University of Virginia Library

1. THE KNIGHTS OF THE HORSE-SHOE.

1. CHAPTER I.
A VIRGINIA FARM HOUSE.

At a moderate distance from Yorktown, (since so famous by the surrender
of Cornwallis,) there stood a plain looking structure, covering a considerable
pertion of ground, embracing, under one common roof, a long range of
buildings of various dimensions, and surrounded with cool looking verandahs,
which extended entirely round the lower story of the house; here entirely
closing one portion from view, with the extension of green slats, and there
throwing open another from the ceiling to the floor, so that the inmates
might choose sunshine or shade, as suited their fancy. Besides this main
building, there were others of various sizes and shapes, from the kitchen
to the coach house, forming, altogether, quite an imposing looking establishment.
One side of the dwelling commanded a fine prospect of the
Chesapeake Bay, while the other faced a garden, at that day a curiosity in
the colony. It extended beyond the reach of the eye landwards, until it
was lost in a beautiful green lawn, which fell off abruptly towards a little
bubbling brook which wound its way around the extended bluff upon which
the mansion stood. This garden was laid out after the prim and rather
pragmatical fashion of that day in the old country, and adorned with
statues and grotoes, and curiously devised box hedges. In the centre of
these, a jet d'eau constantly threw up its glittering spray, giving a most
inviting air of coolness and repose to the place. The whole establishment
was surrounded by a fence, painted white, the entrance to which was through
a high arched gate in the fashion of the times.

This was called Temple Farm, from a circumstance which will appear
in the course of our narrative, and was one of the country seats of Sir
Alexander Spotswood, then Governor of Virginia, and Commander-in-Chief
of Her Majesty's forces in the colony.

Further along the shores of the bay, stood a double row of small white
cottages, with a narrow street running between, and one large building of two
stories, in the centre, surmounted with a small cupola and weathercock; this
was the negro quarter. Beyond this, again, stood the overseer's house; still
following the same line.

The whole settlement presented a most inviting prospect to the eye of the
weary traveller; and from the water was still more imposing; because, on
that side, was one unbroken front, giving the idea of quite a village, from
the number of the buildings. No one will wonder at the extent, even of this

country establishment, when we state from undoubted authority, that his
Excellency's income, at that time, exceeded twenty thousand pounds, per
annum, independent of his official salary.

It was near sundown of a sultry day in the summer of 1714; the dim blue
outlines of Acomac and North Ampton could just be discovered across the
misty surface of the bay. Sir Alexander Spotswood was seated in a large
arm chair in the front porch of the building, entirely alone, except his
dogs, which were snoozing away around his chair in various groups. He
had a pipe in his mouth, held from time to time in his fingers, while he
blew away the smoke, and cast his eye now and then along the surface
of the water. He wore a cocked hat on his head, which was thrown
rather to one side, so as to exhibit a profusion of iron-grey hair, done up
in the bob wig fashion. His features were large and strong, but not
unpleasing, especially when a smile broke over the otherwise bronzed and
statue-like countenance. His face, from the brow to the chin, was covered
with wrinkles. The sure guarantee that the youth of their possessor had
not been passed in inglorious ease and luxury. He had a fine set of white
teeth, which greatly redeemed his countenance from a look of premature
age, assisted by an eye which, when under excitement, was black and
brilliant with the unspent fires of youth or genius. Surmounting this
weather-beaten countenance, was a high forehead, falling back at the temple,
so as to leave a hollow on each side, and thus to produce what is called,
in common parlance, the hatchet face. His limbs were brawny and athletic,
showing their possessor capable of extraordinary physical exertion. He
wore knee breeches, met by cloth gaiter leggings buttoned close to his
well turned limbs, which, truth to say, were Virginia fashion, thrown over
the bannisters, in the most careless attitude possible. Over his person
he wore a hunting coat, thrown carelessly back from off his shoulders,
while near by rested a fowling piece he had apparently just set down,
being his almost inseparable companion in his long and celebrated walks.

While his Excellency thus lazily smoked away alone, in the front of his
house, the other portions of the building were by no means in the same state
of dreamy repose. About the entrance gate there was much bustle and confusion,
incident to the departure of some guests and the arrival of others.

His extensive and princely hospitalities were renowned, even in the Old
Dominion, and his establishment, whether in town or country, was the centre
and focus of all the elite of the colony. Over that portion, he had already
swayed a most happy and judicious influence, far better suited in its free and
easy grace, to the age of the country, than the stately formalities of his predecessors.
Upon occasions of public ceremony, he by no means abated the
pomp and parapharnalia of his office. His previous life had been too purely
military for that, but that very education of the camp, lent to the privaces of
his own home all the careless ease and grace so common to the undress of
the camp.

His being thus seated so long and so indolently gazing out upon the slumbering
waves, was by no means accidental. Suddenly there appeared a faint
flash and a quick report of fire arms in the offing, followed almost instantaneously
by two others, so faint and far off as just to be heard and seen. These
reports proceeded from small arms, and were very different from those of a
vessel in distress, which idea, indeed, the dead calm of the bay itself precluded.
Nevertheless, they seemed to rouse the Governor, the pipe was thrown
over the bannister, his legs were drawn to the floor, and in the next instant he
had snatched a spy glass, and looked long and silently over the water. After
he had hurriedly replaced his glass, he seized his gun and fired three charges
as rapidly as he could perform the evolutions of loading and firing. He had
no sooner done this, than he ordered one of his servants to light a large pine

torch, and having manned one of his boats, jumped in, followed by the boy
holding aloft his burning brand. They steered out to a considerable distance
from the landing, and then again he folded his arms, and looked long and
ardently as before over the expanse of waters, the oarsmen resting upon their
oars.

While he is thus employed, let us return to the mansion; over the windows
of which, various lights are now seen, indicative of some more busy life
within, than is usually to be found of summer evenings at an ordinary farm
house.

2. CHAPTER II.
AN OLD FASHIONED FIRESIDE PARTY.

Before we introduce our readers into this drawing room, let us pause at
that old fashioned hall door, and read the inscription over the coat of arms,
(the plate on which it was inscribed was in existence within the memory of
many now living,) we think it reads thus: “Patior et Portior;” the most
appropriate that could be conceived for its possessor, it was his life, both previous
and subsequent, in an epigraph. Through this large old dining hall we
pass into a parlor well lighted up, and furnished with much taste and elegance.
The room was nearly full of company; and we shall proceed to introduce
such of them as we take a fancy to.

But, before we do so, let us premise, that that drawing-room contained at
that moment the future fathers and mothers of some of the most celebrated
characters of our country. First, of course, we shall present the lady of the
mansion; she was seated with some half dozen others of her own sex at a
small table, around which they were working at the needle, busily chatting
all the while, sometimes with the gentlemen standing around, and sometimes
with other ladies similarly seated and occupied in other parts of the room.
Lady Spotswood, notwithstanding the stiff fashion of the female costume and
head dress at that time, was the very bean ideal of a rich farmer's wife. She
looked quite young in comparison with her husband, and possessed the remains
of a beauty that must have been formidable among courtiers of the royal
household, from which atmosphere the General had plucked her. How many
ladies thus transplanted, would not have carried with them the faded pomps
and ceremonies of their former sphere? Not so, however, with lady Spotswood.
No one could ever have imagined, that she had figured in her younger
days within the cold formalities of a courtly circle, for there was a whole
heartedness, a bon hommie of expression, a freedom of conversation in the
highest degree enthusiastic sometimes, which we, simple hearted republicans,
believe dies within the purlieus of the royal household. She seemed to enjoy
her company with the highest relish, and, of course, she entertained them with
ease.

At an opposite table sat her two daughters; Ann Catherine, the elder, by
the General called Kate, and Dorothea, the younger. The eldest of these
was about seventeen, and the other about two years younger. However much
we might lament the unromantic sound of their names, we cannot help it,
having previously pledged ourselves to adhere to the real ones. Sure we are,
that if we cannot interest our readers in them under their real, we could not
under fictitious ones. Being familiar with these, (aye, and with their characters,)
almost from our youth, we shall use the Governor's privilege, and
abbreviate them whenever we please.

Kate, then, was a fair girl in every sense of the word, or, in other words,
she was a blonde. Light hair, dress, and every thing light; even her voice
and laughter seemed to indicate a light heart, and that is a very important
point upon which to assure our readers. But in all this field of white, there
were shades of most delicate tints; her eyes, though not white, were light
blue, and the lashes over them, fell down so low sometimes as to form a fine
shading for those laughing and rather mischievous, we should rather say
merry, looking eyes.

It is a dangerous thing, looking too deep into the color and texture of a
lady's eyes; they become very unfathomable, very, and have an aspect of
wounderful profundity; and the longer one looks, the deeper they get, until,
like looking down into the deep, deep sea, or the high blue arch above, we
begin to wonder at the heighth and depth. It is a kind of star gazing, which
may bewilder the brain as well as another.

Occasionally she would drop her needle and work, and clap her hands with
the most heartfelt delight at the sallies of the youth standing over her chair.
She was dressed with much simplicity, and her hair seemed to follow the
pyramidical fashion of the day with great reluctance, for here and there a
stray curl wandered down her pure white neck. The expression of her countenance
was rather arch, produced by a slight contraction of the outer angle
of the eye, and a constant dubiousness about her pouting lips, as if they did
not know their own intention, whether to laugh or not. On one side of her,
stood Bernard Moore; and on the other, sat the Rev. Commissary, Blair, who
will be described presently. Her changing countenance, as she turned to one
or the other, no doubt formed a pleasing study to the youth at least. One
while, all quivering with archness and pent up mischief, and the next moment
exhibiting the simplicity of childhood, as she caught the words that fell
from the lips of the excellent prelate. She was a fine, tall girl, and one who
performed whatever was in hand gracefully, it was impossible for her to be
awkward; all this did not seem the result of education, but appeared like
nature itself.

Dorothea was a full, round, plump little figure, not so tall as her sister, and
of a beauty not quite so spiritual, and differing from her in many essentials,
both of appearance and manners as well as character. Her hair was brown,
her eyes hazel, her cheeks red. She wore an apron with a bunch of keys
dangling at her side, giving one an idea of domestic operations, for which
she seemed to have a peculiar turn. She was slightly inclined to embonpoint,
yet a neat, tidy, trim, little figure.

Dorothea assigned to herself an humbler position than that allowed to her
more brilliant sister, but the assent to this was by no means universal in the
court circles. She was the favorite with many, and was in the habit of saying
sometimes very pungent things in her demure way. Not with the ease,
grace, and perfect self-possession of her sister, to be sure; but, perhaps, they
told better from popping out as unexpectedly to the hearers as the speaker.
She was a decided pet of the old gentleman, and was mostly to be found in
his wake, when he chose to throw off the cares and toils of official life, for the
more heart cheering enjoyments of the social circle. If no one else laughed at
her observations upon things and men, as they passed in review in such constant
rounds of society, he did; and it was no uncommon thing to see them
sitting quite apart from the company, she chatting away most volubly, and he
bursting every now and then into a laugh.

The two brothers were John and Robert—the former and elder of these
sat apart from the rest of the company dressed in the green uniform of the
Rangers, of which corps he was an officer. His arms were folded and he
did not seem to be at his ease. His face had a general resemblance to that of
the Governor and might once have been handsome, but it now bore the impress

of early dissipation, and consequently of care and sorrow. The family
seemed to look upon him with pain and commiseration, if not of smypathy,
though it is questionable whether they understood exactly the cause of his general
moodishness. The Rangers, of which John was a Captain, were composed
of about twenty or thirty men each corps, and stationed at convenient
distances along the then circumscribed frontier, of the colony. He seemed
to consider his present position what it truly was, one of honorable exile;
consequently, he seized every opportunity to visit the capital. His presence
at the fireside circle, was by no means a common circumstance. The sort of
innocent gaiety that prevailed there at all times, had no charms for him. He
was there now in the performance of imperative military duty, which he dared
not disobey; he had ridden express to communicate with the Governor and
wait his orders concerning frontier matters—which indeed he had done some
time, and as it seemed to him without much chance of a speedy gratification
of his impatience, for no Governor appeared. Others in that little party
began to feel some surprise at his long absence, for the evening was now on
the wane.

The Rev. Commissary Blair, as many of our readers know, was then at the
head of William and Mary College, which was at that time as much a school
for christianizing the savages as for general purposes of education. He was
a hale, hearty, red faced old gentleman, dressed entirely in black velvet, with
ruffles at his wrists and broad shining silver buckles at his knees and shoes,
and much addicted to taking snuff, a box for which he carried often in his
hand. He was a lively old gentleman, though grave at times. On the present
occasion, he evidently enjoyed the merry sallies of Kate by whose side he
sat. Bernard Moore, the youth who stood on the opposite side of her
chair, had been but a few years emancipated from his government, consequently
he stood rather in awe of his old master, but still fully amenable to
the more lively impressions of his fair young friend. He will speak for
himself.

The youngest son of the Governor, Robert, was quite a lad, and therefore
to some extent, like all other lads, he was teazing his moodish brother after
the most approved fashion, where we will leave him for the present, while
we introduce some more of that company to our readers.

There was walking along the room a tall grey headed old man, of uncommonly
benevolent countenance and prepossessing appearance. His hair was
combed back from his high polished forehead and fell in long white locks upon
his coat collar. He was dressed very much after the same style as his friend
the Rev. Commissary, and at first sight might readily have been mistaken
for some venerable old father of the church. It was Dr. Evylin, the most
celebrated Physican of his day in the colony, and the bosom friend of his
excellency[1] . He stooped much in the shoulders, so as to give him the appearance
of greater age than he really was. He carried in his hand an ivory
headed cane almost as long as himself. Occasionally he stopped to hear a
few words of her ladyship, not addressed immediately to him, said a word or
two—shook his head perhaps—or smiled assent, and passed on. He was a
man of few words but much thought. No one could converse in the room
without feeling that he was present.

There were many others present at that snug little country fire-side party—
stowed away in one end of that old parlor, but it is needless to bewilder the
reader with them at present. The various parties were grouped as we have
described, when the door was thrown open by a man in livery and the Governor
entered. Nearly every one rose and bowed at his entrance, except his
youngest daughter, who, as usual, ran up and threw herself into his arms.

He however gently put her away and threw himself abruptly into a vacant
chair, a proceeding so very unusual with him as to attract the particular
attention of every one in the room. It was now observed that his face was of
an ashy paleness, and her ladyship, who had approached and laid her hand upon
his arm, started back in terror as she observed a spot of blood upon his face.

The whole party now gathered around his chair in the utmost surprise, each
one enquiring what was the matter; some to the Governor in person and
others to those nearest him. He told them that it was nothing—a mere
scratch; but there was excitement, subdued it is true, but deep and intense
excitement in the countenance of the veteran, which these words by no means
allayed. He heeded them not however, but taking the arm of Dr. Evylin,
walked away in the direction of his library.

3. CHAPTER III.
A NIGHT FUNERAL.

We left the Governor and his boat in a preceding chapter, quietly reposing
upon the bosom of the silent and motionless waves of the Chesapeake. He
had not remained long in that position before the stealthy sound of muffled
oars were heard approaching. He stood up in his boat and leaned forward
with eagerness to catch the sound which grew more and more distinct until
the boat itself hove in sight, which proved to be a yawl manned by sailors, and
under the command of the second officer of a ship. This official when the
yawl came along side, rose and touched his cap, and enquired if he had the
honor to address Gen. Spotswood. He replied in the affirmative, when the
mate handed him a sealed packet, which he broke open and glanced over by
the light of the torch. While he read the letter he trembled, and seemed
agitated for one whose nerves had been braced and hardened in the fierce
school of contending armies. “Have you the box here,” said he at length
addressing the same official.

He replied that it was in the yawl.

The boats were run gunnel to gunnel and lashed together, while all hands
proceeded to lift a box of about seven feet long and three broad into the Governor's
boat, after which he counted out money to the sailor, and departed as
he had come, having ordered the slaves to pull for the little inlet formed by the
small stream before described. After rowing some half an hour the boat was
run aground high and dry, upon his own lands. The box was lifted out and
placed upon poles, and the six oarsmen bore it through the garden until they
came to the farthest extremity of the lawn, where had recently been erected
a small tomb-like building,[2] with the ground floor bare and a new made grave
open in the centre. On one side of this the box was deposited and the negroes
ordered to depart.

About half an hour afterwards the Governor returned bearing in one hand
a dark lantern, followed by his carpenter, with various tools on his shoulder.
The door was again unlocked and the man ordered to open the box, which he
proceeded to do, not without fear and trembling. The outer boards being
removed, exhibited a leaden coffin; this also he was ordered to cut through.
When it was completed, the man was turned out and the Governor left alone.
He then proceeded to roll down the lead about two feet; beneath this, were
various folds of what once had been white satin, but now sadly stained and

tarnished; this he likewise removed, when a ghastly spectacle exhibited
itself. It was the body of a large fine looking man, in the uniform of a General
Officer, his head severed entirely from the trunk and all much disfigured
with blood. The Governor threw himself upon his knees and hung over this
sad spectacle, and wept long and bitterly. Many times he took the last look
of the features of that beheaded man, before he finally assumed composure
enough to close it again and summon the workman. This he did at length—
and having changed his apparel, appeared in the drawing-room, as we have seen.

About midnight, there sat round the table in the Governor's library, himself,
the Rev. Commissary and Dr. Evylin. The countenance of the former
exhibited still the same ghastly appearance, and those of the other two gentlemen
were not unmoved. We shall break into their conversation at the
moment.

“You say truly, your Excellency, that secrecy in this business is of the
last importance, not only to the due preservation of your proper authority, but
for the interest of the colony itself, as at present situated.”

“I differ with you my dear sir,” replied the Doctor, “because I conceive
that it can neither offend King nor Council, for one, however high in authority,
to honor the remains of his own near kinsman with Christian burial.”

“You forget, Doctor,” rejoined the Commissary, “that that kinsman died the
death of a traitor.”

“Hell and fury!” shouted the Governor, striking his clenched fist upon the
table—“he died a patriot—a martyr—a victim!”

“Softly, softly,” said the Rev. gentleman, laying his hand upon the arm of
the Governor, “I only spoke the language of common rumor—of the government—of
the laws.”

“May a thousand furies seize the government—the laws and rumor, all
together!”

“Let me explain all this,” mildly put in the Doctor. “Thus stands the
case. Here is a gentleman, an officer of high rank, who is beheaded in
Scotland for the alleged crime of high treason—alleged remember,” seeing
the Governor again start. “This gentleman who suffered is the half brother
of another military man who has been appointed Governor of one of the colonies
under the very government which beheaded his kinsman. This is not
all—this government at home had the same suspicious of this very Governor,
and many of his friends shrewdly suspect that he was sent hither to keep him
out of harm's way—in other words, on account of former brilliant military
services—that he was sent hither in a sort of honorable exile. Is it not so?”

“You are right—you are right, Doctor,” said the Governor, between his
his teeth, “go on.”

“Then the question presented is, shall he clandestinely inter these remains
which have arrived here to-night, or shall he bury them openly in his own
burying grounds? I think it better to make no mystery of it, and trust to the
liberality and good sense of the ministry, should they hear of it. Such a
proceeding would be very natural, surely.”

“But you forget, Doctor,” said the Commissary, “that this thing is to produce
a vast effect upon others beside the ministry, and the first effect too.
Recollect the state of the colony. Every party at home is exactly represented
here. It is useless to conceal from ourselves, that the government of our
friend meets with powerful opposition. What is it that prevents him from
leading an army now across the mountains into that unknown eldorado beyond,
but this very jealousy of his power and popularity; and would this
opposition dare, for a moment, to show head, were it not for the more than
encouragement they receive at home. Now, what effect would such a funeral
have, when the subject of it was proclaimed through the colony?--that is the
question.”

“There is force in your reasoning,” said the Doctor.

“Besides, there is another point upon which we have not touched,” said
the Commissary. “The Govenor will, doubtless, desire to have his friend
and kinsman interred with the rights and ceremonies of the church; now, as
he is the secular head of that church, and I am the unworthy representative
of my lord Bishop, how can we publicly bestow funeral honors upon one who
has fallen like this unfortunate gentleman?”

“You have settled the matter, reverend sir,” said the Governor, musing,
“you have settled the matter; and as every one seems now asleep, let us betake
ourselves to our melancholy task.”

It was a most strange looking group that, of the two reverend looking
old gentlemen: the doctor with his long ivory headed cane, and the reverend
Commissary in his surplice, following the Governor to a surreptitious grave,
by the dubious light of a dark lanthorn. As they approached the temple, they
all bared their heads, and the clergyman taking the lamp, commenced that
most solemn and imposing ceremony of the English church. When he
came to the appropriate place, the coffin was lowered by the Doctor and Governor,
after which the grave was filled up, and they retired as they had come,
the Governor leading the way.

The mansion house by this time, and all the surrounding scene, lay wrapped
in the most profound repose; not a single light relieved the dark outlines
of the now gloomy looking mansion, and even the statues, which in daytime
gave a classic air of lightness and grace to the picture, now rather added to
the solemn silence and mystic gloom by their shadowy figures. The late
occupation of our three adventurers, too, added not a little to the sombre
aspect of these dim outlines. There was that magnificent sheet of water,
too, beyond, sending up forever its melancholy roar of the distant waves, and
heralding the coming morn with its broken fragments of misty drapery, towering
up here in huge abutments, and there arching to the horizon. Away
towards the ocean, between the dim outlines of Cape Charles and Cape Henry,
the bay seemed relieved by a darker outline of clouds piled up against the
sky like a chain of mountains.

4. CHAPTER IV.
COUNTRY LIFE—ITS DUTIES AND ENJOYMENTS.

The next morning broke bright and cheerful, emancipated by the morning
sun from the mists and clouds of the previous night. Kate Spotswood was
up with the lark, brushing the dew from the grass and flowers with an elastic
foot, which seemed made on purpose only to bound over nature's brightest and
freshest beauties, so fawn-like were her movements. Yet her occupation on
this morning seemed of a quite homely and domestic kind. She wore a sun
bonnet, and carried a basket on her arm. She took the path leading across
the garden and down towards the brook and in a few minutes ascended the
rising ground opposite, leading towards the negro quarter. In the basket
were various phials and papers, all labelled in the most careful manner, and
arranged so as to be of instant use. She entered the door of one of the white
cottages rather apart from, and larger than the others, and called, in plantation
language, the sick house. Here, around a pretty extensive and well
ventilated room, were arranged sundry cots, upon which lay about one dozen
negroes; some tossing in the restless delirium of fever, and others cadaverous
with the hues of an ague. She approached their bedsides in succession, followed
by an old crone, called the nurse, who scarcely ceased to bless her
young mistress even to put a spoon between the teeth of a refractory patient.

“God a mighty, bress miss Kate; poor nigger been dead but for her. Sheneber
forget em! neber!”

She had not been long thus engaged, when a little pale faced white girl,
dressed in linsey woolsey, entered the sick house, and stood before the young
lady, dropping an awkward curtesy.

“Father begs, ma'm, that you'll come down and see him this morning,
he's laid up with the rheumatis, and can't move a hand or foot.”

“And who is your father, child!”

“He lives, ma'm, in the small log house on the other side of the overseer's,
just beyond the nigger landing.”

“Oh! old Jarvis, the fisherman? I remember him now. Run home, and
tell your father that I will be there directly.”

This fisherman's hut was full half a mile beyond the negro quarter, but
she never hesitated. With alacrity she tripped over the damp grass, throwing
back her hood as the blood came bounding into her cheeks with the glow
of health and exercise, her fair cheeks fanned by the gentle breeze just rippling
the bay. Neither ditches nor fences stopped her progress: she bounded
over the one and climbed the other, like one accustomed to such obstacles.
When she arrived within the fisherman's hut, she found old Jarvis laid up
indeed, as his daughter had described, and racked with fever and pain. She
felt his pulse long and carefully, looked at his tongue, and made many enquiries
as to the manner of contracting his disease.

“I fear, Jarvis,” she said at length, “that your case is rather beyond my
skill, not that I would fail to try some of my simples to relieve you, but good
old Dr. Evylin is at the house, and I will bring him to see you presently.”

And then she turned to the old woman, his wife, and made many kind enquiries
as to their means of living and present supplies, stroking her hand over
the white headed urchins clustering around all the while. She soon after
took her leave, promising to send supplies to the old woman as soon as she
got home.

A goodly company assembled that morning at breakfast. Dorothea at the
head of the table, and lady Spotswood on her right hand, with many other
ladies, married and single, occupying the upper, while the gentlemen sat round
the Governor at the lower end.

Dorothea seemed to have enjoyed the benefits of exercise, and the consequent
glow and bloom of health as well as her sister, but she had been drilling
the dairy maids, and marshalling fine pans of new milk, eggs, and butter, and,
truth to say, her fair, ruddy face looked as if she enjoyed these good things
herself with no little relish. Not that she was at all coarse or vulgar in her
appearance, or that there was any thing in these rural occupations, tending
that way. We only meant to say, that she looked more like a red cheeked
country lass, the daughter of some respectable farmer, than a descendant of
an aristocratic stock. She chatted volubly, but with no effort. She laughed
heartily whenever she felt like it, and that was not seldom.

“Ha, Miss Catherine,” said the Rev. Commissary, as that young lady
entered and took her seat at the table, “had you been up with the lark this
fine morning, and engaged as I saw your sister, you might have transferred
the bloom of that pretty flower in your hair to your fair cheek.”

“If your Reverence will but examine that flower,” plucking it from her
hair and handing it across the table to him, “you will perceive that it is not
one to be had by stepping into the garden. I plead guilty to the remissness of
dairy duty.”

“This is truly a flower,” said the old gentleman, examining it with his glass,
“which is not to be found among your father's exotics. Is it not so?” handing
it to Bernard Moore, “you have just returned from the hot houses and parterres
of Europe.” Bernard quietly slipped the beautiful little subject of dispute

into the button-hole of his vest, before he replied, “That it was a native plant,
and scarcely grew within a mile of the house.”

Dorothea laughed a low musical chuckle, at the sly way in which Bernard
appropriated the flower, and the blush with which her sister watched the
proceeding. “I think, Reverend Sir,” said she slily, “that the pursuit and
capture of that flower has given sister quite as much color as my dairy performances.”

The Governor did not seem to enjoy this small talk with his usual relish, for
he was wont to encourage these playful sallies of his children, and loved
above all things to see them cheerful. But now he sat silent and dispirited;
and an occasional glance at his son John, who was beside him, seemed by no
means calculated to inspirit him. That youth was so nervous that he could
scarcely carry his cap to his head at all, and had not touched any thing to eat.
He looked, too, haggard, bloated and sullen. He had once been the Governor's
chief hope and delight, and he was equally the favorite of the old clergyman,
who sat opposite to him, for his brilliant native abilities, and the highly
creditable manner in which he acquitted himself of all his collegiate duties.
It is true, that he was known then to be wild, but not viciously so. Now,
however, his whole nature was changed. He scarcely noticed his sisters,
whose still clinging affection he seemed to loathe. His mother he avoided
on all possible occasions, and for these general family meetings in the country
he had an especial abhorrence. There was a stealthy, suspicious glance
about his eye, as foreign to his former nature as it was inexplicable to his
father now, as he, from time to time, cast a sidelong glance at his rapidly
depreciating heir.

There was one person at that table who understood the mystery of John
Spotswood's peculiar behavior of late, and that was old Dr. Evylin, but he
seemed to observe him even less than any other person at the table. Many
strange things were told about John by the servants, such as his great precautions
at night before he would go to bed; getting up in the night and calling for
lights, swearing that some one was under the bed; at other times he would
take a notion that some one was locked up in a certain closet. These things
the whole family knew; they had been observed at his former visits, and now
he was an object of the most undisguished solicitude to the whole of them,
and to his father of dread. He thought his mind touched, and that ere long
he would lose his reason, if, indeed, he had not partially done so already.

Catherine's brightest smiles were instantly clouded, if poor John happened
to come within the range of her vision. At this very breakfast, she sat
scarcely listening to the playful, bantering mood of Bernard Moore, so entirely
was she abstracted by observing the more than commonly ferocious aspect of
her elder brother. She would sit looking at him, lost in abstraction, until the
speaker had twice or thrice repeated his words, and then she would reply without
seeming entirely conscious of what she said. In short, a settled dejection
brooded over the party since John had entered and taken his seat.

As Dr. Evylin was about to leave the table, Kate stepped behind his chair,
and whispered a few words into his ear, which brightened up the old man's
countenance instantly. “Ha!” said he aloud, catching her hand, and drawing
back her retreating figure, “this young lady suffered herself to lie under
mistaken imputations, when she ought not to have done so; she has been a
mile this morning on foot, before breakfast, to visit a poor sick fisherman.”

“Ah!” said the Governor, “is old Jarvis sick?”

“He is,” continued the Doctor, “and so ill that my pretty pupil has called a
consultation upon his case.”

“I owe you an apology, my dear Catherine,” said the good Commissary,
“and hope whenever I do get in your debt, it may be always for a similar
cause, and as happily liquidated. You were right not to divulge the matter;

the right hand should not know what the left doeth. These are services
which God reserves for his own special pleasure of rewarding, and not subject
to the poor payment of worldly praise.” Kate had broken away and ran,
before the old Doctor's sermon (as John called it,) was half over.

5. CHAPTER V.
AN EXCURSION ON HORSEBACK.

Soon after breakfast a number of horses were brought round to the front
entrance of the house, to a gravelled court, separated from the box-bound
flower beds before described, so as to admit horses and carriages to the very
portico of the mansion.

The horses were of various sorts and degrees; some fine generous animals,
others common cobs, while the rear was brought up by ponies and dogs in
great abundance.

This was the daily custom of the establishment, at least every fair day.
The Governor himself rode a fine imported war-horse, of fine proportions and
admirably drilled. He stood at the porch door with his high erect head, waiting
for his master, with as much pride and gaiety as if he had been a thinking
animal. Various were the jokes and rejoinders passed among the grooms and
stable boys, as they stood there, each one holding a horse by the bridle.

Any one must have visited a Virginia, family party in the country to form
any idea what an essential ingredient this morning excursion is in their
domestic pleasure, and how highly it is enjoyed by young and old. We shall
perhaps have occasion, before we part with our readers, to trace this and many
other customs, which have survived the revolution to our British ancestry.
At length the party issued from the house. Every one at liberty to consult
his own fancy as to his company, unless some previous expedition had been
such as a visit to some natural curiosity or to church on Sunday.

Accordingly Kate on a fine pacing poney and Dr. Evylin by her side, had
already set off in the direction of the fisherman's hut. The old gentleman
was quite gallant, and managed his sensible looking little poney cavalier
fashion.

It may seem strange that Bernard Moore should thus suffer the old gentleman
to monopolize the attention of a young lady, for whose favors he was generally
understood to be paying the most anxious and solicitous court; but the
fact is, she herself had sent him off cantering in an opposite direction. Let
our fair readers be not alarmed; he had not already proposed and been rejected.
The case stood thus: Kate had expressed some regret that she could
not accompany her brother a mile or two on his way to the capital, owing to
her engagement with the Doctor. Bernard, in the most self-sacrificing and disinterested
manner imaginable, proposed to be her substitute, which offer was
most thankfully accepted. He and John were old class-mates and once very
intimate, and she desired of all things to see that intimacy renewed, now that
Bernard had returned from his foreign tour, acknowledgely one of the first
young men in the colony.

Strange to say, the youth was so blinded by his self-doubting mood, as
never once to reflect that this was the very highest compliment which she
could, in the then position of affairs, pay to him.

He and John had also now cantered off in quite a different style from Kate
and her venerable old beau. They made the fire fly from their horses heels, as
they careered, like winged messengers, over the road to Yorktown and Williamsburg.

A very few moments ride at that gait brought them to the door of
the tavern in the centre of the former, and Bernard was quite surprised to see
John alight and give his bridle to the servant, for he knew not that he so purposed
on setting out. He was invited to do likewise, which of course he did;
not knowing the business which detained his friend. That was soon explained;
for John, instantly upon setting foot within the bar-room, ordered a bottle
of spirits. It was with no little astonishment that Bernard saw him pour out
and gulph down a tumbler of brandy and water, half and half, enough to have
staggered any youth at a single blow. But he was still more astonished at the
wonderful transformation, which this short and simple process effected. His
old friend was himself again: he now chatted cheerfully, rode alongside of
his companion without restraint and without effort to leave him; and above
all, he appeared the highly intellectual and gifted man he had once known
him to be. He spoke freely of European and colonial affairs, and took now
an interest in many little things which he seemed not at all to notice before.
Moore conversed with him freely, and at length fell into stories of former days
and youthful frolics, until the woods rang again with their merriment. Having
thus wrought up his subject to a proper key, as he supposed, purely by
his own address, he ventured to ask him for an explanation of his late singular
and inexplicable mood; but John passed it off in the slightingest manner
imaginable; said it was nothing but a fit of the blue-devils—a constitutional
infirmity, to which he was subject.

“But how comes it John,” said Moore, most innocently, “that you were
not subject to these when we were so long and so constantly together. I do
not recollect of your being once so afflicted; during those ever happy and
memorable school-boy days, you were the life and soul of every party. If
any two started together upon an expedition and you were left behind, it was
always—`come let's get Spotswood, there's no sport without him.' ”

“True—true Bernard, but those happy hours of idleness do not last forever,
indeed I presume that the change which you see in me is but the natural
one of thoughtless boyhood, into the higher and more care-giving responsibilities
of man's estate.”

Thus they conversed; Moore pleased and amused at the half playful—half
melancholy mood of his old friend, but not more than half convinced, by his
reasoning, backed, as it was, by the change of mood itself—then that ungodly
drink of brandy—that the son and heir of the Governor of Virginia should
alight at a common tavern and thus quaff spirits like a sailor—it was inexplicable
to him, but he finally set it down in his own mind to the effect of the
military life in which his father was now attempting to train him. He therefore
shook hands with his reanimated friend, as he supposed, with scarce
concealed impatience, and galloped back to carry news of the pleasing change
to Kate. Little did he imagine the real cause of that change and how very
short a time it would last, or he would not thus exulting have sought an opportunity
of returning his credentials. He met the Governor and Dr. Blair
riding along the road at a staid and sober gait, and seemingly engaged in a
conversation little less desponding than that from which he supposed he had
just rescued poor John. He did not pursue them to see whether they too
would be thus suddenly transformed by a glass of brandy and water. He
was rather rejoiced than otherwise, for it assured him that this Excellency
would not command his attendance, and thus detain him from the point at
which he was aiming. Alas! true love never did run smooth; and Mr.
Bernard Moore, after all his haste to join Kate and the Doctor, only arrived to
find the position he sought already occupied by another young gallant from
the capital, not less highly gifted by nature and fortune than himself. It was
Mr. Kit Carter, a scion of the genuine aristocratic stock, and heir expectant
of the splendid seat of Shirley. Moore was too highly schooled in all the

courtesies of conventional breeding to shew chagrin at such an acquisition
to the company at the mansion house, as Mr. Carter undoubtedly was; but
we may say at once that he was disappointed in not being able to communicate
the result of his diplomacy. It would have taken a shrewd and sagacious
observer of human nature to have discovered even this, beneath all the
courtly grace which they manifested. Carter and he met for the first time
since the return of the latter, and that meeting was most warm and cordial.
This was magnanimous, certainly, in Bernard; for, from their school days
they had been rivals for the favor of Kate. The good old Doctor had not felt
pulses so long and not yet be able to see a little into matters as they now
stood, accordingly the old gentleman, with a sly smile, reigned in his pony
and dropped in the rear, to muse upon one not less lovely and admired than
her whose lively chat he had surrendered. Not a lady-love, nor even a wife—
for the old gentleman was a widower—it was his lone and only daughter,
almost a recluse within the walls of his own house at Williamsburg; yet so
young, so highly cultivated, and, withal, so fascinating in every personal
grace, she was fast becoming a devotee in religion. The good Doctor did
not regret this, but he was naturally one of those calm, cheerful, philosophic
minds, that are enabled to appreciate all that is excellent in our holy religion,
without surrendering up the choicest blessing of social life—a cheerful and
happy spirit. But we anticipate, the Doctor's lone idol will be introduced to
the reader in due progress of our story.

In the meantime Kate was like powder between flint and steel; every
spark elicited, fell upon her.

An encounter of wits between two highly endowed young men, and paying
court to the same lady, is a study to those curious in psychological matters.
But we will leave the whole party to dismount and dress for dinner,
while we take a peep into other things having relation to the main thread of
our narrative; until then, we bid our readers a cheerful and hearty goodnight.

6. CHAPTER VI.
A KITCHEN FIRE-SIDE IN THE OLD DOMINION.

Imagine to yourself, reader, a fire-place large enough to roast an ox whole,
and within which a common wagon load of wood might be absorbed in such
a speedy manner as to horrify one of our city economical house wives—though
now, it was late in summer and of course no such pile of combustibles enlivened
the scene—besides, it was night, and the culinary operations of the day
were over. A few blazing fagots of rich pine, however, still threw a lurid
glare over the murky atmosphere, and here and there sat the several domestics
of the establishment; some nodding until they almost tumbled into the
fire, but speedily regaining the perpendicular without ever opening their eyes,
or giving any evidence of discomposure, except a loud snort, perhaps, and
then dosing away again as comfortably as ever. Others were conversing
without exhibiting any symptoms of weariness or drowsiness.

In one corner of the fire-place sat old Sylvia, a Moor, who had accompanied
the father of the Governor (a British naval officer) all the way from
Africa, the birth place of his Excellency. She had straight hair, which was
now white as the driven snow, and hung in long matted locks about her
shoulders, not unlike a bunch of candles. She was by the negroes called
outlandish, and talked a sort of jargon entirely different from the broken

of that race. She was a general scape-goat for the whole plantation, and held
in especial dread by the Ethiopian tribe. She was not asleep, nor dozing,
but sat rocking her body back and forth, without moving the stool, and humming
a most mournful and monotonous ditty, all the while throwing her large
stealthy eyes around the room. In the opposite corner sat a regular hangeron
of the establishment, and one of those who kept a greedy eye always
directed towards the fleshpots, whenever he kept them open at all. His name
was June, and he wore an old cast-off coat of the Governor's, the waist buttons
of which just touched his hips, while the skirts hung down to the ground
in straight lines, or rather in the rear of the perpendicular, as if afraid of the
constant kicking which his heels kept up against them when walking His
legs were bandied, and set so much in the middle of the foot, as to render it
rather a difficult matter to tell which end went foremost. His face was of
the true African stamp: large mouth, flat nose, and a brow, overhung with
long, plaited queus, like so many whip cords, cut off short and even all round,
and now quite grey. The expression of his countenance was full of mirthfulness
and good humor, mixed with just enough of shrewdness to redeem it
from utter vacuity. There was a slight degree of cunning twinkled from his
small terrapin-looking eye, but wholly swallowed up, by his large mouth, kept
constantly on the stretch. He had the run of the kitchen; and, for these
perquisites, was expected and required to perform no other labor than running
and riding errands to and from the capital; and it is because he will sometimes
be thus employed, that we have been so particular in describing him,
and because he was the banjo player to all the small fry at Temple Farm.
He had his instrument across his lap, on the evening in question, his hands
in the very attitude of playing, his eyes closed, and every now and then, as
he rose up from a profound inclination to old Somnus, twang, twang, went
the strings, accompanied by some negro doggrel, just lazily let slip through
his lips in half utterance, such as the following:

The last words were lost in another declination of the head, until cat-gut
and voice became merged in a grunt or snort, when he would start up, perhaps
strain his eyes wide open, and go on again:

The last words spun out again into a drawl to accompany a monotonous
symphony, until all were lost together, by his head being brought in wonderful
propinquity to his heels in the ashes.

While old June thus kept up a running accompaniment to Sylvia's Moorish
monotony, on the opposite side of the fire; the front of the circle was
occupied by more important characters.

