University of Virginia Library

6. CHAPTER VI.

Difference of political opinion had produced no
estrangement between Mr. Hugh Trevor and his
brother, though it had interrupted their intercouse by
rendering it less agreeable. Men cannot take much
pleasure in each other's society, when the subject on
which both think and feel most deeply, is one on
which they widely differ. They accordingly saw little
of each other, though an occasional letter passed
between them in token of unabated affection.

I believe I have mentioned that the children of Mr.
Bernard Trevor were both daughters. The eldest,
then seventeen years of age, had been invited to
spend with her uncle, in the vicinity of Richmond,
the winter of Douglas's furlough. He was at that
time about five-and-twenty. His long residence in
the North had not weaned him from his native State.
He had not been flattered into a contempt of every
thing Virginian. Neither his age nor rank gave him
consequence enough to be the object of that sort of
attention. Perhaps, too, it had been seen that he was

a less fit subject for it than his elder brother. Though
much the younger, he had a range, originality, and
independence of thought, of which the other was incapable.
Resting in the esteem of his friends and
the approbation of his own conscience, the applause
of the multitude, the flattery of sycophants, and the
seducing attentions of superiors, had small charms for
him. His heart had never ceased to glow at the name
of Virginia, and he returned to her as the wanderer
should return to the bosom of his home—to his
friends—to his native land. In appearance, manners,
and intelligence, he was much improved; in feeling,
the same warm-hearted, generous, unsophisticated
youth, as formerly.

In the meantime, his cousin Delia had already
reached his father's house, and was domesticated in
the family. There she found the younger brothers
and sisters of Douglas impatiently expecting his arrival;
and so much occupied with the thought of him,
that, had she been of a jealous disposition, she
might have deemed her welcome somewhat careless.
But she already knew her cousins, her uncle, and her
aunt. This was not the first time that their house was
her temporary home; and she had learned to consider
herself as one of the family. As such, she was expected
to enter into all their feelings. Douglas was
their common favorite. During his long absence, his
heart had never cooled toward them. In this he differed
widely from Owen, in whom the pleasures of

an idle life and the schemes of ambition had left little
thought of the simple joys of his childhood's
home. The contrast between him and Douglas, in
this respect, rendered the latter yet more popular with
the single-hearted beings who were impatiently
waiting his return.

“Do you remember brother Douglas?” said Virginia
Trevor, (a girl one year younger than Delia.)
“Mamma says you were a great pet with him, when
a child, and used to call him your Douglas.”

“I could not have been more than three years old
at the time you speak of,” said Delia; “but I have
heard of it so often, that I seem to myself to remember
him. But, of course, I do not remember him.”

“And, of course, he does not remember you,”
said Mrs. Trevor. “At least he would not know
you. But I doubt if he ever has forgotten you, as
you were then. He was to be your husband, you
know; and your father gave him a set of rules to
walk by. He was to do so and so, and to be so and
so; and Harry Sanford was to be his model. He said
nothing about it; but “Sanford and Merton” was
hardly ever out of his hands, and we could see that
he was always trying to square his conduct by
your father's maxims. I believe in my heart it made
a difference in the boy; and that is the reason why
he is less like his own father, and more like yours,
than any of the rest of my boys.”

“I shall certainly love him, then,” said Delia; her

eyes filling as she spoke, “if he is like my dear old
father.”

“Indeed, and you may,” said Mrs. Trevor; “but,
for all that, I would rather have him like his own father.
But you must not be affronted, Delia; you
know I claim the right to brag about my old man,
and to set him up over every body—even the President
himself.”

“I never saw the President,” said Delia, “but I
should be sorry to compare my father with him.”

“I can assure you,” replied the aunt, “there are
very few men that would bear the comparison. O!
he is the most elegant, agreeable old gentleman, that
ever I saw.”

“Except my uncle,” said Delia, smiling.

“Pshaw! Yes, to be sure. I always except
him.”

“I will not except my father,” said Delia, gravely.
“I should not like to hear him and Martin Van
Buren praised in the same breath.”

“Well, my dear,” said the good-humored old
lady, “we must not quarrel about it. But you must
take care not to talk so before Douglas, because he is
the President's soldier.”

“I thought,” said Delia, “he was in the service
of the United States.”

“Well! and is not that all the same thing? I do
not pretend to know any thing about it, but my husband
says so, and that is enough for me.”

