P S 
 
 2459 
 
 N28 
 
 S4 
 
 1840 
 
 MAIN 
 
 NRLF 
 
 SE3 
 

SEVENTY-SIX; 
 
 OR, 
 
 LOYE AND BATTLE 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR OF LOGAN, THE MINGO CHIEF." 
 
 Oar country ! right or wrong. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 PUBLISHED BY J.CUNNINGHAM, CROWN-COURT, 
 FLEET-STREET, 
 
 AND SOLD BY ALL BOOKSELLERS. 
 1840. 
 

 
 SEVEN T Y-SIX. 
 
 v -^ 
 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 OaT_F&thers ! Where are they ? BIBLE. 
 
 Yes, my children, I will no longer delay it. 
 ""We are passing, one by one, from the place of 
 ^contention, one after another, to the grave ; and, 
 ^in a little time, you may say, "^Our fath.er.s j.-r-the 
 \f- vpien of the Revolution where are they?" Yes, 
 I "will go about it in earnest ; 1 will leave the re 
 cord behind me, and when there is nothing else to 
 remind you of your father, and your children s 
 children of their ancestor nothing else, to call 
 up his apparition before you, that you may see 
 his aged and worn forehead his white hair in the 
 wind you will but have to open tl.e book, that I 
 shall leave to you, and lay your rieht hand de 
 voutly upon the page. It will have been written 
 in blood and swea< , with prayer and weeping. 
 But do that no matter when it is, generations 
 snay have passed away no matter where I am 
 my flesh and blood may have returned to their 
 original element, or taken innumerable shapes of 
 loveliness my very soul may be standing in the 
 presence of the Most Hiuh. Yet do ye this, and 
 I will appear to you, instantly, in the deepest and 
 dimmest solitude of your memory ! Yes ! I will 
 go about it this very day. And I do pray you 
 and them, as they shall be born successively of 
 you, and yours, when all the family are about 
 their aan r t-.i i ary , - 1>, ejf r> w nv*-i<l*> \ h P holy .and 
 -cpmfojtabie place, to open the volume, and read it 
 aloud. Let it be in the depth of winter, if it may 
 be, when the labour of the year is over, and the 
 heart is rejoicing in its h me ; and when you are 
 alone : not that I would frown upon the traveller, 
 or blight the warm hospitality of your nature, by 
 reproof; but there are some things, and some 
 places, where the thought of the stranger is in 
 trusion, the touch mid hearing of the unknown 
 man littlu better than profanation. If you love 
 each other, you wilt not, go abroad fcr consola 
 tion ; and if you are wise, you will preserve some 
 hiddenfountainsof your heart, unvisitedbutby one 
 or two the dearest and the best. This should 
 be one of them 1 will hnve it so. I would not 
 have your feeling of holv aud solemn, and high 
 enthusiasm, broken m upon by the unprepared, 
 just when you have been drought, perhaps, to 
 travel in imagination, with your father, bare 
 footed, over the frozen gtound, leaving his blood 
 at every step as he \\en , ^e-olate, famished, sick, 
 naked, almost broken-heaited, and almost alone, 
 jour* ** . 
 
 age; over the same ground, remembering that the 
 old men who travelled it in the revolution, doing 
 battle at every step for your inheritance, were an 
 army journeying deliberately to maityrdom. Do 
 this, my children, and let itbe a matter of religion, 
 with you : teach your children to do the same. 
 Let every place of especial trial aud bloodshed be 
 a Mecca to you and to them, and God s blessing 
 shall be upon you, for ever and ever. 
 
 We have had many a history of our country, 
 many of the revolution ; but none written by 
 men acquainted by participation therein with our 
 sorrow, and trial, and suffering: not one, where 
 the miehty outline of truth is distinctly visible 
 no, not one. I make no exception. All of (hem 
 are in my mit.d at this moment there is not 
 one. We .wrestled, children as we were, for eight 
 years, with armed giants : and wrenched 
 wrenched, with our own hands, the spoil from the 
 spoiler, overcame them all at last, after eight 
 | years of mortal trial, and unintenupted battle, 
 even in their stronghold. 
 
 I was one of them that helped to do this. 
 Thereis a vividness in my recollection that cannot 
 deceive me. I knew personally, and intimately, 
 the leading men in thisdrama. Most of them 
 have gone down to their graves, dishonoured and 
 trampled upon in their old age ; many are yet 
 wandering, heipless and dejected, among the 
 beautiful and vast proportions of that edifice, 
 which they built up with their blood aud bones, 
 like the spirits of venerable men, that have been, 
 driven away from their dwelling-places by ban 
 ditti, and died in a foreign land-liKe shadowy 
 sovereigns, coming back to a degenerate people, 
 haunting the chambers of their greatness in olden 
 time, and re-treading, with an air of authority 
 and dominion, which is the scorn and mockery of 
 men, whose fathers could not have stood upright 
 in their awful presence the courts where they 
 have been dethroned the ancient palaces, which, 
 they built with their own power ?nd treasure, 
 and from which they have been bauishtd, day by 
 day, with insult and derision. Yet, at my bidding 
 they will appear ! and harness f.nd array them 
 selves, and stand before you, as 1 have s-eea them 
 stand before G.KOIUJK WASHINGTON a batta 
 lion of immoveable", impregnable, unconquerable 
 old men. _ 
 
 I am familiar with all that they thought and 
 did ; they that were about me, I mean, from the 
 time that I went among them a passionate, wild 
 I come out from them, battered and 
 
THE N0VEL NEWSPAPER. 
 
 worn, and bruised and broken, and scarred all 
 over with the deep cabala of premature old age. 
 
 None but an eye-witness can tell, as it ought to 
 be told, the story of individual suffering, protracted 
 for such a time, the tale of individual heroism, con- 
 tinued year after year, under privation, cruelty, in 
 sult, and toil, beyond all that the men of Rome or 
 Macedon, under Alexander himself, would have 
 borne, in the spring-tide of their heart s valour. 
 
 Yes, though I would tell the tale before I die- 
 old as I am, frail as the tenure is by whicL I hold 
 to the earth, I must take my own time for it, and 
 tell that which I do tell with the plainness and 
 honesty of my nature, so that you may depend 
 upon it. You know that I will tell you notliing 
 v>hich I do not know to be true. I need not add, 
 therefore, that, where there is a disagreement 
 between my story, and that which you will find 
 in the blundering, tedious compilations, which are 
 called the Histories of our Revolution, you will 
 do well to rely upon mine; 
 
 Let this be copied, in a fair hand, by Frederick, 
 and during the next week I will forward you two 
 or three sheets more. Make no alteration in it 
 no corrections. If there be any part illegible, 
 leave a blank, till I have an opportunity of sup 
 plying it. I would have this a family,xelic, the 
 egitimate production of your father an unedu- 
 Ated, plain soldier, and of him alone. It will 
 then grow every year in your veneration, gain 
 every year upon your heart, in solemnity and in 
 terest. Nay, let this intimation take a higher 
 authority. I know the sacredness of ancient 
 things. I command you, therefore, that you lay 
 not your hand upon one letter of what I write. 
 Men do not talk now as they used to; you see 
 none of the old-fashioned kingly-looking people 
 in this generation nothing of their high carriage 
 and attitude hear nothing of their powerful 
 voices, and legal tread their thought, the cur 
 rency of their heart is base and degenerate ; it 
 wears no longer the stamp of sovereignty is no 
 longer -the coinage of God s kingdom; but the 
 paltry counterfeit thereof base and showy. No ! 
 trust them not. Hold what there is left to you of 
 other days, as the regalia of giants ; to be visited 
 only bj torch- light, with downcast eyes and folded 
 arms. Ye are a fettered people fettered too by 
 manacles, that would have fallen from the limbs 
 of your fathers like rain dropped from them, in 
 the indignant heat of their mighty hearts, like the 
 leaden entrenchments of a furnace. 
 
 My children it has been my nature, _from my 
 cV.ld hood, to speak and write for myself. There 
 are few men upon this earth, in whom it would not 
 be presumption to alttr what 1 have written. 
 And you, my children, are not of their number. 
 In you, it would be wicked and foolish. It would 
 lead to a perpetual discus&ion, in your family, 
 about the genuineness of the whole, and, in time, 
 destroy all your reverence for me. No let there 
 be no interpolation. My blessing shall not abide 
 upon him that dares to add, alter, or ieave out, one 
 ot or tittle of the whole. No let it go down, 
 with your blood, the patent of your nobility, to the 
 elder son, for ever and ever; and when you are 
 able, multiply the copies among all that are des- 
 <xuded from me, as the la t legacy of one, that 
 it would be an honour to them, whatever thty may 
 be cnuie, to be the posterity of. 
 
 My style may often, offend you. I do not doubt 
 that it will. 1 hope that it will. It will be re 
 
 membered the better. It will be the style of a 
 soldier, plain and direct, where facts are to be 
 narrated ; of a man, roused and inflamed, when 
 the nature of man is outraged of a father, a 
 husband, a lover, and a child, as the tale is of one 
 or of the other. 
 
 You have all had a better education than your 
 father. You have, most of you, a pleasant and 
 graceful way of expressing yourselves on paper 
 and there is one among you, you know which I 
 mean, the operations of whose mind are as vivid, 
 and instantaneous, and beautiful, as flashes of 
 coloured light ; but there is not one among you, 
 net one, that has yet learnt to talk on paper. 
 Learn that learn it speedily ; there is no time to 
 be lost. 
 
 Farewell, my children, farewell: till the next 
 mail. I shall expect you, a week, at least, before 
 Christmas. 
 
 JONATHAN OADIEY. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Thy spirit, Independence ! let me share ! 
 
 Lord of the lion-heart and eagle ey e! 
 Thy steps I follow, with my bosora bare, 
 
 Nor heed the storm that howls along the sky;. 
 
 After reflecting a good deal upon the subject, 
 my dear children, I have come to the conclusion, 
 that, if I interweave with the history, which I 
 have promised to you, some account of myself and 
 Archibald, of whom you have heard me relate so 
 many things that made your nerves shiver, as 
 with electricity, when you were mere boys, it will 
 do much toward perpetuating the history of our 
 family, and keeping your attention alive to the 
 order of events. 
 
 And that, at the end of another generation, my 
 posterity may not have to inquire, who and what 
 were their ancestors, I will begin my narrative 
 with a rapid sketch of our family, so far as there 
 are now any traces of them left. I find a tradi 
 tion among us that we are of Scotch extraction ; 
 and, by looking into the records of our oldest 
 colony, as Plymouth, you will find a constant 
 reference to the name of Oadley, as to one of influ 
 ence and authority. My^gn4&ither, I know, 
 was born in a part of New England, since called 
 the New Hampshire Grants, and, yet more recent 
 ly, composing a part of the newly-made state of 
 Vermont : and I have heard my father relate 
 several anecdotes of his warlike and adventurous 
 character. It was he that headed the party 
 against King Philip, as he was called, the Indian 
 of Mount Hope, the season before his death; and 
 he was the very man that gn ppled with him, in 
 the midst of his young men, who had decoyed the 
 paity into an ambush; thereby, as you will 
 remembe i,holding Philip asahostage, even in the 
 centre of his wigwam, tiil he was compelled to 
 forego the whole profit of his adventure ; and 
 lie it was who threw up his commission, before 
 the Plymouth fathers, and broke his sword, and 
 swore by the Everlasting God that he would 
 never diw another, after the slmn eful treachery 
 that had been practised upon that wary but 
 high-hearted Indian, at the time of his assas 
 sination. Nor did he, till his dying day* I 
 
SEVHNTY-SIX. 
 
 can but just recollect him. He was a very erect, 
 stately, stern old man, of few words, and remark 
 able stature. This is all that I can recollect of 
 him, except that he used to talk to the militia of 
 the day, as if they were children, and relate, with 
 a distinctness that made my young heart swell 
 violently, many aa inroad of the Indians. 
 
 My father, as most of you well remember, was 
 a pacific, mild, kind-hearted man ; and if I add to 
 this, that, after he removed from Providence 
 plantations to the Jerseys, he never saw blood 
 drawn, till the flame of the revelation had broken 
 out, you wUl then know about all that any man 
 knows of his early life. Till within the last ten 
 years of his life, there was the s:une plain, unpre 
 tending, substantial good sense in all that he did ; 
 and during many years that we lived together, I 
 do not reins inber that I ever saw him in a passion 
 but twice or three times ; and the first le:t such 
 an impression on my mind, that I will relate ic 
 it was on seeing my good mother, in the piide of 
 her beauty, equipped in a new calico gown, 
 flowered ail over with yellow and blue roses, about 
 the size of cabbages, after the new importation 
 confederacy had been adopted. The affair had 
 been managed secretly, and my mother might 
 have passed it all off without the loss of her 
 finery, or the rebuke that she received, had she 
 been able to suppress, a little more, her natural 
 spirit for display ; but unfortunately, she could not, 
 and she had passed, and repassed, before my 
 father, during the first day, so frequently, in her 
 ilamiug ruffles and furbelows, that human patience 
 could endure it no longer. "Peggy," said my 
 father, what is the meaning of this? She 
 smiled, coloured, bridled a little, and turned about, 
 so as to exhibit all the proportions of her finely 
 turned waist, before she answered. 
 
 I was but a little fellow, scarcely old enough to 
 speak my own name, so as to be understood ; but 
 my father s anger so frightened rne, it being the 
 first explosion, that I could not think of it for some 
 time afterward, without looking behind me, and 
 holding my breath. 
 
 My mother was the "lady" of the neighbour 
 hood, and but for one other lady, would have been 
 the happiest of human creatures. 
 
 "O, my dear," said she.coaxingly "onlyalittle 
 spec of mine ; I was going to take tea with our 
 neighbour Arnauld, and I thought " 
 
 " Driak tea! said my father, shutting his bible, 
 v.ith a clap that made me start, and standing 
 erect You remember his height lew men carried 
 such a front with them, and of all our blood, he 
 was the tallest, I believe" Drink tea, Peggy ! 
 Do you not know, child, that tea is one of the 
 prohibited things?" 
 
 My father alluded to the coafederacy that had 
 just been entered into, by all the substantial men 
 of the country, some in shame, some in terror, 
 and some from downright honesty and virtue, not 
 to purchase or consume any article whatever, sup 
 plied by the mother country to the colonies ; and 
 te i was one of the enumerated articles. 
 
 My mother turned pale, I remember, but con- 
 tiaued for a moment or two to defend the visit 
 a id tea-drinking stoutly, but my father was im- 
 inoveable. 
 
 "Woman!" said he, putting his large hand 
 kindly, but authoritatively, upon her shoulder. 
 " while you are my wife, not one c ip of tea shall 
 
 pass your lips, unless the confederacy be 
 doned. And if your neighbour " 
 
 This neighbour, by the way, lived eight miles* 
 off, at the end of an almost inaccessible wood,anc$ 
 was the lady rival of my mother. 
 
 " be weak and wicked enough to treat her via: 
 tors, in the present state of her country, \viih.. 
 tea. you shall never, with my leave, set your foot 
 within her doors again. 
 
 " High times indeed !" said my mother, bounc 
 ing away from his hand, (she was the younger, 
 by at least twelve years ; and that gave her an 
 advantage, not to be overlooked by a handsome 
 and adroit woman) " High times indeed ! Jona 
 than Oadiey" (his name, too, was Jonathan, as- 
 you will recollect) " when a body cannot be al 
 lowed to take a drop of tea for medicine 
 
 " A drop of heli-fire !" cried my father, stamp 
 ing Mith wrath "A woman of America! the 
 
 wife of Jonathan Oadiey whose husband has 
 signed a paper with his own blood (a literal 
 fact, my children, for in the feeling of the time, 
 no solemnity, and I might say, no superstition 
 was. spared) " calling down the anger of God 
 upon his house, and his wife, and children, i? 
 he kept it not shall she be the first to laugh his 
 obligation to scorn give his household to de 
 struction, and her husband s name to dishonour ? 
 O, for shame!" 
 
 I am sure, even now, that, had my father been 
 less violent, by a little, than he was, there would 
 have been no trouble in the affair ; but my mother 
 was a high-spirited woman, remarkably well bred 
 for the time, and had married him, in the face 
 and eyes of all her family 
 
 " Ye ye yes, said^she, sobbing "just what 
 I expected. I was always t t told so I " 
 
 " That I was a tyrant ?" said my father, gently 
 " no, Peggy, no I am no tyrant but much 
 as I love you, and that boy yonder, I would rather 
 lose you both, rather see you taking a mortal 
 poison, both of you, than a cup of this accursed 
 tea: but what is this what is the meaning of 
 this ?" (taking hold of the long ruffle, or flounce, 
 at the elbow of her glittering calico) " new,is it, 
 Peggy?" 
 
 My mother held down her head, whether ia 
 shame and mortification, or in sulknness, I know 
 not ; but there was an awful stillness for a 
 minute or two, and then my father went up to 
 her, and took her in his arms and kissed her 
 I declare to you, my children, like some high 
 priest, about to offer up a living creature that he 
 loved, in sacrifice. 
 
 He was very pale, and, after uttering a few 
 words, my mother began, very reluctantly, to un 
 fasten her girdle. My notion was, from rny own 
 experience in such matters and the sternness of 
 his countenance, and the terror and shame in her *, 
 th^t he was going to beat her, and I began to 
 cry lustily ; but they gave no heed to my bawling, 
 and I never stopped, even to get my breath, till I 
 had seen the beautiful calico gown torn into five 
 hundred pieces, and burnt in the fire my another 
 clad anew, in a dark brown cotton of her own 
 weaving, and my father sitting by her, Avith his 
 ann round her waist, and her head leaning upon 
 his shoulder, full of affection and duty. 
 
 Thus much for my father s temper : it will give 
 you some notion of his general deportment, when 
 I teil you that I never saw him transported so far 
 on any other occasion, for more than twenty year 
 
THB NOVEL NEWSPAPER. 
 
 Nothing else, I am persuaded, could have dis 
 turbed him, like this wavering of allegiance in his 
 Afrife. He loved her ardently, truly, but he loved 
 her like a njan. And as he never warmed but on 
 one theme till the cry for independence rang like 
 a trumpet throughout the mountains and that 
 was, whenever the character of her father, the man 
 of war, was named, I have had no better oppor 
 tunity of seeing his nature than you yourselves 
 liave had, till within a few years of his death. 
 
 My infancy .boyhood, and manhood too. I might 
 say, were spent much as they are with most of the 
 world, who are born apart frorr, all but a few sober, 
 plain dealing country neighbours ; for I was nearly 
 twenty-two, and probably the stoutest fellow of 
 sny age in the whole country ; and Archibald, a 
 poor weakly creature, about twenty, when the war 
 of the revolution broke out, and gave to our cha 
 racters, and that of my father, a strange, unex 
 pected power, revealing many deeply-hidden pro 
 perties, that might have been< and no doubt would 
 have been, buried forever, but for the events that 
 I am now about to relate. 
 
