65 Barker • Eng. (am.) The University of Chicago Libraries ares Vita catSci Esco entia latur THE WILLIAM VAUGHN MOODY COLLECTION PRESENTED BY MRS. EDWARD MORRIS' EMILY ELWOOD. 1. Am.) OR THE HERMIT OF THE CRAGS. A ROMANCE OF THE LAST WAR. BY BENJAMIN BARKER, ESQ. Author of 'Mary Morland,'' Francisco, or the Pirate of the Pacific.' BOSTON: PUBLISHED BY F. GLEASON, 1 1-2 TREMONT ROW. 1845. pair. Entered according to Act of Congress, by F. Gleason, in the year 1845, in the Clerk's Office, of the District Court of Massachusetts. PE 1165 KTES 1845 OL 537628 INTRODUCTION. KIND READER: Although our humble efforts, as put forth in the shape of these fictitious Tales, cannot boast of superior elegance of diction, or a very nice refinement of language, still, if the perusal of them should serve to amuse their leisure hours, our only end and aim will then be accomplished, and we shall retire from the field, with the proud con- sciousness of having contributed our mite, towards thine intellectual convenience and comfort. Salem, 3d. July, 1845. 138711 EMILY ELWOOD. CHAPTER I. Ar the close of a warm sultry day in the month of August, 1812, a fair and beautiful girl might have been seen pacing, with slow but firm steps, the white sandy beach which formed the principal summer prom- enade of the beaux and belles of the little seaport village of M., sit- uated somewhere in the eastern section of the old Bay State. The glorious sun had just set in all the gorgeousness of summer splendor, having left his golden tints on the light fleecy clouds, thereby render- ing the short twilight, unusually soft and bright and beautiful. At least so thought Emily Elwood, for sitting down upon a large flat stone which had been placed there by the village swains for the accommodation of their 'Ladye Loves,' she threw back the long curling ringlets of her bright auburn hair and thus soliloquized—, 'O is this not a beautiful world. Here we have the warm and bright and glorious sun, and the snowy light of the silver moon, the light and joyous warbling of the happy birds, and the clear, bright sparkling waters, of yonder blue sea, but the restless spirit of man cannot be contented with all this, for every day brings to my ears from almost every person I meet, long and painful stories, of the cares and sorrows and troubles of this life.' And you will find that in all such stories there is a terrible reality, 8 EMILY ELWOOD. * said a voice close beside her and looking up, she saw the calm stern countenance of the Hermit of the Crags, looking down upon her with an expression of sad and melancholy admiration. 6 'How is this, Mr. Harlowe,' said Emily, after having recovered from the astonishment, she had been thrown into at the sight of her strange -visitor, how is it that you have strayed so far away from your usual haunts? Ah I see how it is,' continued she playfully, 'humanity was not born for solitude, and even the lone Hermit of the Crags, feels some- times constrained to seek sympathy and good feelings from associa- ting with his kind.' 'You are widely very widely mistaken Miss Elwood in your con- jectures concerning my present appearance before you, but so far will I inform you, that this morning a report reached me (it matters not how,) that an English man of War was cruising about here, and cu riosity prompted me to journey to the beach, for the purpose of behold- ing her, but having arrived within three or four paces of your seat, I found that I was doomed to be disappointed, and I was about turning again to retrace my steps to my lonely abode, when I heard your sweet voice descanting upon the beauties of nature, and wondering with the inexperienced and simple philosophy of a troubled youth why it was that the spirit of man, could never be contented, and why he should continually complain of trouble and sorrow. And then I interrupt- ed you.' 'I know it,' replied Emily, 'and you told me that there was a terrible reality in such complainings, and although it is a sad thought, yet I feel that I cannot doubt the truth of your assertions. But come Mr. Harlowe,' continued she coaxingly, 'do walk with me as far as mother's cottage, and relate to me by the way, something of your past his- tory. You know that all the rest of the girls of the village are, or seem to be, afraid of the lone and secluded Hermit, and so they have commissioned me, as they say I am often in your company, to endeav- our to find out, what first caused you, thus to seclude yourself from the common haunts of your fellow men?' 'And do they not some of them answer the question themselves, for want of other information?' inquired the Hermit. 'Yes, indeed they do,' replied the communicative girl, 'there is Sarah Shaw, she declares, there must be some Love affair at the bottom of it, and Aunt Betty Simmerby, the old maid, says,that she guesses you are one of them old Catholic Friars, that we read of in the story books, who EMILY ELWOOD. 9 have murdered their wives and children, and then gone off into the woods, and lived among the rocks for a kind of penance life, as she calls it.' 'Miserable and unthinking fools are they all,' replied the Hermit, 'yet she whom you first mentioned, came nearer the truth than she really imagined in her coarse illusions, for there lies a sad and melan- choly love affair at the bottom of my history. But the time has not come Miss Elwood, when the dread secret may with safety be divulged, but it will come, and, when my weary head lies upon its last sick pil- low, when Death points his unerring dart to my aching heart, with slow but sure aim, then shall you know the reason, why I despise, and loathe and almost hate my brethren of the family of man. But here comes Albert, and by the way in which he skips and dances about, I imagine that he has some extraordinary good news for us.' At this instant a young man of graceful mein and noble features, emerged from the dark shadow of a grove of pine woods, who, po- litely bowing to Emily, and respectfully touching his hat to the Her- mit said, ( Good, aye exceeding good news, and glad tidings of great joy, (as our minister would say,) have I to tell.' 'Oh! this war, is a capital thing,-a glorious chance now for Al- bert Arlington to make his fortune.' 'According to your actions, and apperance, at this time,' interrupt- ed Emily, 'I should think your fortune was already made. But you are not going to leave us I hope,' added she, in a tone more than commonly earnest. "Why yes, Miss Elwood, I must. Captain T has just fitted out a beautiful little Brig called the Spit-fire and he is enlisting or ship- ping all the brave young fellows he can find to man her, and I am going and almost all the young men of the village are going, and zounds how we will flog the English, and bring home the prize money, and the Captain says, we may share a thousand dollars a piece, Em- ily, only think of that, and then I could build a snug little cottage, and could take my poor deranged sister Jane from the Work-house, and,' continued he speaking lower, 'perhaps your mother might then consent to our union, and then how happy, how supremely happy we should be.' There is no knowing how many more air castles the sanguine young 10 EMILY ELWOOD. man would have built, had he not been interrupted by the Hermit who said, Albert Arlington, stop now, and look upon the other side of the fair picture, your young imagination has so sanguinely drawn. I know by bitter experience, that it is hard, very hard, when in the bright clear sunlight of youth, we think and dream of nothing but future joy, and happiness, and love; to reverse the picture, and look calmly and coldly, and with sad and bitter contemplation, upon the care and sorrow and pain, which is almost sure to attend us through this dreary life, yet better is it to do so, than to have sudden disappoint- ment come upon you in the midst of your wild, sweet dreams, to crush you with its withering hand by one fell blow to the earth.' 'I will think upon your words,' replied Albert apparently struck by the earnest manner in which the Hermit spoke, 'and will endeavor to profit by them.' 'Yes' answered the Hermit, think, and think well before you act, of the many poor widows and fatherless children, your single arms (upheld by the so called Justice of War,) may cause to mourn over and curse, in bitter sorrow the hour in which they were born.' 'Oh! Albert,' now interrupted Emily' do heed the earnest and kind admonitions of Mr. Harlowe. Do stay here and protect us, for you know that we may soon very soon need it.' This last remark of Emily's appeared to stagger for a moment, Al- bert's resolution, but soon recovering himself he answered, Emily it is useless bandying words about it, I have shipped, my honour is committed, and go I must, and will. But there are other considerations than these you have brought forward, which have served materially to strengthen my resolution. Am I not poor, and has not my poverty been from time to time spoken of by your friends as af- fording a valid and decided objection to our union?' As Albert finished speaking, and before Emily had opportunity to reply to him, a single horseman approached them, and reining up his steed, asked if they could give him any information in regard to the residence of a Mrs. Elwood, which he had understood was somewhere in that vicinity.' The querist was a young slender built, and apparently handsome man, and his fine dress, and the jewelled rings, that profusely bedeck- ed his fingers, betokened him to be, as he was, a favorite of wealth and fortune. EMILY ELWOOD. 11. Emily timidly answered his question, by saying, 'that she presumed the Lady whom he wished to see was her mother, and as it was but a short distance, and his business was of course particular, she would show him the way.' 'Are you Mrs. Elwood's only daughter,' asked the stranger. 'I am sir.' 'I willingly accept your guidance then,' answered the stranger. 'Come Mr. Arlington, will not you and Mr. Harlowe accompany us?' asked Emily. Albert excused himself, by saying, 'that the preparations neccessary for his departure to sea, called at that time for his undivided attention,' but the Hermit answered not, although stepping up to Emily, he thrust into her hand a small billet, and immediately turning he took Albert's arm, and started out of the main road into a bye path which led to his abode amongst the rocks, whilst Emily and the stranger hastened along the street to her mother's cottage. 1 12 EMILY ELWOOD. CHAPTER II. • 'Now tell us who Mrs. Elwood was?' says one. 'And who Albert Arlington was?' says a another. And who the Hermit of the Crags was,' says a third. Patience kind readers all, and we will tell you as expeditiously and briefly as we may be able. Mrs. Elwood was born in England of very respectable and wealthy parents, who made her an idol, and who caused her to be educated in all the most ornamental and costly accomplishments of her sex. But unfortunately she was not their only idol, although she was their only child. They had another to which they bowed in almost holy adoration. That other idol was-Money. Their darling wish, their only aim, concerning the future welfare of their daughter was that she should be wedded to wealth, and if they could so manage it to title also. Every thing at the outset, bid fair to crown their am- bitious wishes with success. Ere the beautiful and accomplished Harriot, had reached her eighteenth year, a young and wealthy though somewhat dissipated Baronet, became a suitor for her hand and heart. He made proposals to her parents, they were joyfully and gratefully accepted, he then made the same proposals to Harriot, but strange to say, they were scornfully and indignantly rejected. 