Old Essex, the major domo of the establishment, sat there in all the panoply
of state. He was a tall, dignified old negro, with his hair queued up
behind and powdered all over, and not a little of it sprinkled upon the red
collar of his otherwise scrupulously clean livery. He wore small clothes
and knee-buckles, and was altogether a fine specimen of the gentlemanly
old family servant. He felt himself just as much a part and parcel of the
Governor's family, as if he had been related to it by blood. The manners of
Essex were very far above his mental culture; this, no one could perceive by
a slight and superficial observation, because he had acquired a most admirable
tact (like some of his betters,) by which he never travelled beyond his
depth; added to this, whatever he did say, was in the most appropriate manner,
narrowly discerning nice shades of character, and suiting his replies to
every one who addressed him. For instance, were a gentleman to alight at

the Hall door, and meet old Essex, he would instantly receive the attentions
due to a gentleman; whereas, were a gentlemanly dressed man to come, who
feared that his whole importance might not be impressed upon this important
functionary, Essex would instantly elevate his dignity in exact proportion to
the fussiness of his visitor. Alas! the days of Essex's class are fast fading
away. Many of them survived the Revolution, but the Mississippi fever has
nearly made them extinct.

On the present occasion, though presumed to be not upon his dignity, the
old Major sat with folded arms and a benignant, but yet contemptuous smile
playing upon his features, illumined as they were by the lurid fire light, while
Martin, the carpenter, told one of the most marvelous and wonder-stirring
stories of the headless corpse, ever heard within those walls, teeming, as they
were, with the marvelous. Essex had often heard stories first told over the
gentlemens' wine, and then the kitchen version, and of course knew how to
estimate them exactly: now that before mentioned incredulous smile began
to spread until he was forced to laugh outright as Martin capped the climax
of his tale of horror, by some supernatural appearance of blue flames over the
grave. Not so the other domestics, male and female, clustering around his
chair; they were worked up to the highest pitch of the marvelous. Even old
June ceased to twang his banjo, and at length got his eyes wide open, as the
carpenter came to the sage conclusion, that the place would be haunted.

It was really wonderful, with what rapidity this same point was arrived at
by every negro upon the plantation, numbering more than a hundred; and
these having wives and connexions on neighboring plantations, the news that
Temple Farm was haunted, became a settled matter for ten miles round, in
less than a week, and so it has remained from that day to this.

On the occasion alluded to, the story-teller for the night had worked his
audience up to such a pitch of terror, that not one individual dared stir for
his life, every one seeming to apprehend an instant apparition. This effect
on their terrified imaginations, was not a little heightened by the storm raging
without. The distant thunder had been some time reverberating from the
shores of the bay, mingling with the angry roar of the waves as they splashed
and foamed against the beach, breaking and then retreating for a fresh onset.

It was yet quite early in the evening, and all the white family had gone to
the house of one of the neighboring gentry to spend the evening. No one
was apprehending their return for some hours, when a thundering clatter of
horses and wheels were heard on the gravelled road, followed by several loud
peals upon the knocker of the hall door. A lurid glare of lightning at the
same instant flashed athwart the sky, tinging every living and inanimate
thing, to the farthest corner of the room, with a bluish silver white, and revealing
the mansion-house, on the opposite side of the yard, through the window,
in magnified proportions like some giant castle looming up for an instant in
goblin outlines, and then vanishing amidst a most astounding and overwhelming
crash. During this terrible uproar of the elements, and a deluging torrent
of rain, the same incessant rattle of the knocker was kept up on the hall
door. No one dared to answer it except old Essex, who sat pinioned to
the floor by the poor affrighted creatures clinging to his legs, and arms,
and neck; his lips moving all the while in threatening pantomine, vainly
endeavoring to be heard amidst the screams around him, and the continuous
roar overhead. At every pause in the furious storm, rap—rap—
rap went the knocker, a signal for the closer gathering of the terrified
domestics. At length the storm took breath, allowing a small interval of
repose, which old Essex taking advantage of, threw the crowd from him,
in despair of getting his subordinate to answer the summons, and rushed
across the court and into the back door of the mansion-house himself, and
speedily let go the fastenings of the hall door. Stern, and schooled as he

was in the outward show of calmness, borrowed from his betters, the old
Major's knees knocked a little as he threw open the hall door and let the light
of the lamp fall over the portico and gravelled road.

There stood at the threshold of the door, three persons, two males and a
female dressed in black, with black silk masks over their faces. The lady
was leaning upon the arm of him who appeared the younger of her two
companions, while a carriage and four horses stood opposite the door. The
elder of the visitors requested leave to enter for a moment's shelter from the
furious peltings of the storm. Essex knew the hospitable habits of the place
too well to have paused thus long, had he not been confounded by the studious
appearance of mystery in his visitors, and apprehension for the safety of
his master's goods and chattels; but these impressions lasted only for a moment,
when the old fellow again resumed his courtly air and bowed them into the hall
with inimitable grace. His unerring tact had already discovered that these, if
robbers at all, were not of the common sort, and were of no ordinary address.
One attitude, a wave of the hand, the general air, was enough for the practised
eye of the major domo, to discover that they were no ruffians; besides,
there was a shrinking, a clinging dependence about the lady, which at once
interested him. If he was surprised at this singular visit, thus far, how much
more so, when he saw them, after entering the hall, walk straight up to the
picture of a soldier in armor, hanging against the wall. It was the wellknown
portrait of Gen. Elliot, half brother to the Governor, and one of the
most renowned soldiers, as well as unfortunate men of his day.[3] Before
this picture, the mysterious three stood, the two males conversing in a suppressed
voice, while the young lady sobbed audibly and most painfully, and,
finally became so much affected that a chair had to be brought her, which, she
turned towards the picture, gazing upon it and weeping by turns. Old
Essex handed her a glass of wine and water, which she declined. They
presently moved opposite to the full length picture of the Governor, in his
court dress, and examined it stadionsly and with some interest, but not of the
painful sort with which they had looked at the other. The lady soon returned
to her former position, and there she clung, until removed almost by force; one
gentleman taking her under each arm.

As they left the hall, the elder of the two threw a sealed packet upon the
table, stopping to turn up the direction, and place it in so conspicuous a place
as to be sure to attract attention. The steps were put up, the door shut and
offering Essex a piece of coin, the whip cracked and the coach and four moved
away as it had come, leaving the old Major in sad perplexity, whether the
whole occurrences of the night had not been a part of the goblin stories of Old
Martin, among the frightened domestics. The sight of the package, was a
sure guarantee that it was no such dream of the imagination, and he turned it
over and examined it most carefully, seal and surperscription. Not being able
to read even the outside, he of course made little progress with its contents, but
he examined the coat of arms upon the seal with the eyes of one not entirely
unaccustomed to such things—coming to the sage conclusion, that the writer
was some body at all events. He did not return to his late affrighted colleagues
in the kitchen, but seated himself to wait the return of the family.

The storm was now clearing away, and there was a prospect that he would
not long be left to chew the cud of sweet and bitter fancies. He was presently
aroused by the sound of horses and carriages, and soon after by the
entrance of the whole party, which had by this time received several accessions.
These with sundry other matters appertaining thereto, will found in
the next chapter.

7. CHAPTER VII.
A FAMILY SCENE.

The party entered the hall in fine glee, with the exception of the Governor,
who still remained dejected, pale, and entirely different from his usually hearty
and even gleeful mood. Kate had again been on horseback, in which she
delighted, and entered the room with her skirt upon her arm, and a black cap
upon her head, full of drooping feathers. She was quite flushed and really
looked charming with the excitement of the ride, or that clashing of rival
wits, she so well knew how to keep up between her two assiduous attendants,
but it was all playful and courteous in the highest degree. It was the daily
practice of Carter and Moore to walk off arm in arm, after one of these
sprightly encounters for her favor. The fact was that Kate did not perceive
as yet, that either of these youths were in that die-away state, usually called
being in love. They had all played together for the last five years, except
when the young gentlemen were upon their travels and now that they were
returned so much improved, she saw no cause of rejecting attentions due to
her and which she really enjoyed. Neither of them had approached the
threshold of love-making—the Virginia system requires a much longer probation
than that, and the good old custom prevails still, thanks to the good
sense of our charming lassies, that even this old prescriptive right of their sex
is left willed to them by their great grandmothers.

One addition to the party was Mr. Nathaniel Dandrige, a youth just emerging
from his teens and his syntax, and a scion of the same class to which the
two others belonged. In the language of the times he was a young gentleman
of fortune and birth—the former in expectation of course. As he entered
Dorothea had his arm, and was carrying on a most desperate juvenile flirtation
in which his Excellency seemed only prevented from taking part by his
painful reflections, which every now and then came over him; as it was, he
hung in their near neighborhood, and gave way to a smile in spite of himself,
occasionally, at the perfect good humor and naivette of his favorite.

Old Essex had replaced the letter and was standing in most respectful
deference, awaiting the movements of his master.

“Who brought this, Essex?” was his instant enquiry as he broke the seal.

“Two gentlemen and a lady, all in masks, sir.”

The Governor threw himself into a chair and commenced the perusal, with
not a little interest. The whole party by this time were seated and waiting
impatiently for further developments.

“Did the people in masks run away with any of my spoons and cream pots,
Essex?” asked Dorothea.

“No, Miss, they were quite of another sort when I came to see them.”

“And the lady,” said Carter, “was she pretty, and young?”

“I could not see her face, sir, but she was very young.”

“Had she a pretty foot and hand?” continued Carter.

“The prettiest I ever saw in my life, sir.”

All the young people laughed outright at old Essex's close observation upon
points which the gentleman seemed to consider so essential a test.

“And her figure, Essex” asked Carter, “did that correspond with the two
beautiful members?”

“Most happily, sir. Very much such a figure as Miss Catherine's.”

“Thank you, Essex, for your compliment.”

“The Governor, though reading rapidly, lost not a word of all this, trifling
though it was, meanwhile he was racking his imagination for some other clue
to their identity, than any he found in the letter. As soon as he had finished

he handed the epistle to Dr. Blair, and then turned to Essex, but the faithful
and discreet old Major, maintained his reserve. He said not a word about
pictures, nor the lady's weeping, but dealt entirely in a general account of the
visit, the ostensible objects of which were to avoid the storm and leave the
letter. No one in the room perceived that the old fellow still held something
back, but his master. He knew him so well, that he divined some cause for
his reluctance to make a clean breast of it; accordingly he soon after retired
to his library, followed by Essex, and there learned the whole affair, as our
readers have done likewise.

Dr. Blair seeing nothing in the letter to conceal, and knowing that if there was
it would soon become public, commenced reading it aloud, it ran as follows:

“Dear me,” said Kate, “and our visitors were doubtless some of these.
Poor girl, she has followed her father and her brother to these wilds—but perhaps
the young gentleman was her lover. That would give quite a romantic
turn to the affair.”

“I think that hard shower of rain, if they were out in it, would drench
what little romance out of them the sea voyage left,” said Dorothea.

“Poor child,” said Dr. Blair, seeming rather to commune with his own
charitable thoughts, “I pity her from my soul.”

“I do not see,” whispered Carter to Kate, “that a lady with such a foot
and ankle, is any such object of commiseration after all.”

“Perhaps an orphan,” said Lady Spotswood, glancing at her own happy
little circle with a tear almost starting in her eye.

These various remarks upon the visitors were cut short by the re-entrance
of the Governor, who walked to that portion of the room where the young
gentlemen were seated, and asked which of them would volunteer to ride to
York on such a night, in search of these unhappy visitors? Moore immediately
rose to his feet and volunteered his services, as indeed did both the
others, but the former being first, the Governor commissioned him to go, and
find them out if possible and bring them back as his guests.

Kate seeing how earnest and grave her father seemed, gave her beau a
look of gratitude, which he considered ample remuneration for riding half an
hour in a wet night.

The party were soon after assembled for family prayers—the young ladies
having hastily retired to throw off their riding skirts and hats. A small reading
desk was placed before Dr. Blair, while Kate ascended a platform erected
before an organ, fitting into the recess formed by the projecting abutment of
the chimney. Then the servants came filing in one by one and ranged themselves
against the wall on the opposite side of the room. The old Major at
their head.

The whole group being composed to a proper and becoming solemnity, the
Doctor commenced reading a hymn. When he had finished, the slow and
solemn tones of the organ began to ascend in a prelude of great beauty.
Kate raised the tune in a fine mellow voice, which, in that high old fashioned
apartment, reverberated through its lofty ceilings, mingled with the tones of
the organ, so as to attune all their hearts to this befitting close of the scenes
of the day. The fine enthusiasm of the young musician's eye and mein,
told how earnestly her heart was concerned in what was before her. When
she had finished, the whole party by one accord sat breathless and motionless,
evidently desirous to catch the last note as it died away amidst the
solemn moan of the waves without. All then bowed the knee to the throne
of mercy to follow in humble response the petitions of one of the purest men
that ever adorned the church in the Old Dominion, or illustrated his Master's
divine system of Heavenly charity, by a life of spotless purity.

What a fitting prelude to the excellent Prelate's solemn reading, was Kate's

musical exaltation of spirit. Surely the voice of ardent and honest supplication
ascends all the nearer to Heaven by being heralded in such divine
strains. If there is any inspiration known and felt by the creatures of this
earth, as pure and refined above all earthly pollution, it is this musical enthusiasm
mingling with the sublimations of deeply prayerful and humble hearts.
Surely God looks down upon such scenes on earth, with benignity. It is at
all events the purest earthly feeling—the freest from the dross and corruptions
of this world, of any thing that we know of, and in such an attitude would
we present most of the personages kneeling around that family altar. A
purer and more guileless group of beings has seldom before or since assembled
in one room, and ere an all wise Providence scatters them and their
descendants upon a wider and a longer pilgrimage than ever was decreed to
the Israelitcs, we would fix them in the affections of our readers.

8. CHAPTER VIII.
AMALGAMATION IN THE OLDEN TIME.

Moore returned to breakfast looking rather haggard, after a sleepless night
and a fruitless journey. He said he had traced the coach back to York, but
there it had been dismissed and there in all probability it belonged. There
was a faint clue he said to the supposition that they had gone on to the capital,
directly after their return from Temple Farm. Kate, as she entered and
took her seat at the table, welcomed him with a cheerful mood, and asked in
a playful way if he had discovered their Hero and Heroine of the masks.
She looked quite disappointed at the result, and expressed her regret especially
that Bernard had not brought the lady back. “It is such an unusual
thing,” she said, “people calling at a house in the night with masks on, in a
country like this—and that house too belonging to the Chief Magistrate of the
Colony.”

“If you had been in York last night, and seen the crowds of houseless
strangers that I saw,” said Moore, “just arrived from England, you could not
have been at a loss to select any sort of character from among them.”

“Let us all then ride there this morning?” said Kate, “and see for ourselves.”

No objection being made, it was settled that they would make a general
descent upon York, and see one of those human swarms from the European
hives, by which this country was populated. The letter of the previous night
also, added a zest to the general curiosity to see that portion of these said to
be of a higher order than usual.

“Who can that hot headed man be?” said Kate, “whom papa's friend
speaks of in his letter, as having compromised himself by meddling in matters
that did not concern him.”

“Our College,” said the Reverend Commissary, “will one day or other,
save our young gentry from the temptation of meddling in transatlantic affairs.
Now it is made a mere grammar school—this is all wrong. What say you
Mr. Carter? Mr. Moore?”

“I think, Sir, to speak with frankness,” said Moore, “that it will never be
any thing else, while it remains half savage, half civilized.”

Both Kate and Dorothea smiled at the rude interpretation which might be
put upon this speech. The Doctor replied:

“I understand, you allude to Mr. Boyle's plan of educating the Indians.”

“Exactly, and to the utter impracticability of ever carrying on a literary
institution with two such heterogeneous classes as those now in College.”

“Why Sir,” said Carter, “I have been looking for bloodshed between your
Indian hostage pupils and our native young bloods for some time.”

“Alas,” replied the Doctor, “that the most benevolent intentions, devised with
the truest apparent wisdom, are ever thus thwarted by the wickedness of man.”

“We grant you the intentions,” said Moore, “but for the wisdom of shutting
up twenty or thirty wild young Indians, in the same building with an equal
number of whites, quite as wild in one sense, we cannot vouch. You must
recollect, Doctor, that Carter and myself have been personal witnesses of the
experiment, and we can testify to the ceaseless arrogance on the part of the
whites, and the consequent deadly enmity of the Indians. They are most of
them princes of the blood, too, and may ill brook indignity from mere plebeian
youths, even of our color. Why Sir, it was no longer ago than one night last
week, being in the capital and hearing a great noise and confusion in the
College, I walked up to ascertain the cause. Must I tell it, Doctor?”

“Tell it—tell it,” said Kate.

“Tell it,” said Dorothea.

“I see the two Doctors and the Governor, hang their heads, but being put
upon the stand I must tell the whole truth. Thus, then, you know ladies, that
there is a particular wing of the College, devised by Sir Christopher Wren,
for the express accommodation of their young savage majesties. Two occupy
each room, and for their farther accommodation, there are two cots. Now on
the night alluded to, half an hour after the Indian class was dismissed to their
quarters, and after prayers, such a yelling was heard from that wing that the
people of the town actually thought the College again on fire, and some of
the wicked lads in the other end began tolling the bell, which brought also the
firemen with their buckets and ladders. In the melee I arrived and found
upon enquiring, that the connecting pins from every cot in the Indian wing
had been removed, so that each one caught a tumble when he supposed himself
only leaping into bed, and that was not all. Every tub and bucket in old
Mrs. Stites' kitchen (the Stewardess of the College) had been filled with
water, and as far as they would go, placed under the cots, so that many of
them got a ducking into the bargain. Such yelling, and screeching, and
whooping, never was heard. The savage youngsters were for rushing in a
body upon their white assailants, and it required all the authority of the Indian
master, backed by the other Professors and citizens who had assembled, to
quell the riot. A party of citizens had to patrol the College the whole night,
to prevent bad consequences between the two races.”

“It is too true,” said Dr. Blair, “but that is the fault of our boys, and not
of the original design.”

“I beg your pardon, Reverend Sir, for controverting your position, said
Carter, but the original design to be entitled to the wisdom which you claim
for it, should have provided for the liability in boys of one race to play pranks
upon another. This is not a solitary instance. Moore and myself could entertain
this goodly company till dinner time, with accounts of these disasters.”

The Reverend Commissary had risen from the table and was walking along
the room back and forth, his hands locked behind him, thrown into painful
reflections by the testimony and the arguments of his former pupils. The
girls were still laughing over the ridiculous figures which the savages must
have cut, but not daring to give full vent to their feelings because they knew
that it was a tender subject with all three of the elderly gentlemen.

In this very different state of feeling in the two—the elder and the younger'
the breakfast table was soon deserted. The young people to prepare for the
contemplated excursion, and the elders to debate that matter gravely, over
which the others were still amusing themselves.

9. CHAPTER XI.
YORKTOWN BEFORE THE REVOLUTION.

It is not known to most of our readers, perhaps, that Yorktown, the closing
scene of the Revolution, was once the principal importing mart for all that
region of country, now supplied by Baltimore, Richmond and Norfolk. Such
was its importance at the date of our story. The roadsted, now occupied by
a few miserable fishing smacks, was once occupied by merchant-ships, and a
tall forest of masts crowded a quay, now only the mart of the celebrated York
River Oysters. Large ware-houses and imposing edifices, both public and
private, and brisk business occupied its streets. Such was its appearance as
Kate Spotswood cantered up its principal avenue, Moore on one side and
Carter on the other, the whole cavalcade following. They rode through the
principal streets of the city, until they came to that point, since known as
the location of the wind-mill—there on both sides of the angle formed by the
entrance of the river into the waters of the bay, in every vacant lot, and even
in the unfrequented streets were tents, and camp-fires, many of the latter
without the comforts of the former, while the hotels were filled to overflowing
with strangers of higher grade. The party rode in among the encamped
emigrants, and commenced making enquiries for their mysterious visitors, but
there were so many for whom the description would answer, and so many
had already set out to the interior, that it was impossible to trace them.
Both the young ladies dismounted and walked among the poorer sort, dispensing
their charities: they found so many really needy applicants and in some
instances sufferers, that they promised to send them a wagon with more substantial
supplies as soon as they got home. The Governor had alighted at
the house of Mr. Diggs, a member of the general assembly, and a personal
and political friend, and here again he sent out messengers for the bearer of
the letter, but all in vain. While thus occupied a young stranger presented
himself as a candidate for employment. He stated that he was one of the
emigrants, and without means to prosecute his journey into the interior, and
without a single relation among all those who had arrived with him—that he
was a classical scholar and desirous of obtaining the situation of private tutor
in some gentleman's family, for a short time, in order to obtain means to prosecute
his designs in coming over; that his name was Henry Hall—twenty-four
years of age, and intended to reside permanently in the colony. The
Governor was pleased with the young man, and wanted just such an one to
direct Mr. Robert's studies. He told the applicant, therefore, that he would
send a horse for him as soon as he arrived at home, and as no credentials or
testimonials of qualification had been exhibited, he would place him in the
hands of Dr. Blair, who would put him through his syntax, and as for the
mathematics, said the veteran, his eyes glistening with delight, and rubbing
his hands, I will try you about that myself. “Do you know anything about
military engineering, young man, continued he, as he saw him about to depart?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Ha, then, you are just my man, we will make a night of it, depend upon it.”

The party soon after returned to Temple Farm without having obtained
any clue to the route of those whom they were so anxious to find. The Governor
dispatched old June with a horse for the young man who proposed
becoming tutor to Robert, as he had promised. Each one now sought out
his own amusement until dinner time, some strolled upon the lawn, while
others walked upon the beach and gathered shells. Old Dr. Evylin retired
into the house to read a letter from his daughter, which the post brought him

that morning, in answer to a most pressing invitation from the ladies of
the mansion to visit them. As it was characteristic of the lady, and as
she is quite an important little personage, we will give it entire:

Kate was sitting anxiously waiting to hear from the old gentleman what
answer his daughter returned, and she saw a tear glistening in his eye, as
he handed her the note. She read it over; the old gentleman sitting silent
until she had finished and returned it. “Poor Ellen,” said she, as she looked
up in his face, from which the tears were now stealing down, “but despond
not, dear Doctor, the change of scene and air will surely do her good.”

“I fear her case is beyond the reach of human aid,” replied he.

“Indeed! do you consider it so hopeless?”

“Her's is a crushed spirit, my dear Kate, she has no physical disease
except such as is produced by it, and you know it is hard to pluck up the
cooted sorrow.”

“Never despair, dear Doctor, cheerful company and fresh air on horseback,
and long rambling walks among the flowers and green leaves, and the seabreeze,
may do wonders for her. I'll show you that I have not been your
disciple for nothing.”

They separated; the old man to walk along the beach, and try to relieve
his melancholy forebodings by watching the sparkling wave, and the white
sails as they spread for that land from which he had brought the mother of
his drooping daughter. Let no desponding heart walk upon the sea-shore
to cultivate cheerfulness; it is too much like standing on the borders of
eternity. The melancholy and monotonous roar of the distant waves is too
depressing; they are too much like the great current of human life, forever
pouring onwards, regardless of individual suffering.

That evening the Doctor's old family coach came rumbling up to the hall
door, at a staid and sober gait, and the whole party in the parlor turned out

to receive so unusual a visitor. There stood the gentlemen, old and young,
bare headed, and the ladies likewise, surrounding the steps of the carriage,
each one anxious to render assistance, but all giving way for the Doctor to
receive his daughter in his arms, carrying her, poor old man, to the platform
before he suffered her to regain her feet. Fondly she hung upon his neck
as they stood there, he within one step of the landing, and she on the top;
no one ventured to disturb them, for both were weeping and seemed to have
forgotten the presence of any body else.

One hour afterwards she entered the parlor, supported by Kate on one
side and Dorothea on the other, to a large arm chair, made soft with shawls.
She was rather a petil figure, but what was lost in majesty of form was fully
compensated for by symmetry of mould, or rather had been, for she was now
thin and shadowy. Her face was almost transparent, it was so purely white,
and the blue veins upon her temples shone through her wax-like skin, as if
the current of life was restrained but by a gossamer texture. Her eyes were
large, and of a fine deep blue, so that when they slowly moved over the objects
in the room, it almost startled one, so shadow-like was her general appearance.
Her hair was of a brown color, but when the rays of light fell upon
its rich folds, they played among them, so as to bring out their fine auburn
tints—at one moment exhibition a black shade, and the next a purple. She had
no cough, nor any apparent symptoms of physical disease, yet she was evidently
wasting away in the very first bloom of her youth and beauty, for beautiful she
still was, and in perfect health, must have been a fascinating little fairy. How
those two girls tried to entertain her, hanging round her chair, and bringing
to her in succession, every object of curiosity or interest about the place!
Even little Robert had piled her lap with curious shells, and Kate was turning
over some new volumes of Pope's and Swift's poetry, just then in the first novelty
of their recent publication; every now and then reading her passages which
struck their fancy. How the whole conversation of a room full of company
became subdued by the presence of one poor little valetudinarian, instead of
chosing the most cheerful and enlivening subjects, the sufferer is sure to be
painfully impressed with the fact that he or she, is a drawback to the enjoyment
of others; and so it was on the present occasion, for she soon observed
it, and spoke of it to Kate.

“You must not let me engross the attention of every one, my dear Kate,”
said she, in a suppressed voice, “it is painful to me.”

The Governor, who was sitting near, heard it, and replied, “Suppose, then,
we have in the young tutor, and put him through his facings: Essex tells me
he is waiting.”

“No, no, papa,” said Kate, “it will never do, remember the young man has
some feeling, and may not choose to be examined upon his proficiency in a
room full of company.”

“Poh! poh,” said the Governor, “bring him in Essex, we will treat Bob to
a scene of his master learning some of his own lessons, before he administers
the birch to him.”

The boy rubbed his hands with delight at the proposition, and his father sent
him off to bring in an armful of Latin and Greek books from the library.

The Reverend Commissary was sent for too, who came, spectacles on nose,
just fresh from his books. He, too, objected to the publicity of the examination,
but knowing the peculiarities of his friend, his sudden whims and eccentricities,
he attempted like a skilful tactitian, to compromise the matter.

“I left the young man in the library,” said he, “and I will return and ask
him if he has any objection.”

“Tell him then,” said the Governor, “that I will require these young gentlemen
to construe verse about with him, and we will try which has the best
of it, Old Oxford or William and Mary.”

The youngsters seemed not quite so ready for the exhibition, now that they

were to take part in the performance, as they were before, but they acquiesced
of course.

The Rev. Commissary returned with the young scholar. He was dressed
in black, rather the worse for the wear, but still scrupulously neat and clean.
The deep impress of long familiarity with persons of high breeding was in
every step and movement.

“Egad, he's a gentleman at all events,” said the Governor, as he eyed him
coming up the room, and rather abashed himself, that he had proposed such a
boyish freak to such a man: such was his way, however, and he attempted
to smooth over the matter.

“Mr. Hall, here are two or three young gentlemen, alumni of our Western
College, which you have doubtless heard of, and I have proposed that the
Rev. Commissary shall play the pedagogue to-night with the the whole of
us; what say you, will you be one of the class?”

“Most willingly, your Excellency;” seeming to understand the Governor's
mood at once.

“Get the books, Bob, the books, the books.”

But just at that moment, Kate and her sister ran up to poor Ellen Evylin,
who would have fallen had they not caught her, she was almost gone. She
had been sitting in her big arm chair, so arranged that she had not seem the
proposed tutor. As she recovered a little, she whispered to Kate, upon
whose shoulder her head was leaning, “Oh, that voice, it was so like”—
then she stopped, and Kate prepared to wheel her into another room, but she
strenuously opposed it, and even desired her chair to be turned round, so that
she could see the occupants of the other side of the table.

From that moment, her eye seemed absolately rivetted to the face of the
stanger, and whenever it came to his turn to read, Kate felt her whole system
thrill and vibrate like one in an ague. This was very strange; and still
more surprised Kate, but she kept these thoughts to herself.

The Governor was once more in high glee with his new class, and was
really taking it turn about with the youngsters at the bucolics. Indeed it
seemed to afford fine sport for all concerned.

Once or twice the stranger youth raised his eyes above his book and examined
the group, now located on the other side of the room.

The new tutor was far from being an an ordinary looking man. To use
a common homely saying, he was one who had evidently seen better days.
This alone invests one with some interest. The thread-bare garments which
he wears, are deprived at once of all their shabbiness and meanness, and
invested with a compound interest. A graceful movement, an uncommon
expression rivets the eye upon him. We are carried back in imagination to
the place and scenes of his birth and naturally our curiosity is excited. Nor
was this all in the present instance, there was a desponding sadness in the
voice of this young man, a depth in its tones which affected his lady hearers
powerfully. They were all more or less interested in him. Then that deep
scar across his face; how came that there? had he been a soldier? This
question was destined to have some light thrown upon it sooner than they
expected. The Governor being satisfied with his classical attainments, in his
impatience for his favorite studies, soon had Robert's black board brought in
and was figuring away with his chalk at a great rate. He was becoming
delighted with his prize, for even Dr. Blair whispered to him that he was a
ripe scholar. From mathematics it was an easy transition to their military
application, and in less than half an hour his Excellency had one of Marlborough's
late battles drawn fully out, and he and his new antagonist engaged
in a most animated discussion. The veteran's eye glistened with delight
as he listened to the young man's glowing description of the battle.
He placed if in an entirely new light, and the Governor now understood

some matters which had been puzzling him ever since the accounts were
received. He therefore gave up the controversy, which was quite a new
thing for him in military matters and no mean compliment to his new adversary.
After reposing his eye in a brown study for a few moments on the
black board, where the lipes of attack and defence still remained, he wheeled
suddenly upon his antagonist and exclaimed: “I'll tell you what it is, Mr.
Tutor, you must have seen service—none but a true military eye could correct
the errors of my lines.”

The poor youth was struck dumb, all his late animation and military ardor
engendered amidst the clashing of imaginary armies, vanished in a moment.
He was confused. His antagonist seeing this, continued: “Never mind
young man on which side you took up arms—there shall be no tales out of
school here. You are in a freer atmosphere than that which you lately
left—where the Dutchess and Mrs. Masham alternately sway the fate of contending
armies. I have been a soldier of fortune myself, and it boots little to
me in what school you learned you tacties. Sufficient that you are a
soldier.”

“Gad, Bob, with such a master you will beat John yet, if you only spur up,
my man.”

“Your Excellency seems fully informed of the shameful wrangling of the
Queen's Ministers,” replied Hall modestly.

“Rather say the wrangling of the female gossips of the Court, and you
would come nearer the mark. It is no longer Oxford and Bolinbroke, and
that was bad enough, but it is now a fair fight of petticoat against petticoat.
The instructions which I receive by one packet are countermanded by the
next. If this state of things continue I must divide my papers into two
packages and label one, `despatches from her grace of Marlborough,' and the
other `from her high Mightiness, Mrs. Masham.”'

“Any further news from home, Governor?” asked Carter, “concerning the
grand expedition across the mountains.”

“Not one syllable. I have been twice ordered to prepare my little army,
and twice has it been countermanded, ere I could cleverly commence operations.
The council, dama them—I beg your Reverences pardon as being of
them—is too much like the Queen's privy council, they are under petticoat
government too, and thus far have most effectually thwarted me.”

By this time he had become quite excited, and was walking with immense
strides across the floor and talked on, almost in a continuous strain. “They
hope to unhorse me before I can set out, but upon the very first intimation
from the ministry that my measures are approved, I will set out—then arrest
me who can. Curse the block-heads of the council.”

“Softly, softly, your Excellency,” said the Commissary, “you should not
denounce these men, because they cannot think exactly with us. The General
Assembly were fully as much to blame, for they refused to vote the necessary
funds. They could not see with our eyes.”

“See with our eyes!” replied the Governor, contemptuously, “nor with
any other, damn them, they cannot see an inch from from their noses. What
do they know about military matters?” turning to Henry Hall, as he continued
vehemently—“you see, Sir, those rascally Frenchmen are hemming us
in, in every direction. They are gradually approximating their military settlements
up the branches of the Mississippi, on the one hand, and down the
lakes on the other, until they are just about to meet on the other side of the
mountains. Now I propose to march an expedition across these mountains
and by force, if necessary, seize the strip of land lying between their settlements.
No military eye could look upon the thing for one single moment,
without being struck with the magnificence of the conception. I have written
to the ministry, sent maps of the rivers and mountains, and urged them

before it is too late,—but while they are carrying on their cursed squshbles
between the rival factions of two old wives, our enemies will have
already seized upon the ground.”

While he spoke thus, he had seized the chalk, and was rapidly sketching
the course of the principal rivers, having their sources most directly
among the mountains, and the Blue Ridge, and beyond that again, the
sources of the Mississippi, running South and South-west, and the rivers
on the North emptying into the great lakes. He was a fine draughtsman,
and a military engineer of the highest repute in that day, and when
he had finished his handy work, really presented a field for a martial enterprise,
calculated to fire up the enthusiasm of much tamer spirits than
those he addressed. Hall especially, entered into his views with an ardor
and a zeal which captivated the old veteran at once. His practised
eye ran over the plan of the campaign with the rapidity of intuition, and
in less than half an hour, he had mastered all the then known geography
of the country, together with the forces, position and number of the
French settlements. It is true, that they knew not of the double chain
of mountains, and had never heard of the great valley of Virginia,—that
garden spot of the land,—but with that exception, these plans were wouderfully
correct, and into that mistake they were purpesely betrayed, as
will be seen as we progress.

They supposed that the head waters of the Mississippi, had their source
immediately beyond the mountains, which could be just faintly discovered
from the then frontier settlements of the Colony.

The table was soon strewed with papers and mans, giving an exact detail of
the militia and regular force of the Colony, and all the known Geography of
Virginia.

“I see,” remarked Hall, “that your population numbers an hundred
thousand, your militia nine thousand five hundred and twenty two, of which
two thousand three hundred and sixty-three are light horse, and seven thousand
one hundred and fifty-nine are foot and dragoons.”

“Exactly,” said the Governor, “and yet these craven hearted delegrates
and councillors contend that I want to strip the colony of its military protection,
to go upon some wild Quixotic expedition beyond the borders of civilization,
from whence we will never return, and if we do, to find them all
butchered at home. Was any thing over heard so supremely ridieulous?”

“Can you not raise an entirely new force for the transmontaise expedition?”
asked Hall.

“As how?” said his Excellency, eagerly.

“Suppose you issue a proclamation, calling upon all the young gentry of
the colony to come forward, with each so many followers of his own enlisting,
or chosing. Say three hundred gentlemen, with each fifty followers. If
you take possession of this fine country beyond the mountains in her Majesty's
name, surely her Ministers will make liberal grauts to those who thus conquer
or acquire it.”

“A glorious conception, by Heavens,” hugging the new tutor actually in
his arms, and giving way to other evidences of delight.

“I'll tell you what it is, Harry Hall, you shall draw up that proclamation
this very night. I'll read it before I go to bed.”

“No, no papa,” said Kate, interfering, “Mr. Hall is already fatigued with
his day's toil, and is besides just from the confinement of a ship, he has already
been wearying himself reading at least a bushel of your dry papers,”

“Dry papers!” replied the father, “they are far more interesting than the
gingling nonsense which Bernard has been reading to you young ladies the
last half hour.”

“Fie, fie papa, to call Mr. Pope's beautiful pastorals gingling nonsense. I

appeal to Dr. Blair, whether there is not food in them to satisfy minds of even
masculine vigor.”

“Right, right my Kate,” said the old prelate, “in both cases. The young
man is doubtless fatigued and the poetry is good.”

“I am not the least weary, your Excellency, and will draft your proclamation
on the spot, if you say so.”

“No, no, the general voice is against me, and we will adjourn the subject
until after breakfast in the morning, especially as I see Bob is coming already
for his first lesson.”

The youngster had been standing some time leaning upon a pair of
foils, and now approaching bashfully, asked Hall if he could give him lessons
with these also.

“Oh, yes,” said he, taking one of the instruments out of his hand, and telling
Robert to pat on his basket, while he laid his own on the table, and placed
himself bare-headed in a posture of defence. He suffered the boy to make a
few passes at him, and then disarmed him so handsomely and so easily that
he threw the foil entirely over, end for end, and caught it in his own hand.

“A trick of the Continental army, by Heavens!” exclaimed the Governor.
“Come here, Moore, this gentleman needs a more formidable competitor, than
Bob. Here, Mr. Hall, is one of my holiday pupils; toast him a little for the
amusement of these girls.”

At it they went in fine style, both evidently playing shy until they should
see a little into the others fence, and both giving and parrying with caution
and dexterity. Neither had much advantage in length of limb, and both were
practised swordsmen, but Moore rather undervaluing his plebeian adversary,
began to push at him pretty fiercely; instantly his foil was seen turning
pirouetts in the air.

“Ha,” said the-old veteran, rising and rabbing his hands, “have I found an
antagonist at last? Now for it, Mr. Hall.”

Even the ladies began to take some interest in the game, for they were
quite accustomed to such scenes, and did not usually turn even to notice so
ordinary an affair; but now when two such extraordinary swordsmen encountered,
every one was looking on with pleased interest. Long and dexterously
did they thrust and parry, advancing and retreating, until they were so worn
down that the two blades lay against each other in close pressure, neither
willing or daring to renew the encounter.

“Come, come,” said Dr. Blair, “that's enough—you are both satisfied.”
Like two boys tired out with fighting, they were willing enough to desist.

The tutor was soon after shewn to his own room. When he had gone, the
Governor was loud in his praise, and pronounced him a most extraordinary
young man, and the finest swordsman that he had encountered since he left
the army.

“I'll tell you what it is, Governor—I have been thinking what an acquisition
that young man would be to our College,' said the Commissary.

“The College may go a begging this time, Dr. Blair, I intend that Henry
Hall shall see the highest blue peak of the Apelachian mountains before I
am done with him. Providence has doubtless sent him to me with some such
design, and when I have caught the bird in my net, you come and open your
cage, and say, let him fly in here. No, no—I have engaged Mr. Hall for
Bob, and your College must get along without him, I assure you.”

“Well, well, it will be time enough for us when you return from the mountains,
if indeed you don't leave the bones of the fine youth bleaching upon
their highest peaks.”

Rather an unkind cut of the old Doctor, and which set the Governor to
thinking for a moment ere he replied.

“Just as sure as the sun shines to-morrow, I tell you, Dr. Blair, that I will

lead an expedition over yonder blue mountains, and I will triumph over the
French—the Indians, and the Devil, if he chooses to join forces with them.”

“No doubt of it—no doubt of it. I did not question the result at all, I only
meant to allude to the mishaps inevitable from all human undertakings, and
against these, even your great military experience cannot guarantee this
youth.”

The evening closed as previous ones had done, with family prayer, after
which the party separated for the night.

10. CHAPTER X.
LOVE'S YOUNG DREAM.

The morning broke still and serene over the shores of the Chesapeake,
now in the full fruition of their summer glories, and the flowers clustering
with a rich harvest of beauties o'er hill and dale, garden and lawn, meadow
and brook. The sun was just scattering his ruddy rays over the eastern
shores, and lighting up the sleepy waters of that glorious inland sea, like a
burnished mirror clearing itself from the taint of human breath. The marine
birds soared in lazy flights along the surface, admiring their own graceful
shadows, perhaps, while out toward the ocean, they seemed like white feathers
floating lazily in the sun beams. It was a morning to give wings to the imagination,
yet the picture cannot be embodied perfectly to the mind of another,
it must be felt as well as seen. The accessaries of temperature, health, position,
and, above all, the true, mood must be present to insure its perfect enjoyment.
To exist, to breathe, is then a positive enjoyment.

Kate Spotswood was of a temperament to enjoy all these summer glories,
with a relish only known to nature's poets and painters. She was not disposed
to indulge in the dreamy mood alone, however, for at the first peep of
dawn she was in Ellen Evylin's room, and had roused up the valetudmarian.
That wakeful child of sorrow lay with her eyes as preternaturally bright as
they were the night before, and Kate saw that they had been very differently
employed than in sleeping, for her pillow was yet moist with tears. She
begged her friend to leave her to her thoughts; but no, Kate said, “she was
her physician, that her father had put her under her care, and she was now
about to administer the first prescription;” she drew the curtain from the
window, and pointed to the glorious scene without, stretching away in the
distance, until it was lost is the misty junction of the watery horizon. “Look,
dear Ellen, at those long blue pennants sweeping out towards Cape Charles,
did you ever see any thing more beautiful? see how they contrast with the
lighter blue of the sky, and now how the sun, rolling up behind, tips their
edges with crimson. Get up, dear Ellen, God never made these morning
glories to be seen in bed; it is the salutation of Heaven to Earth; nature is
just drawing the first curtain from before his altar, and we of the earth should
not reject the proffered boon.”

