in the dewy
spring morning decked with such a tint as spread,
like the Aurora Borealis, over the mild heaven of her
countenance. We will not affirm that Reuben blushed
too, for that might bring him into disgrace with some
of our fashionable readers. But we can affirm that his
pulse beat in such a style that if the doctor had been
called in, he would certainly have pronounced him in a
high fever. Recovering herself in a few moments,
Minerva said, with the prettiest affectation of petulance
imaginable,—

"Pray, young gentleman, did you come here to see
the fall or not?"

"I did," said Reuben, somewhat surprised.

"Then I wish you would take the trouble to look at
it a little. I never before suspected you of being insensible
to the beauties of nature."

He took out his pencil—it was a self-sharpening
one,—and wrote a few verses which he presented
her. They turned upon the superiority of the charms
of woman, embellished with gentleness, beauty, intellect,
tenderness, sympathy, and, above all, an immortal
soul, over all other triumphs of creative power. We
would insert them here, but Minerva always declared
she threw the manuscript into the torrent.

"What nonsense!" exclaimed she, after reading it;
and there is every reason to believe she was affronted
at being thus put in comparison with a waterfall. But,
somehow or other, she still held his arm while they
staid at the foot of the torrent, and until they reached
the inn. Nay, she held it while they mounted the
steps, and after they entered the dining-room, when Mrs.
Orendorf observed, rather significantly, "Minerva, can't
you stand alone?"

Minerva started, let go the arm, and ran up-stairs;

for what purpose is a mystery to this day: perhaps
it was because she wanted to convince the old lady she
could stand alone. Master Julius listened to the account
of their excursion with astonishing apathy; but
was actually inspired to rub his hands in ecstasy, by
the sight of a fine dish of trout, which, for the time
being, banished the recollection of turbot à la crème et
au gratin.

Nothing on earth can exceed the beauty of the
scenery from Jesup's Landing to Hadley's Falls, of a
fine summer afternoon; and the party, at least two of
them, enjoyed it with all the zest of youthful feeling
awakened into admiration of every thing delightful, by
the new-born excitement of that universal passion which
in its first dawnings communicates a charm to every
thing we hear, every thing we see, every thing we
enjoy. The youthful lover, ere his hopes are poisoned
by jealousy and doubt, feels a glow about his heart, an
elasticity of spirit, a capacity for enjoyment he never
knew before. Solitude acquires a new charm, for his
fancy has now an object of perpetual contemplation,
which is everywhere its associate, and with which his
spirit holds converse absent as well as present. He
imagines every thing grateful and endearing to his
heart; creates a thousand occasions of innocent gratification;
conjures up smiles, blushes, and glances more
eloquent than words; the present is happiness, the
future enchanting; and this fretful world the garden of
Eden, inhabited by one more blooming, beautiful, and
pure than the mother of mankind at the first moment
of her creation, ere the serpent whispered his first
temptations, and the first transgression stained the virgin
earth. Such, or something like these, were the feelings
of Minerva and Reuben, as they stole a few minutes
to ramble along the river to the mouth of a little stream
that joined it out of the meadows about a quarter of a
mile from the inn.

"Nothing is wanting to the beauty of this fairy
scene," said the young man.

"Yes," replied Minerva, "you have named the very
thing wanting. It is indeed a fairy scene, and could
we only imagine it the occasional haunt of these
charming little folks, it would derive additional interest
and beauty from the association. I have been told
that few, if any, of the rivers of the ancient world are
to be compared with this; but they are ennobled by
their nymphs, their river gods, and their connexion with
poetry, romance, and religion, while our pure and
beautiful streams have nothing but reality to recommend
them. I sometimes wish I could believe in the
fairies."

"And so do I," answered Reuben. "I confess I
often look back with regret upon that happy period,
before fancy became the slave of reason; when the
youthful imagination was filled with the unseen glories
of enchanted palaces; with spirits, fairies, and genii,
guarding virtue, punishing vice; alluring us to the
practice of all the moral duties by the most splendid
rewards, and deterring us from the commission of
crimes by the most awakening punishments. I sympathize
with the French poet, when he complains that,

The carriage now overtook them, and they proceeded
on their journey sitting side by side, now bowling along
the level banks of the river, crowned with trees, whose
velvet foliage was reflected in the still, pure water, with
an inimitable softness and beauty; and now slowly

ascending the round green hills, which every moment
opened to their view new and distant landscapes—hills
rising above hills, and ending at last in blue mountains
seeming to mingle with the skies. Little was said by
either, except in that language which all understand,—
as an unknown poet says,—

They followed the direction of each other's eyes in
search of nature's masterpieces, or looked into them
and beheld them reflected as in the gliding river.

Master Julius Dibdill, having had the misfortune to
be a great traveller, saw nothing in the scenery to
merit his attention; but he saw something in these
glances which he did not at all like. They spoke a
language which he comprehended perfectly, and he
began to ponder within himself that it was high time
to come to an explanation; for, incredible as it might
seem, the antediluvian coat seemed in a fair way to
eclipse the whiskers, at least in these romantic solitudes.

"But I will wait till we arrive at Lake George,
where I shall find an assemblage of fashionable people,
and resume my empire," thought he.

In the mean time he bestirred himself to make the
agreeable; talked about the musical soirées, the fashions,
the great people, the cookery, "and all that sort
of thing." But these topics, it would seem, have no enchantment
out of the sphere of the drawing-room and
fancy ball. Within the magic circle of nature, among
meadows, and streams, and rocks, and mountains, and
in the deep solitudes of the touching melancholy woods,
they hold no sway. The heart responds not to them,
and even echo disdains to reply from her sequestered

hiding-place. Minerva heard what he said, but she
looked at the distant cascade of Hadley, where the
Hudson and the dark rolling Sacondaga come forth
from their empire in the woods, unite their waters, and
quarrel away with angry vehemence, until, becoming as
it were reconciled to their enforced marriage, they jog
on quietly together like Darby and Joan, till they mingle
at last with that emblem of eternity, the vast, unfathomable,
endless ocean, which swallows up the waters of
the universe at one mighty gulp.

Crossing the river at Hadley, by a bridge hanging
in the air directly over the falls, the scene changed by
degrees into a vast mountainous forest of gloomy pines,
destitute of cultivation, except that here and there, at
long intervals, the hand of man was indicated by a
little clear field, along some devious winding brook,
groping its way through the little valleys, and turning
a sawmill, sore enemy to the gigantic pines, and destructive
to the primeval forests that have braved the
elements for ages past. The road was rough and
rocky, and the people they passed were few and far
between; wild in their looks, and wild in their attire.
Still there was a romantic feeling of novelty connected
with the scene; it was a perfect contrast to that they
had just quitted; and there was a solemn and desolate
wildness about it, which partook of sublimity. Minerva
and Reuben enjoyed it, for they were studying the early
and enchanting rudiments of a first love together,—
the good lady-mother complained sorely of the bruises
she sustained,—Childe Roeliff grumbled, and bitterly
reviled the road because it would not let him sleep,—
while the accomplished Dibdill whiled away the tedious
hours, by every moment asking the driver how far it
was to Lake George, and expressing his impatience to
get there.

The night set in ere they had cleared this wild district,
and grew exceedingly dark in consequence of the

approach of a storm. The lightning and thunder became
frequent and appalling, while the intervals were
enveloped in tenfold darkness. The progress of the
carriage became necessarily so slow that the excellent
Roeliff was at length enabled to accommodate himself
with a nap, from which not even the thunder could
rouse him. The horses, as is common on such occasions,
became dogged and obstinate, and at length
came to a dead stand. In the mean time the distant
roaring of the woods announced that the tempest was
let loose, and approaching on the wings of the whirlwind.

The situation of the party became extremely unpleasant,
and Minerva unconsciously pressed against
Reuben, as if for protection. The expostulations of
the driver with his team at length roused Childe
Roeliff from his sleep, who, on being made to comprehend
the situation of affairs, forthwith began to scold
the unfortunate women, on whom he laid all the blame.
In the first place, it was his wife who urged him on
to travelling in foreign parts; and in the second, his
daughter, who proposed this route through the wilderness,
or desert of Moravia, as he termed it. What a
capital thing it is to have some one to lay the blame
upon in times of tribulation! To be able to say to
another, "It is all your fault," is better in the eyes of
some people than all the consolations of philosophy.

The darkness, as we observed before, was intense in
these gloomy woods, and it became impossible to distinguish
objects through the void, except during the
flashes of lightning. In this dilemma, they sat consulting
what was to be done, without coming to a determination,
occasionally appealing to the driver; who
at length threw them into despair by acknowledging
that he feared he had deviated from the right road in
the darkness of the night.

"Is there a house near?" asked Reuben.

"If we are on the right track, there must be one
somewhere hereabouts, sir," replied the driver. "But
the people who live in it are not of the best character,
they say."

A flash of lightning, that seemed to set the heavens
and the earth in a blaze, and quivered among the lofty
trees, followed by a fearful crash of thunder, interrupted
this dialogue. As the explosion rolled away,
grumbling at a distance, the silence was interrupted by
two or three voices, exclaiming, close to the horses'
heads,—

"Hollo! hollo! hollo! who are you?"

The ladies shrieked—Childe Roeliff was struck
dumb, and Julius began to think about bandits and
brigands. Poor Minerva, frightened out of all recollection
of the dignity of the sex, actually seized Reuben's
hand, and held it fast, as if she feared he was
going to run away.

"Hollo! hollo!—I say, who are you?" repeated
the same rough voices.

"Travellers benighted in the woods," replied Reuben.

"Where do you come from?"

"Saratoga."

"Where are you going?"

"To Lake George."

"You'll not get there to-night I reckon."

"Why, how far is it?"

"Five miles, through the worst road in all York
state."

"Is there any house near?"

"I suspect I live just nigh hand yonder. You have
just passed it.—We heard something queer like, and
came out just to see what it was."

"Can you accommodate us for the night?"

"Can't I?—do you think I live in a hollow tree?"

"How far is it to your house?"

"Not a hundred yards yonder. There, you may see
it now."

And by the flashes of lightning, they distinguished
the house at a little distance.

"O don't let us go with these men!" whispered Minerva
to Reuben.

"I dare say they are as rude and as wild as bears,"
mumbled Mrs. Orendorf.

"No doubt they are squatters," quoth the Childe.