 We were very happy ; and though we heard of 
 the war, and the numerous temptations of bounty 
 and equipment, and advance even at our own 
 doors, from the continental recruiting officers that 
 came among us, yet nobody from our neighbour 
 hood seemed to regard it as a possible thing for 
 one of us to go really and truly into battle. We 
 read of such things and talked of them ; but 
 somehow or other it never entered our head, that 
 they who did such feats as we were told of, were 
 flesh and blood, like ourselves, raw countryman 
 who would turn pale in the beginning of a cam 
 paign at the sight of blood, and stand up before it 
 had finished like a veteran before the roar of 
 artillery, and rattling of bullets, and the sure 
 approach of the bayonet. 
 
 None of our neighbours had actually gone into 
 service, though several had threatened violently, 
 just before the affair of Long Island, and the 
 abandonment of Fort Lee and Washington ; but 
 when they happened, one after the other with 
 some other disasters, in such rapid succession, it 
 Is too true, rny children, that the stout-hearted 
 among us began to look about for darkness to 
 cover them. Sir Henry Clinton was now in New 
 York; our army had dwindled down to a few 
 miserable battalions, with no cavalry ; and Corn 
 wallis was mustering in the rear of poor Wash 
 ington, who really began to totter, even in the 
 estimation of my father. 
 
 We were about fourteen miles from the high 
 trad, over which our countrymen were afterwards 
 hunted by Sir William Howe ; and already we had 
 h*ard " the drum beat at dead of night," and seen, 
 m.vay on the verge of the horizon, the red light of 
 farm houses, set fire to b^the royal banditti": and 
 once, I remember, when my cousin Arthur, a fine, 
 free-spirited fellow, and Archibald and I were out 
 upon a high hill, late in the afternoon, we heard 
 a heavy cannonading in the east, and were soon 
 after told there had been a bloody aifair with some 
 of the outposts that Sir Henry Clinton had estab 
 lished to protect his foraging parties. 
 
 In the evening, as we sat together in a mourn 
 ful silence, Arthur at last with a. deep sigh, turning 
 to my father, asked him what he thought of the 
 matter ? 
 
 The old man shook his head, and his large bony 
 hands as they lay on the table before him were 
 
 raised for a moment with a convulsive pressure, 
 and then he shook his head again. 
 
 " A dreary winter, father, * said I, " and the 
 farmers complain bitterly of the depredations 
 committed by their own countrymen." 
 
 There was another deep silence of some minutes, 
 when the old man groaned aloud, as if his heart 
 were in travail. 
 
 Archibald arose and went to him, and put hi* 
 hand upon his shoulder, in that silent, strange 
 way which was so natural to him, even when a 
 boy, and lifting his deep blue eyes with a melan 
 choly look of determination, said 
 
 " Surely, sir, you do not complain of these 
 things ?" 
 
 " No, Archy," replied my father, putting his 
 arm round his waist, " no, my boy, I do not 
 complain that my cattle are driven away from me 
 to feed the poor fellows in camp ; for I Know that 
 Washington has no other way of feeding them, 
 particularly since the removal of Commissary 
 Trumbull ; but I do complain when I see my cat- 
 tie slaughtered and hewed to pieces in my barn 
 yard, and left there, weltering in their blood, by 
 the savages that are detached from our army !" 
 
 "Father!" said Archibald, retreating two or 
 three paces, folding his arms, and looking him in 
 the face, as if he thought he had not heard him 
 aright 
 
 " I know what you are thinking, Archibald," 
 said my father, " and I cannot blame you. You 
 have not forgotten my words, when the Declara 
 tion of Independence was read to us, have you ? 
 
 " No, sir," said my brother, his pale face 
 growing still paler, and his slender form shivering 
 with the depth and excess of some inward and 
 unknown feeling, and then added, in a manner 
 that awed me ns much as if a dumb creature had 
 suddenly found his tongue ; for such had been the 
 melancholy, deep, and solemn abstraction of his 
 nature, from the age of about eighteen, that we 
 had learnt never to attempt any conversation with 
 him, leaving him alone and unmolested to his 
 thought, as a poor distempered creature whom it 
 was a pity to worry in his humours ; and now, 
 when he broke out upon us much after the follow 
 ing fashion, our amazement held us speechless; 
 and that of my father was dashed with a feeling of 
 shame, that even I could tee, for the red blood 
 shot over his temples and up through his bald 
 forehead, showing that he felt the rebuke of 
 Archibald even to his old heart. 
 
 ( - No, sir! I have not forgotten it," said my 
 brother, standing motionless before him, " and 
 I did believe that not one of this house would 
 ever forget it. But now now, in the time of 
 his tribulation, when all that is dearest to us, our 
 home and country, is about to be laid waste with 
 fire and sword they that have sworn to stand 
 by George Washington, though Heaven itself 
 rained fire upon their heads (your own words, 
 sir), are the first to abandon him withhold 
 their succour, drive off their cattle to the woods, 
 bury their provisions, and refuse the currency of 
 the country ; nay, more, the first to quail at the 
 sound of cannon, the first to lay their hands upon 
 their own children and say, you shall not fight the 
 battles of your country." He faltered as he con 
 cluded, and when he had done, and the echo of his 
 own words came back loudly to him from the 
 eeilinsr. he started, and looked about him with a 
 troubled air for a moment, and fchea put his tHia 
 
SEVENTY-SIX. 
 
 hands to his forehead and buried them slowly in his 
 rich brown hair, as if astonished at the sound of 
 his own voice. 
 
 Nor were we less so. My cousin Arthur and I ex 
 changed two or three glances, and the tire streamed 
 from his black eyes as he ran up to Archibald, and 
 seized him by both his hands, and shook them for 
 a whole minute, as if he would shake them off, 
 trying two or three times, but in vain, to speak, 
 and at last turning away, and wiping his eyes, 
 without utfering a word. , 
 
 " Archibald, said my father, rising majestically 
 and coming forward to meet him, "it is hard to 
 abide the upbraiding of a child, our own child, our 
 youngest born 
 
 Archibald s head drooped, and the red heat went 
 all over it, like the light of a furnace. 
 
 "Yet it is harder," continued my father, "to 
 bear that of our own heart (laying both his hands, 
 emphatically, upon his left breast, as he spoke). 
 What would you have me do ?" 
 
 It was a whole minute before Archibald replied, 
 and his chin worked up and down all the while of 
 his preparation, and a mortal iividness overspread 
 his face, while his long dark eyelashes gave an ani 
 mated sadness and shadow to his beautiful eyes; 
 and when he did reply, it was by lifting his head 
 slo-vly to our father s, planting: his foot, and com- 
 pressing his folded arms upon his chest, as if to 
 keep down a rebellion there. 
 
 " Shall { speak the truth ?" said he. 
 
 "Assuredly, answered my father, while Arthur 
 pressed up to me, and whispered, " What pos 
 sesses the creature ? Is that Archibald, the weak, 
 peevishboy. 1 I shook my head ; Iknewnotwhat 
 to think of it. 
 
 "Well, then," continued Archibald, in a voice 
 which was just audible, " you ask me what I 
 would have , ou do ? I answer thus. Sell all that 
 you have. Give all that you have to your country. 
 Shoulder your knapsack. Put another upon John 
 (he always called me John) ; and another upon 
 me. Let each of us take his course through the 
 country, and collect as many as we can of the stout 
 yeomanry ; and then go before George Wash 
 ington, and tell him to be of good cheer, for, come 
 what will, we, at least, will abide with him to the 
 death." 
 
 My father shook his head, but embraced 
 Archibald, and kissed his white forehead a dozen 
 times at least before he answered. 
 
 " I am proud of your spirit, Archy," said he ; 
 " but I cannot say much for your wisdom. What ! 
 in the darkest time of our trial, when the bravest 
 of all the land are hiding themselves in dismay, 
 shall I be the first to let out my whole blood, at 
 once, in c esperation?" 
 
 "Yes Yes! now is the time ! father now ! 
 
 even now !" cried Archibald, pressing upon him. 
 
 /" One such example would electrify the country. 
 
 f WhatJ_\vould you stand by, and see our little army 
 
 \ beaten man by man, and wait for a miraculous 
 
 interposition of Heaven for their relief ? No, my 
 
 /^father, give but the signal here are four of us 
 
 r already, and, before to-morrow night, I Avill put 
 
 { my head upon the issue, that I carry forty more 
 
 j with me ou the way to Washington s camp. Do 
 
 ; this, aud, before the winter is gone, he will have 
 
 I turned upon his enemy, and beaten him back into 
 
 { his hiding places. What say you? shall we buckle 
 
 i on our blankets?" 
 
 ^As he said this, he took down an old rifle that 
 
 lay athwart the smoked panel work, over the 
 fire-place, and leant upon it with a face all on fire ; 
 but my father put out his spirit immediately, with 
 a smile, as he said 
 
 No, rny boy, Washington would hardly thank 
 me for an army of such striplings. 
 
 Archibcild bit his lip. 
 
 "Three of us," said he, " are stout iren you, 
 and John, and Arthur, and " 
 
 " Arthur may do as he pleases," said my father j. 
 " and as for John, from this moment he hath my 
 consent to shoulder hi- musket." 
 
 " And join the army," shouted Archibald, leap 
 ing from the floor. " O, do let me go with him. 
 I I I am not very strong, but I can " 
 
 " No, Archibald, I cannot part with you. Your 
 constitution is too delicate." 
 
 " The best way to harden it, father," said he. 
 " Your temper too unsocial and passionate " 
 
 " The best way to cure that " 
 
 " Silence ! I will not hear another word upon 
 the subject John may depart whenever he pleases, 
 and, if Arthur will go, he may have his choice of 
 the horses, and I will furnish both, as well as 
 montycau doit, with equipments; but as for you, 
 I will not part with you. They are strong, hand 
 some fellows, and will work their way through the 
 battle, I ll warrant them ; but as for you, the first 
 thing that I should hear of you would be, that you 
 had been run away with by your own horse, or 
 trodden to death in the onset. No, you shall be a 
 minister, Archibald, a minister of the gospel. 
 
 Archibald looked at him a moment, as if T 
 hardly dare to say what, for he was the most affec 
 tionate creature in the world, and till that hour I 
 had never heard him speak a loud word in the 
 presence of my father. He had always sat apart 
 by himself, musing all the day long over some 
 history or drawing. But it did appear to me that^ 
 all at once, his soul felt new strength, and that, 
 before the sound of my father s voice had died 
 away, declaring that he should be a minister of the 
 gospel, he had determined to be torn in pieces first 
 by wild horses ; but he bowed his head reve 
 rentially to my father (who left us for awhile), and 
 went into the darkest corner of the room, where 
 he stood for a whole hour without opening his lips. 
 
 " Well, Jonathan," said my father, returning 
 " what say you, when will you go? 1 
 
 I felt my heart stop partly with ghame, and 
 partly with fear, till he repeated the question, and 
 I saw Archibald s eyes flashing, impatiently, for 
 my answer. " Whenever you please, sir," said I 
 though I would have given the world to be out 
 of the affair. 
 
 " To-morrow, then," said Arthur, rubbing hi* 
 hands. " The sorrel mare for me Hobaon s choice 
 for you and the next morning at daylight, hourra 
 for the camp !" 
 
 I have determined not to disguise one feeling of 
 my heart, nor one thought of" fear, my children ; 
 for I would have you know me thoroughly ; and, 
 therefore, I must own to you that I wondered at 
 the enthusiasm of Arthur, and would have givea 
 my right hand that the proposition had not been.- 
 made ; but I was ashamed to appear less of a man 
 than Arthur, who was a whole year younger, and, 
 therefore, I answered stoutly, " To-morrow be it 
 then." 
 
 VIy father embraced me, and there was a look of 
 encouragement in the face of my brother, that 
 made me run up to him, when he caught my hunt 
 
8 THE NOVEL 
 
 and wrung it with all his might, while the tears 
 rushed iato his eyes, and he said, " O, brother, 
 would to God that I were as strong and handsome 
 as you!" 
 
 Arthur arose to go. 
 
 " No, my lad," said my father, "you will take a 
 -bed with me to-night, and to-morrow go round to 
 your acquaintances, with Arthur and Archy ; they 
 shall both go with you, and bid them good-bye. I 
 will take care to represent the matter rightly to 
 
 your uncle. It is really time that we did something. 
 I Am ashamed of myself. Our cause must perish 
 
 - if all abandon it as I have done. No, I will mount 
 and ride to-morrow through all the neighbourhood, 
 and never rest till I have stirred up some of our 
 substantial men for they are the most backward 
 after all ; they have nothing to gain and much to 
 lose, and they, like me, have been lying by, to see 
 the SUB break out, before they go abroad. No ! it 
 shall not be so another day. I will go to them 
 myself, and if that doesn t work upon them, I will 
 let the minister loose. Ha 1 Archy, what say you 
 silent? Well, well, I like your contemplative 
 spirit so fond of study. 
 
 I heard something fall, and turning to where 
 he stood, saw that the book which he had been 
 holding had fallen from his hand, but he did not 
 appear to observe it. 
 
 " No!" continued my father, " we must be 
 jeady to begin the next campaign with spirit, or 
 the devil will be to pay one bold, manly effort, 
 and we shall down with our invader to the dust 
 to-morrow, I will throw open my barn, and 
 stable, and corn-houses, and let the first foraging 
 party that will, empty them all and set fire to the 
 ruins. I will never complain more ! what suy 
 you, Archy ?- will that do ! come, come, cheer 
 up you shall stay by your old father and mother, 
 and comfort them, while Jonathan is cutting 
 and slashing at the enemy so, hourra from in 
 dependence !" 
 
 " Hourra! hourra!" shouted Arthur, swinging 
 the oid rifle round his head " hourra for inde 
 pendence !" 
 
 My voice followed his, but so faintly, that it 
 sounded like an echo only while Archibald merely 
 locked his hands, and uplifted fliem to heaven, 
 much to the delight of the old gentleman, who 
 winked at us, and smiled, as if it were some 
 timely revelation from above " Yes! yes! 1 said 
 * he, " he was made for a minister." 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 What steed to the desert flies fast and afar ? 
 
 no rider is there ; 
 
 . Aad the bridle is red with the sign of despair. 
 
 Never, in all my life, did I pass such a night 
 as that which followed the conversation that I 
 have just related. I know not whether I was 
 born with a more timorous heart than other men, 
 but I have been ready to believe, when I have 
 seen their indifference to matters of life and 
 death, where we have stood together, ankle deep 
 in blood : their cold, phlegmatic habitual disre 
 gard of what made my heart feel sometimes as if 
 it were turning to stone within me, and my flesh 
 
 crawl : that they were fashioned originally, and 
 by constitution, of sterner material than my- 
 self; and yet, I have seen Archibald too, pale as 
 death, in the awful stillness that preceded the first, 
 shot, while they went on, immoveable and solid as 
 a phalanx of machinery, with no sweat upon their 
 foreheads, no prayers upon their lips, no knocking 
 at their ribs. What, then, should I think ? His 
 courage was indisputable, and yet he was abun 
 dantly more agitated than myself. However, not 
 to anticipate, there were a thousand apprehen 
 sions, natural to an inexperienced country lad, 
 like myself, about to abandon the roof of his 
 father, mingled and dashed, too, with some plea 
 sant and adventurous feeling, common, I dare 
 say, to the high in blood, whatever may be th.^ir 
 courage : but there were some perils some, that 
 the terror of would not let me sleep. The small 
 pox was in the American army, an I its ravages 
 were tremendous, as we were told, and believed : 
 add to this thatCornwallis had just moved up an our 
 frontiers, with the design of effecting a junction be 
 tween his army and that of Sir Henry Clinton, then 
 ii possession of New York. Their forces, exceeding 
 lifty-five thousand men, were well known to i.e 
 admirably appointed, and altogether superior to 
 ours. Arnold had been beaten, aid we had j ist 
 lost the command of the lakes ; and Fort Pitt, 
 too, had fallen ; several perilous changes h/id 
 been made in the staff; General Schuyler and 
 Gates were at loggerheads Washington himself 
 was losing a part of his popularity ; and they 
 were intriguing to set him aside, not by dismissal, 
 butby passing a vote of censure upon him, which 
 they knew the great man would not brook ; the 
 army had dwindled to nothing, by the folly and 
 madness of short enlistments, and, literally, 
 nothing at all had been done, on our part, during 
 the campaignnothing experienced but a series 
 of defeat and humiliation, which no human being 
 could have held up against, except George Wash 
 ington. 
 
 Such was the state of affairs at this time ; and 
 if you add to these facts, which were painful and 
 dishearteniug enough to intimidate and bow 
 the bravest, the ten thousand rumours and ex 
 aggerations perpetually afloat ; the fact that we 
 were safer under the protection of the enemy than of 
 our own countrymen ; the different appearance of 
 our tatterdemalions, half naked, half armed, and 
 half starved, from their invaders, a gallant and 
 d izzling army with banners and trumpets, and the 
 offer of pardon and mercy, just made by Sir 
 William Howe, at the head of thirty thousand 
 veterans offers which were not only made to, but 
 were accepted, far and near, by the dastardly 
 gentry (for the poor held out, in their nakedness 
 and poverty, to their last breath ); and the threat, 
 constantly reiterated, that all the prisoners of 
 war would be hung for rebels and traitors, and 
 never exchanged ; you will not wonder that my 
 heart was heavy at the thought of what I was 
 about to encounter. 
 
 However, the night wore away nt last, and 
 never did the morning light break in upon me 
 with such influence ; my blood danced in my 
 body : and before I had been out in tha wind an 
 hour a fine frosty air, with a few stars yet visi 
 ble, and the bluest sky that I ever saw above me, 
 I do believe that I could have gone int > battle 
 with less terror than I had heard the proposal to 
 go tea or twelve hours before. Such is the 
 
SEVEXTY-SIX. 
 
 steadying effect of contemplation ; such is to be 
 prepared and such the strengthening of God s 
 breath, when it blows down from the mountain 
 upon us, before sunrise. It would revive a dead 
 man, I have sometimes thought, when I was 
 galloping away before it, for life and death al 
 most: but Arthur appeared the same frank, 
 cordial, careless fellow in the morning, that I 
 had always found him. He was one of them 
 that take whntevjr happens, in this world of 
 com motion apd trial, as a sort of thing not to be 
 troubled about. 
 
 " We!!, John," said he, clapping me on the 
 shoulder, retreating about forty y?.rds, and level 
 ling; his rid-; at my head, il let me see if you can 
 stand fire?" 
 
 I started, in good earnest, for it went off, and 
 the ball whistled through my head, I thought, 
 for a moment but it certainly passed very near 
 me. 
 
 " Better than you cousin, I am sure !" said I, 
 forgetting my consternation, in looking at the sud 
 den change and frightful expression of his face. 
 
 " Gael a mercy !" he crie l, " whew !" stopping 
 a moment to see if I would fail, and the a running 
 up to inc. an. 1 feeling all about my head, like a 
 delirious creature, for a minute or two " bless 
 my heart and soul ! whew ! well, how do you feel ! 
 d n that rifle, it goes off without touching the 
 trigger, it o:i?y jarred in my hand." 
 
