University of Virginia Library

15. CHAPTER XV.

Hope Leslie met Mr. Fletcher at the threshold
of the door. He was sallying forth with hasty steps
and disordered looks. He started at the sight of
her, and then clasping her in his arms, exclaimed,
“My child! my child! my precious child!”

At the sound of his voice the whole family
rushed from the parlour. “Praised be the
Lord for thy deliverance, Hope Leslie,” cried
Governor Winthrop, clasping his hands with astonishment.
Mrs. Grafton gave vent to her feelings
in hysterical sobbings, and inarticulate murmurs
of joy. Madam Winthrop said,—“I thought
it was impossible—I told you the Lord would be
better to you than your fears:” and Esther Downing
embraced her friend with deep emotion, whispering
as she did so, “the Lord is ever better to
us than our fears, or our deservings.”

It was obvious to our heroine, that all this excitement
and overflowing of tenderness could not
be occasioned merely by her unseasonable absence,
and she begged to know what had caused
so much alarm.

The Governor was beginning, in his official
manner, a formal statement, when, as if the agitations
of this eventful evening were never to end,
the explosion of Chaddock's vessel broke in upon
their returning tranquillity, and spread a panic
through the town of Boston.

The occurrence of the accident, at this particular
moment, was fortunate for Magawisca, as it
prevented a premature discovery of her escape;
a discovery by which the Governor would have
felt himself obliged to take measures for her recapture,
that might then have proved effectual.
The explosion of course withdrew his attention
from all other subjects, and both he and Mr.
Fletcher went out to ascertain whence it had
proceeded, and what ill consequences had ensued.

In the mean time, Hope learned the following
particulars from the ladies. The family had retired
to bed at the accustomed time, and about
half an hour before her return, were alarmed by
a violent knocking at the outer door. The servant
first awakened let in a stranger, who demanded
an immediate audience of the Governor,
concerning matters of life and death. The stranger
proved to be Antonio, and his communication,
the conspiracy with which our readers are
well acquainted, or rather, as much of it as had
fallen within the knowledge of the subordinate
agents. Antonio declared, that having within
the harbour of Boston been favoured with an extraordinary

visitation from his tutelar saint,
who had vouchsafed to warn him against his sinful
comrades, he had determined from the first, that
he would, if possible, prevent the wicked designs
of the conspirators; and for that purpose, had
solicited to be among the number who were sent
on shore, intending to give notice to the Governor,
in time for him to counteract the wicked project:
he averred that after quitting the boat, he had
heard the screams of the unhappy girl, when she
was seized by the sailors; he had been spurred to
all possible haste, but unhappily, ignorant of the
town, he had strayed out of his way in coming
from the cove, and finally, had found it almost
impossible to rouse any of the sleeping inhabitants
to guide him to the Governor's.

Antonio knew the name of the author of this
guilty project to be Sir Philip Gardiner, and its
victim, Miss Leslie. These names were fearful
hints to the Governor, and had prevented his listening
with utter incredulity to the tale of the
stranger. As the easiest means of obtaining its
confirmation or refutation, a messenger was despatched
to Sir Philip's lodgings, who almost instantly
returned with the intelligence, that he, his
page, and baggage, had clandestinely disappeared
during the evening. This was a frightful coincidence;
and while the Governor's orders that
all the family should be called were executing, he
made one further investigation.

He recollected the packet of letters which Rosa

had given to her master during the trial. Sir
Philip had laid them on the table, and forgetting
them in the confusion that followed, the Governor
had taken possession of them, intending to restore
them at the first opportunity. He felt himself
now, not only authorised to break the seals,
but compelled to that discourtesy. The letters
were from a confidential correspondent, and
proved, beyond a doubt, that Sir Philip had formerly
been the protegé, and ally of Thomas
Morton, the old political enemy of the colony;
that he was a Roman catholic; of course, that
the Governor and his friends had been duped by
his religious pretensions; and in short, that he
was an utter profligate, who regarded neither the
laws of God nor man.