"I can swear to them," said Julius, in an undertone
of great apprehension. "They talk and look just
like banditti—and this is a most capital place for
murder. I wish I had brought my hair-triggers."

"Banditti!" screamed the old lady.

"Don't be alarmed," said Reuben. "There is
no danger of banditti in a happy and well-governed
country."

"Why, hollo! I say, mister—are you going to
light or not? We can't stand all night here. I felt a
drop of rain on my nose just now, and hear the storm
coming like fury down yonder. You are welcome to
go or stay, only make up your minds at once, or I'm
off like a shot."

"We had better go with them," said Reuben. "If
they had any mischief in their heads, they could do it
here better than anywhere else."

All finally assented to this proposition, warned by
the increasing whispers of the woods and the pattering
of the rain that no time was to be lost.

The horses, who seemed conscious they had been
driven past a place of shelter, willingly suffered the night-walkers
to take them by the reins and turn them round,
and in less than a minute they drew up before a house,
at the door of which stood a woman with a light.

"Quick! quick! jump like lamplighters," exclaimed
the master of the house; "or in less than no time
you'll be as wet as drowned rats."

The increasing rain and uproar warned them to
follow this advice, and the whole party, trunks, bandboxes,
and all, were in a trice received into the solitary
mansion, which, to their dismay and mortification, they
found already occupied by a party of the most questionable
figures they had ever seen. It consisted of five or
six of what, in the common phrase of Brother Jonathan,
are called "hard-looking characters," seated on benches
made of slabs, and tippling whiskey in a pretty considerable
fine style. They looked a little queer at our travellers
as they entered, but offered no rudeness of speech or
manner; and one of them, a native of the most gallant
of all countries, offered Minerva his seat on the slab
with great courtesy, considering he was dressed in a
red flannel shirt, and had forgotten his shoes somewhere
or other.

The house in which accident had thus cast our
travellers was entirely new, or rather, we may affirm it
was not above half-finished. Of the vast superfluity
of windows, only two were furnished with glass, and
the rest boarded up to keep out the weather. Half the
room they occupied was plastered, the other half
lathed only, and every thing, in fact, squared with the
distinguishing characteristic of honest Brother Jonathan,
who of all people in the world excels in building big
houses, which he never finishes. The furniture was exceedingly
"sparse," as the western members of Congress
say of the population of the new states: there
was a bed in one corner, in which lay ever so many little
white-headed rogues, who ever and anon popped up
their polls to take a sly look at the strangers. It
was sufficiently clean, and the vanity of woman peeped
forth even in these wild regions, in the form of a
coarse cotton fringe, which hung like a fishing net
from the ends of the pillow-cases. There were only
two chairs visible, the seats composed of pieces of
pine boards. Still nothing was slovenly, and every

thing about the place indicated, not the incurable poverty
of an old country, which neither toil nor industry
can remedy, but that temporary absence of conveniences,
which opportunity had not yet permitted them
to supply.

But to the ladies, and to Childe Roeliff, who for some
years past had been accustomed to the luxuries of a
splendid establishment, all this appeared the very quintessence
of poverty and misery combined. They
looked round them with dismay, and to their view all
seemed to indicate that species of want and wretchedness
which impels mankind to the violation of social
duties, and the perpetration of the deepest crimes.
They trembled for their lives, especially when they
saw suspended above the mantelpiece, and standing
up in the corners, at least half a dozen guns. Squire
Julius, whose head was full of banditti, observed these
mortal weapons as well as the ladies, and gave himself
up for lost that night.

"This comes of family parties, and rides in search
of the picturesque. I shall never dance the gallopade
again with the divine Asheputtle, that's certain," thought
he, as he glanced his eye upon the harsh features, athletic
forms, and above all, infamous costume, of the convivial
party.

Mine host was indeed of a face and figure most
alarming to behold. He was fast approaching to the
gigantic in height, and bony in the extreme—in short,
he seemed all bone and sinew. His features were
awfully strong; and of his nose it might be predicated,
that it was no wonder the first drop of rain which
came from the heavens that night fell upon that extensive
promontory, for the chances were in its favour
a hundred to one. He was, however, not uncourteous
in his way; but to the eyes of the refined portion of
society, rusticity always conveys an idea of rudeness

and barbarity. It was plain that he was the master
of the house, for the tone of his voice indicated as
much. Mine hostess was rather a little woman—not
deformed or ugly, but quite the contrary. She might
have been handsome, had it not been for a garment of
green baize, which threw friend Julius into a perspiration
of horror.

Our travellers had scarcely entered the house when
the storm commenced its career, and such a storm as
carries with it all the sublime of nature. The wind
howled, the thunder crashed, and the trees groaned,
while the rain beat a tattoo upon the roof and sides of
the building, as if it was determined to pepper some of
those within.

"I've seen many a storm in ould Ireland," exclaimed
one of the worshipful members, in a strong Irish accent;
"but never any tunder like dis."

"Pooh!" replied a figure that seemed to have been
made out of a shingle; "how should you when everybody
knows neither the sky nor the earth is half as big
in Ireland as in this country."

"Well, suppose and it isn't; what den?—is it any
reason why the tunder and lightning wouldn't be as
big? answer me dat, you Dutch Yankee."

"Why, I should guess so, arguing from analogy—"

"Ann what?—devil burn me if I know such a woman
—and I don't care what she argufies."

"I say," continued the other with great gravity,
"that, arguing from analogy, it is quite impossible, as I
should partly guess, that the thunder should be as loud
in such a small splice of a country, as it is in these
United States of Amerrykey. You see now, Mister
McKillicuddy—that's a queer name of yours—I wonder
your daddy wasn't ashamed to give you such a shorter
of a cognomen."

"Do you compare me to a cog-wheel, you shingle

faced monkey?" interrupted Mister McKillicuddy, who,
like all his company, was a dealer in sawing boards
in this region, where vast quantities are made and sent
to New-York by way of the Hudson.

"I compare you?—I'll see you pickled first," said
Jonathan; "I was only saying you had a tarnal droll
name—I wouldn't have such a name for all the bogs
of Ireland."

"Bogs!—you tief—none of your coming over me
with bogs;—I've seen a bog in Ireland bigger than the
whole State of New-York—yes, and if you come to
dat, bigger dan your whole Untied States as you call
'em."

"Whew—w—w!" whistled Jonathan; "what a
miserable country that Ireland of yours must be: I
don't wonder the snakes and toads have all left it, of
their own accord, long ago."

"Of their own accord!—no such ting I tell you.—St.
Patrick driv 'em all out by preaching to the rascals."

"Whew!—why I spose maybe you calculate on
that as a mighty slick piece of horsemanship. But
for all that, he can't hold a candle to our Deacon
Mabee. Let the deacon alone for driving a wedge—
why, the other night, at a four-days meetin, I wish I
may be shot if he didn't drive every cretur out of the
schoolhouse exceptin old Granny Whimblebit, who is
as deaf as an adder. St. Patrick can't hold a candle
to Deacon Mabee, I'm considerably inclined to think."

"May be or may be not, Mister Longreach; nobody
shall say any ting, or tink any ting, or dream any ting
to the undervallying Saint Patrick."

"Ever in Bosting? I'm from Bosting or thereabouts,
I guess, don't you?" replied Mr. Longreach.

"Bosting!—none of your coming over me with your
Bosting—Dublin for ever for me, honey!"

"Dubling—I've heard say by one of the slickest fellers
within a hundred miles of Bosting—that the city

of Dubling was so leetle you might kiver it all over
with the peeling of a potato."

"By the holy poker, but I'd like to come over that
slick feller.—The peel of a peraty!—By St. Patrick's
blue eyes!"

"Was his eyes blue?" asked Mr. Longreach, with
great apparent earnestness. "I always heard your
Irish people were great dealers in black eyes, maybe."

"Yes, by the hokey, and I'll give you a short specimen
off-hand if you go to make fun upon me, Mister
Longreach."

"I make fun of you!—I'd see your neck stretched
first."

"You wouldn't now, would you," cried Mr. McKillicuddy,
rising in great wrath, and making immediate
demonstrations of hostility. But the rest of the company,
who understood the dry humour of Jonathan, and
were enjoying the colloquy, interfered, and insisted
they should drink friends, assuring Mr. McKillicuddy
no harm was meant. Peace was accordingly restored,
and a short silence ensued. This, however, was soon
interrupted by the vespers of Childe Roeliff, who, being
tired with his ride and of waiting for supper, had fallen
asleep in one of the two chairs we have commemorated.

"Hush," cried McKillicuddy; "we will disturb the
ould New-Yorker there. And, now I think of it, 'tis time
to be going home to the ould woman. The storm is
over in one-half the time it would have been in swate
Ireland, for all dat tundering Yankee says."

Accordingly, seeing that the moon was peeping forth
from her recesses in the clouds, they made their
homely compliments to the strangers, and quietly sought
their burrows among the rocks and hills. Julius, who
watched them narrowly, overheard, with the quick ear
of apprehension, one of them say to the landlord, in an
under-tone, "What time shall we be here?" "About
an hour before day," replied he.

During the preceding dialogue, the mistress of the
mansion had been preparing supper for the travellers,
and Minerva and Reuben had listened with amusing
interest to this homely display of national character.
But Squire Dibdill could not divest himself of the impression
that these ill-dressed people were first-rate
banditti, and that they only retired to throw the party
off their guard, and induce them to spend the night in
this dangerous abode. After supper, which was of
the most plentiful kind—for however our people may
lodge, they all feed well—he hinted pretty strongly
about going on to the lake that night. But it was now
ten o'clock, the clouds had again obscured the moon,
and the driver, who heard the proposal from his corner,
declared that neither he nor his horses were in a humour
to undertake such a road at such an hour, in such a
night as this. The road, always bad, must be now
almost impassable, with the torrent of rain which had
just fallen; and he could not answer to his master or
the party for running the risk of a midnight journey.
Julius gave up the point unwillingly, and it was settled
to remain where they were till morning.