“Dear Kate, what an enthusiast you are?” said poor Ellen, still longing
to be alone.

“Enthusiast, Ellen? indeed I am an enthusiast, God loves enthusiasts, and
the wicked only hate them. They chime not with gross and grovelling pursuits;
they are of Heaven, not of Earth. All that is bright and lovely and
beneficent of Earth, is born of enthusiasm. Enthusiasm first discovered this
glorious land; it fired the hearts of the Crusaders; and if they recovered not
the Holy Land, did far more, for they exalted our sex to their true position

and dignity. My father, too, he is called an enthusiast by the cold-blooded
common senso men; look at him, dear Ellen, his thoughts soar forever over
those blue mountains, and that very passion will cary him one day to their
summits, and does it not ennoble his character? Is he not elevated by it; see
how pure and guileless he walks among the poor intriguing politicians who
clog his steps, and yet cannot advance one of their own. Is he not the life
and soul of the whole Colony?”

“Kate, you bear down all opposition, I give up to enthusiasm: only bring
me back to its brilliant hopes and aspirations, and you will earn your title of
Doctress, indeed!”

“That will I, my poor scared bird; you have been caged so long, that you
have forgotten how to flutter, much less fly; but come, soar along with me
among the bright wings that surround us without, and your pinlons will come
back again. You were never made, dear Ellen, to grovel, and pine, and
die among the tamer duties and every day drudgeries of life.”

“I have substituted duty for enthusiasm, Kate.”

“Duty! well, come Mrs. Duty, only give me your hand and I will trip you
over field and flower, and brae and brake, and moor and lawn, until we shall
accomplish all Mrs. Duty's task, and far more besides. I tell you, Ellen, that
duty is none the worse for a little of the genuine fire, she goes lame without
wings, and even hobbles on crutches, but clap the pinions to her, and she soars
aloft, and sips the very beauties which God created to be met half way by
such a spirit. Heaven itself is but one continued scene of enthusiasm; we
cannot form a conception of its glories without bidding good-day to Earth.”

“And leave poor old Duty behind.”

“There you are wrong, dear Ellen, to separate them; I would only clothe
the dame in brilliant bues, while you want to murder her with rags and
poverty.”

“Oh, Kate, how you do run away with the argument.”

“Not at all, Ellen, I only want to convince you that there are more ways than
one to do right, and that even doing right in in a peculiar way, is very near
a kin to doing wrong.”

“Why, Kate, one would think to hear you talk, that I had been doing something
very wrong.”

“It is not exactly that, dear Ellen, but I wish to convince you that there
are higher and nobler duties than those, with the performance of which you
satisfy your conscience.”

“You surprise me exceedingly! tell me what those high duties are?”

“A cheerful spirit is the first and greatest thing which you lack,” seeing
the poor valetudinarian burst into tears, she pushed away her woman and
threw her arms round her, while she continued:

“Nay, nay, nay, Ellen, I would not wound you for the world; I wished
rather to coax than scold you from your settled dejection.”

“Kate, you know not what I suffer, you cannot, no one can know.”

“There is the very point dearest—try it with me, no mother ever listened
to daughter with the same indulgence that I will listen to you. If your
imagination magnifies trifles into matters of importance, it is enough for me
that they are so to you, and I will look at them with your eyes. Dear Ellen, I
seek your confidence with the most sincere desire to befriend you—I promise
you I will feel too much as you feel—I will weep when you weep, and if you
cannot laugh when I laugh, why, we will e'en cry together. Dear Ellen,
throw me not off, I love you like my own, own Sister.”

“I cannot withstand your appeal, Kate, you have made a child of me, and
you must put up with my childishness.”

By this time Kate had her arm round the walst of the invalid, and was
urging her through the garden, to the grove beyond.

“Here is a lovely seat,” said she, “and we can sit here at the foot of this
old tree and talk till we are tired—or rather till you are tired, for when that
comes, then I will talk to you. The birds you see are warbling their pretty
stories among the fresh green leaves. See that mocking bird, how it chatters
to its mate, that is me, Ellen, and the silent one represents you, only I'm sure
I cannot discourse such sweet music as my prototype.”

“Dear Kate, the very sound of your voico, cheers my heart,—before I left
home, I had not walked this far, for many, many months.”

“Oh how I rejoice, that you are come at last—you don't know how I have
longed to have you here, just as now, your whole confidence mine.”

“I shall be so, Kate, and I have often wished for such a confident, but my
whole being shrinks from disclosing the weaknesses of earlier days.”

“One to hear you talk, would suppose you fifty at the least.”

“I may appear staid and sober enough, but I have not always been so.
Do you not recollect when we first met at the Capital, what a thoughtless
rattlebrain I was?”

“I recollect only that you took me captive, heart and soul, little girls as we
were, and if I remember right, I was not the only one.”

“Oh, Kate! what memories your words recall—what happiness—what
weaknesses! those of childhood, to be sure,—but is not the sturdy oak bent
when it is a twig, and grows it not so forever? You know it is so Kate,
with our sex at least. The world is all wrong in supposing that we wait to
come out into the world to prepare for the world. Those things which fix—
irretrievably fix our destiny, are the legitimate fruits of childhood—they are
matters of feeling, not of judgment. I am almost wicked enough to repine
sometimes when I think that my destiny for this life was cast and lost before
I was perfectly a responsible being, but it was doubtless so designed by an
All-Wise Providence, to teach me that this is not my true home.”

“There now, Ellen, we might begin the argument again, were I disposed
to interrupt you, but I am not. You were speaking at the time when we
first met.”

“Or rather Kate, when I first met Frank Lee. You see I can even call
his name now, which my poor fond father would no more do in my presence,
than he would explode a petard at my feet. Poor Frank was left a ward of
my father's, you know. Papa attended old Mr. Lee in his last illness, he was
unprepared to die—no will made. Papa wrote his will and agreed to accept the
trust of his two sons, Francis and Henry. He brought them from Westmoreland
with him and they went to College from our house. Oh, what
happy, joyous, frolicksome days were those of the first year. I saw no difference
in the boys, they were both my seniors, and both as brothers to me.
Those happy, happy evenings during the long winter nights, when my father
used to sit and talk to us about the structure of the earth—its revolutions,
and those of the other planets, and then of the innumerable worlds beyond—
and sometimes he would perform chemical experiments for our amusement—
in short he became a child among children, in order that they might become
men. But I went hand in hand in all their studies, aye, and plays too—they
almost made a little Amazon of me, and I really believe they would have
taken me out gunning with them, if papa had not put his veto upon it. This
he could not do however with all the unfeminine amusements into which they
forced me. You recollect my little sorrel poney, and how we three cantered
over the neighborhood of Williamsburg. Not an old fish or oyster negro, but
knew us a mile off. Oh, how merry Frank was—so full of buoyant spirits—
so exhiliarated with hope—so cheerful—so kind to every body, so obliging—
so repentant when he did wrong, so stern and steady when right. I
think I can see his pouting lip now maintaining his boyish rights.

“Do you know Kate, that I saw a fearful resemblance to the expression of

his mouth in that strange tutor last night. I know it was only a chance resemblance,
wholly accidental, but it has interested me in that young man.
When I saw him throw his eyes to the floor and become lost in a reverie, until
they had to jog him quite rudely, when it came to his turn to read, I would
have given any thing in this world to have travelled with his thoughts to
his distant home, and proscribed friends. Perhaps thought I, he too has been
left an orphan like poor Frank, and wandered as he did, from the happy scenes
of his childhood, and is now calling them up one by one, in painful pictures
of the past. I longed to compare notes with him, I know it was very foolish,
but it was all conjured up by that smile.

“Oh such an expression, never but one youth before had. It told a history—
there were years of association with it, long years of memory lent their shadows,
and that bright smile was like the dimples round a stone thrown at random
into the river, slowly receding and vanishing—leaving the shores and
their histories as if the stone had never been thrown. But where was I?
Oh! up to this time, I had never perceived any difference between the brother's,
or never analyzed it, if I had. Frank being the elder, seemed very naturally
to take the lead in everything. One circumstance I did remark, by the
by—whenever he went away to spend a day or a week, with some neighboring
youth among the gentry, we were all moped to death. Father and Harry
were as much rejoiced to see him return as I was, but this was attributed by
me at the time, to the breaking up of our little family party. I knew not but
it would have been the same if any other one had gone. I perceived not that he
was the very life and soul of our little meetings. Neither had I perceived up
to this time, that Frank was at all different from other youths of his age, he
appeared just like them to me—he dressed like the rest of the young gentry—
rode like them—talked like them. No, not exactly either—he did not talk
like common boys, for there was a winning gentleness about him mingled
with the manliness of riper years, which the old negroes used to say betokened
an early death. Alas, how true those forebodings were. You see I cannot
keep up the history of the two boys together, I so runaway with the memory
of Frank. There was no perceptible difference in their attainments at
school, more than could easily be accounted for by disparity of years. This
was not great, but two or three years is greater I believe in mental than physical
growth.

“As I began to approach my fourteenth year, now five years ago, I marked
the distinctive identity of my father's wards. I observed little things, but not
great ones—those on the surface, but nothing deeply. Henry was the more
silent of the two, more cautious, prouder and more given to the pomps and
vanities of his station. He loved to affect the gentleman even thus early,
would seldom ridc out without a servant, and loved to be waited upon for show
and ceremony's sake, as well as from convenience or actual necessity. He
could not bear a joke, of playfulness of any sort at his own expense, while he
was very willing to be amused at the expense of others; yet, when he laughed
or played, it was never with his whole heart and soul, like his brother.
You see, dear Kate, I am answering your oft repeated appeals in behalf of
Henry Lee, in giving his history.

“Henry, to tell the truth, loved self too much, and regarded others too little,
while his brother was the very reverse in every respect. Frank, you know, by
the laws of the land, inherited the bulk of his father's property, which had
been in no way disturbed by the will, except to give Harry his mother's
share, which was amply sufficient, I am told, to have made him independent,
and better off than younger brothers generally are. Yet there was now evidently
growing up a jealousy of his brother's great possessions. Though the
younger he would sneer at his brother's position, as the head of the family—
bow to him when rebuked, in mock humility.

“In all their College squabbles with other boys, Harry was sure to be the aggressor
in the quarrel, and Frank was sure to do the fighting; not that Harry
was a coward at all, but his brother was so much more of a generous
and ohivalrous nature. I have seen him come home all bloody from fighting
Harry's battles, and cannot remember an instance of the latter becoming
the champion of the other.”

“He was the younger,” said Kate.

“True, but he was the stouter and stronger too, I believe. However, give
him all the advantages of his position; I would not detract one iota from his
claims, of any kind. These distinctive marks in their character began to
develope themselves more and more every day, until the very servants
plainly showed their partiality for Frank. My father, too, impartial, calm
and temperate, as you know him to be in his feelings, could not help showing
his greater fondness for the elder brother, and this brings me to the
relation of a fact, a small one it is true, but these develope character.
Harry perceived this growing partiality of my father—if that may be called
partiality, which was nothing more than the love of good and generous actions,
and was not long in telling him of it. Not only did he charge him with
it, but he alleged that it was the result of interested motives, and grew
entirely out of his desire to secure Frank and his fortune for his daughter.
We were all present, and I am very sure that I shall never forget the
scene which succeeded. My venerable old father was terribly shocked, as
you may suppose, and he rebuked Harry, as I never heard him rebuke any
one before. If Harry had possessed any genuine feeling, he would have
shrunk into nothing, at such a withering castigation, from a source usually
so mild and gentle. But he was far from feeling remorse on the occasion,
and never retracted.

“It was a beautiful moonlight night, and I ran out into the garden, and there,
in that old summer house which you have so often chided me for making my
home, I had like to have cried my very eyes out, for mortification. I had
never had such a thought pass through my mind, any more than if Frank had
been my brother. Now that it was distinctly presented, and in such a startling
light, too, shall I confess it to you, my dear Kate, my kind confessor, that
it was not wholly unpleasant. The mortification was profound, but I fear the
poison had sunk equally deep with it. I, of course, at that age, could not
enter into a very rigid self-examination; my powers of self-analysis, if I had
even been disposed to exercise them, could not be very great, but I can trace
my feelings now, and I confess to you, that that charge, a disgraceful one if
true, carried with it a surmise that, though wholly untrue on our parts, it
might not be so on Frank's Oh, what a terrible quarrel succeeded between
those two young brothers; Frank poured down such a torrent of indignation
upon his brother, as no one could have supposed would ever issue from lips usually
so mild and gentle; and, must I confess all, it was mingled with such praises of
me, as no poor motherless girl of fourteen could hear in safety. I did not eave'sdrop,
but hearing the quarrel somewhat abate, I essayed to get to my own
room, which could only be approached through the one in which they were
sitting. I retreated to my seat again. My poor, almost heart broken father,
was already locked up in his chamber, and did not again make his appearance
that night.

“At length Henry was silenced, but not abashed or repentant, and walked
himself off in great state, declaring he would never enterour doors again. He
slept that night, truly enough, in College. When he was gone, Frank came
in search of me. You, dear Kate, can imagine my feelings; young as I was,
I was covered with shame, and must have looked to him like the guilty participator
in the interested scheme with which his brother charged me, but it
was from a very different cause.

“I was beginning to have a faint idea that the youth before me was indeed
dearer to me than a brother; and after what had been said, and feeling as I
did, how could I look him in the face? And how could he look at my evident
shame and embarrassment, without having a suspicion, at least, that that part
was true; but he was a brave, noble, generous boy; his own nature was too
bright and pure to suspect others. He seated himself on the grass at my feet,
and took both my hands, and then poured out his whole soul to me, boy as he
was, with all its generous treasures and lofty aspirations. He, too, it seemed,
had been unconscious of the slumbering passion within, until it had been
revealed sometime before by a similar scene between him and his brother,
when quite alone. Kate, I had to respond to his eloquent, pleading passion,
or else give further grounds for suspecting me of some sinister design in
future, because I had betrayed too much already to affect concealment now,
and I met his confiding nature with a frankness equal to his own.

“Oh, that bright, fair youth! how the true fervor of passion, in its first
and brightest dream, gushed from his heart. How brilliantly his graceful and
chaste imagination entwined our future lives, through vistas all green and
luxuriant with flowers, and from which even the rude blasts were most carefully
excluded. He knew little of the real world; he was as guileless and
unpractised in wickedness as a babe, and I was quite as inexperienced. Is it
surprising, then, that I listened to him with a charmed ear and a willing
heart? No, Kate; no girl reared as I had been could anticipate my sad
experience; and it springs not up in the mind by intuition. I listened and
believed; my faith was laid in the deepest foundations of my being; it was
grounded in my very soul. You, Kate, know something of a woman's love,
even in its inception; you know that it is not only a part of her being, but it
is the whole, at least, the layer upon which all else is built. But I not only
had true and unwavering faith in Frank himself, but I believed in his imaginary
paradise, which his glowing and delighted imagination had painted for
us. I believe that all of our sex spend at least the first quarter of their lives
under a similar illusion, if accident or circumstances produce not the youth
who is to walk hand in hand with us through these bowers of Eden, imagination
furnishes him at once, clothed in the same ideal colors which we throw
around the real youth, when he rises up before us. Oh, what a gorgeous
dream it is while it lasts! how its hues are thrown around every thing in our
little circumscribed world! your beautiful horizon this morning, Kate, crimson
lit, as it was, seemed poor and tame compared with these pictures, which
memory was even then rearing up over all the past. Can you wonder that
when I turn from them, and look into the cold and dreary future, my physical
strength, and even my moral courage, should sink under the withering contrast?

Even our little Eden found a tempter, I will not call him a serpent, for you
know Harry Lee and respect him, and he is often your father's guest, but I
will say that he is by no means exempt from the fierce and deadly passions of
our nature. Nay, more, and let this be the answer once for all to his suit, his
long and persevering suit, pleaded by so many able advocates. Though so
calm and high-bred in all his exterior man, he is but a common man still—all
his passions and deadly enmities are only schooled into good behavior; though
wreaths and flowers grow upon the surface, serpents slumber beneath.

“He returned to our house next morning, nothwithstanding his anathmas of
the evening before, and his stealthy and watchful jealousy very soon discovered
that there was an understanding between Frank and me, if not approved by
my father, and this brings me to the latter's view of the matter. He has
always been mother and father both, to me, consequently the most unreserved
confidence existed between us, as much so as ever existed between parent and
daughter. I went, after a sleepless night, and told him the whole story of our

youthful love and its premature revelation; for I can call it nothing else but a
discovery, and an accidental one on our parts. He was most deeply moved,
aye, and interested too, beyond that which a fond parent might be supposed to
feel, for he was struck with the novelty of such a youthful engagement. I
know that that youthful sentiment, or call it what you will has interwoven
itself into the very essence of my moral existence—it has become purified
and chastened, still more, I know, by poor Frank's untimely fate.” Here she
was interrupted for a while by her tears, but presently proceeded. “I say it
has become sublimated until it mingles with my higher sentiments, and has
become a part of my religious faith. I know of no aspirations after Heaven
and its enjoyments, that are not mixed up with thoughts of his pure spirit.”

“And yet, Ellen, you chided my enthusiasm this very morning?”

“Aye, dear Kate, not because I did not understand your feelings—I realized
them too vividly, and it brought a shudder over me to think how soon that pure
fountain of your own might be poisoned at its source.”

“Let me not interrupt you.”

“My father, I could see, was pleased in spite of himself, and in spite of
Harry's poisonous breath having been blown into our cup of happiness; but
he decided at once, that Frank must anticipate his Edinburgh course, before
determined upon, and they had a long interview that morning, the result of
which was that he was to set out forthwith. Here again, let me say that this
very thing constantly rises up in judgment against Harry. It is unjust, perhaps,
but I cannot help viewing him as in part the cause of poor Frank's
unhappy fate. True, he would have gone some time or other, like all the
youth among our gentry, to finish his education in Europe, but he would not
have gone then, and might have escaped the entanglement with your unhappy
relative's affairs, at any other time. Harry could not conceal his delight at
the new arrangement, even under his cold, proud exterior, and positively
refused to accompany his brother.

“The parting between Frank and me was at yonder town, and as you may
imagine was only supportable from the hope of our soon uniting again. My
father accompanied us to the ship, and we lay upon the water in our little
boat, waving our handkerchiefs, until that noble vessel had become a speck not
much bigger than the boat itself. I could have stayed there forever, or until
he came back, for he carried with him my present existence as well as future.
The past only is now my own, and its treasures I have been pouring out with
a lavish hand to you, my trnest and oldest friend. Harry seemed to think that
he had the whole game in his own hands, after Frank's departure—he could
not conceal his exultation—he attempted to assume his position in our family,
and even went so far as to affect his easy, careless ways and winning manners.
You know enough of that proud and haughty spirit, to estimate how
very unbecoming it appeared in him, but why need I dwell upon that particular
assumption of what was not his own—has he not assumed the hues of the
chameleon; and above all, has he not taken every thing that was Franks?”

“There, dear Ellen, I think you are a little unjust, for he, of course, must
inherit his brother's property.”

“Of course, but it is not just that—it was the indecent haste to step into
his shoes in all respects, to which I intended to allude, but perhaps I am
unjust to Harry in detailing particulars. I do not wrong him, however, in the
spirit which I attribute to him as to his past life. I know the man, Kate,
most thoroughly and intimately. Has not our childhood been spent together—and
is he not now ever at our house? No, no, Kate, I have not
wronged him on the whole—I have drawn a flattering likeness of him, and
now contrast poor Frank's personal outlines with his, and you have the two
pictures complete.” Saying which she drew forth a small picture hanging to
a ribbon, and looked at it steadily for a moment as a mother hangs over some

memento of her lost one, and then handed it to Kate. It was the miniature
of a fair haired youth, yet in his teens, in a crimson velvet dress—the ruffles
falling from his very white neck and hands, so as rather to add to the extreme
youthfulness of the general air. It was a face to look upon and remember
forever—an eye that sparkled with the high impulses of genius as well as the
flush of health and ardor of youth.

“No wonder, dear Ellen, that you cannot look upon Henry with favor, when
you cherish ever near your person such a rival as this. Oh, 'tis a noble
youth!”

“But let us put it by, Kate. It is not well for me to add to my own regrets
by hearing him praised by others. You already know all that sad part of his
history connected with your uncle's execution. You know that he fell fighting
like a hero for his rescue.”

“Would it not be well, my Ellen, to lay it out of sight altogether. I would
certainly advise the step, as the first preparation to fit you for resuming your
proper duties in society.”

“Dear Kate, what inconsistent creatures we poor mortals are—but now I
had almost taken your place, and become the enthusiast of the morning—and
you have almost taken mine, and gone to preaching of duty.”

“It is only the different lights in which circumstances place us. We are
not so dissimilar by nature as these have made us.”

“Oh, Kate, may yours never change so as to render us alike in circumstances,
as in nature, if it should so unfortunately turn out, all those brilliant
colors and gay flowers in which you are wont to clothe every thing, will be
changed to a vision of darkness. A young girl with hope blotted from the
catalogue of her attributes, is like the sky with the lights extinguished—the
longer and deeper you look into it, the blacker and more cheerless it looks. In
other words, it is despair, so far as this world is concerned. A woman who
can re-enact the scenes through which I have gone, must be like a tragedy
queen at rehearsal. No, no, Kate, we are formed for but one great trial of
this sort, and my probation is over. I long to sleep forever from the feverish
dream of this life's false hopes and bitter delusions. Death has no terrors for
me; I look at it as a kind friend, and I solemnly believe, that nothing but my
duty to the living has inspired me thus far to carry my troubles amongst the
joy of others. Yes, Kate, to make my confession the whole truth, without
reserve, there is one faint shadow at which I still cling. Do you know, that
sometimes, even yet, I cannot believe that Frank is dead? I cannot realize
it, you will say, because I was not present at the sad ceremonles. That is
something, doubtless, but I cling to things a little more substantial; two chcumstances,
so slight, that none but the hopeless could grasp at such straws.
First, then, we have never been enabled to hear those sad particulars, the last
scene I mean; and, secondly, Harry has some such faint notion himself; I will
not call it either a fear or a hope, for I cannot name it, but there is such a
surmise; and now, to conclude, let me confess further, that I came here
with the expectation of having this hope quenched or revived.”

“Indeed!” said Kate, truly surprised.

“Yes, Kate, there has been a secret funeral here, of one near and dear
to your father, and with whose death Franks was most intimately connected.
Your father has received many papers relating to these things, and I am
going to commission you sometime soon to be my embassador. Upon that
hope I live, Kate.'

“Most willingly will I assist you, for I do believe that something certain
in that matter is absolutely necessary for you, and that shall be obtained
at all events, now or hereafter; but do tell me, what funeral do you
allude to, and how could it be secret?”

“The remains of Gen. Elliot have been clandestinely removed here,

whether by your father's orders or by his friends in Europe, I know not,
but certainly with the Governor's approbation, for he had the place of
their reception prepared before the body arrived.”

“How, you astonish me! first at the facts themselves, and next at your
obtaining the information before me; but tell me how you know this to be true?”

“I received the intelligence in a letter from my papa, the very same
which enclosed your pressing invitation; he told it to me as a secret, however,
never supposing for a moment that I could divulge it to anybody,
much less that I would be down here almost as soon as the answer; and
brought, too, by this news. I obtained his permission to mention all this
to you, last night, as he said your father intended to communicate it to
the family, the first moment you were all alone.”

“This is very strange, but now I recollect, that gloomy looking structure
at the foot of the lawn, in the centre of a cluster of trees; and this accounts,
too, for papa's strange appearance the night we saw blood on his
face, and his unusually grave demeanor ever since. And this it was that
brought you to Temple Farm, a desire to pry further into these matters
that made me your confidant, after all.”

“Nay, nay, Kate, could I not as well have chosen Dorothea?”

“Yes, and got laughed at for your pains; sister has no more idea of any one
wasting away from immsterial afflictions, than she has of alchemy. Ten to
one but she would prescribe for your case a bowl of new cream, drank at her
dairy before breakfast. Dear, langhing little jade, she will never die the victim
of sentiment, depend upon it.”

“Thrice happy she,” replied Ellen with a deep drawn sigh, “such should be
all the daughters of this world, but she has yet to be tried, Kate. You may
underrate her susceptibilities.”

“I meant no more myself, Ellen—dear gool natured laughing little
baggage. I am sure I underrate her in nothing. I think this wide, wide
world, contains few such. Father lives over his own youth in her; but
we are forgetting the business in hand, and while we talk of our plans,
let us be moving towards the house slowly, the sun is getting too warm
here for you. Now let me know exactly what I am to do.”

“Why, you are to seize the first opportunity of having a private interview
with your father, at which you are to inform him how far we are
already let into his secrets, and then beg as a special favor for me the
the perusal of all the papers relating to the trial, death and attempted
rescue of General Elliot.”

“And will you, my Ellen, go into his library and pour over those piles
of musty papers, at the same table with this new private secretary of his,
for I understand that he is going to confer that vacant office, also, upon
the stranger who has so captivated him?”

“No Kate, no, we must have them in your room, and then we will
search them together, you have become interested sufficiently in my story,
to take that much interest, or if you dislike the task I will do it alone.
No mother ever read an epistle from a sick child with the same avidity that I
will pour over those musty papers.”

By this time they had reached the house, and seated themselves at the
breakfast table.

11. CHAPTER XI.
MATCH MAKING.

The Governor's guests and family were already seated at breakfast, more
than one messenger having been despatched for the two missing young ladies.
They entered at the very moment, when some surprise was being expressed at
the unwonted length of Miss Evylin's walk.

“So, so, Doctor,” said the Governor, looking in triumph at his worthy old
friend, “I told you Kate was the better Doctor of the two, now look at your
daughter and tell me if that is not pretty well for the first morning?”

The Doctor made room near himself, for his daughter, and looked indeed
with much interest for the refreshened bloom to which his Excellency alluded.
There it was sure enough, two round red spots in her cheeks—whether the
result of health or disease he seemed somewhat puzzled to tell.

Be that as it might, the effect upon her beauty was indeed lustrous. Her
eyes too, which on the previous night, seemed to move slowly and painfully
over objects in the room, were bright as diamonds, with the late excitement.
Every one approved of Kate's practice, and the Doctor was free to confess
himself out-done, yet he was not so sanguine as others as to the final result.
He would rather have seen that red and white blending imperceptibly in her
cheeks like Kate's. His professional experience led him to distrust those
deceitful heralds of an early grave. The effect for the present was
much the same however, for the trinmphant and enthusiastic Kate herself,
had not brought in from the fields and flowers a richer harvest of beauty.
Sickness rather lent an interest to, than diminished from, the loveliness of that
delicate young creature. In that large company of gay and fashionable people,
she looked like a little nun, just escaped from the gates of a living tomb.
Those two, father and daughter, were objects of peculiar solicitude and interest—there
was a sweet, confidential air between them, quite different from
the ordinary manifestations in similar relations, so placed. They appeared to
be all in all to each other—they had of late lived with and for no one else—
of course that air of monastic seclusion about the daughter particularly, was
far removed from the conventional courtly grace of most of those around her.
Not that there was any gaucherie, far from it, she was rather elevated above
the conventional standard, than fallen below it—so much did that constant,
self-sustained spirit and mental endowments of the rarest order, elevate her
above any mere temporary rules of propriety. She scarcely seemed to think that
she was called upon to bear a part in the general conversation, and yet, when
the Governor or Reverend Commissary, addressed any remark to her, she
answered in a manner to convince every one, that she had read and reflected
upon most subjects comprehended under the terms of general information, even
in the sterner sex.

It had been one of the favorite projects of the Governor, in days gone by,
to unite his eldest son and heir to the daughter of his oldest and best friend.
There seemed a peculiar propriety in this, on every account. Some persons
thought they could perceive a remarkable similarity of mental constitution.
John Spotswood was then one of the ablest men within the boundaries of the
Old Dominion—of vigorous intellect—learned and subtle in the use of scholastic
weapons, and with a power of eloquence, when he chose to use it, which a
public assembly could rarely withstand. There seemed then a propriety in the
proposed union of these most carefully educated persons, but a greater mutual
repugnance sprung up between them than could could have been imagined
from the premises stated. These are matters our fair readers have doubtless
discovered ere this, which are not soluble either by mathematical or logical

rules. So it seemed in this case. Any one to have become acquainted with
the parties, separately, would have declared at once, that they were just made
for each other, and yet all things, thus conspiring thereto, the match could not
be brought about. We are speaking of John rather as he once was, than as
he has been presented to the reader. He was now a walking mystery to his
friends—past finding out—perhaps that mystery may be solved ere we progress
much farther in our narrative. He paid her several visits, and spent some
long evenings with the Doctor, but when his father catechised him in his bantering
way upon the progress of the affair, he answered abruptly that she was
a prude.

Ellen ran her eyes over the company at the table, in search of the new
tutor, anxious to see how he would appear by daylight, and almost afraid to
see those lips again that called up so many painful memories—while she was
in the very act, a servant entered with an answer to a message, which the Governor
had despatched to him previous to her entrance—to the effect, that he
would pay his respects to his Excellency and his guests directly.

“Poor fellow,” said the Governor, “he doubts his position in our little circle,
and was too unpresuming to present himself, but I will soon shew him that if Lady
Spotswood marshals her guests to the table in order of their rank, that I range
mine in the order of their merit.”

Her Ladyship laughed at this saily and replied “That it was the first time
in her recollection that she had been charged with too exact an observance
of form and ceremony. What says the Commissary?”

“I think that the papers relating to the Tramontaine expedition might answer
that question for his Excellency. Are not three-fourths of the aristocracy of
the land ranged against it?” said he.

“It was not her Ladyship who offended them; that sin lies upon my shoulders.
Indeed I did but jest about the order of precedence.”

A cloud came over that hard weather-beaten face, as soon as the great subject
of all his meditations were mentioned, and he remained in a thoughtful mood
for a while, and then continued: “My first offence was that I, a military man,
and nothing else, arrived in the Colony most unexpectedly to take the place
of a gentleman who was captured on his way hither by the French. He was
expected to espouse the cause of the clique whom I have mortally
offended by attending to the real interests of the whole Colony. Instead
of being too much of a political partizan, I have not been enough so to please
them. In the second place, I have established ware-houses for the inspection
of tobacco at convenient places throughout the land, and this touches the
pockets of the planting interest. In the third place, I have established a
large iron furnace and forge, and this separates me still more from that interest.
And fourthly and lastly, I have advocated the establishment of military
posts from the frontiers to the head waters of the Mississippi, thus disuniting
the grasping French from forming in our rear, and this they say, all the men
and tobacco in the Colony could not accomplish. Is it truly put, Mr. Commissary?”

“Very fairly stated, but you forgot to mention the Indian hostages at the
College.”

“Oh, aye. They say farther that I am putting a stick into the hands of
savages to break our own heads. Now we have the whole case; was ever a
glorious and magnificent scheme of conquering an Empire, thwarted from
from such pitiful and contemptible motives. Oh, if I only had some of
Marlborough's brave boys here, how I would shame these poor sordid narrow
minded creatures. I would plant the British Lion on the most commandin
position which it has ever yet occupied. Grand as the enterprise is, in a military
point of view, it is far surpassed in importance by its civil and social
relations. The discovery of Columbus itself was nothing—the achievements

of Smith and Raleigh are nothing if we are to be hemmed in here within a
narrow strip of land along the Atlantic coast. Accomplish my design and
resources are opened to the west, which the most enthusiastic visionary cannot
now foresee.”

Kate exchanged a smile with some of the young gentlemen. She had so
often heard him dilate upon the same subject, while Dorothea looked up in his
face and remarked, “Papa, I have always heard that old soldiers love to fight
their battles over again, but you are always fighting them by anticipation.”

Patting her on the head, he replied, “Then I am a gasconader, am I?”

Before any reply was uttered, the tutor entered, dressed pretty much as he
had been the night before, but looking weary and haggard as if he had spent
a sleepless night. Notwithstanding this, his carriage was erect, and he walked
to his place and made the salutations of the morning with a grace and
ease, more like a courtier just from the saloons of the Queen, than a poor
houseless tutor and private secretary. There was nothing extravagant at all
in his manners; on the contrary, they were regulated with the best possible
taste, with the exception, that he had seemingly not yet schooled himself into
the humble deferential air, usually supposed to become one in his position.
Before he was seated, the Governor named the ladies to him, and he again
bowed to them, bending over very low and gracefully saluted Kate and
Ellen, but not uttering a syllable. He passed the hour of breakfast
very much in the same way, scarcely ever speaking, except when the Governor
addressed some questions directly to him, and which he answered like
a man possessed of ample information touching all the interesting questions
then involved in the subject of the succession.

It was curious to watch the painful sort of interest with which Ellen Evylin's
eyes seemed to gloat on his face every now and then, before she would turn
away with a dissatisfied air.

His face was one which, like the Governor's, had seen some little vicissitudes
of weather, with this difference, that old Boreas had put his marks on
the first after the zenith of life had been passed, while in the other, it was
scarcely approached. He wore large brown whiskers, overshadowing much
of his face, retained no coubt from his military life, and stretching from one
of them, the scar of a deep sabre cut ran along his face and down into his
very month. So that his countenance, when in repose, had rather a ferocious
look, from which, however, it was instantly redeemed when lighted up in conversation.
He was tall and slender, and not apparently in good health. Altogether,
he was a remarkable looking man.

Kate whispered to Ellen, as they were leaving the room, arm in arm, “Our
new tutor has quite as aristocratic an air as any person at the table, and more
of the camp grace about him than even papa himself.”

“Did you ever hear such a deep toned voice, Kate?” said Ellen, “it sounds
like the bass pipes of your organ; I could not help fancying him giving commands
along a line of soldiers in battle array.”

“The very idea, Ellen! there is command in it, aye, and in more than that
about him; poor man, he has not always been a tutor, I dare say.”

“Kate, I always feel sorry for your broken down gentleman; there is no
more melancholy expression in our language, han `such a one has seen better
days,' and how instantly they occur en looking at Mr. Hall. Without
the slightest appearance of an attempt to excite sympathy—indeed quite the
reverse—every tone and attitude tells of fallen fortunes. Papa seems to have
fallen in love with him at first sight, but that big scar over his face would captivate
him, at any time. He loves a soldier for his own sake, independent of
the cause he has been engaged in!”

“And what cause, Kate, did Mr. Hall espouse?”

“I do not know, Ellen, perhaps papa enquired into that; but, as I said just

now, it would matter little with him, if his soldiership and personal honor
remained unimpeached.”

“I would almost be a surety for them myself, so firmly persuaded am I that
he is a true man.”

“What strange prejudices you do take up, Ellen, and almost at first sight.
Here is Mr. Harry Lee, a gentleman of princely fortune, high birth, great personal
accomplishments, and a plavmate of your childhood, whom you cannot bear
the sight of; while on the other hand, you are ready to vonch for the honor
and honesty of a poor stanger whom you never saw but once before in your
life.”

“True, Kate, I believe it is the nature of our sex to judge more by the heart
than the head, and I don't know but they err as seldom in their estimates of
character as the other. As to the fortune and birth, and all that, which you
have tossed into Harry Lee's scale in balancing these two characters. I do
not value them at that,” (snapping her fingers.) “I would not marry him
if he was heir apparent to the throne of England.”

“I heard a servant announce to my father, as I left the room, that Mr. Lee
would be here to-day.”

“Yes, I recognized the livery, and so odious has even the poor servant's
badge of office become, that it hurried me from the table.”

“Why, my Ellen, I had no idea, that you were such a spiteful, bitter little
jade!”

“Did you suppose because out of health, I was a poor tame somebody that
said yea and nay, with a drawl, and nasal twang, and that I would be Mr.
Lee's humble servant as soon as he laid his fortune at my feet. No, no Kate,
you, if placed in my position, without ehanging characters, would do just as
I have done.”

“I confess Ellen, that I never admired him myself, even before your sketch,
and I cannot say that my estimate has increased since; he is a gentleman for
all that.”

“Yes, as your holyday world has it—your world that estimates every thing
by the surface, he is a gentleman, but oh, Kate, how I have come to despise
that hollow, deceitful, average of all men to one common conventional standard.
A certain quantity of broad-cloth or velvet—quantum sufficit (as father's prescriptions
say) of lace, four silver buckles—or perhaps gold—a pair of pumps
and a cocked hat—and there is your gentleman.”

“Oh no, Ellen, that is a mere stuffed figure, such as the tailors shew their
fine clothes upon.”

“Well, what more is your ball room gentleman, just give this figure a
motion backwards and forwards, whenever it meets a lady and is spoken to,
and is not the picture complete?”

“Oh no, Ellen, it must talk and laugh.”

“Yes, Kate, and to be very excruciating, it must weep too, but how much
talk will answer, and how small a phial of tears? poh! poh! you know their
small talk is nothing—half of it is about the weather, and the vane upon the
cupola does that a great deal better, and says nothing.”

“Why, Ellen! if the forthcoming shadow of Harry Lee makes you as satirical
as that amusing churchman whom I read to you last night, what will his
real presence do?”

“Make me as stately and formal as he is, if not so pempous.”

“And is he one of your stuffed figures, that talks of the weather and one
thing or another—a walking weather-cock, or the clerk of the weather's
deputy?”

“No, not just that to give him his due, he has some mind—covered up,
beneath all the pomps and vanities of all the Lee's.”

“And what is the staple of his conversation?”

“His world material and immaterial, has one common centre, and that is
Mr. Harry Lee, member of the house of Burgesses. He is a philosopher too,
and has discovered a new theory of the solar system!”

“Indeed, and what is his grand principle?”

“Why, that Henry Lee, Esq., of Westmoreland, is the grand centre of that
system, and that the sun revolves around him.”

“Oh, Ellen, how we have all been slandering you here, in your absence.
One gentleman declared, that you were only prevented from taking the veil,
because there was no nunnery convenient. Another that you were going to
join the Dissenters, and another the Quakers—and poor John, that you were a
man-hater.”

“I am sure I never gave your brother any reason to say so. He, I'm certain,
can never be ranked with the automaton figures. Neither of us had
much fancy I believe for each other, in a matrimonial point of view, but no
one can converse with John, for one hour, without respecting his understanding;
but do you know Kate, that he has imbibed deeply of Bolingbroke's most
dangerous opinions?”

“Ha! and that is the secret then of your sudden disagreement, or rather
agreement to disagree?”

“No, no, Kate, I have let you enough into the history of my past life, to
convince you, that I can never listen to the addresses of any living being
more, and this may explain also, the story of my man-hating; and presbyterianism,
and quakerism; but I will not disguise from you, that had those things
never happened, I could never love, honor, and obey any man who did not
honor and obey our holy religion. That creature, whether male or female,
who has lived in this world even no longer than we have, (and God knows I
have lived long enough) must be radically wrong in heart, mind, or education,
who can suppose that we poor mortals were placed upon this earth to grope
our way, without a guide or light of any kind. Look Kato, at the wonderful
disproportion in the grasp of our minds and the duration of our lives. We
are but beginning to live as rational creatures when we are called upon to
die. Father tells me that his mind is maturing every day, and that he is
conscious of no diminution of mental vigor, and his head is silvered o'er with
age. His mind is actually climbing the steps of knowledge and science,
while his body is going fast down the hill of mortality to the grave. Would
it not be the bitterest mockery, if this were our only stage of existence.
Why should the mind grow brighter and brighter, as the body grows weaker
and weaker, if the mind was not to survive the struggle? No, no, Kate, John
and I, could never have been more to each other, than the children of old,
long tried friends.”

“You astonish as well as afflict me, Ellen, by this statement.”