 " Yes !" said I, rising forty-fold in my own 
 estimation to find that I was so little discomposed 
 by an accident, that had well nigh settled the 
 campaign \vith me for ever and ever, and shaken 
 poor Arthur s courage into dust" yes, but if 
 you do not aim better than that, when you get 
 among the Virginia riflemen Mo-gan s men 
 they ll " 
 
 " Don t talk to me don i talk," cried Arthur, 
 choking with joy and terror, while his black eyes 
 actuaiiy ran over, and he trembled from head to 
 foot. 
 
 "Weil, 1 seid Archibald, j"inir,g us with a 
 prouder step than common, " you are harnessing 
 for the war, I see, my brave brother ; and you, 
 too, cou^iti Arthur. Have you made up your 
 minds never to return, never to lay down your 
 arms never ! never! till ha ! what s all this 
 by heaven, it cannot be (catching Arthur by the 
 arm, nnJ turning him partly round, for he was 
 stooping as if to tighten the girth of his horse, 
 but had remained there rather too long a time for 
 the impatient temper of Archibald) tears ! tears 
 upon the face of Arthur Rodmac." 
 
 V Yes," cried Arthur, "and tears had well nigh 
 been upon your f;tce, too, rny hid. 
 
 Archibald shook his head, and smiled. 
 
 "O i! you may smile any body can smile ; 
 but, if you h;id seen your brotb.tr "shot through 
 the head, 1 am iaciined to think that 
 
 " Y/ii;it were you firing at ?" said my father, 
 leaping over the fence near where we stood, and 
 standing all at once by our side. 
 
 Arthur, though 1 attempted to avoid him, im- 
 mediately told hira, aud as he diet I could perceive 
 the under lip of Archibald violently compressed, 
 and his brow knitting with eraotk>n,"but my father 
 did not change countenance. 
 
 "And how did he bear it?" said he. 
 
 " Like a lion," cried Arthur, striking his hands 
 together; " he only turned upon me and chided 
 me for my bad shot," 
 
 "Not so bad a shot, neither," said Archibald, 
 putting his hand to my face; " an inch or two 
 more, and the ball -would have done your business. 
 You will have to get a lock shorn on the other side 
 of your head." 
 
 It was very true : my hair was loose and flying 
 in the wind, and the ball, diverted from its aim 
 by the jar of the piece as it fell into Arthur s 
 hand, had cut away one of the heaviest locks, as 
 if it had been shorn with a razor. My blood 
 thrilled, and I felt sick at the heart for a moment ; 
 and, if I had been alone, I should have fainted, I 
 dare say, while I thought of my narrow escape ; 
 but eventually it was a happy thing fcr me, per 
 hapsone of the happiest, for it gave others a 
 great opinion of my self-command, and finally 
 produced a like opinion in myself. Nay, to this 
 very incident, in a great measure, I believe, may 
 be attributed the reputation that I subsequently; 
 obtained, of being ons of the most intrepid fellows 
 in our regiment ; for I have always observed that* 
 when a report has once gone abroad, people rarely 
 think of inquiring into the origin or authority of 
 it ; so that it would be no difficult matter, I 
 believe, for any man to put his own character, in 
 what form he pleases, out iato the world, and, 
 after a time, they that were vociferous in defence 
 of his virtues, would forget that he himself was 
 the author and origin of all that related to them. 
 " Say that you are not afraid of the devil," said 
 Arthur to our sergeant one day, " and, by and by, 
 it will become your general reputation. Every 
 body will swear that you are not afraid of the 
 devil, and forget who told him so nay, fight to 
 prove it ; for, such is man s nature, enlist him to 
 report a doubtful affair, and it is ten to one that 
 he exaggerates in proportion as he is distrusted, 
 until at last he is willing to spill his blood in proof 
 of it. Another good effect i?, that the man him 
 self, at last, begins to believe that other people 
 know him better than he knovtfs himself, and he 
 really becomes what they say he is not afraid of 
 the devil!" 
 
 At last we bi eakf.i steel altogether, my dear 
 mother at iny right hand. A mournful, but manly 
 and noble so rrow was in the countenance of my 
 father; a more tender and passionatenneinthelight, 
 hazel eyes of rny mother ; and in all the rest, that 
 kind of unwillingness to he either silent or talkative 
 which characterises young hearts when they are 
 among them that mourn, without being able to 
 understand or comfort them. We swallowed our 
 milk (for coffee was unknown to us then), but left 
 the food untasted ; and then, with an occasional 
 word or two, that sounded abruptly upon the ear, 
 as if spoken in a wrong place, unpreparedly, as in 
 a sick chamber, or house of prayer we mounted 
 our horses. 
 
 " You will beat up for recruits," said my father, 
 " during the day, and return to us at night. To 
 morrow we shall try to set you both off in good- 
 earnest." 
 
 Archibald came to me, and took the bridle in his 
 hand f^r a moment, as I was turning away, and 
 then let it go again reluctantly, as if he had in 
 tended to "bid me a farewell," but his heart had 
 faiied him. 
 
 "But, Archy, how is this?" said my father. 
 "Do you net g o with them :" 
 
 "No, sir," said Archibald, throwing down his 
 eyes, "my horse might run away with me, you 
 know." 
 
THE NOVEL NEWSPAPER 
 
 My father laughed. "No, my boy, you are the 
 better horseman of the three, if not the best of 
 the county, and I would trust you to break a cnlt 
 that I would not trust many a rider to cross af.:er 
 you had subdued him. I did not mean to mortify 
 you, I only desired to make you feel that you were 
 comparatively helpless." 
 
 "I did feel it, father," said Archibald, walking 
 away. 
 
 " Well, well ; never mind it, son. The stud is 
 your own. Take your choice, and follow them, if 
 you will or go with me to the muster, or take 
 your own way, and, if you thin ; you can succeed, 
 go among the lads of the neighbourhood, and t-ee 
 how many you can bring in. 1 
 
 Plis eyes flashed fire, I remember, as we set off 
 at full gallop for the high road, and in less than 
 twenty minutes we saw him stretching like a 
 hunter over a distant elevation ; after which for 
 lie only took off his hat, stood up in the stirrups 
 for a moment, and waved it without stopping 
 after which we saw no more of him til! about nine 
 that evening, when he came suddenly upon us with 
 nearly twenty well-mounted young fellows, upon 
 the best horses in the country, rattiing at his heels 
 like so many n\ad devils. They almost rode us 
 down, for, with all our efforts, we had been able 
 to muster but five. 
 
 " How he sits!" cried Arthur, pointing to him 
 as he rode leisurely about, while we were all trying 
 to form. Tbe moon shone gallnntly upon us, and 
 really, had there been a trumpet there, and an 
 -enemy, we should have given a good account of 
 him, notwithstanding our inexperience and 
 wretched equipment. Indeed, there is a natural 
 feeliug of the heart, a proud pulse, about men 
 always, who ride well, and are well mounted, 
 though they are alone in the daylight ; but when 
 there are thirty more of them, thundering along 
 at full gallop, under a broad blue sky, and a clear 
 starlight, though they were day-labourers on foot, 
 lucre would be a swelling of the heart, warlike 
 and hazardous, I am sure, like banditti at least, if 
 not like well-trained cavalry. 
 
 " I am thinking," said Archibald, leaping his 
 liorse at full speed over a ditch where all the others 
 halted and boggled, and joining us I am think 
 ing that if we ride over to the plain yonder, the 
 muster-ground, that we may spend an hour or two 
 profitably in manoeuvring against to-morrow." 
 
 Arthur smiled, but, in that spirit of fellowship 
 which all men have under excicement, we rode on, 
 renewing our acquaintance with some of the 
 horsemen about us, and making it with such as 
 -were strangers. They were fine fellows, indeed ; 
 .and when we were afterwards counted off into 
 fours and sixes, and the order was given to gallop, 
 I thought that I had never seen so handsome a 
 troop of yeomanry. 
 
 Archibald had ridden hard, I am sure, that day, 
 for the mettlesome creature that he rode kept 
 throwing down her head and snorting continually 
 when she stopped, as if hurt in her wind. 
 
 " My friends," said Archibald the moon shone 
 full upon his white forehead as he uncovered it, 
 and wiped away the sweat it is now time to 
 separate. Let us meet to-morrow, at twelve, on 
 this spot, each prepan d to return no more or to 
 return victorious. I said us I do not mean it. 
 It is not in my power to be \\ith you, except, 
 perhaps, as J have already told you to bid you 
 God speed. But before we part.if you are willing 
 
 to spend half an hour, and your horses are not 
 fatigued, I will show you what little I know of the 
 cavalry exercise, so that you will be enabled, at 
 least, to enter the camp with an air of respect* 
 ability." 
 
 The proposition was agreed to, and he threw us 
 into line, counted us off into sections, wheeled ia 
 and out, galloped, and charged. I was truly 
 astonished at the result. Before we parted, our 
 horses would rein as steadily into line, and wheel 
 with as much precision, almost of themselves, as 
 if they took a pride in it; anl subsequent ex- 
 perierr-e has proved to me that they do, for many 
 a. wild one have I seen broken to the line in a 
 single drilling. 
 
 We then separated, all to our different homes, for 
 the night ; when Arthur, who had been riding at 
 our side, in silence, for about half an hour, suddenly 
 wheeled from the road, with a laugh, leaped a lew 
 stone wall, and dashed away to our left. 
 
 " At twelve precisely," said I, calling after him. 
 " Aye! aye, at twelve !" he answered, flourishing his 
 sword in the starlight. 
 
 Archibald reined up for a moment, and looked 
 a r ter him in surprise " not the way to his uncle s?" 
 said he. 
 
 " No," I replied, well knowing where he had gone. 
 " I believe not." 
 
 Archibald looked at me for a moment, as if about 
 to speak, but he did not, and then put ahead for 
 some time. 
 
 " Wlrit say yon," said he, abruptly, " shall w 
 ride over to Arnauld s ?" 
 
 " By all means," I cried, leaping forward and 
 abreast of him ; " it is only a mile or two, and I 
 should like to se Lucia before I go," 
 
 Lucia ! yes," said Archibald, stooping over the 
 neck of his horse and fettling the curb ; " it would 
 be well. You are a favourite there, brother ; and it 
 would be rather unfriendly to go away for so long 
 
 a brother, your stirrups are too long shorten 
 
 them you can never sit firmly in that way throw 
 your feet home." 
 
 " Plio, pho ! how should you know better than I?" 
 " I do know better than vou, brother ; and it mat 
 ters not how I know it. If vou do not ride with 
 short stirrups, and your feet home, you are perpe 
 tually in danger of losing your seat, and your 
 stirrup." 
 
 " But suppose I should be thrown ?" 
 " You cannot be thrown. You must not look to 
 such an event as possible. I wvs never thrown." 
 I beg your pardon," said I. 
 
 " Never! he replied, warmly. " Once or twice 
 the horse fell with me " 
 
 " And suppose that your feet hsdbeen home then, 
 what would have become of you ?" 
 
 " They were. I grant, brother, if you are thrown, 
 that it is more dangerous ; but then you are not the 
 
 hundredth part so likely to be thrown as ah I 
 
 music I" 
 
 We were now passing the windows, a long row of 
 which, with the curtains up, were all illuminated. 
 Archibald put his hand gently upon mine for a mi 
 nute, and sat listening. 
 
 " By heaven !" said I, " there never was such a 
 voice upon earth. 1 
 
 But he said nothing, he only drew a long breath, 
 and turned aside his face. 
 
 There was Lucia, lolling upon the sofa, and sing, 
 ing away with all her heart aud soul, as if her verjr 
 
breath were melody, so sweet and natural was the 
 modulation of the tone. 
 
 " How very beautiful!" said I, -dazxled by her 
 brightness, as the (ire-light shone upon her eloquent 
 countenance, and gave to the whole of it the hue of 
 a lighted transparency. 
 
 Archibald made no reply, but threw himself from 
 the saddle, and struck the gate with his whip handle. 
 The sound immediately ceased, and some tokens of 
 alarm were given ; for hands wtre busy in letting 
 down the curtains of the room, all around, and it 
 was some minutes before we were admitted. But 
 then O ! our welcome was that of the heart. 
 
 " Oh, my dear, dear friend," cried Lucia, running 
 to Archibald) and putting her hands into his, " how 
 glad I am that you are here." 
 
 " Why so ?" said he, colouring a little. 
 
 " O !" she answered, " O !" her pleasant, dark, 
 hazel eyes, with lashes black as death, were shaded, 
 for a moment, with embarrassment " we have been 
 terrified this afternoon, with some stories about a 
 troop of horse in the neighbourhood. " 
 
 " But you seem to have forgotten Mr. Oadlev," 
 said her eldest sister Clara, a remarkably pale, tall 
 girl, with a serious cast of countenance, and very 
 bright eyes, incessantly in motion. 
 
 Lucia coloured to the temples, and stepping for 
 ward, her superb person just losing its girli-ihness 
 for the graver beauty of womanhood " I pray Mr. 
 Oadley to pardon me," she said. " I have always been 
 more intimate with his brother, as he knows well, 
 and when I see him, there are so many feelings of 
 the old schoolfellow at my heart, that I am half 
 inclined to forget both our ages in a game of 
 romps /" 
 
 Her sister smiled, a little scornfully, I thought ; 
 and her mother, one of the most truly beautiful 
 women of the agp, immediately set all matters right 
 by shaking her finger at Lucia and welcoming, 
 with her accustomed gracefulness and ease her 
 " euro atnico /" 
 
 " I am really glad thnt you have come, separate 
 from the pleasure that your company always gives 
 to us, on account of this report, and the absence of 
 
 my husband." 
 
 Absei 
 
 I could say more, a look from Archibald cut me 
 short. 
 
 There was a momentary embarrassment in all our 
 faces for I dreaded to mention, that I had seen him 
 within an hour or two; and still less would I have 
 told her where for there was something rather mys 
 terious and, as my father thought, dangerous in 
 the movements a<id authority of Mr. Arnauld ; but 
 it soon wore off, and we joined, pleasantly, in con- 
 Tersation. 
 
 " I heard your voice, I believe," said Archibald, 
 looking at Lucia, " as we approached." 
 
 " Mine !" she answered, with surpri.se, " a laugh 
 ing, 1 suppose?" 
 
 " No singing your favourite air." 
 
 " O no : that was Clara s." 
 
 Archibald and I exchanged a look with each 
 other, and smiled. Here had been one of those de 
 lusious, at which men may laugh if they will, but 
 which are strangely mortifying to them, after all. 
 We had united, heretofore, in our condemnation nf 
 Clara s voice, chiefly, I dare say, because we had 
 not often heard it, and when we had, only by steilth 
 or accident; yet, to-night, in the depth of our feel 
 ing, we had mistaken it for that of her sister, which 
 was, undeniably, the richest, sweetest, and mo.-t 
 passionate of all the country. We! uo, ho>v do I 
 inow that he was deceived ? 
 
 SEVE.V1Y-S1X. 11 
 
 " One song," said my brother, " Miss Lucia, anil 
 we will then leave you." 
 
 " A strong temptation !" she said, softly, to me, 
 looking through her abundant dark hair, " shall 
 I?" 
 
 " O, certainly !" I answered, " I have come on 
 purpose to hear one more of " 
 
 Why, what is all this?" said her mother, glanc 
 ing at Archibald, " your countenance is more tkau 
 commonly serious. Has any thing happened ?" 
 
 " My brother," said Archibald, will join the 
 army to-morrow." 
 
 " The army ; gracious heaven !" said Clara, and 
 then checked herself, while the blood darkened ker 
 whole forehead. 
 
 " And your brother," said a faint voice to me ; I 
 looked up, and saw thfe face of Lucia, near mine, 
 exceedingly pale, and her white hand raised, " vsill 
 he go with you ?" 
 
 I shook my head, and her hand fell. Tho next 
 moment I saw her sitting back, as far as she could, 
 with her eyes upon a book; but occasionally they 
 turned timidly aside, to the face of my brother, who 
 sat, iu his usual mood, studying the fire, with his 
 under lip working, and shadows flitting, now and 
 then, over his intensely white forehead, as if the 
 thoughts of his hwart took wing, one after the other* 
 
 Hit reverie was profound and undisturbed, till the 
 clock struck, and he started upon his feet, and 
 began buttoning up 1-iis coat to depart. 
 
 "You will not Itave us to-night," said the mother. 
 Clara walked up to me, as pallid as ever, and the 
 book fell from Lucia s hand. 
 
 " Madam," answered my brother, " if you have 
 any apprehension remaining, we certainly shall not; 
 one of us (Lucia moved near to him, and Clara to 
 me, as he continuevi) one of us will remain." 
 
 She shook her head. 
 
 " Well, then, both of us will remain," sa d Ar 
 chibald, drawing up his chair to the corner, and 
 entering into conversation, as if his thoughts were 
 any where in this world but in that room. 
 
 " But why do you not join the army ?" said Mrs. 
 Arnauld to him. 
 
 Archibald turned slowly round, and smiled ratlter 
 bitterly, I thought ; and Lucia sat more erect for- 
 a while, and then leaned forward, as if to catch every 
 word, and tone, and look. 
 
 " For two or three reasons, said Archibald, firmly. 
 " In the first place, I am not twenty-one not my 
 own man ; in the next place, I am to he a parson 
 a parson ! and, finally, I a: so weakly a creature, 
 that I might be run away with by my horse, or 
 trampled to death by the foot. Excellent reasons, 
 madam ; are they not ? 
 
 I could perceive that Mrs. Arnauld looked asto 
 nished, and Lucia terrified ; and I I confess that I 
 should have been equ.dly so had I not seen the late 
 development of his character before my father; for 
 his irony was a naked blade it went to the heart. 
 
 Here Lucia s hair fell, and she consumed tea 
 minutes, at least, in adjusting it, all the timekeeping 
 her beautiful eyes turned in the direction where he 
 s;it, with I. is fingers playing involuntarily upon the 
 next chair, without moving a limb or uttering a 
 sound. 
 
 On the whole, it was a melancholy evening, snh 
 as I should not desire to pass again, under any cir 
 cumstances. It was saddening to my heart, oppres 
 sive to (he spirits; and, when I thought of the 
 possibility nay, of the probability, that we might 
 never all moet again in the same room, it was with 
 ditliculty that I could refrain from expressing *>. 
 
 but before 
 
THE NOVEL NEWSPAPER. 
 
 12 
 
 sorrow and apprehension tlia wovfd have leen un 
 manly. 
 
 At last we parted. " Fiirewel!, madam," siid I ; 
 * 1 shall not see you in the morning." 
 
 " Heaven bless you, 1 she replied, cordially press- 
 ing my hand. "May God be with yon, in battle 
 and in sleep night and day lien Ion soir. 
 
 " Amen!" said some one faintly at my side it was 
 
 Clara. I turned to offer her my hand, but soi>:e 
 
 unaccountable timidity took sudden possession of 
 
 me, and I could not. I gave it to Lucia, who burst 
 
 into tears. 
 