No small difficulty occurred in arranging accommodations,
as mine host was not accustomed to entertain
strangers of distinction, or indeed any strangers at all.
Seldom did a traveller pass that way, and still more
rarely did they tarry there for the night. We profess
not to know what became of the rest of the party; but
it hath come to our knowledge that Master Julius slept,
or was supposed to sleep, in a little excrescence of a
building that projected from the rear of the house,
usually occupied by the owner of the mansion himself,
who resigned it on this occasion to his guest.
About eleven the party retired to rest, and soon a
deathlike silence reigned everywhere, interrupted only
at intervals by the whooping of the owl or the barking
of the dogs about the house, occasionally disturbed by

those "varmints" which still infest the more obscure
recesses of our mountains. All save Julius were soon
fast asleep, or,—to speak more in accordance with the
"big" style of describing small things now-a-days,—
soon all were locked in the arms of Morpheus; and it
hath been asserted on good authority, that the last
thoughts of Reuben and the pretty little Minerva were
of each other.

Julius examined his sleeping-room with great attention,
but saw nothing to excite his suspicions save a few
spots on the floor, which looked very much like recent
stains of blood. He went to bed; but he was nervous,
and could not sleep for thinking of banditti. He lay
listening for hours after all was quiet as the grave around
him, and the dread silence increased his apprehensions,
insomuch that he wished he had permitted Reuben to
sleep in the room with him, notwithstanding the horror
with which travelled gentlemen, and more especially
English travellers, look upon such a republican enormity.
The state of his mind aggravated every little
sound that met his ear; the stir of a mouse made his
heart beat double; the hooting of the solitary owl
sounded like a prophetic foreboding of danger; and
the barking of the dogs announced to his exaggerated
apprehensions, the approach of the robbers.

After a long probation of tantalizing fears, he at length
worried himself into a sleep, from which he was roused
by a cautious and ominous tap at his window, which
had no shutter, and was but a few feet from the
ground. All was dark within and without, and there
reigned all around that deathlike stillness which may
be called the empire of fear, since to the excited fancy
it is far more appalling than the uproar and confusion
of the elements. After an interval of a moment, during
which he lay without drawing his breath, some one
said, in an under-tone,

"Knock louder."

"We shall disturb the ladies."

"That's true, I guess, but then how shall we get at
him?"

"By de hokey, he sleeps as dough he knowed it
was his last."

Julius recognised the voices of Longreach and
McKillicuddy, and his apprehensions now ripened into
certainty. His forehead became cold with the dews
of fear, and every feeling, every function of life resolved
itself into one horrible apprehension as he heard them
cautiously trying first at the door, then at the window,
and uttering low curses of disappointment at finding
them fastened.

"By J—s, we shall be too late, for I see de day
coming over de top of the mountain yonder."

"Well, then, I'll be darn'd if I don't go without him."

"By de holy poker, but I won't; he shall go wid us,
dead or alive. So here goes."

Mr. McKillicuddy hereupon essayed himself more
vigorously to open the door, and the apprehensions of
Julius being now wrought up to the highest pitch, he
roared out,—

"Murder! murder!" as loud as he could bawl.

"Och, murder!" shouted McKillicuddy in astonishment
and dismay, as he heard the voice of the stranger.

Julius continued to vociferate the awful cry until
he roused Reuben and mine host, and waked the ladies,
who began to echo him with all the might of female
lungs. Dressing themselves with great expedition, our
hero and the landlord proceeded to the place where
Julius was so sorely beset by the banditti, and beheld
by the slight tint of the gray morning, the figures of
McKillicuddy and his companion standing under the
window. Mine host hailed them, and was answered by
a well-known voice.

"A pretty kettle of fish you have made of it."

"Yes, I guess if he'd studied nine years and a half

for a blunder, he wouldn't have made a better. Darnation,
why did you direct us to the wrong place?"

"By jingo," replied the landlord, "that's true, I forgot,
or rather I didn't know, the strange gentleman was
to sleep in my room."

All this while the valiant Dibdill was vociferating
"Murder, murder!" in his best style, and Reuben, perceiving
there was no danger of such a catastrophe at
present, managed, by the assistance of the landlord, to
force the door. Their attempts redoubled the horrors
of poor Julius, who for some time withstood all the assurances
of Reuben that there was not the least danger of
being murdered this time. He stood in a perfect abstraction
of horror, with but one single impression on his
memory, and that was of banditti; repeating, as it were
unconsciously, the awful cry of murder, murder! as fast
as his tongue could utter it, until it gradually died away
in a whisper.

Having tried what shaking, and pushing, and arguments
would do, in vain, the landlord at length brought
him to his recollections by dashing a basin of water in
his face. For a minute or two he stood congealed and
astounded, then rubbing his eyes, and looking round
with a most ludicrous stare, exclaimed,

"Bless my soul, what is the matter?"

"By de soul of ould Ireland," cried McKillicuddy,
bursting into a roar of laughter, "by de soul of ould
Ireland, I believe de squire took us for robbers."

The whole scene changed at once, and shouts of
laughter echoed in these solitudes which had just been
alarmed with the cry of murder. Reuben could not
forbear joining in the chorus, as he looked at Julius,
who stood in his nightcap and oriental gown, shaking
with the cold ablution he had received, aided by the remains
of his fears, and exhibiting a ludicrous combination
of shame and apprehension.

The mystery was soon unravelled. Master McKillicuddy
had, a week or two before, got, as it were,
into a row on occasion of some anniversary,—we believe
it was that of the famous battle of the Boyne,—with
some of his dear countrymen, and a lawsuit, which was
to be tried that day, was the natural consequence. The
landlord and Mr. Jonathan Longreach were his principal
witnesses, and the place of holding court being
somewhat distant, it had been arranged to set out before
daylight, and that the other two were to awaken mine
host on their way.

The story came to the ears of Minerva, by some
means or other. We will not affirm that Reuben did
not tell her, for it was very natural she should ask the
reason of the great noise that had frightened her, and
it would have been impolite for him to keep it to himself.
All mankind, and most especially all womankind,
love courage. It is in itself so noble a quality,—and
then it is so indispensable to the protection of the weaker
sex, that we do not wonder they admire a soldier, because
his profession indispensably leads him at some
time or other into dangers, which he could not encounter
without disgrace, if he lacked courage. The conduct
of Julius on this awful night most sensibly diminished
the influence of his coat, his whiskers, and travelled
accomplishments, over Minerva. Her imagination gradually
got the better of her senses, and instead of the
perfect dandy arrayed from top to toe in the very quintessence
of fashionable adornment,—with chains, and
ribands, and diamonds bright, charming all eyes, and
taking captive every ear; he ever after appeared to
her, yelad in satin cap, and oriental nightgown, crying
"Murder! murder!" while the water trickled down his
cheeks like floods of tears. Still, however, he continued
to be the admiration of Mrs. Orendorf, who had
the authority of Mrs. Asheputtle that he was perfect,
and as for Childe Roeliff, the marriage of his daughter

and nephew was the favourite project of his declining
years; and who ever knew an elderly gentleman abandon
such a thing on the score of want of merit, want
of affection, incompatibility of temper, or prior attachment?
Had Roeliff done this, he would have
been the most remarkable old man ever recorded in
tradition, history, or romance; and if in the course of
this his Progress, he should chance to present such an
extraordinary example, we shall do all in our power to
transmit his fame to future ages.

Nothing ruins a man in this age of improvement so
effectually as being ashamed of himself or his conduct.
So long as he puts a good brazen face on the matter,
let it be what it will, he gets along tolerably well; but
it is all over with him if he gives the slightest reason
for believing that he is himself conscious of having
committed a wrong or ridiculous action. Julius was a
man of the world, and had crossed Mount St. Gothard;
of course he was aware of these truths, and appeared
in due time full dressed for travel, with an air so unconscious,
a self-possession so perfect, that one might
have believed the whole of the night's adventure nothing
but a dream.

"You were disturbed I hear, last night?" said Minerva,
with as mischievous a look and smile as ever decked
the lip and eye of an angel.

"Y-e-e-s," replied Julius, adjusting his stock, and
twisting his whiskers—"Y-e-s—I believe I got the
nightmare—eating that confounded supper. I dreamed
I was in Italy and about being murdered by robbers. In
fact, 'pon my honour, I was in a complete trance, and
nothing but a basin of cold water brought me to myself."

Minerva was ready to die at this ingenious turn; and
not a day passed after this that she did not annoy his
vanity by some sly allusion to the nightmare. Being
roused so early, they determined to proceed to Lake

George to breakfast, where they arrived, and found
lodgings at the pretty village of Caldwell, so called
after the founder and proprietor, now gone down to his
grave, but still living in the recollection of hundreds,
yea, thousands, who have shared his liberal hospitality
and banqueted on his sparkling wit, his rich humour,
and his generous wines.

Everybody worth writing for has seen this pleasant
village and delightful lake, and therefore we shall not
describe it here. Else would we envelop it in the impenetrable
fog of some "powerful writing," and give
such a picture of its pure waters, enchanting scenery,
and fairy isles, as might, peradventure, confound the
reader, and cause him to mistake perplexity and confusion
for lofty sublimity. A party was arranged the
next morning for a voyage to the Diamond Isle; and
Julius determined in his own mind to lure the fair goddess
Minerva into some romantic recess, and there
devote to her his coat, his accomplishments, and his
whiskers. They embarked in a gondola, one of the
most leaky and unmanageable inconveniences ever seen,
and rowed by two of the laziest rogues that ever swung
upon a gate, or sunned themselves on a sand-beach.

It had rained in the night, and the freshness of the
morn was delightful to the soul, as all nature was beautiful
to the eye. There may be other lakes equally
lovely in every thing but the transparency of its water.
You look down into the air, and see the fish sporting
about the bottom of the pure element. Julius had prepared
himself for conquest—he was armed at all points,
from head to toe—from his whiskers to his pumps and
spatterdashes. As he contemplated, first himself, and
next the rustic Reuben—he whispered, or rather he
was whispered in the ear by a certain well-dressed
dandy, "It is all over with him, poor fellow—this day
I shall do his business to a dead certainty."

