University of Virginia Library

20. CHAPTER XX.

“Once more I behold as it were the dwelling-place
of my fathers! Once more I stand upon
these high places, and look down over the loved
tracts of “the Old Dominion!” You know that I
have always loved old Virginia, and, by my troth,
I may now add young Virginia too. But before I
tell you of our parting scene, permit me to say a
few words of my older mistress.

“It always of late excites painful and melancholy
ideas, when I can have an extended view of this
highly-favoured country, as I now have from the
table-land of this mountain-top. Here before
me are eastern and western Virginia! The
Tuckahoes[1] and the Cohees. From this rich and
highly romantic spot a looker-on may see the onward
march of events; and many things which

are not generally observed by those who are immediately
under their influence; and it is this
which excites my melancholy. But it is the eastern
view which principally produces that effect. There
are the dilapidated houses, and overgrown fields,
and all the evidences of a desperate struggle with
circumstances far beyond their control.

“Here, to the left, are the wide stretching and
worn-out domains of some broken lord of the soil,
with his wagons loaded, his carriage ready, his
descendants collected, and his negroes in travelling
array, about to take a final leave of the moss-grown
hearths and graves of his ancestors. Many a tear
is shed over the scenes of his younger days; many
a longing, lingering look is cast behind him at the
old weather-board mansion, in the architecture of
the seventeenth century, where he and his fathers
before him had dispensed their hospitality with a
too generous hand. Assembled also in funeral
sadness are the worn-out hounds, and the venerable
setter, which had so often made glades and forests
resound with their enlivening music; and swung
upon the shoulders of one of the half-grown descendants,
are the very horn and fowling-piece of
more than one head of the family; the former of
which had so often recalled hunter and hounds to
the generous entertainments of the day and the
evening, when the goblet and the song went round,
and the enlivening cotillion closed the ruinous gayeties
of the festival.

“I do not envy that man who is callous to these

hallowed feelings of the emigrant cavalier. Poor,
exhausted, eastern Virginia! she is in her dotage.
Her impassable roads protect her alike from the
pity and the contempt of foreign travellers;[2] but
with all her weakness, with all the imbecilities of
premature age upon her, I love her still.

“On the western side, a totally different scene
greets my eyes. There a long and happy valley
stretches far as the eye can reach, with its green
hills and cultivated vales, neat farm-houses, and fragrant
meadows, and crystal springs, and sparkling
streams, its prosperous villages, its numerous
churches, and schools, and happy, happy people.
There, Chevillere, our college days were spent, when
all were joyous, and laughing, and frolicsome around
us; when the happiness of the present hour was
all that was asked or cared for; when the tumultuous
impulses of young hopes and sanguine youth
threw care and trouble to the winds, and buoyed
us up upon the flood-tide of thoughtless happiness.
There the spirit of the age is working out a gradual
revolution, which, in its onward career, will sweep
away the melancholy vestiges of a former and
more chivalrous and generous age beyond the
mountains; 'tis sad to look upon, but I do not repine
at the necessity which produces these new
impulses.

“Virginia has been the mother of states. Her
sons have peopled the forests of the west, and now
her turn has come to build up her own fortunes—
destiny has willed this course of events, and man
cannot gainsay it.

“But while I prate of the elder matron, I leave
her young namesake neglected. A few days after
the interview with your mother, mentioned in my
last letter, as the sun was just sinking behind the
towering vapours of the Santee, and the sombre
shadows of the evening were throwing their
lengthening outlines over the green, and the brilliant
fire-flies were flashing their fitful rays over
these southern scenes, I espied Virginia sitting
at the low parlour window, with her head resting
upon her hand, as she gazed out upon the setting
sun, through the interstices of the rich vines which
so tastefully festoon the windows. I walked into
the room, more engaged upon my own thoughts
than how I should most appropriately communicate
them to her who was the object of them.

“ `To-morrow,' said I, `I leave Belville!' more
as an exclamation than addressed to her.

“ `To-morrow! said you?' exclaimed Virginia.

“ `Yea, to-morrow, Virginia; why not to-morrow?
the sooner I go, the sooner I will return.'

“ `True, but I would rather you should stay now
the longer, and be longer in returning.'

“ `But you know that would derange all our
plans respecting your cousin.'

“You see we have arranged it thus; I am to

return immediately from Virginia, when our nutials
will be celebrated in the good old southern
style; immediately after which we will proceed,
with all convenient despatch, to the home of my
fathers, where, if your suit is likely to be crowned
with success, we will then await your arrival with
your bride; otherwise we shall proceed to New-York.

“But to return; morning came, and with it
came the servant and horses to the door. If I had
not been so confoundedly sad myself, I should
have enjoyed Virginia's confusion most particularly.
She thought it would not be appropriate
to appear melancholy on the occasion. She therefore
attempted to be gay, but fruitlessly: and
when she discovered that your mother and I both
saw through her too childish arts, she hastily left
the breakfast table, without having tasted a mouthful.
The fact was, as I closely observed her, I
saw that her eyes were full, and that she must
either let the tears come, or run for it; she chose
the latter, of course. When the gloomy and nominal
meal was over, your mother told me that I
must seek Virginia to say farewell, as she would
not return of her own free will. I bounded through
the rooms of the second floor with a false alacrity,
similar to the speed which a man employs when
he is about to plunge headlong into a cold bath.
I at length found her, the green shutters all closed,
sitting in the corner of the darkened room, with a
white handkerchief thrown over her face; I drew

it away, and found, as soon as my eyes became
accustomed to the light, that she had been weeping.
I could not bear this; seizing her therefore in my
arms, and printing a parting blessing upon her lips,
while mine made a gurgling sound in the throat
for a farewell exclamation, I rushed out of the
house, mounted my horse and galloped away,
without even saying adieu to your mother. Oh!
that wretched day! fifty times I would have turned
back, if the fear of ridicule had not impelled me
forward.

“And now, my dear fellow, the next that you
hear or see of me will be either at the seat of the
Randolphs with my bride or in New-York; till
then, fare you well.