 I was astonished. What was there to affect her 
 so deeply more than her sister? why at all? Might 
 -it not Le that her heart was full before to running 
 over, and that she was glad of any pretence to dis 
 charge the fountain of tears. 
 
 " Farewell," said I again ; " farewell ! ;> 
 
 Clnra put her hand upon my arm as I passed her, 
 
 but ins:antly withdrew it; and when I looked, she 
 
 . Lad turned away her face, so that I could not tell if 
 
 it were designedly Jone or net , but I lay awake, I 
 
 . know, many a long hour, sleepy as I was, that night, 
 
 endeavouring to reconcile such an accident with her 
 habitual reserve, and lofty, severe, rectitude of do- 
 portuient. It could not be no Clara Arnauld was 
 not a woman to fetl at the heart, and le.ist of all for 
 
 >such a man as I uninformed, inexperienced, and 
 
 V # # # 9ft # 
 
 We were in our saddles by early daylight the next 
 morning, and trotted slowly past the windows of the 
 chamber where we knew that the young ladies slept, i 
 A white hand stirred the curtain nothing more. I 
 could have sworn that it was Clara s, but on looting 
 into Archibald s eyes, I was sure that he thought it 
 Lucia s. 
 
 Alas! it was the hand of neither; it was that of 
 ii man. A man! what! said I, half audibly, in 
 
 the bedchamber of the next moment I saw that it 
 was Mr. Arnauld himself, evidently wishing to see 
 us without being seen himself, for he hastily disap 
 peared, and the next minute the curtain of another 
 window fell suddenly, as if some one had just left it. 
 After i"ll, then, my heart was right it was she ! 
 
 "What a charming creature she is," said I, half 
 unwilling to interrupt the solemn stillness of our 
 Tide. 
 
 "Yes, 1 said my brother; "full blooded. 1 But 
 reining his beautiful mare about so as to sec her 
 blood-red nostrils, through which her breath issued, 
 like a bright vapour, fora whole yard upon the cold 
 a j r ]3ut she was sadly put to it yesterday, and I 
 feared for her wind. Not blown, I hope, but " 
 
 "Oh! I understand you now," I replied, com 
 pletely puzzled for a moment; "you are always 
 thinking of your mare." 
 
 "Aye, brother ; what else have I to think of. She 
 Imows me see. 
 
 As he spoke he loosened the rein for a moment, 
 the fire flashed from her wild eyes, and she shot by 
 me like an arrow. 
 
 The road was a very dangerous one, encumbered 
 with trees and rocks, roots, stumps, and broken all 
 up with the feet of heavy cattle, so thut I held my 
 breath for a moment, till I saw him rein her short, 
 as if upon a pivot, without stopping. 
 
 "By heaven, Archibald, how did you teach her 
 that? said I, coming up with him. 
 
 Ho laughed, but there was a mournfulness in the 
 sound, as there was even in the warm flush upon his 
 pull id front, and the arrowy brightness of his in 
 tensely blue eyes they were not the symptoms of I 
 "health or happiness. 
 
 "I ll tell you, brother. I was reading some time 
 since about the Arabian horses, and when we get to 
 a better place I will show you that there is no such 
 mighty matter in stopping at full speed, or mounting 
 and dismounting at a gallop. But what were you 
 speaking of, brother? 1 
 
 " Of the most charming creature in the world," 
 said I, feeling every vord that I uttered. 
 
 " Yes, yes, brother, 1 responded Archibald, stoop 
 ing on the off side of his mare, and turning the* 
 stirrup wiih his foot; " yes; but I cannot well bear 
 to talk of her now." 
 
 " But," I replied, unwilling to let the conversation 
 die away so soon we were just approaching the 
 highest ground in the neighbourhood, from which 
 we could have a view of twenty miles all about us 
 I do not like her coquetry." 
 
 "What!" sai l Archibald, abruptly. 
 
 " No," I continued ; " nor that womanish pedantry 
 and affectation. 1 
 
 " Affi.-ctat ion !" said he, rivetting his eyes upon 
 me in astonishment; " what the ilevil do you mean, 
 John." 
 
 " Oh ! I do not hope to convince you of it, such. 
 a favourite as you are (he coloured to the eyes) 
 ami that vile ha iit of sprinkling all she says with 
 poetry, and French, and Italian a smattering of * 
 
 " 1 11 tell you what, brother," said he, riding np to 
 me. " I can t put np with this. I told you onco 
 before, (hat I did not like to talk upon the subject; 
 and I tell you once more, and once for all, that I 
 won t put up wish it. 1 
 
 I was amazed. We stopped our horses, ard faced 
 each other for a moment upon the very summit of 
 the elevation. 
 
 " Are you mad?" said I. " One would think that 
 you were in love with her (the fire streamed from 
 his eyes). Take care what you are about. That 
 husband is not the gentlest of men, or the most 
 forgiving, nor will he be the more likely to treat you 
 gently fur your passionate adoration of his w fe 
 because he is the greatest profligate of the country. 
 
 "Husband! wife!" said Archibald, inipntienf y, 
 and stooping from the saddle " what are you talking 
 about?" 
 
 "Of Mrs. Arnauld," I replied. 
 
 Pie drew a long breath, and reached me his hand, 
 with a smile that went to my heart. " I am a little 
 absent, I believe, "said he " you know that I awi apt 
 to be thoughtful, and just now (he appeared to for 
 get himself, for a nv merit, in another reverit but 
 started again at the sound of two or three shot, (hat 
 appeared to be fired in the valley below: when the 
 mare plunged suddenly, and had well nigh dislodged 
 him on the spot. 
 
 "She had well nigh broken your neck then, 
 brother," said I, looking about for the sportsmen, 
 who, I supposed, were out after game ; but I could 
 see nothing not even the smoke of their pieces 
 yet they sounded very near to us. 
 
 "I deserved it," said he, reining her up firmly, 
 and adjusting himself to the seat ; " tame as she is, 
 I ought never to forget what she has been a horse 
 man will always mind his saddle, rein and stirrup, 
 (no matter what he is upon) as it he expected to be 
 run away with every moment. Ha ! another, that ! 
 the game must be we 1 up this morning." 
 
 " That was a pistol shot," said I. 
 
 " O yes, I dare say it was," he answered ; " our 
 troop are amusing themselves at a mark. . But you 
 were speaking of her affectation ! I am sorry for it, 
 on some accounts ! she is so truly charming in every 
 other respect and then, it cannot have escaped you, 
 
SEVENTY-SIX. 
 
 13 
 
 that our good mother is a little sore of late in her 
 rivalship, for I have caught her more than one i 
 tkrowing in, with a laughable unluckiness, some of 
 the wretched French that she has picked up at 
 Madam Arnauld s." 
 
 <c You are severe upon Mrs. Arnauld," said I 
 "too severe; I only complain that she will not con 
 sent to talk her xiother tongue not that her French 
 aud Italian are wretched." 
 
 " But they are," said my brother. 
 
 " Oh, no! she has been familiar with them both 
 and " 
 
 "Pho! not a word of either did she ever pro- 
 Bounce properly in her life." 
 
 " But how do you know ?" He coloured again I 
 never say any body blush so readily as he could, 
 about that time. Every emotion of his heart sent 
 the blood all over his face, as if he had been a bash 
 ful young girl, on horseback, in male attire. "Not 
 of my own knowledge, to bo sure," said he " but I 
 have seen Lucia hold down her face a hundred times, 
 wlien her mother threw in a word or two of some 
 other language and though I know nothing of 
 either, yet I am persuaded that all rny mother knows 
 of French or Itilian has been gathered from the 
 daughters. Beside, how different their manner and 
 pronunciation they never introduce a word of either 
 language unnecessarily; and you might live with 
 them for a whole year, without suspecting that they 
 knew a word of any but their own, were they not 
 led into it by some stratagem of their mother, when 
 strangers from the city are there or by the 
 accomplished elegance of their father the profli 
 gate! or by actual necessity: and their pronun 
 ciation, too, is so firm and neat, as if they were not 
 conscious of speaking in any but their mother tongue. 
 Besides, I have not forgoiten the look of approbation 
 that that Miss Lucia bestowed on me once, when 
 I said that he who had any thought, could always 
 express it; that the use of foreign phrases was a 
 proof of poverty, rather than opulence; of ignorance 
 rather than superiority." 
 
 " Her mother was not there, I hope, 1 said I. 
 
 " Oh, no Gracious God ! brother, what is that ? 
 is not that our house?" 
 
 I turned in the direction where he pointed, and 
 beheld a black smoke rising, as from the ruins of 
 some farm-house, given to massacre and pillage by 
 the damnable Hessians. 
 
 " No, brother, that is not our house but let us 
 ride on who knows what may have happened?" 
 
 We started at full speed, and were just on the top 
 of a second hill, where we could see a clear road be 
 fore us, when we heard shot after shotfired behind us 
 and the next moment a horseman dashed headlong 
 over the side of a distant hill, pursued at their top- 
 roost speed by at least a dozen men in royal uniform. 
 ; Fallow me, brother!" cried Archibaldfstriking the 
 rowels into his mare, and galloping directly to the 
 spot. 
 
 " Madman !" I shouted " come back ! rein up, 
 rein up ! where are your arms ?" 
 
 He heeded me not his hat flew off, and it was in 
 vain for me ever to think of overtaking him. What 
 could I do? there were noises and shouting all 
 about me, it appeared; and I could see, every now 
 and then, somebody dashing out of the far wood, or 
 down a hill, as if the whole country were in alarm. 
 
 Yet I prest on, at the top of my speed, to the 
 brow of the hill -just in season, to see the horseman 
 that was ahead, wheel short upon his first pursuer, 
 and exchange a shot with him, when, it appearnfj t 
 m&, that, their pistols almost touched. # 
 
 kept on, sitting bolt upright and the former drew 
 out his sword and came immediately upon St. George, 
 without looking behind him and then finding that 
 he was not pursued, gave a cut in the rear, and 
 wheeled and looked at his enemy who passed on 
 a hundred yards, at least, after receiving the shot 
 and then fell dead from the saddle. 
 
 Down came his comrades then, with a loud outcry 
 npon the conqueror ; but, with a presence of mind 
 that dismayed me, he wheeled upon them, a full 
 dozen as they were, and leaped a broad ditch, ex 
 changing cut after cut as he passed, and giving poinf, 
 with a precision that I never saw equalled at the 
 ring. It was then that I saw his object two only 
 of the squadron could follow him and there was 
 Archibald on the other side, shouting with all his 
 might, as if succour were at hand : " Come on, boys, 
 come on !" The troopers reined tip, and loaded 
 their pistols and I, desperate with apprehension, 
 rode round to join my brother, designing to pass by 
 the dead man and make prize of his sword, and his 
 pistols too, if passible, for about a hundred yards 
 from where he lay his horse had tumbled, and \vas 
 yet struggling in his furniture; but I had not gone 
 half way to the place though tbo fl inks of my poor 
 horse ran down with blood, and I thought that I 
 never should get to it when there was another 
 shout, a clashing of swords, and a rapid discharge of 
 pistols and the same moment Archibald s mare darted 
 by me the bridle broken, and stirrups ringing. O ! 
 I never shall forget that pang. " Poor Archibald !" 
 I cried, and the next moment I heard the trampling 
 of hoofs at my side. 
 
 It was Arthur! pale as death bloody and co 
 vered with sweat. 
 
 " Your father ! said he " your father !" 
 
 " What of him!" I cried, "blinded and thunder 
 struck with a new fear. 
 
 " Ride, for life and death, ride! 1 he answered, 
 in a voice so changed that 1 scarcely knew it, but I 
 could not obey him I could not I threw myself from 
 the saddle plucked the sword from the dead hand 
 of the horseman, and rode to the spot where I had 
 seen Archibald last. 
 
 He was safe thank Heaven, he was safe; his 
 forehead was cut a little, and the blood was running 
 down his naked arms this is all that I remember 
 for a bugle sounded in our rear- the fellows halted in 
 chase, one after the other, like a line of videttes 
 and seeing horsemen mustering in all directions 
 obeyed the call and abandoned the chase. 
 
 "There !" said I, throwing a sword to Archibald 
 as he stood over the stranger, wrapping up his 
 wounds with the shirt that he had torn off from his 
 own body, " there ! follow, to the farm ! fallow, for 
 life and death!" 
 
 I then set off with a feeling of horror and dark 
 ness that I cannot pretend to describe. I set oft for 
 my father s I arrived. It was a ruin ! I fell from 
 the saddle. The place that I had left but the morning 
 before, the house, the house, it was one x i eof ashes 
 and tire. Nothing but the chimney and one of the 
 rough-cast ends were leftstanding; the very barns and 
 out-houses were a heap of smoking cinders the h;< 7 
 and grain, at every blast of wind, sending np a rush 
 of sparkles, with a sudden blaze like powd; r. 
 
 I was bewildered for some moments, unable to feel 
 or to understand the nature of the calamity that had 
 befallen us, till, on looking about, I saw the skeleton 
 of two or three half-consumed bodies in the fire. I 
 knew not what gave me the strength for such a des 
 perate attempt, but I leaped into the burning ashes, 
 up to rny knees, and dragged out merciful powers 
 
14 
 
 THB NOVEL NEWSPAPER. 
 
 what I feared yrwe the last remains f rny own 
 lather and mother; but no that horror was spared 
 to me ; they were Hessians they were covered with 
 leather, and I tell down upon my knees and thanked 
 Heaven for it. But still I persisted in the search, 
 till my boots and clothes were literally burnt fiom 
 me, and I was choked and bliaded by the loathsome 
 moke of the bodies. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 * Aye! down to the dust with them! slaves. as 
 they are ! 
 
 My father was alive, thank Heaven ! my father 
 was alive! poor mother too O, my children, would 
 that you could understand me without the use of 
 language ! 
 
 * Thiscomes,"said myfather, sternly.to Archibald, 
 "who ood before him, holding Arthur by the hand 
 ""of your disobedience. Had you returned last night 
 -asjou promised " 
 
 " Ho.v many were they? said Archibald. 
 
 " Twenty when they broke in," said my father, 
 baring his brawny arm to his shoulder it was 
 gashed to the bone in a dozen or more places, 
 "twenty ! but they left us with less than half able to 
 ait their horses two more of you, and we would 
 have made mincemeat of the rascals ; d n them." 
 
 I looked at him, awe-struck at the preternatural 
 iprcssion of his wrath, and wondered at the melan 
 choly, dreadful aspect of my mother. 
 
 " Mary ! Mary !" said Archibald, gasping for 
 breath ; " did sha come ? was she there ah ! 
 
 My father put him aside ; my mother shook from 
 head to foot, and Arthur dropped Archibald s hand, 
 and stood Oh ! how altered since the last night, 
 immoveable as a dead Kian. 
 
 Archibald was the first to speak : " She is dead 
 then, I I hope, 1 said he. 
 
 " Aye ; dead - dead, in her innocence, blessed one," 
 aid my father, as if his heart were breaking. 
 
 "Then thank God! thank God i" said Archibald, 
 while Arthur locked his hands, and lifted them de- 
 Toutly to the skies ; and my mother, as if touched 
 by some horrid thought all at once, threw herself into 
 my father s arms, and buried her face in bis bosom. 
 He repulsec 1 her, and shuddered, and then, as if 
 "wondering at himself, embraced her for a whole 
 minute in silence, and then led her away, while she 
 covered her face with her hands, and moved like a 
 woman that God hath more than widowed; her 
 rery attitude was that of desperation and horror. 
 
 Archibald took out his watch with a calmness that 
 awed me, bent the sword upon which he leant, so that 
 the hilt almost touched the fieor exchanged a look, 
 the import of which I did not suspect, till his absence 
 had began to alarm us, with Arthur, and stepped out 
 f the room. 
 
 We were at Mr. Arnauld s ; I had forgotten to tell 
 you how it was brought about ; but there it was, and 
 there was the wounded officer too, the handsomest 
 fellow that I ever saw in my life, lying in the same 
 apartment. 
 
 "My excellent neighbour," said Mr. Arnauld, en 
 tering, booted and spurred, followed by his beautiful 
 wife, " ihere is my hand ; this outrage is not to be 
 borne. Henceforward I am an American heart, 
 blood, and pulse ; there is the royal protection ! 
 ^tearing a paper in pieces, and throwing it into the 
 
 tire, indignantly, as he spoke) there let it be. JS 7 o 
 peace with the tyrants, no quarter. .1 have been a 
 friend of the royal cause a friend of Sir Henry 
 Clinton ; and the paper, signed by himself and Sir 
 William Howe, whose gallant brother died in my 
 arms, when I was a fellow-soldier with him, years and 
 years ago ; that paper contained the royal word, the 
 plighted honour of these scoundrel commissioners, 
 that not only my household should be spared from 
 pillage, but yours ; nay, do not frown, my friend I 
 knew your sturdy and inflexible nature too well t 
 attempt compounding with it: I hope that you will 
 forgive me, your name does not appear, but no mat 
 ter; there lies the protection ; it was a trap, a mere 
 trap tolull us into security ; the Hessians cannot read 
 it; and henceforward," locking his hands, "I will 
 depend upon no otj^rjxut.tjiat of God, and niy~owja~ 
 rtgtrHHW f^This eye fell upo iTAtthur, whom he 
 hnd not keen before). 
 
 He faltered, and I was not a little startled at the 
 manner of Arthur, who stood loukingat him awhile, 
 with his arms folded, lips compressed, and an ap 
 palling fixedness of eye ; and then left the room. 
 
 Mr. Arnauld took the hand of his wife " Louisa, 
 said he, " make ray peace with that young man ; he 
 has saved the life of your husband, I will not say 
 how, but his life, and something dearer to him thaa 
 his life, Arthur Rodman, spared to him, saved t 
 him." 
 
 " How, Robert?" said Mrs. Arnauld. 
 " I cannot well bear to relate it. 1 said her husbamT, 
 "but you know my temper I enough, for th, 
 present, that he saved me from a crime the young 
 and innocent from death and, when deeply, ulti 
 mately wronged, and I was helpless at his feet, shook 
 me from him to the dust." 
 
 His wife understood him too well, and her eyes 
 ran over as she turned away her face- 
 
 "Arnauld!" said my father, in a terrible voice, 
 "are you the man? 
 
 " I am," was the reply, as he stood fearlessly be 
 fore him. 
 
 "God forgive you!" said my father poor 
 Mary !" 
 
 " Mary !" said Mrs. Arnauld, glancing at her 
 husband "not Mary Austin? what mean you? * 
 " Oadley," said Arnauld, going up to him, with 
 look of deep terror, " I dread to hear your reply ; 
 you are not a man to be lightly disturbed what 
 has happened to the poor innocent?" 
 