Mr. Trevor, who had sat by the while, listening,
with grave complacency, now said: “I am afraid you
don't report me truly, my dear.” Then, extending
his hand to Delia, he drew her gently to him, and
placing her on his knee, kissed her. “You are a good
girl,” said he, “and shall love and honor your father
as much as you please. He is a noble, generous
man, and a wise man too. I would to God,” added
he, sighing heavily, “that I had had half his wisdom.”

“Why, bless my soul, Mr. Trevor!” exclaimed his
wife, “what does this mean?”

“Nothing,” replied he, “but a just compliment
to the self-renouncing generosity and far-sighted sagacity
of my brother.”

Saying this, he rose and left the room, while his
wife gazed after him in amazement. She had never
heard him say so much before, and now perceived that
he had thoughts that she was not apprised of. Believing
him faultless and incapable of error, even when
he differed from himself, she at once concluded that
she had lost her cue, and determined to say no more
about politics until she recovered it. But he never
adverted to the subject again, in her presence, during
the whole winter; and her niece, consequently, heard
no farther allusion to it from her.

This was no unwelcome relief to Delia. She was
no politician; but she was not incapable of understanding
what passed in her presence on the subject, except
when the interlocutors chose to mystify their meaning.

Her father, a man of no reserves, never spoke but with
a purpose of expressing his thoughts clearly and fully;
and no man better knew how to express them than
he. Though deficient, as I have said, in that cold
prudence which takes advantage of circumstances,
he was eminently gifted with that more vigorous faculty
which makes them. In the piping times of
peace, he was a man of no mark. But when society
was breaking up from its foundations, he was the
man with whom the timid and doubting would seek
safety and counsel. Infirmity had now overtaken
him, and he could do little more than think and
speak. Consulted by all the bold spirits who sought
to lift up, from the dust, the soiled and tattered banner
of his native State, and spread it to the wind, he
never failed to converse freely with such, and often
in the presence of his daughters.

By this means, if he had not imbued them with his
opinions, or charged their minds with the arguments
by which he was accustomed to support them, he had
made them full partakers of his feelings. It seemed,
indeed, as if he had a purpose in this. What
that purpose was, time would show. One end,
at least, it answered. It increased their opinion of
his powers, their confidence in his wisdom, and their
love for his person. Mrs. Hugh Trevor herself did
not hold her husband's wisdom in more reverence
than was cherished by Delia for that of her father.

And never did man better deserve the confiding

affection of a daughter. He had been her principal
instructor from infancy. He had formed her mind;
he had trained her to self-command, and taught her
to find her happiness in virtue. Educated at home,
her manners were formed in a domestic circle—characterized
by refinement, and delicate, but frank propriety.
Her love of reading had been cultivated by
throwing books in her way; and, the taste once
formed, her attention had been directed to such as
might best qualify her for the duties of woman's only
appropriate station. Herein she had an example in
her mother; a lady of the old school, courteous and
gentle, but high-spirited, generous, and full of her
husband's enthusiasm in the cause of his country.
Mr. Bernard Trevor was, indeed, a man to be loved
passionately, if loved at all; and to shed the vivid
hue of his mind on those of his associates. It was
the delight of his wife to witness, and to cherish, the
dutiful affection and ardent admiration of her daughters
for their father. The consequence was, that his
power over their thoughts, feelings, and inclinations
was unbounded.

It will be readily believed, that, in the mind of
Delia Trevor, thus pre-occupied, there was no room
for any very favorable predispositions toward a young
man, trained from his boyhood in the service of her
country's oppressors. She had heard his mother
speak of him as the sworn soldier of the arch-enemy
of her beloved Virginia; and a sentiment of abhorrence

arose in her mind at the words. But she reflected
that he was her cousin; the son of her good
uncle; the brother of her dearest friend; and, trying
to remember his fondness for her when a child, she
chided down the feeling of disgust, as unnatural and
wicked. But, after all this discipline of her own
mind, she found it impossible to think of him with
complacency, or to anticipate his arrival with pleasure.
Her imagination always painted him in the
hateful dress, which she had been taught to regard as
the badge of slavery—the livery of a tyrant. She
would try to love him, as a kinsman, but she never
could like him or respect him.