And into the power of this wretch the friends
of Miss Leslie were left, for a few agonizing moments,
to believe she had fallen; and their joy at
her appearance was, as may be believed, commensurate
with their previous distress.

Some of the minor incidents of the evening now
transpired. One of the servants reported that
the young sailor had disappeared; and Mrs. Grafton
suddenly recollected to have observed that
Faith Leslie was not with her when she was
awakened, a circumstance she had overlooked in
her subsequent agitation. By a single clew an intricate
maze may be threaded. Madam Winthrop
now recalled Faith Leslie's emotion at the first
sound of the sailor's voice, and the ladies soon arrived

at the right conclusion, that he was in reality
Oneco, and that they had effected their escape
together. Jennet (if Jennet had survived to hear
it, she never would have believed the tale,) the
only actual sufferer, was the only one neither
missed nor inquired for. Good Master Cradock
was not forgotten; but his friends were satisfied
with Miss Leslie's assurance that he was safe, and
would, probably, not return before the morning.

The final departure of her sister cost Hope
many regrets and tears. But an inevitable event,
of such a nature, cannot seriously disturb the happiness
of life. There had been nothing in the intercourse
of the sisters to excite Hope's affections.
Faith had been spiritless, woe-begone—
a soulless body—and had repelled, with sullen indifference,
all Hope's efforts to win her love. Indeed,
she looked upon the attentions of her English
friends but as a continuation of the unjust
force by which they had severed her from all she
held dear. Her marriage, solemnized as it had
been by prescribed Christian rites, would probably
have been considered by her guardian, and
his friends, as invalidated by her extreme youth,
and the circumstances which had led to the union.
But Hope took a more youthful, romantic, and,
perhaps, natural view of the affair; and the suggestions
of Magawisca, combining with the dictates
of her own heart, produced the conclusion that

this was a case where `God had joined together,
and man might not put asunder.'

All proper (though it may be not very vigorous)
measures were taken by Governor Winthrop,
on the following day, to discover the retreat
of the fugitives; but the secret was faithfully
kept while necessary to their security.

The return of his children, and, above all, of Magawisca,
seemed to work miracles on their old father:
his health and strength were renewed, and,
for a while, he forgot, in the powerful influence
of her presence, his wrongs and sorrows. He
would not hazard the safety of his protector, and
that of his own family, by lingering a single day
in the vicinity of his enemies.

Before the dawn of the next morning, this little
remnant of the Pequod race, a name at which, but
a few years before, all within the bounds of the
New-England colonies—all, English and Indians,
`grew pale,' began their pilgrimage to the far
western forests. That which remains untold of
their story, is lost in the deep, voiceless obscurity
of those unknown regions.

The terrors her friends had suffered, on account
of our heroine, induced them to overlook
every thing but the joy of her safety. She was
permitted to retire with Esther to their own apartment,
without any inquisition being made into
the cause of her extraordinary absence. Even
her friend, when they were alone together, made
no allusion to it, and Hope rightly concluded that

she was satisfied with her own conjectures as to
its object.

Hope could scarcely refrain from indulging the
natural frankness of her temper, by disclosing, unsolicited,
the particulars of her successful enterprise;
and she only checked the inclinations of
her heart from the apprehension that Esther
might deem it her duty to extend her knowledge
to her uncle, and thus Magawisca might be again
endangered. `She certainly conjectures how
it is,' thought Hope, making her own mental
comments on Esther's forbearance; `and yet she
does not indicate the least displeasure at my having
combined with Everell to render the delightful
service that her severe conscience would not
allow her to perform.' `She never spoke to me
with more tenderness—how could I ever suspect
her of jealousy, or distrust?—she is incapable of
either—she is angelic—far, far more deserving
of Everell than I am.'

At this last thought, a half stifled, but audible,
sigh escaped her, and reached her friend's ear.
Their eyes met. A deep, scorching blush suffused
Hope's cheeks, brow, and neck. Esther's
face beamed with ineffable sweetness and serenity.
She looked as a mortal can look only when
the world and its temptations are trampled beneath
the feet, and the eye is calmly, steadily, immovably
fixed on heaven. She folded Hope in
her arms, and pressed her fondly to her heart, but
not a word, tear, or sigh escaped her. Her soul

was composed to a profound stillness, incapable
of being disturbed by her friend's tears and sobs,
the involuntary expression of her agitated, confused,
and irrepressible feelings.

