University of Virginia Library

35. CHAPTER XXXV.

Seymour's broken arm might have been no very
terrible accident for a young backwoodsman, but
the excitement and agitation of his mind were unfavorable
to a speedy cure, and for several days, the
physician went backwards and forwards between
Mr. Hay's and Mr. Ellingham's, leaving almost
equally anxious faces in both. But happily all
went well, and Mrs. Thurston and Seymour were
nearly at the same time pronounced convalescent.
The latter was most carefully nursed at Mr. Hay's,
and occasionally visited for a few moments by Caroline
herself. She was looking pale, sad, and spiritworn
from her long anxiety and confinement, added
to the distressing thoughts naturally arising from
the whole course of the Avenard affair. Between
Seymour and herself there was a hopeful degree of
constraint; for in his account of the affray he had
unavoidably allowed it to be guessed that jealousy

was the moving cause of the young man's fury,
and this presenting him in a new light to Caroline,
forbade her feeling quite the ancient cool indifference,
while Seymour, novice-like, was amusingly
conscious.

Mr. Thurston now began to think of his return
home, and he left nothing unsaid or undone to
show his sense of the kindness with which he had
been treated. He proposed to our friend Seymour
to return with him to Newyork.

“We can do but little, my dear young friend,”
said he, “to show how we appreciate the kindness
of all about us, but I hope thou wilt be willing to
help us do what we can. I think I see in thee all
that I can desire as a companion in business. Now,
if thou wilt go with us to town, I will make thee
such proposals as cannot but prove very advantageous
to thy worldly interests, and such as will
probably fix thee in the city permanently; and I
am sure thou wilt not doubt that myself and my
wife will do all in our power in return for thy
great kindness to us in this our extremity. My
business is such as thou art well fitted for, and such
as will make thy station in society all thou couldst
desire. Now I have made thee a long discourse,”
concluded the good man with a smile, “and I hope
thou wilt give me a short answer, and one favorable
to my wishes.—But no!” he added, recollecting
himself, “I did wrong to ask thee for a sudden
answer. Affairs of importance should be better

weighed. I was consulting my own wishes rather
than thy good in this. Take a week for thy
consideration of my proposal, and ask the counsel
of thy friends. They will be better judges
of thy real interest than I can be, for I am doubtless
biased by my desire to have thee with me.”

Seymour gratefully acknowledged Mr. Thurston's
generous kindness, and, Mr. Hay coming in
at the moment, the proposition was submitted for
his judgment.

“You would probably live and die a richer man,
Seymour,” said he, “in the city than in the country;
whether you would be a happier one may be
doubted. But you are young enough to make the
trial, and you have good sense enough to give it up
if you find yourself unfitted, by character or habit,
for a city life.” And here the matter rested for the
present.

Mr. Hay, who had always been extremely active
in his habi's, was now failing in health in some
degree, though he had hardly yet reached the age
when “the strong men shall bow themselves.” He
had been among the earliest pioneers of the West,
and the labors and privations of his younger days
had left their traces in his constitution, producing
a premature old age not uncommon among the
settlers. His interest in the duties and occupations
of his situation were in no wise diminished, yet he
was frequently prevented from taking his usual
active part in them;—a state of things which

affected his spirits more than he was willing to
own.

About the time of which we have been speaking,
and particularly a day or two after Mr. Thurston's
proposal to Seymour, Mr. Hay was quite indisposed,
and more than usually depressed in spirits, in consequence
of being unable to attend an election inwhich
his old adjutant, Tim Rice, was much interested.
Seymour, who observed his uneasiness,
offered to go in his place, and supply the deficiency
as well as he could; and Mr. Hay, though fearful
that Seymour was not yet strong enough for the
effort, permitted him to make it, and gave him the
necessary instructions.

As he was going out, accoutred for the trip, he
encountered Miss Hay in the hall.

“Are you going to ride this morning?” said
she.

“Yes, to—, to try to forward the election of
your old friend Tim Rice.”

“My friend!” said the young lady, with a scornful
curl of the lip. “But you are not well enough!
You look very pale!”

“Pale! do I?” said Seymour, the blood rushing
to his face to supply the deficiency.

Caroline blushed most sympathetically, and after
an instant's awkward pause, and without another
word spoken, Seymour mounted his horse and was
off. He had not been in so good spirits in a long
time. Perhaps the brilliant opening offered by Mr.

Thurston inspired him. It certainly could not
have been so slight a thing as a young lady's blush.

Arrived at the ground, he set about his secondhand
canvassing with the very best intentions of
fulfilling Mr. Hay's directions and wishes. His
own partialities were certainly not in favor of Tim
Rice, since we cannot always love our benefactors;
and his view of Tim's character was a good deal
clearer, and cooler, and less indulgent than was Mr.
Hay's, this latter gentleman being what may well
be called a warm friend, though he could not justly
be styled a bitter enemy.

Seymour found Tim already warmly engaged,
and all the world shouting at the very top of their
powers, in order to make things clearer. There
was a considerable assemblage of the farmers of
the neighborhood, and we may venture to assert,
without having been present, that a more respectable
looking set of men cannot be found any where
under the same circumstances. To be sure, as is
often sagely observed, “it takes some of all sorts
to make a world;” and so it does to make an
election meeting; and this “all sorts” comprised
some curious specimens. There was one tall fellow
with his hat knocked in on one side, and a
rifle on his shoulder, who was insisting on his own
qualifications for a constableship; another with a
blazing nose more generously advocating the claims
of his friend.

“He's a little high just now, to be sure,” said

this Achates, “but he's never the fellow to get
drunk when he's got any thing to do.”

“Vote for Spriggins,” said one; “he's a high-flyer!
he licked Kneeland last winter 'cause he
said he wa'n't no gentleman!”

“Don't put Kneeland in,” said a ragged youth,
confidentially to a circle of a dozen; “don't vote
for him; he's a mean tee-totaller!”

A cart, drawn up within convenient distance
from the scene of action, contained the elements
of a hundred quarrels and twice the number of
black eyes; and there was still standing-place left
on the back part. On this conspicuous perch, sure
of entranced and stationary auditors, Mr. Rice now
exhibited his well-known person, not dressed as for
a gala-day, but studiously slovenly and common in
his array. The time for opening the poll was near
at hand, and not a moment was to be lost.