University of Virginia Library

7. CHAPTER VII.

Bradshaw's father, as we have observed, lived
about five miles in the country, on a farm which
had been in his family for several generations—
since the early settlement of this part of the country.
It was situated near the city. It consisted
of two hundred acres; the most of which was in a
state of high cultivation—the rest in wild woodlands.
Mr. Bradshaw, Clinton's father, whose Christian
name was David, tilled it himself, assisted by
a few slaves. The farm lay between two roads
which led from the city, and was known throughout
the whole county as the “Pilgrim's Purchase;”
this title having been given to it by its first proprietor,
who named it in honour of his forefathers. The
house was an old-fashioned one, of but one story,
built of large gray stone, with a long, projecting
roof, very thick walls, and long, narrow windows.
It was built on the top of a hill, which gently sloped
to a plain, that spread out in a beautiful meadow.
Immediately at the foot of the hill, the ground was
rough, and full of small rocks, that, in some places,
projected several feet above it. A beautiful, small
stream wound among the rocks and glided off to
the south, where its waters were greatly augmented.

Over the stream, which was called sometimes
the Branch, and sometimes Bradshaw's Branch,
or Carlton's Branch, according to its location and
to the names of the owners of the property through
which it passed, though it generally bore its first-named
title, grew in some places trees of great
size, to which numbers of wild grape-vines clung,
stretching through the whole tree, and sometimes
falling from its branches in luxuriant clusters. In
other places, (we are speaking of that part of the
stream seen from Mr. Bradshaw's house,) it glided
through unshaded banks, except here and there a
knot of wild brushwood. To the left of the house
was a fine garden, and near it a noble barn, along
the eaves of which boxes were fixed, in which innumerable
martens built their nests in summer.
Near, were all the necessary out-houses of a well-stocked
farm; and they all had an ancient appearance.
Around the house was a number of noble
oaks, beneath which the grass grew long, and of
the darkest green. Behind the house was a large
grove, from which, with great care, Mr. Bradshaw
had had all the under-growth cleared, and every
spring the leaves were carefully removed, so that
the soil formed a beautiful turf, in many places for
yards. Around the foot of some of the largest oaks
grew a beautiful moss, of a silky softness, which
sometimes crept up the trees. Imbosomed in the
grove, and half hid by the trees, the white palings
of the family grave-yard could be seen. Every
thing about the Pilgrim's Purchase wore an air of
rural comfort and careful husbandry. The fences
were all good, and here and there the prying eye
would discover a horse-shoe a-straddle of the rail
or a bit of iron, which had been picked up in ploughing,
thrust into the hole of the post. The fruit-trees
were properly trimmed, and away down in
the meadow, the hay-stacks were raised and strictly
guarded with a temporary fence. The appearance
of the farm and house was very much in keeping
with the character of their owner. Mr. Dayid
Bradshaw was a plain, fine-looking, old farmer, of
the methodist persuasion, and strictly pious: he
was one of the best neighbours and firmest friends
in the country round. His ancestors had always
maintained a most respectable standing, which had
given to the family a popularity and influence,
when they chose to exert them, which was rarely,
that had not diminished in his hands. In all affairs
of interest to his neighbourhood, Mr. Bradshaw took
an unobtrusive, but influential part. He got up
the project, and carried it through, of building a
country church near by. He was mild, yet decided:
any one who knew the father would recognise
the son, from the family likeness; though the
father had none of the ardour, and fiery energy
of his child. The parent's example, however, had
done much to give the son self-control.

Mrs. Bradshaw, the mother of Clinton, had been
a lady remarkable for her personal beauty, her
gentle manners, and her intelligence. She took
great pride in the proper management of her household;
and though in her dress the plainest lady in
the neighbourhood, for, like her husband, she was
a methodist, yet the carriages of her fashionable
neighbours were as often seen at her door as at any
other. Her marriage was a love-match: her father