“I know it, my dear Kate, but seeing how ignorant you all are, of the dangerous
precipice upon which he stands, could I be silent. I have debated the
matter with him, to the full extent of my poor capacity, but what can a heart-sick,
half educated girl do in an argument with a man like your brother—his
natural endowments of the highest order, and polished by the culture of the
schools. Don't you undertake the subject Kate, he will only play with your
woman's argument as the fisherman plays with the trout. Your brother is an
antagonist, powerful enough for Dr. Blair. Tell him of it, Kate, and let his
long tried wisdom select the time and the manner of combatting these pernicious
principles. Oh, I do hope he will be rescued before it is too late. I
could tell you more about your brother, but I have distressed you enough for
one occasion. Come, get ready for church, you are going to York with Dr.
Blair, I know. In the mean time, I will seek my own room and think over
all these things. Good day, Kate.

12. CHAPTER XII
GOING TO CHURCH IN THE COUNTRY.

About twelve o'clock, a long cavalcade drove up to Old-York Church.
First came the outriders, in livery, then the body guard of the Governor, in
full uniform. This corps, numbering about twenty-seven men, consisted mostly
of old veterans who had served with the Governor in his continental campaigns,
and one old fellow having a wooden leg. They were a martial looking
band, and had the appearance of having seen service. The Governor's
country establishment had a range of dormitories for these, and stables for
their horses, but he never called them out, except on something like
public occasions. Next came the family coach, drawn by four horses,
and managed by two postillions in livery, and behind which stood two
powdered footmen. The coach contained her ladyship and daughters,
with the Reverend Commissary in his canonicals. Then came
the Governor, flanked on one side by Dr. Evylin, and on the other by
little Bob on his poney. The remainder was composed of the carriages of
visitors, followed by the young gentlemen: and then again by the family
servants, two and two, on horseback, many of them also in livery, and all
scrupulously neat and clean.

We have already said, that it was a beautiful Sabbath morning, accordingly
the road from Temple Farm to York was lined with neatly dressed people,
going to hear the celebrated Divine then at the head of the Episcopal Church
in Virginia. Many were on horseback, but many more on foot, and all filed to
the right and left to let the cavalcade pass. Scarcely a pedestrian but touched
his hat, or bared his head entirely as his Excellency went by, while the
negroes did the same, grinning from ear to ear at the same time, at the display
made by the grooms in livery, and soldiers in uniform. Many a poor
family from the neighborhood of Temple Farm, greeted Kate and Dorothea,
with rude courtesy as they passed.

With all the middle and lower ranks the Governor and his family were very
popular, perhaps for the very reason, that he was now at deadly feud with
some of the largest and most influential families in the land. The time was
now rapidly approaching when this very favor of the plebeian ranks stood him
in great stead. The favorite scheme of his life—one for which he had perilled
his office—his influence—his standing—his fortune, having been accomplished
at last much through their means.

The old Church at York, was built like all those of that period in the shape
of a cross, and out of perhaps the strangest materials that ever entered into
the structure of a sacred edifice, or any other. These are square blocks hewn
from fossil shells, deeply imbedded in a basis of sand or marl stone, giving the
whole structure much the appearance of a toy house, built entirely of shells,
such as is seen often in the shops. Not that there was any thing puerile, or
beneath the dignity of a sacred edifice, in the general appearance of the
whole, for it was highly imposing, and must have looked grey and venerable,
when comparatively of recent structure. It stood on one of the highest
points of the town, commanding a prospect of the city of York, then one of
the first in importance in the Colony.

The party entered the main aisle, and proceeded to the two large pews set
apart for his Excellency's family, with the exception of Kate, who, attended by
Bernard Moore, and followed by a servant bearing an armful of music, entered
the gallery and took her station at the organ.

She greeted most sweetly the bevy of city damsels, forming the choir, and
taking the music from the servant, proceeded to distribute the score of the

pieces she was about to play. Moore seated himself at a respectable distance
among the masculine voices, but it is questionable, whether his attention was
not too much absorbed by the instrumental music to follow the score very
closely. Kate seeing the old prelate enter, commenced her prelude. Even
the venerable old clergyman seemed lost in a pleasing reverie, while she
attuned the hearts of the congregation to a fitting mood to bow before the
throne of mercy.

It was a beautiful picture, o see that fair young ereature, so full of life,
and health, and high hope, bend in such profound humility at the mercy seat,
her pure white neck bent over the prayer book, and uttering the responses, with
such a heartfelt gratitude, that the words seemed to gush up with the emphasis
of her own fervid conceptions.

It was not so much that she felt the responsibility of her own position and
example at the head of the young ladies of that great Colony, as her own
inborn acknowledgment of the necessity of these stated confessions. A sense
of elevated position, and the force of example, are often talked largely of by
those in high places, but she knew and felt that these, to be of any avail,
must come from the heart; it is then, and only then, they reach the hearts of others.

The preacher chose a subject, in exact accordance not only with her views,
but her devotional feelings at the time. It was the sermon on the mount.
How it chimed in with Kate's previous thoughts, when the old man read
out slowly and solemnly, “Blessed are the poor in spirit, for their's is the
Kingdom of Heaven.” It seemed as if her very inmost mind had been penetrated
by the preacher, and that the words of the text were only embodying
her own thoughts in appropriate language.

No better example in all that Church, whether among the gentry or plebeians,
could have been found of the very spirit blessed, than that fair daughter
of Virginia's aristocracy. She was indeed poor in spirit, as contra-distinguished
from mean in spirit. Much of her very grace and beauty, came
from that sweet humility, which seemed to be all unconscious of the graces
it inspired. A beautiful maiden, without the true Christian graces, is only a
beautiful animal at last, from the Venus de Medici to Pocahontas, before her
baptism; it requires the finishing touch of the divine spirit upon the heart, before
even the person becomes really lovely, in the highest acceptation of the term,
and that very grace spoken of by the preacher, she had; that humble, self-condemning,
self-sacrificing spirit, which seeks the lowest seat in the synagogue.
Kate Spotswood was a Christian; but she was scarcely conscious of
it, so truly had she taken to heart the first words of the sermon on the mount.
She had never even been confirmed, for the Commissary had not that power,
and as to her being a professed disciple, she never even dared to think herself
good enough. Often, during that solemn and heart-searching sermon, did the
silent tears steal down her unconscious face, and when it was concluded, she
looked round like one just waked up from a moving dream, so absorbed had
she been.

Bernard Moore, sad, wicked dog, as we fear our readers will consider him,
was sitting, leaning his head upon his hand, and gazing at the devout beauty,
and tracing the pearly dreps that stole from her eyelids with a true sympathy.
“How beautiful are the poor in spirit,” thought he. He admired religion
exceedingly, when the operations upon the heart, and mind, and person, were
thus exhibited; and, to do him justice, he had as high reverence for things
holy, as most of his order; but he was a gay young man of fortune for all
that. We shall see whether Kate proselyted him, as we progress with our
narrative.

“What an excellent sermon,” said she, as taking Bernard's arm in the gallery
to join her family, “it seemed to me, that I could see our Saviour's figure
in all its glorious majesty, proclaiming such welcome doctrines to the sons

and daughters of affliction on the earth, and such an unwelcome one to the
self-sufficient among the great and worldly-minded.”

“Excellent, indeed,” said he, “I never enjoyed a sermon more in my life,
and it was beautifully illustrated.”

“Yes, the imagery was grand indeed; that description of the mountain
scene must have touched papa upon a tender chord?”

“I did not allude to that exactly,” said Moore, slily “I meant rather to say,
that it was most happily personified.”

“Yes, I agree with you there too: never was precept better borne out by
personal example. Dear, good Dr. Blair, I love him almost as well as my
own father.”

“Still you do not take my meaning, though I agree with you on that point too.”

“To whom, then, do you allude?” looking enquiringly into his smiling
face, “not to me, surely?”

“Exactly and to no one else.”

“That is a far strained compliment, Mr. Moore; too much at variance with
truth and honesty for me to accept any part of it. How little you know my
heart, if you suppose me poor in spirit, in the true meaning of the preacher.
How little do you know its rebellion, its pride, its vanity, its self-deception, its
disingeniousness to others—me, poor in spirit, indeed! Why, I was suffering
the pains of self-condemnation, during the whole sermon, for lacking that
greatest essential in the Christian character, that very poverty of spirit so
admirably described.

By this time they had arrived at the door of the carriage, and Moore helped
her in, where the other ladies were already seated, and then mounted his
own horse, held ready by his servant, and followed on as they had come.

During their return to Temple Farm, the company had an accession of
Henry Lee, Esq. He was a tall, elegantly dressed young man, about the
same age as Moore and Carter, but with rather more form and ceremony in
his address, and rather more studied attention to his toilet, than distinguished
either of them. His features were large and sharp, but well formed, and
indicative of more than ordinary mental power. His hair was harsh and frizzled,
and set close to his head, so as to give it rather a clean cut, statuary
look. When he smiled, the man shone out in his own identity. His teeth
were very regular, except two projecting tusks at each corner, which gave a
harsh expression to his whole physiognomy, so that when he gave himself
up to the freest mood of relaxation, he appeared in reality more forbidding, than
when his face was in entire repose, for in the former case, there was a classic
air of high birth and breeding, under which the other peculiarities were
hidden. One single such guest, throws a damper over a whole company,
however much disposed to glee and hilarity. It is like a stream of cold air
blowing into a warm room, pile on the combustibles as much as you will, and
still the same chilling sensation comes over you.

How stately rode the representative of all the Lee's that day, followed by
two servants in livery, one bearing a portmanteau strapped to his saddle, as
large as a modern travelling appendage of the same sort for a whole family.

“Mama,” said Dorothea, her eye still fastened on the pompous young cavalier,
his cocked hat perched to its highest elevation upon his head. “Mama,
do you think Mr. Henry Lee is very poor in spirit?”

The old Commissary tried to look very grave, so as to suppress a fast coming
smile, while Lady Spotswood, looked out of the opposite window of the
carriage, so as to get her eye the farthest possibly removed from the person
spoken of, and thus smooth down her gravity before she replied.

“You should not apply the sermon just preached, to others, child, but to
yourself; do you not recollect the Pharisee?”

“La, mama, you have made the case worse, who could look at that young

gentleman now, and not imagine to himself, that he was saying `Lord I thank
thee that I am not as other men.”'

The Commissary was compelled to laugh in spite of himself, in which
Kate and her mother now, joined with hearty good will. The picture was
too true and too happily applied, to be resisted; it was like a fortunate stroke
of a painter's pencil, which completes the likeness, and little Dorothea sat
and viewed her work, with a complacency, which nearly upset the prelate
every time he turned towards her. Now tossing her head—exactly as the
gentleman mentioned, tossed his, and now waving a hand with a majestic air,
and presently inserting a thumb under the edge of her stomacher, as he placed
his in the arm hole of his vest. So inimitable was her mimicry, that the good
Commissary begged her to desist, lest he should arrive at home, in a plight
very unbecoming a minister of the gospel, just descended from the sacred
desk.

Even after a long silence, there was a flushed appearance of the whole four,
when they alighted from the carriage, which excited the curiosity of Moore.
He wondered what could have changed their mood so suddenly after he left
them. Kate would not, or could not tell, but broke away and ran into the
house, referring him to Dorothea for an explanation. Dorothea promised at
some other time, that she would go over the whole story, but now she could
not, for papa was shaking his finger at her. “Don't you know,” she whispered,
“that Mr. Lee has a vote in the house of Burgesses.” Papa says I
must learn to be a politician, or I shall frighten away all his political friends.

The party separated to dress for dinner, that great affair of the twenty-four
hours in the Old Dominion.

13. CHAPTER XIII.
MEMORY OF THE PAST.

How silent a large hospitable establishment in the country, seems on Sunday,
just after being deserted by a large and gay party? how deserted the
halls and chambers? in what profound repose sleep the dogs? and the very
insects fly more more lazily and hum more monotonously. The fowls seek
the roost, and the geese stand upon one leg, and bury their heads under their
wings, while the cattle in the fields gather in clusters under the shade of some
umbrageous tree. So overpowering is this general feeling of repose, that
children often imagine that there is a Sabbath in nature—a holyday for the
heavens and the earth, as well as for man. Such seemed the day to that
heart-sick young creature, Ellen Evylin, as she sat in a deep recess at a window
of the parlor, the curtains falling down, and totally secluding her, even
from the interruption of a chance servant. She held in her hand Milton's
Paradise lost, and appropriate as the subject was to her own peculiar feelings,
and deeply attuned as they were to harmonize, with the solemn strains of
the poet, her hand lay still in her lap with the open book, and her eyes followed
the dreamy expanse of waters, stretching out, and farther out, until they
filled with tears from mere exhaustion. Why did she thus look ever towards
the far off ocean? Why did her eyes attempt to penetrate beyond that long
white surf, that came tumbling up as an avant courier from the mighty deep
beyond, and rolled into the bay, as if glad to reach a haven once more. She
pursued the very track of the vessel, which years before, had borne from his
native shores, a youth with whose hopes and destinies, her own had been
linked in bonds, as durable as life itself. She lived upon the past alone, the

present and the future were almost blotted from the tablets of her mind. Is it
strange then, that she became what she now was, a pensive dreamer, who loved
to steal from society of the men, and open up there these her only treasures?
Is it strange that even her appearance should partake of this coloring
of the past, and indifference to the present, and that she should forever seek
the shades of her own sweet little conservatory at home, where she held converse
with the silent and sometimes melancholy flowers—those little miniature
pictures of a young girl's life—those especially that come “like angel's
visits, few and far between”—that bloom but once in a life-time: or is it any
wonder that she should prefer the solitary house in which she now was, to all
the bustle and confusion, which had distracted her for the last few hours?
But was she indeed all alone with her own sad thoughts as she supposed? did
she not hear a step and deep breathing in the room? Slowly she drew aside
one corner of the curtain, beneath whose ample folds she might have been
rolled twenty times; why did her heart throb so tumultuously, and her vision
grow dim? It was because there was a man in that room, a strange man—
using most strange gestures to a dumb picture. It was the new tutor, standing
before the picture of General Elliott. What could he know of that unfortunate
officer? Why should he be gesticulating to a picture he never saw
before a few hours back, and the original of which he never saw at all? It
was very strange. More than once she attempted to move towards him and
ask an explanation of his conduct, but as often her courage failed her, until
the man had disappeared as silently as he came, and she was left alone with
her own thoughts and the silent house, and the more solitary ocean beyond.
The tutor gone—the excitement of the moment once calmed—and her nervous
irritability stilled, the mystery did not appear so great after all. The
young man was generally supposed to have been some way connected with
the unfortunate troubles abroad, and thus to have laid the foundation of his
own. Was it any great stretch of imagination to suppose him to have known
something of one so famous as the original of that picture. This sufficed
for a time, but alas, how painfully and fearfully excitable are the children of
sorrow. To such, a spark of the fire exploding, sounds like a cannon—the
sudden slamming too of a door, is the herald of a convulsion of nature; a
black cloud in the horizon, the adumbration of the gathering tornado, and a
tale or a suggestion of horror, meets with too ready a response, and even the
imagination is ever instant with its sombre shadows, to clothe up the skeleton's
of the past in goblin outlines comformable to its wretched experience. The
ear is ready to start, the eye to dilate with fright, and the wonder working
kaleidescope of the mind, revolves in perpetual revolution, turning up in rapid
succession a gloomy catalogue of spectral images.

Poor Ellen, her imagination was roaming at large over the too certain past,
and the too uncertain future. Again and again the strange behavior of the
tutor rose up before her, and she would rear up a tale, in connexion with him,
improbable to a perfectly calm mind, until she would almost laugh at the trick
which her imagination was playing her. One sane and sound suggestion,
however, she retained from the dreamy and fitful reveries of the morning,
it was the probability that this individual could throw some light upon that
one subject, ever nearest to her heart, the last hours of poor Frank Lee, and
to ascertain that he was indeed numbered with the dead. She resolved at
once to seek him. She wandered through the house in eager pursuit of the
same individual who, but half an hour before had thrown her into such painful
excitement; she regretted now, that she had not sought him upon the
instant, for no where was he to be found. She rang the bell, and called up a
servant, who informed her, that he had walked out into the fields about the
time he must have left the room.

Why appeared the divine poet so tame, so dull that morning, of all others

so fitting to discourse of Paradise, and the reader, of all others, to imagine its
loss so vividly? When the imagination is at its highest tension, no living or
dead author may bridle the unruly power, and tame it to the beaten track.
The judgment may be schooled, the heart purified by suffering and affliction,
but the wings of the mind, like the wind, goeth where it listeth. The book
was again thrown down, and a long reverie wound up that dreamy morning.

She was first roused from her mood by the clatter of the horses hoofs and
the carriage wheels of the party returning from church; she made a precipitate
retreat to her own room, where she was scarcely seated before Kate came
flying in, exclaiming, “Oh, Ellen, you don't know what you have missed by
staying away from Church, such a sermon from Dr. Blair! it was worth riding
twenty miles to hear. He preached from the Sermon on the Mount, and
is going to continue the series through the whole chapter.”

“I am sorry I could not go, Kate, but I was really scarcely able, and still
less in fitting mood; there is a preparation for going to church in other things
besides dress, and I believe it better to stay away, than go with one mind's
wandering, like the fool's eyes, to the ends of the earth.”

“Oh, I forgot to tell you, Mr. Henry Lee was there; and Dorothea has been
apostrophising him as a personification of the true spirit of the text. I m sure
I shall never hear of the Pharisee in the parable again, without thinking of
him. She says she means to call him henceforth the Pharisee. I need not
add that he joined our party, and you may expect to meet him at dinner—I
had like to have forgotten it, that was the object of my call, so now you may
be prepared to meet him.”

“If he is here, I would prefer not going down to dinner.”

“But he may here these three weeks, and you cannot avoid him all that
time.”

“If he stays three weeks I am very sure he will do so without my company,
for I will go home.”

“No, no, my Ellen, we are not going to part with you so soon, after such
difficulty in getting you here. I will dismiss the gentleman myself, with a
bee in his bonnet, rather than you should do that.”

“That would never do, Kate, what would your father say to such treatment
of a gentleman whom he is so anxious to propitiate?”

“Then Dorothea and I will ridicule him off the field. Leave him to be
dealt with by us, or surrender him entirely into sister's hands; she will drive
him off, depend upon it, and escape under the plea of non-age. It is your
gentle ways, Ellen, that keeps the proud man forever dangling at your apron
string.”

The maid entering to prepare her young mistress's toilet for dinner, the parties
separated.

14. CHAPTER XIV.
AN OLD FASHIONED DINNER.

It was a fine old Hall, that at Temple Farm, hung with many war-like
trophies, and stag-horns, and fox tails, while here and there were some little
peculiarities that distinguished the hospitable owner, from others of the
Cocked Hat Gentry. Near the centre of the room on one side, hung the
General's own martial implements, which he had worn upon the field, and
suspended over them in a small silk net was a rusty cannon ball of about
three pounds weight. This had struck the veteran himself when it was

nearly spent, and he was in the habit of showing it to his guests, when fighting
his battles again over his wine. Dorothea used to insist upon it, that the
true signal for the departure of the ladies, was the introduction of the cannon
ball by her father, instead of the lead from Lady Spotswood.

Two immense fire places occupied the best part of each end of the hall,
surmounted by curiously carved work, reaching quite to the ceiling, while the
side pannels corresponding to these were painted with various scenes, intended
to represent the most remarkable military events of the age. The whole appearance
of the room, bore rather a military than a feudal or baronial aspect,
for all the scenes and trophies were of that sort, and quite recent, even to the
antlers.

The dinner was on the table, and such a dinner! The reeking viands
would have furnished a French restaurateur a stock in trade for a month. A
whole surloin of beef formed the chief ornament of one end of the table. It
was furnished from the Governor's own stock, upon which he prided himself
not a little. At the opposite end was a ham, which if not the real, rivalled the
Westphalia in flavor. These were flanked with various dishes of fowls, both
wild and tame, not forgetting the canvass back ducks. They were all placed
on the table together, after the good old fashion, and the ladies soon after entered
in the order of their rank, and placed themselves at the head of the
table; Ellen Evylin among the others. Mr. Lee walked entirely round the
table to greet her, which he did in a really warm manner for him, with many
compliments upon her improved looks, all which was received with the most
freezing courtesy; barely returning his repeated bows, with a single inclination
of the head. Dorothea bit her lip till it almost bled, in her itching restlessness,
at such temporizing with so obstinately complacent a man. As he
returned to his seat, Mr. Hall was entering and met him full face, just as the
Governor presented him by name to the new guest. Hall held out his hand
in the most frank and open manner, but the other paid him off with one of the
cold bows he had just received from Miss Evylin, leaving the poor tutor with
his hand awkwardly extended, without a response. Every one seemed to feel
for the young man, except him who had inflicted the unnecessary indignity.
The subject of it recovered himself with great dignity, after the first awkward
moment, and as if fate intended on purpose to revenge him, his chair was
found to be next to Ellen Evylin and Kate. His late discomfiture was soon
forgotten amidst the lively chat of the two charming girls. Kate bearing the
burthen of the entertainment, of course, while her friend threw in a quiet
response occasionally. Both the young ladies seemed determined to make
amends to the slighted tutor, for the previous repulse, at the same time; perhaps,
rejoicing that they saw it rankling in the heart of him who inflicted it.
Several times, while Kate eagerly conversed with the tutor, Ellen sat looking
up through her long eye lashes, lost in painful reflections. Again she saw
the same smile flashing over that otherwise sad and sombre face, as the summer
lightning blazes up behind the dark blue clouds of the horizon. The
impression was indescribable, so indistinct, so confused with memories of the
past; blending so strangely with the personal outlines of others, yet in spite of
all improbabilities and obstacles to the contrary, carrying her back to days and
scenes long passed by—her days of childhood. She was of course very absent.
The tutor seemed desirous to draw her out, and for that purpose would
turn a question or reply to her, instead of her friend, but she would frequently
have to ask a second time, even the subject of discourse, then join in for a
moment quite brilliantly, and glide away again; busy with her memory.

She desired to become better acquainted with Mr. Hall, preparatory to her
asking the questions she meditated: yet he was himself the innocent and
unconscious cause of her becoming lost, again and again. But absent as she
was, and imperfectly as she may have borne her part in the conversation, it

was by far the most interesting dinner party that she had been present at
for many a long day. She had almost forgotten that such a man lived as
Mr. Henry Lee, until he suddenly addressed a question to her across the table.

“Miss Evylin, here is the Rev. Commissary running a tirade against the
new Bolingbroke fashion of tying the hair, (he sported it himself with no small
complacency,) what say you, is it an improvement or not?”

“I will turn that grave matter over to my friend Dorothea, if you please,
Mr. Lee, I have been so long out of the world of fashion, that I do not feel
competent to answer,” said Ellen.

“Well, I think,” said Dorothea, “that it is far more important what a gentleman
has in his head, than how it is tied outside.”

Even the Commissary smiled at the home thrust which the little girl had
given the inquisitor, while the young ladies exchanged glances of satisfaction.

“I do not like these innovations upon our good old customs,” said his Excellency,
“with all due deference to you younger gentlemen: they will put aside
our old Cocked Hats next, and gentlemen will cease to wear swords.”

“The war has commenced already, my good sir,” said Dr. Evylin, “for I
read in No. 526 of the Spectator, that John Sly, a haberdasher of hats and
tobacconist, is directed to take down the names of such country gentlemen as
have left the hunting, for the military Cock of the Hat; and in No. 532, is a
letter written in the name of the said John Sly, in which he states, that he is
preparing hats for the several kinds of heads that make figures in the realms
of Great Britain, with cocks significant of their powers and faculties. His
hats for law and physic, do but just turn to give a little life to their sagacity;
his military hats, glare full in the face; and he has proposed a familiar easy
cock, for all good companions between the two extremes.”

“Capital,” said the Commissary, “by and by we shall be enabled, Dorothea,
to tell what a man has in his head by the cut of his beaver, so that you
see the outside of the head has something to do at last with the inside; but
how are we to divine what lies beneath those ever towering pyramids upon
the ladies' heads? I hope they will take a fashion soon, that may indicate the
powers beneath.”

“They indicate pretty forcibly the powers above now,” said Dorothea, “for
I heard Kate declare, the other day, that the maid had screwed her's up so
tight, that she could not wink her eyes without crying.”

“Fie! fie! Dorothea,” said Kate, laughing, nevertheless.

“Castle-building, you see, Mr. Hall,” said she turning to that gentleman,
“is now done on the outside of our heads, while our grandmothers, if all tales of
them be true, were wont to erect them elsewhere.”

“You seem disposed to carry on Mr. Lee's craniological discussion, while
that gentleman has dropped out of the debate,” replied he, sotto voce.

The conversation gradually merged into literary matters, in which the Doctors
both of Theology and Physic took a part, as well as the Governor and
Mr. Hall. The latter seemed now more at home than he had been, and having
but recently arrived from the fountain head, added many new and interesting
materials to the common stock, from Newton's latest philosophical discoveries,
to Joe Miller's last and best.

“Have you seen any of our native productions, Mr. Hall?” enquired the
Commissary.

“I have not, sir; indeed, I have not yet had an opportunity. I have seen
a small newspaper in his Excellency's library, published, I think, in Philadelphia,
and that of not very recent date, but nothing in durable shape.”

“Well, said Dorothea, “if you will only excuse me for one moment, I will
run and fetch you a specimen of native poetry, which, I think, will satisfy you
at once, that there is one genius at least, this side of the water.”

She rose from the table, notwithstanding that portentous finger of her father,

raised in a threatening attitude. The rest of the company being unanimous,
he was overruled, and she tripped away to bring it, and soon returned with a
narrow strip of paper, and handed it to Mr. Harry Lee, with a request to read
it. That gentleman's physiognomy perceptibly lengthened, and his eyes
dilated, while running over the two lines, which, as soon as he had finished,
he crumpled up and inserted into his pocket, protesting against such a specimen
being taken as the standard of the colony. Dorothea declared she must
have the paper, that it was a genuine native production, and must be read.
All the company being more eager now than ever to see it, he was forced to
produce it, and she handed it to Mr. Hall, with a request that he would read it
aloud. He had no sooner cast his eyes over the lines, than he burst into a fit
of laughter, the first he had indulged in since landing upon the shores of Virginia.
When he had wiped the tears from his eyes, and was sufficiently composed,
he rose and read, in mock heroic intonations, the following lines:

Every one laughed, except the grave Mr. Lee, he seemed to writhe under
the infliction, as if his personal peculiarities were the subject of merriment.

“Why, Mr. Lee,” said Dorothea, “you take the thing so much to heart,
that we shall suspect you of being the author, presently.”

“Those memorable lines,” said his Excellency, seeing his guest's confusion,
“remind me, that we have not yet drank a toast, never neglected at this
table, `Health and long life to the Queen, God bless her.”'

Ladies and gentlemen paid it due homage, with one exception; Mr. Hall
merely raised his glass, as if about to touch it to his lips, but set it down again,
his hand trembling violently. Lee observed it, as did the young ladies, who
sat near him; the eye of the former twinkled with gratified feelings of some
sort, while the latter were all pained at the young man's embarrassment.
The Governor did not notice the affair; or, if he did, chose to wink at it.

The desert having been removed, Lady Spotswood soon after gave the signal
to the ladies, and they retired to the drawing-room, leaving the gentlemen
over their wine. Before Kate departed she stepped behind her father's chair,
and in a whisper, begged a moment's conversation with him. He rose, led
his daughter to the door leading to the library. After they had passed the
threshold, she told him of the secret which Ellen had communicated to her,
and begged his permission to peruse the papers which he had received with
the body of General Elliot. “What,” said he, “you and Ellen turn diplomatists
and read my state papers. No, no, my child, it would never do—never.”
But Kate coaxed and intreated until the old gentleman was compelled to give
way, and he opened the door and called Mr. Hall, and directed him to gather up
those papers that he had been directed to copy, and hand them to his daughter.
He soon returned with the bundle and handed them to Kate, and as he did so,
she could not help observing, how excessively agitated he was, but she attributed
it to the late patriotic toast which he had declined drinking, and knowing
that her father was not the man to create a mountain out of that mole hill,
she thought she might as well assure him of it at once, and she did so, endeavoring
at the same time to reassure the perplexed youth. He made no other
reply than an inclination of the head, and thanks for the interest she manitested
in him. Having escaped from the dining-room, and supposing that a
poor tutor and private secretary would scarcely be missed, he made good his
retreat altogether. Kate secured her treasure in her pocket, resolved, however,
not to divulge the secret to Ellen, until they had found their own apartments
for the night.

15. CHAPTER XV.
THE PAPERS.

That night those two fair young creatures sat in one of the upper apartments
of the house, pouring over a pile of papers strewed over the table, consisting
of manuscripts and newspapers, some relating to the trial of Kate's unfortunate
relative, all the testimony of which, was there before them; and some of
royal proclamations, and paragraphs from the govermental and opposition
papers. The clock down stairs struck twelve, and one, and two, in the morning,
still they sat in those high-backed gothic chairs, the taper burning dimly
beneath the accumulating wick, charred to a black mass, and yet neither of
them flagged or faltered. Ellen particularly devoured with eagerness, even
the advertisements in the newspapers, which she read from corner to corner,
in hopes to find some faint clue upon which to fasten her hopes—for hopes
she still had. The only things they could find at all bearing upon the objects
of their search, was the newspaper account of General Elliot's execution, and
the attempted rescue by a party, supposed to be adherents of the Chevalier
St. George, followed by a proclamation offering a reward for the production,
dead or alive, of the young officer who had headed the onset. He was
described, and his name given in full as Mr. Francis Lee, but no allusion
whatever was made to the place of his nativity. He was supposed to have
served under the unfortunate officer, for the rescue of whose life he had
perilled his own. The accounts went on to say that the party attempting
the rescue had been cut to pieces or captured, that the young man was seen
to fall early in the affair, that no efforts had been successful in tracing his
whereabouts. Little doubt was entertained that he died from the desperats
wounds he was known to have received, yet there was nothing absolutely
certain, touching the matter. So desperate had been the state of mind of
Ellen, that even this afforded comfort. She threw the papers aside, leaned
back in her chair, and came at last to the settled conviction that poor Frank
yet lived. So strong is youthful hope, even against a powerful array of circumstantial
evidence.

From that moment a brighter light shone from her eyes—too bright, as her
friends feared, with those feverish fires which are only extinguished in the
grave. Kate was really astonished to see, instead of a sad and settled dejection
upon her friend, a sort of hopeful composure steal over her features. Her
own convictions were stronger than ever, that there was not a vestige of
hope for her. Yet she held on to that frail shadow of a shade—so constant,
so persevering is the female heart, to hope against all probability of hope.
They separated for the night, but not to sleep on the part of her who most
needed its balmy and restorative influence. That whole night she paced her
silent and solitary chamber, or sat and strained her imagination, vainly endeavoring
to penetrate the future. Towards morning she threw her feverish
limbs upon the bed, and caught a few hours of unsatisfactory sleep; mingled
with fitful dreams. She thought she saw her betrothed standing before her;
but that they were in a strange land, and surrounded with strange faces and
things; and that he was pale and emaciated, and grown quite grey with pain
and sorrow. Then a change came over the spirit of her dream, and the face
of the loved youth was gone, and a stranger stood in his place. She was
roused from these tantalizing shadows of a distempered imagination, by the
maid entering to assist at her morning toilet, where we will leave her, while
we glance at some other rooms in that building, and see what the inmates
are doing.

The mornings and evenings were now beginning to be a little cool, and

heavy damp fogs rose from the surface of the bay, to correct which it is usual
to build a brisk blazing fire, to last only until the revivifying effects of the
morning sun are felt. Some of the early planters were in the habit of pursuing
this plan for three-fourths of the year.

Such a bright fire was blazing in the breakfast parlor, and there sat round
it, his Excellency, the two Doctors, Mr. Henry Lee, Bernard Moore, Carter,
Dandridge, and Harry Hall. Quite an interesting conversation was going
on; intensely so to some of the party. Mr. Lee finding what a universal
favorite the latter was becoming, not only with the Governor but with the
whole family, even down to Master Robert, perceptibly softened in his manner
towards the young stranger. He came down from his room determined to be
very amiable to this new favorite and pet of the eccentric man then at the
head of the colony. What his motives were, we leave our readers to imagine,
from the position of the various parties. Hall was quite surprised,
therefore, to hear himself addressed by the haughty young aristocrat, after the
demonstration of the previous day, and however justified he might have been
in returning that ill treatment, he took better council of his discretion, and
answered quite courteously.

“Mr. Hall,” said Lee, “I have some relations of your name, both in this
country and in England—on the mother's side, or rather I had in this country,
for the last of them recently died, a venerable old grand aunt.”

“And I have some in this country of your name, and when I was first presented
to you yesterday, it was my intention to have enquired of you about them.”

“Indeed! will you be so good as to mention what family you are off, and
their place of residence?”

The young man appeared not a little embarrassed, but proceeded to name
the place of his family residence in Scotland, as well as to describe his living
relations and their descent from the common stock of the Hall's of—shire.
Not only so, but he traced distinctly the collateral branch which had emigrated
to America, some fifty years before, until he arrived at the last remaining
female relation, whose death he had not heard of; the very person alluded
to by Mr. Lee.

“How very strange!” said Mr. Lee, “and your christian name is Henry?”

Hall nodded assent, but his face flushed a crimson hue.

“And had you received no letters from America, previous to your embarkation?”

“None concerning my relations whatever.”

“What a strange coincidence,” said Lee, “I have the pleasure of informing
you, that you are the heir to a very snug little property, left by our venerable
old friend.”

By this time the ladies had entered, and were also gathered round the fire,
and every one was listening with the deepest attention, to the singular conversation
going on, and every one seemed pleased too, at the unexpected good
fortune of the young man, who was supposed to stand in such need of it—all
but that young gentleman himself, he was very much embarrassed, so as to
attract the attention of every one in the room.

“Of course,” continued Mr. Lee, “it will be quite easy for you to establish
your identity; you have brought letters to some persons in this country?”

“No, sir, I did not; and, I tear, that I shall meet with more difficulty than
you seem to imagine, in the matter.” Becoming more and more embarrassed,
at every turn which the conversation seemed to take, or to be likely to take.

“Perhaps you have letters addressed to you, in England, from some of our
common relations?”

“None with me,” replied Hall, “I expect the remainder of my baggage by
the next vessel from England, by which time, I may be enabled to produce sufficient
testimony to claim the estate.”

“Among those expected letters,” said Lee, pertinaciously, “there are
doubtless, some from our venerable relation, for I see among her papers
numerous letters from you?”

Hall was, by this time, almost speechless with vexation and embarrassment
and his face flushed to his ears. He merely nodded assent.

The Governor seeing the young man's painful position, and thinking in his
own mind, that he, perhaps, knew Hall's difficulty, determined to come to the
rescue. He had already had some suspicion that his protogee's expatriation
had not been altogether quite voluntary. “Let us adjourn this discussion,”
said he, “I think I can put Mr. Hall upon a plan of proving his identity,
without even waiting for his papers or returns from the other side of the
water.”

As he pronounced the last words of the sentence, he placed a peculiar emphasis
upon them, casting a sly and playful glance at Hall, only remarked by
the person for whom they were intended, and perhaps one other very quiet little
individual in the room.

“Agreed,” said Mr. Lee, “As I am the executor to my Aunt's will, it is, of
course, my duty to act in conformity to law; but I assure your Excellency,
and your friend, that no unnecessary difficulties shall be thrown in his way
by me; on the contrary, all possible facility shall be afforded him, and I will
immediately, upon my return to the capital, instruct my attorney, Mr. Clayton,
to draw out upon paper for his use, such steps as it will be necessary for
him to take. In the mean time, he can draw upon me for such sums as his
present necessities may call for, out of the proceeds of the property, which I
will advance upon my own responsibility.”

“Wonders will never cease,” said Dorothea to Ellen, as they moved round
to the breakfast table. “Mr. Henry Lee has been doing a generous thing,
but Mr. Hall should credit it to the account of Miss Ellen Evylin, and not to
Mr. Henry Lee.

“Fie! fie! Dorothea, do give Mr. Lee credit for his good actions such as
they are, surely he has done nothing but what the strictest justice would warrant;
true, he might have withheld Mr. Hall's rights, but they are his after all,
and he could soon establish them as such. If, indeed, he is not prevented by
—.” There she stopped suddenly, as if recollecting herself. “If he
is not prevented by what Ellen—.”

“Hush, Dorothea, not a word of this—another time I will explain it to
you—now, it may be a dangerous subject; and one in which more than mere
property is involved.

16. CHAPTER XVI.
A NEW ARRIVAL—A STRANGE VISITOR.

Before the party separated from the breakfast table, a servant threw open
the door and announced Chunoluskee. The Governor instantly rose and
extended to him his hand, at the same time ordered a chair to be placed for
him at the table. Chunoluskee was a young Indian chief, of the Shawneese
tribe, whom the Governor had rescued some four years before, while a prisoner
with one of the tributary tribes. The tributaries, were those Indian
nations, which had either been subdued by force of arms, or were under
treaty stipulations by more peaceable means, to pay a nominal tribute yearly
to the Governor of Virginia. Nearly all the well known tribes along the
eastern borders of the colony, were thus happily situated. The tribute consisted

of a few skins and Indian arrows. These tributaries, however, were
occasionally at war with other tribes farther removed, thus they sometimes
brought home prisoners. The young chief, who has just been introduced to
the reader, was one of them. The Governor invariably claimed these, and
placed them at one of his primary schools, one of which he had located within
the borders of every tributary tribe in the Colony. When they had remained
a certain time at these primary schools, say about two years, they were
then removed to the Indian department in William and Mary College, in
accordance with the benevolent bequest of the Hon. Robert Boyle.

Some of these pupils were first taken as hostages, and were brought the
distance of four hundred miles, so that the College was at once a sort of honorable
prison, and a school for higher purposes.

Chunoluskee, the chief before us, had been four years at hard study; two
in the primary school, and two in the College, and, for his remarkable proficiency
in the latter, he received an office from the Governor, that of Interpreter
to the Queen. He was the medium of communication between his Excellency
and the various deputations of Indians from the tributaries, and those
beyond, which were constantly visiting the capital of Virginia. At no time,
since the settlement of the Colony, had there been such numerous assemblages
of these. The extraordinary exertions of the Governor and the Rev.
Commissary among these native sons of the soil, excited curiosity even in
these stoics of the forest. They had heard of the Indian schools, which were
then in the first tide of experiment throughout the Colony. How far they
looked with approbation upon the singular trial, will, perhaps, appear in the
course of our narrative. Certainly, in the instance before us, it had been
crowned with success, and we take pleasure in presenting before our readers,
an educated Indian; a gentleman, who held office under the crown, sat at the
Governor's table, and mingled with the social circle that surrounded that hospitable
board.

To a perfect stranger from abroad, he must have appeared by far the most
imposing character in that room, not excepting the Governor of Virginia; for
his dress exceeded that of his Excellency, both in the fineness of its texture, its
colors, and the fashion of the wearer, both as to cut and the manner of display.

He was about twenty-one years of age, tall and slender in form, but handsomely
proportioned, with a very uncommon face for one of his race. Nearly
the whole of the Indian stoicism was wanting; and, instead of neglecting
to notice those little things upon which good breeding so much depends, he
was scrupulously attentive to the least movement of any one around him.
His eye, instead of having the settled rattlesnake glare of his race, was soft
and humanized in its expression, and looked as if it could weep upon occasion,
which all those who have studied the forest specimen know, always seems
impossible with them. His hair grew long and straight to his shoulders, and
fell down his temples in perfectly straight lines. On his head, he wore a
scarlet velvet cap, bound round with gold lace, and surmounted with drooping
plumes of red and white, while he held gracefully upon his left arm, the skirts
of a robe of the same gaudy color, which fell in loose drapery from his shoulders.
He wore dressed buckskin small clothes, and long gaiters to meet them,
terminating at the foot in exquisitely worked moceasins, curiously inlaid with
beads and porcupine feathers, and covering a foot and ankle which any lady in
the room might have envied. Under his scarlet robe, he wore a buff jacket,
fitting so exactly to his rounded form, that, at the first glance, a stranger might
have supposed it the natural covering of the muscles, so exactly did it display
the outlines of his figure.