The gondola, as we said before, was rowed by two

of the very laziest fellows that every plied oars. They
were perfect lazaroni, and the vessel was almost half
filled with water ere they reached the enchanted shores
of Diamond Island. While the rest of the party were
stumbling over the ground, broken up in search of the
crystals with which it abounds, and whence it derives
its name, Julius—having, by a masterly manœuvre,
fastened good Mrs. Orendorf to the arm of Reuben,
and led the Childe into a jeopardy, where he broke his
shin, and becoming disgusted with every species of
locomotion, sat himself down quietly to wait the motions
of the party—drew Minerva, by degrees, along the shore
until they reached the opposite extremity to that where
they landed. Whether she, with the true instinct of
the sex, anticipated that "the hour and the man was
come," and wilfully afforded this opportunity for the
purpose of putting an end for ever to his expectations;
or whether beguiled into forgetfulness by the beauties
of the scene, we cannot say; but Minerva accompanied
him without hesitation, and thus afforded a favourable
opportunity to speak his mind. He did speak his mind,
but he might just as well have held his tongue. We
grieve to defraud our fair readers of a love scene in
such a romantic spot; but time presses, and we have
yet a long space to travel over before Childe Roeliff
finishes his progress. Suffice it to say, Julius was
rejected irrevocably, in spite of his coat, his whiskers,
and his spatterdashes; and thus Minerva established
her title to be either more or less than woman. They
rejoined the party, and Reuben, who studied their
countenances with the jealous scrutiny of a lover,
detected in that of Julius deep mortification, under the
disguise of careless levity; in that of the young lady a
red tint, indicating something like the remains of angry
emotion.

On their return from the island, Julius took the

earliest opportunity of announcing to Childe Roeliff his
intention to depart for the Springs that very day.

"What!" exclaimed the astonished old gentleman—
"leave us in the middle of our journey! why, what
will Minerva say to it, hey?"

"She has no right to say any thing; she has this day
given me a walking ticket," answered Julius, forcing
himself into an explanation so mortifying to his
vanity.

"A walking ticket! and what the d—l is that?"

"She has rejected me."

"Plump, positive?"

"Irrevocably, split me!"

"Pooh! Julius, don't be in such a hurry; try again:
she'll be in a different humour to-morrow, or next day;
now don't go—don't;" and the Childe was quite overcome.

"I must go, sir; it would be too excruciating to my
feelings to remain any longer."

"But what did the girl say?"

"She said she could never love me, sir."

"Pshaw! that's all in my eye, Julius—never is a
long day. Her mother, I remember, told me just the
same thing, until I made my great speculation, when she
all at once found out it was a mistake."

"But it is not likely I shall ever make a great speculation,
uncle. Besides, I suspect, from appearances,
that she begins to be fond of Reuben Rossmore. It is
quite impossible that I should ever bring myself to enter
the lists with him;" and Julius drew himself up with
great dignity, at the same time scanning himself in the
glass.

"Fond of Reuben Rossmore! what makes you think
so, eh?"

"I'm not certain, uncle, but I believe some such
absurd preference induced her to reject me."

"If I was certain of that, I'd leave all my estate to

you, Julius, and cut her off with a shilling." And he
swore a great oath, that if Minerva married against his
wishes, she was no daughter of his from that moment.

"Hum!" thought Julius; "that would be the very
thing itself. The money without the girl—delightful!
I must change my tack, and persuade her to marry this
rustic Corydon instead of myself. I will gain his confidence,
and forward their wishes in all possible ways.
If I can only bring about a runaway match—hum"—
and he mused on this scheme, until it almost amounted
to a presentiment.

"Now don't go, Julius—do stay with us till we get
back to New-York. I want you to take care of
Minerva, and keep her out of the hands of Reuben, whom
I like very much, except in the character of son-in-law.
Now do stay and take care of her, till I get rid of
Reuben. I wonder what possessed me to invite him
to join our party?"

"By no means, uncle; don't let them suspect that
you know or believe any thing of this matter. If you
send him away, you must give a reason for so doing,
and without doubt they will ascribe your suspicions to
malice on my part at having been rejected. No, no,
sir, let him remain where he is; and in the mean time,
at your request, I will renew my addresses, or rather
try what silent attentions can do towards conciliating
Minerva's favour. If I should fail, I can, at all events,
be on the watch, and interfere in various ways to thwart
the views of this ungrateful and interested young man."

Childe Roeliff accorded his consent to the plan, at
the same time informing Julius that he should take the
first opportunity of apprizing Minerva of his unalterable
intentions towards him, and of his determination to
punish her if she dared to oppose them, by adopting his
nephew, and making him his heir. Julius thought he
knew enough of the pompous, self-willed Childe to be
certain that he would fulfil his threats to the letter;

and departed from his presence with the design of
immediately commencing operations.

The next morning, before daylight, they embarked
in a steamboat for the foot of the lake, on their way
to foreign parts. There was a large party of fashionables
on board, and Julius was in his element again.
The Childe, who hated being disturbed so early in the
morning most mortally, retired into the cabin to take a
nap; and Mrs. Orendorf was delighted with meeting
some of her Saratoga acquaintance. Julius taking
advantage of the absence of his uncle, devoted himself
to entertain them; and Minerva and Reuben were for a
while left to the undisturbed society of each other. Fortunately,
the boat did not go above five or six miles an
hour, and thus they had an opportunity of almost studying
the beautiful scenery of the lake, which, narrowing
at the lower end, bears on its pure bosom a hundred
little verdant isles. Some with a single tree, others
tufted with blossomed shrubbery, and all, as it were,
imitating the motion of the vessel, and dancing like
corks on the surface of the waters. It was a rare and
beautiful scene, such as seldom presents itself to travellers
in any region of the peopled earth, and such as
always awakens in hearts disposed to love, thoughts,
feelings, and associations which cannot fail to attract
and bind them to each other in the ties of mutual
sympathy and admiration. Much was not said by
either, except in that language which sparkles in the
lucid eye, glows in the gradually warming cheek, and
lurks in the meaning smile.

"How slow the boat goes!" exclaimed a fashionable
lover of the picturesque, associated with the party
before mentioned. "I'm tired to death. I wish
we were at Ticonderoga." And the sentiment was
echoed by the rest of the picturesque hunters, who all
declared they never were so tired in their lives, and
that they wished to heaven they were at Ticonderoga.

How often people mistake being tired of themselves for
being tired of every thing else?

Minerva and Reuben exchanged a look, which said,
as plain as day, that they did not wish themselves at
Ticonderoga, and were not above half tired to death.

In good time they were landed at the foot of the lake,
which they quitted to enter a stage coach waiting to
carry them across to Lake Champlain, a distance of
five or six miles. The ride was interesting to Reuben
especially, whose grandfather had fought and fallen in
the bloody wars that raged at intervals for a century
or more between the French and English during their
struggles for the possession of North America. Lake
Champlain and Lake George furnished the only practicable
route by which armies, and the necessary supplies
of armament and provisions could be transported
by the rival candidates for the empire of half a world,
and the famous pass of Ticonderoga was the theatre
of a series of battles which have made it both traditionally
and historically renowned.

The fashionable party of picturesque hunters, in their
haste to get on they did not know themselves whither,
passed Ticonderoga at full trot, although they had
been in such a hurry to get there; crossed the lake to
the little village of that name, in Vermont, and remained
at the tavern, wishing and wishing the steamboat
Franklin would come along, and lengthening every
passing hour by fidgetty impatience. By the persuasion
of Minerva, the Childe Roeliff was wrought upon reluctantly
to visit the ruins of the famous old fortress of
Ticonderoga.

Just at the point of junction, where the outlet of
Lake George enters Lake Champlain, a high, rocky,
round promontory projects boldly into the latter, covered
with the walls of massive stone barracks, the
remains of which are still standing; cut and indented
by deep ditches, breasted with walls, and cased on the

outer sides towards the south and east with a facing
of rocks, from which you look down with dizzy head
upon the waters of the sister lakes. Across the outlet
of Lake George is Mount Independence towering to a
great height; to the east and south-east, Lake Champlain
appears entering the mountains on the other side
by a narrow strait; while to the north it gradually
expands itself from a river to a lake, until it makes a
sudden turn at Crown Point, and disappears. The
whole promontory is one vast fortress, and even the
bosom of the earth appears to have been consecrated
to the purposes of defence,—for ever and anon our travellers
were startled at coming upon an opening, the
deep, dark recesses of which they could not penetrate.

There are few more grand and interesting scenes in
the wide regions of the western world than old Ticonderoga.
Ennobled by nature, it receives new claims
and a new interest from history and tradition; it is
connected with the early events of the brief but glorious
career of this new country; and independently of
all other claims, it presents in its extensive, massy,
picturesque ruins a scene not to be paralleled in a
region where every thing is new, and in whose wide
circumference scarce a ruined building or desolate village
is to be found.

In pursuance of his deep-laid plan, Julius attached
himself to Mrs. Orendorf, to whom he was so particularly
attentive in the ramble, that Childe Roeliff was
not a little astonished.

"What the devil can that fellow see in the old lady
to admire, I wonder?" quoth he. "Hum, I suppose
these are what the blockhead calls his silent attentions
to my daughter, and be hanged to him."

While engaged in these cogitations he neglected to
look which way he was going, and tumbled incontinently
to the bottom of an old half-filled ditch, where

he lay in a featherbed of Canada thistles. Fortunately
he was extracted with no injury except a little
seratching; but the accident occasioned such a decided
disgust towards Ticonderoga and its antiquities, that he
peremptorily commanded a retreat to the carriage,
which, by a somewhat circuitous route, conveyed them to
the shores of Lake Champlain. Here they found a ferryboat
of the genuine primitive construction, being a scow
with a great clumsy sail, steered with a mighty oar by
a gentleman of colour, and rowed, in default of wind,
by two other gentlemen of similar complexion. By
the aid of all these advantages they managed to cross
the lake, which is here, perhaps, a mile wide, in about
the time it takes one of our steam ferry-boats to cross
the bay from New-York to the quarantine. Blessings
on the man that first invented steamboats, for the time
he has saved to people who don't know what to do with
it is incalculable! On arriving at the hotel in the little
village of Ticonderoga, they found the fashionable,
picturesque-hunting party whiling away the tedious
hours until the Franklin should come from Whitehall,
with that delightful recreation yelept sleep, the inventor
of which deserves an equal blessing with him of the
steamboat.

The Franklin at length made her appearance; all
the fashionable picturesque party waked up as by
magic, and hastened on board, in as great a hurry as if
she had been Noah's ark and the deluge approaching.
About two o'clock they became exceedingly impatient
for dinner. After dinner they retired to their berths—
waked up, and became exceedingly impatient for tea.
After tea they began to be tired to death of the steamboat,
the lake, and of every thing, and longed with
exceeding impatience to get to St. John's. Enjoying
nothing of the present, they seemed always to depend
on something in perspective; and their whole lives
appeared to be spent in wishing they were somewhere
else. The day was of a charming temperature; the

sweet south wind gently curled the surface of the lake,
which gradually expanded to a noble breadth, and all
nature invited them to share in her banquet. But they
turned from it with indifference, and were continually
yawning and complaining of being "tired to death."