'Take more time for it,' said her anxious father when he heard from his daughters own lips the decided rejection of the Baronet's splendid offer 'take more time to think of it, and you will finally make up your mind to have him.' 'Never father,' answered the dutiful girl. And why not pray,' demanded her father turning pale at the bare idea of losing 5,000 pounds sterling a year, and an honorable title. EMILY ELWOOD. 13 C Because,' replied Harriot very candidly 'I do not love him.' Cannot love him, 'exlaimed the old gentleman in great astonishment, 'love a fiddle-stick. Why I could almost love the Devil, I was going to say, for five thousand pounds a year.' 'I beg leave, respectfully to insinuate,' replied Harriot somewhat shocked at her father's profanity, 'that probably our tastes in that re- spect, somewhat materially differ. So far from loving the gentleman of the infernal regions, to whom you have just alluded, I cannot bring myself even to look with complacency upon one of his children, there- fore have I rejected the addresses of Sir John Wagstaff.' 'Oh you have hey,' answered the old gentleman. This is too bad, five thousaud pounds a year offered to you, and you wont take it, hey. But you shall take it or leave my house and protection for- ever.' So saying the old gentleman left the apartment in high dudgeon. Now this interview terminated, almost exactly in accordance with the wishes of Harriot, for the summer before, she met with Leiuten- ant Elwood, a handsome officer subsisting then on upon half pay, at a fashionable watering place, and committed the unpardonable sin of falling desparately in love with him. He (as in duty bound,) also fell in love with her, and ere they parted, they exchanged solemn vows of eternal constancy. They therefore had regularly kept up an epistolary correspondence, until within three or four days of the interveiw rela- ted above, when he had visited the town, where she resided, where they met, and she having made a confidant of him and told him all her troubles, they agreed to elope, or in plain words, 'run away,' to America. The same night that she held the conversation with her father rela- ted above, the elopement was to take place. And it did take place. A post chaise and four, took our lovers to London where they were united. The Lieutenant threw up his commission, and they immediate- ly sailed for America. Having arrived there, they found that their .' whole stock of property, consisting of the remnants of the Lieuten- ants half pay and Harriot's somewhat extensive collection of jewelry amounting only to the meagre sum of five hundred dollars. This discovery having been made, the neccessity for some kind of exertion, whereby they might be able to live, soon began to stare them in the face, and nothing better offering, the Lieutenant and his lovely bride were obliged to remove to the village of M. for the pur- 14 EMILY ELWOOD. pose of teaching the public school at a salary of three hundred dol- lars a year. But Mr. Elwood and his wife, soon found that although love might be a very sweet and palatable food for the passions, and feelings of the mind, the body, needed and required something far more substan- tial. 3 About eighteen months after they had become settled, our heroine Emily was born, and then their troubles began in earnest. Mrs. Elwood had never been brought up to work, therefore as far as the domestic management was concerned, everything went at 'sixes and sevens.' These things together with a decline of health, brought on by his unremitted exertions, discouraged Mr. Elwood, he became unable to attend to his business, and with his family was reduced to abject poverty. In the midst of their distress, Mrs. Elwood wrote a very penitent letter to her father stating to him her destitute situation and request- ing his assistance, but all the satisfaction she got in answer was, "That as she had made her bed, so she must lie upon it,' as he, (her father) was determined to cut her off without a shilling. But the old man probably relented somewhat afterwards, for at his death, which happened about a year succeeding the receipt of his daughter's letter, it was discovered that he had left her a small legacy of three hundred pounds sterling. The rest of his large property he left to his brother's son, with a certain promise, with which the rea- der will afterwards become acquainted. A few months after the receipt of his father in law's unfeeling and comfortless letter Mr. Elwood died, and was laid quietly to rest in the village church yard. The grief of his wife at this sad event was almost inconsolable. After it had become somewhat assuaged by time, the neighbors kindly assisted her, and by their help she obtained a few scholars, and by keeping a little school she managed to secure a very decent subsist - ance for herself and only daughter Emily, who grew up to be entire- ly different from her mother in habits and manner aud disposi- tion, At the commencement of our story, Emily was a fair and beautiful girl, domestic in her habits, polite in her manners and gentle yet deci- ded in her disposition Possessing an uncommon sensitiveness of feeling, she could not EMILY ELWOOD. 15 bear to have the least doubt rest upon her truth or veracity, and in fact she was such a being as no one could look upon and not love. "Gentle and beautiful and kind, She was beloved by all, And such a being strong in mind, From virtue ne'er could fall.' And now gentle reader, having explained Mrs. Elwood's situation at the time of opening our story, and that of her daughter's, we will with your permission speak a few words concerning the Hermit of the Crags. On a fine morning about thirty seven years prior to the opening of our story, a stranger suddenly appeared in the village of M. and took lodgings at the inn. Who he was or from whence he came, nobody knew, although as is natural in cases of mystery, every body wished to know. It soon became evident that he was not disposed to gratify even the the slightest curiosity, for, upon his landlord's asking the very common Yankee question whether he belonged to these parts, or came from a foreign country,' he very unceremoniously called for his bill, settled it and left the house. A few days afterwards, he was accidentally discovered building a rude hut, in the wildest part of the country surrounding the village, amongst some huge rocks, of which, after he had finished it, he be- came the sole occupant. With the exception of a faithful dog no living thing was known to enter his abode for the space of a year although he sometimes, though seldom, visited the village, for the purpose of buying such simple things as he might happen to stand in need of. His solitary habits, and the wild and desolate place where he had chosen to take up his abode, had caused the villagers to distinguish him by the appellation of the Hermit of the Crags, although upon one or two neccessary occasions he had given his name as James Har- lower. But fate determined that his abode should not be always without visiters. One day during a fierce and terrific thunder storm he was surprised by the sudden appearance of two young and handsome faces, the pos- sessors of which were Emily Elwood and Albert Arlington. The Hermit, at first appeared somewhat indignant at their intrusion, but 16 EMILY ELWOOD. the cloud soon passed away from his dark brow, and after gazing for a time, upon the fair and beautiful form of Emily, he said, 'My children although it is a long, long time since I have sought the society or sympathy of my kind, still I would not refuse shelter to such as you in such a tempest as this.' He said no more at that time, and they all remained silent till the storm was over, when Albert said—, 'Mr. Harlowe, Emily and myself often take these little rural excur- ions, and I would humbly request the privilege of stopping here oc- casionally to rest our weary limbs.' J 'You and your companion will always be welcome,' replied the Hermit, but be sure that you never bring any one else.' They then left the hut, and it was a mysterious matter of remark amongst the villagers, that they were frequently together, and were as intimate as aunt Betty expressed it, as though they were father and son. EMILY ELWOOD. T 17 CHAPTER III. It will undoubtedly be recollected by the reader, that at the end of our first chapter, we left Albert and the hermit on their way to the abode of the latter, and as they walked swiftly along, the following conversation took place between them. 'I do not much like the appearance of that strange gentleman,' said Albert, in whose company Emily so unceremoniously left us.' And why not?' was the heroic reply of the hermit. 'Really I cannot tell exactly,' replied Albert, but you knew that we are sometimes apt, (unaccountably enough to be sure) to be un- favorably impressed about certain persons at first sight. But Emily need not have been in such a hurry to have gone with him who was a perfect stranger to her.' 'Ah, I see how it is now,' replied the hermit. "The poisonous seeds of jealousy have been almost imperceptibly sown in your bosom, but take the advice of one, who has learnt much in the true school of bitter experience, and strive at once by the most energetic means to eradicate them.' 'Well,' answered Albert, it may be as you say, but I cannot see why I should be jealous.' 'You love Emily Elwood,' replied the hermit. 'As I do the very life-blood of my heart,' answered Albert. 'And love in such a disposition as yours,' continued the hermit, 'open and sanguine, yet cautious, and distrustful, is apt to make mountains out of mole hills. But hark! what sound is that?' 18 EMILY ELWOOD. They both stopped and listened, when they heard the low and plaintive, yet sweetly melodious voice of a female, singing the follow- ing song: SONG. Hear the distant roar of the wild dark sea, O, its sound is sad music, unto me, For no lover has found beneath its wave, A wide, a lonely and peaceful grave. Oh, I saw him in my dreams last night, And he looked like an angel clothed with light. He beckoned for me unto him to come, Yes, yes, I replied, I will soon be home. And I soon shall go, and my aching head, With the cold damp turf of the earth will wed, And why then in Heaven, how happy I'll be, United my dear long lost Henry with thee. As she finished, the astonished listeners, could see by the flutter- ing of the white drapery, that the singer was fast approaching them, and Albert exclaiming, my God, my poor crazed sister,' darted for- ward and caught her in his arms. a 'Crazed, yes!' replied the poor unfortunate creature, I believe I am crazed; but Albert, I heard that you was going to sea, and so af- ter dark, I stole away cunningly from my keepers, and thinking that I should find you, at Emily's house, I went there, and looked in the windows, and what did I see?' Oh a handsome young man a courting, The one who was your true love. But as I was looking, Miss Emily came to the door, and I asked her where you was, and she told me you was gone to the hermit's hut, and I even took it in my crazy brain, to gambol through the dark pine wood after you.' 