He had been taken prisoner when desperately fighting to save a blind mother
and a sister, the latter then only twelve years of age. They, also, were
brought by the Governor to the capital, and the old blind Indian had been a

constant pensioner upon the bounty of the Governor and his family, while the
young girl had been placed with Mrs. Stith, (the Stewardess of the College.)
until very recently, when prudence suggested, that she was now becoming of
an age, to require that other quarters should be provided for her. Accordingly,
the Governor had erected for them a suitable house in the suburbs of the
capital, and the Interpreter, his sister and his mother, all lived together.

Such was the character and history of the being, who now walked up to
meet the Governor, with an air that might have put the blush upon any king in
Europe. He trod those boards with a majestic air, and a grace too, which
would have made the fortune of a hero of the buskin; and bowed over the
Governor's hand, in which his own was locked long and feelingly, as if he
designed to express both homage and gratitude.

“Thank goodness,” whispered Dorothea to her sister, “Mr. Lee's nose is
put out of joint now.”

Strange to say, that Mr. Lee was the least inclined to treat this descendant
of our forest kings with respect, of any person in the room. Such is the
apparent inconsistency of human nature, when viewed only upon the surface.
To an impartial spectator, the two seemed wonderfully alike in mental constitution;
that son of a long line of aristocratic progenitors, and the son of an
Indian Sachem, alas, now in exile, and doubtless supplanted in his princedom
by some more successful young warrior.

The Governor presented him to Mr. Hall, after he had bowed respectfully to
the ladies, he being the only person in the room with whom he was unacquainted.
He was then placed at the table, and made his breakfast, observing
all the little formalities, which are so much of a second nature to us, that we
do not notice them except when wanting. Hall watched him closely, expecting
no doubt, to see him help himself with his hand, and eat with his fingers, but
he not only used knife and fork, but helped others to the dishes near him, without
the slightest faux pas of any kind. He was rather more modest in conversation,
than one would have supposed from his princely carriage. He had
learned the first great lesson in the advancement of the mind, that is, to know
his own ignorance; yet, he took part in nearly all the conversation, being
appealed to directly by some of the worthies round him. The fact is, the Rov.
Commissary, as well as his Excellency, were proud of their pupil, and they
loved to exhibit him, as well to the stranger, as to such scoffers as Moore and
Carter, in regard to Indian capabilities.

There was another subject of pride and gratification with his Excellency,
he had received many of his views of the tramontaine country from this young
Indian, and he loved to hear him dwell upon its glories, and would sit entranced
while his tawny young subordinate dilated upon these matters.

“Now for it,” whispered Kate to Ellen, as the ladies left the room to the possession
of the gentlemen, “papa will soon carry Mr. Hall over the moutains,
where he has before marched so many before him, whether with their own
free will or not, their own good breeding sayeth not. Just look back Ellen,
and see with what apparent relish Mr. Moore and Mr. Carter are preparing
themselves to listen to papa and that noble looking chief.”

The Governor, truly enough, only waited for the Interpreter to finish with
his knife and fork before he commenced drawing him out. His maps were
spread out before him on the table, and he had called Mr. Hall to his side.
Not an individual in that room, but had occupied the same position repeatedly,
except himself, and he prepared the way by tracing out with his pencil, the
water courses which had their rise in the mountains.

“Now Chunoluskee, here is a gentleman just from the mountains of my
own native land, (Scotland,) and glorious mountains they are too, and delightful
vales between them, but I want you to shew him that there is a finer country
beyond your blue hills, than any even in old Scotia. What say you my man?”

“The vales beyond those mountains are my native war paths, your Excellency,
and I look back to them with the same sort of pleasure which you
remember the scenes of your own childhood.”

“Ave, and you shall look forward to them, man. I will lead you back to
your native land, and place you in possession of your rights.”

“So your Excellency has promised, and it is therefore, that I have come to
look upon your proposed enterprise, with nearly as much delight, as your
Excellency.”

“But is the country worth the trouble. That is the point that touches
these lazy Virginians?”

“It is the most glorious land that ever the sun shone upon, there is a valley
beyond those moantains, almost a perfect terrestrial paradise, abounding in
deer, elk, buffalo, and game of every sort—the land teeming with wild fruits of
every kind, and bright with the purest fountains of water that ever gushed
from the solid rocks.”

“Oaye, I know that is your opinion, but it is contradicted by all the French
accounts, and all others which we have received, besides you were a mere boy
when you left that happy valley, and cannot know exactly its geography.”

“Indian boys, your Excellency, do not, it is true, study geography upon
paper, but they study it upon a much larger scale; they learn the original;
and what is more, they never forget it. I can take your Excellency to the
very spot where I was taken prisoner.”

“Well, well, leave the point about the double range of mountains to be decided
by the event, and go on with your account.”

“Beyond that valley is the range of the real Apalachee, and when you
have crossed these, then you open into a new world indeed; one in which this
little Colony might be set down and not observed to enlarge or diminish it.
Before you entirely cross all its wonderful width and breadth however, there
are natural curiosities so remarkable, that these gentlemen will again laugh at
my presumption and your credulity, if I tell of them.”

“Tut, man, tut! a fig for Moore and Carter's skepticism; tell your story
as if they were not present.”

“I have often told your Excellency of the ever-boiling springs in which you
may cook an egg, and others, the medicinal virtues of which are so great, that
even the deer and buffalo, visit them constantly. Indian tribes from the mouth of
the Mississippi, on the one hand, and the lakes on the other, visit them in the
hunting season, bringing there, the lame and the blind, and the halt, just as I
have since read was the custom in the Jewish country.”

Moore and Carter here laughed outright, and the latter asked the Interpreter,
“if he could enumerate the diseases of which the buffalo and the deer
were cured, and how they undertook to administer the medicine; whether they
had Dr. Buffalo and Dr. Buck, and if they felt pulses and looked at the tongue.
What say you to this, Doctor, turning to the old physician?”

The Interpreter did not give him time to answer, for he was now becoming
excited with his subject, and gouded with the repeated taunts and jeers of the
youngsters.

“You may laugh, young gentlemen,” said he, “as you have often done before,
and you may call it romancing, but I tell you and his Excellency, that the
half has not been told. There are wonders of the natural world there, which
throws in the shade even these medic nal springs; apocryphal as you consider
them,” throwing down his knite and fork with which he had been trifling
with the remains of his breakfast, he strode once or twice rapidly through the
room, and again halted before the group seated at the lower end of the table,
and continued: “There are palaces there under ground, far more magnificent
than the one inhabited by his Excellency at Williamsburg; long colonades,
that have supported the dome which they now bear since the world began, and

galleries with fancy work, which would shame the skill of any of your handy
craft-men, and there is also a noble arch of solid rock—extending from
mountain to mountain, and beneath which the Governor's round tower at
the Capital could stand, without being a greater object to distract the
attention, when looking from above, than the binnacle is to the sailor at
the mast-head, when he casts his eye upon deck. The sachems who
went before me, have a tradition that the great spirit himself, once upon
a time was walking upon the earth, and came to the stupendous rent
between those two mountains, inaccessible from their perpendicular sides,
and that he threw the wonderful arch across, and then walked over upon
it. It looks indeed as if it might have been a causeway for the gods, or some
colossal race of men, who perhaps inhabited the earth, when animals dwelt
upon it tall enough to browse upon the tops of our fores trees.”

“Then you have,” said Carter, “in that fine valley of yours, medicines to
cure all the ills that flesh is heir to, forever pouring in perennial streams from
their bright fountains, so that you are free from the pains denounced against
the balance of our race; fruits forever tempting the hand to pluck them; water
heated to your hand ever ready to perform your culinary operations, and
yet not content with this paradise, you have now erected a bridge between
heaven and earth, over the valley of death, upon which the gods and your
people freely interchange visits. Have you not also some springs or trees or
herbs, by which the whole curse of earning bread by the sweat of our brow
might be dispensed with? Methinks that the great spirit who first made
your fine country, would not have stopped half way, but would have remodelled
Eden over again, and upon a pattern too, which would have made Old
Adam laugh at himself, for being so taken in with that orchard, which proved
his ruin.”

“I understand your irony, Mr. Carter,” said the chief, “but it cannot alter
the facts of the case, for the truth of which I will pledge my life. Indeed
the half has not been told; there are springs beyond the great Apalachee,
which produce salt, made almost ready to your hands. You have only to boil
the water, which spouts out from the ground, and the work is done. In the
same neighborhood, is a burning spring; flames forever wreathing up from
the surface of the water. This the natives of the soil are afraid of, and believe
that the great spirit of evil dwells there.”

“I thought so,” rejoined Carter, “you have only now to tell us of that
spring from whose fountain flows the life-giving power of perpetual youth, so
long sought for by the Spaniards at the other end of the continent, by all the
gods and goddesses in the mythology, we will bring back your Excellency so
rejuvenated, that Lady Spotswood herself will scarcely know you. By the by,
what a place of resort it will be for elderly ladies. I know several that would
accompany the expedition upon half the inducements held out by the Chief.”

“Poh, poh, Carter, with your nonsense; Chunoluskee has no motive for
deceiving us,” said his Excellency, “and if he had, and could succeed, in the
matter of the medicine springs, and the subterranean palaces, and the mighty
arch, suspended between heaven and earth; we know that the land is there,
and that is enough for us. The others will be so much clear gain, if we find
them—and if we do not, you and Moore will not be much deceived, at all
events.”

“I see nothing so very improbable in the herds of deer and buffalo seeking
the medicinal springs,” said Dr. Evylin. “We know that these creatures,
and many far inferior to them, have an instinct by which they seek relief
from medicine, even in the vegetable kingdom, and we know moreover, that
the sulphur and salt springs commonly called salt licks, are plenty all over the
continent, and that the wild animals do seek them at certain seasons of the
year. I see no reason to believe that the chief has even colored the impressions

of his youth with imaginary drapery—in fact, there is a good deal of internal
evidence of truth in his recollection of the country.”

“And his recollection of the sources and courses of the rivers this side of the
mountains,” added the Governor, “have been remarkably accurate, so far as
we have been enabled to trace them yet. Take, for instance, the James river,
he has always adhered to it, that this stream runs through this wonderful valley,
and through the mountains. This, the council at first laughed at, but
every succeeding survey only renders it more and more probable. Its source
or headwaters have never yet been reached, or any thing like it.”

The youths professed to give in to the Governor's views, but walked off
nevertheless, indulging their merriment at the extravagant romancing of the
interpreter.

The Governor and the two Doctors hung over those maps for hours, tracing
out the future course of the expedition; sticking pins along the designated
route, and from time to time acquiring new information, as to the face of the
country, distances, means of supply, &c., all of which the former required
Hall to note down accurately.

The reader must, in order to realize the terra incognita, into which they
were about to plunge, remember that Virginia, at that day, consisted of some
twenty odd counties, clustering around the Seat of Government, and they only
thickly populated along the rich alluvia of the rivers, and the two shores of
the bay, and that the population of the colony was just one hundred thousand.

Few more bold, daring, and chivalrous adventures have ever been undertaken,
even in this land of wild adventure, than that planned and executed by
Governor Spotswood. It must be recollected, too, that his was among the
first of the kind; that he was the pioneer, even to Lewis and Clark, and that
his ingenuity invented many of those appliances now so common in such adventures.
He was going beyond the reach of civilized resources—among
savage tribes—over monntains, hitherto considered impassible—and through
a trackless wilderness, in the last degree difficult for the transportation of the
necessary supplies.

Was it any wonder that it was opposed by most of the old men of the Colony;
by nearly all those considered wise and prudent? They confidently predicted
that the Governor, and the mad youths whom he might induce to accompany
him, would never return, and some exercised their parental authority,
so far as to forbid their sons from accompanying the Governor. To such a
height had this opposition ran during the preceding winter, that a public meeting
was held, and a committee appointed to memorialize the ministry on the
subject. If successful, this of course was equivalent to the Governor's removal,
and he had been waiting in some anxiety to hear the result. The two
factions of Oxford and Bolinbroke, of which the ministry was composed, were
too busy fighting their own battles, to heed these petitions from beyond seas.
Sir Alexander Spotswood was fully determined to see the other side of the
mountains, either as Governor of Virginia, or as the leader of a private expedition,
which he was amply able to set on foot. The question of supplies had
been brought up also before the House of Burgesses the preceding winter, and
rejected by a very close vote. Since that time, he had been exerting no little
address to induce young men to come out for the vacant or uncontested seats,
especially such as were known to be favorable to his darling project. Two of
these we have already seen almost domesticated in his own house, the open
hospitalities of which was no mean auxiliary in the great cause, especially
when presided over by the elegant kinswoman of the Duke of Ormond, and
her not less fascinating daughters. In short, his personal influence, his official
sway, his social position, his wealth, and every thing that was his, was
thrown into the scale by the Governor. He almost directed Mr. Boyle's benevolent

scheme for christianizing the Indians into the same channel, and
he had enlisted the Rev. President of the College, warmly in his interests. A
new trial was now rapidly approaching—the members for another house of Burgesses
had been elected, and were soon to assemble at the capital. Proclamations
were sent to every county calling upon the young gentry to enlist fifty
men, and enrol themselves under his banner. The ranks of the Rangers had
been filled up, and new officers appointed, wherever opposition was manifested
to the expedition, and these were now undergoing daily drill, and performing
camp duty along the whole frontier of the colony, as preparatory to the grand
tour. The removal of these very corps was one strong ground of opposition
by the timid. They had for some time formed the main security of the Colony,
against the inroads of the savages. These Rangers were stationed along the
whole line of frontier, within communicating distance of each other, and were
perhaps the best security ever devised for a colony in the then condition of
Virginia. The Governor's son John, was now in command of these, and as
rapidly preparing them for field service as possible. The Governor proposed
to march the whole of these, as well as a certain portion of militia from each
battalion. Here was another cause of opposition; these men did not like the
idea of being marched five hundred miles through a trackless wilderness, and
over inaccessible mountains, while their families were perhaps starving at
home, and their crops totally neglected, as well the preparation for the coming
one as the proper curing of that already housed. The Governor's main dependence,
however, was upon the young gentry, and such men as they could
voluntarily enlist or persuade from among their own adherents. He thought
that if he could embody a sufficient number of them with the Rangers, that
the forcible objections against the expedition might be removed, as he would no
longer attempt to coerce the militia, from whom powerful opposition had
arisen. Indeed something like a pledge had been given at the late elections
that such should be the case, and the whole colony was now looking on with
anxiety, to see what would be the result. Such of the gentry as had united
in the remonstance to the ministry, despaired of ever receiving assistance from
that quarter, so that the great battle had to be fought at home.

In accordance with these views, the Governor on the morning in question,
despatched his new protegee to Yorktown to enlist, not only fifty followers for
his own share, but as many more of the emigrants as might choose to try their
fortunes in the far west. Largesses of land were most liberally promised, besides
the pay, rations, and accontrements of the soldier. Among those who
had arrived with Hall, were a large number of Scotch, Irish, and Presbyterians,
a hardy, brave, intelligent set of people, as ever lived. These Hall
found to listen most readily to his tempting promises of land and a new
home, and freedom from religious restraint. The scheme chimed in extactly
with their views, and he was therefore not long in making up his complement
of fifty men, and enlisting as many more as the Governor might choose to provide
for out of his own private purse. These were quartered in the suburbs of
York, and were soon busily engaged in preparing to march at a moment's
warning.

Governor Spotswood was not long in discovering that his new protegee was
exactly the sort of aid-de-camp which he had been looking for. He possessed
a thorough education, not a little of which had been learned in the school of
adversity, and a sufficiency for his purpose, in the camp. He accordingly set
to work in earnest, to have all things in readiness to seize upon that most favorable
season of the year, now called Indian summer, for the march.
Before that could take place, many things had yet to be done, besides the
subsidies to be voted by an assembly, whose opinion were still somewhat
doubtful. Clothes, ammunition, horses and supplies of every kind, were to be
provided, and the latter in such a shape as to admit of their transportation

without inconvenience. Camp equipage, such as tents, iron, utensils, &c., &c.,
were not so easily gathered in that day in the Colony. He had already built
a round tower in the public square of the capital, for the reception of arms
and ammunition, and was accumulating them silently, but surely.[5] Both his
public and private stables were already crowded with horses, and he was still
purchasing more.

The time was now approaching when that happy family party were to leave
the delightful summer retreal on the shores of the Chesapeake bay, for the bustle,
the gaiety, and even the political intrigues of the capital. The female inmates
would willingly have dwelt at Temple Farm forever. They loved the
quiet scenery of the place, and the privilege it gave them of, in some measure,
selecting their company, but the present busy season of preparation, on the
part of the lord of the manor, required that removal, and they acquiesced.
His presence was wanted at the capital, and it now began to form the staple
subject of conversation among the young people.

Bondboxes were not yet in requisition, but Kate was already paying farewell
visits in the neighborhood, and visiting her pensioners for the last time
before a long separation. The negroes were already crowding round the
doors, whenever a leisure moment allowed them, to look for those never failing
little tokens of good will and remembrance dispensed on such occasions.
Others, with purer motives, loved to return their humble thanks to their young
mistress, for her kindness in sickness. It was indeed a melancholy day
among the domestics of Temple Farm, when all that gave it life and cheerfulness
were gone. Old June declared to Kate that the very poultry and stock
all looked melancholy, when the “white folks” were gone. On the evening
of that day, he brought out his old banjoe into the yard, seeing Kate and Ellen
promenading the verandah, and was tuning it up preparatory to improvising
their departure in most moving and melancholy strains. What Southron
is there who has not been moved by the mere tones of these monotonous doggrels?
Even in their liveliest strains, and when the words of the song are
ludicrous in the highest degree, these same mournful sounds accompany them.
The same may be said of their harvest and boat songs. On the present occasion
June muttered something like the following, to one of his corn songs:

“Oh June,” said Kate, “sing of our return, not of our going away. Don't
you see that you affect the spirits of Ellen?”

“Oh, misses, it's for poor June's spirits to be 'fected; specially when he
aint had no spirits all de day long.”

“And do you think June that a glass of spirits would change the melancholy
of your song.”

“De spirits make June feel berry happy misses long as he last, but be no
bring back Miss Kate, and all de fine young gentlemen, and de ladies, and de
carringes, and de hosses.”

“Why, what in the world can these things be to you, June; you eat the
same, and wear the same, whether we are here or at the capital?”

“'Oh, Miss Kate, dey all de world to June; de berry light ob he eye; when

white folks gone, it is all one long rainy day at de Farm—no banjoe den—frog
hab all de fun to heself, and de whoopperwill, he sing so solemn, he make poor
nigger cry for true.”

“Why you are quite sentimental, June!”

“Don't know zactly what de sentinel is, but he see one at de arsenal at
Williamsburg, walking so lone list like June, when young missus gone. De
birds find out directly when de house shut up—he no fraid ob nigger; de owl
come on that big tree, and he sit and moan all night long ober de empty
house, make June tink some of de familey gwine to die; and de bay! oh, he
moan for true so far off, way down to the sea, and den he come back to de
house and fine ebery body gone, he go way along the water, sighing and moaning
all de way; but when Miss Kate come back, all de birds sing glad for true!”

“You shall have the spirits June; tell Essex so; but no more banjoe to
night, June; it affects our spirits.”

“Good night, and tanky missus, June gwine to broke he eye, cryin till
you come back.”

17. CHAPTER XVII.
A GRIM MONSTER.

In the suburbs of the capital of Virginia, there stood a one story building,
containing several rooms, rather neatly, but plainly fornished. This house
was separated from one of the back streets by a vegetable garden, of no very
tasteful arrangement, and through its centre led a grass walk, opening from
the street directly toward the main entrance.

In the only sitting room which it contained, were three persons. One was
an aged Indian female, seated in the chimney corner on a low stool, her elbows
on her knees, and her head resting upon her hands, so that she seemed almost
doubled into a knot, as she crouched over a few smoking chips in the hearth,
over which an iron kettle was suspended. She was totally blind, and in some
measure, helpless. The other two consisted of a male and female; the former
was John Spotswood, and the latter an Indian girl, about sixteen years of
age. She had the general appearance of her race, so far as color and general
outline of features went, but our readers must not suppose that she was an
ordinary young squaw, rolled in a blanket, for she had been delicately nurtured,
and had learned many of the customs, as well as the language and
costume of the whites. Her Anglicised name was Wingina, and she was a
sister of Chunoluskee the interpreter to the Queen, until lately a sort of companion
to Mrs. Stith at the College, and recently removed with her mother
and brother to their new house. She was dressed mostly after the European
fashion, with however a few remnants of her Indian taste still clinging about
her. Instead of shoes and stockings, she wore moccasins, on a pair of the
most diminutive feet imaginable; and over her ankles and wrists, broad silver
clasps, and large gold rings in her ears. Her hair was plaited, and usually
hung down her back; and round her neck were many strands of gaudy colored
beads. She was as perfect in feature as any of that race ever is; preserving
nevertheless, all their distinctive characteristics, such as the high cheek
bones and wide set eyes. These were softened by a childlike simplicity of
expression in her countenance, and a general air of dependence and deference
in her manners; acquired no doubt, from her isolated and forlorn condition, in
the midst of the most polished capital in America, without friends of her own
race and rank.

Her position was a very peculiar one; while an inmate of Mrs. Stith's
household, she was half way between the two races—too elevated to associate
with the negroes, and scarcely considered equal to the whites. We have
already said, that she had been removed from the College from prudential
motives; her age, and accumulated personal attractions, having already subjected
her to very doubtful attentions from the gay youths of the capital; but
it was too late. In an evil hour, she in her guileless simplicity had listened
to professions from the young man before her, as ruinous to her, as they were
degrading to him.

John Spotswood was no premeditated seducor. He never for one moment
harbored the deliberate intention, indeed until it was too late he had never
analyzed his own feelings and intentions. He was as much overcome in an
evil hour, as his unfortunate victim; and he was consequently, a victim himself
of never ceasing remorse. His visit on the present occasion, was not of
his seeking, but had been brought about by the earnest solicitations of Wingina
herself. She seized the occasion of her brother's visit to Temple
Farm, to hold one more last interview with the youth who had unintentionally
wronged her; we say unintentionally, because he was under the influence of
wine at the time, and the world scarcely holds him a perfectly free agent, who
surrenders his reason into the keeping of such a master. Wingina's circumstances
were becoming desperate, and she sought very naturally the
council of the only one in all the world acqaainted with her secret.

Her brother, the proud and haughty young chief of the Shawnese, she knew
would put her to death upon the instant he learned her shame; and shall we
reveal the whole weakness of that poor, frail, half-civilized creature?—she
dreaded still more his vengeance against the repentant perpetrator of her
wrongs. Most willingly would she have planged headlong into the neighboring
river on either side of the city, but would this surely relieve her partner
in the transgression? This was one of the questions she wished to solve
by the interview. She had wrought up her mind to the necessary point of
daring and desperation for the deed, but she doubted the stability of that calmness
and stoicism with which young Spotswood might look upon it afterwards;
and she feared, instead of healing all difficulties, her death would only plunge
those whom she tenderly loved more irretrievably into ruin.

John had more than once generously offered to dare all consequences, and
reveal the true state of the case to her brother and his father, but her fears
would not suffer her to listen to this plan; besides, it promised nothing by
way of relief for their instant difficulties.

Our readers must recollect the aristocratic notions of that day in Virginia,
to realize how utterly impracticable was the marriage of the parties, as a
remedy. Could the son of the chivalrous Governor of Virginia, take such a
wife to the proud home of his father?—could he make her an equal, and an associate,
with his innocent and accomplished sisters?—especially after the revelations
which a few months would add to his present difficulties. He saw that
it was next to impossible; yet, to do him justice, he thought it more feasible
than his innocent victim. She scarcely dared imagine such a thing; so far
did he appear elevated above her in social rank. The idea of clandestinely
making her his wife and then secluding her upon the frontiers, occurred to
him, but then the difficulties with which such a step would embarrass his
father's preparations for the great campaign, drove it from his thoughts. He
knew that the Governor mainly depended upon her brother, as a guide for the
expedition.

What was to be done under such distressing circumstances? This was the
question which racked the young man's brain, as he walked the floor. Oh,
how the stings of fruitless remorse writhed themselves into his innermost
heart. There sat the poor heart-stricken little stranger; a pensioner upon

the bounty of his family, the holiday pet of his own sisters; ruined, past all
help, and by him, who ought and would have perilled life and limb for her
safety. Her head hung drooping upon her bosom, and her hands locked immovably
upon her lap, while the burning tears fell in a plentiful shower from
her eyes. Her plaited hair, curiously interwoven with beads and porcupine
feathers, hung on each side of her neck; and all together she presented a moving
picture of hopelessness and utter abandonment, even to an indifferent observer,
but to John the very sight of her was agony.

Every now and then he extended his walk to a small table in one corner of
the room, upon which stood a decanter of wine, and poured out and gulphed
down a measure of the liquid. This was the best remedy he knew of, for
that utter despondence which overwhelmed him; he resolved to adjourn the
wretchedness of to-day, for the accumulated sufferings of to-morrow; never
thinking, that while he thus drowned his sorrow, he also drowned his reason,
and thereby incapacitated himself from seeing clearly his position, and devising
the best means of escape.

Whichever way he turned his eyes, they were met by a picture, that might
have moved one less sensitive; the helplessly blind mother, and the scarcely
less helpless daughter. It is true, the old woman understood not his language,
and was therefore in blissful ignorance; but that circumstance rather added
to than lessened his remorse. He saw that in the day of full revelation before
the world, that ruined family of strangers, from a strange land, would create
a tale of wrong and outrage which would overwhelm him. He thought of
what would have been his own feelings of indignation against the perpetrator
of such a deed, and his own hand was almost ready to be raised against himself.

“Fool that I was,” muttered he, as wildly striding through that low narrow
apartment, “thus, for a momentary gratification, to peril all the brilliant
hopes and high aspirations of my life. Another might have committed such
a faux pas, and nothing have come of it, except, perhaps, a street brawl with
a young savage; but here am I, the man of all the world, in the position to
render the affair not only perilous to myself, but falling exceedingly heavy
upon my father. He is the great patron of these Indians; he has taken
them as hostages; they are therefore under trust to him, and to all connected
with him or under him. If this one false step could be retrieved, what a
millstone would be taken from about my neck? What a cruel fate was that,
which precipitated me into this cursed business?—a life blighted forever by
one false step; and that step so trifling when taken by others, so overwhelming
to me. It does seem as if a cruel and unrelenting destiny was mocking
at me! Are there not thousands of totally debased and profligate men, who
pursue long careers of wickedness and folly, without being thus overtaken?
Oh, it is hard to be borne! Great God! why was I reserved for a miserable
and degrading position like this? Was it because I can feel it? That little
bigotted twattler Ellen Evelyn, predicted that my sun would set in darkness.
Did she foresee the catastrophe? or was it a conclusion from general premises?
What is there in my life, my thoughts, my heart, from which any one
could predict such ruin? I love all mankind, and would any time rather do
an act of kindness than otherwise. I have wronged no one. Yes—I have
wronged this poor creature, but it was not a premediated wrong. Could she
draw the conclusion from my scepticism?—what has the ruin of this Indian
girl to do with my religious faith?—methinks these questions would puzzle
the old moralist at the College. What a mist we live in; how hard to draw
clear perceptions of moral obligation, from general providences? If sin were
always followed in this world by sharp and sure punishment, we might see the
hand of an all-wise and overruling power, but it is your generous-hearted
and unwary youths that are entrapped; your old lecher escapes scot free,
while the perpetrator of a single wrong is plunged to ruin. A man who

murders a single individual, is most sure to swing for it; while your wholesale
butcher is glorified as a hero. This life is but a mockery surely; a bitter
jest; we are but laughing stocks for the universe. And yet some people
manage to make a beautiful illusion of it! Dr. Blair for instance—Dr. Evylin—my
father and my sisters—my pure and innocent sisters—the dream of
life is really beautiful as illustrated by them. Why has the dark destiny
fallen to my lot alone?—can it be, as Ellen Evylin says, that it is our religious
faith that shapes our destiny, and that there is indeed an overruling
providence which superintends not only the general movement of worlds,
but the most minute details, even to the falling of a hair, as the Bible hath it.
Can it be possible that it is I who labor under the delusion, and that they are
right after all?—absurd! It is nevertheless a pleasing dream; and I would
that my stern philosophy would sleep a while and let me become a Goody Two
Shoes, to be tied to my lady-mother's apron string, and dole out charities on a
pony, by the side of my sisters, and the two old twattlers now at the Farm.
Ha, ha, ha, what a ridiculous idea, and where the devil could it have come from
in such a scene as this, with ruin and despair staring me in the face. There
sits that Indian girl, a picture of wo; she, too, was being reared to join the
happy few, who believe in the protective and conservative power of religion;
and I, like a man fool, must pull down what they were so carefully rearing.
Curse my ill-starred destiny, that I should be reserved for such a hang-dog
fate. What a mystery is it, this fitful dream of life; but, thank fortune, it has
one speedy solution within the reach of the feeblest hand. Here within this
vest, I carry a small steel talisman which may unriddle the secrets beyond the
grave before their time.” Saying which, he drew a small glittering dagger,
and held it up admiringly to the light, which Wingina no sooner saw, than she
rushed towards him, throwing her arms around his neck, and burying her head
in his bosom, crying—“Oh, Captain Spotswood, let me be the victim, I alone
am to blame!”

“Poh, poh,” said the young man, moving her away with his left hand, and
holding her at arm's length, “I mediated nothing just now, I but talked to this
little silent friend of mine; but tell me, Wingina, have you really no fear of
death?—you look desperate enough, indeed, to dare it. Can such a frail, feeble
thing brave the king of terrors? Do you yet retain enough of the heroism
of your ancestors, to lay down this life when it is a burthen to you?”

“All that I know, Captain Spotswood, of suicide, I have learned from you
and your race. The warriors from which I sprung, consider that an act of
cowardice, which you have called heroism.”

“Aye, aye, here is another school of philosophy; one of nature's teaching;
let us learn of it also! It seems I am destined always to be schooled of
a petticoat, why not this poor Indian girl, as well as her superiors? Perhaps
she has drawn some wholesome truths from the Great Book, whose edges are
bound by the sea, and gilt by the sun. Tell me, girl, whence come the notions
of your race against self-destruction?

“An Indian thinks outside, and a white man inside.”

“Ah, I see, I see—their whole thoughts are occupied externally, and the
reflective faculties are not cultivated; then their opposition to suicide, is only
after all, because they never reflect sufficiently to become desperate.”

“Sir!'

“Your race never commits self-murder, because they never feel wretched
enough to loathe this life—that is only a result of our boasted civilization.”

“Captain Spotswood, it is I only that should make these complaints of your
race—you have taught me to suffer, and God knows I have learned little else.”

“Poor Wingina, my teaching has been sad indeed.”

“Oh, sir, pity me not; it makes me all a woman again; just now I could
have rendered up my life, if only to convince you that a poor Indian girl

could die as heroically as one of your own proud race. I could dare it yet,
but from another motive which you have never understood, I fear.”

“And what is that Wingina?”

Laying her hand gently upon his arm, which had now fallen by his side,
and looking up winningly and beseechingly in his face, she said softly, “I
could die for you.”

“You could die for me? poor girl!”

“Aye, and will too; only assure me that my death would remove all these
troubles of which you complain so grievously, and the summer flower is not
gone more rapidly.”

The desperate young man looked long and searchingly in her face, and
then suddenly grasped her by the arm, as he said, “And do you indeed love
me still Wingina, after all that has passed?”

“Better than the Great Spirit—more than I love that poor blind old mother,
and a brother that became a captive for my sake. I would this instant forsake
all, if you will follow me to the wigwam of the Indian, and become a great
chief among my people.”

“But what, if I loved you not in return?”

The poor girl staggered from his side and reeled into her former seat, and
there sat with her head drooping as before, and her hands locked in the attitude
of despair.

Spotswood saw that the unpremediated blow had struck home—that despair
was in every expression of her eye and countenance, and his own turbulent
passions grew fiercer from the contagion. He strode up to where she was
sitting, and drew a chair and seated himself so as to bring his lips almost
touching her ear, and said in a tremulous whisper, “Wingina, though I love
you not well enough to brave the scoffs and jeers of my race, I do love you
well enough; at least, I am struck with admiration enough for you to dare
death in your company, what say you?”

Her hand was instantly clasped in his, with emotion, as of one who desires
to close a bargain only held to her option for the moment, exclaiming at the
same time, “Oh how cheerfully.”

“Enough!” said he, rising to depart, “when all things are ready—when
the storm which is now rising in black clouds round the horizon, shall have
closed over head, and all is dark whichever way we look, and just ready
to burst, then I will come to you to redeem my promise. Consider my faith
as pledged to it; farewell, poor wronged, betrayed Wingina; we will seal the
solemn covenant of our marriage, by a ceremony that if the world approves
not, it cannot laugh at. Our races were never formed to amalgamate in this:
world, let us then adjourn our cases to that immortal tribunal, so much talked
of.” “Surely,” said he, as he left the door, and walked musingly toward the
street; “surely that great many headed monster will be satisfied with the
sacrifice I propose to offer upon its unholy altar; the perpetual fires of which
are lighted by the devil himself.”

The sun was by this time sinking behind the horizon, and the shadows of
night stealing over the silent and sombre scene, chiming too well with the
darker shadows fast gathering over the hopes and fortunes of that once
bright youth. As was too often of late the case, he bent his footsteps to the
principal tavern of the place, and there met at the threshold Bernard Moore,
just from Temple Farm. “Oh Moore!” said John, “by heavens I am glad to
see you; it is a long time since we have had a night together; now we will
indeed revive the memory of those good old times, to which you alluded
so often on that damned dull morning after I had been moped to death
all day and night, between old Dr. Blair on one side, and Dr. Evylin
on the other. How come on the old twattlers, and how is my father and the
family?”

“All well, John, but I fear I cannot join in your revelry to-night—I come
upon pressing business of the Governor's.”

“What's in the wind now?”

“A proclamation calling upon the young gentry of the Colony, to come
out in favor of the tramontaine expedition, and to such of them as have succeeded
in enlisting fifty followers, to march to the capital forthwith. It is a
fine chance for you now, John, to distinguish yourself, and to grow rich besides.”

“O curse the tramontaine expedition; I have breakfasted, dined, and supped
on nothing else for the last three hundred and sixty-five days, until I really
believe that I have got a young mountain growing up in my stomach, and
made of lime too, for it is eternally parched up with thirst; but tell me how I
may grow rich by this eternal crossing of the mountains? that's a new maggot
in my good dad's knowledge box.”

“It is a project of his new private secretary, Mr. Hall—it is to give magnificent
donations of land to all who will comply with the proposed terms.”

“And who the devil is Mr. Hall? I never heard of him before.”

“A very extraordinary young man, I assure you. He arrived at York with
the Scotch emigrants, and applied for a tutor's place over master Bob. He
has completely captivated the Governor.”

“Oh, aye, any body could do that who would affect strongly the mountain
frenzy; tell me now, was that not the way the thing was done?”

“I believe you are partly right, but he exhibited some very curious tricks
of fence with the small sword too, which finished what the other left undone.”

“Some rascally impostor I'll warrant; but he will not impose on me with
his mountain enthusiasm, nor his second hand tricks with the small sword
either.”

“I tell you, John, he is a match for the Governor himself, and toasted me
like a roasted goose with the spit run through him. Your father tried him
also at mathematics, and the Commissary at the classics, and in all he was
their equal.”

“And yet you say he is a poor adventurer. How does he dress and behave?”

“His dress is rather seedy, to tell you the truth, but he has the manners of
a gentleman.”

“It is all very strange, but let me see the proclamation; that too is his
handy work, I suppose?”

“Yes—here it is.” Handing him a copy of the paper, which John glanced
over hastily and contemptuously, and then handed it back and took Moore's
arm as he said, “Enough, Bernard, enough—the very thoughts of the mountain
expedition has made me as thirsty as a lime kiln—what shall I order up?
port, sherry, madeira, or claret—or will you go with me to the palace? I am
all alone there, and we can send out and have as fine a set of fellows in half an
hour as ever sung a song or told a story; and, by heavens, we will begin upon
the oysters to-night.”

“No, John, no—I cannot join you at either place to-night, I am on business
of importance, and must hurry back in the morning. I have to send an
express to some of the remote counties before I start; of course I shall be
engaged until late at night, in giving instructions to these messengers, part of
whom are already in the house.”

“No matter about that, we will make them all gloriously drunk, and then
pack them off at cross purposes; ten to one but they all bring up at Temple
Farm in the morning, and get put in the stocks for their pains; a capital
place, I'm told, to get sober. It keeps the blood upon a dead spirit level, so
you see it prevents determination to the head.”

“Why, John, I think you must have dined out already—you seem disposed
to make merry of everything, from the Governor down.”

“Egad you are right—I have been out and have supped upon horrors—the

very recollection of which smacks of brimstone, and that's the reason I'm so
thirsty now. Come, you shall not escape me, I swear, if I have to sit and
hear your instructions to every one of these express riders. I will have you
still. Come down to the palace, order these fellows down there, where we
can have the whole house to ourselves. I am determined to make a night of it.”

Moore seeing that he must either comply or quarrel with his old friend,
determined upon the former for many reasons, and therefore set to work in
earnest with his business, determined to despatch that before he should be
engaged with one so likely to pledge him in deep cups. He was not more
than half inclined to join him at all—not that he did not enjoy a carouse to some
extent, like other youths, but there was a wildness, a desperation about John,
which pained as well as alarmed him.

They were soon seated over their wine in one of the most luxurious rooms
of the Governor's palace, each with a pipe in his mouth and servants
standing ready to obey the slightest command. It was an evening to enjoy
luxuriously a glass of wine, a cheerful fire, and the soothing repose
induced by the glorious Virginia weed, and Moore seemed disposed to
make the best of his capture and enjoy these good things like a rational
creature, using the wine and tobacco rather as mental than physical stimulants,
and plying them lazily and luxuriously along as the conversation
flagged. Not so with his friend—he was disposed for desperate and deep
potations, he was restless and uneasy, and all the luxury in the world could
not have produced in him a sensation of caimness and repose. He scarcely
seemed fitted for conversation—he wanted roistering companions, and noisy
sport, and practical jokes—and nothing prevented him from having them
but the declaration of Moore, that he would only spend a social evening
with him in the present way and no other. The only thing therefore for
John, was to make up in the depth and frequency of his libations for
want of more jovial company, with the faint hope at the same time that
Moore would soon be brought to that point of excitement, when he, too,
would be led to seek stirring adventure.

Still he sat and sipped his wine, or puffed his pipe, his feet cased in
slippers, and his legs over the seat of a chair, while his head was thrown
back in the attitude of luxurious repose.

“Come Moore,” said John, “let's drink a bumper to the success of
that expedition which the Governor seems to have innoculated you with,
like all others who come within the reach of his influence.”

“With all my heart, John, I will drink to its success, but no more bumpers
for me. I do not want to look in the morning as if the devil had sent me a
case knife to cut my own throat.”

“Lord, Moore, you have sung psalms and hymns with old Dr. Blair and
Dr. Evylin, until you are becoming, I fear, one of those nice, moral young
men, praised by the old ladies, and held up as patterns by our dads, for imitation.
You are becoming evangelical, is that not the word?”

“Pshaw, John, you are suffering yourself to fall off too far to the other
extreme, you know very well that I am no stickler for propriety and decorum,
farther than they are necessary as the barriers between the various orders of
society?”

“Oh, damn the barriers of social order. If I had my way, I would cement
the whole of them with the hot fumes of wine into one great social circle of
democracy—with our joy in common, our property in common; in short, I
would revolutionize your social structure: I would wipe out old things, and
begin all anew again.”

“Why, John, you are a madman!

“Egad, I have thought that myself sometimes, but that is always in my
dark hour.”

He moved his chair round near to Moore, and waved his hand to the servants
to vanish, and then seeing that they were alone, by a stealthy glance
round the room, he whispered in his ear, “I am pursued by a demon!”

“Good God! John, you should consult advice—your spectre or demon is
altogether in your disordered vision. Let me send now for the Doctor, and
see if he does not say that you should loose blood on the spot?”

John langhed before he replied, “Tush, man, there is nothing the matter
with me now, any more than there is with you, but sleep in my room to-night,
(and here his voice fell to a whisper,) and I will show you whether it is a
mind diseased or not. Call in that old negro, and ask him if I do not have
one of these nocturnal visitors every night?”