Hope turned away from Esther, and crept into
her bed; feeling, like a condemned culprit, self-condemned.
It seemed to her that a charm had
been wrought on her; a sudden illumination had
flashed from her friend's face into the most secret
recesses of her heart, and exposed—this was
her most distressful apprehension—to Esther's
eye, feelings whose existence, till thus revealed to
another, (and the last person in the world to
whom they should be revealed,) she had only, and
reluctantly, acknowledged to herself.

Deeply mortified and humbled, she remained
wakeful, weeping and lamenting this sudden exposure
of emotions that she feared could never be
explained or forgotten, long after her friend had
encircled her in her arms, and fallen into a sweet
and profound sleep.

We must leave the apartment of the generous
and involuntary rivals, to repair to the parlour,
where Governor Winthrop, after having ascertained
that Chaddock's vessel had been blown
up by the explosion, was listening to Barnaby
Tuttle's relation of the transaction at the prison.

The simple jailer, on learning from Everell's
confessions how he had been cajoled, declined increasing
his responsibilities by making the exchange
Everell proposed, but very readily acceded

to his next proposition, namely, that he should be
permitted to share the imprisonment of Cradock.
On entering the dungeon, they found the good
old man sleeping as soundly on Magawisca's
pallet, as if he were in his own apartment; and
Everell rejoicing that he had suffered so little, in
the good cause to which it had been necessary to
make him accessory, and exulting in the success
of his enterprise, took possession of his dark and
miserable cell, with feelings that he would not
have bartered for those of a conqueror mounting
his triumphal car.

Barnaby had a natural feeling of vexation at
having been outwitted by Hope Leslie's stratagems;
but it was a transient emotion, and not
strong enough to check the habitual current of
his gratitude and affection for her, nor did it at
all enter into his relation of the facts to the Governor.
On the contrary, his natural kind-heartedness
rendered the statement favourable towards
all parties.

He did not mention Magawisca's name without
a parenthesis, containing some commendation of
her deportment in the prison. He spoke of Hope
Leslie, as the “thoughtless child,” or, the “feeling
young creature.” Master Cradock was, “the
poor witless old gentleman;” and “for Mr.
Everell, it was not within the bounds of human
nature, in his peculiar case, not to feel as he did;
and as to himself, he was but an old dotard, ill
fitted to keep bars and bolts, when a child—the

Lord and the Governor forgive her!—could guide
him with a wisp of straw.”

Nothing was further from Barnaby Tuttle's
thoughts, than any endeavour to blind or pervert
a ruler's judgment; but the Governor found something
infectious in his artless humanity. Besides,
he had one good, sufficient, and state reason for
extenuating the offence of the young conspirators,
and of this he made a broad canopy to shelter
his secret and kind dispositions towards them.
A messenger had that day arrived, from the chief
of the Narragansetts, with the information that a
war had broken out between Miantunnomoh and
Uncas, and an earnest solicitation that the English
would not interfere with their domestic
quarrels.

To our ancestors, it appeared their melancholy
policy to promote, rather than to allay these
feuds among the tribes; and a war between these
rival and powerful chieftains assured, while it lasted,
the safety of the English settlements. It became,
therefore, very important to avoid any act
that might provoke the universal Indian sentiment
against the English, and induce them to
forego their civil quarrel, and combine against the
common enemy. This would be the probable
effect of the condemnation of the Pequod girl,
whose cause had been espoused by several of the
tribes: still, on a further investigation of her case,
the laws might require her condemnation—and

the puritans held firmly to the principle, that
good must be done, though evil ensue.

Governor Winthrop perceived that Magawisca's
escape relieved them from much and dangerous
perplexity; and though Everell Fletcher's
interposition had been unlawful and indecorous,
yet, as Providence had made him the instrument
of certain good, he thought his offence might be
pardoned by his associates in authority.