'Stop your wild talk, Jane,' said Albert, and we will return to the village, and then I will see you safe back to your abode.' 'I will not go back, Albert, to that wicked place, for when my poor broken heart feels wild and light and free, and I leave off my hard task to sing with the merry birds, they beat me and call me hard names, and bid me earn my bread.' Albert felt that his sister's wild words were true and he exclaimed, རུ་ Albert and Emily receiving the blessing of the Hermit of the Crags.-See page 28. EMILY ELWOOD. 21 'Oh, what shall I do, where shall I find a home for my poor de- mented sister! Poverty must be a crime, else we should not suffer so by its effects.' You must not think of returning to the village to-night Albert,' replied the hermit, ' for you cannot reach there, until after the inhabi- tants have retired to rest, therefore if you will accept the poor shelter of my rude abode, for yourself and sister, you shall be entirely wel- come. A thousand thanks my kind friend,' replied Albert, for your kind offer. Come Jane,' added he coaxingly, come with me.' 'So I will,' replied Jane, ' for you speak friendly to me, and that is a blessing to which I have for a long time been unaccustomed.' " Ah, we have arrived at last, to my rude habitation,' said the her- mit, 'so come let us enter.' Having thus spoken, the hermit opened the door, and entered, fol- lowed by Jane and Albert, and the latter, after he had become seated again commenced conversation by saying, 'Mr. Harlowe, on the day after to-morrow, I shall sail on a peri- lous cruise, from which it may be my fortune never to return, and in that case poor Jane will be left without friend or protector.' 'But where is Emily?' interrupted the hermit. 'As to Emily,' answered Albert, I have no doubt, but that she would gladly give my sister a home, and be very good and kind to her, but she cannot do as she pleases, and think you that I would so bemean myself, as to ask such a favor from her mean spirited moth- er, who will scarcely allow me to enter her house.' ( 'You are right,' answered the hermit, and my poor boy I pity and commiserate your situation. I will be a guardian and protector to your sister, and rest assured, that during your absence, she shall not want for any comfort which I may be able to procure. And now that matter being settled, we will try to make shift to pass the night, as comfortably as we can. You see I have two apartments, you and I can sleep together in this one, whilst your sister can occupy the oth- er.' 'Just as you please my kind benefactor,' replied Albert, and then he added, speaking to Jane, 'My sister will you not sleep?' Me,-sleep,' exclaimed she, wildly starting up and clasping her brother's hand, 'talk to me of sleep, and you, all the friend there is left to me in the wide world, about to go abroad on the trackless 22 EMILY ELWOOD. ocean, there to sicken and die, and like my poor Henry become food for the fishes.' 'Both Albert and the hermit, tried every means to soothe and calm the poor maniac, and at last they apparently succeeded, and after kiss- ing her brother, she retired to the apartment resigned to her use. Her companions, soon followed her example, and soon all three of these troubled beings were wrapped in the sweet forgetfulness of re- freshing slumber. And now reader, we will with your permission, speak a few words concerning our hero, Albert Arlington. At the time when we first introduced him to our readers, he was a handsome and noble looking youth, apparently about twenty years of age. . Of his birth and parentage he knew nothing excepting that him- self and Jane, his twin sister, had been left in tender infancy, upon the door step of a gentleman who kindly transferred his delicate char- ges to the tender mercies of the keeper of the Parish Work-house. } And there, in that unrefined school of adversity, our here was brought, or rather forced up, until he reached the age of fourteen, when he was daily apprenticed to the carpenter of the village, who, whilst he lived, treated Albert with kindness and parental attention. But about three years succeeding the time in question, the good man died, and to our hero was left, the alternative, either of taking care of himself, or going back again to the work-house. He chose the former mode of living; but not liking his trade, he resolved to go to sea, and therefore shipped and sailed on board of a ship bound for the West Indies. But he, like many others, was unlucky, got cast away, lost every thing, returned home dispirited, and then took to hist trade for subsistence. It was about this time, that he first saw and loved Emily Elwood, and the noble and generous qualities of his mind, together with the manly and superior beauty of his person, so wrought upon the sensi- tive heart of our heroine, as to cause her also soon to love him in re- turn. They often met, and in one of their interviews Albert passion- ately declared his sentiments and asked for a betrothal. Emily after assuring him in warm but maidenly terms of her true love and devo- tion, refered him to her mother, for a ratification of their vows, and here the real troubles of our lovers soon began. Upon asking the consent of Mrs Elwood, to his becoming the ac- EMILY ELWOOD. 23 knowledged lover of Emily, that lady flew into a violent passion, and said, 'Mr. Arlington, my answer shall be short and decisive. You have no friends, and you are poor. The man who marries my daughter, not only in fortune, but by birth and parentage. Forbidding you to look or think upon Emily in any other light, but that of a mere ac- quaintance, I now bid you a very good evening.' So saying, she indignantly flounced out of the apartment, leaving our hero somewhat surprised at her refusal, and greatly hurt at her cov- ered allusion to his birth and parentage. He then left the house with a strong determination to get rich, and the second war having at that time just commenced between England and the United States, he was soon puevailed upon to join a privateer in the manner before related. The story of his sister Jane, is the sad, though not uncommon one of a broken heart. • At the age of fourteen, she had been placed, (as was the custom,) in a gentleman's family, as a servant, and at the end of two years, the beauty of her person, which was imposing and remarkable, com- bined with the gentleness of her disposition, had won the affections of a generous noble hearted sailor, named Henry Milton. How she loved him may be inferred from the fact, that, upon hear- ing of his death, (which she learned had occurred on the very next voyage after their mutual sentiments became known to each other,) she became at intervals, raving mad, so that she had to be returned back to the alms-house, where she was confined as a Lunatic. And now kind reader, having at last got upon clear track, we will in the next chapter, go a-head with our story. 24 EMILY ELWOOD. CHAPTER IV. The handsome stranger, whose sudden appearance had excited feel- ings somewhat akin to jealousy in the breast of Albert Arlington, soon reached Mrs. Elwood's cottage, under the escort of the fair Em- ily. Having alighted from his horse at the door, he gave him in charge to a boy who was standing near, with instructions to take him to a Hotel. 'A what sir?' asked the boy, to whom the term Hotel, was wholly unintelligble. Why to a Tavern you young rascal.' "O yes sir,' answered the delighted urchin 'I understands now,' and mounting to the saddle he was off in an instant, with the horse, to the village inn. The stranger was then met at the door by Mrs. Elwood, who, sur- mised by his decidedly aristocratic look that he belonged to what she considered good and fashionable socieiy kindly invited him to enter the parlor. Having accepted the invitation he introduced himself to his host- ess as the Honorable Mr. Augustus Worthington, her uncle's son, and Emily's cousin. Upon hearing this imposing announcement, the excuses and apol- ogies made by Mrs. Elwood were almost innumerable. 'Why Mr. Wothington, said she' this visit is so entirely unexpect ed, so that you see you have taken me quite by surprise, but then Emily and I will do the best we can for your genteel accommoda- tion. Depend upon it Mr. Worthington that although somewhat re- EMILY ELWOOD. 25 duced in curcumstances yet I have not lost one iota of the natural pride of my father's family.' It is very neccessary Madam,' replied Mr. Worthington for you to keep up the pride of your birth in this Republican country. But you need not make any more apologies, as I have no doubt, but that the time that I may pass here, with you and your amiable and beauti- ful daughter, (looking complacently at Emily who sank abashed into a chair,) will be very agreeably taken up at least so far as I am con- cerned " • Emily now rose from her seat, and was apparently about leaving the room, when Mrs. Elwood exclaimed-, 'Why Emily dear, you are not going to retire already it is not yet ten o clock.' " 'I am aware of that dear mother, replied Emily but I must beg you and Mr. Worthington to excuse me as I have a severe head ache.' So saying she left the room, and retiring to her chamber, she took from her bosom the note which the Hermit had given her, and open- ing it read as follows-, 'Dear Miss Elwood-, If you wish for a parting interveiw with Albert Arlington, ere he sails upon his dangerous voyage, you will if possible repair to my habitation tomorrow about the hour of sunset, where you will be glad- ly welcomed by him who is called—, THE HERMIT OF THE CRAGS.' After reading this very laconic though important epistle, Emily af- ter carefully placing it in a little trunk, which had always been the re- pository of Albert's letters, and immediately retired to rest, where she was soon brobably dreaming of him whom she dearly loved. Meantime, the Honorable Mr Augustus Worthington, taking advan- tage of the absence of Emily, stated the object of his sudden and un- expected visit to Mrs Elwood as follows-, 'You are undoubtedly well acquainted Madam with the principal circumstances attending your father's death, and you are also probably aware that he left the bulk of his vast property to me in case of the fulfilment to me of a certain condition.' 'I heard, replied Mrs Elwood, 'something of the kind from the agent, who paid my small legacy to me, but has the condition you speak of to do with your visit here at this time?' 26 EMILY ELWOOD. 'A great deal more perhaps, than you may imagine, my dear mad- am,' answered Mr. Worthington, 'in as much as it very nearly relates to your daughter- 'My daughter,' exclaimed Mrs. Elwood, trembling with an emotion, which she could hardly describe. " 'Yes madam, your daughter,' replied he. Although in conse- quence of your imprudent marriage, your father saw fit to cut you off with a shilling,' his antipathy did not extend to your child. He therefore annexed a certain proviso to his will, to this effect:-That the whole of his extensive property should fall to me on condition that I married your daughter Emily, as soon as possible after she became of age. For the purpose of complying with this condition, I have now visited you, to ask you to use all means in your power, to [carry my purposes to a successful termination. But perhaps her af- fections are pre-engaged?' · Oh no indeed they are not,' replied Mrs. Elwood, delighted at the prospect now placed before her daughter. To be sure she did have a sort of childish partiality for a young man of the village, but he was poor and low born, and so I soon put a stop to it. Therefore, my dear Mr. Worthington, you may have no farther fears upon that score, and you can rest assured, sir, that I shall use my utmost efforts to in- duce Emily, speedily to comply with your wishes.' 