The man with the mask :: :: University of Virginia Library

The night is dark; the sky is obscured by
one dense mass of leaden clouds, fringed with
lightning gleams upon the horizon, and the
town of Choktipaw sleeps quiet and snug
between the hillside and the broad river. But
this mansion, tall and stately, and built half-way
up the hill, is illuminated from garret to
cellar. The lofty trees which rise on either
hand, with trunks like sculptured columns,
and foliage thick and branching like the canopy
of a tent, are reddened on every leaf by
the gleams of light which stream from the
mansion windows.

That house to-night may be seen from a
great distance. Illuminated for a festival, and
crowded with guests from far and near, it
shines through the darkness, and looks glad

and joyous in the midst of the black and
desolate night.

And where is this town of Choktipaw? In
Arkansas, good friend, near a commanding hill
and upon the shore of a broad river. More
we dare not tell.

For a week the town of Choktipaw has
been the scene of great excitement. The
Celebrated Preacher — the Popular Preacher
— the eloquent and pious Edmund Jervis,
appeared last week in Choktipaw, and has
preached in the — Church of Choktipaw,
and fired all Choktipaw with the
enthusiasm of his own saintly soul. For a
week a revival has been in progress; one of
the Popular Preacher's revivals, which spread
like fire in a drought, and bring mourners by
hundreds to the altar.

Everybody is occupied with Jervis. His
looks, his tones, the whiteness of his cravat,
the elegant fit of his black frock coat, the
pathos of his uplifted eyes, the alabaster delicacy
of his hands, the sweetness of his manner
— such have been the topics of Choktipaw for
a week, and Choktipaw still talks them over
and over again.

And to-night the Great Preacher is to be
married. To whom? Do not be impatient.
Look through the windows of this elegant
mansion on the hillside, and survey the brilliant
assemblage of wedding guests. Beautiful
girls, grave matrons, sober farmers, and dashing
gentlemen of much leisure and many
slaves, are gathered there in a spacious parlor,
by the light of waxen candles, awaiting impatiently
the appearance of three persons —
the Minister, the Bridegroom, and the Bride.
For the whole country, at least the religion
and gentility of the country for twenty miles,
have been gathered to-night to the mansion of
Col. Thorberry, where the Popular Preacher
is to wed his young and beautiful Bride.

While the guests are waiting on the ground-floor,
while the rich steams of the marriage
supper steal out into the open air, and charm
the nostrils of the negroes, who are grouped
near the brilliantly illuminated windows — let
us ascend into a chamber on the second floor,
and listen to an important conversation.

A grave sedate man, with a round face,
short and portly figure, black dress and white
cravat, is seated in an arm chair, beside a
table, on which a lamp is burning. He rests
his elbow on the table, and supports his round
cheek in the hollow of his hand, and gazes
with a calm sweet look, into the face of a
young girl, who attired in spotless white, kneels
at his feet, and places her clasped hands upon
his knees.

Her dark hair is covered by a veil of transparent
lace, which relieves the colorless pallour
of her face, and imparts a new loveliness
to her calm white forehead, and delicately pencilled
brows. Beautiful in her white bridal
dress, she looks upward, into her Father's
face, her large eyes swimming in tears.

For it is Fanny and her Father that we behold.
In other words, Dr. Arthur Baldwin
and his long lost Daughter. But Dr. Baldwin
has been dead for a year past — Has he?
Tell that story to the gossips of Choktipaw
and they will laugh in your face. Do they
not know the whole story? How the eloquent
Preacher discovered the long lost daughter
of the wealthy Dr. Baldwin, in the suburbs of
Philadelphia, and how the beautiful girl fell
in love with the Preacher, and obtained her
father's consent for the marriage? Not a child
in all Choktipaw but has the story by heart.

And now, while the marriage supper is preparing
and while the marriage guests are waiting,
here in this quiet chamber, the Father and
the Daughter have met for an interesting conversation.

“Did not Edmund discover you in Philadelphia?”

“Yes, Father” —

“Did he not rescue you and Harry from the
dangers of a city life? Answer me, Annie?”

Annie and Harry you must bear in mind,
have taken the place of Fanny and Ralph?

“Yes, father —”

“Did not Edmund send me word that he
had found you — found my long lost children
—” the Dr. passed a finger over each eye;
“And did he not bring you to meet me, without
delay?”

“I remember it well, father. We met
near Prairie Home in Illinois. And then we
resumed our journey, and came to this town
a week ago. I remember it all, and thank Edmund
for his kindness, and speak of him every
hour, in my prayers, but —”

“But Annie!” answered Dr. Baldwin, gently

raising his right hand, while an expression of
deep sorrow came over his face — “But you
don't wish to marry him. Can it be, my child!
Edmund who has restored you to my arms —
Edmund who has been the means of your conversion
— Edmund who walks the earth, like
a Disciple of the Apostolic era — Edmund,
gifted, pious, eloquent and popular! And
you do not wish to marry a man like this!
My child, my child!”

Covering his face with his hands, he seemed
much affected by the conduct of his beloved
child. Poor Fanny — for we must call her
by her old name — beheld his unfeigned emotion,
and burst into tears.