He dismissed Barnaby, with an order to appear
before him with his prisoners, at six o'clock the
following morning. At that hour he assembled
together such of the magistrates and deputies as
were in Boston, deeming it, as he said, proper to
give them the earliest notice of the various important
circumstances that had occurred since
the morning of the preceding day.

He opened the meeting with a communication
of the important intelligence received from the
Narragansett chief; intimated the politic uses to
which the wisdom of his brethren might apply it;
then, after some general observations on the imperfection
of human wisdom, disclosed at full the
iniquitous character and conduct of Sir Philip
Gardiner; lamented in particular, that he had
been grievously deceived by that crafty son of
Belial—and then dwelt on the wonderful interposition
of Providence in behalf of Hope Leslie,
which clearly intimated, as he said, and all his
auditors acknowledged, that the young maiden's
life was precious in the sight of the Lord, and

was preserved for some special purpose. He
called their attention to the light thrown on the
testimony of Sir Philip against the Indian prisoner
by his real character—and last of all, he communicated
the escape of Magawisca, and the
means by which it had been accomplished, with
this comment simply, that it had pleased the Lord
to bring about great good to the land by the rash
act of two young persons, who seemed to have been
wrought upon by feelings natural to youth; and
the foolishness of an old man, whose original
modicum of sense was greatly diminished by age,
and excess of useless learning; for, he said, Master
Cradock not only wrote Greek and Latin, and
talked Hebrew like the Rev. Mr. Cotton, but he
was skilled in Arabic, and the modern tongues.

The Governor then proceeded to give many
and plausible reasons, with the detail of which it
is not necessary to weary the patience of our readers,
why this case, in the absence of a precise
law, should be put under the government of mercy.
His associates lent a favourable ear to these
suggestions. Most of them considered the offence
very much alleviated by the youth of the two
principal parties, and the strong motives that actuated
them. Some of the magistrates were
warm friends of the elder Fletcher, and all of
them might have been quickened in their decision,
by the approach of the breakfast hour; for
as modern philosophy has discovered, the mind

and sensibilities are much under the dominion of
these periodical returns of the hours of refection.

The conclusion of the whole matter was, that
Miss Leslie and Master Cradock should receive
a private admonition from the Governor, and a
free pardon; and that Mr. Everell Fletcher should
be restored to liberty, on condition that, at the
next sitting of the court, he appeared in the prisoner's
bar, to receive a public censure, and be
admonished as to his future carriage. To this
sentence Everell submitted at the proper time,
with due humility, and a very becoming, and,
as said the elders, edifying modesty.

Throughout the whole affair, Governor Winthrop
manifested those dispositions to clemency, which
were so beautifully illustrated by one of the last
circumstances of his life, when being, as is reported
of him, upon his death-bed, Mr. Dudley
pressed him to sign an order of banishment of
an heterodox person, he refused, saying,—“I have
done too much of that work already.”

Everell and Master Cradock, who had awaited
in an adjoining apartment the result of these deliberations,
were now informed of the merciful
decision of their judges, and summoned to take
their places at the breakfast-table. While all this
business was transpiring, Hope Leslie, wearied
by the fatigues, agitations, and protracted vigil
of the preceding night, was sleeping most profoundly.
She awoke with a confused sense of
her last anxious waking thoughts, and naturally

turned to look for Esther, but Esther had already
risen. This excited no surprise, for it must be
confessed that our heroine was often anticipated
in early-rising, as in other severe duties, by her
friend. Admonished by a broad sun-beam that
streamed aslant her apartment, that she had already
trespassed on the family breakfast hour, she
rose, and despatched her toilet duties. Her
mind was still intent on Esther, and suddenly
she missed some familiar objects: Esther's morocco
dressing-case and Bible, that always laid
at hand on the dressing-table. Hope was at that
moment adjusting her hair; she dropped her
comb—cast a hasty survey around the room.
Esther's trunks, bandboxes, every article belonging
to her had disappeared. “What could this
mean?” Some solution of the mystery might
have dawned from the recollections of the preceding
night, but impatient for a full explanation,
she seized her whistle, opened the door, and blew
for Jennet, till its shrill notes had penetrated
every recess of the house. But no Jennet appeared;
and without waiting to adjust her hair,
which she had left in what is called disorder, but
according to the natural and beautiful order of
nature, and with a flushed cheek and beating
heart she hastily descended to the parlor, and dispensing
with the customary morning salutations,
eagerly demanded—“Where is Esther?”