 There was a silence of half a minute, during 
 which we all stood looking at each other. 
 " She is dead, said my father. 
 " Dead! God forbid, how! how, in Heaven s 
 name? tell me, tell me, Oadley 1" 
 
 " She had discovered, before you saw her last 
 night, that you were a married man ; she had deter 
 mined to meet you once more, upbraid you for 
 your perfidy, and throw herself at the feet of Ar 
 thur Rodman poor Arthur. That led to the en 
 counter between you ; that brought her to my hous* 
 last night ; that " 
 
 Arnauld staggered away from us, as my father 
 continued, and his wife sunk into a chair, ^nd 
 buried her face in her hands. 
 
 " Last night, sir, she she was destroyed." 
 " May they be accursed, for ever and ever! may 
 the hottest-lightnings of Heaven, the " 
 
 " Rash man !" cried my father, sternly, " how 
 dare you kneel down, before your own wife, anil 
 (.all the lightnings of God upon men, soldiers, un 
 trained and undisciplined ruffians, who would but 
 have done what you meditated; you, Arnauld, a father 
 
and a hus1*and; you! who should have been the 
 . first, having daughters of your own, to s^ill your 
 blood for the protection of sorrow, and innocence, 
 and helplessness; you! the destruction of the love 
 liest creature that was ever infatuated with a villain ! 
 Arnauld arose ; and, hut for me, would have 
 truck my lather. 
 
 " That, in my own house !" cried he, black in the 
 face with passion, and frothing at the mouth. 
 
 " Aye ! in your own IIOHSC, or any where ; strike 
 me if you will ! broken-hearted as I am; my habi 
 tation given to the flames; my wife (I thought that 
 lie would never finish the sentence), my own wife, 
 the mother of my boys the only companion of my 
 heart and soul, Arnauld, for I have been faithful to 
 her, and she to me ; and we were hoping to have 
 gone down to our graves, at last, in our old age, 
 untouched by shame or dishonour ; I I Aye ! 
 any where ; turn us, if you will, naked and homeless 
 upon the cold world; shut your door against us, 
 and see us perish, as the xvild beast should not perish, 
 if her young were with her; and still I will repeat 
 to you, that let it ring in your ears at the day of 
 judgment, that Mary Austin died! and, blessed be 
 God, that she did die ! more innocent, even in the 
 locked arms of a storming madman, than " 
 
 " Tell me, tell me! you know what I would 
 say, Dudley tell me but that, that, Oadley, and 
 I will lay down my life at vour bidding, forgive you, 
 and" 
 
 The tears gushed out of his eyes, and he sobbed 
 like a child, and stood with locked hands, waiting 
 the reply. 
 
 " Yes, Arnauld," said my father, " I do understand 
 jou, there is a feeling of humanity about you yet. 
 Repent and be forgiven! repent, and there is my 
 foand. For ever and ever will I stand by you, and 
 yotir s Mary Austin died unprofaned." 
 
 Arnauld fell upon his knees, buried his face in the 
 lap of his wife; shook all over, as with an ague; 
 pressed her hands a^ain and again to his forehead, 
 and lips, and eyes, while her tears fell like rain npon 
 1m face through her dishevelled hair. O, it was a 
 sight for angels to dwell upon, with beating hearts, 
 and trembling lips. There was not a dry eye among 
 as the wounded stranger himself, who seemed 
 hardly enough alive to lilt his noble face from the 
 pillow, lay there, with his eyes shut, and the tears 
 trickling slowly through their lashes. 
 
 " Let this never be mentioned," said my father, 
 i a milder tone, turning to me with a look of such 
 solemnity that 1 felt it as a dying injunction. 
 
 Our ^attention was called off by a distant shout 
 ing ; and soon after a troop of horsemen came by 
 the window, in full gallop. Some of them I recog 
 nised immediately for the men that were to assemble 
 at twelve; it was near two, I found, and then, for 
 the first time, the cause of my brother s disappearance 
 flashed into my mind. My blood curdled I knew 
 his rash spirit, and ran out to meet them. All rny 
 fears were realised he had met them led them in 
 person after the marauders, and finally succeeded in 
 capturing a party of the very rascals that had burnt 
 down our house the night before. 
 
 My father knew them immediately, and after em- 
 bracing Archibald, who was so weak, from one or 
 two flesh wounds, and his natural delicacy, that he 
 oul d hardly sit on his horse, began to move his arms, 
 as if he were about to take a terrible vengeance upon 
 some one. 
 
 " Are here all? all?" said he, impatiently ; the 
 blood gushing from his nostrils. 
 
 " All that we met," said one of the party, " except 
 
 six. 15 
 
 the tallest, and one or two others that we left upont 
 the ground. * 
 
 " And the scoundrel that Archibald shot," said a 
 second, " because he happened to have a hanuker- 
 chief about his neck that he thought was his mo 
 ther s." 
 
 " Had he a red collar?" said my father, catch 
 ing him by both arms " a red collar? red ? red a* 
 blood? hey?" 
 
 " Yes, sir," was the reply ; " Archibald s got th 
 handkerchief now." 
 
 Archibald pulled it out of his bosom ; it was wet 
 through and through, soaking in crimson. He turn 
 ed away, sick as death from it; it dropped from hi* 
 fingers, and he shuddered. 
 
 " That handkerchief! yes, yes, my brave boy, 
 yes! that was thy mother s, God bless thee for it; 
 God for ever bless thee ! thou little knowest what 
 thou hast done! Was it you Archibald wa 
 it you? did you shoot him dead dead, Archibald?" 
 
 My brother shook his head, looked at his red 
 fingers, and staggered to the wall. 
 
 " O thou !" cried my father, locking his old hanc 
 " thou the avenger of blood! thou the judge of all 
 the earth blessed be thy name, that the son hath 
 been permitted to deal out thy retribution upon th* 
 man that O, my child ! my child ! ask of me what 
 thou wilt ! lo, I am ready to do thy bidding." 
 
 Archibald arose, fell upon his neck, and utterc 
 some low sounds. 
 
 " Yes, my boy, my brave boy ! whenever yon 
 please, and I will go with you, lead you, witk 
 my own hands, into the presence of Washington, 
 buckle a sword upon my own thigh, and stand by 
 you, as your soldier and follower, to the last drop of 
 my blood!" 
 
 Archibald could support it no longer; he fainted 
 away upon the spot. 
 
 "But where is Arthur? look to him, John; h* 
 must not be left alone," said my father. 
 
 " Hearty as a buck, 1 said one of the horsemen; 
 " dang it, how he cut and slashed among em ! 
 
 " Didn t he strike home?" cried a second, catch 
 ing his hand. 
 
 " Home!" cried a stout yankee, who had just 
 come among us ; " home ? yes ; that he did ! Th* 
 first blow set that fellow s skull-cap a spinning lik* 
 a pewter-plate; and the next brought him from hi 
 horse." 
 
 " Fleshed to the hilt!" cried another, of a younger 
 and better-educated class; " would there had beea 
 more of them ?" 
 
 " But is he safe," said my father. " Not a hair of 
 his head is hurt," said the speaker. " He and Archy 
 were the first that came up with the chaps, taking 
 their fire, foolishly enough, as he said himself after- 
 ward, all along, from right to left, as they passed ; 
 and they were clattering away at a devil of a rat* 
 before we could get np. Your d d blood-horses, 
 farmer Oadley, are too many guns for us." 
 
 "In attack?" said his companion, chucking him 
 under the ribs ; "well enough in retreat? hey?" 
 
 " Bob," said one of the others, " did you see them 
 get a single blow at Rodman ?" 
 
 " No ; t amwjd a one dared to strike at him, after 
 they saw his face !" 
 
 "No wonder they were frightened," *aid th* 
 other ; " my bits chattered when he passed us at th* 
 heels of that devilish mare of Oadley s ; he looked 
 like a dead man broke loose in daylight, and breaking 
 his n ck to get back again." 
 
 " He was in a fair way to get back again, dead o* 
 
16 
 
 THE NOVEL NEWSPAPER. 
 
 alive, when I saw him last," said the little fellow ; 
 " but let MS look him up." 
 
 "Aye, do, my brave lads," said my father; " do, 
 and by to-morrow s sun I will be with you, and we ll 
 raise a regiment of such fellows, and see if that won t 
 fix em." 
 
 The motion of a hand, from the bed where lay the 
 wounded man, turned our attention. 
 
 I went to him ; he was very faint. 
 
 " Let them do nothing rashly," said he ; "wait a 
 few days ; we shrill know by that time whether I am 
 to live or die. If I live I ll carry you in myself, in 
 style, my lads in style! if not, why ah, that was 
 an ugly cut, faith. I ll tell you how do to it for 
 yourself. Don t go yet. Washington won t hear a 
 word of you. He is tired and sick of your volun 
 teering. Your rabble gentry coming and going 
 when they please. There s the damned Connecticut 
 light horsemen, they have just gone home in a body 
 the scampering rascals ! because he put them on 
 duty at night pretty fellows. I may thank them 
 and their lubberly colonel whew! for this cursed 
 job. I went to pick rp my videttes, and, damn it, 
 one half of cm were your Sabbath-day troopers from 
 Connecticut. Gentlemen! gentlemen! every one of 
 them. Got tired, and went home; they be damned! 1 
 
 I could hardly keep from laughing at the drollery 
 *>fhis eves and tone; the strange mixture of levity 
 and seriousness about this stranger. He was cer 
 tainly the handsomest man that I ever saw; tall, 
 well-made, square shouldered, full chest, and trod 
 (after he was well enough to walk) with such an air 
 of authority, that I felt like a boy in his presence. 
 
 But while I was listening to him. my father gave 
 me a sign and left the room. I followed him, and 
 he led the way to a vacant lot in the rear of the 
 house. .His manner was solemn, beyond all that I 
 had ever seen. 
 
 " Hearken to me," said he ; " do not interrupt 
 me, my son. I have determined to go into the 
 army. This night s work was a judgment upon 
 me. I shall return no more to my home it is dis 
 honoured. I shall build no other none. I could 
 not well bear to sit round the hearth of another. I 
 shall leave your mother here ; she is prepared for it 
 all. Go in and comfort her; the poor widowed 
 creature ; the broken-hearted, desolate women ! 
 Before I sleep I .shall buckle a sword upon my thigh ; 
 oneTKaVhas been fleshed already to the hilt to the 
 liilt, Jonathan. And never will" I let go of it, till my 
 heart is shattered, my country free, my wife avenged- 
 That done it matters little what may become of me. 
 I can come to her, then the aged mourner, and lav my 
 grey head down in her lap and die. 
 
 " Father," said I, catching at his hand, " speak to 
 me what has happened? 1 
 
 4< Silence," said he, " silence forget it harness 
 yourself for the sacrifice. Ask no questions. Go 
 and comfort your mother." 
 
 " But Mary ; may I ask what became of her ?" 
 " She is dead," he replied. 
 * I know that, father, but how ?" 
 "How ! would you, unnatural boy, would you (he 
 appeared to be choking) I I " 
 
 " But what time did they come, father? and how 
 earne Arthur there?" 
 
 " Sit down and listen to me." 
 There was a large tree uptorn near us, and I 
 obeyed. The roots were before us shooting about, 
 and loaded with such a quantity of soil, that nothing 
 less than an earthquake (one would have thought) 
 bad been able to disturb it, I pbserved that my 
 
 father s eyes were fixed upon it, and as he sat do-wix 
 his lips moved. 
 
 " Even so !" said he inwardly, " even so even> 
 so ! uptorn and prostrate in its old age ; its head in 
 the dust, struck with barrenness even so ! the 
 whirlwind and the fire, they will have way ; and the 
 swcrd too; that shall have \\ay ! the widowed one 
 and the orphan; the brokea-hearted and the dying; 
 the avenger of blood hath his hand upon the hilt, 
 woe to them ! woe to them ! The grey hair of the 
 dishonoured matron: the tears of the mother; the. 
 wailing and shriek of the virgin ; they are in the 
 wind in the wind! O. Lord God of Israel ! the 
 prayer of an affiicted peopTe"! EoT"tJie\"oId~ men are 
 talJlng~"tTre fieji^and the aged and abused women are 
 buckling their harness (with lamentation and shame) 
 upon their old fathers and husbands. 1 
 
 His voice died away, thrilling my blood like an, 
 imprecation. I could see it working along in the 
 wind like a cloud of pestilence. I was awe-struck 
 the tremendous repose of his countenance the 
 slow heaving of his broad chest and the idea of a 
 man, alread} r approaching the age of sixty, about to 
 abandon every thing on earth, even to his wife, and 
 go out against the enemies of America all united to 
 solemnize and confound my feelings. 
 
 A silence of some minutes followed, after which he 
 proceeded to relate what had happened, charging m 
 at the same time, with a look that I shall never forget, 
 not to speak of the subject to my mother, nor to any 
 body else, not even to Arthur. 
 
 A bout ten last night, or perhaps eleven (fcr we 
 had not been in bed long) I heard Arthur s voice at 
 the door, and arose to let him in. There was a large 
 hre burning in the room, and I observed that he was 
 so agitated that he could hardly speak. As he passed 
 me he put something behind the door. I went to see 
 what it was, while he continued walking to and fro 
 in the room like a distracted man it was a sword. 
 
 " Ah," said I, recollecting his errand, " how did 
 you succeed ? How many recruits ? 
 
 He did not appear to understand me. I repeated 
 the question, but he seemed to have forgotten all that 
 had passe:!. 
 
 " Who came home with you ? said I. He stopped 
 short passing his hand over his forehead. "I do 
 not know, uncle," said he, " upon my word, what you. 
 have been say ing i* Pray repeat it." 
 
 " I heard your voice long before you knocked," 
 said I, " in earnest conversation with somebody." 
 
 He coloured. 
 
 " At first I thought that people were whispering 
 near me. There were two voices, certainly ; and 
 then your aunt, who had been listening, observed that 
 it was the voice of people at a distance coming up the 
 wood ; soon after this you knocked you look dis 
 turbed. 
 
 " I asn, v said he. " There is danger abroad. I 
 came to apprise you of it. I saw two or three horse 
 men in the wood about an hour since, with one 
 stationed at a distance, as if waiting fora reinforce- 
 ment." 
 
 " Some foraging party, I suppose. 
 
 " No, I should think not; they are not \vell 
 enough covered for that. Ha!" 
 
 We saw a bright flame arise then, all of a sudden, 
 in the direction of Mr. Ulster s, and the sparks 
 rushed up into the very sky it seemed like a whirL 
 wind of fire. 
 
 " Let us bar the windows and door," said Arthur, 
 " and be prepared for the worst. It is tke Hessians." 
 
 " Yes," 1 replied, " and the boys will be at hand 
 soon] I expect them every moment," 
 
SEVENTY-SIX. 
 
 He shook his head. " We cannot depend upon 
 em." said he : " they have business elsewhere. 1 
 
 17 
 
 them," said he; " they 
 
 We went about securing as well as we could the 
 windows and doors, and preparing our two men 
 servants, placing the women in the cellar, my wife, 
 Mary, and the three girls, and then sat down to 
 await the result. 
 
 " What is the matter with Mary? said I; "I 
 thought her a girl of more heart. How pale she is ! 
 She is safer here than at home, and yet I should be 
 sorry to have any ill befall h; r under my roof. How 
 is this, Rodman? you are strung ly affected," said I, 
 seeing him turn away his face, " look at me; what 
 has happened to yon ?" 
 
 " By Heaven/ he answered, " I can bear it no 
 longer. Dear, dear Mary ! Uncle, you know how 
 long I have loved her, how truly, and how her 
 affectionate heart used to doat upon me, and " 
 " Used to, Arthur there is no change, I hope." 
 " No change !" saiJ he. " When Mary Austin 
 goes out of her bed at night to meet a man in a lone 
 wood; away from mortal help a married man!" 
 
 I caught him by the arm ; Arthur Hodman, are 
 you mad," said I. " Who has put this notion into 
 your head? It is a wretched, pitiful falsehood." 
 
 " I saw it, uncle, I saw it, thank God, in time; I 
 heard her voice, I knew it, for I was riding ten miles 
 out of my wavjust to hear Mary Austin s voice once 
 more before I went into battle; though it were only 
 to say as she used to, Heaven bless you, Arthur ! 
 Good night, Arthur! I was in high spirits, my 
 blood bounded through my arteries; I had just left 
 a troop of young fellows, stout of heart and true of 
 hand, and was happy O, how luippy ! I heard a 
 shriek, loud, piercingly loud it was a shriek that 
 could not be mistaken. I happened to be armed, 
 and I galloped in a direct line through the wood. 
 By Heaven I thought I never should get to it in this 
 world : but at last I did. There she was, yet 
 struggling with the villain, and nearly overcome. I 
 struck him to the earth, and she fainted ; but just as 
 I was about driving my sword through his accursed 
 body, she O that women will forgive such things 
 things that sfiame men to think of she threw her- 
 self before me, clasped my knees, and stayed the 
 uplifted weapon. 
 
 " I knew not what lulled me; whether it was the 
 broad moonlight, her utter helplessness, her abashed 
 eyes, and pale, speechless lips, or what, but the sword 
 dropped from my hand, and the villain walked olY. 
 
 " She still clung to me not, I am sure, in ten 
 derness to me, but lest I should pursue him. * 
 " Who was he," said I to Arthur. 
 " I shall never utter his name, uncle," said he ; 
 " I have promised that, and the secrst shall die with 
 me." 
 
 " But how came you here? 1 said I to Mary. 
 She hid her face, and burst into tear*. 
 " Because," said she, at length ; " but O, let us 
 leave this place, Arthur ; let us go away home, 
 home if you will not abandon me ! I was unalde 
 to reply ; and she told me, what must have been true, 
 that she had met him with the most innocent inten 
 tion ; that she had no idea of the distance to which 
 he had beguiled her, or the lateness of the hour; 
 that she hud consented to this as a farewell meeting; 
 that she loved him; but that she had lound he was 
 a married man, and she could not bear to break his 
 heart, as he had told her a thousand times it 
 would, if she left him, till she had reasoned a while 
 with him. In short, uncle, the poor creature, in the 
 simplicity, and purity, and nakedness of her own 
 heart, had thrown herself entirely into, his power; 
 
 and nothing saved her but my happening to hear 
 that she would visit you to-day; and, by coming 
 at the hour that I did for " 
 
 " Here there was a sound, as if a body of horse- 
 men were silently surrounding the house," said my 
 father ; " a few minutes after there was a loud 
 knocking. I looked out and was accosted in a Ian- 
 guage I could not understand ; they were Hessians I 
 supposed, and my blood ran cold, for they appeared 
 to be numerous, and their merciless nature \vas well 
 known to us ; they were of the beleaguring rabble 
 that formed the outposts of the enemy in the stupid 
 ignorance of our nature, taught to believe that wo 
 are savages; and, that if they were taken alive, they 
 would be roasted and eaten." 
 