was a worldly man, who had been wealthy,
and who lost none of his high notions with his
wealth; he was very much displeased with his
daughter, who was an only child, and motherless,
for marrying a “farming drudge,” as he used to call
Mr. Bradshaw; but, in his old age, when deprived
of every thing, his greatest solace and comfort, next
to the society of his daughter, was that of her husband,
under whose roof he died. There was another
inmate of the Pilgrim's Purchase whom we
must not forget—Emily Bradshaw, the sister of
Clinton. Emily Bradshaw and Mary Carlton had
been friends from their childhood. Emily was a
year or more the older, but they had grown up
together, and all their early associations were with
each other and Clinton. Her form was slender
and delicate: she had the intellectual expression
and cast of features of her brother, but they were
softened into womanly meekness and beauty. She
was as gentle as the dove; and her life had glided
along so far, like the stream before her paternal
door—calmly bright—looking up to heaven
and reflecting its beauty: but she had that acutely
sensitive temperament, that is feelingly alive
to the ills of others; with any and every one's
distress she truly sympathized; thus, though her
life passed without sorrow of her own, she felt the
sorrow of others, and had experienced, in this way,
the vanities of life. Spending much of her time
only in the society of her mother, she had ample
time for reading, of which she availed herself.
Every book of any interest was obtained for her
by her brother; and, as he frequently rode out to
the farm, and spent the night there, and almost
every Sunday; for he loved to go to the country
church, and meet his old friends, they frequently
saw each other, and the conversation was often on
books. In this way, Emily's taste for reading was
strengthened and improved.

Behind Mr. Bradshaw's house, through the woods,
about half a mile, stood the splendid mansion of the
Hon. Samuel Carlton, the father of the young lady
who has been already introduced to our readers.
His estate was very large, and he lived, apparently,
in great magnificence, with the occasional display
of ostentatious hospitality; but he was money-making
and rather close; very wordly, and possessed
of considerable talents. He was exceedingly
ambitious of political distinction, and it gave him
no slight trouble to curb certain points in his temper
and character, which, if indulged, he was aware,
would not contribute to his popularity. He had
held, for several years, a seat in Congress. His origin
was humble, and not known in the city where
we open this narrative. When commencing life,
he had emigrated to it, and commenced the practice
of the law. He soon after ran away with an
heiress of one of the first families, and possessed of
one of the largest fortunes in the state, who died in
giving birth to Mary Carlton, their only child. Mr.
Carlton remained a widower, and gradually retired
from practice, devoting his time to speculations in
property with the money he received from his deceased
wife, and to politics. He acquired an immense
fortune.

Mr. Carlton was what you would call a fine-looking

man; portly, with regular features, but a
narrow forehead, and a rather small, but keen, eye.
In his personal appearance he was very neat. His
wife's maiden name was Holliday, a connexion of
the Hollidays of whom Bradshaw and Mrs. Perry
spoke at that lady's party. They were one of the
oldest, wealthiest, and most respectable families in
the state; one of the Hollidays held a high judicial
station under the colonial government of George
the Third. They were very much displeased with
their relative for her marriage with Mr. Carlton,
and all intercourse was suspended between them,
until her death, when they requested Mr. Carlton
to let them take care of her infant daughter, which
he angrily refused. Mr. Carlton knew human nature,
and understood the worth of the Bradshaws.
In fact, actuated by her Christian and neighbourly
feelings, Mrs. Bradshaw attended the bed-side of
his dying wife, and, at the earnest request of the
father, and in obedience to the dictates of her own
heart, took the infant to her home. The earliest
recollections of Mary Carlton were of the Pilgrims'
Purchase, and its kind inmates. They were, to
her, father and mother, sister and brother. For
years, she and Emily Bradshaw pressed the same
pillow, and knelt by Mrs. Bradshaw's knee, night
and morning, and repeated the same prayer. Clinton
was their early playmate. To the country
school, which lay through the woods, between Mr.
Carlton's and the Purchase, they all went together,
for years, when Clinton's health permitted his going;
and when it did not, the girls would sport, in their
play-time, round his couch, and do all they could
to relieve his suffering. They would read to him,
sing for him, gather for him the wild flower, and
the best fruit;—and, in return, as he grew stronger,
and his health became established, he did all he
could to requite their kindness. Did they wish to
take a ride, Clinton would get their horses, and see
that all was right; did they wish to walk, Clinton
was by their side. He would read to them the
new book, or recite passages from the new poem.
Did they wish any piece of finery from town, Clinton's
pony was saddled; and to him often did they
confide the choice and the colour. Though Clinton
attended the college in the city, for years before he
commenced the study of the law, yet he frequently
spent weeks in the country; and, in the summer
time, he would ride home almost every evening.
The girls always looked for his coming, and felt
disappointed and lonely if he came not. Latterly,
since he had commenced the study of the law, his
visits to the farm were much less frequent; and,
for the last two or three years, Miss Carlton had
taken up her residence at her father's estate, and
spent there most of the time which was not occupied
in town, by her various teachers. However,
there was not a day passed, while she was in the
country, that the girls did not meet; and any temporary
absence only served to endear them the
more to each other. Notes and letters passed constantly
between them, when separated, in which
every thing was told with the freedom and frankness
of unreserved conversation.