“No, no, there is no need, I will sleep in the same room with you myself,
and see this strange visitor of yours; but does he follow you wherever you go?”

“Yes, wherever I am, I see these strange sights—whether I am asleep or
or awake, I know not, but the visitor, as you call him, is not always of the
same identity.”

John soon after began to grow boisterous—then to sing, and then to hiccup,
and finally was carried off neck and heels to bed by two of the servants.

Moore occupied a bed in the same room, in which he ordered a light to be
left burning, that he might see the dreaded apparition.

About three o'clock in the morning, he was roused from a deep sleep by a
strange unnatural noise in the room, and remembering the conversation with
John, instantly sprang out of bed and stood beside him. There lay his friend
crouched into a knot, the pillow wound tight round his head, just leaving
room for his fiery eye balls to gleam through.

“There, Moore,” said he in a whisper of mortal terror, “there he stands;
don't you see him? Oh! what a hedious monster; his eye balls are like red
hot coals of fire, and his tongue forked like that of a serpent; see, see, he
moves. Protect me from him, for God's sake. Look, now he goes—he
goes—watch him—Ha, ha, ha—he is gone.”

“Why, John, this is the very madness of the moon. You should consult
advice at once, for Heaven's sake let me send an express for Dr. Evylin.”

“No, no,” still in a strained, painful and husky whisper, “here they come
again, a legion of them, with fiery serpents in their hands—my God, see how
they fling them about.”

He had now screwed himself up into the smallest possible compass in the
further corner of the bed, his eye balls still glaring from beneath the pillow,
and every instant schreeching in the most hedious manner, and now darting
from one side of the other, declaring that it was full of these terrible
reptiles. Presently he was hard at work tossing them out of the bed,
imitating the exact action of a man grasping suddenly at some dangerous
reptile, and then tossing it wildly towards the floor. The cold dewy perspiration
was standing over his blue cadaverous face, until here and there it was
gathering into little streams and trickling from his nose and chin. His
breathing was excessively labored, and his eye balls had now become fiery,
and rolled in their sockets without the least volition. His teeth were sunk
into his lips until the blood gushed from his mouth, while his hands were
alternately clutching the reptiles from sinking their fangs into his person, and
tossing them aloft in desperation. He leaped and screamed like a wild man.
With astonishing agility, and the strength of a lion, he tossed the servants
about, who now stood round and attempted to hold him.

Once or twice, by the persuasion of Moore, he was calmed for awhile, and
laid down as if to sleep, and the servants were seated and mutely attentive.
The stillness of death pervaded the room, nothing but whispers, and they
scarcely breathed, were heard. The eyes of the young man were closed, as
if by a powerful effort; and his breathing deep and convulsive. His attendants

all thought him asleep; but with the velocity of lightning he sprang from
the bed and alighted in the middle of the floor, uttering at the same moment
a long shrill scream. He was instantly seized by three or four stout servants,
and Moore himself assisting, but all together they could not hold him. He
doubled and twisted himself into a thousand strange contortions, and dashed
one servant to the wall with his foot, and levelled another on the floor with his
arm. At last when exhausted, and about to be overpowered by their numbers,
and the steady determination of Moore, he lay in a delirious ageny of fear.
One frightful monster after another raised his hideous form to his astonished
and bewildered gaze. No sooner had one been exercised, than a more hideous
spectre occupied its place.

Bernard Moore determined at once to send an express for Dr. Evylin. He
had inquired of the servants and learned that this was far the most alarming
attack which he had had. Leaving the unfortunate youth in their charge for
a few moments, he despatched such a note to the old Doctor, as he knew
would bring him, at the same time leaving it to his own discretion, whether
to alarm the femily or not. Having seen the boy depart on a fleet horse, he
resumed his melancholy position by the bedside of his friend.

18. CHAPTER XVIII.
THE LOVE OF FLOWERS—CHARACTERISTIC OF THE SEXES.

About ten o'clock next morning, Moore was startled from his position at
the bedside, by the rustling sound of a lady's dress in the entry below. He
slipped out and ran down, just in time to meet Kate at the foot of the stairs.
He took her hand, and led her into a room, where he seated her.

“Oh, Mr. Moore,” exclaimed she, almost breathless; “do tell me what all
this means—what is the matter with John?”

“Tell me first how you knew any thing about it?”

“Oh it matters not, for Heaven's sake do not keep me in suspense, but tell
me when was he taken? how is he affected? is he dangerous? and oh, above
all, will he recover?”

“My dear Catharine calm yourself, your brother is ill, I will not deceive you
about it, but I hope there is nothing dangerous in his disease.”

“Well lead me to him at once, let me see and judge for myself, you know
that I am not one to faint at the sight of a sick chamber.”

“Stop, stop, not yet—I must prepare you before you go, for your brother's
state of mind. He is quite delerious, and sometimes frantic.”

She waited to hear no more, but threw open the door and ran up stairs herself,
and entered the room so silently, that a sleeping infant would scarcely
have been disturbed; but there was an ear listening to that soft tread upon the
carpet, that would have caught the vibration of a thread, so magnified was its
sense of hearing. John had roused himself upon one elbow in spite of three
powerful arms, the instant he heard the first foot fall, and was waiting with
distended eyes, for the approach of the dread visitor, which his imagination
had conjured up. As Kate passed the threshold, he shaded his eyes with his
hands, and glared at her with that vacant stare, which betokens a wandering
mind. She approached slowly, so as to give him time to recognize her, and
hoping every moment to hear him call her name, perhaps coupled with some
endearing epithet, but it was all in vain. His eyes distended wider and wider
as she came nearer, until the iris looked almost like a ring of fire, as she gently
laid her hand upon his arm, and uttered the words, “My brother!” he started

as if stung by a scorpion—pushing back and back, until he had planted himself
firmly against the wall, and drawn the bed clothes over his head; trembling
and quivering, she repeated, “My dear brother, speak to me.”

Kate threw herself into a chair, and buried her face in the bed, and wept
long and bitterly. During the while, the poor patient several times raised his
head from beneath the bed clothes, and listened to her sobs, as the startled
stag listens to the approaching huntsman, bending, his head forward, and
turning one ear foremost in the attitude of one who listens intensely. The
sounds seemed at last to soothe him into a gentler mood, and he stretched
forth his hand and smoothed down her glossy blond hair, as one who commiserates
the object caressed. Kate raised her face towards his, all streaming
with tears, gratified in the midst of them that he had at least ceased to dread
her presence; but still he did not recognize her; “go home now,” said he,
“go home to your poor blind mother—that's a good girl, and weep not for me.”

Dr. Evylin and Governor Spotswood soon after entered; the latter was
terribly shocked, and even the venerable old physician found the case worse
than he had expected. He immediately ordered the room darkened, and cleared
of all but the necessary attendants, and then poured out a dose of some liquid
medicine, and handed it to Moore, “there, give him that,” said he, “enough
to kill any two of us!” After which, Kate was led out by Mr. Moore to
another room.

“Oh Mr. Moore,” said she, “this is very dreadful! can you form any idea
of the cause of his derangement?”

“It is not ordinary madness, Catharine,” (how affliction levels conventional
forms, like the grave,) “it is not ordinary madness, but from what I have
heard and seen, it is the mania induced by intemperate drinking.”

“Is it possible?—and is my brother indeed that degraded thing, a drunkard?”

“Distress not yourself, the case is no worse now, perhaps, than it has been for
some time; indeed this very attack may wean him from the wretched thraldom.”

Half an hour afterwards, the old Doctor came in, a bright smile breaking
upon his features, his pipe in his mouth, and assured Kate that her brother
slept”—“a thing,” said he, “which I will venture to say he has not done for
hours before.” He assured her also, that if this sleep continued for some
time, he would awake better, and probably in his sound mind.

Kate insisted that she would watch by his bedside, and that the servants
might stand at the door within call; and sure enough, there she posted herself,
and remained six long hours. She watched in that dark room, until her eyes
at length became accustomed to it; and she could see her brother's countenance,
the corrugated brow, the quivering eyelid, the alternately distended
and collapsed nostril, and the compressed lips, the latter sometimes muttering
the delerious wanderings of the mind.

Was it any thing wonderful, that Moore's attention, as he occasionally
stole to the door and peeped in, was not wholly absorbed by the condition of
his friend? Was he not excusable if a stray glance wandered over that fair
neck and arm, as they rested upon the table, while their owner gazed upon
the unfortunate sufferer? In fact he caught all the changes upon John's distorted
features, reflected with beautiful fidelity upon that of his sisters.

About five o'clock in the afternoon her brother waked up to a stupid sort
of consciousness, took a little broth, and fell off again into a deep sleep, the
first of the kind that he had enjoyed for many, many weeks. After Kate saw
her brother thus comfortably disposed, she took a few turns through the garden
to see how her flowers had been attended to in her long absence. This
garden presented some of the rarest exotics ever then seen in America, and
was furnished with conservatories and hot houses upon a large scale.[6]

The gardener was now preparing to re-convey many of the tenderest of his
silent family to their winter quarters. Kate walked through the box hedges,
inquiring into the condition of each old acquaintance, deploring the sickening
condition of some, and praising the luxuriance of others, here clipping off
a decayed leaf, and there propping up a rickety stem.

Moore was as excessively fond of flowers, as he had been remarkably devont,
when Kate read the responses; he went into raptures over the faded
beauties of some little foreign stranger, and was really pathetic over the disasters
which absence and want of delicate culture had produced upon her
favorites. Oh, what a hypocrite! he did not care a fig for the most delicate
pink that ever blushed through its green foliage, any more than he did for a
red cabbage, i. e. he had none of the true ferver. He loved the flowers, because
he was in love with every thing that she loved; but he did not love
them for themselves.

This is the way that men generally love flowers, they like to see the ladies
of their love fall into raptures over their silent and beautiful little friends, but
few of them have that sort of affection for flowers, genuine affection, which
ladies have.

Kate not only loved her flowers, but there was a sort of secret communion
between them. Moore was of a philosophic turn, even in his love, and he
desired to penetrate deeper into this connexion.

“Will you tell me,” said he, “what this passionate admiration of flowers
is like, in your sex?”

“Adoration, would have been the better word, Mr. Moore,” replied she,
“not that we commit idolatry in our enthusiasm, but we approach the Deity
through them, as the Catholic approaches him through the saints.”

“Ah, that is a new idea to me altogether; with us it is different, we do not
ascend so high in our purest poetical feelings concerning them. We have—
I mean the least grovelling of us, have very sweet associations with the
memory, as well as the presence of flowers.”

“Is that all?” said Kate, looking up from a pale, delicate autumnal flower;
“is that all? why, what poor creatures you are! we mix up our love for these
gentle, silent things with our higher sentiments. I am sure I never look at
one of them without silent adoration to that Great Being, who could so extend
his broad cast benevolence, as to create them that they might minister
to our pleasures. Did you ever reflect that they were created for a wise
purpose? Nothing was ever created in vain, neither were these. Look at
this frail and beautiful thing, it has no medicinal properties whatever, and of
course must have been created to minister to our pleasures alone. God must
delight in these innocent enjoyments of his creatures, or else he never would
have strewed them so plentifully along our paths through this world.”

“The passion is all very well in your sex—very lovely, very beautiful; but
would it not be a little effeminate in ours?”

Kate rose up, and looked him steadily in the face, before she replied. “Effeminate!
effeminate, Mr. Moore, take back that word, I pray you. Remember
what our Saviour said, `Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow;
they toil not, neither do they spin; and yet I say unto you, that even Solomon
in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these.' Ponder upon those beautiful
words. All the poets that ever sung, never uttered in such a compass a
sentiment so full of innocence, purity, and beauty. Oh, it is almost sublime
in its perfect sublimation. Think of that word arrayed—he speaks of these,
my little dumb friends, as if the very angels had been employed at their
toilet. What an eye of for pure and perfect beauty he must have had! The
morning robes of the lily surpassed the glory of the most sumptuously clad
monarch in the history of the world, in his eyes. What a contrast that was,
in the comparatively rude age in which it was uttered! Who, at that day, had

ever before comprehended the whole and perfect beauty of that pale and unobtrusive
flower? And yet you are afraid of being thought effeminate, if you indulge
in enthusiasm like ours.”

“No, no, not afraid. I asked if it would not look so to you.”

“Well, then, I answer no—certainly not; but tell me truly, is it so, that your
sex does not feel these things which I have been describing, as we feel them?”

“To tell you honestly, Miss Catharine, we do not. I see that it will lower
us in your estimation, but I have been reflecting upon it, and I'll tell you what I
think is the reason, and perhaps that may set us all right again in your favor.
We are not pure enough; we mix too much with the business and the anxieties
of the world. The Saviour, though in the garb of humanity, was pure
and spotless; does not his very capacity for the highest enjoyment of these,
old mother mature's pets, seem to favor my idea?”

“There is force in your remark, but I must say at the expense of your sex;
I had no idea that it was so debased; but it cannot be true of all men—there
must be some exception, some pure enough to relish flowers. I will henceforth,
I believe, go through the world looking for one who loves flowers for
their own sake.”

“He stands before you; do not leave me just yet, your brother sleeps, and
do you listen into what a rhapsody I will fall over this little yellow flower.”

Kate laughed at him heartily over her shoulder as she entered the house,
and replied, “that the one he had selected was the poorest thing in the garden,
but that it would do very well to begin with, and by the time he had mounted
to a potato blossom, she would be ready to listen to him.”

19. CHAPTER XIX.
THE TUTOR'S NARRATIVE.

During Kate's absence, Ellen Evylin wandered over the house like one in a
dream—Dorothea tried her rural system upon her one morning, by dragging
her to see the dairy-maids perform their manual exercise, but it was all labor
in vain. Ellen told her that it required high health and spirits for these things.

“There you are wrong,” said Dorothea, “for it is these that bring health
and spirits—did you ever see me low-spirited?”

“No, indeed, my dear Dorothea, I never did, but remember you are just fifteen;
the next five years to you may contain the sorrows of twenty.”

The little girl laughed and replied, “not unless all the cows take the hollow
horn. Do you think I will?” to young Dandridge, looking on.

“No, I am sure if you ever have the blues,” replied he, “it will sour all the
milk in the dairy.”

Ellen sauntered off alone, leaving the healthful and merry young pair to their
fun and frolic. She had not wandered long on the banks of the little brook at
the foot of the garden, before she discovered Mr. Hall standing opposite to
that gloomy structure, before designated as the scene of the night funeral.
He was standing with his hands locked behind him and his hat drawn with
the corner down over his eyes, and his head bent upon his breast, every now
and then raising it, to look at the tomb or vault, and then sinking it as before.

Ellen walked within a few feet of him, but he heeded her not. She was determined
not to be baffled this time, however, and accordingly took her stand
at a few yards distance, to wait the termination of his colloquy with the dead,
for she could hear him talking in an under tone, and once or twice he raised
his right arm and let it fall listlessly again by his right side. She heard him

say, “his last words to me were, we shall meet again! but who could have
thought that it would be thus?”

Ellen coughed, so as to arrest his attention, and preclude the suspicion of
stealing upon him unawares. He turned round quickly and colored to his
ears, but approached her, removing his hat.

He was aware that she sought his presence, and was not a little surprised at
it, and approached her with an inquiring anxious look, as he said—“Can I
render any possible service to Miss Evylin?”

She seemed puzzled how to communicate her errand, but after a considerable
pause replied—“Mr. Hall, it would be useless to attempt to conceal that
I have been for some time seeking this interview.”

“Is it possible!”

His surprise startled her, and she was on the point of retreating at last,
without accomplishing her end, but she mustered up her courage and came
to the charge again. “Yes, I acknowledge that I have sought for it, with a
particular object in view, but before I make it known, permit me to state that
I was in the room last Sunday, when you approached the picture of General
Elliot and apostrophised it, as you were just now doing his tomb.”

Hall started, in still greater surprise, and look confused and rather displeased—he
waited anxiously for her to go on. She continued:

“It was purely accidental, my being in the room, and but for my surprise
and fright, I would have informed you of it. I do not now state these things
to obtain any sort of claim upon your confidence, but purely to explain why I
suppose you capable of throwing some light upon a dark portion of the history
of”—here she stopped short, she did not know how to finish the sentence—
but presently added, “of another.”

She looked up—the change was indeed surprising—every muscle of his
mouth quivered with excitement, as he struggled for an answer, and his eye
told of the most intense interest. They were rivetted upon her face as if he
would search her very soul.

“Of whom?” at length he asked.

“Of Frank Lee.”

He started as if a bullet had pierced his heart.

“Of Frank Lee!” exclaimed he.

“Aye, did you know him?” said she tremblingly anxious for his reply.

“Know him—know him!” he drawled out, “too well, too well.” Still
gazing with a dreamy eye and absent manner upon that beautiful, agitated,
downcast face.

Instantly her countenance rose, and she sprung forward with her hands
clasped together beseechingly, as she asked, “Oh, tell me, does he live?”

“Live—live—does he live? I cannot say.”

“Oh, why do you hesitate?”

This question seemed to rouse him to his full consciousness, and he
answered: “The truth is, Miss Evylin, your inquiries have been so sudden and
unexpected, and let me add, so embarrassing, that I scarcely know what I say.”

“Why are they embarrassing?”

“Because I cannot tell you all I know of him for whom you inquire, without
exposing myself. I have not always been what I now seem.”

“Oh, you need have no fears of me—secrets in which he was involved,
would be sacred with me at least, and you—could you suppose that I would
betray you, if there was anything to betray?”

“No, I hope not, but there is another embarrassing point, which I know
not how to approach without offending you.”

“There need be no offence between two straight forward honest people.”

“Here, then, is a seat in this arbor; you look fatigued and exhausted, let
me fetch you a glass of water from the fountain.”

“No, no—no water; I will take the seat, but I could listen forever while
you talk of him.”

“You must know that I was more intimate with him than with any living
being.”

“Oh, tell me all then quickly, and end my suspense.”

“I knew your story when I first entered yonder mansion, as well as I do
now, but poor Frank labored under a grievous mistake as to your feelings
towards him, unless they have lately changed back again into their old
channel.”

“Changed back again! old channel! what can you mean? the course of
that stream has not been half so steady and constant as the current of my
very heart's blood, in his favor.”

“Before God, I believe you, but there was some gross deception practised
upon him some where. Not an hour before he made the desperate and suicidal
attempt to rescue the brave officer who lies buried there, he expressed the
desperate determination to throw his life away. All this, produced by a letter
from this country.”

“From whom?” exclaimed she with vehemence, “from whom I pray you?”

“From his own brother.”

“From Harry Lee! is it possible! And what could he say to produce so
desperate a resolve in Frank?”

“I saw the letter and can speak very positively to that point. He said that
he expected to marry you before his brother's return, that he had already
obtained her father's consent, and only waited to break down the obstacles
which young maidens love to gather round themselves; that they were already
giving way, and would soon totally disappear before the warmth of his suit.
Those were almost his very words.”

“Oh, the base ingrate—there was scarcely a word of truth in the whole—it
is true he asked my Father's consent to pay his addresses to me, but he only
referred him to me for a decision, telling him at the same time that he would
never interfere with my inclinations, so long as the object of my choice was
respectable and intelligent; and as to the obstacle, I was really endeavoring
to teach myself to look upón him in the light of a brother, until finding my
motives entirely misunderstood, I had to put him upon the stately footing
which you have seen, and which much better suits him. Now all being
explained, tell me what became of Frank after the attempted rescue?”

“There was still another thing which made him believe Harry's letter, your
own had ceased for some time, which gave his statements a remarkable
coloring of truth.”

“Of the cause of that I know nothing, except his frequent change of place
after leaving London. I wrote to him regularly.”

“I believe you, most sincerely, and now. I will tell you what little I know
of him. When he first came over, he spent sometime in travelling, and then
entered the University at Edinburgh, as was his first intention, and made great
progress with his studies, and would really have been distinguished as a
scholar, but for an unfortunate circumstance which happened. You will
recollect that Gen. Elliot, the half brother of Gov. Spotswood, came to Edinburgh
about the time alluded to, and his brow being adorned with the laurels
obtained in battle, he was of course a subject of curiosity to all the ardent
youths about the city, and especially to those with any aspirations after military
honors. Frank sought him out, and their mutual relations to Gov. Spotswood,
soon produced an intimacy. Frank was burning with impatience to
join the army, but his guardian's instructions were so positive about the necessity
of finishing his collegiate course, that he resisted his impulses for the
time. The intimacy with the General, however, still continued. The affairs
of this country furnished a never failing theme of mutual interest between

them, and it was the intention of the General at some future day to emigrate
hither. Alas! he little supposed that his removal would be after death. I
was in College at the same time, and knew every turn of Frank's mind as
well as if he had been my brother. I was actuated by the same motives, and
longed for the same chance of distinguishing myself.

“Gen. Elliot at length left the city, but we did not return to our studies with
the same ardor after his departure. Our hearts were in the army, and of
course the books were soon thrown aside for the foil, and the broadsword, and
if we read at all, it was works connected with military science.

“The General was absent some months, and when he returned he was a
changed man.

“His fine blithesome and sportive humor had left him, for a settled and
perplexed air. He walked about like one in a dream, and we were not long
in discovering that the character of his associates had entirely changed.
You know that both himself and the Governor were Scotchmen by birth, and
in that country there was a strong predilection for the hereditary claimant of
the crown, running through all ranks of society, more or less. Even with
those who held office and had fought for the existing order of things, their
affections were with the young Chevalier. Besides, it was thought that the
Queen could not live long, and there was little hope entertained even then, of
a direct hereditary descent of the crown. I believe that if the question could
have been impartially put to the Scotch people, without fear or favor weighing
in either scale, whether the young Stewart or a foreigner should reign,
that the former would have obtained seventy-five in every hundred votes.
Gen. Elliot in his then recent excursion into one of the counties of England,
had (most unfortunately, as it turned out.) encountered the young Pretender
himself. He became at once charmed with the youth, and enamored of his
cause. This result was brought about, not a little by the disgust which filled
his breast against the ministry for their treatment of his patron and commander,
the Duke of Marlborough, who was just then beginning to reap that bitter
harvest of ingratitude with which his sovereign repaid his noble achievements.

“Gen: Elliot on his second visit to Edinburgh, had come expressly on business
connected with another contemplated attempt of the Chevalier, and
hence his perplexed air and new associates. His time was now almost wholly
taken up with these men, and a very extensive correspondence. We were
not long in discovering that something very unusual was in progress, and it
was therefore, I suppose, that the General determined to take us into his fatal
confidence. It was with no desire to involve us in difficulties, for his own
sanguine nature scarcely contemplated defeat; but if he had any misgivings
he was not to blame, for he was in some measure compelled to take us into
his confidence, owing to Frank's intimacy with him—brought about by his
position with regard to this country, and Frank and I, you know, were relations,
and very intimate of course. So that we were almost without premeditation,
linked in the treasonable affair. Not that we designed to commit treason,
or contemplated our acts as such; we had been led to believe that we
were espousing the cause of the rightful heir to the crown, and that it was
our opponents who were the traitors. It is success you know that re-baptizes
these things with new names—rebellion is patriotism when successful; and
treason, when defeated.

“The better to blind suspicion, we were still nominally attending our Collegiate
routine, but in reality hatching a most formidable plot against the occupant
of the crown. Gen. Elliot was not a man to go tamely to work in
any thing that he undertook; his whole heart and soul were in the enterprise,
and we were not less heartily engaged.

“He had now taken a house, the better to have complete control over all
those around him, and for the purpose of receiving such young gentlemen as

were anxious to join our cause. Such neophytes were generally sounded
first by my cousin or myself, and if found of the right materials, were then
introduced at head-quarters, which the General's house literally was. Over
his household, a young lady presided, who I must say was one of the most
arch little traitors that ever ran away with the hearts of a set of young gentlemen.
My cousin was greatly attracted by her society, as well as myself.”

Poor Ellen, she looked aghast at this, which the young man seeing, he
quickly added, “But-Frank's attentions to this most charming lady, were dictated
by the purest brotherly regard, in which you would have joined him,
heart and hand, had you been there. Her name is Engenia Elliot, a relation
of the General's. She came to this country in the same vessel with me.”

“To this country!” exclaimed Ellen in surprise, “Where is she?”

“Not long ago, she was in that very house.”

“Is it possible? I never heard this before.”

“Did you hear nothing of the three masks?”

“Ah, then you were one of the three, and this young lady was another,
and who was the third?”

“Her father, Humphrey Elliot, Esq., another of those unfortunate gentlemen
like my cousin and myself, who were ruined in fortune and reputation.”

“And where are they now?”

“Gone to a place called Germana, a frontier settlement, I believe. They
have doubtless changed their names ere this, and are happily settled, I hope,
in as peaceful and as happy seclusion as their circumstances will permit.”

“And why have you kept these things from Governor Spotswood, when you
know that he has been making such anxious inquiries for them?”

“Because I pledged myself to Mr. Elliot that I would do so, and I now
only reveal them to you to make my story complete, and under the same injunction
of secrecy.”

“It shall be observed faithfully, but go on with your narrative.”

“While our preparations were in such fine train, as we supposed, for the intended
enterprise, and just on the eve of accomplishment, the city was one
morning astounded with the news that General Elliot had been arrested in his
own house, and conveyed to prison. We had scarcely heard the news before
my cousin and myself were arrested, and our papers submitted to the most rigid
scrutiny. Fortunately there was nothing in them which could in the least
compromise us, and we were after a short examination liberated. I need not
dwell upon the melancholy particulars of the General's trial, you have doubtless
read them in the English newspapers; suffice it to say, that he was convicted
of high treason, and sentenced to be beheaded. Before that fatal day
came, all of us who had been implicated in fact, but not in law, resolved to
make one daring and desperate effort for his rescue. You know, also, the result
of the mad attempt. It was led by Frank—he was cut down by the soldiers
on duty, and rode over by a troop of dragoons. No one supposed it possible
that he could survive. He was carried off by a party of Collegians, who witnessed
the affray and recognised him. To the world he has been dead eversince.”

“To the world,” exclaimed Ellen, seizing his hand entreatingly, “then he
yet lives to his friends.”

“I will not, cannot say positively; but I will say, that I saw him after he
was reported to be dead.”

“Oh God, I thank thee!” exclaimed his auditor, and would have fallen
from her seat had he not supported her.

When she had somewhat recovered, he continued: “while he was yet in a
state quivering between life and death, he dictated a long letter to you.”

“I have never received a line from him since that fatal day, and indeed
for some time before.”

“I have that letter in my possession.”

“Oh then give it to me at once—keep me not in suspense.”

“It is in my trunk—if you feel able now to walk to the house, I will hand it
to you as soon as we arrive there.”

“On the instant, I am as strong as ever I was in my life; I could walk to
the capital, if that were necessary.”

Toward the house they moved; the invalid, who but a few hours before
dragged her steps along, now almost pulled the tutor, so impatient was she,
and so buoyant and elastic her step.

When she had received the precious document, she rushed out of the door
leading to her apartment never stopping to thank the donor, or make any salutation
whatever. There he stood in the middle of the floor, his hands still
extended, and his moist eye resting on the place where she last stood.
Whether he envied the unfortunate youth all his misfortunes, who was the
subject of such an undisguised attachment, we cannot undertake to say. His
interest in that pale young creature seemed to have been deeply aroused, but
whose would not, under such circumstances.

She never afterwards recollected how she arrived at her room, but the door
was locked all the balance of that day. Occasionally she was heard walking
about, no one could account for it, except Mr. Hall, and he said nothing. Such
things were so common for her, however, that her prolonged absence was
passed over. Her father, the Governor, and Kate, were all at Williamsburg.

The letter ran as follows:

Dear Ellen:

I still call you so, in spite of all that is passed. Before you receive this
letter, I shall be in my grave; what a termination is this to all those bright
and hopeful dreams of youth, which mutually inspired our hearts at our last
meeting: but I do not regret it—indeed I have sought an honorable death, as
a relief from the deep, deep disappointment of those hopes. Oh, Ellen, you
recollect—you must recollect that blessed evening, when our young hearts
were suddenly and unexpectedly laid bare to each other. Why could not
those blissful moments continue forever? Does the curse which has gone
forth against our race, interdict the continuance of such happiness as was
then ours? It seems so; our betrothal has but terminated as ail other youthful
engagements have done before it; but I did hope other and better things
of her who was so entwined round my heart, that to tear away her image,
would be to unseat my very soul itself; and so it yet appears to me. I can
die, and leave my possessions to my brother; and above all of them, I can
resign you to him—for I considered you as much mine as the pupil of my
eye; but I cannot live and see these things. I would scarcely trust myself
with the sight of you as another's wife, even if that other were my brother.

I could not have believed that it could come to this; and would not now believe
it, if I had not received it from Harry's own hand, and no one who
bears the name of Lee can lie? It was corroborated also by your own mysterious
silence. But think not, still ever dear Ellen, that I have propped up my
feeble frame on the bed of death to utter reproaches against you, far from it—
far, very, far from it. I thought it might relieve your burthened memory in
after time, if I would, before I died, voluntarily release you with my own hand
from all engagemants to me. I know that you were very young at the time
of our rash promises to each other, and I know that our affections are not always
within our own control. Lét not the memory, then, of our youthful
loves poison those of your maturer years.

May you and Harry glide gently down the vale of life, undisturbed by
the trials which have wrecked my peace! May the gentlest dews of heaven
moisten your green paths; and hand in hand may you support each other
through whatever afflictions may be thrown in your way—and at last, may we
all meet hereafter in a higher and nobler sphere of action.

These wishes are sincere and honest, for they are the products of the bitter
and honest hour of death. I could not write them sooner, and it were not safe
to defer it longer, for already I feel the damp dews of death gathering upon my
brow, and the shadowy visions of the dark valley falling over my eyes—they are
covered with mist. Farewell! farewell! Frank Lee.

It would be impossible to depict the various and conflicting emotions which
agitated her heart while perusing this letter. She read it over and over
again, and walked the room with it in her hand, occasionally referring to it,
to note some passages whose meaning she was attempting to understand
more clearly. Night came and still she pondered over that single page of
writing, though she had learned every word of it by heart. The very punctuation
became a matter of moment. A single note of interrogation after the
word lie, though placed there in the hurry of agitated composition, or by mistake,
seemed to her excited fancy as if poor Frank had intended to ask the
question, whether Harry could have falsified her or not. Who is there in
this world of trouble, who has not thus dwelt upon a letter containing bad
news, vainly endeavoring to draw consolation from some chance word by
which the disastrous news might be softened, and torturing the words of the
writer into meanings never meant to be conveyed? Though that long day
and night were spent in grief and suffering, it was merely over a new aspect
given to the old sorrow by the letter. On the whole, her heart was relieved
by a review of the story of the Tutor, and she now, with something like
reason, nursed the hope on her heart, that she would one day yet meet her
long lost lover. In this happy conviction she fell into a deep sleep before
morning, from which she was not roused until the sun was high up in his
daily rounds.

20. CHAPTER XX.
VIRGINIA COURTSHIPS.

In the course of a few days John Spotswood was able to sit up in his
chair, and receive the visits and congratulations of his friends. He seemed
to have lost all relish for the disgusting poison which had thus carried him to
the very brink of the grave, but the same settled despondence still brooded
over his young hopes. Kate was ever at his side, not only anticipating every
desire, but exerting her powers to the uttermost to entertain and enliven her
dejected brother. She read to him, she sang to him, she culled flowers to
amuse his solitary hours, and even affected a gaiety which she felt not, to
cheer him from his settled melancholy; but all to no purpose—to the books
he listened not, to her charming voice he turned a deaf ear, and her flowers he
would take in his hand and perhaps snuff their fragrance, and then let them
fall listlessly upon the carpet beside him. No subject, no book, no person
seemed to possess the least attraction for him, he hardly tolerated the society
of his own sister, delightful as that society was. His whole comfort now
consisted in his tobacco, which the old Doctor allowed him to whiff occasionally.
He would sit for hours with his pale emaciated face thrown up, his
head resting upon the back of his couch, and his eyes fastened upon the
ceiling, or following the rich volumes of smoke which issued from the fragrant
weed, and never utter a syllable.

Kate would steal away into another room and weep and sob as if her heart
would break, and then after removing all traces of her distress, glide back
again to her position at his side. Many times she was compelled to rush out

of the room to hide her emotion, at some remark of her brother's, showing
his utter hopelessness and deep despondence; she was not always alone in
her duties at her brother's sick couch. Bernard Moore spent a great portion
of his time there, and by his lively conversation and playful humor, assisted
Kate in her endeavors to pluck the rooted sorrow from John's heart; but it is
very questionable, whether he was not much more successful in planting the
seeds of it in his own. It is a very dangerous thing for a young gentleman
to see a beautiful girl daily and hourly performing those hundred little offices
which minister to the wayward fancies of an invalid, especially if those sweet
charities are offered with a cheerful spirit and a temper always yielding, even
to the impositions of the unreasonable patient. It is not that man in his selfishness
is looking forward to the days of his own imbecility, when he may
perhaps need a nurse himself—it is not that or any thing like it, that so lays
open his heart on such occasions; there is very little in reference to self passing
through his mind; 'tis purely because it presents woman in her true
sphere; it is because it presents her in the attitude of a ministering angel.

How noiselessly she moves through the room—with what gentle and steady
hands she presents the cup to the parched sufferer—how nicely she balances
the pillow supporting the throbbing temples, and then lays it down again so
softly, that the slumbers of an infant would scarcely be disturbed. There is
no impatience—no drowsiness—no yawning—not even talking, when out of
place—they endure all things, suffer all things.

Kate was wholly absorbed with her brother's condition; she seemed entirely
unconscious that a very assiduous beau was as constant in his attentions to
her slightest wants, as she was to those of her brother. Not that she slighted
Moore in any degree, nor on the other hand, did she manifest that alarming politeness,
which to the discerning lover is the prelude to a dismissal. The most
keen-sighted and sagacious observer of the sex would have been sorely puzzled
to say, in what estimation she held the youth. The Virginia system, or
custom, has always required a long probation of the lover, and during all the
while, how admirable is the self-possession of the sly and demure damsel! Not
a look, or gesture, or word, or pressure of the fingers betrays the state of the
aflections. How this admirable result is brought about, we know not; we
speak of the performance of the ladies' part, as matter of history. The object is
sometimes effected by a playful railery, and affectation of indifference, in other
regions; but it is not so in the Old Dominion. The lady preserves a charming
degree of naturalness in the midst of the most interesting passages of life.
That nature is wholly suppressed, and that there are no little straws floating
upon the still stream, by which the current may be detected, we do not mean
to say. We only speak of the general habits and manners of the people.

Moore (as all other Virginia lovers do even at this day) doubtless weighed
these things, and certainly took encouragement from the examination, as his
perseverance evinced, but Carter did the same, and both could not be right.
Thus holding two admirers exactly equipoised, will our readers accuse her of
coquetry? There was not a particle of that feline propensity in her composition,
which plays with a victim and then destroys him. Nature has placed the
female sex in the defensive in this matter; they cannot woo, but must wait to
be woed; and man in his thousand intricacies of character, and seeming inconsistencies,
retreats as she advances; it is therefore the true philosophy of
the sex to be utterly non-committal, until the all-important hour arrives, when
these conventional barriers are broken down by the other. Then how charmingly
the frost work of that long probation melts before the assiduities of the
ardent and persevering lover! Before that day arrives, there are a thousand
little playful courtships on the part of the gentleman; he often assumes quite
a quixotic devotion, and hesitates not to profess his admiration, at which the
lady looks on quite smilingly and demurely, but these are the mere skirmishes

of the outposts which precede the pitched battle. It was partly on this account
that Moore's position was so dangerous; all this skirmishing and quixotic
devotion to the sex was in a great measure dropped in the sick room,
and he flattered himself that he had caught sundry little nameless confiding
pieces of forgetfulness in Kate. He saw that she looked up to and relied
even upon his presence as a comfort in her present position. In other words,
the sick room breaks down a small portion of these conventional barriers.
They consulted quite confidentially about the varying state of the invalid's
health, and the state of his mind. Was he so selfish as to wish John's sickness
prolonged; we hope not; we know not; it would have been no inconsistent
phase of human nature if he had; but he was constant in his attentions,
and ever instant with his services. Those whispering conversations
which they held in the recess of the palace window, while the patient slept,
were exceedingly comfortable things to the doubting youth. How he drank
in the words that fell from her now all serious and confiding face, and how he
loved to see her eye rest upon him for consolation, after a prolonged gaze
upon her sleeping brother.

On the evening in question, as they thus sat, after a little playful bantering
of Moore's, and several ineffectual attempts to reinstate her in her usual
cheerfulness, she thus spoke to him:

“Will you be frank and sincere with me now, and say, if you know the
cause of this sad change in my brother?”

“Thus appealed to, most assuredly I will Kate; but it is a fruitless frankness
in this instance, for I am as ignorant as yourself. The day that you
sent me in your place to accompany him on the road, I endeavored to draw it
out, but he baffled me.”

“You know more of human nature, at all events, more of young men's
nature, than I do, what do you imagine could cause this dreadful despondence?
Place yourself in his situation as near as you can, what would depress you thus?”

“I know not, unless being crossed in love.” Kate turned her head slightly
from the speaker, and a warm and just perceptible color flashed over her
cheeks for an instant, leaving her face rather pale, and her ears very red. He
continued: “But I do not know that any such thing has happened to John?”

“No,” replied she—“there was a slight effort made by their friends to induce
my brother and Ellen to fancy each other, but they very soon discovered
that these are feelings which, in their origin at least, must be spontaneous.
Neither of them, I believe, were heart-broken by the effort; I can speak with
certainty of the lady.”

“And I, of the gentleman—of course, that cannot be the cause. Have
you never heard of any other attachment of his?”

Kate made no reply, but seemed busied with some mortifying recollection,
and then darted off to perform some little nameless duty about her brother's
sick couch. When she returned, she did not seem to think the question still
required an answer, and the subject was dropped.

That same night Moore was seated in his room at the Hotel, wrapped in
his dressing gown, his feet cased in slippers and thrown over a chair, while
volumes of smoke rose up in pyramids over his head, and broke in fanciful
festoons for many yards around. A large volume, with plates, was open
before him, and his table was strewed with flowers. He did not seem to be
studying very attentively, for every now and then he threw his eyes to the
ceiling, and was lost in a pleasing reverie. Presently a rap or two was heard
at the door, when who should enter but Carter, just from Temple Farm,
Moore sprang up and grasped his hand cordially, as he said:

“Oh, Carter, where the treasure is, there will the heart be also.”

“True, my fine fellow, how is Kate?”

“Well, I thank you, but I had supposed you would ask first about her
brother.”

“You thank me! and who the devil gave you any right to thank me?
You speak as if you were already one of the family. Come, come, Moore,
fair play; there must be no stealing a march upon me. We are pledged to
a fair race, and that it shall not be terminated until we have crossed the
mountains.”

“Ha, ha, ha,” shouted Moore, “Gad, that would be a long track, sure
enough; the Governor to hold the stakes, I suppose?”

“Moore, what a fellow you are, for turning every thing into a joke.”

“Aye, Carter, true; but where my tongue tickles, your's stings.”

“But what do you mean by having these flowers upon your table, and that
huge book on medicine; are you going to study the art?”

“This is a book on botany, and these are specimens. Kate is giving me
lessons.”

“Ha, ha, ha,” said Carter, “love makes fools of us all. You know that
you have no more of the genuine passion than a savage. If she were to
order you upon a pilgrimage to Jerusalem, don't you think you would undertake
it?”

“By Heavens, Carter, we are both going on one little short of it; and if the
honest truth were told, it is more the daughter's influence than the father's
arguments that leds us over those mountains, as studiously as you may pore
over the old veteran's maps. Is it not so?”

“Right, Moore, right.”

“Well, what is the difference now between my courting the daughter with
botany, and your courting the old gentleman with geography?”

“None, except that I fear you have taken the shortest and pleasantest road;
but talking of mountains, I understand our expedition is to be no child's play
after all; there is terrible work with the Indians along our southern borders.
The North Carolinians have had quite a brush with them, and the infection is
extending even to some of our tributaries, and to the whole of the South
Western Indians. I do not like the idea of that fellow, Chunoluskee, being
our guide.”