 I could discover from their gestures that they 
 were determined to force an entrance, and one of 
 them, a large handsome man, levelled his pistol two 
 or three times at my head, and at last, irritated by 
 the delay, fired; but the ball went wide of its mark. 
 The next moment he fell Arthur had put a bullet 
 through him. This was the signal for a general 
 assault. Some dismounted, some ran to the barn 
 the leader forbidding them to set fire to it yet, lest 
 the neighbourhood should be alarmed ; or such, at 
 least, I took to be the meaning, for one or two who 
 had lighted matches in their hands trampled then* 
 out. They began to fire into the windows with their 
 pistols, but with so little eli ect, man after man failing 
 from their saddles, that they all dismounted at last,, 
 and made an attempt upon the door. Every moment} 
 I expected it to give way ; the house rocked to its. 
 foundation, but we were ready to receive them with 
 one heavy blunderbuss, three muskets, full of balls, 
 I and half a dozen cutlasses; when Mary rushed in,, 
 her hair all in disorder, shrieking, that she had seen* 
 I a face at the back window ; arid that they were 
 forcing their way through the wood cellar into tha 
 part where the women were. 
 
 " Go back this moment, said I, " to the cel 
 lar; if they break in, utter no cry, and make no 
 noise." I "had previously ordered all the fire to be 
 extinguished. 
 
 "Farewell, Arthur, dear Arthur," cried the dis 
 tracted girl, throwing her arms round his neck. 
 
 " O leave me, leave me, Mary," he cried. " Not 
 till you forgive me never, never! 
 
 The noise at the door redoubled. I was indig 
 nant at the folly of the girl. " Begone !" said I. 
 Her head dropped upon his shoulder, pale as 
 death; but I saw him press his lips to her fore 
 head, and heard him whisper something; at which 
 she recovered, carried his hand to her lips, and left 
 the room with a firm, noble step, saying, " Do your 
 duty, uncle; do your duty, Arthur we will do 
 ours." 
 
 The words had scarcely passed her lips when I 
 heard a tremendous crash ; the door gave way, 
 and Arthur cried, " Dash out the lights." 
 
 The order was instantly obeyed, and, for five 
 minutes, there was an awful and bloody struggle 
 among us. To this I attribute our safety ; for 
 they were afraid to deal a blow at last, and were 
 receiving ours continually. Many of them died 
 by the hands of each other, and by the light of 
 every pistol flash a man was seen to fall before 
 Arthur or myself. I had no notion that a sword 
 was a weapon of such power in the hands of 
 an inexperienced farmer ; but I can assure you, 
 my son, that every man. struck by me was 
 disabled. 
 In the middle of this combat we heard a stifled 
 
THE NOVEL NEWSPAPER. 
 
 shriek, and immediately after we found the floor 
 
 giving way under our feet ; it fell the smoke and 
 
 flames roared like a furnace through the roof; 
 
 tfee shrieks continued, the cries of the women 
 were heard on every side ; n guard stood over us, 
 
 but we cut our way through, and the first object 
 "that caught my view was the dead body of a man, 
 cut from the head down, just falling with a woman 
 sa his arms It was Mary ! her heart had broke 
 she was nearly suffocated in smoke, but, obe 
 dient to her resolve, had determined to perish 
 there, rather thin hring her destroyer upon her, 
 or alarm us. But they had found her, and one 
 was bearing her off when the sword of Arthur 
 cleft his head open. 
 
 There were other cries " Show no mercy," 
 said I "none! hew them in pieces, men and 
 
 women too !" and he followed me. Every thing 
 ;gave way before us ; one of the women was suffo 
 cated, we have reason to believe, with poor Mary : 
 one we saved, together with O ! there was one 
 ruffian, with a red collar, whom I had pursued 
 for ten minutes over burning rafters, through a 
 whirlwind of fire, and clouds of smoke and dark 
 less, hut-could never reach him but a bullet did ; 
 Archibald dealt a blow for his mother. "I I 
 your mother had fled, and I found her utterly 
 powerless and insensible I 
 
 " I can tell you no more, something alarmed 
 the sentinel, for after firing his pistol, which was 
 unheeded by the troop, he rode iu with a loud 
 outcry, and the whole band were in their saddles 
 directly. Let us return." 
 
 He arose abruptly as he ended thi*, and walked 
 -before me into the house, talking all the way to 
 himself, as if unconscious of my presence. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 And always careless, always even in fight. 
 
 Two whole weeks had passed away, and, such 
 had been the effect of their zealous co-operation, 
 that our aged patriots had mustered one hundred 
 and twenty-three well- mounted horsemen, and 
 nearly two hundred infantry, who, by the way, 
 were wretchedly equipped. The whole country 
 had tnkcri the alarm. The tremendous and un 
 sparing violence of the Germans, who, most in 
 considerately in the royal commander, had been 
 put forward in his extreme advance, forming a 
 chain of posts, utterly unable to communicate with, 
 or understand, or to soothe the inhabitants; and 
 too weak by far fully beset with the notion that 
 we were a people of rebel savapes, and, accus 
 tomed to put our prisoners to death if not of 
 cannibals ; the falsehood of which belief they only 
 learnt by being taken prisoners, after it had quick 
 ened their natural ferocity, an i made them the 
 scourge of all the country round. The futility of 
 the royal protections, which were often thrust 
 through with a bayonet, or scattered to the winds 
 by these forfining banditti, under pretence that 
 they were unable to read them, or of utter disbe 
 lief in their authority: these things, with the 
 indiscriminate pillage, and butchery of friend and 
 foe, end, worst of all, the uninterrupted and brutal 
 profanation of our mothers, wives, and daughters 
 before our faces by the living God it is true. 
 
 A committee were employed in ot? r little neigh- 
 bourhood to report upon the subject to Congress, 
 and the result was solemnlv announced that 
 twenty-three women there had been violated 
 twenty-three. Where the desire of concealment 
 in woman herself is hardly greater than it is in 
 her brothers, fathers, sons ; what a multitude 
 must have been sacrificed for so many to have 
 been discovered by accicent for by nothing but 
 accident could it have been discovered a secret 
 so terrible, a violence so horrible to her nature. 
 Men of America, will ye ever forget it? if ye do, 
 may your beautiful daughters and wives no, that 
 were too awful a malediction ; may ye and they 
 perish, strangled in each other s arms, suffocated 
 in each other s blood. These things at last drove 
 us mad. We arose as one people a nation about 
 to offer up its enemies in sacrifice and, had our 
 disposition been .rightly understood,!, the deep 
 feeling of religion^ which began to work like 
 leaven with us, been rightly distributed before 
 the commencement of the Spring campaign there 
 would not have been a man left alive of our whole 
 enemy, from Georgia to Maine, nor a hostile foot 
 able to leave its mark upon our land. 
 
 We found our guest one of the strangest 
 creatures in the world ; altogether agreeable, 
 and full of careless self-possession ; though he 
 cho^e to call himself Clinton, we had good reason 
 to believe that his name was not Clinton, and 
 that he was an aid of the commandtr-in-chief : 
 for at the end of about two weeks, after several 
 attempts to write, which were successively made 
 aud abandoned, he called Archibald, who had 
 become a great favourite with him, to his side, 
 where he sat lolling, with his sleeve ripped up, 
 and looped all the way to his shoulder, and hi* 
 right arm in a sliag, and the following conversa 
 tion ensued between them. I have already spoken 
 of his beauty ; it was generally of a frank, care 
 less aspect, but at times, for a si gle moment, 
 there was a lordly shadow upon his brow, and 
 his dark eyes loured imperiously, like one ac 
 customed to have his way, in spite of all the 
 world, an impatient of contradiction, let it come 
 from whence it would. 
 
 He had been talking about the affair of the 
 lakes, the gallantry of Arnold (the traitor), the 
 repeated attempts upon the shipping up the North 
 river, the ill-advised defence of Fort Washington, 
 the loss of which he attributed to the advice of 
 General Greene, though he admitted that Greene 
 manoeuvred iu a masterly manner to save the 
 military stores at Fort Lee, and, finally, of the 
 battle upon Long Islind; and Mr. Arnauld, of 
 whom it is time that I should give you some clearer 
 notion than you have, sat listening to him with 
 ardent admiration and pleasure. Mr. Arnauld 
 was a small man, with a remarkably spirited face, 
 handsome eyes, full of melting softness, a rick, 
 deep voice, and lips of a blood red ; the most 
 perfect gentleman that I ever saw ; doing what 
 ever he did with that consummate self-possession, 
 as if, no matter how sudden the emergency, or 
 unpremeditated the thought, as if that alone had 
 been the subject of all his preparation. At first, 
 such was his readiness, that you could hardly 
 persuade yourself out of a notion that he had 
 foreseen, or contrived the event or the remark 
 that brought out the peculiarity of which I speak ; 
 but in a little time that suspicion w r ould give way 
 to the delightful certainty that, happen what 
 
SEVENTY-SIX. 
 
 would, there was never such a thing in Arnauld s 
 mind as unpreparedness. His appearance was 
 not striking, nor his countenance handsome till 
 he became animated ; but then, if the women 
 were to be believed, he was the most dangerous 
 man living. For my own part, I must confess 
 that, old as he was when I knew him, and then 
 he was nearly old enough to have been my father, 
 his manners were the most fascinating ; the play 
 of his countenance the most eloquent, the carriage 
 of his person the most dignified aad intellectual, 
 if I can make myself intelligible by such a word 
 (what I mean by it; is, that there was more of the 
 soul in it) , than that of any other man that I ever 
 saw. He was not a learned man, I think : yet 
 there was no theme upon which his passionate and 
 beautiful mind did not dilate with a force and 
 brilliancy, at times, which took away my breath. 
 He it was that gav3 me a taste for elevated and 
 fiery meditation. He was a profligate, a volup 
 tuary, a sensualist, perhaps, for he fed his mind 
 upon loveliness, and banqueted all the daylong 
 upon colour, and sound, and perfume, with celes 
 tial creatures. His very chi dren were a sort of 
 spiritualities ; aad though 1 loathed and abhorred 
 the earthliness of his passion for women, yet he 
 had the art of so sublimating and colouring what 
 ever he chose to touch with his enchantment, that 
 it was perilous as death to listen to him when set 
 upon conquering your reason. I believe that he 
 had a good heart, and a brave one ; that he loved 
 his wife to adoration, and would have torn away 
 his own heartstrings, split his own arteries, to 
 make his children happier, fora single day, in any 
 material thing. But let me return to Major 
 Clinton, or colonel, as we ought to call him. 
 
 "Hither Dapper," said he to Archibald, care 
 lessly, " I want your assistance." 
 
 Archibald lifted his eyes slowly to his face, as 
 if, I believed at first, that they meant to smile at 
 the man s impudence ; but then a deeper hue 
 came to them, as if it were well to put a stop to it 
 before it should be too late. 
 
 He lifted his eyes slowly, and fixed them upon 
 Clinton s face with a serious impression not so 
 much of displeasure as of inquiry ; and then, as 
 lowly, dropped them again. 
 
 " Dapper, I say," said his persecutor, again 
 throwing a wicked glance at the girls who sat 
 nearly opposite, "come, come, I want to borrow 
 your fingers." 
 
 "Colonel Clinton." said Archibald, caloily, 
 raising his eyes to the colonel s face, " my name is 
 Archibald Oadiey." 
 
 Clinton laughed, and. flinging his handsome leg 
 out, as if a sudden pain had just taken his breath 
 away ; "Will you, then, Archibald Oadiey," cari 
 caturing the measured enunciation of my brother 
 so happily, that he smiled, in spite of himself, 
 and Lucia coloured to the eyes, and gave a peevish 
 sleight of the hand as she threw by her work, that 
 I saw did not escape the notice of Clinton (for he 
 glanced rapidly to and fro, three or four times, 
 from one to the other, before he finished the sen 
 tence, like one reconnoitring) " will you then 
 do me the favour to write pray, do you 
 always talk with that solemn emphasis ? But, no 
 matter, now ; will you write a Hue for me ? 
 
 " With all my heart, said Archibald, seating 
 himself immediately at the table ; while Lucia 
 hurried, with a petulant activity, to get the 
 writing materials before him, occasionally glauciug 
 
 at the noble countenance of Clinton, and then at 
 the richly delicate, but singularly intelligent one 
 of Archibald, in pity, I thought, and perhaps, for 
 I did not like the compassionate trembling of her 
 lips, nor the colour that came and went, so 
 rapidly, about her temples; it was too like the 
 expression of disappointment, and even shame. 
 
 ** All ready ?" said Clinton. 
 
 Archibald bowed dropped his pen ag^in into 
 the ink. 
 
 "Well, then Dear General have you got 
 that?" Archibald nodded. A profound silence 
 followed. 
 
 " Damn it/ said Clinton, after wri;gling back 
 ward and forward in his seat for a whole minute, 
 " it is like drawing your teeth." 
 
 "Not mine, if you please," sail Archibald, 
 lifting his pleasant eyes again to his face. 
 
 " Well, mine, then. I ll tell you what it is : 
 you d better write it yourself; come, will you? 
 there s a good fellow! no matter what you say r 
 so that he can t read it. " 
 
 Archibald shook his head; and Clinton con 
 tinued, " for he was never able to read one of my 
 letters ; yet stop, there s the date, put that down ! 
 whew!" There was another dead halt of a 
 minute or two, while every compassionate soul 
 in the room was afraid to look up, lest it should 
 add to his confusion ; poor creature, he never 
 suspected it! " I ll tell you what, D>ipper, I beg 
 your pardon, Arch-i- bald Oad ley, I d rather winter- 
 a whole campaign upon White Plains, than write 
 a letter any day the first sentence is so un 
 speakably difficult. That is the tenth time that 
 I have undertaken to commufticate the fact that 
 I am alive, hearty, and ready to relurn to duty 
 as soon as he pleases ; but, hang me, if stay- 
 stay make a full stop." 
 
 " O, that I did, half an hour ago, 1 said 
 Archibald. " Well, then, now sign mv name to 
 it George R. Clinton, A.D.C. Is it done." 
 
 Yes, said my brother, without changing coun 
 tenance ; " but to whom shall I direct it ?" 
 
 " To His Excellency George Washington." 
 The pen fell from my brother s hand, and we all 
 looked up in amazement. 
 
 "Why, what ails the boy? said Clinton; 
 " don t you mean to finish the letter ?" 
 
 Archibald took up the pen again with a 
 trembling hand, and wrote the direction, biting 
 his lip as he did so ; there was a strange variety 
 of emotion in his face. 
 
 "Is it done?" 
 
 Yes, sir," said Archibald, reaching it to him. 
 
 " Please to read it for me." 
 
 Archibald read as follows : 
 
 " New Jersey, 14th November, 1776 
 
 Dear General George R. Clinton A.D.C. 
 
 To His Excellency, George Washington." 
 
 Clinton stared him in the face for half a minute, 
 and then threw himself back into the chair, and 
 laughed till the house shook again, and before 
 he ha;-l ended we were all laughing v\ith him ; all, 
 I should say, except my father and mother, who 
 sat a little apart from the rest, holding each other s 
 hands, and looking as if neither would ever smile 
 again ; and Arthur, poor fellow, Ue had left us to 
 go alone, where he would be welcome among the 
 armed children of America. 
 
 " Well, well," continued Clinton, after this 
 obstreperous peal had ended, " after all, I don t 
 see but that it will be a most acceptable letter ; it 
 
20 
 
 THE NOVEL NEWSPAPER. 
 
 will show that I am alive in my senses ; and he I 
 will know, at the first glance, that it is no ! 
 counterfeit, that I must have dictated it. I say, 
 I hope you have written with the wrong end of 
 the quill ; if you have, it may go clown for some- i 
 thing under my own hand stop, before you seal ! 
 it, take up your pen again, dot it a little here and j 
 there, and HOW just draw two or three crooked ! 
 lines athwart the paper, and I will defy the devil ! 
 himself to detect the counterfeit. There now ! 
 seal it." 
 
 Archibald followed his directions folded, sealed, 
 and directed it. 
 
 " You will be good enough, Mr. Arnauld, to I 
 have that conveyed, as soon as practicable, to the 
 outpost at the Four Corners." 
 
 " Is it possible?" cried Archibald, seeing that 
 the thoughtless creature was in dcwnright 
 earnest; "would you really presume to send 
 such a letter as that to George Washington?" 
 
 1 Presume 1 why not?" 
 
 " But such a barren affair it will be an insult." 
 Pho pho it is the longest letter that he 
 ever read from me in his life. Sometimes, when 
 I have been in some hot scrape or other, for he is 
 sure to send me where more speed and horseman 
 ship than brains are wanted ; I have just scrawled 
 the initials of my name and sent them stop ! 
 that letter must not go in that fashion just put 
 down the initials ; I am incog, for a while, and he 
 won t know roe by the name of Clinton." 
 
 " Will you allow me," said Mr. Arnauld, " to 
 write a note for you ?" 
 
 " O, certainly," was the reply; "but I see no 
 necessity for another : Mr. Oadley can just draw 
 bis pen over the name, and write G.R.C. under 
 them ; he will understand by that same letter 
 three things, which are all that I could tell him if 
 you should write a whole day ; for I told him, when 
 he took me into his family, that curse me if I 
 could either write letters or copy them, but that 
 I could carry them, through fire and smoke, into 
 Sir Henry Clinton s quarters, if he pleased." 
 
 " Three things," said Archibald" what are 
 they?" The date, name, and address, I sup- 
 pose," said Mr. Arnauld, pleasantly. 
 
 " Pho, you re all out. First (making a flourish 
 with his left hand) he will understand that I am 
 alive, else I should not be able to dictate that 
 letter. Secondly, he will understand that I am 
 not able to write, else I should not have employed 
 another; and thirdly, he will understand where I 
 am, and send a waggon for me directly. Now, 
 what more could I tell him if I blacked a quire 
 of paper all over ? nothing I hate your long 
 letters. I never read them I have a trunk full 
 at home, that I have just opened far enough to 
 count the pages, and put them by for a rainy day, 
 or a cold one, it matters not much which. Do 
 you ue any letters ? you may have them you re 
 welcome to them all. I cannot deny that I have 
 been brought into two or three unpleasant scrapes 
 about them but then, I can t read them, I can t, 
 and what s the use of talking about it. If people 
 will quarrel, why, that s another affair; I m not 
 fonder of it than most men, but I d rather quarrel 
 with any body, than read a long letter." 
 
 "You have seen Washington, then " said I, 
 timidly. He looked at me a moment, from head 
 to foot, as if endeavouring to understand whether 
 I was ia jest or earnest, and then answered, 
 - Yes,, almost every day for the last six years," 
 
 My father arose and came forward, as if 
 anxious to evince his respect for so favoured a 
 mortal ; and Lucia, it appeared to me, began to 
 look about her with a more distrustful eye, as 
 if endeavouring to recollect all that she had been, 
 saying in the festivity of her heart, before one 
 who had really seen George Washington, face to 
 face; and I I cannot deny that I felt a strange 
 commotion within me, next, I believe, to what I 
 should have felt in seeing the great man himself, 
 nay more than I did feel afterwards, when I 
 actually saw him. 
 
 "Well," said Archibald, shrugging his shoul 
 ders, " even this is better than hearing ol him it 
 is seeing him at second hand seeing one that has 
 seen him. What kind of man is he ?" 
 