'I feel extremely obliged to you, for your ready acquiesence in my views,' answered Mr. Worthington, but as it is late, and I have rid- den hard, with your permission, madam, I will now retire.' Having shown him into her best chamber, she left him, and going into Emily's apartment and finding her apparently in a deep sleep, the ambitious woman laying herself down beside her unsuspeet- ing daughter, thus soliloquized: 'Now this is a glorious chance for Emily. Let me see, my father's property must amount to nearly ten thousand a year. What a for- tune. How glad I am that Albert Arlington is going to sea. Emily will soon forget him, and if she don't, why war is a dangerous affair, and so is privateering, and he may have the fortune to be killed. I will break this important matter to my daughter, at the earliest oppor- tunity. Ten thousand a year,-Emily must and shall have it.' Mrs. Elwood now went to sleep, and was soon dreaming of a splen- did establishment, with a coach and six, and the Honorable Mr Augustus Worthington. EMILY ELWOOD. 27 Late in the afternoon of the day succeeding the occurences related above. Emily Elwood might have been seen wending her way quick- ly through the dark pine woods, towards the wild abode of the Her- mit. As she approached near to it, she was met by Albert, who upon seeing her exclaimed, 'Bless you, dear Emily, for this visit. It is what, under present cir- cumstances, I hardly dared expect.' 'Do you not suppose, Albert Arlington', replied Emily, somewhat reproachfully, that I would have conquered every obstacle, ere, I would have foregone the melancholy satisfaction of meeting you for the last time ere you depart upon your perilous voyage,-the last time perhaps forever.' 'Oh no, not forever, my dear girl,' answered Albert, 'trouble will come full fast enough upon us, without anticipating it. So cheer up, else your tears will soon make me forget my manhood " 'Dear Albert,' mournfully replied the `beautiful girl, my tears do not fall so freely at the thought of our parting, but there is other, and if possible more bitter reasons for them. I know that we must part, and I place confidence enough in you to think, that in whatever situ- ation you may be placed, you will do that which you know to be right, and then God will take care of you, and in his holy keeping, I have faith to believe that you will be safe and happy.' 'Then I need not feel at all jealous of the handsome stranger,' playfully remarked Albert.' "The handsome stranger,' as you term him,' replied Emily, 'is nought to me, nor will he ever be, although my mother told me this morning, that I must make my mind up soon to marry him, and she at the same time hinted that he was of noble birth, and possessed of large fortune." 'And what answer did you make to this proposition?' asked Albert, turning pale at her strange words. 'I told her in answer,' replied Emily, 'that I did not love him, nor never should, and that I would sooner wed Death than him. 'And what said your mother to that?' again asked Albert. 'O we had a long and bitter conversation,' answered Emily, by the relation of which I shall not soon seek to embitter our last part- ing. Suffice it for you to know, that while you live, no other man shall ever receive my hand. And now,' continued she, dear Albert 28 EMILY ELWOOD. our interview must terminate. Farewell, and may God be with you.' At this instant the Hermit, with Jane upon his arm, approached and said, 6 My children, I know you love each other, and deeply, most deep- ly do I sympathize with you in this bitter hour of your separation. Join your hands, my children, receive the blessing of him who has at present nought else to give.' They then kneeled and received his blessing, after which, with their hands joined, there upon that wild spot, they swore to each other eternal constancy. (See Engraving.) Jane, who during this interesting ceremony had remained silent, now exclaimed, 'What does all this mean? Oh I know now, a wedding, and I'll 'Dance, dance, dance, To the tone of the marriage bell.' 'But Albert is going off to sea to die as Henry did, and when the dreadful news comes, then I shall die and be at rest, and the fair girl that now stands here, she will die with a broken heart, and father, here, but oh no,' exclaimed the poor girl, wildly, 'that cannot be, for I never knew my father, but this good old man, he will die too, and then all will be peace, peace, peace.' The whole group were greatly effected by these wild ravings of the poor maniac, so that not one of them could refrain from weep- ing. But at last Albert mustered courage sufficient to utter to his Emily the last bitter farewell, and she turned her weary steps homeward, whilst he in company with Jane and the Hermit sought the friendly shelter of the hut. The next morning Albert made preparations to join his ship, which having all been completed, he went on board about noon, accom- panied by the hermit. When they were about parting, Albert, handing the hermit a small sealed note said, Mr. Harlowe, this contains only the name by which I am now called. EMILY ELWOOD. 29 I have always kept it near my person, as it was all that was left with me when I was abandoned to the mereies of the world, and it may furnish some clue whereby I may be able, at some future time, to learn something concerning my parents. Farewell.' 6 'Farewell,' replied the hermit, and God willing, I hope soon to see you return.' He had not time to say more, for the order was given to get under- weigh, and soon our new and the good brig Spit-fire was soon out of sight of the good people, who had congregated aboat the pier, upon the occasion of their departure. 330 EMILY ELWOOD. CHAPTER V. THE hermit, after he had taken a last view of the receding vessel, which contained the object of his almost parental solicitude, turned from the pier, and was about to retrace his steps towards his rude abode, when the first person who met his gaze, was the Honorable Mr. Augustus Worthington, who flourished in his hand a beautiful- ly enamelled, and highly finished cane, thus accosted him: 'I say Mr. What's your name, hermit I believe they call you, I un- derstand that you always live in the woods, therefore I presume you can inform me pretty accurately where the best game is to be found, and I suppose you will feel highly honored, when I announce my pur- pose of accompanying you to your residence, that is if you happen to have any?' The hermit gave no answer to this impudent tirude, except a look of supreme and utter contempt cast towards the speaker, who find- ing that his auditor had turned from him and gone upon his way, step- ped up behind him, and tapping him fashionably across the shoulders with his cane, again said, If you don't give me a gentleman's satisfaction you demnd insult- ing old scoundrel, for not answering my question, I'll break every bone in your body with this cane, if I don't demme.' Upon this, the old man turned and with a quick blow with his heavy fist, immediately laid the Honorable Mr. Augustus Worthington, sprawling at full length upon the grass, at the same time, saying, 'There's satisfaction for you, villain, caitiff, and if you are not EMILY ELWOOD. 31. completely satisfied with that, rise if you dare, and I will soon replace you, by the same means, in your present low position. So saying, after waiting a few moments, the hermit turned and when he had got at a convenient distance, the Honorable Mr. Worth- ington, probably considering that discretion was the better part of valor, jumped nimbly to his feet, took to his heels, and made the best of his way, (muttering horrid imprecations and dire oaths of ven- geance as he ran,) to Mrs. Elwood's cottage. Meanwhile the hermit having somewhat quickened his pace, and entered the pathway leading through the woods to his abode, as he walked, thus soliloquized.— 'That fellow by his appearance, must be some upstart English aris- tocrat, with more money than brains, who thinks that people have nothing else to do but to pander to his random wishes. But I guess I have given him one lesson, and if he gets a few more such, they may teach him that he has found one country in the world, where man is man, whether he be rich or poor. But I have already spent more time and words upon him than he is worth, and now I will look into this bit of paper.' So saying he broke the seal of the note and read as follows: 'If these two children live, they are to be called Jane and Albert Arlington.' ' 'Good God!' exclaimed the old man, letting the soiled billet fall to the ground and pressing both hands to his temples. This is certain- ly the hand writing of my Isabel.' Having pronounced these words, he again picked up the paper, and after gazing intently upon it for a few moments, he resealed it, and carefully replacing it in his pocket, and was about to resume his journey, when he heard the sound of footsteps, and Emily Elwood stood by his side. 'What is the matter my dear girl,' said the hermit, after a moment's pause, it seems to me that you look paler than usual, and your eyes give unerring evidence of recent weeping?' 'And I have bitter cause to weep, Mr. Harlowe,' replied Emily. 'Have I not lost for a long time, perhaps forever, my best and dearest friend? To whose sympathizing care can I now entrust my mani- fold troubles and sorrows?' 'Trust in God!' answered the hermit, earnestly. 'Oh I do, I do,' said Emily, and I try to pray to Him for guid 32 EMILY ELWOOD. • ance and direction, still my heart remains cast down, and I am young and unused to disappointments, therefore this last blow has fallen heavily upon me. Emily,' replied the hermit mournfully, you will probably recol- lect that I promised at some future time, to relate to you my evil and eventful history, I did not then intend to do so, until I felt the cold finger of death upon my brow, but I have since altered my resolution, and the time has now come. Therefore, if you will attend me to my habitation, that shall be fulfilled, So saying, the old man and his fair companion, hastened to the hut the one to tell a sad and melancholy story, and the other to listen to it, in eager but respectful silence. Having arrived there, the hermit exclaimed, 'My poor Jane, I must first look after her,' and accordingly he knocked at the door of her apartment and called to her, but receiving no answer, he ventur- ed to open it, when he found somewhat to his surprise that it was un- tenanted. Jane was not there. 'Where can she oe gone,' asked Emily after she had been made acquainted with the above fact. 'O she has probably gone out to roam about the woods,' replied the hermit,' and it would be a pity to confine her for the mere purpose of restraining her will, though harmless fancies. But I think that she will soon return. 'And now you are comfortably seated,' continued the old man, 'I will proceed to relate the principal events of the sad history of my life.' THE HERMIT'S STORY. 