“Father! Father! Do not I beseech you,
think me ungrateful or unkind! You have
only to speak and I will obey —”

He raised his eyes, and smiled and patted
her cheek with his hand.

“That's a good child. You will obey your
poor, weak, affectionate father, who loves you,
all too fondly? You will chase these tears
away, and forget these words of disobedience,
and give your hand, willingly to our dear, dear
Edmund?”

“But Father —”

“That's enough, my dear. Go, child. Your
bridesmaids are waiting for you in the next
room. Go — compose your thoughts — whisper
a prayer or two that the old Adam may
be conquered in your heart — and prepare to
meet your dear Edmund, with a loving heart,
and countenance adorned with peace.”

He raised Fanny from her knees. Hushing
her words by a gentle pressure of his hand
upon her lips, he urged her to the door, and
kissed her on the forehead, whispering —

“Bless you my child! Don't break its poor
old father's heart — that's a blessed child.”

And thus Fanny left her father, and went to
join her bridal maidens. Dr. Baldwin was
alone. Walking along the carpet, from the
window to the light, and back again, he seemed
absorbed in a pleasing reverie. He drew forth
his watch, after a silence of some fifteen minutes
and exclaimed —

“Half-past eight! Eh? The time moves
slowly. At nine they are married.”

When he raised his gaze from the watch,
the Popular Preacher stood before him.

You may have often heard the bold figure,
“he looks as if he had just stepped from a
band box” — but bold and imaginative as it
seems, it was realized by the Popular Preacher
on this occasion.

His dress coat was of the sleekest and glossiest
black cloth. His cravat was of cambric,
elaborately starched; his pantaloons, fitting
closely to his limbs, were as black and as
glossy as his faultless coat. Boots of polished
leather, very neat and tight, pinched his feet
into the smallest possible compass. And then
his face — blooming on the cheek, white upon
the forehead, smiling on the lips and flashing
in the eyes — his face seemed to have suddenly
cast aside the burden of twenty years, as a
ripe silk-worm casts aside its caterpillar skin,
and in an instant, starts into a rainbow butterfly.
From the cocoon of forty-five years
growth — to grasp a bold figure — the silk-worm
of a new youth, had emerged into life.

The top-knot on his forehead, was softened
down, into a mild and wavy curl. There was
an odor of cologne and patchoulli about the
man, from head to foot. The delicate hand —
we mean his left hand — sparkled with a diamond
ring upon the marriage finger.

No sooner did the Dr. behold him, than he
laid his finger significantly upon his lips:

“Well, Doctor? How is it now?” whispers
the Preacher.

“All right. She yields to her fond old
father.”

“You will marry us Dr.? You are an
Elder of our church you know, and have a
right to celebrate the rites of marriage? Besides
it will be a fine spectacle — the father
not only giving away his beloved child, but
performing the marriage ceremony for her. It
will have a good effect.”

“Well, Edmund if you insist. I suppose I
must comply. By the bye Jervis we leave in
the morning” —

“On our way to New Orleans. There —
you understand — we will sail for Europe” —

“That is, you and I?”

“Yes — of course. Leaving these children
in New Orleans, while we make the European
tour in company.”

“Yes. The funds are all right — eh?
What have you done with Ralph? Harry

I should have said, but one forgets the name
of a child, whom one has lost for nineteen
years.”

“He is all right, Dr. He has long since
entrusted the tin box to my charge. And
then I have had many opportunities to win
his confidence, during our journey to the west.
You know the boy is uncouth — but grateful
—”

“Where is he now?”

“I was afraid his rude demeanor might give
our friends an unfavorable opinion of him, so
when he told me an hour ago that he wished
to join a hunting party to-night, I cheerfully
acquiesced. And he will not be back until
morning.”

“Go my dear Edmund. It is near the time.
Compose your mind for this affecting ceremony.
Go — I will join you down stairs in
a few moments.”

And with these words the Father parted
from the Bridegroom.

Their conversation which we have just
recorded, may not seem important to the
reader. But had you witnessed the smiles,
the winks and gestures, which accompanied
its every word, you would have been in no
doubt concerning the prospects and intentions
of this worthy pair.

The Marriage Ceremony!

Pale and beautiful in her white robes, Fanny
stood in the centre of the crowd of wedding
guests, and took the Preacher by the hand,
while her father pronounced the marriage
vows.

And many a beautiful damsel there, envied
the lot of the daughter of Alice Bayne, and
many a wealthy father, desired with all his
soul, a Bridegroom like the Preacher for every
one of his children.

When the marriage words were spoken,
Jervis pressed the marriage kiss on the lips
of his young wife. Fanny blushed and trembled,
and seemed to shrink from his touch, but
that was only maidenly modesty.

Close upon the heels of the marriage ceremony,
followed the marriage supper. Why
chronicle minutely the events of that bountiful
feast? How Fanny in all her blushes, sat at
the head of the table, beside the portly owner
of the mansion, Col. Thorberry; with her
Husband on one hand, and her Father not far
away? How the feast began with a voluminous
grace and continued for two busy hours,
until midnight drew near?

The negroes are dancing on the lawn without,
and the sound of banjo and fiddle, rings
merrily on the air.

A happy marriage, a beautiful bride, a pious,
learned, eloquent and handsome bridegroom!