 " About the height of your father," said Clin 
 ton, measuring the august old man as he con 
 tinued, " and not a little like him in his carriage ; 
 about twenty-five years younger, however, with a 
 broader forehead, a more awful meaning upon it; 
 not so large, but bony ; and, in short, a man be 
 fore whom other men feel and look, and act, like 
 children aye, sir, the wisest and bravest. 
 Haven t I seen the stoutest heart among us hang 
 his head; like a lubberly schoolboy, when the 
 general but turned his face upon him for a minute, 
 without uttering a word !" There was a prodi 
 gious expression of soreness, or something else, 
 in the movement of his haughty lip, as he said 
 this. 
 
 " Do you love him ?" said Archibald. 
 
 "An odd question, faith," said Clinton, "to 
 ask one of his own family ; however I won t baulk 
 you, my lad. No, I do not love him I cannot 
 he maltes me feel my inferiority too sensibly for 
 that; but I would die for him, three times a day, 
 for the rest of eternity ; isn t that better than 
 love?" 
 
 " Not better than love," said Arnauld. 
 
 " Oh, of women you mean?" answered Clin 
 ton, glancing at Lucia, who turned away her face 
 with some little agitation, looking sideways at 
 Archibald as she did so. " O, that is another 
 affair. Whether I could love a woman or not 
 would be hard to tell. All that I know of the 
 matter is, that I have tried to, more than once, 
 with all my heart and soul, and I could never get 
 farther into her heart and affections than to be 
 made a fool of laughed at, first by her, and then 
 by all the world ; and then however, I should 
 love to be wrought upon once more, if it were 
 only to keep me alive till the next campaign, 
 opens. Cannot you tell me, Archibald, of some 
 blessed creature," his tone grew deeper, and the 
 father glanced at him with a look of alarm, as if 
 he would read his very soul ; " that could love a 
 soldier all the day long, watch with him all the 
 night long, live with him, die with him, and never 
 write him a long letter?" Clara laughed out 
 right at the ludicrous association of deep feeling 
 and levity, apparent not less in the tone of the 
 stranger than in his words. " Why, you might as 
 well inhibit the use of speech at once," said she. 
 
 " No, no," he replied, thrusting his whole 
 hand into his dark, luxuriant hair, that shone in 
 its abundance and disorder as if it had never 
 been touched with, aught but the wind and rain ; 
 " there would be several objections to that. Gal. 
 lantry, the love of contradiction, the impossi 
 bility of the thing. What woman would ever sur 
 render UJJQ& such, terms ? No, no, Miss Clara, 
 
r,n honourable capitulation is safer for both par 
 ties ; if we give no quarter, we cannot expect 
 any ; beside, there are some women who wouldn t 
 think ray objection at all unreasonable to long 
 letters." 
 
 "Why not marry a deaf and dumb lady ?" said 
 Mr. Avtiauld. 
 
 " Why, to tell you the truth," replied Ciinton, 
 carelessly throwing his left arm over the chair in 
 which Lucia sat, so that his finely-turned hand 
 hung down by her shoulder, and touched it, I be 
 lieve, in some subsequent movement, for she 
 changed her position, and I saw his eyes flash 
 with a deeper expression of meaning thfin I had 
 ever seen before ; and Archibald saw it too, I 
 -thought, for he held his face lower, and began a 
 second time at the top of the page over which he 
 wa<s poring : " to tell you the truth, that would 
 be a needless preliminary ; it would be well enouerh, 
 to be sure, to have her deaf and dumb at first." 
 
 " It might be a blessing to her," said Lucia, 
 pettishly, in a whispering tone, meant for Archi 
 bald s ear, but he would not appear to have 
 heard it. 
 
 "Pretty well," continued Ciinton, "pretty 
 well, for a beginner: yes.it might be a blessing 
 to her, and it certainly would be one to her hus 
 band, if her voice were not so full of of hang 
 me, if I could ever pay a compliment in my life, 
 when I wanted to." 
 
 Lucia turned entirely away from him now, not 
 withstanding a gentle reproof of her mother, who 
 moved her feet upon the fender in the accent of 
 admonition, and hemmed once or twice, while his 
 nether lip worked, and the light shot through his 
 kng lashes, as if not an emotion or thought of 
 a single heart in the company could escape him ; 
 xind even Mr. Arnauld, when their eyes met for a 
 moment, and flashed a quick interchange of mean 
 ing, like electricity, ten thousand times more 
 powerful and expeditious than your vulgar lan 
 guage of sound and syllable, appeared to be tho 
 roughly understood by him. Heart answered to 
 heart between them, for a moment, as if each had 
 a telegraph in his own. 
 
 " So then," said Mrs. Arnauld, " you are for a 
 deaf and dumb woman, vita mia!" 
 
 " O no, not at first, not till I was disposed to be 
 a widower. I should like a wife at first with a head 
 ou : in a little time I would answer for her being 
 .deaf and dumb too. My voice would make her 
 deaf, my talking dumb." 
 
 " You would break her heart, perhaps," said 
 Archibald, without raising his eyes. 
 
 Clinton yawned. " Probably," said he, " pro 
 bably, and, after all, she might a3 well be deaf and 
 dumb at first ; if dumb, the better for me ; deaf, 
 the better for her. Yaw aw aw! " 
 
 "Arid I dare say," continued Mrs. Arnauld, 
 iaying her hand upon his wounded arm very 
 geutly as she passed, " that it would soon 
 -amount to the same thing ; if you rattled away 
 as you do sometimes, you would make her forget 
 her own language." 
 
 " Or ashamed of it," said he, putting his hand 
 upon hers, with the consummate assurance of one 
 long familiar with women. The blood rushed 
 over the teiaples of her husband as he saw it, and 
 darkened his eyes with a terrible shadow and 
 lustre. She caught his look, or rather felt it, for 
 ehe withdrew her hand, and went to the window 
 a silence, and stood there for several minutes. 
 
 SEVENTY-SIX. 21 
 
 " Pray, colonel," said my father, addressing 
 him with a gravity which, if any thing in this 
 world could have awed the licentious festivity of 
 his nature, would have done it; " have you ever 
 seen General Lee?" 
 
 " Charles or Harry ?" snid Clinton. 
 " I do not know his first name, colonel." 
 " Pray, old gentleman." Archibald threw 
 down his book and sat upright ; but my father s 
 eye fell with a serious rebuke upon him, before he 
 had time to interfere, and he gradually sunk into 
 the same position again. " I must tell you, and 
 all of you, now that I think of it, to call me 
 plain Mr. Ciinton; some of the scoundrel enemy 
 have penetrated thus far; and it might hurry us 
 all into trouble, if they knew there was a colonel 
 here. A sharp game has been playing of late- 
 one of retaliation : they have sent Ethan Allen to 
 England in chains, and we have just taken 
 Prescot." 
 
 We all assented to the proposition, and he con 
 tinued " I should like to stay with you a few 
 weeks longer, till I am well enough to sit my 
 horse, at least, for I like this hospital, I confess, 
 rather better than ours in camp. That letter " 
 
 " Do you really mean to send that letter, then ?" 
 said Mr. Arnauld. 
 
 " Yes ; no perhaps it would be as well ; damn 
 it I beg your pardon, ladies, a thought strikes me. 
 I ll send for Jasper, and have the lads t! rilled and 
 taught the broadsword, and then gallop into camp, 
 as frjm the recruiting s:rvice, with a squadron of 
 horse at my heel?, and a broken firm. Yes, Mr. 
 Ar chi-bald ; please to add, that I am recruiting, a 
 little injured in my right arm, and that, if he will 
 order Sergeant Jasper into this quarter, with four 
 of my old troop, we will, be ready, at a moment s 
 warning, to cover any of his foraging parties, or 
 cat up any of the enemy s, till there is an oppor 
 tunity for more serious operations; just as he 
 pleases, for pastime, till " 
 
 Archibald wrote the very words down, and read 
 them to him. 
 
 "Now, why the devil damn this practice of 
 swearing. Ladies, I beg your pardon ; I have . 
 been too long in camp not to offend, sometimes, 
 where I would wish to avoid it : I am only aston 
 ished, that when I wanted to say that in black 
 and white, just now, it was a matter so difficult." 
 
 " Would it not be well, said ^my father, " to 
 give the commauder-in-chief some account of your 
 capture ?" 
 
 " Report myself ! O, no ; dead or disabled he 
 knows well that I must be, to be absent for a whole 
 day; yet, you may as well say, Archibald, that I 
 have heard of the enemy, and vvas afraid of their 
 cutting off my videttes, in detail ; put it in your 
 own language and, that I was taken prisoner, 
 and " 
 
 " Taken prisoner ! said Mr. Arnauld. 
 
 " By us ; you mean," said Clara, smiling. 
 
 He nodded. " No, by the enemy ; and, but for 
 that young coxcomb who fell upon them I hal" 
 Archibald shook his head, and Clinton continued ; 
 " say that I was taken prisoner, and rescued 
 by" 
 
 Archibald threw down his pen angrily, and 
 Lucia turned about, her beautiful face all in a glow, 
 with her passionate enthusiasm ; while my father 
 leaned half out of his chair, dropping the hand of 
 my poor mother, and there was a breathless silence 
 " bv, by, I am not permitted to tell you whom, or 
 
22 
 
 how. There ! will that do ? and add, if you please, 
 Tinder-box, that, if his excellency pleases, I will 
 stay here till I am wanted ; or will, to protect the 
 neighbourhood " 
 
 Archibald finished the letter, sealed it, and re- 
 ceived a hearty shake of the hand from Clinton, 
 who lilted his dark, expostulating eyes to him, 
 and said something in alow voice. 
 
 "No, "said Archibald, firmly; "no, colonel: 
 remember your word I shall hold you to it." 
 
 " Pray, colonel," said Mr. Arnauld 
 
 "Colonel! colonel! again. Mister, if you 
 please." 
 
 "Well, then, Mister Clinton, you spoke a few 
 moments since of General Lee ; is he popular?" 
 
 "Exceedingly, with them that do not know 
 him." 
 
 " A great soldier ?" said my brother. 
 
 " Yes, but not the man for our cause." 
 
 " They mention his generalship at the south," 
 said Mr. Arnauld. 
 
 "I know it," was the reply: "the thing is 
 wholly misunderstood. Fort Moultrie would have 
 been given up, Sullivan s Island abandoned, if the 
 advice of Lee had been followed. He swore that 
 Sir Peter Parker would blow it into the air with 
 half a dozen broadsides. No, that affair is Moul- 
 trie s alone he ought to have the whole credit of 
 it and he shall : for ten whole hours he and his 
 raw militia, and Palmetto Wood, held out against 
 the whole British fleet in one uninterrupted roll 
 of thunder and fire." 
 
 "But Lee has had a great deal of experience 
 abroad, and is a man of extraordinary talent, is he 
 not ?" said Mr. Arnauld. 
 
 Clinton turned full upon him, and answered 
 more seriously than I had ever heard him before. 
 " Yes, sir, it is all true ; but Lee is a tyrant, an 
 aristocrat ; and if they that wish to see him in the 
 place of Washington will put him there, I will 
 answer for his being King Charles the First before 
 three campaigns are over. No, sir, neither he nor 
 granny Gates is the man to lead our armies. 
 They are fighting for themselves Washington for 
 us. He risks nothing for popularity ; takes all 
 the peril upon himself with the rubble of the 
 army, and puts the strength and flower of it un 
 der the command of the very men that would 
 supplant him but, standing erect, Jim noble 
 countenance and haughty lip all eloquent with 
 deep and unutterable reverence, "God is with 
 George Washington 5" 
 
 Clara, nay, even Lucia, my father, mother, 
 nil, all ! every living soul stood up, and unconsci 
 ously followed his movement ; and when the ceil 
 ing of the large room resounded to the manly 
 voice of Clinton, " God is with George Washing 
 ton ! it seemed as if every voice had united in 
 the acclamation ; while Archibald, poor Archibald, 
 stood looking, with his high soul sitting in his 
 forehead, on Lucia and Clinton ; as if, Heaven only 
 knows if the thought be a true one, but so it 
 appeared to me, as if that burst of enthusiasm in 
 Clinton had wrecked his happiness for ever for 
 he went up to him, took his hand, and bowed his 
 head upon it ; and sat down in silence, as if willing 
 to give up all all that was dearest to him in the 
 wide world, for the loud and gallant testimony 
 that he had just borne to Washington. 
 
 Lucia saw the action ; and a strange tumultuous 
 light flashed over her white forehead, stirring her 
 very hair with the rush of her blood, while her eyes 
 
 THE NOVEL NEWSPAPER. 
 
 filled : and she came nearer to Archibald, as if she 
 would have comforted him, if she could ; but he 
 carefully avoided her eyes, and she was unable to 
 speak. 
 
 " But what think you of this system of retalia 
 tion ?" said my father. 
 
 " The best thing in all the world to bring the 
 arrogant followers of his majesty to their senses. 
 
 After that d d affair at the Cedars, I v. ish you 
 
 could have seen Washington s face. It was tre 
 mendous ; and when he wrote his last letter, by 
 Heaven my blood ran cold. I could see, as plainly 
 as I now see you, a hundred or two of fine look 
 ing fellows, with epaulets upon their shoulders, 
 swinging in the wind I 
 
 " Would he have doxe it?" said Arnauld, shud 
 dering. " Would he would George Washington 
 do what he ha* once threatened ? yes, though the 
 sun turned to blood while he did it ; and the sky 
 fell in fragments at his feet ; aye, though it raintd 
 fire upon himl 
 
 " liut, how would that be possible? 1 said my 
 father. " How could Washington stand by, and 
 see men butchered, mangled, scalped, and roasted, 
 as they were at the Cedars?" 
 
 " O, that was the wisdom of Congress, said 
 Clinton. "Washington never promised such 
 r r taliation ; he foi esaw that, unless he wished to 
 make his brave fellows as bad as the enemy, he 
 could not enforce an exact and scrupulous retalia 
 tion." 
 
 " Yet it was threatened , and it is not wise or 
 dignified for a nation to threaten only " 
 
 So I say ; right or wrong, after you have 
 uttered a threat, fulfil it. Bite ; don t bark but 
 if you must bark, bite afterwards right or wrong." 
 
 "That affair at Long Island seemed to have 
 lost Washington a part of his popularity," said 
 Mr. Arnnuld. " Was it not rather too hazardous, 
 to throw all his forces upon an island accessible on 
 all sides to the enemy ; where, if defeated, inevita 
 ble ruin must have followed?" 
 
 " I ll tell you%vhat it is, Mr. Arnauld : there is 
 a dangerous, discontented spirit among us ; we 
 seem to be weary already of the good cause : 
 anxious to down with our natural-born men of 
 America our oid-fashioned republicans, and put 
 any body, no matter whom, if he has been edu 
 cated abroad, in their places. I use no disguise. 
 Lee is a favourite with our patricians here, 
 because he is a haughty, over-bearing aristocrat ; 
 has been trained in Europe, among their prince* 
 and nobility ; and because, d n his impudence, 
 nothing that we do please him. He must have 
 his finger in the pie, or all that is thought of or 
 done is laughed to scorn. He goes about among 
 our women, with half a dozen puppies, of one 
 kind and another, at his heels, growling and 
 cursing at every step ; and we are fools enough to 
 think it all an evidence of generalship. No, Mr. 
 Arnauld, if Charles Lee had been our commander- 
 in-chief, we should not have had a battalion in 
 arms at this moment, except his own body 
 guards. I hold him to be the most dangerous 
 man in America, and I know him well, and, be 
 tween you and me, if they make him genera! 
 of the American armies, I will make him a head 
 shorter with my own hand, on that day, before 
 he sleeps." 
 
 We looked at him the flashing of his eyes, the 
 lordly swelling of his chest and not one of us 
 questioned for a moment, I will venture my life 
 
SEVENTY-SIX. 
 
 23 
 
 upon It, that he would have been as good as his 
 Word. The girls were in consultation, and had 
 U-ithdrawn to a deep sofa in the opposite corner, 
 where, with their arms intertwined, they had 
 thrown themselves back, so that nothing could 
 be seen in th> deep shadow where t aev s it but an 
 occasional glitter of the eye, or nourish of a white 
 &ao.d, or a languid nutter of drapery, as they 
 changed their caressing attitude. .The mother s 
 countenance lighted up to great beauty and ex 
 pression as she saw them, for there was more of 
 her own spirit of coquetry, en learment, and self- 
 possession, probably, in all this, than she had 
 been accustomed to. 
 
 " But," continued Clinton, " the affair upon 
 Long Islhnd was not so desperate as you ioia- 
 >gine. We were defeated, you know, yet we were 
 *.iot destroyed ; so there is fact, in answer to one 
 of year speculation*. Ban what would have 
 become of General Hiwe, had we whipped him ? 
 we should have cut him topiecss Something was 
 to be done. Our men fought well in their en 
 trenchments as Bunker Hill h-id shown it was 
 proper to try them in fair field fighting. We 
 could not give up New York without a i low ; the 
 <eyes of thi whole country were upon us ; a victory 
 would decide tue cause at once ; a battle, if we 
 were not beaten, would be a victory for us, be- 
 causa it wouM retard the operations of the enemy, 
 accustom our troops to stand fire, and startle the 
 country; and even a flogging would be better 
 than a dastardly retreat without striking a blow ; 
 and still better than being enclosed upon the 
 island, or shut up in the city. These were the 
 reasons of w as h ngton ; I know all his thoughts, 
 I know that h s great heart bled in the trial ; that 
 he was moved even to tears when he saw his poor 
 fellows rode down in the marshes, and bayoneted 
 yank after rank ; but he had foreseen it all, and 
 prepared for it. You are mistaken in another 
 thing his retreat was secured. We were in 
 possession of a battery, that commanded all the 
 East river we hid left a force iu the city to cover 
 us, and the enemy had not a ship nor a guu to 
 bear upon us. G >d ! if he had only attempted to 
 storm us, we should have played Banker Hill over 
 again. Just before we embarked Washington 
 rode up to us " 
 
 " You were there, then," said Mr. Arnauld. 
 
 " Yes," said Clinton, colouring; but, without 
 any change of voice, he continued to relate the 
 alarming incidents that followed and accompanied 
 the embarkation ; and never intimated that he 
 Jhad had any personal concern in it, though we 
 found, afterward, that he had been especially 
 distinguished ; and was engaged for several hours 
 by tGe side of Colonel Smallwood and his high 
 blooded Marylanders, shouting and cursing all 
 the while like a fiend, and dealing death about him 
 through the smoke, and blaze, and thunder of 
 the battle, as if that alone were his element. Nor 
 did he appear to avoid it with any especial care ; 
 it was, really, I have no doubt, a matter of per 
 fect indifference to him ; for, when put to it, he 
 spoke with the most natural expression of careless 
 concern about what he himself had done ; just as 
 if chopping off the heads of men had been about 
 .as serious a matter as cutting the throats of so 
 many cattle, or cropping so many puppies. 
 
 " But how providential!" said my father; 
 locking his hands. 
 