'I was born in Paris, proud capitol of France. My parents were pub- licly distinguished and wealthy people; as I was their only child, be- stowed upon me every indulgence consistent with their duty, and as I grew up I received every educational virtue, which my proud birth- place could confer, and at the age of eighteen, I entered its far famed University. Having passed through that, with honor and applause, I found myself, upon the death of my father, which took place after I had reached the age of twenty-one, in possession of a splendid fortune. Being at the same time possessed of a tall and handsome form, with a pleasing countenance, and winning address. These accom- plishments coupled with my great wealth, did not fail to attract the at- EMILY ELWOOD. 33 tention of a host of ambitious mothers, who strove by various plans, to entrap me into a matrimonial engagement, with some one of their daughters. 6 • But my heart proved to them, to be an impregnable fortress, and I remained single, until I had reached my twenty-fourth year. It was then, that in one of my frequent pleasure excursions into the country, I first met and woed, and loved Isabel de Eoligny. 'She was the daughter of a poor peasant, and far below me in rank any riches, but she was eminently beautiful and fair, and as good as she was fair, and beautiful. 'Finding that I was apparently serious in my attentions to her, she soon loved me in return, and I then resolved to take her to Paris, and there marry her, notwithstanding the jeers and taunts, which I knew I should meet with from my former honorable and wealthy compan- ions. 'The consent of her parents having been joyfully granted, we im- mediately set out for the Capitol, where we were soon united, and the humble peasant girl found herself suddenly installed over one of the most elegant and splendid establishments of Paris, where we lived to- gether for one short month in the enjoyment of happiness almost su- preme. 'Shortly after that time, an English gentleman, a sort of distant relation to me, who was about making the tour of Europe, stopped for a few days by my invitation, to my house. He was a tall and very handsome man, of about the same age as my own, and I soon im- agined that he began to pay particular attention to my wife. This aroused within me the jealous spirit by which I was cursed, and which had only lain dormant for the want of something to feed upon. 'Finding that the stranger seemed desirous of prolonging his stay, from a few days to a few months, I resolved to discover by the means of a common stratagem, whether or not my jealousy was well founded. "Giving the stranger, therefore, an invitation to make my house his home as long as he pleased, I informed him in the presence of Is- abel, that pressing business required my immediate attention at Lyons, and I should therefore be under the necessity of leaving them for the space of two months. I then retired into my private room, and or- dered the butler to be immediately summoned into my presence. He was a person who my father had always placed unlimited confidence in, and upon his death, I treated him the same, although for some reason 34 EMILY ELWOOD. unknown to me, Isabel had always shown a great dislike to him. He having answered the snmmons, I informed him of my suspicions con- cerning the stranger, directing him at the same time, to keep a strict watch upon his movements, and also those of my wife, and to report to me the result of his observations weekly during my absence. I then after taking an affectionate farewell of Isabel, departed. 'I did not go to Lyons, nor did I ever intend to, but instead, I went to my country-seat, situated about fifty miles from Paris, and no one knew where I had gone to except my butler. 'I had been there but about ten days, when I received from home the following note : 'MUCH HONORED MASTER: Having explicitly obeyed the commands that you laid upon me concerning my mistress, I have only to state, that if you wish to have decisive proof, that the suspicions you hinted to me are well founded, you will immediately repair to this place. Be careful and arrange your journey so as to arrive here upon to-morrow night. I hear my mistress coming. and I have not time to write more.' This from your humble Servant. F PIERRE LE BLANC. Stung almost to madness, by this dreadful news, I ordered my car- riage, which about eleven o'clock the next night halted suddenly in front of my mansion. I jumped out and entering the house, proceed- ed directly towards my wife's apartment, and there I saw just emerg- ing from the door, the accursed form of my English relation. His face was masked, and ere I had time to recover from the horror with which I stood transfixed, he darted into the street with the rapidity of light- ning. 'The rest of my story is soon tuld.—My resolution was soon taken. I did not enter the chamber, nor have I seen Isabel from that day to this. In a state of mind almost frantic, I flew to a hotel, and the next day, having given orders to my agent to sell my estates immediately, and place the proceeds in the public funds for my benefit, I drew up- on my banker for a large sum of money, and then immediately left Paris for England, where for two years I gave myself up to wine and dissipation, and gambling. At the end of that time I returned to France, where I soon found my agent had proved perfidious, and found the THE ARRIVAL OF THE STRANGER. Arrival of Arlington from England, to claim his Bride EMILY ELWOOD. 37 he had absconded with a large amount of my property, leaving me but a bare sufficiency to support myself for a few years, in a gentle- manly manner. 'But I could learn nothing from Isabel, excepting, that when the property was sold, she had suddenly disappeared from Paris, but where she had gone or in whose company, no one could tell. 'And then, hating mankind, aye almost hating myself, I resolved to retire to this country, to spend my days apart from the whole hu- man race, and die as I had lived the victim of jealousy. 'But a change has come over me since I have been here. Solitude begets thought, and I have thought, my dear Emily, long and bitter of the errors of my past life, and at last I have repented, and hum- bled myself before God, here in the midst of these wild woods and crags, and I feel that I am forgiven. And now Miss Elwood, I have given you my past history, brief and condensed and disjointed, to be sure, but still, so far as I am concerned, it bears the broad and open impress of truth.' The old man and his fair auditress, now sat for some time in si- lence, which Emily at last broke by saying, 'Thank you my dear Mr. Harlowe, for relating to me the sad story of your life; but as it is growing late, I cannot stop farther to re- mark upon it. Good evening.' 'Farewell Miss Elwood,' replied the hermit, you will keep what I have told you a secret from every one?' 'I will,' said Emily, rising to depart. So ended Emily's visit to the hermit's hut, and so ends our chapter. 38 EMILY ELWOOD. CHAPTER VI. About a month, succeeding the events before related, the following conversation took place on the deck of the Spitfire, (who was then cruising off Madeira,) between the Captain and his first Lieuten- ant. " "Our cruising is getting rather dull Mr. Chase,' said the Cap- tain. Here we have been out a whole month and have only taken one small prize. I don't see where the devil all the Englishmen have gone to.' 'Nor I either sir,' replied the Lieutenant. The crew are getting impatient. I even heard one chap saying this morning, that he should like to have a brush with something, he didn't care if it was a Frig- ate.' 'That shows a good spirit,' answered Captain Townley. Which fellow was that.' 'That handsome, looking clever-limbed chap who is parcelling the fore-stay there sir, his name is Arlington, I think.' 'I have remarked him before,' replied the Captain,' and if he con- tinues to do as well, as he has done, I will do all I can when we re- turn, to ensure his speedy promotion.' 'Sail ho!' sung out the man at the mast-head. 'Where away,' cried the Captain, springing quickly into the rig- ging and ascending to the main top. 6 Right abeam sir.' 'Lee or weather,' asked the captain. 'Lee beam sir,' answered the man.' 'Square the yards a little Mr. Chase,' said the Captain, and keep her off a couple of points.' EMILY ELWOOD. 39 These orders being promptly obeyed, the Brig which was then sail- ing close hauled upon a wind, soon fell off to her course, and quickly approached near enough to the strange craft for the Captain to make out what she was which he no sooner did, than he again sung out-, 'Mr. Chase!' 'Sir.' 'Lay the yards square, set all the studding sails abow and aloft, and then beat to quarters.' 'Ay ay sir.' The Captain descended the rigging, while these orders were in progress of execution, and informed Mr. Chase, that he had made the stranger out to be a large English ship and that she was probably a homeward bound Indiaman. The word soon got forward, that they were soon to have a brush with an Indiaman, and in an instant all was bustle and hurry, but such was the excellent discipline of the crew a few moments sufficed for preperation, and then every man was at his quarters. Captain Townley's surmises, in regard to the quality of the stran- ger, proved correct for she turned out the honorable East India Company's ship Resistance, carrying twelve guns, and commanded by one Richard Short. Upon the approach of the privateer Brig, her Captain finding it impossible to run away, concluded to fight and ac- cordingly hove his ship to, and prepared for action. Coming down close upon the ship's weather quarter, Captain Town- ley hailed her, and received for an answer her whole broadside, of seven guns, which however did but little damage to the Brig. 'I think we are like to meet with a short resistance,' coolly remark- ed Captain Townley, upon the reception of the above warm saluta- tion from his antagonist but we will now see what we can do in re- turn.' He then walked forward spoke a few words of encouragement to his men, so that every gun of the broadside was levelled so as to do execution, then returning aft he gave the long wished for order to fire. At the same time. Lieutenant Chase, was ordered to board, and ere the smoke of the guns had cleared away, he with our hero, and some others, had jumped into the boat, and ere the Indiaman's officers were aware of their purpose, they had gained a footing on the ship's deck. To their great surprise and gratification, they found the ship's crew in a state of great consternation at the murderous fire of the Ameri- 40 EMILY ELWOOD. can Brig, which had killed their Captain, and laid low some half doz- en of the bravest men among the crew. Lieutenant Chase, immediately demanded the surrender of the ship which the first officer complied with, after stipulateing for the safety of the passengers, of whom there were some twenty or thirty. Thus in the short space of half an hour, this noble ship with a large and very valuable cargo of Teas and Silks, had become the prize of the American privateer Brig Spitfire. The officer in command having surrendered his sword, the English Ensign was immediately hauled down, and the American hoisted in its stead, and the Brig having by, this time ranged alongside, her crew gave three hearty cheers, which were quickly answered by their comrades on board the ship. Captain Townley then gave orders to his lieutenant to transfer the most valuable part of the ship's cargo on board the Brig, which having been speedily done, the Captain called his officers into the cabin to consult as to the measures to be taken in reference to the disposal of the prize. 