At length he made his appearance, and, to her great
relief, in the plain attire of a citizen. He was a
handsome youth, whose native grace had been improved
by his military education, and in his manners
uniting the frankness of a boy with the polish and
elegance of an accomplished gentleman. Whether
he had been admonished by his father to respect the
feelings of his fair cousin, or had caught his reserve,
on the subject of politics, by contagion, she had no
means of knowing. Certain it is, that, on that subject,
he was uniformly silent, and Delia soon learned
to converse with him on other topics, without dreading
an allusion to that. She thus saw him as he was,
and, by degrees, lost the prejudice which, for a time,
blinded her to any merit he might possess.

And he did possess great merit. A high sense of

honor, strict principles, great openness, and generosity,
were united in him with talents of no common
order. Quick, apprehensive, and clear in his perceptions,
there was a boldness, vividness, and distinctness
in his thoughts and language, that continually
reminded her of him she most loved and honored.
Of her father he frequently spoke with great veneration
and affection. He remembered, as his mother
had conjectured, many of his uncle's precepts. He
frequently quoted them as of high authority with
him; and it was plain to see, that, cherished during
fourteen years, they had exercised a decided influence
in the formation of his character. Indeed, it
might be doubted whether his imagination had ever
dismissed the idea, which had first disposed him to
lend a willing ear to the suggestions of his uncle.
That which was sport to the elder members of the
family, had seemed to him, at the time, a serious business.
The thought that the little girl, who loved to
hang on his neck and kiss him, might one day be his
wife, had certainly taken possession of his boyish
mind. How long he had consciously retained it
could not be known; but the traces of it were still
there, and were certainly not obliterated by the
change which time had wrought in his cousin.

Of her personal appearance I have said nothing.
Were I writing a novel, I should be bound, by all
precedent, to give an exact account of Delia's whole
exterior. Her person, her countenance, her hair, her

eyes, her complexion, should all be described, and
the whole summed up in a tout ensemble of surpassing
beauty. But, in this true history, I am unfortunately
bound down by facts, and I lament, that to the best
of my recollection, I shall not have occasion to speak
of a single female, in the progress of my narrative,
whose beauty can be made a theme of just praise. I
do sincerely lament this; for such is the constitution
of human nature, that female beauty influences the
heart and mind of man, even by report. We read, in
Oriental tales, of great princes deeply enamored of
descriptions. The grey eyes of Queen Elizabeth
have always made her unpopular with the youthful
reader; and the beauty of Mary of Scotland, three
hundred years after the worms have eaten her, still
continues to gild her history and gloss over her
crimes. I can say nothing so much in favor of the
beauty of Delia Trevor, as that she was good and intelligent,
reminding the reader of the sage adage of
Mrs. Dorothy Primrose, to wit: “Handsome is, that
handsome does.” I can only add, that, when I saw
her afterwards hanging on the arm of Douglas, and
looking up in his face with all the deep and heartfelt
devotion of a woman's love, I saw enough of the
constituents of beauty to make her an object of love,
and enough of the soul of truth and tenderness to
make her seem transcendently beautiful in the eyes of
a lover.

I say this, to account for the fact that her cousin

Douglas soon found himself taking great pleasure in
her society, and anxious to please her, not more from
duty than inclination. He was, perhaps, chiefly attracted
by her conversation, which was always cheerful,
sprightly, and intelligent. He may have yielded
to a spell of hardly less magic than that of beauty;
the spell of a voice melodious, distinct, articulate,
and richly flexible, varying its tones unconsciously
with every change and grade of thought or feeling.
It may have been the effect of what Byron would
call “blind contact,” and, the sage Mrs. Broadhurst
“propinquity;” or it may have been that his hour
was come. If one in ten of my married friends can
tell exactly how he came to fall in love with his wife,
I shall hold myself bound to inquire farther into this
matter.

But I do not mean to intimate that Lieutenant
Trevor, turning his back on the belles of Boston and
New York, and Philadelphia, and Baltimore, and
Washington, came home, and tumbled forthwith into
love with a plain country girl, just because she was
his cousin, and he had loved her when a child. I
do not mean to say he was in love with her at all.
He had a sincere affection for her; he liked her conversation;
he admired her talents much, and her virtues
more. He liked very much to be with her, and
he was very much with her.

What came of this, the reader shall be told
when we have disposed of some matters of higher
concernment.