“Nor I—did you ever hear such stuff as that which he palmed off upon
those three old gentlemen that morning. He is an arrant hypocrite.”

“As ever lived, and yet the Governor will not believe it; he will peril the
success of his expedition, if not the whole of our lives, if his eyes be not opened
before we set out.”

“It must be our business to see to that, but tell me, have you heard from
any more of the counties? Will the young men join us?”

“Yes; I saw the Governor to-night and he is in fine spirits. He says they
are pouring into the capital from every quarter.”

“What, the gentry, or their recruits?”

“Both; some have brought their men, and mules, and horses, and are now
actually ready; while others have been brought here by the proclamation, to
see and learn for themselves. I left at least twenty of the latter down stairs
as I came through; they are smoking and drinking over the discussion of the
subject, even now.”

“How talk they—for us or against us?”

“For us—I think most of them seem to have caught at that new idea of the
Tutors, about the immense rewards in lands. Gad, Moore, that's an extraordinary
fellow, a clever rogue; but the Governor says he's a soldier, every
inch of him.”

“Yes, you can see that in his very step; he never turns his head, but he
seems as if it were on a pivot.”

“But I forgot to tell you the news about him, since you left the Farm; he
is desperately smitten with the old Doctor's little nun.”

“Is it possible?—he is presumptuous.”

“Yes, it is a fact, and what is still more remarkable, the little prude is quite

pleased with his attentions; she seems at last to have found one of our sex
whom she can tolerate, and a pretty selection she has made of it. Only to
think of her rejecting John Spotswood, and then accepting this desperate
adventurer with the seedy garments.”

“As to fortune, Carter, I grant you it would be rather a mesalliance, but in
every other respect he is a match for any man's daughter. I am very much
mistaken if he has not always moved in circles of the highest rank. But tell
me what induces you to think that there is any thing in the story?”

“Well, I'll tell you; since you left the Farm they have been inseparable.
The morning that Kate came away, they spent about half the day together,
over that strange vault at the foot of the garden, about which there is so much
gossip just now; after which she locked herself up for the remainder of the
day and night. Next morning she came out bright as a new guinea, and
again they wandered off together, along the bay shore, he talking poetry, and
she discoursing of heaven, no doubt. Well, they came into dinner, and there
she sat laughing and talking as loud as Dorothea herself. I asked the little
dairy maid in an under tone, if she did not think her friend was hysterical,
for which she slapped me in the face with her fan. It, however, proved to be
no hysterics after all, for she has been quite cheerful ever since, and sits out
the evening in the parlor, and has taken Kate's place at the organ every evening.
There is a great change in her, from some cause or other—others have
noticed it, and her bloom is already returning. If I had not engaged in this
everlasting race with you over the mountains for the prize of Kate's hand,
and if Ellen was not such an intolerable little blue-stocking, I could find it in my
heart to fall in love with her myself; she is a bewitching little fairy after all.”

“Well, how does the representative of all the Lees bear being choused by
a poor Tutor?”

“Oh, there's the sport—Dorothea, I fear, will die with the effort to suppress
her delight; she encourages the mutual attraction of the two quiet ones,
while Lee struts like a peacock.”

“But, Carter, how was it he played the magnanimous to the Tutor, about
the property left him, has he taken all that back?”

“Oh, he was in a patronizing mood then, and cannot very well retract, for
the Governor actually drew some of the proceeds of the estate out of him
before this business commenced. The adventurer carries it off boldly, I assure
you, for he treats Harry as if he were the debtor and Hall the creditor.”

“Such is the fact, Carter, if his story be true.”

“Poh, poh, Moore, will you never learn the world better; I tell you he is
some broken down gambler, or attorney, or perhaps a cashiered officer.”

“How could he have known all that family history which he detailed to Lee?”

“Learned it for the purpose of swindling, no doubt.”

“I cannot believe it; if Hall is an impostor, I'll never trust mankind again.”

“Well, we shall see, for depend upon it if he goes on putting his spoon into
Lee's dish, as he is doing now, that gentleman will soon bring him to the
proofs of his identity. Indeed, I heard him swear before I left the Farm, that
he had suffered himself to be imposed upon, and he wrote a long letter by me
to Attorney General Clayton, upon this very subject. You will be sure to
see a fox chase before the matter is ended. Clayton read the letter in my
presence, and questioned me very closely about the young man, He evidently
thinks with me, that he is an impostor. He says the question can be placed
beyond doubt, in a short time; that there is a man now living in the Colony
who came from the neighborhood of these Hall's in Scotland, and who knows
the young man Henry Hall to whom the estate was left. He is, moreover,
one of the witnesses to this very will, and was consulted, it seems, by the old
lady, about his character and habits, and all that; and her selection of him
from the rest of his family, was mainly through his instrumentality. His name

is McDonald, and Clayton has written to him to be at the capital by the time
the Governor's family remove thither for the season. So you see we are
likely to have some sport.”

“Should this business terminate as you so confidently predict, it will be
another terrible blow to that little sensitive plant of the Doctor's; that is, if
she is really pleased with his attentions, as you say.”

“Tut, tut, Moore, if she can be inveigled from her seclusion by one man,
she can by another. She is no man-hater, take my word for it. It is only
your broken backed girls and old maids seared with the smallpox, that truly
hate the men, and then it is only because they discover the aversion in us
first. I never saw one of your man-haters who was a pretty girl, in my life. I
confess that Miss Evylin came near shaking my faith for a while, but since I
have observed her closely, as she conversed with this man Hall, I have become
more confirmed than ever in my belief. If ever I saw a girl's soul in
her eyes, it was in her's while conversing with that man.”

“You astonish me, Carter. Miss Evylin is the last person in the world
whom I would have supposed would be accessible to a stranger at all, but
that the affair has progressed to the length you describe, really astounds
me. As much as I confess myself taken with Mr. Hall, I would have
preferred a longer probation in the case of a lady.”

“Kate leads us a different sort of a dance, aye Moore? I rather suspect
you would not object to any precipitancy in that quarter.”

“No, Carter, no; you are a generous rival I must confess, and bear off
our mutual sufferings with a happy grace, but will you excuse me, if I
say that I do not think you are very deeply touched.”

“The devil you don't! wherefore do you think so? Is it because I can
still crack my jokes and be merry over my wine and tobacco?”

“Your jokes, Carter, as I said before, sometimes sting more than they
tickle.”

“Ha, ha, ha, they do, do they? I thought I had wrung your withers.
Forgive me, Moore, I have no right to rejoice over your greater sufferings,
but being a fellow sufferer, I have some right to laugh.”

At this time a slight knock was heard upon the door, with sundry scrapings
of the feet. Moore smiled as soon as heard them, and cried come
in. In glided old June, wringing his tarnished cocked hat with both hands,
as if he designed rending it in twain—bowing his head at every step as
he approached, and scraping back his right foot with a grating noise upon
the floor.

“Well June,” said Moore, “what brings you to the capital?”

“I come wid Moss Carter, to fetch back letter for Miss.”

“Ah, and you are going back to the Farm to-night. Well, what's your
will with me, June?”

“Glass rum for poor nigger—please God.”

Moore ordered the servant to bring it, which June having prefaced with
a long speech, by way of toast, drank off at a single breath, and then
smacked his mouth and wiped his lips, and stood as before, still rolling
or twisting his hat with his hands.

“Well, June, now you have got the rum, what next? Your tongue is
loosened; now for the news on the Farm. Have you seen any more ghosts,
since the night of the thunder storm?”

“No massa, ant seen spirit since, but June dreame last night.”

“Oh! well let us have your dream, what was it? About your Miss
Catherine and her beaux again?”

“No, Massa, not dis time. I dreame say, I bin der der trable, trable, trable,
ta-a-ah! clean wha neber been befo. De keep on trable, trable, so tay! at
las, I see high fence—look jis like big wall—he white, jis like chork, ony he

bery shine. When I see dat, I walk all about, der try find who lib dere. I
walk, I walk—tay I see big gate dey tan wide open. I gin peep disway, and peep
dat way—las, I skin he eye open tight, and I see plenty ob people. Some dey
walk about—some dey lay down—some dey eat—some dey drink—some dey
sleep, ugh! dey look so happy. Tay, I look gin, and see some of my fellow
sarbents dey, aint hab noting 'tall for do. One call me—say, `broder June,
come in, come in, glad for see you, him de look for you long time—me too
glad for see you.' I gone in, ugh! de place pirty, for true—I'h! de corn—
de tatoe—ebery ting growin dey. All my fellow sarbents dey walk bout in
de sunshine. No hab no close 'tall—ebery ting comfort—no spade, no hoe,
no plough—nottin 'tall do, but eat and drink, and sleep in de warm sunshine.
I walk 'bout, and I eat and drink, and feel too happy. My Lor', feel too happy
last night—happy for true—so tay, I gwine haben to look hine de do, ugh!
wha you tink I see, mass Moore—wha you tink I see dey?—Lor', massa, see
big red cowskin hang up dey! Kerry, when June see dat, he trable, trable
back gin, till he bark shin ginst skillet, and wake up and find he no nigger
hebben arter all.”

The youngsters burst into a loud laugh, in the midst of which the banjo
player, with many quaint bows, departed, as he had done from his negro
heaven, and was soon riding at the rate of eight miles an hour in the direction
of Temple Farm; thereby verifying the old adage, that a spur in the
head is worth two in the heel.

21. CHAPTER XXI.
HARD WORDS.

While a portion of those in whom we hope our readers take an interest
still linger at the capital, let us again revisit the charming shores of the
Chesapeake—that choice region, which is daily deserted by its natives for an
unknown land of frogs, and vapors, and swamps.

Before another halt century rolls round, the borders of this most magnificent
of all inland seas will be sought for by travellers in their summer rounds, from
both sides of the Atlantic, and its now decaying mansions will be rebuilt, with
far more than their former splendor. The little old squat farm houses, with
their dormar windows, will be supplanted by elegant villas, and neat cottages
and stately castles, and the hundreds and thousands of monuments erected in
memory of the dead of a former generation, and now slanting to the horizon,
and many of them dilapidated and disjointed, will be eagerly sought out by
some old Mortality, and their nearly obliterated insignia restored and redeemed
from oblivion. Perhaps the descendants of these very restless emigrants, now
miring in the swamps of Mississippi, may return, and hunt out the faded and
perishing memorials of their forefathers, and cast their tents beside them, and
say, here will we and our posterity dwell forever, in the land given to our
fathers. Well would it have been for thousands and tens of thousands had
they been content to dwell in this most favored land, endowed by nature as it
is with all that should cheer the heart and content the mind of man. We
say, that in less than half a century, the tide of emigration will roll backward,
and the desolate shores of the Chesapeake yet blossom as the rose. Oh may
that day soon come, when Virginians will learn to venerate more and more
the land where the bones of their sires lie; that land consecrated as the
burial place of a whole generation of high-hearted patriots, and where yet
breathes the purest spirit of enlightened freedom that ever refreshed and pu

rified the earth; that land in which was exhibited that rarest combination of
social arstocracy and public equality—where virtue, and talents, and worth
alone were consecrated to reverence, through hereditary lines of descent.
Many an hour did we toil to replace the fallen cap of some old tomb-stone, of
a sire, perhaps, whose descendants were every one gone to a strange land.
We were accompanied in our labor of love sometimes by one,[7] who even then
bore about his person the too sure evidence that he, too, would soon sleep
with the consecrated dead, whose memories and monuments he loved so well
to cherish.

We could not pass through Old York on our way to Temple Farm, without
one more glimpse at that melancholy and utterly ruinous grave yard; where
the traveller beholds the faded efforts of heraldry, like a cross-bones and
death's head, gaping from every tomb-stone. There the stones themselves,
erected to perpetuate earthly honors, are fast sinking to the grave, staring and
gaping as they fall, and holding aloft their effigied arms, as if in supplication
to the passer by to save them from the threatened desecration. That old
grave yard is turned out like their old fields, to rejuvenate upon the very carrion
which is left from the ceaseless battle that time wages with all things.
Oh Virginians! ye noble few who still cling to the hearth-stones of your forefathers,
rouse up, and preserve these old time-honored monuments—these old
tomb stones, that have withstood the storms of the Chesapeake for a hundred
and fifty years. When those old grave stones are replaced, and flowers once
more bloom over their green and dark forms, then will the regeneration of the
Old Dominion commence, and not till then.

Our readers have caught a glimpse of the position of some of the parties
at Temple Farm, from the conversation of Kit Carter and Bernard Moore;
but there were others at the farm, to whom they were not so amusing. Harry
Lee could scarcely believe his own eyes, when he saw the young lady at
whose feet he had been casting his princely fortune, and not less princely
self, daily wandering along the shores of the bay, and through the garden
and the shady groves, and along the banks of the little brook, with one whom
he considered as only occupying his present social position by sufferance.
He was struck with the fact, that the more Ellen and Hall were together, the
more the hatred of the latter was manifested to him. He determined therefore
to seek an early opportunity for explanation from both. In the meantime,
it seemed to him as if the stay of the old Doctor would be prolonged forever,
so impatient was he for his return. He inquired for him at every meal.

On one of these occasions, Dorothea, with a sly smile upon her face, proposed
to despatch a messenger for the Doctor, if Mr. Lee was getting much
worse, as she said her brother was better, and the Doctor could no doubt be
spared in case of emergency.

“I thank you,” said Lee, “I am not myself the patient who most needs
his valuable services,” glancing scornfully at the Tutor.

“I did not know,” innocently replied the little girl, “but it might be gout
in the stomach, or a disease of the heart, and these things, you know, mama,
are so frightful and so insidious; they never have any external signs, I believe.”

Ellen on these occasions would look beseechingly at her little friend, while
her Ladyship would carry off the conversation upon some other topic, as if
Dorothea had not spoken. On one of these mornings, Lee walked into the
library, at that hour when he knew the Secretary was at work and alone.
He bowed stiffiy to Hall. The latter rose hastily, handed him a chair, and
at the same time stuck the pen behind his ear, after which he took his own
seat, and waited for Mr. Lee to open the conversation, which he did as follows:

“Mr. Hall, in the absence of Governor Spotswood and Dr. Evylin, I have
taken upon myself a very unpleasing duty, and one which I fear in its performance
may inflict pain upon you.”

“I am utterly at a loss to comprehend you.”

“You shall not long remain so, sir—I am not one to shrink from the performance
of what I consider due to the worthy and honorable gentlemen,
whose representative I consider myself, in some measure, in their absence.”

“Indeed—I had rather thought that I had been charged by his Excellency
with representing him in his absence.”

“I thought, sir, that you must be laboring under some strange delusion as
to your position here.”

“I am still in the dark, sir.”

“So I perceive, and it is my intention to enlighten you.”

“I will listen with the greatest attention, and all the respect to which
your remarks may be entitled.”

“Lee bit his lip, and elevated his person still more than usual, if possible, as
he proceeded:

“You must know, sir, that it is not usual in this country, for one who holds
the—the subordinate office of Tutor or Private Secretary, to assume an equal
station with gentlemen of birth and fortune.”

“I am at a loss to know, Mr. Lee, in what I have transcended the indulgence
extended to me by Gov. Spotswood himself. I even abstained from presenting
myself at his table, until expressly commanded to do so by himself.”

“In that matter he had doubtless a right to do as he pleased; but you
must know that the Governor is a very eccentric man, and somewhat whimsical—he
may command you to set at his table to-day, and refuse you to morrow.”

“But, sir, he expressly stated it to me as his desire, that I would set at his
table, as one of his family. Am I to understand Mr. Lee, as expressing a
contrary desire?”

“By no means—I only alluded to your appearance at table as an example,
and because you first alluded to it yourself; my design was to touch upon
other matters—your intimate association with the female inmates of his family.”

`Ah! you allude to my late rambles with Miss Evylin.”

“I do, sir, and it is somewhat remarkable that they should have commenced
the moment the Governor and the Doctor disappeared.”

“With regard to the point of time, I had nothing in the world to do. The
interview was sought by the lady. I state this in justification of myself, and
only under such circumstances as the present, would I say this much.
Further I will not utter a single syllable, unless you can show by what authority
you question me in this matter at all.”

“I have already said, that I consider myself, in some measure, as the representative
of those two gentlemen.”

“Yes, sir, but you are the self-elected representative, and have not yet exhibited
to me any other authority.”

“Then, sir, I have another title to question you in this matter. I have the
authority of the lady's father for occupying a very delicate relation towards her.”

“And the lady's, also?”

“About that, sir, you have no right to question, and I consider it rather presumptuous
in one in your position to presume as far as you have.”

By this time both had risen. Hall replied—“and I consider it equally presumptuous
in you, sir, to question me.”

Lee looked astounded. “Very well, sir,” said he, “I have at least brought
this matter to an issue, and I will state the case to the ladies of the family, and
they can act as they choose, until the gentlemen return.”

“And I, sir, will relate the whole of this conversation, word for word, to
Miss Evylin, so that she at least may know how far each of us have presumed.”

“Beware, sir, how you mention my name in that quarter. I will hold
your person responsible.”

“I don't know what you mean by holding my person responsible. If it be
that you imagine that you can hold me to any sort of responsibility, in which
you will not be equally so held, you have mistaken me, far more than I can
have mistaken my position.”

“We shall see—we shall see—it will depend upon your success in establishing
your claims to bear the name which now you wear. In the event of this
unpleasant business proceeding to hostilities between us, you will not find me
unwilling to yield you far more, in such a case, than I think you have any right
to claim now, in a social position.”

“That is, am I to understand that Mr. Lee is willing to grant me to be a
gentleman in war, but not in love.”

“Beware, sir, how you trifle with me in this matter. It is no proof of either
your courage or breeding to taunt me, while your hands are tied.”

“There, sir, you spoke the truth, and I honor even an enemy for that. It is
indeed too true, my hands are tied, and that I was too precipitate—thus far, I retract,
but the main issue between us must continue, until I establish my claims
to be your equal. Soon after which Lee left the room, with a rather more polite
and respectful air than he had entered it. He nevertheless went straightway
to the parlor, and despatched a servant for Miss Evylin. While he was kicking
his heels in the parlor, we will glance into the Governor's library again,
where we left the Tutor. There was no more drawing of military maps that
morning—he threw himself into a chair and buried his face in his hands, and
if he did not weep, his frame was convulsed mightily like it. This was a poor
preparation for a hostile meeting of any sort, but the bitter things of the heart
will have vent, when alone, however much we brave them away in the midst of
a personal altercation. How many men would see the error of their ways, if
they would thus honestly meditate upon all that they have just said and done
after such an affair; not that Hall regretted, in the main, any thing he had said.

He threw on his hat and walked abroad into the fields to cool his feverish
brow and excited feelings, and to reflect upon what it was best to do, under the
accumulating embarrassments of his situation. He had hoped that the tramontaine
expedition would set out before his own private affairs might come
to a crisis, but that he now foresaw was impossible, and this reflection made
him miserable; for he had entered into all the Governor's plans with spirit and
enthusiasm, and besides had other private motives, above the ordinary youthful
desire for notoriety—to distinguish himself. He was waiting, too, anxiously for
news from Europe—alas, he little knew how disastrous would be the first
aspect of that news to him—he little imagined that at that very moment a
vessel was ploughing her way into the bay, bringing information almost the
reverse of what he expected. Without this last drop to his already brimming
cup, he found the weight of his troubles sufficient for all his fortitude and
patience.

The main subject of his present reflections was the impending personal
difficulty with Mr. Lee. He foresaw that a crisis in that affair was inevitable,
and that it was surrounded with difficulties which would ruin him, if he
seized upon either horn of the dilemma. He could neither fight Lee, nor
refuse to fight with honor, according to the prevailing notions of the country
and the times, and yet he gathered from some expressions dropped by that
young gentleman in their late altercation, that he would force it to such an
issue in the last resort. We will leave him, however, to struggle with his
own difficulties, while we return to Mr. Lee, who waited a considerable
time for Ellen to make her appearance. She dreaded the interview, because
she supposed it was like so many that had gone before it, but she resolved
that it should be the last. As she descended the stairs, she was pondering

the best manner of communicating to the gentleman, not only her utter aversion
to him, but also how she might make him comprehend, with his arrogance
and great self-esteem, that his persevering suit amounted to persecution.
It may be readily conceived that such a train of reflections were not
well calculated to prepare her to receive in a very amiable mood the harangue
which was to follow.

She saw as she entered the room, that she had mistaken his object for
once, and seating herself, kept her eye upon his countenance, with an anxious
inquiring look for his object.

“Miss Evylin,” he began, “I have sent for you, to have some conversation
upon a subject which I fear will be painful, but I felt it to be my duty to do so,
in the absence of Governor Spotswood and your father.”

“You startle me, sir,” she suddenly exclaimed, “will you be so good as to
mention the subject, without farther circumlocution?”

“I am not one given to much circumlocution, Miss Evylin, but on occasions
such as the present, when very delicate matters are involved, it is right
to prepare the mind for the reception of disagreeable news.”

“News!” cried she, “of whom—my father?—has any thing happened to
him?” and she ran up and grasped his arm.

“He is well as you might have divined, from my mentioning his absence as
the cause of my having imposed the present disagreeable duty upon myself.”

“True,” she said, and threw herself into a chair in a listless mood, as if
she cared not what else he might say. She was however mistaken there, for
she was roused again in an instant, as he proceeded:

“Miss Evylin—Mr. Hall has used your name in a way, which I have
every reason to believe was entirely unauthorized by you, and one, too, which
I must say it becomes you to authorize me to contradict at once.”

“Mr. Hall, use my name! authorize you to contradict! why what could
Mr. Hall say of me?”

“Oh, I see that it was all made up for the occasion; I thought it would
turn out so. Why, thus it was. When I took him to task for his presumption
in associating so intimately with the ladies of the Governor's family in
his absence, and more especially with yourself, he with quite an air boasted
that his society had been sought by you, and not yours by him.”

Ellen rose to her feet, and walked straight up to Lee, and looked into his
face, as she inquired in a slow, almost whispered voice, so deep was her emotion,
“Did Mr. Hall use such language of me, and with such a motive, and
with such an air?”

“He did—and I cannot of course speak as to the exact words, but such was
precisely the impression left upon my mind.”

“Mr. Lee, refresh your memory again—I would have perilled my life upon
the truth and honor of that gentleman—have not your own feelings colored
his expressions?”

“I have already stated how the conversation happened, and given you the
result as near as I am capable of—there can be no mistake, for it happened
not half an hour ago, in the Governor's Library.”

She threw herself back into a seat, as one who gives up, and said: “Then
I have indeed been grossly deceived.”

“You have truly, and by as arrant an impostor as ever lived, and as bold
a one. This comes of the Governor receiving men into his family, without
credentials of any sort; but I need not say any thing of his Excellency, for
this man imposed as bold a piece of clumsy swindling upon me as any one,
and is actually now in possession of monies belonging to my aunt's estate.”

Ellen rose to take her leave, from which Mr. Lee endeavored to persuade
her, saying that he had far more important matters to discuss with her, than
the clumsy tricks of an every day impostor; but she pleaded her deep mortification,

and the confused state of her mind, from the perplexing doubts which
still crowded upon her, and that she needed repose and that calm reflection
which solitude alone could give. As she slowly mounted the staire, she
thought of the letter which Hall had brought her, and from whom, and was
on the point of rushing back into the room, and telling Lee that she would
rather doubt him than Hall; but such was his high standing for a man of honor
and veracity, that she did not dare thus to brave the pet of public opinion. She
resumed her way, the same train of reflections still forcing themselves upon
her mind—how could he (Hall) know all the delicate and intricate matters
which he had related to her, if he was the gross and vulgar impostor, that
Mr. Lee represented him to be. Her reason was almost bewildered by these
conflicting views—between the internal evidence of truth in Hall's narrative
to her, and Lee's positive testimony as to his gross and ungentlemanly statement
with regard to herself. In whatever manner he might have possessed
the information alluded to, if Lee's statement was true, he was undoubtedly
some low creature.

Any sagacious observer of human nature will readily divine on which side
the victory lay. Ellen was all a woman, and of course the heart won the
day against the judgment. Nevertheless her indignation every now and then
burst out, whenever she thought of the manner in which he had perverted her
acts and spoken of them. Whatever might be her heart's leaning to the
accused, she resolved that nothing of it should appear in her conduct; that
she would show him that she knew and scorned his assumptions. Such was
about the confused and doubtful result arrived at, when her maid entered to
prepare her for dinner.

In the mean time Lee had not been idle—he next sent for Lady Spotswood,
and to her and Dorothea he related a somewhat similar story, suppressing
particulars in Ellen's case, barely referring them to her for proof of base
ingratitude, as well as falsehood. He found all the ladies prepossessed in the
Tutor's favor, and Dorothea remained so, in spite of all he could say to the
contrary. Of course she did not presume to controvert her mother's decision
in a grave matter like that, in the absence of her father too, but she left the
room tossing her head, and declaring that there was a mistake somewhere.

Lady Spotswood held a long consultation with the accuser with regard to
what was to be done until his Excellency returned, and whether it was best
to send after him; and they came to the conclusion to let the business stand
just as it was; only that all intercourse between the ladies of the family and
the Tutor was to be cut off, except, of course, at table; and ladies generally
understand full well how to keep improper persons at a distance.

Reader, did'st ever see some poor wight who had fallen under the displeasure
of a party in the country, sitting apart? If you have, you can form some
idea of the situation of Hall that day at Temple Farm.

Dorothea encountered young Dandridge as she made her exit from the
family council, and to him she related the story of the Tutor's reputed perfidy.
Little Bob, too, formed one of the youthful council, and the three came to the
unanimous conclusion that he was innocent. How slow is the young heart
to believe in the guilt of those for whom they have taken a liking; and with
all of us, even of maturer age, how easy to believe what we wish to believe.

Bob took his hat straightway and followed his Tutor to the fields where he
had lately seen him. The young man seemed to understand the warmth of
heart which had brought his pupil upon his errand of love, and he silently
folded the lad in his arms, while scalding tears trickled from his scarred face.
The child was dumb at this sight, his own heart was overflowing, and had
any more been wanting, the finishing stroke was added to his convictions.
He took the hand of the Tutor and silently and slowly accompanied him to
the house.

Dinner was soon after announced and Hall took his seat as usual, entirely
unaware of the extent of the prejudices which had been excited against him.
His own countenance exhibited traces of excitement which would have
claimed the sympathy of any company not previously set against him.
There was inexpressible sadness, almost despair, marked upon every feature;
but he had yet to experience a far greater degree of suffering. In that pale
and beautiful face in which he hoped to find sympathy and comfort, he encountered
nothing but scorn and indignation. Not a word was vouchsafed to him
of any sort, and when her eyes met his, it was the cold glance of a distant
acquaintance. He turned an inquiring look towards her Ladyship, and there
he met the same cold displeasure. The conversation was carried on between
her Ladyship, Lee, and Ellen, as if the poor Tutor had been still in Scotland.
Not so, however, the youthful three—Dandridge, Dorothea, and Bob, vied with
each other in helping their favorite to the choice dishes, but he ate nothing.
Altogether it was a very unpleasant meeting. Most of the guests had
departed, except those specially named, and among the others the Indian
Chief, so that there was no relief to be found in numbers.

The meal concluded, Ellen hurried to her room and burst into tears; she
was soon followed by Dorothea, who exclaimed when she saw her weeping,
“I'm glad of it, I'm right down glad of it, so I am, you ought to cry your eyes
out, so you ought, for treating poor Mr. Hall so naughtily.”

“But Dorothea,” said Ellen 'midst her sobs, “how could I help it?”

“Why, slapped Mr. Lee's face and told him to go home about his business.
Didn't he make all this mischief here. Harry Lee will take the house, plantation
and all, if papa don't soon come home.”

“Fie, fie, Dorothea, Mr. Lee is not to blame for Mr. Hall's faults.”

“I tell you, Ellen, it's Mr. Lee who has the beam in his own eye, and he
has swallowed one too for what I know, he's so stiff.”

The little girl flirted out of the room in the pouts, little imagining that she
left behind her, in the heart of the other, a warmer advocate even than herself
in favor of the Tutor.

22. CHAPTER XXII.
WORDS COMING TO BLOWS.

The same afternoon Hall encountered Ellen as she was passing through
the apartment. He followed and begged her to grant him but a few moment's
conversation. She stopped and looking at him with an expression which said
as plain as words might speak it, it is more in sorrow than in anger that I
avoid you.

“Will Miss Evylin deign,” he said, “to inform so humble an individual as
myself, how he has fallen not only under her displeasure, but also that of the
family?”

She replied, “Mr. Hall, you have so grossly misinterpreted what I have
already said and done, that it is hazardous to hold any communication with
you.”

“I have misinterpreted what you have said! never! I have never for one
moment of my life harbored any but the kindest and gentlest thoughts towards
Miss Evylin, much less spoken disrespectfully of her.”

“Then you have been shamefully slandered.”

“I thought as much, and it was therefore that I sought this opportunity for
an explanation. Will Miss Evylin be so good as to inform me what I was
reported to have said of her? I need not ask by whom.”

“You are reported, sir, to have boasted that so far from your having sought
my favor, that I had sought yours.”

“Miss Evylin, this is one of those ingenious falsehoods, which none but a
perverse head or a false heart could have coined out of what I did say.”

“Then you acknowledge that there was some foundation for it.”

“As stated by you, it is wholly false in coloring, and nearly so in fact; but
the world is governed by such falsehoods as these; what is called public
opinion, is made up of these many little streams combined into one great torrent—why
should I endeavor to arrest the mighty current with my puny arm?”

“You can at all events set yourself right in my esteem, by a plain statement
of facts—do you consider it worthy of the effort?”

“Hereafter I can only hope to enjoy the good opinion of the choice few,
among whom I would gladly rank Miss Evylin, I will state how the offence
was given, if offence it be. Mr. Lee undertook to take me to task for pushing
myself, a poor Tutor, forward into society, where my presence was not
wanted. He went so far as to intimate that I presumed in sitting at the table
with the rest of the family, and when I told him I had done so at the express
command of his Excellency, be then changed his ground and claimed to catechise
me with regard to my attentions to you. I challenged his right to do so,
and he then stated that he was an avowed suitor, with your father's approbation.
Under these circumstances I thought myself justified in stating the
fact, that the first interview was sought by you. I stated neither more nor less,
without coloring of any sort, and simply to justify myself from his charge of
presumption. This is the whole of my offence.”

She offered him her hand, as she said, “Mr. Hall, forgive me, but I am not
to blame. I was led astray; I trusted too implicitly to his honor, for though
he did not, it seems, tell what the world calls a falsehood, it answered all the
purposes of one, and was so ingeniously designed as to mislead me and baffle
detection.”

“Aye, his conduct in this affair was not unlike another in which you were
concerned, Miss Evylin; I should have thought that would teach you to
guard your too confiding nature against him; but enough for the present, if I
am wholly reinstated in your good opinion, I am satisfied.”

“You are, and I take shame to myself that even this explanation was
necessary.”

“Having then judged hastily this time, promise that in future, when circumstances
appear to be against me, you will hear my vindication before you
decide.”

“Most assuredly I will.”

“I ask it, Miss Evylin, because I foresee that I may soon be placed in a
position from which it may seem impossible to extricate myself. I will not
deny to you, that I am surrounded by difficulties, the causes of some of which
you know more than any other person. I make it, then, my last solemn
request to you, to hear before you judge. Good day.”

He had seen Lee passing in front of the verandah, and followed him down
the garden, where he soon overtook and addressed him, thus: “You came to
me this morning, sir, professing yourself under the painful necessity of communicating
something disagreeable, I now address you under precisely similar
circumstances.”

“I am ready with all patience, sir, to hear you.”

“Few words will suffice to convey my meaning, and therefore your patience
will not be heavily taxed. You prevaricated, sir, in relating our conversation
to Miss Evylin.”

“Prevaricated, sir, and this to me!”

“Aye, prevaricated is the word, sir.”

“Very well, sir! very well! you shall hear from me shortly.” And with

this he strode off, but presently returned, and said, “Hark you, Sir Tutor,
you must establish your claims to be treated as a gentleman, and that
right speedily, or I will not only chastise you in a way you will not fancy,
but I will take such steps as to guard the community from your becoming
heir to any more stray legacies.”

Hall's lips curled in disdain as he replied, “choose, your own manner and
time of redress for the insult which now adheres to you. I shall be ready to
repel in whatever way you advance.” Lee was again retreating, as Hall
continued, “And hark you, in your turn, Sir, beware how you report any more
of our conversations. I will not trust your memory.” This was said in a
bitter sarcastic tone. Lee strode rapidly up to him in a threatening attitude,
with his hand upon his sword, his face but a few inches from that of his adversary,
and replied, “Do you mean to provoke me to forget that we are the only
grown white males upon the place, and that the ladies are under our, or rather
my protection?”

“You should under such circumstances remember the truth, it is peculiarly
incumbent on you to do so.”

Lee drew his rapier and flashed it in the face of the Tutor, as he exclaimed,
“by heavens another such taunt and I will let out your base churl's blood here
upon the walk, in spite of all the restraints upon me. Human nature can
stand no more.”

Hall wore no sword, but he carried a small rattan in his hand, which he
elevated, touching the point almost in his adversary's face, as one who puts
himself in the attitude to guard, exclaiming, “Come on, sir, I am more than
a match for you, even thus.”

Lee scorned his scientific posture and rushed upon him as if he would despatch
him at single lunge, but the next moment found his sword twirling in the
air, and Hall leaning upon his cane laughing at the foaming and now fruitless
anger of his adversary. A few yards distant, among the shrubbery, he
saw little Bob's face peeping out in the same mirthful delight, but truth to
say, it was blanched white with fear, and the color had not yet returned.

Lee clutched his sword and hurried from the garden, swearing vengeance
against the impostor. He rushed to the house, and after a hasty word or two
with Lady Spotswood, ordered his horses and rode post haste to the capital.
Not, however, before he had scratched a few words on a slip of paper, and sent
them to the young man in the garden. They read as follows: “The first
moment, Sir, after you have established your pretended claims to gentle birth
and breeding, you shall hear from me. A reasonable time elapsing and this
not done, I will chastise you at sight.”

Hall's countenance loured as he read this note, and then tore it into fragments
and gave them to the wind, but instantly relapsed into the merry mood
as Bob ran at him with a stick, exactly imitating Lee's murderous thrust.
“He did not see you twist the foil out of Mr. Moore's hand that night, or he
would not have ventured his sword even against your rattan,” said the boy.

“No, Bob, I am glad he did not, and then we should have met differently,
which I assure you I am rejoiced to avoid, more than you can imagine.”

“Well, now I must run and tell Nat and Dorothea, they will laugh till their
sides ache; let me see how it was, thus you twitched him that double demisimiquaver.
I would give my pony if I could just catch that trick.”

“All in good time, Robert, but come here; you must not mention this unless
Mr. Lee communicates it first; now remember, you will injure instead of
befriend me, if you do.”

“Well, to be sure, it's a great privation not to be allowed to tell of this.
But you will not object if I make them promise not to tell.”

“Yes, Bob, I do object; I have particular reasons for keeping it quiet for
the present, and I am sure you would do nothing to injure me willingly.”

“No, no,” answered the boy, “I would not injure you for any thing, and if
telling it would do so, I will keep it though I burst in trying.”

Still he kept on playing with his stick, every now and then bursting into a
loud laugh, as the Tutor would humor him by twitching it out of his hand.

23. CHAPTER XXIII.
THE FALL OF THE LEAVES.

Twilight, that witching time between day and night, came; always a
pleasant hour of the twenty-four, but in Virginia particularly so. Here the
climate, at the season upon which we have arrived, renders it very delightful,
the sun just leaves enough of heat lingering with his departing rays, to temper
the cool breeze of the evening. It is not to be denied, however, that there is
something melancholy in these early autumnal twilights. The leaves of the
green trees which have so long delighted and protected us, begin now to put
on their variegated dress. First the deep green fades to a lighter shade, and
then is tinged with a pale margin of yellow, and finally puts on the russet
dress of winter. Here and there, also, those that have clung to the parent
stem by a frail tenure, loose their vitality, and are seen floating about in the
lazy atmosphere, as if reluctant to mingle with the parent dust.

“The fall of the leaves,” said Ellen to Hall, as they wandered along the
banks of the little stream which wound through the grounds, “the fall of the
leaves in autumn, reminds us too forcibly of the death of a human generation.
These pale heralds of the coming death to all their class, are like the sickly,
and the feeble, and the old, of our race; do they not produce that impression
upon you?”

“Sometimes, but not always. It depends much upon our circumstances at
the time. If the country has always been our home, and we have drawn our
chief delight from rural pleasures, then the impression is pretty sure to be a
melancholy one: but to the city dame, it is the dawn of the gay season, of
routs, and parties, and balls—here I mean in our capital. In London the
season of pleasure is much later. To the literary man they produce a mixed
sensation; a pleasing melancholy, tinged with the philosophy you have described,
and also a cheerful looking forward to long winter nights, and bright
blazing fires, and sweet communion with delightful books.”

“That indeed, gives a cheerful and warm glow to the wintry picture, which
my melancholy imagination scarcely fetches. Your remark has brought to
mind a similar one, with which poor Frank rejoiced my heart one night. Oh
what a bright and cheerful spirit he was blessed with! We were sitting
listening to the dismal howlings of the wind as it rattled our windows and
whistled through the key holes, and the rain and sleet alternately vied for
conquest, when I remarked that it was a dismal night and affected my spirits
sadly. He took my hand and looked up in my face, (we were alone,) and
said cheerfully—`it is from within that the brightest illumination is to be
drawn. There, if the heart, and mind, and affections be all right—is an everlasting
sunshine of the soul—so bright that no night or storm ever comes over
it.' Well, Frank, said I, unlock that magic lanthorn of yours, and try its
bright rays on the contending storm and darkness, struggling for entrance at
all these windows. Look how the contending demons scowl at us from without,
now do drive them away, that's a good boy. Straightway his eye dilated,
and he commenced a description of a domestic fireside scene of comfort, which
really heightened its colors of beauty from the contrast of the darker shadows

without. I imperceptibly caught the bright glow, from his more daring
imagination.”

“Poor Frank,” said Hall, musingly, “some of his brightest fancies have
been extinguished, I fear—like my own:” added he hastily, as he saw Ellen's
eye reading his thoughts.

“No, they are not extinguished,” at length replied Ellen, with a sudden
flash of enthusiasm, “for if alive, those bright illuminations of genius, like
the light of the diamond, but shine the brighter when all that is earthly
around is obscured. There is but one thing on this earth that can extinguish
that glorious light from within—IT IS CRIME! Let the couscience be clear,
and the light of the soul illumines our dreary path—sheds the ray of hope
through the valley of death, and is rekindled again at the parent fountain of
the ever-living God.”

“In this world, man is impelled forward to action amidst the stirring adventures
which are gathered around him like the meshes of a plot, until it
becomes with his doubtful and doubting reason hard to separate the
narrow boundaries which divide crime from errors of judgment. Nay, even
when the actions are past, the ever busy monitor you have named, conscience,
hangs suspended over the deeds, at a loss whether to strike or be silent.”

“For a little while only,” replied Ellen quietly, “when time has sobered the
tumult of the passions which drove him forward, conscience, though scared
away for a while, will come back in the calmer moments of our lives. This
very witching hour of twilight is a favorite time for such visits. In the
bright and pure morning, our spirits are elastic and cheerful, and few heinous
crimes are committed then; in the noon-tide, the storm of human passions
rage, and if the intent is deadly and malignant, it is prolonged into the silent
watches of the night; but with a large majority of our race, darkness brings
repentance for the crimes of the day. What a beneficent provision of the
Creator it was, rolling our little planet but one side at a time next the sun,
that while one half the world fretted, and stormed, and sinned, the other half
might repent and sleep.”

“You seem to have observed mankind!”

“Nay, I am only sporting in borrowed feathers, at all events, only a part of
them are my own. These very subjects were discussed by poor Frank and
myself many a time, before he sailed upon that fatal voyage. So much had we
learned to think in common, that it is hard now for me to separate my own
ideas from his. Doubtless my constant association with him gave a masculine
cast to many of my thoughts, the observation of which no doubt elicited
your remark.”