6 'We can hardly spare a crew to take her home,' said he to Mr. Chase and yet she is so valuable a prize, that I believe I must ven- ture.' 'I should think we might manage it sir,' replied the lieutenant, who did not at all relish the idea of relinquishing his part of the prize. 'Well I belive I must let you try it then,' replied the captain, but you know that I cannot spare another officer, you will therefore have to pick out a mate from among the crew. Who shall it be.' 6 Arlington, sir, if you please,' replied the mate. 'Steward,' said the Captain, 'send Arlington into the cabin.' The steward, who was a good natured black fellow left the cabin grinning from ear to ear, and going forward to where the crew were clustered together talking over the events of the day, he addressed the object of his visit as follows-, 'Mr. Arlington, Capin wants to see de light ob your countenance in de cabin sar.' " As Albert started to obey the Captain's order, one of the chaps,' who had been standing with him thus addressed the steward—, 'I say old darkey what made you put a handle to Arlington's name.' "Twas because it belongs to him,' replied darkey. 'How's that,' aaked the other. ་། EMILY ELWOOD. 41 'O you'll soon know, juss wait till he comes up again, will yer,' So saying, the 'old darkey,' returned to the cabin, where he found our hero, to whom upon his entrance, the Captain had thus ad- dressed- 'Mr. Arlington, at the request of Mr. Chase, I have been induced to promote you to the responsible station of first officer of the prize. we have last taken, which I am about to send home under his com- mand. Do you think yourself capable of filling it properly.' 'In answer to your generous offer I can only say sir,' replied Al- bert that if you see fit to promote me to the situation spoken of I will do the best I can.' 'That's enough,' replied the Captain, and you will now go on board of her, and immediately enter upon your new duties. In obedience to the further orders he received, Albert went direct- ly on board the prize, and sent her officers and crew on board the brig where they were treated with all the lenity consistent with their sit- uation as prisoners of war. The passengers all of which were females, were left aboard the ship according to agreement, in the afternoon Captain Chase took command of her, and at night the two vessels, after cheering each other heartily, parted company, the brig, hauling close upon a wind to cruise after more prize-money, and the ship steering with a fair breeze, for Home sweet Home. 42 EMILY ELWOOD. CHAPTER VII. With your permission, kind reader, we will now return to the vil- lage of M, for the purpose of looking after our heroine, and the Honorable Mr. Worthington. By a singular coincidence, it happened that on the very same night wherein Albert set sail for home, that Mrs. Elwood, having entered her daughter's chamber, (where she was seated, apparently in deep thought,) thus addressed her: 'Emily, my dear, our honorable guest is becoming very impatient for your answer to his very advantageous proposals. Have you made up your mind?' 'Yes, mother,' replied Emily, looking fixedly at her, 'I have.' 'And what is the result?' 'I have concluded, that as long as Albert Arlington lives, or till I am well assured of his death, that I will never wed with mortal man, not if he should possess all the wealth of the Indies.' 'Emily,' replied Mrs. Elwood, seating herself at the same time by her daughter's side, 'let us reason together upon this matter. You know that the small legacy left me by my father, is now nearly all spent, you know also that I am not now able to keep school, as I did formerly, or hardly to work in any way, therefore if you refuse the splendid offer now before you, why we shall have to go to the alms- house and become paupers, that's all.' 'No, dear mother, never,' replied Emily. 'I will work my fingers to the very boue, before we shall come to be so low as that. You know that I am as capable of keeping school, or nearly so, as you used to be, and I will immediately set to work and see how many scholars I can get.' EMILY ELWOOD. 43 'O that is all nonsense, Emily, for you to talk in that way,' an- swered Mrs. Elwood. 'You know that if you could get all the pay scholars in the village, you could not keep school whilst Mr. Worthington chooses to remain here. He loves you, Emily, he adores you, and I am sure, that in everything belonging to a gentleman, he is far superior to Albert Arlington.' 'That is your opinion, mother,' answered Emily, (somewhat nettled at what she considered to be an invidious comparison,) but luckily it is not mine. If fine clothes, and splendid jewelry, and an extremely fashionable exterior, are all a man requires to make him a gentleman, why then I grant Mr. Worthington to be one. But I am foolish enough to think that a man to be a real gentleman, should possess those noble and generous qualities of mind that would lead him, in all situations, and under all circumstances, to do right.' And does not Mr. Worthington possess these high qualities?' interrupted Mrs. Elwood. 'In my estimation, he does not,' replied Emily. 'Well, I see it is of no use talking,' answered Mrs. Elwood, who was fast getting into a passion, you are determined to be contrary and stubborn, but mark my words, miss, you shall never with my con- sent wed Albert Arlington.' 'I shall never without your consent, then,' responded Emily, sig- nificantly. But I have deliberately and firmly rosolved, that to none other but he, shall my hand be given.' 'But in case of his death,' gently insinuated Mrs. Elwood. 'In that case,' replied Emily, as a sickly smile overspread her pale features, ' my hand would not be worth much to any one.' 'OI have heard girls talk in that sentimental strain before,' an- swered Mrs. Elwood, but there is more romance than reality in such feelings, you would soon forget him.' 'Forget, mother,' exclaimed Emily, have you forgotten your hus- band and your father?' 'I spoke, not of husbands or fathers,' responded her mother, some- what staggered at this home question, I spoke of lovers.' C To this Emily replied not, and both mother and daughter remained for some moments in a state of silent embarrassment, each feeling conscious that they had perhaps trespassed a little too far upon the feelings of the other. At last Mrs. Elwood after taking Emily's hand, and caressing her in a very affectionate manner, again spoke thus: 44 EMILY ELWOOD. 'Dear Emily, I am your mother, and your interest snd future hap- piness in life being dearer to me than my own, I would now for the last time, earnestly request, and affectionately entreat of you to re- consider the decision you have expressed to me, in regard to our hon- orable guest. Will you not promise my dear, so to do?' 'I cannot, dear mother,' replied Emily, bursting into tears. I will promise this,- • But If Albert Arlington should not return, and if for one year I should receive no tidings from him, then will I accede to your wishes.' 'Thank you my dear,' said her mother, 'for even this condescen- sion.' She then kissed her daughter, bade her good night, and de- scended to the parlor, where she found Mr. Worthington, impatiently waiting to hear the result of her conversation with Emily. After she had gone, she thus soliloquised: 'Now I hope that I may be allowed to enjoy in solitude, my own sad thoughts, at least, until Albert returns. O Albert, in the promise I have just given, I have not proved untrue to you, for I feel in my poor heart, the sure but sweet certainty, that ere the year of proba- tion has expired, I shall be with you, in that blessed place, 'where the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary are at rest.' But I feel faint and sick at heart, perhaps a walk in the fresh air will relieve me.' So saying, she dressed herself in her walking habiliments, and leav- ing the house, repaired immediately to the sandy beach, there to en- joy the sad luxury of her melancholy meditations. Meantime, the following interesting conversation took place in the parlor, between Mrs. Elwood, and the Honorable Mr. Worthington: 'Well,' said the latter, after a moments pause, 'have you succeeded in obtaining a definite answer to my proposals?' 6 'Partially, sir,' answered Mrs. Elwood, that is, Emily has pro- mised to be yours, either in case of Arlington's death, or if she should not hear from him for the space of a year. But, as I suppose, you will not wish to wait so long as that, I have hit upon a plan whereby I think Emily can be brought to believe in Artington's death.' 'Ha,' exclaimed Mr. Worthington, what is it?' " 'It is this, All we have to do, is to get one of the sailors, who ar- rived here the other day in the prize vessel, sent home by Captain Townley, with whom Albert sailed, to relate a circumstantial ac- count of Arlington's death, in the presence of Emily.' Good,' exclaimed Mr. Worthington, starting up, 'give me wo- EMILY ELWOOD. 45 man's art before anything. I know a fit object for our plot, and I will go immediately to the tavern in quest of him. But supposing Emily does not believe him?' ( "Tis very easy,' replied the scheming and ambitious mother, to write a notice, and carry it to some one of the newspapers of the neighboring city, and then all you have to do is to place the paper containing it, accidentally in Emily's way, and the business is done.' 'Excellent,' again replied the Honorable Mr. Worthington, who taking up his hat, immediately departed to the village inn. Our heroine had proceeded but a short distance on her way to the beach, when, upon hearing her name pronounced, she turned and discovered the hermit walking swiftly towards her. 'I am glad, my dear Emily, that I have been so fortunate as to meet you, although I have sad news to tell you concerning our poor Jane.' 'What can it be,' asked Emily, with great eagerness. 'You probably recollect,' replied the hermit, that the last time you visited me at my habitation, Jane was not there. I thought, as I then said, that she would soon return, but she did not, and as the dark shades of night crept gradually over the earth, I began to feel very anxious about her. Morning succeeded night, still the wanderer had not returned, and I resolved to seek her. I searched the woods for days together in every direction, but all to no avail; and I finally gave up the pursuit in despair. 'A few days ago she again appeared at my hut, exhausted and weary; but since that time she has been very sick. She is now under the care of Mrs. Martin, and is at her house, whether I am now going to see her.' 'And I will go with you,' replied Emily, 'if you are willing?' 'Certainly,' answered the old man, 'and you cannot very well help going, for here we are at the door.' The hermit and his companion then entered, without the ceremo- ny of knocking the street door of Mrs. Martin's house, and proceed- ed with noiseless steps to the chamber of the sufferer, where they found Mrs. Martin sitting by her bedside. 'How is she?' asked the hermit, speaking in a low whisper. 