The other party, whose progress is more peculiarly
the subject of our tale, were somewhat differently constituted
and differently employed. The sage Roeliff
was telling a worthy alderman with whom he had
entered into a confabulation, the history of his speculation,
and how he made his fortune by a blunder. The
worthy alderman had got rich simply by the growth of
the city of New-York, which had by degrees overspread
his potato patch, and turned the potatoes into dollars.
Neither of them could in conscience ascribe their success
in life to any merits of their own, and they agreed
perfectly well in their estimate of the worthlessness of
calculation, and forethought, and sagacity, "and such
kind of nonsense," as the Childe was pleased to say.
Roeliff declared it was the most pleasant day he had
spent since he left home. That excellent woman Mrs.
Orendorf, with her now inseparable attendant Julius
Dibdill, was enjoying upon sufferance the society of
the picturesque hunters, and echoing their complaints
of being tired to death; while Minerva and Reuben,
sitting apart on an elevated seat, which commanded a
view of the lake and both its shores, were enjoying
with the keen relish of taste and simplicity the noble
scene before them.

They were delighted as well as astonished at the
magnificent features of this fine lake, and exchanged
many a glance that spoke their feelings. The tourists
and compilers of Travellers' Guides, had not prepared
them on this occasion for disappointment; and
they enjoyed the scenery a thousand times more,
for not having been cheated by exaggerated anticipations.
They expected nothing after Lake George,
which had been hitherto the exclusive theme of admiration

with poets and descriptive writers of all classes;
but they found here something far more extensive and
magnificent. As they approached the beautiful town of
Burlington, the lake gradually expanded, and its shores
became more strikingly beautiful. On either side lay
a tract of cultivated country diversified with hill and
dale, and gradually rising and rising until it mingled
with the lofty Alleghanies on the west, and the still more
lofty mountains of Vermont on the east, some of them
so distant they looked almost like visions of mountains,
the creation of the imagination. Everywhere visible,
they range along, following the course of the lake, now
approaching nearer, and anon receding to a great distance,
and presenting in the evening of the day, on one
side, the last splendours of the setting sun, on the other
the soft gentle tints of the summer twilight gradually
fading away into the deep hues of night.

If an author, like unto an actor, might peradventure
be tolerated in making his bow before his readers, and
blundering out a speech which no one hears or comprehends,
we might here bear witness that nowhere in
all our sojournings among the matchless beauties of this
our favoured country have we beheld a scene more
splendidly magnificent, more touching to the heart and
the imagination, than the bay of Burlington presents,
just as the summer sun sheds his last lustres on its
spacious bosom, and retires from his throne of many-coloured
clouds, glowing in the ever-changing radiance
of his departing beams, behind the distant Alleghanies.
The charming town of Burlington, basking on the hillside
towards the west; the rich farms which environ it;
the noble expanse of waters studded with pine-crowned
isles, and stretching in one direction to the beautiful
village and county of Essex, in the other towards
Plattsburg; the vast range of mountains rising tier over
tier, and presenting every varied tint of distance,—all
form a combination, which to hearts that throb at the touch
of nature is, beyond expression, touching and sublime.

The temple of Jehovah is his glorious works. The
soul imbued with the pure spirit of piety, unadulterated
and unobscured by the subtilties of ingenious refinement
or fanatical inspiration, sees, feels, and comprehends in
the woods, the waters, the mountains, and the skies, the
hand of a Being as far above it in intelligence as in
power, and is struck with an impression of awful
humility. In the words of a nameless and obscure
bard, it

It was just at the witching hour of sunset, in a calm
luxurious evening, such as the most orthodox writers
of fiction describe with enthusiasm, when they are
about making their hero or heroine do something
naughty, that the noble steamboat Franklin (of which
and her excellent commander we beg to make most
honourable mention) entered the bay of which we
have just given a sketch, and stopped a few minutes at
the wharf to land her passengers at Burlington. The
fashionable party of picturesque-hunters still continued
almost tired to death, and longed more than ever to
get to St. John's. But I need not say that the souls of
Minerva and Reuben were wide awake to the scene
before them. Abstracted from the hurry and bustle of
the moment, they turned their eyes towards the glowing
west, and their spirits communed together in the luxury
of silence. They followed each other's looks, from the
floating isles that lay like halcyons on the bosom of
the lake, to the shores beyond, softened by distance
into the most beautiful purple tints, and thence their
eyes rested together on the vast sea of hills rising
above hills beyond. One feeling animated them, and

though not a word was said, the electricity of looks
communicated that feeling to the hearts of both.

That evening a melancholy partaking of sweet and
bitter anticipations stole over the two young people.
Hitherto they had been satisfied to be together, and
partake in the enjoyments of each other. But the
progress of true love ends but at one single point all
over the universe. From being satisfied with the present,
we begin to explore the future, and the delight of
associating with one being alone carries us at length
to the desire and necessity of possessing that being
for ever. To this point were the hearts of Minerva
and Reuben at length brought by the sweet communions
we have described. A mutual consciousness of approaching
troubles, of certain disappointments in store
for each, came suddenly over them. Minerva suspected
the views of her father in favour of Julius, and long
experience had taught her that when he had once got
hold of a notion he stuck to it as a fowl does to a crumb.
Reuben also had his presentiments; he was neither
rich nor fashionable; it was therefore clear to his mind
that he was not likely to be particularly distinguished
either by Childe Roeliff or his aspiring dame, who was
in great hopes of catching one of the seignors of Montreal
for her daughter. It was observed by Julius, who
kept an eye upon them, although he never interrupted
their intercourse, that, after tea, Minerva joined the
fashionable picturesque-hunting party, who by this time
were tired to death for the hundredth time; and that
Reuben retired from her side, and stood apart leaning
over the railing of a distant part of the vessel. Julius
thought this a favourable opportunity to open his
masked battery.

Accordingly, he sauntered towards him, apparently
without design, and entered into conversation on some
trifling subject. Reuben never at any time liked his
society, and still less at the present moment, when he
was deep in the perplexities of love. He answered

Julius neglectingly, and in a voice that partook in the
depression of his feelings.

"You seem out of spirits, Rossmore," at length
said Julius, gayly; "come, tell me what has come over
you of late, and especially this evening?"

Reuben felt indignant; he had never invited or encouraged
any thing like this familiarity, and replied,
with a cool indifference,—

"Nothing in particular; and if there were, I do not
wish to trouble any but my friends with my thoughts
or feelings."

"Well, and am I not your friend?"

"Not that I know of."

"You will know it soon. Now listen to me, Rossmore;
I see what is going forward, not being exactly
blind, as I believe you think me. I know what is going
forward."

"Know what is going forward, sir! well, and what
is going forward?" answered Reuben, whose heart
whispered at once what Julius meant.

"Will you suffer me to speak, and listen coolly to
what I am going to say?"

"Mr. Dibdill, there are certain subjects on which
none but a confidential friend ought to take the liberty
of questioning another. Allow me to say, that nothing
in our intercourse has entitled you to that privilege."

"Pooh, pshaw now, Rossmore, don't be so stiff and
awful. I know what is going on between my cousin
and you, as well as—"

"Stop, Mr. Dibdill," cried Reuben, vehemently,
"the subject is one on which you have no right to speak
to me, nor will I permit it, sir."

"Rossmore," said Julius, with a deep and serious
air, which riveted the attention of Reuben, in spite of
himself,—"Rossmore, I know your thoughts at this moment
as well as you do yourself. You think me your
rival, of course your enemy—on my soul, I am neither
one nor the other."

"No!" exclaimed the other, turning full upon him.

"No—that I have been, I acknowledge, but it was
more to please my uncle than myself. The fact is,
Minerva, though a very good girl, is not to my taste."
And he said this with a mighty supercilious air.

"The d—l she isn't," cried Reuben, in a fury; "and
pray, sir, what have you to say against her? I insist
on your admiring her, or, by my soul, you shall
take the consequences."

Julius laughed. "Well, if I must, I must. Then
I presume you insist upon my paying my addresses to
Minerva?"

"No-o-o, not exactly that either. But you will oblige
me by condescending to give your reasons for not admiring
Miss Orendorf."

"Why, in the first place, she talks English better
than French; in the second place, she likes a ballad
better than a bravura; in the third place, she exhibits
a most ludicrous unwillingness to dance the waltz and
the gallopade; in the fourth place, she is no judge
of a coat; in the fifth place, she can't sing before
five or six hundred people without losing her voice;
and in the last place, she blushes in the most unbecoming
style. That last objection is decisive. What
under the sun should I do with such a woman?"

Reuben was so pleased with the assurance of his
having renounced Minerva, that he neglected to knock
Julius down for this blasphemy. He only replied,

"Well, sir?"

"Well, to come to the point at once, you love my
cousin Minerva—"

"By what right, sir?—"

"Be quiet, Rossmore, till I have done, and then
blow my brains out if you will. I am your friend, at
least in this business. My uncle, I know, will give
me no rest about this ridiculous plan of his for bringing
us together, until Minerva is fairly disposed of; I have,

therefore, an interest in this business of yours, and you
may command all my services."

"What a heartless coxcomb!" thought Reuben,
"to be insensible to the charms of such an angel."
However, he forgave him on the score of having a rival
out of the way.

"I cannot but feel obliged to you, whatever may be
your motives," said he, addressing Julius; "but I see
no benefit I can derive from your services, and therefore
beg leave to decline them."

"But let me tell you, Rossmore, you ought to see
it. I have influence with old Roeliff and his wife,
the latter especially, which, if properly exerted, may
smooth the way to the gratification of your wishes, and,
say what you will, I mean to do all I can for you.
Though I admire not my cousin, as I said before, because,
in the first place—"

"Pray, Mr. Dibdill, to the point. You need not repeat
your reasons," interrupted Reuben, rather pettishly.

"To the point, then. My uncle is determined to
make a match between his daughter and myself; but
that is out of the question, as I said before; because, in
the first place—"

"Pray spare me any more of your reasons."

"Well—it is quite out of the question, because—
you must hear another reason, Rossmore—because
Minerva don't like me, and does like you." Reuben
smiled in spite of himself. He thought this last reason
worth all the rest. Julius continued:

"Now, whatever you may think of me, my dear
friend—for I mean to prove I hold you such—I am
not the man to marry any woman unless sure of her
affections, however wealthy she may be in possession
or reversion."