The neighbourhood of the Purchase was a very
respectable one, and the intercourse social and

friendly. The distinctions of society, known in
the city, were not here recognised—or, if recognised,
it was only in greater respect and kinder
attentions. The whole neighbourhood worshipped
at their county church. Religious meetings, too,
were frequently held in the school-room in which
many of the elders of the neighbourhood had
conned their horn-books. At either of the places,
when there was religious service, the inmates of
the Purchase almost always attended, and were always
expected by their neighbours, between whom
and themselves the kindliest greetings, and the
most friendly offices, passed.

“Gentlemen,” said Bradshaw to Willoughby
and Cavendish, one day, “the beautiful Indian
summer is upon us. I feel as if I wanted to take a
little holy-day. I've been pretty hard at it lately.
Suppose, this afternoon, we go out to my father's;
to-morrow will be Sunday; we'll visit the
county church, and go round and see some of the
old farmers: you'll be as welcome, Willoughby,
as if you were in Kentuck. What say you?”

They accepted the proposal; and it was agreed
that they should start, towards evening, on horse-back.

“Good morning,” said Bradshaw. “I'll walk
down to the market, and tell old Pete we are
coming.”

“But where shall we meet this afternoon?”
asked Willoughby.

“Why, I'll meet you any place you appoint—
or suppose you all meet me at Jackson's livery
stable, at five.”

“Agreed, agreed!” they exclaimed, as Bradshaw
left them to see old Pete.

“What kind of folks are the Bradshaws?”
asked Willoughby. “I believe you have been
often there, Judge, haven't you?”

“Quit that judge-ing, if you please, Willoughby.
Yes, often. They are first-rate people. The
old gentleman is one of the finest looking men
you ever saw; but he is as plain as a pike-staff,
and a rigid methodist;—but, sir, you will see
more dignity of manners in him than in the chief
justice. He will welcome you like a prince; he
possesses the real old-fashioned hospitality; he
will throw his doors open to you, and you may
just do as you list; he has family prayers regularly—he
don't ask you to attend, but he is pleased
if you do attend. Attend, if you wish to realize
your conceptions of a Madonna, and see Clinton's
sister at prayers. She is the most beautiful girl,
in my opinion, in the state. I know it is said
Mary Carlton has no rival, but I don't think so;
to be sure she is transcendently beautiful—with
the most brilliant eye and the richest lip I ever
saw, and she looks as if she would dare all, where
she loved; but I like the pale brow, the dark hair,
and the winning gentleness of Emily Bradshaw
much better. Kentuck, you don't seem to admire
our beauty.”

“Yes, I do,” replied Willoughby; “I admire
beauty every where: but, as Burns says—

“If your heart stands unchanged the ordeal

here, you'll be a `true lover,' as the chap says in
the farce.”

Willoughby laughed, and said—“I don't know
how beautiful Bradshaw's sister is, but, I must
say, the prettiest girl, decidedly, that I have seen
east or west, is Miss Carlton. I don't know what
kind of sentiments you can have, Cavendish, to
object to a lady that `would dare all, where she
loved.' I wouldn't have a girl who wouldn't dare
all.”

“And suppose you didn't act exactly to please
such a dare-all lady?” asked Cavendish.

“But, suppose I did! A woman has her rights
as well as a man.”

“A disciple of Mrs. Wolstoncraft,” exclaimed
Cavendish.

“Pooh,” said Willoughby, “if these are your
real sentiments, you are laying up unhappiness
for yourself beforehand. I wonder if Bradshaw
has not some idea of Miss Carlton?”

“I have thought so,” replied Cavendish. “She
evidently prefers his company to any one's. It is
hard work to read Bradshaw. It is evident he
likes her: but I never could discover whether it
was love. He has that gentle, attentive way, to
every woman he knows. Bradshaw thinks more of
his studies, and of overshadowing success, than of
any thing else. His love would be as strong as his
ambition; he would be a hard rival to get over;
he would play `Allan A Dale' in fine style, if he
could not succeed in any other way.”