The family were all assembled at the breakfast-table.
Her sudden appearance produced

an apparent sensation—every eye turned towards
her. Mrs. Grafton would have impulsively answered
her question, but she was prevented by
an intimation from Madam Winthrop. Everell's
eye, on seeing her, flashed a bright intelligent
glance, but at her interrogatory it fell, and then
turned on Madam Winthrop inquiringly, indicating
that he now, for the first time, perceived
that there was something extraordinary in the
absence of her niece.

Hope still stood with the door half open, her
emotions in no degree tranquillized by the reception
of her inquiry.

Governor Winthrop turned to her with his usual
ceremony. “Good morning, Miss Hope Leslie—
be good enough to close the door—the wind is
easterly this morning. You are somewhat tardy,
but we know you have abundant reason; take
your seat, my child—apologies are unnecessary.”

Madam Winthrop beckoned to Hope to take
a chair next her, and Hope moved to the table
mechanically, feeling as if she had been paralyzed
by some gorgon influence. Her question
was not even adverted to—no allusion was made
to Esther. Hope observed that Madam Winthrop's
eyes were red with weeping, and she also
observed that in offering the little civilities of the
table, she addressed her in a voice of unusual
kindness.

She dared not look again at Everell, whose unexpected
release from confinement would, at any
other time, have fully occupied her thoughts; and
her perplexity was rather increased by seeing her
guardian's eyes repeatedly fill with tears while
they rested on her with even more than their
usual fondness.

Impatient, and embarrassed as she was, it
seemed to her the breakfast would never end;
and she was in despair when her aunt asked for
her third, and her fourth cup of chocolate, and
when the dismissal of the table awaited old Cradock's
discussion of a replenished plate of fish,
from which he painfully and patiently abstracted
the bones. But all finite operations have their
period—the breakfast did end, the company rose,
and all left the parlour, one after another, save
the two Fletchers, Madam Winthrop, and our
heroine.

Hope would have followed her aunt—any further
delay seemed insupportable, but Madam
Winthrop took her hand, and detained her.—
“Stay, my young friend,” she said, “I have an
important communication which could not be
suitably made till this moment.” She took a
sealed letter from her pocket. “Nay, Hope Leslie,
grow not so suddenly pale, no blame is attached
to thee—nor to thee, Mr. Everell Fletcher,
who art even more deeply concerned in this matter.
Both the Governor and myself have duly
weighed all the circumstances, and have most

heartily approved of that which she hath done,
who near and dear as she is to us in the flesh, is
still nearer and dearer by those precious gifts and
graces that do so far exalt her (I would offend
none present,) above all other maidens. Truly,
“if many do virtuously,” Esther “excelleth them
all.”

Hope was obliged to lean against the wall for
support. The elder Fletcher looked earnestly at
Madam Winthrop, as if he would have said—
“for Heaven's sake do not protract this scene.”
Perhaps she understood his glance—perhaps she
took counsel from her own womanly feelings.—
“This letter, my young friends,” she said, “is
addressed to you both, and it was my niece's
request that you should read it at the same
time.”

Madam Winthrop kindly withdrew. Everell
broke the seal, and both he and Hope, complying
faithfully with Miss Downing's injunction, read
together, to the very last word, the letter that follows:

“To my dear and kind friends, Everell Fletcher
and Hope Leslie.