'O she has been very poorly, sir, this afternoon,' replied her kind nurse. At this instant the poor sick girl awoke from her troubled sleep, and exclaimed, 46 EMILY ELWOOD. 'Where is Henry? Where is my brother? Are they not here? O my poor head: I have been dreaming and I have talked with an- gels, and they told me I should soon see Henry. O my poor weak heart.' She then remained silent for a few moments, and the nurse said, 'My dear how do you feel now?' 'O very weak,' replied the sufferer, and then rivetting the wild gaze of her eye upon Mrs. Martin, she exclaimed, 'Do you think I shall see Henry before I die?' 'I hope so,' answered the nurse, and then Jane sank away again. into her former state of restless slumber. 'It is getting late, and I must now depart,' whispered Emily to the hermit, but I will come again in the morning, and bring some little things with me, that I think poor Jane may need. Good night.' 'Good night,' said the hermit, and Emily departed. At the door she was met by the attending physician, and she in- quired of him his opinion as to Jane's condition, and concluded by asking if there was any hope of her recovery. 'A very faint one,' replied the physician, who then bidding Emily good evening hastened to the sufferer's apartment. EMILY ELWOOD. 47 CHAPTER VIII. The next morning, Emily repaired early to the chamber of the in- valid who, when she entered was singing, in a low and plaintive, yet sweetly melodious voice, the following words, 'Hark! I hear the sea-bird screaming, And I see the lightning's gleamings, Hark, I hear the cannon's roar, And now-my brother is no more. 'O yes,' continued the poor maniac sufferer, 'Albert is dead and Henry is dead, and I alone am left to mourn their loss. And how glad I shall be when I am called to follow them. It is good for the poor, and the weary, and the distressed, to die, and oh, how can they wish to live. But if they ever saw in their dreams what I have seen, they would pray that they soon might be mouldering in the cold church-yard, where they would feel neither huuger, nor thirst, nor cold, nor pain.' She now fell back upon her pillow greatly exhausted, and Emily, whispering to Mrs. Martin how has she been during the night?' With the exception of one or two fits of raving, such as you just now witnessed,' replied the nurse she has been more quiet, and res- ted better, than for several nights past. The doctor was in just before you came and said that he considered her to be somewhat better, and directed that she should be kept quiet. Upon hearing this, Emily after leaving with the kind nurse some few luxuries which she had brought for the sufferers benefit, after say- ing that she would soon call again, took her leave left the house, and wended her way towards the hut of the hermit. 48 EMILY ELWOOD. She had not got but a short distance, from Mrs. Martin's house, when she was accosted by a young man of handsome and genteel ap- pearance dressed in a scaman's garb, in the following manner-, 'Could you be so good as to tell me Miss, where Mr Albert Arling- ton resides at this present time.' Emily stood for a moment confounded, at hearing such a question, in such a place, but quickly recovering herself she answercd-, 'The person to whom you have referonee, sailed from this place some three months ago, in the privateer brig Spitfire, Captain Town- ley, and as yet nothing since has been heard of him.' "May I be so bold as to ask if you are acquainted with him,' said the stranger. 'I am, intimately,' answered Emily blushing deeply. 'And his sister?" asked the stranger, in a tone of striking earnest- ness. "Yes sir.' 'Where does she reside,' again demanded the stranger. " 'I will show in one moment sir,' answered Emily, but she does She is very sick.' not see any one. 'Sick,' repeated the stranger, looking at Emily incredulously. 'Jane Arlington sick?' At this critical juncture, and before Emily had time to answer, the hermit approached and speaking to Miss Elwood, said, 'Good morning Miss Emily, I am very glad that I have met you. I am going to call immediately to see poor Jane, and I suppose you would like to accompany me?' " 'I have just left there,' answered Emily, with an intention of vis- iting your habitation. But this gentleman,' continued she looking significantly at the hermit, wishes to see her, and I will now refer him to you for farther information.' 'For heaven's sake, sir,' exclaimed the stranger, 'if you have any regard for a brother's feelings, show me immediately into Jane Arling- ton's presence.' 'You are not her brother,' said the hermit. 'No but I am- 'Who!' 'Henry Milton, Jane Arlington's affianced lives.' Both Emily and the Hermit were for a moment struck dumb at this strange announcement, but at length the silence was broken by the lat- ter who said- " EMILY ELWOOD. 49 'Alas young man, I am fearful that you have come too late. The spirit of that pure maniac girl is, even now about to leave its frail ten- ement of clay, for the holier, and happier, regions of immortal bliss. But come with me, I suppose you may be allowed to see her, but you must prepare yourself for a sad and melancholy sight.' 'I am prepared,' replied Henry, struggling to conceal the emotions which almost overpowered him. 'Lead on.' 'Do you go with us Miss Elwood,' inquired the Hermit. No I believe not,' replied Emily, but I may see you again in the course of the day.' So saying Emily turned her steps towards her mother's cottage whilst the Hermit and his new companion, took the opposite direction towards the house of Mrs. Martin. After they had walked for some time in silence the hermit said—, 'You are like one risen from the dead, young man and your appear- auce here at this time is very mysterious to say the least of it.' The hermit then related to him what the reader already knows con- cerning the report of his death, and the consequent grief and insanity of his betrothed, to which Henry replied, as follows-, 'My dear sir, truth in many cases is much stranger than fic- tion. I shall relate to you my story in a few words—, 'The vessel in which I sailed from this place, when off the coast of Brazil, was visited by a terrible epidemic, which carried off many of her crew. I was one of the first seized with it, and was placed by my captain (in order I suppose to keep the infection from spreading,) on board of a small schooner, which was bound into a small port upon the coast. I was so far gone, that all hopes were given up of my recovery, and my captain even paid the master of the Brazilian ship, to have me buried upon land. (if I lived to arrive there,) in a Chris- tian and decent manner. This therefore accounts for the story of my death.' 'But contrary to all human expectation, I lived, and the third day after leaving my vessel, I was landed in a small and obscure Bra- zillian port, situated upon the banks of a large river. Here I soon recovered my hhalth, but unfortunately the place was such a distance from any large port, wherein I could be able to find any chance for a passage home, that I was under the necessity of making it my home for more than a year. But at last to my great joy, an Ameri- can schooner, which happened to be upon a trading voyage up and 50 EMILY ELWOOD. down the river, stopped at the place of my residence for fresh pro- visions, and in her I obtained a passage to Rio de Janeiro, from whence, after a few weeks delay, I found an opportunity to sail for home, and day before yesterday I safely arrived at Boston, and from thence, as you see I have made the best of my way to this place where I have spent many happy and joyous hours.' They had by this time, arrived at the abode of Jane, and having en- tered the house the hermit said, "You had better remain in the parlor, Mr. Milton, until I see how Jane is, and in the meantime prepare yourself for the worst." So saying, the hermit, proceeded immediately to the chamber of the sufferer, and speaking to Mrs. Martin, he said-, 'How is she.' 'Better, she sleeps.' 'How think you that she will bear the news,' continued the hermit in a low whisper, her lover Henry Milton is below alive and well.' 'Henry Milton, exclaimed the maniac girl starting wildly up, Hen- ry Milton, alive where is he? let me see him I am not sick, 1 am strong and well, I know he is here, and I must and I will see him. In the wild strength of her delirium, she was about to spring from the bed, and it required the combined force, of the hermit and Mrs. Martin, to keep her down, but at last they succeeded, and at that in- stant, the door of the chamber opened, and the dying girl was clasped in the arms of her long lost lover. 1 1 EMILY ELWOOD. 51 CHAPTER IX. Three days after the events related in the preceding chapter, Emi- ly, as she reterned from her customary morning's walk, picked up as usual, the newspaper, which had been left lying upon the door-step, and carried it to her chamber to peruse it. As she turned as usual to the ship news, her horror and surprise at reading the following words, may be better imagined than described. 'SPOKEN-On 19th May, Lat. —, Lon. —, the American Privateer brig Spitfire, Captain John Townley, who had the day before captured and sent home as a prize, British brig Hannah, with a cargo of su- gar, bound from the West Indies, to Bristol, Eng. We regret to state that a gallant young fellow, one of the crew named Albert Arl- ington, a day or two previous to the capture, fell from the mast-head and was drowned.' The paper containing this sad intelligence dropped from the poor girl's hand, as she finished reading, and she stood for some time, the very picture of despair, erect and stiff, though pale motionless and tearless. After she had stood for some moments as if she had suddenly been petrified into a statue of marble, her pent up feelings found utterance in the following words: 'Albert dead, gone. Do I dream? oh no, it is a sad and terrible reality. But it will be only for a few short months, dear Albert, and I shall join you in Heaven.' 'What makes you look so deadly pale, my daughter,' exclaimed Mrs Elwood, who at that moment entered Emily's apartment, ‘any news of Albert ?' 52 EMILY ELWOOD. 'Look at this,' answered the horror-struck girl, handing the paper wildly to her mother. Albert is dead!' " 'Dead!' exclaimed Mrs. Elwood, apparently in great astonishment, 'how so? Perhaps there is some mistake, and it may not be true. But come, my dear, breakfast is now ready in the parlor, and we are only waiting your appearance.' Lead the way mother,' annswered Emily calmly, 'I am now pre- pared to obey you in every particular.' They then descended to the parlor where they found the Honorable Mr. Worthington busily engaged in sipping his chocolate, who, upon looking up as they entered spoke as follows-, 'Good morning Mise Elwood, your fair countanance looks unusually pale this morning. What dreadful accident has occured thus to alter your general appearance.' 6 'The unexpected news of the death of a near friend,' answered Mrs. Elwood is the sad cause of my daughter's disordered appearance.' 'Look at this.' So saying she pointed out to Mr. Worthington the paragraph in the paper wherein was chronicled the death of Albert Arlington. After perusing and reperusing it, Mr. Worthington again looked up and addressing Emily, said— 'Although the delicacy of my situation in regard to you Miss El- wood, still I can, and hope I may be allowed deeply to sympathize with you in your present bereavement. But then there may be some mistake, and- and, At this instant some one knocked loudly at the street door, and Mrs. Elwood proceeded to open it, when a large coarse looking man in the garb of a seaman presented himself and asked—, 'If the Honorable Mr. Worthingon resided there.' 