"Nor I," said Reuben; "I despise Miss Orendorf's
fortune as much as I admire her person, and love her
good qualities."

"No doubt, no doubt, my dear friend; but, as I said
before, I wish Minerva married, that my uncle may see
the impossibility of his wishes being fulfilled in relation
to me. My ridiculous aunt differs in her views for
her daughter with my ridiculous uncle. She has heard
of the seignors and seignories at Montreal, and has
good hopes of making her daughter a baroness some
how or other, Heaven knows how—for, as I said before,
there is no chance of my cousin being distinguished in
fashionable society, because, in the first place—"

"D—n it, sir, do stick to the point, can't you?
Your reasons can be of no consequence to me," cried
Reuben, chafing.

"Well, well, I will. Now, my plan is this—but are
you sure of the affections of Minerva?"

"I have never said a single word to her on the subject."

"No! not in all the romantic walks and tête-á-têtes
you have had together?"

"No, on my honour. I felt a presentiment that her
parents would never consent to our union, and therefore
scorned to engage her affections."

"O, marry come up!" cried Julius, laughing. "You
scorned to engage her affections, did you? You never
spoke a word to her on the subject, you say? I suppose
you never said any thing with your eyes, hey?
and you never received an answer, hey? in a language
no man in his senses can mistake? You have behaved
in the most honourable manner, without doubt, and I
can't help admiring your high notions! Pooh! pooh!
Rossmore! you know my cousin likes you; everybody
on board this boat might see it, if they had not
something else to attend to, and you know it too, for all
your confounded hypocrisy."

Reuben could not deny this, for the soul of him.
The fact is, the consciousness was too delicious to
admit of denial.

"You must be married at Montreal," said Julius,
abruptly.

"Her parents will never consent."

"Then you must marry without it."

"Her father will never forgive her."

"Don't believe it. She is his only child; he dotes
on her, and in a little while, finding he could not live
without her, he will recall her home, and dote on her
more than ever. I know him from top to toe, and I
know the influence I have over him, which I will exert
in your behalf. I am, besides, pretty certain I can
command the services of mine excellent aunt, if it be
only from the pure spirit of opposition."

"I cannot but feel obliged to you; but my course
shall be different. I mean first to procure the consent
of Minerva, and then plainly, directly, and honestly
lay my proposal before her father."

Julius was startled at this declaration. It upset all
his plans. Recovering himself in a few moments, he
resumed:

"Then take my word, you will never see her after
that exhibition of candour and honesty, as you call it.
I know my uncle rather better than you do, and I know
that so long as he can prevent a thing he never gives up;
but the moment it is out of his power, he gradually
relinquishes all his former hostility and reconciles himself
at last to what is inevitable. He hates vexation
so much, that he never voluntarily indulges it long. If
you ask his consent he will never give it—nay, he will
bind himself by some foolish oath, that will prevent his
forgiving her after it is done."

"I can't help it; I shall pursue the straight-forward
course."

"Fool!—but I beg pardon. You see the anxiety I
feel for your success by its making me ill-mannered.
But if you pursue this course, I pledge myself you will
never be the husband of Minerva Orendorf."

"Time and perseverance, or chance and good fortune,
may bring it about at last."

"One word, then," replied Julius, earnestly and
precipitately, as he saw Childe Roeliff approaching.
"One word more. Promise me you will not take any
decisive steps until we arrive at Montreal."

"I do."

"Upon your honour?"

"Upon my honour."

Here the presence of Mr. Orendorf put an end to the
conversation, which had attracted the notice of Minerva,
who wondered what they could have been talking about
so warmly and earnestly. Her heart fluttered as Reuben
approached her, but whether with apprehension
that the two young men had quarrelled, or any other
more occult feeling, has never come to our knowledge.

By this time the evening had set in, but it was moonlight—the
full of the moon—and such is the bland and
balmy and innocent air that floats upon the bosom of
the lake, its purity, dryness, and elasticity, that there
is not the least danger in being exposed to it during the
whole of a clear evening. They entered the Bay of
Saranac, scarcely less distinguished for its beauty, and
far more renowned in history, than that of Burlington.
It was here that the gallant McDonough, now, with his
famous contemporaries Decatur and Perry, gone to
immortality, won laurels that will never fade while the
grass is green on the bank that overlooks the bay,
or the water runs in the Saranac River. Reuben and
Minerva had both been known, the former intimately,
to these distinguished men, and the scene recalled them
to mind as if they had perished yesterday.

They remembered the simplicity which marked the
characters of the two young sailors, who were united
in glory, and might be said to be united in death, in the
flower of their age.

"What a striking figure was McDonough!" cried
Minerva.

"And what a sweet, mild, yet manly expression was
in the blue eye of Perry!" replied Reuben. "Both

were of a high class of men, but they neither of them
equalled Decatur. I knew him well, and have studied
his character. He was one of the few—the very, very
few great men I ever met with. There are plenty of
great men in this world, my dear Minerva"—Dear
Minerva! thought our heroine—"of a certain kind.
Some are great by virtue of high station, some by
high birth, some by chance, and some by necessity.
Nature makes these by dozens; but a truly great man
is a rare production. Such was Decatur: he was
not merely a brave man—I might almost say the bravest
of men—but he was a man of most extraordinary intellect,
a statesman as well as a warrior; one who, like
David Porter, could negotiate a treaty as well as gain
a victory; one who could influence the most capacious
minds by his eloquence and reasoning, as easily as he
quelled the more weak and ignorant by his authority
and example. His influence over others was that of
strength over weakness, and had he run the career of
civil life, he would have been equally, if not more, distinguished
than he became in that of active warfare.
He has been blamed for the manner of his death; but
his inflexible maxim in life was, that the man whom
he considered not sufficiently beneath his notice to
escape insult or injury was fairly entitled to reparation.
He did not, as many men do, put himself on a par with
another in bandying abuse and exchanging mutual imputations,
and then take refuge at last in the cowardly
pretext that his adversary was beneath his notice!
Peace to his ashes, and honour to his memory, say I;
and may he find many to emulate his example!"

Minerva listened with enthusiasm to this eulogium
on one of her favourite heroes, and watched with delighted
interest the glow which gradually mantled the
cheek, the fire that lightened in the eye of the young
man as he dwelt on a theme so animating. A silence
of some minutes followed, which was suddenly interrupted
by Minerva—

"Pray, what were you and my cousin talking about
so long?"

It was well that the moon was just then obscured by a
cloud, else Reuben would inevitably have been detected
in the absurd act of blushing up to the eyes, not
only by Minerva, but by the fashionable picturesque-hunting
party—but now we think of it, these last were
gone to bed "tired to death."

Minerva, however, perceived a hesitation in his
speech and an embarrassment of manner which excited
her apprehensions.

"I entreat you, Reuben, to answer me one question.
Have you and my cousin quarrelled?"

"No, on my honour."

"You scemed deeply interested in the conversation
you had this evening."

"True, it was on a most interesting subject." Minerva
looked curious. "Did it concern only myself, I
would tell you what it was about.

"Whom else did it concern?"

"You."

"Then I must know what it was about. I have a
right to know, as a party concerned," cried the young
lady, with one of her sweetest smiles.

Reuben looked confused and doubtful, and Minerva's
curiosity became very troublesome to her. It was
highly indelicate and improper, certainly; but the fact
is, she felt a most unaccountable interest in the particulars
of this conversation. She became a little offended
at his silence, and Reuben remained in a most
painful embarrassment.

"Well," said she at length, "if I am not thought worthy
of knowing what you say so nearly concerns myself,
I will bid you good-night. It is time, indeed, for the
passengers, I see, have quitted the deck some time,"
and she was retiring.

"For Heaven's, dear Mi—for Heaven's sake, Miss
Orendorf, don't leave me!"

"Why should I stay? You won't tell me any thing
I wish to know."

"But only stay, and I will tell you."

"What?" replied Minerva archly.

"That I—that you—that your father, I mean—that
your cousin Julius—that is to say—that it would be
folly, nay, it would be dishonourable in me to tell—
what I wish to tell"—here poor Reuben, as they say,
got into a snarl, and could not utter another word of
sense or nonsense.

Women, though ever so young and inexperienced,
have a mighty quick instinct in love matters, and
Minerva at once began to comprehend the nature of
the subject on which Reuben had just spoken so eloquently
and with such wonderful clearness. She became
still more embarrassed than he, and, hardly knowing
what she said, asked, in a trembling voice—

"What can be the matter with you, Reuben?"

"I love you, dearest Minerva!"

"Good-night!" replied Minerva, and disappeared in
an instant from his sight.

That night Reuben could not sleep, and we don't
much wonder at it, for, sooth to say, what with the hissing,
and puffing, and jarring, and diabolical noises of
all kinds, commend us to a fulling-mill, a cotton manufactory,
or even Childe Roeliff's favourite resource, a
tinman's shop, for a sound nap, rather than to a steamboat.
And yet we have often lain awake in all the horrors
of sleepless misery, and heard villains snore as
lustily as if they reposed themselves on a bed of down
in the cave of Morpheus. How we did hate the monsters!

But our hero had other matters to keep him awake
It would have puzzled the most perfect adept in the
science of woman's heart, to decide whether Minerva
had left him in a good or a bad humour; whether she
resented his abrupt declaration, or ran away to hide
her confusion. No wonder, then, it puzzled honest Reuben

Rossmore, who had scarcely studied the A B C
of a woman's mind, much less investigated its hidden
mysteries.

At the dawn of the morning the party awoke and
found themselves in a new world. It seemed that they
had been transported during the night, like some of the
heroes of the Arabian tales, from one distant country
to another. The houses, the fields, the cattle, the
sheep, the pigs, dogs, cats, hens and chickens, men,
women, and children, all seemed to belong to a different
species. They neither looked, dressed, nor talked
like the people they had left the night before, for the
women wore men's hats, and the men red night-caps,
and they all spoke in a tongue which Squire Julius
pronounced to be a most execrable patois. Nothing
was ever equal to the metamorphosis produced by a sail
of a few miles, between two grassy banks almost level
with the surface of the lake, and destitute alike of
stream or mountain to mark the division between the
domains of two powerful empires.