“When you read these lines, the only bar to
your earthly happiness will be removed. With
the advice and consent of my honoured uncle and
aunt, I have taken passage in the “Lion,” which,
as you know, is on the eve of sailing for London.
With God's blessing on my present purposes, I

shall remain there, with my father, till he has
closed his affairs in the old world, and then come
hither again.

“Do not think, my dear friends, I am fleeing
away, because, as matters stand between us, I
cannot abide to stay here. For your sakes, for I
would not give you needless pain, I go for a little
while. For myself, I have contentment of mind.
It hath pleased God to give me glimpses of christian
happiness, the foundations of which are not
laid on the earth, and therefore cannot be removed
or jostled by any of the cross accidents of
life.

“There have been some notable errors in the
past. We have all erred, and I most of all. My
error hath been exceeding humbling to the pride
of woman; yours, Hope Leslie, was of the nature
of your disposition—rash and generous; and
you, Everell, (I speak it not reproachfully, but as
being truth-bound,) have not dealt with gospel
sincerity. I appeal to thine own heart—would
it not have been better, as well as kinder, to have
said, “Esther, I do not love thee,” than to have
permitted me to follow my silly imaginings, and
thereby have sacrificed my happiness for this
world—and thine—and Hope Leslie's?—for I
think, and am sure, you never did me the wrong to
believe I would knowingly have taken thy hand
without thy affections—all of them (at least such
measure as may be given to an earthly friend,)

being poor and weak enough to answer to the
many calls of life.

“It is fitting, that, having been guided to a safe
harbour by the good providence of God, we should
look back—not reproachfully—God forbid—but
with gratitude and humility, on the dark and
crooked passages through which we have passed.
Neither our virtue—I speak it humbly—nor our
happiness, have been wrecked. Ye will in no
wise wonder that I speak thus assuredly of your
happiness, but, resting your eye on the past, you
might justly deem that, for myself, I have fallen
into the `foolishness of boasting'—not so. In
another strength than mine own, I have overcome,
and am of good cheer, and well assured that, as
the world hath not given me my joy, the world
cannot take it away.

“For the rest, I shall ever rejoice that my affections
settled on one worthy of them—one for
whom I shall hereafter feel a sister's love, and
one who will not withhold a brother's kindness.
And to thee, my loving—my own sweet and precious
Hope Leslie—I resign him. And may He,
who, by his signal providence, hath so wonderfully
restored in you the sundered affections of your
parents, knitting, even from your childish years,
your hearts together in love—may He make you
his own dear and faithful children in the Lord.

“Thus—hoping for your immediate union, and
worldly well-being—ever prays your true and devoted
friend,

“Esther Downing.”

Hope Leslie's tears fell, like rain drops, on her
friend's letter; and when she had finished it,
she turned and clasped her arms around her
guardian's neck, and hid her face on his bosom.
Feelings for which words are too poor an expression,
kept all parties for some time silent. To
the elder Fletcher it was a moment of happiness
that requited years of suffering. He gave Hope's
hand to Everell: “Sainted mothers!” he said,
raising his full eyes to heaven, “look down on
your children, and bless them!” And, truly,
celestial spirits might look with complacency,
from their bright spheres, on the pure and perfect
love that united these youthful beings.

Mr. Fletcher withdrew, and we, following his
example, must permit the curtain to fall on this
scene, as we hold it a profane intrusion for any
ear to listen to the first confessions of reciprocated,
happy love.

Events have already meted `fit retribution' to
most of the parties who have figured in our long
story. A few particulars remain.

There was one man of Chaddock's crew left
alive to tell the tale; the same whose footsteps, it
may be recollected, Sir Philip heard, and on
whom he had vainly called for assistance. This
man was lingering to observe the principal actors
in the tragedy, when the explosion took place,

and, with the rest, was blown into the air; but
he escaped with his life, gained the boat, and
came, the next day, safely to the shore, where he
related all he knew, to the great relief of the curiosity
of the good people of Boston.

Strict search was, by the Governor's order,
made for the bodies of the unhappy wretches who
had been so suddenly sent to their doom.