“No, no, I cannot say that they are masculine; at all events, they are not
unfeminine. Whatever relates to our higher sentiments and our spiritual
natures, certainly belongs in common to the sexes, and if man has usurped the
whole claim to discuss them, he assuredly has no right to do so. Indeed,
your sex is so much purer than ours, that any thing of heavenly philosophy
seems to fall with peculiar propriety from their lips. Poor Frank! indeed he
little knew how the germs of his young mature philosophy have been treasured
in his absence, and into what good ground they had fallen, and to what
a rich truition they are even now springing up. Do you know that every
boyish dreamer sketches, for his own futurity, the very circumstances which
have fallen as a rich inheritance to my friend in his absence?”

“I cannot say that I understand you fully.”

“Every youth, in the hey-day of his imagination, sketches out some charming
little beau-ideal of a partner for life, and into this beautiful creation of
his own he almost performs the part of creator, for he breathes into her
such feelings, sentiments, and opinions as he desires she should possess;
now here is poor Frank, with the ideal creature reduced to reality; but like

all the bright glimpses vouchsafed to our race, no sooner is it perfected ready
for him to grasp, than it either eludes his pursuit, or he is himself engulphed
in that remorseless and relentless vortex, whither have been hurried so many
bright spirits before him.”

“I certainly feel flattered, Mr. Hall, that you should consider me worthy
to represent Frank's ideal creations, but I fear the drapery with which your
own imagination has clothed me would speedily vanish, amidst the stern
realities of such a homely world as ours. I am conscious of the fact, however,
so far as the mind is concerned; for there is not a day of my life, and
scarcely an hour, as you have seen, that I do not detect myself uttering
some of his sentiments at second hand; His mental superiority must have
been greater than even I gave him credit for, as I can see the impress of his
association even upon your own thoughts, as unconscious as you may be of it.”

“I grant you that his influence over me was very great, not less than that
which was swayed so powerfully over your own days of childhood.”

“Nearly every girl that arrives at womanhood has passed through the
same schooling of the affections. True, in our cases, there was a constant
similarity in training, association, and circumstances, which merged down
the dissimilarities of mental character, but in every other case, the experience
is the same, even without these. The heart of every girl clings to some
image or other, real or imaginary, and they cling to it through life, whether
married or single. If married, the idol of the imagination is set up in secret,
as one of the household Gods, and this is one reason there is so much matrimonial
unhappiness. It was the early observation of these very things
which led me so pertinaciously to cling to that prize which I had drawn in
the lottery of life; and I shall continue to cling to it, even if it is but shadow,
far preferring that to all the real pomps and honors which this world affords.”

“The experience of our race seems to be every where the same. Not
only was it cursed and condemned to earn its bread by the sweat of the
brow, but the sentence extends much farther. All that beautiful poetry of the
fresh and pure young hearts' sentiments, which promises such a heavenly
harvest of future flowers, before those sentiments become tained with
grosser passions, seem never destined to fruition in this world. We are just
allowed to peep into the garden of Eden, and then banished forever amidst
the dark by-ways and crowded thoroughfares of busy life. True, we cling
fondly to the memory of this poetic dream of youth, and doubtless these
bright morning glories continue to throw a mellow but saddened light over all
the future. This constitutes the sum and substance of our ideal paradise in
this world, the poetry of real life.”

“And do you really think there is no exception to the sweeping denunciation?
Are there none who ever realize the romantic dreams of youth?”

“Oh, very few indeed. Look into your own experience, Miss Evylin. You
are one of the very few who have struggled hereically against this sweeping
flood of the busy world, which overwhelms nearly all who oppose it. Where
there is one who thus stands out against the decree, hundreds have fallen
victims around; some to ambition—some to avarice, and a much larger
portion to the mixed motives which interested parents know so well how to
ply the young heart with. And even you, are you not daily beset to listen to
the voice of the temper? Comes he not to you, with splendid estates, and
gaudy establishments, and tinselied honors, which your sex loves so well?”

“True, true—but I would not give up that one dear, dear dream of my
young life, for all the honors of the world.”

“And do you know the fate of the pious and noble few of your sex, who
thus devote their lives to the perpetuation of life's young dream?”

“No, I have never counted the cost.”

“It is a life of single blessedness. Pardon me, Miss Evylin, but you are

a candidate for admission into that abused sisterhood yeleped old maids—that
slandered and traduced class—nearly every one of which are living monuments
of the infidelity of man—that noble sisterhood, which lives forever
upon the memory of the past—keeping up perpetual fires upon the pure and
vestal altars, before whose shrines were offered their first, best, and dearest
affections.”

“Welcome, thrice welcome the lot!” said Ellen, a pure light beaming from
her eyes, as she locked her hands with energy, in the earnestness of her invocation.
“It has no terrors for me. As you say, I can turn back upon the
past, and what is much better, I can even look to the future with hope.
Thanks to that divine personification of hope, charity, and mercy, I can
look beyond the narrow confiaes of this world. Believe me, Sir, these disappointments
of the young heart's freshest aspirations, are not ordered in vain.
If we could here enjoy an uninterrupted paradise, this world would no more
be one of probation and trial; and though I for one am determined never to
be merged with the interested throng you have described, I do not therefore
repine at, and rebel against, an inevitable destiny. My own course is one of
difficulty and self-denial, and perhaps of reproach and odium, and therefore
we, old maids I mean, work out our salvation, if successful, by one road,
while our more ambitious sisters travel another.”

“Oh, I do not mean to class you just yet with the class alluded to—I only
pointed out what would be the result, unless you listened to some of these
splendid proposals so often laid at your feet.”

“I am willing now to take the veil of the sisterhood, and shoulder all the
odium and reproach.”

“What! and surrender up the hope of Frank's being alive, and one day
returning.”

“No, no, not exactly that—I would only take refuge among them, until this
short, and fitful, and feverish state of suspense be over.”

“And should he even yet return, the fountain of your joys has already
been poisoned.”

“How? I pray you.”

“Why, he has been carried by the tide of this world far past those
beautiful eddies in the stream, overhung with green leaves, and redolent
of summer flowers. He has been tossed upon some of life's stormiest
billows, and if not actually wrecked and lost, he may be so weather-beaten
and pelted by the contending elements, as to be, when he comes, like an ancient
mariner, a better subject for repose and repentance, than for a fresh voyage.”

“I know he was fashioned somewhat like other youths—impetuous and
rash, and perhaps ambitious, but no storms of the world, such as you describe,
can ever leave indelible stains or sears upon him. He may be weather-beaten
and worn, but he will be my own Frank for all that, and whatever he may
be—should even his tender conscience have suffered with the wear and tear
almost inevitable in the dreadful conflicts of the thronged, and busy and turbulent
world—still let him be welcome; for better, for worse, come weal,
come woe, joy or sorrow, our destinies are linked forever—throughout this
life, and I trust a longer and a better hereafter.”

Hall's eye fully expressed his unmeasured admiration of the little devoted
creature, as she poured out almost her whole heart. Our readers will readily
perceive that he had been purposely tampering with the purest and brightest
sentiments of her nature, whether in wanton sport or with higher motives,
will be developed as our narrative proceeds. He continued:

“Ah, Miss Evylin, the experience of your pure and charming sex is very
different from ours. Your views of the world, and your estimate of human
nature, are taken through a very clear medium; and pardon me, I do not
wish to flatter, but I must say that Miss Evylin is even exalted above that of
her sox.”

“No, I am sure it is not—my experience of the world has been short, it is
true, computing it in more years, but it has been long in sorrow, and bitter
in disappointment. You yourself have furnished me with some of the evidence
upon which my views are based. What can I think of Henry Lee,
after his conduct to his brother?—and in what way can I interpret his late
disingenuousness conduct to you, unless very unfavorably to himself and to his
kind. I have endeavored to think that the whole proceeded from his blinding
passions, and consequent obliquity of moral vision, but I find it hard to make
excuses for him.”

“And you will find it harder, Miss Evylin, as his character is more fully
developed; but I do not wish to speak touching him—another very unpleasant
altercation has since occurred between us, and he has gone off very much
enraged.”

“I am very sorry for what you state, but I am glad that he is gone.”

By this time they had entered the house.

24. CHAPTER XXIV.
A JOURNEY—THE END UNFORESEEN.

John Spotswood was soon well enough to ride out with his sister in the
carriage, and after several experiments of his strength, and continued improvement
from day to day, it was at length determined to remove him for a
short time to Temple Farm. His spirits had now become placid if not cheerful,
and every one remarked that he began to look, and speak, and act more
like his former self, than he had done for many months before. It was a mere
farewell family reunion which was proposed to take place, preparatory to the
removal of the whole establishment to the capital. That removal could not
now longer be delayed, for the House of Burgesses was soon to assemble,
besides a general meeting of all those favorable to the great tramontaine
expedition. Accordingly, the same principal parties were soon re-established
in the country who were there when we first introduced them to the reader,
with such additions as had been made from time to time. Henry Lee did not
return with the Governor.

It was impossible for his Excellency not to observe that Lady Spotswood
was highly offended with the Tutor from some cause or other, and he very
soon took occasion to inquire into the matter.

He first heard his lady's reasons for the difficulty, and then summoned Hall
to the library to hear his.

“Well, Mr. Hall,” said his Excellency as the Tutor entered, “sit down
here, and tell me all about this difficulty with Harry Lee and the ladies of my
family. For once they seem to have sided with him, and of course are against
you.”

“Not all of them your Excellency—I have satisfactorily explained the matter
to the only one who has afforded me an opportunity, and the one, too,
about whom the unpleasant alteraction occurred.”

“I am very glad to hear it. That is Miss Evylin, I presume.”

“Yes, sir, and I am very sure she will be kind enough to set me right with
her Ladyship, which she can do so much better than I can.”

Hall here related the whole of the conversation with Lee, word for word,
as near as he could recollect it. While he progressed, the old veteran's
brow at first loured, but presently cleared away again, and by the time Hall,
bad finished, he was laughing quite heartily. When this humor had somewhat
spent itself, he wiped the tears from his eyes, and extended his land to

Hall, saying—“Never mind him; if I had been here, the affair would not
have occurred; and if you had known him as well as I do, you would have
given the whole thing the go-by, more especially as it was no more your interest
to quarrel with him than it is mine. In your case, there is an estate
pending, in which his good opinion is worth cultivating, and in mine, there is
a vote in the House of Burgesses; but I suppose it is too late to mend the
matter between you now.”

“It is, your Excellency.” He did not tell him of the rencounter in the
garden—he did not think it necessary.

“But tell me Mr. Hall, is this true that I hear, that you are likely to carry
off the Doctor's charming daughter after all, against all these rich and high
born rivals?—you need not blush man, I meant no insinuation against your
own parentage. Was Lee's rumpus nothing but a freak of jealousy?”

“Nothing else, sir, I solemnly believe, not that there was the least foundation
for it. I have put in no claim to the lady.”

“Aye, claims refers to rights, and these are rights something like squatting
upon lands or our corn laws, which you have heard talked of no doubt. Is it
so, and have you been squatting upon Lee's lands? Come man, out with it.”

`No your Excellency—my temporary association with Miss Evylin grew
entirely out of her solicitude for another. I have no right to bring those
matters farther into discussion between us; but assure you, sir, that our frequent
meetings had very little to do with me personally, any more than the
reader of an interesting history has to do with the historian.”

“Well, well, it is best, perhaps, as it is. Here comes John—I will leave you
with him, for I want you to get well acquainted. You will find that he has
an ardent thirst for military adventure; in the meantime, be sure I will set
all things straight in the other end of the house.”

John came hobbling upon his stick on one side, and leaning on Kate's arm
on the other, looking very pale and care worn. His face, which was before
full and unnaturally fleshy about its lower features, was now thin—clean cut
and intellectual, with perhaps a dash of reckless determination about the thin
closely compressed lips. He had evidently taken a prejudice against the Tutor,
and notwithstanding Kate's warm encomiums, he received him coldly and
rather cavalierly. Hall's late experience had well prepared him for this, and
he bore it with patience and even humility. He waited for John to lead the
subjects of conversation, and dropped in so gently, and yet threw so much
light upon whatever he touched, that John was compelled to respect him, at
least. Kate had left them together.

After John had conversed with the Tutor for an hour or two, his prejudices
vanished, and he then communicated to him a proposition of his father's,
and which he frankly confessed he was unwilling to do, until he had seen a
little more of him. It was that Hall should proceed to the capital, taking
with him the Scotch Irish recruits from York, and there take the command of
the garrison in John's stead, until his health should be entirely restored.

Hall professed the utmost readiness to do so—indeed, he said he would
prefer active employment in the present state of his mind, even to teaching
master Bob, for whom, he said, he had taken a great liking.

“Well,” continued John, “I must prepare you before hand for a motley
array which you will find at the garrison. There are ten companies of the
rangers, a little over two hundred men—they are old campaigners, and well
enough, perhaps; but if the volunteer militia, who have come in with their
homespun clothes, and with the burrs yet in their horses' tails and manes, can
be drilled into decent looking dragoons before we set out, I will call you a soldier
indeed.”

“Never fear, never fear,” said Hall, rising at once to make his preparations
for the march. “Some of Marlborough's bravest soldiers were doubtless
once as raw as your homespun militia.”

“Oh the materials are good enough,” replied John, “these Virginia yeomanry
would fight the devil, or thrice their number of Indians; it is their
appearance which I fear will discourage you, but we are getting them equipped
as fast as possible. You will find ten Lieutenants of Rangers, these we are
distributing among the raw recruits, so that soon we hope to present quite an
imposing little army to the good citizens of Williamsburg. The arms and
accoutrements you will find in the tower, and at your disposal.”

After receiving further instructions from the Governor, Hall was ready to
set out for York. When he went to take leave of the ladies, he found Lady
Spotswood somewhat mollified but still rather stately. Bob shed tears and
begged to be permitted to march over the mountains with Mr. Hall. Dorothes
and Kate were warm and unreserved in their good wishes, and old Dr. Blair
bid him God speed. Ellen Evylin said little, but seemed to feel keenly that
she was about to lose the society of one who had contributed not a little to that
renovation of health and bloom spoken of in admiration by all the party just
returned.

Hall cantered off, attended by old June, with a portmanteau bearing his
baggage strapped behind his saddle. The former had, already exchanged his
seedy garments for those more becoming the society in which he had been
moving, and every time he glanced at his external renovation, it rankled in his
heart to think that the money with which they had been purchased, was obtained
from Henry Lee, not that it long interrupted his reflections as he cantered
down the avenue on his departure from a place where he had enjoyed so
many hours of calm and delightful intercourse with its inmates. His thoughts
were soon running upon far different matters than cocked hats, and silk hose,
and velvet waistcoats. He had sought the Governor's country establishment
as a quiet retreat, where he might for the present shun the observation
of men, and though he was at first thrown into the company of some of
the very persons whom he would have avoided, yet they were now gone, and
he could have remained there for the short time still intervening before the
departure of the family, without danger of exposure. He was ordered off just
at this opportune moment, and into the most conspicuous part of the capital.
Little did he imagine how speedily he would be removed from that position
and in what manner! But we anticipate. There were other and gentler
thoughts which forced themselves upon his attention. Could the image of that
fair little blue eyed girl, be so soon obliterated from the memory even of an
indifferent observer. But to him who stood sponser, as it were, for her long
lost lover, and with a skilful and gentle hand had led her back over memory's
brightest and darkest pages, could he forget her? Was there no impression
left upon his heart by an association so dangerous? Let those of our fair
readers answer who have poured the tale of their unhappy loves into the
willing ear of some very benevolent and sympathizing youth; for our part we
question the stoicism of these youthful philosophers, as much as we question
the possibility of platonic attachments between opposite sexes. Especially do
we question the stoicism of the gentleman, where (as in the present case)
the lady is young, lovely, and intelligent. We do not know that Ellen Evylin
had a sly design upon the heart of the poor Tutor, but this we know, that he
did not leave Temple Farm unscathed. But there were other difficulties
gathering over his head, far more formidable than all the wounds of the heart.

25. CHAPTER XXV.
REFLECTIONS IN PRISON.

When Hall alighted at the Tavern in Williamsburg, after installing the York
recruits at the Garrison, and delivering his credentials to the officer in command—he

was met immediately by a man who was a stranger to him, but
whom Hall soon discovered to have something sinister in the expression of his
countenance. The stranger approached with one of those official bows;
or, “Have I the pleasure of addressing Mr. Hall?” said he.

“You have, Sir,” replied the gentleman.

“Mr. Henry Hall, late Tutor at Temple Farm?”

“The same, Sir.”

“Will you be so good, Sir, as to cast your eye over that paper and tell me
whether it is your signature?”

Hall took the paper and colored slightly as he read it, and then turned pale
as he answered, “It is, Sir.”

“I am authorized by the gentleman in whose favor it is drawn, to request
the payment.”

“To request the payment!” exclaimed Hall, “why, Sir, the debt is not due
to him, except nominally—the money was advanced to me voluntarily by him,
as part of the proceeds of an estate which he himself informed me that I had
fallen heir to, and he told me when that paper was given that it was intended
as a more voucher on the final settlement of the estate, and now he demands
payment almost before the warmth of his hands is off the money.”

“I am sorry, Sir, but I must do my duty.”

“And I am, I suppose, more sincerely sorry—first that I took the money at
all—secondly, that I spent it, after it was taken—and, thirdly, that I accepted
an obligation at all from such a man.”

“Then I am to understand that you cannot pay it.”

“Not to-day, Sir—not until I can write to Gov. Spotswood.”

“I am sorry again, Sir, but if you will read that paper, you will see that I
am required to demand bail.”

“What?”

“Yes Sir, I am compelled to perform a disagreeable duty.”

“And suppose I cannot give bail?”

“Then you must go to jail, I am sorry to say, Sir; but you certainly have
some friend who will go bail for your appearance.”

“No one in the world—at least none here—let me see, is Dr. Evylin at
home?”

“I cannot say, but I will walk there with you, with pleasure.”

Away they walked to the old Doctor's house.

How Hall's heart thumped as the Deputy Sheriff knocked at the door. It
seemed to him as if every jolt upon the pannel was re-echoed by his ribs.
The servant came, but informed them that the Doctor was out of town. Hall
turned away, rather relieved than otherwise, so mortified was he, at the bare
thoughts of asking the old gentleman to bail him from jail, the very first hour
of his appearance in the capital of Virginia.

There was something inexpressibly sad in his voice and countenance, as he
turned to the Sheriff and said: “I am ready now, Sir, to accompany you to jail,
lead the way. I have no other acquaintance in the capital.”

In half an hour he was sitting at the iron grated windows of the prison—
situated in one of the lowest and most disagreeable spots of Williamsburg; but
the locality affected him little. Time and place were to him matters of indifference.

He turned away from the window and paced his solitary cell. His thoughts
became calmer by the exercise, and once his observation withdrawn from without,
they naturally turned within. There all was calm, pure, and bright. He
felt that thus far in the drama of life, he had most signally failed in his part,
but he was conscious at the same time that he deserved to succeed. Like all
the sons of Adam, he knew that he had erred, and of those errors he repented
sincerely—but on the whole, his conscience bore good testimony upon the

cross examination to which he now subjected it. He rapidly passed the main
incidents of his life in review before him, and if he did not grow better from
tracing out the causes of—his present misfortunes, he certainly became wiser.
What a crisis that is in the life of every man, when he thus pauses and contemplates
the first failures of his youth. It is then that the arch enemy of
mankind is busiest with his infernal sophistry. He even suggests doubts of
the beneficence of the Creator, and questions whether we are not, after all,
made in mockery and derision—whether our globe is not one grand theatre;
mankind the performers; and the universe sitting round in the immensity of
space, the audience.

These satanic suggestions find too ready a response in many young hearts,
upon the first experience of disappointment. To a sufferer, farce and tragedy,
and melo-drama, seem indeed strangely and inextricably mixed up in this life—
tragedy treading so closely on the heels of farce, that it is hard to draw the
true moral solution of the wonderful mystery of human life.

One of the wisest and wittiest of mankind has boldly called “the world a
stage, and all the men and women actors;” but if it be so, it is the stage reversed—for
in real life, the actors lead off in broad farce, and as invariably
end in dire tragedy. Oh! if this life is indeed but a frolic for the amusement
of the Gods, it is a bitter jest at which angels might weep. If such alone
were the aim and object of our existence, it was a cruel mockery to add sensibility
to pain, to our capacity for pleasure. Hall had arrived just at that
critical period of life where the buffoonery ends. He had for the better part
of his days been playing in genteel comedy, and of late had taken a few turns
in the tragedy. It was time then to pause and examine the contract, to see
whether he was to play as a mountebank or a hero. It is a solemn and important
question in the life of every individual, upon its answer depends his
weal or wo, throughout his after existence. Oh, happy is that youth, who
comes out of the conflict resolved to pursue the cause of right, and justice,
and virtue, and religion, leaving the consequences wholly with that great
and Almighty Being, who is the author and manager of the mystery which
we cannot solve.

That man's heart never was in the right place, or rather it never was enlightened
with a spark from the true divinity, who suffers the wrongs of the
world to lead and persuade him to desperation.

Not for one moment did Hall's heart waver under the solemn jugglery of
the great author of evil, though his meshes were around him everywhere.
He felt himself a prisoner. He was resolved to adjourn his case to the keeping
of Providence. Oh! what a great and triumphant court that is, even in
this world. The retributive court of equity! Let the triumphant victor in
the court below carry off his perishing honors; there is a silent witness in the
busy throng of evil-doers who comes to the stand at last, and rights the injured
and the oppressed, by the very hands of the oppressors. When some
striking event of retributive providence happens to be revealed to the gaze of
men, how they gape and wonder at the moral miracle, as if God who worketh
in secret were not always overruling the rulers of this world. Let the inmates
of penitentiaries, and the confessions of criminals under the gallows,
speak to the point. Trace out the small and almost invisible links of circumstances
by which their guilt is at last revealed, and the finger of the Almighty
is at the end of it. The gaping crowd of their fellow-sinners calls
the immediate cause of the development an accident; but these things, call
them what you will, have lost or won the greatest battles ever fought upon
earth. The whole machinery of the world, both moral and physical, is
managed by the same Almighty invisible hand, which strikes sparks from
these electric chains. None but the good are truly wise—such are the men
who surrender up the mysterious management of the universe into the hands

to which it truly belongs—such are the men who are content to pursue simple
and unostentatious virtue, leaving consequences, which must be so left at
last by every one, to the only living and true God—such are the men who
become as little children, and are willing to follow where they know that no
mortal may lead. Hall felt that he could not extricate himself from the accumulating
difficulties which surrounded him, but his heart had been bruised,
and torn, and subdued, until he now calmly surrendered the guidance of his
destiny into wiser and better hands; he fully trusted and believed in an all-wise
and overruling providence—he clearly and unequivocally acknowledged it.

He had weighed the great argument of all the wicked of the earth—the
arch tempter had already turned his eyes to the apparent triumph of villainy,
thrift and fawning, throughout all the walks of life, and consequent depression
of honesty and humble virtue, and he deliberately chose the latter as his
portion.

When the rain falls and the floods descend, the gathering torrent rushes
down the accustomed channels in a noisy turbid stream. To the inexperienced,
it looks as if it never would or could become clear again; but presently
the pure and limpid mountain stream begins to work its bright way
through the centre of the angry current—for a while it is lost and swallowed
up in the surrounding filth, but slowly and silently the work of purification
goes on, the muddy and turbulent waves are hurried toward the ocean, and
their places are supplied by the purified waters from above. So it is with the
current of human life; wave after wave of the busy and noisy throng of the
corrupt and the vicious are hurried on to the great ocean of eternity, while
their places are slowly but surely filling up with brighter and purer races of
men. The world is as certainly growing wiser and better, as that its destinies
are ruled over by an all-wise and beneficent spirit. The pure and limpid
stream of christian truth is forever working its slow and silent courso
among the turbid waves of sin and pollution, until the whole ocean of humanity
shall be purified.

Hall was by no means a perfect man, but he now had the sincere desire to
purge his own heart from all those turbulent passions which had thus far
brought nothing but misery and wretchedness in their train. He did not, it
is true, elongate his visage and whine psalms through his nose, and proclaim
to all the world that he was a changed man, but his misfortunes were working
their proper office upon his mind and heart. He was truly humbled in
spirit—he felt that there was a mightier hand at work with all the intricacies
in which he had been successively involved, than the proud and envious
young man who was the immediate instrument of his sufferings.

When the sufferer is able to draw this very definition between the correction
from on high, and the poor instrument in whose hands it is placed, it is
one of the first great lessons in the heart's purification, because he at once
learns to look more in sorrow than in anger upon the immediate author of
his woes, while he bows in humble humility before that power, against which
it is impossible to feel personal malevolence. Happy is that prisoner who
first frees his soul from the bondage of death!

We would not present the imprisoned youth as one who had made large
strides in the upward and difficult journey which leads by a narrow path and
a straight gate, but as one who had learned that the great thoroughfare of
mankind leads to death. He was a mere neophyte, and the best evidence
that he had a true and sincere desire to turn from his evil ways, was that he
felt as a mere child—he surrendered himself wholly to the guidance of that
unseen power which had already so wonderfully delivered him. Alas, his
trials were not near ended. In the very hour that many such thoughts as we
have condensed were passing through his mind, there was one sojourning in
the same town busy entangling the weh more inextricably around him. In

the very hour that Hall sat down to write a short note to Gov. Spotswood,
another individual was penning a very different epistle for the same eye, to
be conveyed by the same messenger, old June.

26. CHAPTER XXVI.
THE LETTERS CONTRASTED.

It was at night, the candles burned brightly, and the fire blazed cheerfully,
while the Governor's family and guests were seated in the same room in
which we first presented them. A more than usual cheerfulness pervaded
the family circle, not only on account of the Governor's brightening prospects,
with regard to the great enterprise of his life, but likewise on account of
John's returning health. They all thought the mystery now cleared up, and
that henceforth his bright career would go on brightening as in days of yore.
Essex had already announced June's arrival from the capital, having just
learned the fact from a little negro who conveyed the important tidings from
the kitchen. He went out to bring in any letters or messages which June
might have brought, and soon returned with the two epistles alluded to in the
last chapter.

The consternation of the circle may be imagined, when the following letter
was read from Hall. They had all before perceived that something therein
contained, had moved the Governor greatly. It ran as follows:

A profound silence prevailed while the Governor (spectacles on nose) read
over this letter. The letter remained in his hand, and his hand on his knee,
while with the other he raised the spectacles upon his forehead, in a thoughtful
abstracted mood. The young ladies waited in respectful silence for a
few moments, expecting every instant that he would burst out into some vehement
exclamation—they could not long suppress their own indignation. Ellen
Evylin was the first to give utterance to her excited feelings, which she
did in no measured terms. Kate took the same view of the subject—while
Lady Spotswood remained entirely silent, watching the changes of her husband's
countenance with not a little interest, heightened no doubt by the late
circumstances which had happened under her own eye.

Dorothea wanted to know how the Sheriff could take Mr. Hall for borrowing
his own money from Mr. Lee.

“A very pertinent question,” said her father, with a nod of approbation.

Carter declared the denouement was what he had been looking for for some
time, and appealed to Moore, whether he had not predicted it when they
were last at the capital.

Moore confirmed the fact of the statement, but demurred to the truth of the
charges, alleging his still undiminished confidence in Hall, whatever might
be the apparent suspicious circumstances against him. “Suppose your Excellency
would read Lee's version of the affair—I see his seal upon the letter
before you,” said he.

“True, true, I had overlooked it, in the first excitement produced by Hall's
letter—let us hear the other side.” Saying which he broke the seal, and read
as follows:

The party was truly astonished by these two letters, both conveying such
surprising news. The Governor took a few turns hastily through the room,
pained and excited. He was very loth to give up one for whom he had
taken such a liking, and for whom he intended such an important share in
the great enterprise; but the evidence was too plain and palpable to be resisted,
and he resolved to let the law take its course. As he came to this
conclusion, he threw himself into a chair and exclaimed, “By heavens I
would have believed nothing less!” “And I do not believe this,” said Ellen
vehemently, her eye bright with excitement, and her frame quivering with
the thoughts which oppressed her.

The Governer was reclining in his arm chair in an attitude almost of hopelessness,
but when Ellen uttered her bold challenge of the truth of Lee's
statement, he sat bolt upright, as if his mind would seize upon the slightest
pretext to reinstate his favorite. “Why, what reason have you to doubt
Harry Lee's veracity, Miss Evylin?” said he.

“The best evidence in the world, Governor Spotswood. He has committed
as great mistakes as this before.”

“Indeed, do you mean to say that the young gentleman has ever knowingly
swerved from the truth.”

“I cannot say whether it was knowingly or whether it is his remarkable
obliquity of moral vision, but I assert the fact, that he has before wronged
others, as much as I believe he now wrongs this unfortunate young gentleman.”

“You surprise me exceedingly—do tell me, I pray you, who the person was?”

“Well, Sir, I have no objection to saying that it was myself.”

All the gentlemen exclaimed at once, “What, a lady!”

“Further than that,” continued Ellen, “I do not say at present.”

The Governor seemed very much perplexed to know what to do—he strode
rapidly about the room—his lips compressed, and his shaggy brows louring
over his eyes, and muttering violent expressions through his clenched teeth.
While he was thus swayed by contending emotions, Moore rose hastily, took
his hat, and left the room. In a few minntes he was followed by Ellen Evylin,
and soon afterwards by Kate. The latter found Ellen in a most earnest
conversation with the former in the verandah. She had never seen her
friend under such excitement. She was pressing upon Mr. Moore a purse

of gold which she held in her extended hand, and which she plead with him
to take.

“No, no, no,” said Moore, “I will attend to all that—guilty or innocent,
he shall have the benefit of the bare doubt. To-morrow morning's sun shall
see him a free man. Will that not content you?”

“No, indeed, Mr. Moore—it will not—I claim to have rights in this matter
which you have not. I beg of you not to deny me.”

“But my dear young lady, if I take your gold and offer it to him, it will
be the very way to make him refuse the assistance; many a sensitive man
will accept aid from his own sex, when he would peremptorily refuse it from
one of your's.”

“Well, take it and give it, without letting him know from whom it comes.
I ask it as a particular favor.”

“Do, Mr. Moore,” said Kate pleadingly, and with a look which was irresistible.

“By all that's lovely,” said Moore gaily, as he pocketed the gold, and
threw on his cloak for the night's ride, “I think I will coutrive some way to
get into jail myself, if it is only to excite the tears of sympathy in so many
lovely eyes. Suppose I find myself in the young man's position before morning,
do you think I should have a couple of as fair damsels contriving my
release?”

“Indeed you shall,” said Kate.

“Good night,” said Moore, kissing his hand gallantly, and striking his
spurs into his horse at the same moment.

The girls returned to their own apartment, and there Ellen informed Kate
of all that had transpired in her absence, but still there were many things
wanting, even to them, to unravel the mystery of the two Halls.

A very keen encounter of tongues was going on below meanwhile, between
Dorothea and Carter. The latter contended that Hall was a bold
bungling impostor, and that he had seen through him at a glance, and that he
had no pretensions to gentility whatever.”

“How comes it, then, Mr. Carter,” asked Dorothea, “that he overmastered
so many of you at accomplishments considered quite refined? How was it at
the small sword?”

“Oh, any French dancing-master may and often does possess such tricks.”

“Aye, but French dancing-masters do not often read the classics very elegantly,
if at all; and here is Dr. Blair, who says that Mr. Hall is an elegant
scholar.”

“Doubtless a schoolmaster, then, some broken down pedagogue.”

“But papa says, he is an accomplished and scientific soldier.”

“Learned no doubt, while acting as drummer or fifer to some marching
regiment—said you not a while ago that he played upon the flute?”

“Yes,” said Dorothea, “he is a musician.”

“I'll tell you what it is, Carter,” interposed the Governor, “if Hall is a
hypocrite and impostor, he is one of the most accomplished swindlers that
ever I have met with. It is a rare thing in my experience of human nature—
and it has not been confined in its range—to see a man descending in villainy,
and elevating himself at the same time in all the elegant courtesies of life.
Neither is it common to see men of that stamp cultivating their minds highly.”

“Oh I grant you,” said Carter, “that he is no common vagabond—he is a
very accomplished rogue, if you will, but still a sly rogue for all that.”

“I am not so sure about that,” replied the Governor. “There may be some
mistake, or Harry Lee may have been imposed upon, or his own feelings may
have colored the matter too highly.”

“What! your Excellency? When he has actually received a letter—a
foreign letter too—with the European post mark, from his real cousin—could

his imagination make facts, stubborn facts, like these? No, no—either Hall
is a consummate swindler and impostor, or Harry Lee is an outrageous liar—
one or other horn of the dilemma you must take.”

“It has an ugly aspect to be sure,” said the Governor musingly, and dropping
off into a brown study, while Carter turned once more to the playful and
amusing combat with his little lady antagonist. But we must follow the
main thread of our narrative; while they are thus agreeably employed.

27. CHAPTER XXVII.
THE WANDERER.

It was a bright moonlight night, and Moore rode merrily on his way, notwithstanding
the melancholy nature of his errand. His fancy was busy with the
sweet pleading Kate—he remembered only that her eyes had rested upon him,
with confidence that her appeal would not be in vain. So busy was his memory
with the most delicate shadows of his mistress' countenance, that he was entirely
unconscious that he was riding the fine animal which he bestrode at a
murderous rate, until his servant made an appeal in behalf of the horse.

His train of reflections were now turning to the other end of the road. He
had a disagreeable duty before him, not in liberating Hall, for that was pleasant
to his feelings, but he would be constrained to show that his confidence
had been a little shaken, far more than he had been willing to acknowledge to
the friends whom he had just left.

This business of the two Halls bore an ugly aspect, and he dreaded the
laceration of feeling he would suffer in seeing a man of gentlemanly feelings
floundering between inextricable tergiversations. Unless Hall came down
frankly and explained the difficulty, he was resolved to make short work of
his liberation and be done with him. He began to see, moreover, that he was
about to interfere in a more delicate affair than he at first imagined. Not that
he was a man to shrink from a task he had undertaken because of any displeasure
of Harry Lee, on his own account; he was anxious to make fair
weather with him because of the Governor's interests.

He rode immediately to the house of the Sheriff whom he well knew, and
roused him up. The whole city was buried in slumber, and Hall himself no
doubt slept soundly after the wholesome and honest self-examination through
which he had put himself. The jailor was next aroused, and together they
proceeded to the apartment of the prisoner. He was, indeed, very unromantically
sleeping soundly, wrapped up in his old military cloak, and stretched at
full length upon a hard straw mattrass. Moore stood and gazed at him for a
few moments, and then remarked to the Sheriff, “that man's face in the honest
expression of sleep, looks as little like that of a swindler, as any man's I
have ever seen. It is impossible to look at him thus without being interested
in his fate.”

“Fact, Sir, said the Sheriff, he has a taking away with him, he has the
whole establishment here, jailors, family and all, interested for him already,
but it is generally the way with your gentlemanly rogues. I have seen some
of them, capital company.”

“You think him a swindler then?” asked Moore sadly.

“Certain I do sir. What else can he be when he takes another man's
name in order to swindle honest people with it.

Moore paid the money without further words, and had, influenced by the
homely common sense of the hard official, determined to slip away without

being seen; but just as he was escaping, Hall sprang to his feet, very much
startled and surprised by the lights and the persons he saw in the room, rubbing
his eyes in perplexity and bewilderment. “Mr. Moore,” he at length
exclaimed, “I ought to say I am glad to see you, but I cannot do so honestly,
under present circumstances.”

“Not when I inform you that I come as a friend,” inquired Moore.

“It will be a friend indeed who will adhere to me, under present circumstances,”
said Hall sadly.

Moore made a sign to the officials to withdraw, when they had done so, he
drew one of the miserable stools which the place afforded, seated himself, and
motioned for Hall to do likewise, which he did upon the edge of his rude couch.

“How far I may adhere to you,” said he, “depends upon yourself. I have
come to release you from confinement in any event.”

“My mere liberation from this place, is a matter of little moment to me at
present, not that I would in the smallest degree lessen the obligation which I
am under to you for the generous intention, but that I consider my confinement
here as a small portion of my embarrassments.”

“Explain then to me, the mystery of the other Hall, you have doubtless
heard that Mr. Lee has received an answer to his letter addressed to Mr. Hall,
which he says, is the real one.”

“I have indeed heard such a rumor, but I cannot do more at present than
beg those who are disposed to befriend me, to suspend their opinions until the
other Mr. Hall arrives. Let us be confronted, and then the mystery may be
explained, and not until then.”

“But why cannot you explain it all now, and authorize me to satisfy your
anxious friends at Temple Farm? Surely this would seem to be the proper
course for you to pursue.”

“No one, Mr. Moore can judge of my circumstances but myself. No one
could be more anxious than I am, to stand fair once more with the dear friends
to whom you allude, but I must be content for the present to be suspected. I cannot
expect them to take my character upon trust, under such adverse circumstances,
and therefore, I do not ask it; all I do request is, for them to suspend
their opinions of me if they can. I promise you that the time will come, when
they will no longer blush to own me; but if they cannot even do that, and they
must condemn me, I will not blame them. They shall not be troubled with
my presence again until such time as I may be enabled to vindicate myself
fully before the world.”

“Well,” said Moore rising and evidently chagrined and disappointed, “be it
so. I cannot force your confidence; until the time you have mentioned—and
for your own sake I hope it may come speedily—I must wait patiently; I at
least will suspend my judgment. I am more than half willing to take you
upon trust now, but I could not promise to reinstate you in the good opinion of
all your friends so easily. You have therefore, I think, decided wisely to seclude
yourself until such time as you are ready to clear your name and fame
from all aspersions. You are free to go hence when you please, and I would
advise it to be as speedily as possible, both from hence and from the capital.
Your creditor will find other means to seize upon your person; indeed I have
heard that he meditated a criminal prosecution. Excuse me, Sir, but I must
be plain with you.”

“No apology is necessary to one in my situation, and more especially for an
act of kindness. My desperate fortunes have arrived at that pass when it
will not do for me to shrink at the bare mention of those things which I may
be compelled to experience in the next twenty-four hours.”

Seeing Moore about to depart, he followed him to the door, and extended
his hand, as he continued, “Farewell, Sir. I shall never forget that you have

rode eight miles and perilled a considerable sum of money to befriend one against
whom the world is almost unanimous in its condemnation.”

“No, no, not unanimous, Mr. Hall, there are gentle hearts at `the Farm'
whom any man would feel flattered to have interested as you have—there is
a warm interest in your favor there, at least. You don't know how much you
are indebted to them for my exertions, which you are so willing to attribute
to my generosity alone. You may find out some day that I am not so disinterested
after all. Farewell, farewell. I hope we may soon meet under happier
auspices.”

Saying which he left the prison, leaving Hall standing at the door, wrapt
in profound reflection. Recovering from his abstraction, he bundled up what
few things he should call his own, tied them up in a pocket handkerchief, and
sallied out into the dark wide world, not to seek his fortune, but repose from
the turmoil of life, and its fierce passions and bitter enmities, and heartless
friendships. His rapid strides soon threw the capital far in his rear. Solitary
and disheartened he passed along the dreary road, cut through the tall pines
those most melancholy of trees. It was a silent and solemn walk in the
moonlight, with no other company, but the grand and gloomy old forest, which
had stood there before the soil was ever pressed by the foot of the white man.
It is a cheerless occupation to walk alone at night, at all times, but when one
sets out, a wanderer from the haunts of men, fleeing from unknown evil, and
seeking repose in total seclusion, he is a philosopher or a christian if he does
not repine at hislot. Hall had one cheering star of hope still glimmering in
his dark horizon, bright eyes and warm hearts still glistened and pulsated in
his behalf, as Moore informed him. “Oh woman!” exclaimed he, as he trudged
on his otherwise painful journey, “Oh woman! blessed angel of love, and
mercy, and charity—this earth were indeed a gloomy and dreary waste without
thee—may my lot be indeed what it now promises, if ever I again doubt thee.
Oh, blessed one above all her sex, pure and bright and constant as you polar
star, may an omnipotent and overruling Providence guard thee, as it has
hitherto done, from the snares of the wicked, untill I may once more resume
my proper station in society—and then—!”