'He does,' replied Mrs. Elwood, 'do you wish to see nim ?" 'I do.' 'Walk in,' and immediately the stranger entered the parlor, and was greeted by a warm shake of the hand from Mr. Worthington who said-, 'Why John, my old footman, how came you here.' 'Just the fortune of War, your honor,' replied John, 'I happened to have the bad luck, to be on board the Hannah, when she was cap- tured, and so you see I was sent home in her, as a prisoner of War.' 'But how comes it you are not aboard of the prison ship.' EMILY ELWOOD. 53 'Why I happened to have considerable money about me, and so I got released upon parole, and having accidentally caught sight of you in the street yesterday I found out the place of your abode, and thought that by calling upon you I might perhaps, as I always served you faithfully, I might find a friend.' เ Glad you have come,' answered Mr. Worthington, but was you taked on board the privateer.' 'I was may it please your honor.' 'How did you like her crew' 'Why I was not there long, please your honor, and I heard but very little except that they had lost one of their number from the mast- head a day or two before.' 'Ha,' exclaimed Mr. Worthington 'did you learn his name?" 'Yes sir.' 'Who?' 'Albert Arlington,' replied the man with great apparent uncon- cern. Upon hearing this strong corroborration of the report of Albert's death, Emily swooned, and when she recovered her consciousness she found herself reclining upon the bed in her own apartment, and her mother standing over her with a countenance on which was por- trayed, the most deep and anxious solicitude. 'My dear,' said Mrs. Elwood, upon finding that her daughter had in a measure recovered, you have received a heavy blow, but it is your duty to submit to the chastening hand which dealt it with holy and pious resignation.' 'Now I suppose,' continued she, after a moment's pause, dur ing which Emily began to sob convulsively, ' that after a decent delay, you will be willing to accede to my wishes in regard to Mr. Worthing- ton.' Mother,'replied the grief stricken girl,mournfully,al I ask is a de- lay of two short months and then you may bestow my hand upon whom you please.' 'Thank you my dear,' exclaimed Mrs. Elwood hardly able to re- press the gratification which she felt at the successful issue of her plot, but we will not talk, so lie down and compose yourself.' Emily did as her mother desired, and she left the apartment, and descending to the parlor congratulated Mr, Worthington, upon the probable success of his wishes in regard to her daughter. 54 EMILY ELWOOD CHAPTER X. CONCLUSION. We will now return to the sick chamber of Jane Arlington. At the sight of Henry, and upon feeling the magic touch of his dear hand, her delirium was over, her consciousness and reason had again returned. 6 O blessed be God !' exclaimed she, as Henry stepped forward, and embraced her, the prayer that I have uttered time after time, in the dark woods, when my poor shattered brains were swimming ronnd in wild delirium, is now answered, and I depart in peace.' As she said these words, her eager and strong hold upon Henry's hand became suddenly loosed, and she fell heavily back upon her pillow.' Good God!' exclaimed Henry,' she is dead!' At this instant the physician entered and stepping up to the bed, and taking his patient's hand, he took out his watch, and holding it in his hand, he tried to catch some faint beating of Jane's pulse with the other. A few moments of terrible suspense, and relinquishing his hold up- on his patient's hand, he said, She lives, but her life hangs upon a thread, and depends entirely upon her being kept quiet. Mr. Milton,' added he, turning to Henry, 'you had better not see Jane until she is better. After having given the necessary directions to the nurse, and say ing that he would call again in the course of the day, the physician left the house in company with Henry and the hermit. EMILY ELWOOD. 55 After they had got into the street, Henry addressing the doctor, asked, If he thought Jane would recover? To this the physician answered after a moment's silence, that he thought since she had lived through the shock of Henry's sudden and unexpected appearance, if his directions were obeyed, and her case was judicially managed, she might possibly get well, although he could not speak with certainty until he saw her again. So saying he left them, and Henry having received, and gladly ac- cepted the invitation of the hermit to share with him his rude abode, they both proceeded to the hermit's hut. In the evening, Mr. Harlowe again visited Jane, and returned to Henry with the gratifying intelligence, that after having enjoyed a sweet and refreshing slumber, she had awoke much better, and after this so rapid was her recovery, Henry was made happy by being al- lowed to be as much as possible in her company. And now we will return to Emily. Six weeks, long and dreary weeks to her, had passed away, and no tidings had been heard of the privateer brig and her crew, and the last faint ray of hope became gradually extinguished in Emily's bosom. She had visited the hermit and told him her troubles, but he found it utterly impossible to console her. But what grieved him more than anything else was, to see the dreadful alteration wrought in her ap- pearance during those six short weeks. During that time, the hue of the rose had left her fair cheek, and it bore the hue of the whitest marble. Her form also had become emaciated, and to speak in one word, she was changed, utterly and sadly changed. But the time was now drawing near, when she had agreed to fulfil her promise to her mother, towards Mr. Worthington, and she ap- peared not to shrink from the dread task, but to her mother's many importunities for her to receive her destined husband before the day of the appointed ceremony. She answered, 'No, mother, that sacrifice will be enough.' And now it was the evening before her bridal, and Emily El- wood might have been seen sitting on the same stone, upon the same beach where we found her at the opening of our story, looking fixed- 56 EMILY ELWOOD ly upon the distant horizon of the sea, and as she gazed, a small white object seemed to flit before her eyes, and she said, 'Ha, that is a sail. O! would to God it were Albert, but no, oh no, that cannot be, and then the poor broken hearted girl started up from the cold damp rock, and wended her way slowly and sadly to her mother's cottage. The same night, or rather the next morning the hermit was greatly surprised at a loud knocking at the door of his hut, and upon rising from his couch, and demanding who was there, the answer he received was, 'Albert Arlington.' . Do my ears deceive me,' exclaimed the hermit or have I been dreaming? But to be certain,' continued he, 'I will rise and open the door.' He did so, but upon seeing the intruder, he started back, and sur- veyed Albert from head to foot, apparently struck dumb with aston- ishment and surprise. 'You need not be afraid of me, my kind friend,' said Albert, as he entered, 'I am no ghost.' ( 'No I see you are not, now,' replied the hermit, but how came you here?' 'I have come', answered Albert, 'in capacity of first officer of the honorable East India Company's ship Resistance, Captain Chase, and prize to the American privateer brig Spitfire, Captain Townley About an hour ago, we anchored in the harbor, and immediately ob- tained liberty to come on shore, and the inhabitants of the town be- ing all retired, as I suppose, to their beds, I thought that the best way I could do was to visit you But how is Emily?' 'Sit down and I will tell you,' replied the old man. The old man then recapitulated to his eager listener all the cir- cumstances connected with the story of his death, and how that Em- ily, after the last hope of ever seeing him on earth had fled away, had consented to yield to her mother's ceaseless importunities, and to marry Mr. Worthington. 'And when is the wedding to take place?' tremblingly asked Albert. 'To-morrow.' 'How lucky it is that I have come,' replied Albert, 'the villain, for the sake of a few thousand dollars, to coolly destroy the peace and happiness of one of the best creatures upon earth. But come my EMILY ELWOOD. 57 dear friend,' he continued, speaking to the hermit, 'let us proceed immediately to Mrs. Elwood's house.' " 'O don't be in a hurry,' answered the old man, there's plenty of time yet, but I suppose you are somewhat impatient, so we will even go along.' Having thus spoken they both left the hut, and as they walked swiftly along through the green woods, the hermit related to his com- panion the particulars concerning Jane's illness, and her lover's happy return. 'She is better now, then? exclaimed Albert. 'O yes, she is now quite recovered,' answered the hermit,' and nothing is wanted to complete her happiness except your presence, and Emily's freedom from that haughty Englishman.' Just as our two friends emerged from the woods into the main street of the village the bright and glorious sun had just risen and every- thing around began to feel its warm and gentle influence. " "This is about the time that Emily generally takes her morning walk,' said the hermit, and as I live there she is now, and her in- tended husband along with her.' And there she was sure enough, and sure enough there was the Honorable Mr. Augustus Worthington too, who had insisted upon ac- companying her in her morning walk. To run with all speed towards them, to knock the Honorable Mr. Worthington down, and clasp Emily in his arms was but the work of a moment, and as he did so he exclaimed, 'O my Emily, the happiness of this moment would atone for a life of misery, and now you must in truth consent to be the Privateers- man's Bride.' 'Albert, dear Albert,' replied Emily, 'I am yours now and forever,' and immediately swooned in her lover's arms. The remainder of our story must be condensed in a few words. About one month after the events related above, Albert Arlington and Emily Elwood, and Henry Milton and Jane Arlington, accom- panied by a goodly array of bridesmaids and groomsmen, amongst the latter of whom was our friend the hermit, entered the village church, and soon Jane Arlington became Mrs. Milton, and at the same time Emily Elwood became in reality the Privateersman's Bride. The Honorable Mr. Worthington apparently not relishing the man- 58 EMILY ELWOOD. ner of Albert's treatment to him, suddenly decamped for England, thereby driving away from the eyes of Mrs. Elwood, all the ambitious schemes of a splendid fortune, and coach and six for her daughter, and she had after some time been brought by the powerful arguments of the hermit to yield a reluctant consent to her daughter's marriage with Emily, who notwithstanding lived a long and happy life with her noble husband, who afterwards became a captain in the American Navy, with Henry Milton as his first lieutenant. And now gentle reader, wishing them and their children and the hermit who resided with them, all happiness here and hereafter, we will affectionately bid you good bye. THE END. 7 Je3'18 2-31700 UNIVERSITY OF CHICAGO 098 322 608