Jennet's was one of the first found: the shawl
that had been bound over her head still remained,
the knot which defied Sir Philip's skill having
also resisted the lashing of the waves. When
this screen was removed, and the body identified,
the mystery of her disappearance was at once explained.
“Death wipes out all scores.” And
even Jennet, dead, was wrapped in the mantle of
charity; but all who had known her living, mentally
confessed that Death could not have been
more lenient in selecting a substitute for the precious
life he had menaced.

Poor Rosa's remains were not

Her youth, her wrongs and sufferings, combined
with the pleadings of Hope Leslie, obtained for
her the rites of a separate and solemn burial.
Tears, of humility and pity, were shed over her
grave; a fit tribute, from virtuous and tender woman,
to a fallen, unhappy sister.

All the bodies of the sufferers were finally recovered,
except that of Sir Philip Gardiner; and
the inference of our pious forefathers, that Satan
had seized upon that as his lawful spoil, may not
be deemed, by their skeptical descendants, very
unnatural.

We leave it to that large, and most indulgent
class of our readers, the misses in their teens, to
adjust, according to their own fancy, the ceremonial
of our heroine's wedding, which took place
in due time, to the joy of her immediate friends,
and the entire approbation of all the inhabitants
of Boston, who, in those early times, manifested
a friendly interest in individual concerns, which
is said to characterise them to the present day.

The elder Fletcher remained with his children,
and permitted himself to enjoy, to the full, the
happiness which, it was plain, Providence had prepared
for him. The close of his life was as the
clear shining forth of the sun after a stormy and
troubled day.

Dame Grafton evinced some mortification at
the discovery of the fallibility of her judgment in
relation to Sir Philip Gardiner; but she soon dubbed
him Sir Janus; a name that implied he had
two faces, and her sagacity was not at fault if she
judged by the one presented to her. Her trifling
vexation was soon forgotten in her participation
in her niece's felicity, and in her busy preparations
for the wedding; and after that event, she
was made so happy by the dutiful care of Hope

and Everell, that she ceased to regret Old England,
till, falling into her dotage, her entreaties,
combining with some other motives, induced
them to visit their mother country, where the old
lady died, and was buried in the tomb of the Leslies,
the church burial service being performed by
the bishop of London. Her unconsciousness of
this poetic justice must be regretted by all who
respect innocent prejudices.

We hope that class of our readers, above alluded
to, will not be shocked at our heroine's installing
Master Cradock as a life-member of her
domestic establishment. We are sure their kind
hearts would reconcile them to this measure if
they could know with what fidelity, and sweetness,
and joy to the good man, she performed the promise
she gave in Magawisca's prison, “that she
would be a child to his old age.' If they are
still discontented with the arrangement, let them
perform an action of equal kindness, and they
will learn from experience that our heroine had
her reward.

Digby never ceased, after the event had verified
them, to pride himself on his own presentiments,
and his wife's dreams. A friendship between
him, and Everell and Hope subsisted
through their lives, and descended, a precious legacy,
through many generations of their descendants,
fortified by favours, and gratitude, and reciprocal
affection.

Barnaby Tuttle, and his timely compliance

with her wishes, were not forgotten by our heroine.
Persuaded by her advice, and enabled by
an annual stipend from her to do so, he retired
from his solitary post of jailer, and passed his old
age comfortably with his daughter Ruth, versifying
psalms, and playing with the little Tuttles.

After the passage of two or three years, Miss
Downing returned to New-England, and renewed
her intercourse with Everell and Hope, without
any other emotions, on either side, than those
which belong to warm and tender friendship.
Her personal loveliness, Christian graces, and the
high rank she held in the colony, rendered her an
object of very general attraction.

Her hand was often and eagerly sought, but she
appears never to have felt a second engrossing
attachment. The current of her purposes and
affections had set another way. She illustrated
a truth, which, if more generally received by her
sex, might save a vast deal of misery: that marriage
is not essential to the contentment, the dignity,
or the happiness of woman. Indeed,
those who saw on how wide a sphere her kindness
shone, how many were made better and
happier by her disinterested devotion, might have
rejoiced that she did not