"As I live," exclaimed Mrs. Orendorf, as she
emerged from the ladies' cabin, "I believe we have got
into a foreign country at last. If there isn't a woman
with a man's hat!"

"Mercy upon us!" ejaculated Childe Roeliff; "if
there isn't an oven on the top of a pig-sty!"

"Good Heavens! what can these people be talking
about so fast? Come here, Minerva, and tell me what
they are saying."

"They are discussing the price of a cabbage," said
Minerva.

"Well, who'd have thought it? I was afraid they
were just going to fight with each other. I never saw
such strange people."

"We are in Canada, madam," observed Reuben,
who had ventured to join them on the invitation of a
smile and a blush from Minerva; "we are in Canada,

or rather in the old world, for I have heard it observed
by travellers, that this portion of the province of Canada
exhibits an exact picture of the interior of France, or
rather of what France was nearly three centuries ago, in
dress, language, manners, and rural economy."

"Is it possible!" exclaimed Mrs. Orendorf; "then
I can't think what people go to France for. I'm sure
I see nothing here worth the trouble of crossing a
lake, much less the sea. Do they wear such caps in
France?"

"In some of the old fashioned towns, I am told they
do, madam," said Reuben.

"And such dirty garments and faces? and are they
shaped like these queer people? and have the men such
long beards?"

"On week-days, I believe."

"Well," exclaimed Mrs. Orendorf, "if that's the
case, I thank my stars I did not go to France."

"No thanks to you or your stars," quoth Childe
Roeliff; "if it hadn't been for me you'd have gone fast
enough."

It is thus that husbands ruin the tempers of their
wives, who are naturally the best creatures in the
world, by taking all the merit of their discretion and
good works to themselves. The spirit of contradiction
came over the good lady.

"I deny it," said she sharply; "I gave up the point
voluntarily."

"Yes, when you couldn't have your own way."

"Well, then, if you come to that, I wish I had gone."

"That is exactly what I said; you wanted to go
then, and so you do now."

We don't know what the plague came over Childe
Roeliff to get into such a bad humour this morning,
except it might be that he was hungry, than which
there is no greater foe to that dulcet composure and
sweet submissive meekness, so becoming in a husband
when confabulating, as it were, with his helpmate. All

the Childe got by this effervescence of ill-humour was
a determination on the part of Mrs. Orendorf to have
her own way for the next twelvemonth at least.

By this time the arrangements for landing were completed,
and the passengers, almost as numerous and
various as those of Noah's ark, descended upon terra
firma. Among them was observed the fashionable
picturesque-hunting party, who were as usual "tired to
death," and who, after breakfasting at St. John's, were
again "tired to death," and whirled away towards
Montreal as fast as horses could carry them.

The road from St. John's to La Prairie, a distance
of about eighteen miles, is over a dead level, which
soon becomes tiresome from its monotony. Yet still
to one accustomed only to the scenery, dress, manners
and modes of the United States, it is not devoid of
interest. Many, indeed all their customs, carry us
back to old times. Nearly all the property is held
under the seigneurs, by ancient tenures which restrict
the occupants of the land to one single inflexible routine
of cultivation; a circumstance which places a
barrier in the way of all improvements. Most of the
farms consist of one field, bordering on the high road,
extending on a dead level back as far as the eye can
reach, and separated from the adjoining ones by a
ditch. Half the distance between St. John's and
La Prairie is almost one continued village of houses,
built entirely on the same plan, with here and there
a Gothic-fronted church, whose steeple, covered
with tin, shines gorgeously at a distance in the sun.
Women are seen at work in the fields almost as commonly
as men, dressed in straw hats, and scarcely to
be distinguished from them. The sickle is still the
only implement in cutting down the harvest; no cattle
graze in the fields, except in large droves on the commons;
and the houses are either of mud or wood,
small in size, with a single door right in the centre.
Plain and contracted as they are, they still exhibit distinctive

marks of that national characteristic of Frenchmen,
in all situations and countries. There is always
some little attempt at ornament,—such as the shingles
of the roof being scalloped at the edges, along the
eaves, or at the pinnacle of the roof; and poor, miserably
poor must be that habitation which does not present
some little indication of a superfluity of labour and expense.
The little gardens, though often overrun with
that atrocious and diabolical production of nature in
her extremest spleen, called the Canada thistle, abound
in flowers, and look gay in the midst of neglect and
desolation; and of a Sunday evening it is surprising to
see the metamorphosis which takes place among the
inhabitants. Neither rags, nor dirt, nor long beards,
nor old straw hats are visible. The young girls are
tight, and neat, and gay; and you see them gathering
in groups at some appropriate house, in the little villages,
to spend the evening in their favourite amusement
of dancing. The Longobards, or long beards,—
the same, we presume, mentioned by Tacitus,—appear
in chins as smooth as the new-mown meadow; and
here and there a red sash figures among them, the
relic and memento of a former age. A few years ago
this was the universal dress of the men; but the Yankees
have come among them, and, sad to relate, our
party saw but two red sashes in all their sojournings
in Canada. One of these they met on the road to
La Prairie, on horseback, and saluted. The ancient
remnant of French chivalrous courtesy, stopped his
horse, which he was obliged to do to pull off his cap,
and bowed profoundly, about the time the party had
reached a distance of half a mile. The other was telling
his heads with great devotion in the magnificent
cathedral of Montreal. Had we time and space we
would dwell at more length on these matters, for we
confess we delight in old times, old customs, and old
oddities of all kinds, not so much because they are
better than new ones, but because there is something
about them which, like old wine, smacks tastefully on
the palate, and produces an agreeable excitement.
But we must hasten on our Progress, lest peradventure
the committee appointed by that munificent patron
and goodly pattern of literature, Mr. Francis Herbert,
to pass judgment on our respective contributions, should
fall asleep over our story, which, to say truth, lacketh
much of that delectable mystification and bloodshed
which rendereth romances so piquant and acceptable
to the gentle reader, who, judging from appearances,
sitteth down to peruse them, animated by the same
vehement feeling of curiosity which impelleth so many
of the tender sex to run after an execution. Suffice it
then to say, that Childe Roeliff and his party reached
the ancient village of La Prairie, which belongs to the
old world and not to the new, after a ride of three or
four hours over one of the worst roads in the universe;
a circumstance somewhat remarkable, seeing that there
was neither hill or stone in all the long way. Some
interloping "Varmounters" talked of a railroad here;
but the old Frenchmen threw up their caps, and cried
"Diable!"

From La Prairie our travellers were delighted with
the noble view which presented itself. The St. Lawrence
makes a bend, and expands into a lake-like sheet
of water of the most magnificent dimensions, and
greatest purity. Above, it is all quiet and repose;
below, it tapers off in a series of rapids approaching to
sublimity. Beyond these lies Montreal, basking at the
foot of the mountain which gives its name to the city
and island, and stretching along the side of the abruptly
rising shores of the river. It exhibited a most imposing
appearance, with its tin steeples towering into the
air, and glittering in the noonday beam of a glorious
summer day. In addition to the steeples, nearly all
the houses and public edifices are covered with tin,

which, such is the dryness of the atmosphere, never
rusts; and certainly, in a clear day, and across the
noble St. Lawrence, the appearance of Montreal is
that of one of the creations of the Arabian Nights.
Of all places in the world to look down upon from the
sky, this ancient city is the finest. Childe Roeliff was
not the least delighted of the party, for he thought to
himself, "There is no danger but there are plenty of
tinmen's shops, to prevent one from being onnewed by
silence, and I shall enjoy myself wonderfully." One
of the finest steam ferry-boats in the world carried
them like thought through the roaring rapids, and between
the jutting rocks; and it seemed scarcely a
moment from their embarking at La Prairie to their
landing at Montreal,—the city of tin roofs, iron window-shutters,
and stone walls. Minerva actually saw
a great stone wall on the very pinnacle of a roof; such
is their inveterate propensity to heaping up masses of
granite and limestone.

On landing at the end of a long wooden bridge jutting
out into the river,—for there are few or no wharves here,
—they were struck with a most enormous din of voices,
a vociferous confusion of individual tongues, that made
Childe Roeliff think the whole universe was about
falling together by the ears. Such an effusion of bad
French never before was heard in any other spot of
this new world, as we verily believe. All the draymen,
with their long-queued drays, seemed to have approximated
to this chosen spot, to meet the steamboat, this
being the trip in which she generally brought the travellers
from the "States," as they are called at Montreal,
I presume on the score of some lingering doubt whether
they are really "united" or not. The consequence
of collecting together in a small space was, that
these long-tailed inconveniences got entangled with each
other in a perfect Gordian knot. But though the vehicles
were tied, the tongues of the drivers were not.

We have heard "pretty considerable" of scolding and
vociferation; but, by the account received from Reuben
Rossmore, it was the trickling of a rill to the roaring
of a cataract, the chirping of a flock of snow-birds to
the sonorous gabble of a rencounter of two flocks of
turkeys. We are credibly informed, on the same authority,
that the gesticulation was equal to the vociferation,
and altogether it seemed that every moment would
produce a battle royal. By degrees, however, the long-tailed
vehicles got disentangled, the little Canadians
gradually cooled down, and, in one minute after the
vociferation subsided, were as merry and good-humoured
as crickets in a warm winter's hearth. Our
travellers put up at the British American Hotel, on the
score of patriotism,—the sign of this establishment being
so happily disposed, by accident probably, towards the
river, that in approaching from La Prairie you see
only the words "American Hotel." Here Julius and
Mrs. Orendorf were delighted to meet again the fashionable
picturesque-hunting party, who declared they
had been tired to death riding across the Prairie, tired
to death of waiting a full hour for the ferry-boat at La
Prairie, tired to death of the ferry-boat, and lastly, that
they were now tired to death of Montreal, and were
going that very afternoon to embark in the steamboat
for Quebec. Childe Roeliff, who sometimes accidentally
blundered out a spice of common sense, observed,
after listening to all this,—

"I wonder, if you are so tired of every thing, you
don't go home and stay there."

"Quel bête!" whispered Mrs. Dowdykin, the head
matron of the picturesque party, to Count Capo d'Oca,
her Platonic.

The soft, gentle, quiet kindness of Minerva towards
Reuben since the declaration which caused such a precipitate
flight on the part of that young lady, had assured
him that the offence was not unpardonable; and,

though nothing more had been said on the subject, there
existed a perfect understanding of the sentiments of
each other. Julius, who watched them closely, though
he appeared to take little interest in their movements,
and seldom intruded upon their tête-à-têtes, determined
to let the affair float along on the current of events for
the present, foreseeing that it would ere long come to
a crisis either one way or other. In the mean time the
party visited the parade ground, where they were astonished
at the triumph of discipline in converting men
into machines; the vast and magnificent cathedral, the
most majestic erection of the kind in all North America,
and the nunneries, where Minerva, who had pictured
nuns as the most ethereal and spiritual of all flesh, was
astonished to find them, in the language of Childe Roeliff,
"as fat as butter."

It was in one of these excursions that the Childe
was struck all at once with a conviction that Julius
paid no more attention to his daughter than if they had
been married ten years. It occurred to him that he
left Minerva entirely to the care of Reuben, affected
to lag behind in the most negligent manner, and whistle
Lillebullero, or some other tune, in a sort of under-tone,
as if to indicate his utter indifference to what was going
forward. He forthwith determined to speak to the
young man on the subject the first opportunity, which
luckily occurred that very afternoon. Minerva and Reuben
had strolled out on the bank of the river; Mrs. Orendorf
was napping; and Julius was left alone with Childe
Roeliff to finish a bottle of hock and discuss fruit and
nuts at leisure. Roeliff had lighted his segar and taken
a whiff or two, when the spirit moved him, and, gathering
himself together, he spoke as follows:

"Nephew, somehow or other—I may be mistaken
—but it seems to me you have given up all thoughts
of Minerva. I don't see any of those silent attentions

you talked about, or any attentions at all. You leave
her entirely to Reuben, so far as I can see."

"But, my dear uncle, you don't see every thing;
there are times and seasons, when nobody sees or
hears us, when I flatter myself I am making slow and
sure progress in her heart."

"Slow enough, I believe; but whether sure or not
is more than I will say. On the contrary, it appears
to me that she likes Reuben much better than you."

"My dear sir, don't you know that this is one of the
best reasons in the world for believing she likes me the
best?"

"Not I,—I don't know any such thing; and I'll tell
you what, Julius, I mean to leave this place—though I
confess I am delighted with the perpetual ringing of the
bells—to-morrow morning, after having signified to
master Reuben Rossmore that his room is better than
his company."

"By no means, sir; this will derange my whole system,
and lose me the young lady to a certainty. Only
wait a little longer, sir."

"Shilly shally, tilly vally.—I'll tell you what, Julius,
I can see as far into a millstone as you, I suspect, and
I tell you that Reuben is gaining more in one day than
you do in ten."

"But, my dear uncle,—"

"Tut, tut! I tell you to-morrow morning we dissolve
partnership with master Reuben, as sure as to-morrow
comes. You need not say any more—I am determined
not to listen to another word on the subject." And
so it seemed, for in half a minute Childe Roeliff,
who had a great alacrity in falling asleep extempore,
was seen leaning back in his chair, with his nose elevated
at an angle of forty-five degrees, and the stump
of a segar in his mouth, as fast as a church.

Julius was taken somewhat unaware by this sudden
determination of Childe Roeliff; his plans were not

quite matured, and he was obliged to vary them a little
to suit the present crisis. That evening he invited
Reuben into the sitting parlour occupied by the party,
but now dark and deserted, the ladies having retired
to their chamber to rest after the fatigues of a sultry
day spent in rambling about the city. Here he communicated
to him the determination of Roeliff to dismiss
him on the morrow, and urged him, by every motive
he could conceive, to arrange a clandestine match
with Minerva immediately.

"What!" cried Reuben, "before I have done the
old gentleman the honour of first asking his consent?"

"I tell you, Rossmore, it is useless for you to ask
it. You have heard of his determination in my favour,
and a more obstinate old fool does not live than mine
honoured uncle. You will be insulted by his rough
vulgarity, and driven from the sight of Minerva, who, I
can see, will break her heart to lose you."

"I am resolved to try, at any rate. You may say
what you will of Mr. Orendorf, but to me he appears
a person of a good heart, excellent principles, and correct
understanding of what is right and proper. He
has treated me kindly; at his fireside I have been always
received with unaffected welcome, and he has displayed
on all occasions a generous confidence. I am determined
to try the appeal."

"And if it fails, then I presume your ticklish conscience
will not stand in the way of an elopement.
The old blockhead will forgive you in a month afterward."

"I will never give him an opportunity. I love Miss
Orendorf with an affection as warm, sincere, and lasting
as ever impelled a hero of romance to betray the
happiness of his mistress by making her an exile from
the home and the hearts of her parents. But I will
never ask her—and if I did, I am sure she would
spurn me—I will never, by a look or a hint, a word

or an action, tempt her to forget her duty and the regard
which every virtuous female owes to her own
honour. If I cannot gain her by honourable, open
means, I will bear her loss like a man."

Julius burst into a long, loud laugh.

"One need not go to church to hear a sermon, I
find," at length he said, wiping his eyes. "Then I
presume you have no objection to my prosecuting my
views upon the young lady?"

This was rather a sore question, but Reuben rallied
himself to meet it.

"It is the will of her parent, and I have no right to
oppose him any more than you have."

"Her parent!—you don't—you can't look upon him
in any other light than as the wolf that suckled Romulus
and Remus, or the bear that nurtured his great prototype
Orson. Pooh, pooh! Rossmore, I beseech thee
once again to get over this unmanly squeamishness.
If you cheat this old dotard out of his daughter, it is
no more than he has done to every man, woman, or
child with whom he ever had any dealings."

"You lie like a rascal!" exclaimed an appalling voice
from a distant and dark corner of the room, and presently
the veritable Childe Roeliff advanced upon the
astonished young men. Julius was stricken dumb with
guilt, and Reuben with astonishment. The Childe had
quietly ensconced himself in a corner to take his evening
nap, and was awakened by the earnest voices of
the young men, early in the discussion. The interest
of the subject caused him, we presume, to forget he was
enacting the questionable part of a listener.

"So, sir!" cried the wrathful Childe Roeliffe; "so
master Julius Dibdill, I am an obstinate old blockhead
it seems; a rough ignorant bear, a she-wolf that suckles
young men—a man that deserves to be cheated out of
his only daughter, because he has cheated every man,

woman, and child he ever had any dealings with: Do
I quote you right, sir?"

"I—I—I believe, sir, I might have said some such
thing in jest, sir."

"In jest was it, sir? Now hear what I have got to
say to you in earnest. You are an ungrateful hypocrite;—you
have abused my confidence, and returned
my kindness with insult and falsehood. I say falsehood,
sir, for, however ignorant and vulgar I may be, I
never wronged man, woman, or child, nor dog, nor cat,
nor any of God's creatures wilfully or wantonly. Thou
art a base slanderer, if thou sayest that. I would—
that is to say, I might have forgiven the only son of my
only sister, now gone to her place of rest, had he but
said I was vulgar and ignorant. It may be I am so, sir,
for I never had an opportunity in early youth of gaining
that knowledge of the world and of books which others
had; but a villain or a rogue I am not—I never have
been—and with God's help I never will be. Quit my
sight, liar and hypocrite, and never come into it again."

Julius had nothing to say—he was dumbfounded.
He saw that all was over, and that nothing was left
him but a creditable retreat. So he mustered all the
ready cash of brass he had about him, and walked out
of the room whistling "Di tanti palpiti."

Childe Roeliff now turned to Reuben. The deuse
appeared to be in the old son of a tinman, who all at
once seemed transmuted to sterling gold; anger had
made him eloquent. He turned to Reuben—

"As for you, young man—"

"Ah! now comes my turn!" thought Reuben.

"As for you, sir, I heard what you said, too; and—
and"—here the old man's eyes almost overflowed,—
"and you may be assured that I will not lose the good
opinion you have of me if I can help it. You said,
when I am sure you could not have the least expectation

I should ever know it, that I appeared to you a
man of a good heart, excellent principles, and a correct
understanding of what was right and proper. You
also said—and every word went to my heart, seeing I
was about to treat you otherwise to-morrow—you said
I had treated you kindly, welcomed you at my fireside,
and bestowed my confidence on you. I remember all
this, and I will never forget it while I live. You said,
too, you would not abuse that confidence, but appeal to
me, and abide by the result. Now hear me—or rather
hear this young woman;"—for just at this moment the
light step of Minerva was heard, and her dim shadow
seen entering the door;—"hear what she has to say,
and take this with you, that whatever she says, I will
sanction, as sure as my name is Roeliff Orendorf;"
saying which, he marched out of the room before Reuben
could reply.

What passed between Minerva and Reuben we cannot
disclose; we were not near enough to overhear
what they said, and it was too dark to see what they
did; but the waiting-maid, who happened to approach
the room in which they were, privately declared she
distinguished something that sounded for all the world
like a kiss, and the next morning not the bright sun
himself arose more bright and glorious than did the fair
goddess Minerva. Youth revelled in her limbs, hope
sparkled in her rosy cheek and speaking eye; the
past was forgotten, the present Elysium, the future heaven.
So beautiful did she look that morning, that the
waiter who brought in breakfast forgot the tea-tray,
and letting it fall plump on the floor, stood stock still
with eyes and mouth wide open, just as if he had
seen a ghost.

Julius was no longer visible. He had hastened
down to the wharf, after the oration of Childe Roeliff,
where he found the steamboat just departing for Quebec,
and joined the party of Mrs. Dowdykin, the Count

Capo d'Oca, and the picturesque hunters, who were
"tired to death," as usual.

Of the condescending assent of Mrs. Orendorf to the
marriage of Minerva and Reuben, to which she was
partly induced by a secret belief that Childe Roeliff
was in his heart opposed to the match; partly by
having learned that all the seignors of Montreal were
either married, or forbidden to marry, or dead; and
partly by the solemn promise of Reuben Rossmore to
employ in future a more fashionable tailor;—how she,
all her life, talked of her travels into foreign parts—how
the young couple married, and did, in good time, become,
as it were, the parents of a goodly race;—and concerning
the final catastrophe of the Platonics of Mrs. Asheputtle
and Julius, behold! will they not, peradventure,
be found in the second part of Childe Roeliff's Pilgrimage,
provided that erudite and liberal patron and pattern
of literature, Mr. Francis Herbert, shall think proper
to propound another prize to be contested and tilted
for, with gray-goose lance in rest, by all comers of
honourable descent and degree?