 " The fog you mean, "replied Clinton ; "why, as 
 
 to that matter, every thing that happens is pro 
 vidential. But, I see no especlnl manifestation 
 of Providence there. We committed, or rather 
 some of our officers committed, some damnable 
 blunders at the embarkation ; and we might have 
 suffered, if the enemy had known it ; and the 
 fog was certainly a lucky affair. But, while I 
 feel as thankful to God for it as any body, I be 
 lieve, for I was in the last bjat that cwrae off, 
 and the water was all in a foam about it with their 
 shot when the fog was blown away, and they 
 opened upon us : yet, I am Lever in the habitjof 
 believing in any especial manifestation of God s 
 favour, where, if we believe in that, we must 
 believe th;it he has led us into a scrape, just 
 that he might bring us out of it. Why let 
 us be whipped, and cut up, as we were, if but 
 you look too serious for me ; let us dr ip the sub 
 ject: I am not a religious man, but I respect 
 one that is. Seeing death as often as I do, J am, 
 afraid, has not made his countenance more wel 
 come to me ; and it would be comfortable to me 
 ta believe as other men do; but I cannot; that 
 is plain I cannot. I venerate my Maker I 
 would die at his bidding ; but dam me if I caa 
 bring myself to believe tnat he is so ready ta blow 
 hot and cold upon the same cause, sunshine and 
 fog; or I beg your pardon, I see that 1 have 
 offended you all so let us say no more about it. 
 God prosper the right !" 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Prepare to guard ! now guard ! assault! 
 Now forward ! forward ! to the slaughter place I 
 
 Archibald and Clinton were perpetually toge 
 ther now; Jasper had arrived, and while the troop 
 was forming upon the broad, well trodden 
 ground iu front of the house, Clinton would sit at 
 the window, give the order, and direct them in 
 going through the divisions, while Jasper faced 
 toward him, his back to the troop, and went 
 slowly over the whole ; and such was their zeal, 
 that, before another week had passed, i-ny brother, 
 who spent the whole of his time in the saddle 
 with Jasper, or in conversation with Clinton, was 
 able to go through the attack and defence with 
 the swiftness and precision of an experienced 
 swordsman. Jasper declared that he had never 
 seen any thing like it " I shall be no match for 
 him," said he, " with that Jiglit blade of his, in 
 another week ; he parries, cuts, and gi?es point, 
 all at the same moment." And so it appeared to 
 me for when they met, and wheeled, taere was 
 often one incessant clatter, and blaze, and 
 spnrkle, for two or throe minutes at a time, as 
 they went round the enclosure, with all eyes upon 
 them. 
 
 "Admirable!" said Ciinton, catching Lucia s 
 hand, and then dropping it in dismay, as he saw 
 the alteration in her face "admirable!" 
 
 "What was that?" said I, as I sat upon my 
 horse, near enough to the open window to hear 
 and see all that passed within the room, while my 
 horse reared at the flash of Archibald s sword. 
 " What was it ? I saw the light, but my eye could 
 not follow the motion." 
 
 " Sword arm protect bridle arm protect St. 
 
24 
 
 THE NOVEL NEWSPAPER. 
 
 George cut in the rear," answered Clinton, 
 leaning half out of the window in his eagerness : 
 "d n this arm of mine, I am impatient to try that 
 fellow s mettle myself; he is quicker than light 
 ning; he and his mure seem to be animated by the 
 same so\il." 
 
 As he spoke, the mr.releaped, the line broke, and 
 she dashed among them like a mad creature ; 
 Archibald s weapon swinging at his wrist by the 
 sword-knot, and wounding her at every plunge. 
 Lucia turned pale as death, and caught Clinton 
 by the arm ; but he appeared unconscious of it, 
 for he leaped headlong from the window just as 
 she uttered a shriek, reeled away, and covered her 
 face with her hands. I now saw the reasou 
 Archibald had lost the stirrup, and was almost 
 upon the neck of the mare, who ran straight across 
 the field, turning neither to the right nor left, for 
 hedge, nor ditch, nor tree. There was a mortal 
 silence ; the horses were all reined up with a con 
 vulsive motion, and Clinton stood with his arms 
 outstretched. There was a large tree in front, an 
 oak, the branches low, and the mare driving 
 directly under them. Gracious God ! at the very 
 moment when we expected to see Archibald struck 
 from the saddle, his brains dashed out, we saw 
 the sword fly from his wrist, the m.vre turn a little 
 aside, and Archibald spring to the ground bring 
 her about, in a broad sweep, and leap upon her 
 back again , like a circus rider. There was a gene 
 ral shout of admiration. 
 
 "A winged Mercury, indeed!" said Mr. 
 Arnattld. 
 
 " Yes," groaned Clinton, contracting his fore 
 head with pain, as he restored his shattered arm to 
 the sling, "but d-n such freaks, I sy. I 
 would no more have that fellow in our riding- 
 school, than a lighted rocket in a powder maga 
 zine ; he and his mare would play the devil with 
 our sober Connecticut jockies ; the whole camp 
 would be a place of ground and lofty tumbling if 
 they were once among the Virginia lads. But 
 what the devil set him a going, Jasper? didn t he 
 parry your point? I could have sworn that his 
 touched vour side twenty times before you parried 
 it ha!" 
 
 Jasper held up his sword in reply ; it was broken 
 about six inches f om the hilt. 
 
 " Ho\v happened it ? did he parry ?" 
 
 "Parry d n the fellow yes; and before 
 I could come to offside protect, he gave me a cut 
 that shattered my sword, and made my arm numb 
 to the elbow (shaking his fingers as he spoke). 
 Zounds ! I believe the bone is splintered but 
 here he comes." 
 
 Archibald rode up, flushed withhc?.t and terror, 
 and the mare covered with blood. The point of 
 the broken sword hud wounded her, it appeared, 
 in the flank. Archibald could have borne any 
 thing better "Poor Hetty woa! woa! poor crea 
 ture," said he (staunching the wound, while the 
 flesh of the animal shivered at every touch, and 
 the blood flew in his face like rain). " I d rather 
 be wounded myself, but woa! woa! I knew that 
 something must have happened, and it s well for 
 her," he ndded, turning to us his white forehead 
 all spattered over with her blood, " that she has a 
 good excuse for such deviltry, or " 
 
 " What would you have done?" said I. 
 
 " Cut her throat upon the spat," he answered 
 in the same tone. 
 
 His very nature has changed," said Lucia, as 
 
 she stood leaning upon her sister, pale s.s death, 
 her black hair shadowing half her face. 
 
 To which Clara seemed to assent, while she put 
 out her dazzling baud to adjust it for their eyes 
 encountered, and the quick incessant sparkle of 
 Clara s stopped for a moment with -a dash of 
 mournfulness ; and her red lips were slightly 
 compressed, perhaps in sympnthy with some 
 inward contraction perhaps with the effort thst 
 she made just then to thrust the loner comb into 
 the collected mass of hair, which she had just 
 parted on her sister s forehead, and carried back,, 
 and curled up in the true spirit of a painter. 
 
 "B,;t how, in the name of Heaven, did you get 
 into the saddle again ? are you accustomed to 
 such evolutions ?" 
 
 Archibald continued patting the neck of his 
 mare, whi e her bloodshot eyes, swelling no-trils,. 
 agitated breath, and quivering limb?, showed that 
 she was not wholly subdued. "Woa! woa 1 
 Hetty, woa 1 ro, it was altogether an accident; 
 the impetus of our motion carried me back to the 
 saddle; woa! woa! will you; the sword-knot 
 gave way run, Simmons, and find the sword., 
 there by the tree, somewhere : you will see by the 
 track of the mare. I shouldn t have managed 
 her else- never was I so near a somerset in my 
 life, and to this moment I don t know how woa I 
 woa! how I got into the saddle again my head 
 is giddy with the effort. I remember throwing 
 myself off as soen as I was able to disengn^-e my 
 wrist from the sword-knot, and I lost the stirrup 
 by it ; but how I got back again I know not it 
 appeared to me that I kept on, just struck the 
 ground in a semicircle, brought the mare round, 
 by holding on the rein involuntarily, when she 
 took me up again by completing the circle." 
 
 " And so it appeared to me," said Clinton ; 
 "it was a d d dangerous affair though a pretty 
 diacram might be made of it." 
 
 "Handsome, Bill, wasn t it?" said Ja-pcr to 
 one of his own men ; " w^ must try it over in the, 
 ridiog-school." 
 
 " You d better take that tree with vou then," 
 said Bill. 
 
 " Aye, and the mare too, and the rider, or yon 
 won t be able to carry it through, my lads," said. 
 Clinton. " But look to the mare, Jasper, you are 
 somewhat of a farrier, or used to be, when I com 
 manded you." 
 
 Jasper touched his hat, and then apologised for 
 such an unmilitary salute, by bringing up the hilt 
 of his broken sword square to his face, ths flat of 
 bis hand in front, with that air of military preci 
 sion and briskness which is so peculiar to the 
 drill sergeant and fugleman. 
 
 " Keep your men in their saddles five hou-s a 
 day. We shall be wanted soon. Be rea <y at a 
 moment s warning. I will be your commander 
 till a better one can be had ; in the mean time 
 there is Archibald what say you ? ahull he b2 
 your captain ?" said Cliuton. 
 
 " Aye, aye !" cried the whole troop ; " Oaclley 
 forever ! Oadley ! hourra i or Oadley !" 
 
 Archibald looked up ; all the blood o! his heart 
 rushed to his face, and then retreated as suddenly, 
 leaving hi in white as a drowned man, and his eyes- 
 filled. Not a humaa being had expected it not 
 one ; and from none had the thought been further, 
 I am sure, than from him. He went to my father, 
 looked him in the face, and then round to all the 
 troop, man by man, without uttering a word. 
 
SEVENTY-SIX. 
 
 25 
 
 They all understood him ; and some turned away 
 their faces ; some passed the back of their right 
 hand over their eyes, and filed off, one after the 
 other, as if they had not the heart to interrupt 
 such a silence. 
 
 " Clinton, Clinton; I I " he tried to add 
 something else, but he could not ; his lips moved, 
 and he carried Clinton s hand to his heart. 
 
 " I understand you, my fine fellow ; say no more 
 about it you are their cnptaiu : I will answer for 
 your confirmation. Work them hard this week, 
 and Moaday morning next, rain or shine, we will 
 jrniiop into camp. Ah ! look yonder. What are 
 t aey ? Red-coats, by G~d ! Mount, mount 
 your horses ! " 
 
 " To horse I to horse !" cried Jasper. 
 
 Into your saddle, Oadley (to me), and stand 
 by your brother. Order out my sorrel, put the 
 holsters on ; see that the pistols are in order. I 
 eiu still aim a ball ! Away with these infernal 
 trappings " As he said this, he tore asunder 
 t*e sling ; but as he did so, and attempted to 
 straighten his arm, streaks of red shot up to his 
 temples, *ind the sweat started out upon his 
 lips he could not abide it; he staggered to the 
 
 SS/rt. 
 
 I u a few minutes after a fine-looking young fel 
 low rods up, threw himself from his horse, and 
 sco )d abruptly before C.inton, without asking any 
 questions. 
 
 How dare you!" said Clinton, scarcely able 
 t* uf-.ter an audible sound, while Lucia stood aside, 
 looking at him with her hands locked upon her 
 bosom; " there are women here." 
 
 The young fellow blushed, bowed, took off his 
 high cup with a gay, rioting air, and presented a 
 I. -tter. 
 
 " Read it, Clayton," said the colonel. He 
 re id as follows : (i Muster your men, if you can 
 sit in th.2 saddle ; the general was alarmed about 
 yea. I was very sad ; and, to my notion, you 
 will be dealt plainly with. The New Englanders 
 wili not be appeased else ; they and the Pennsyl 
 vaaians are ready to go to loggerheads. I saw 
 him, the general, when your note came. His hand 
 shook on opening it; but he smiled, or rather 
 hoked a little less serious than usual. When he 
 had done, aad handed it to Mercer, who answered, 
 HI he returned it, " you ll never make any thing 
 of him, I am afniid." 
 
 " I am afraid not," said his excellency. " So 
 Graftoa," "Hush! hush !" said Clinton. "Read 
 no names, if you please. What else does it say ?" 
 
 * Something is in agitation, I am sure ; make 
 haste in. All may go well yet. Your s for ever 
 and ever " 
 
 "Well, sir," said Clinton; " where is the 
 main body now ?" 
 
 " At Newark." 
 
 " How many are you ?" 
 
 * Three thousand five hundred, at the last 
 muster on the 22d." 
 
 4 What th* devil do you mean, Clayton ? How 
 nrany in all?" 
 
 "All: upon my honour. I made the return 
 with my own hand. The whole American army 
 x*nder Washington, now, are only three thousand 
 ;iv^ hundred men." 
 
 4 Cu^cioiusGod !" exclaimed Clinton, dropping 
 his armFTiTeT^ssly ttrtr the sofa ; " then shall we 
 have fco go, as he told me himself, back of the Al- 
 s. Well, go where he will, when he will, 
 
 I will go with him. Did you see any of the enemy 
 in the wood ?" 
 
 " No : the farmers are mustering though, all 
 about us." 
 
 " I thought, were there no red- coats on the 
 left, upon the hill, yonder ?" 
 " I saw none," was the reply. 
 " Any men with you ?" 
 
 " We are about twenty or so ; they halt in the 
 wood there. We are part of a covering party, 
 and have taken some prisoners." 
 
 " Mount every man of you this moment. Put 
 yourself under the command of that young fellow 
 that you see there (pointing to Archibald, who 
 was leaning forward and adjusting the curb of his 
 mare). " There are red-coats in the way, follow 
 close upon them, but hazard nothing : on your 
 lives, do not bring them to battle unless you are 
 two to one. To horse, Clayton ! to horse, Jas 
 per ! and see if we cannot take in some prisoners 
 to our commander : keep out upon their flank, 
 watch them, and cut off any stragglers. To 
 horse !" 
 
 " I wish to Heaven, colonel, that you could go 
 with us," said Clayton, hesitating. " I " 
 
 Clinton shook his head : " No, no, it is impos 
 sible, I tell you. Don t drive me mad ; begone 
 to your duty, sir." 
 
 In ten minutes more we were ail upon the way, 
 nearly one hundred and fifty strong ; our whole 
 family, Arthur and all, for 1 caught a glimpse of 
 him just before we came in sight of the enemy: 
 our horses full of blood, snorting and neighing, 
 and the very earth, it did appear to me, .shaking 
 under them. Even Arnauld and my old father, 
 breathing hard, like old war horses straining upon 
 the bridle, rode side by side with ms, shaming 
 the youthful brief ardour of all the young men, 
 with their awful solemnity of forehead and eyes. 
 
 I rode near Clayton, and I observed that he 
 kept his eye, with an uneasy, doubtful expression, 
 upon my brother, and at last, as if impatient to 
 put his heart at rest, spurred up abreast of Jas 
 per, and asked him some questions : to which 
 Jasper returned a reply with a loud oath ; and 
 t len there was a contemptuous movement of 
 Clayton s lip, that made my blood boil, as he 
 renewed his observation of Archibald. 
 
 You shall see! if we come off well there. 
 You shall see, Clayton, 1 said Jasper, training his 
 heels, and heaving up his chest, with a look of the 
 greatest exultation "wait a little, my boy, and 
 you shall see what stuff he s made of." 
 
 Clayton returned to the ranks with an angry, 
 dissatisfied look that there was a wrathful move- 
 ment of my heart for a moment ; but I kept it 
 down, and we rode peaceably enough for a whole 
 hour. But our course was soon interrupted a 
 man on horseback dashed athwart our way, about 
 two hundred rods ahead, in the uniform that my 
 father knew, for he was after him like a blood 
 hound, without waiting for the word, over hedge 
 and ditch. Jasper followed ; Arthur Clayton, 
 and my brother was preparing, when he saw some 
 appearance on the edge of the wood about half a 
 mile off that arrested his eye, anil the next moment 
 boy carne up to us all in a foam, with a note 
 which forbade him to advance a step ; saying, that 
 :he enemy were out on the right and left, his camp 
 >roken up, and the country overrun \\ith his iight- 
 lorse and dragoons. 
 " Trumpet!" cried my brother. 
 
26 
 
 THE NOVEL NEWSPAPER. 
 
 
 The rumpet sounded. A martial quick rever- 
 beration followed, too far off, and toa distinctly 
 for an echo. Our stragglers wheeled with their 
 prisoner, whom my father, it appeared, had brought 
 to the ground, horse and all, with one of his out 
 landish cuts ; and the next moment a body of horse 
 in beautiful style came out from the wood at full 
 gallop, as if reconnoitring us, wheeled in a circuit 
 of nearly half a mile, and then trotted, and then 
 halted though much less numerous than our 
 selves, as if in defiance; nay, some of the rascals, 
 after waidng a while, had the impudence to dis 
 mount in our faces, as if to turn their horses 
 loose. 
 
 " What say you, brother ?" said I, " shall we 
 down upon them ?" 
 
 "Not yet," replied he, keeping his eye upon 
 them, " we are not double their number my 
 orders are strict we are now in actual service I 
 have too much at stake there is some stratagem 
 there. Fellow! (to the prisoner) how many are 
 there?" 
 
 He smiled sullenly, and threw a ferocious glance 
 at my father, who, Heaven bless the old man 
 sat upon his horse, precisely as he used to do of a 
 Sunday when going to church; with the same 
 substantial deep gravity, a little more sorrow and 
 sternnessV perhaps ,~but with no appearance of 
 emotion. 
 
 "Archibald soon learnt the truth. Cornwallis 
 was out, Washington had struck his tents, and 
 was retreating before him, bag and baggage. 
 Every moment was invaluable. " Ha ! I thought 
 so! said my brother. "Form! form! father! 
 brother! cousin Arthur! Mr. Arnauld! hither! 
 hither ! we must ride abreast 1" 
 
 The enemy appeared to be preparing for a charge, 
 and one after another came galloping from the 
 wood, until their number appeared rather larger 
 than our own. I looked at Jasper and Clayton, 
 and the regular troopers their lips were all com- 
 pressed, their eyes rivetted upon the enemy, their 
 horses reined up, and swords resting, with 
 the hilt just in the hollow of their thighs. I 
 looked at our men there was no difference 
 there seemed to be the same promptitude, coolness, 
 and precision in one as the other. Even our old 
 father brought his heavy broadsword to a carry, 
 as if he had done nothing else all his life than carry 
 a sword. 
 
 " Prepare to guard !" said my brother. 
 The swords flashed all at once ; and every man 
 sat at the same moment, with his bridle-hand and 
 sword-hand in front of his breast. It made my 
 very heart leap to see it. 
 
 " Look to your pistols," said my brother, "but 
 never use them. Take their fire ; but don t return 
 it till your swords fail you." 
 
 The horses became strangely impatient, snort- 
 Ing, stamping, and straining upon the bits the 
 enemy, too, as if disconcerted by our coolness, or 
 suspecting ambush, or waiting a reinforcement, 
 held back. Their appearance was beautiful the 
 ground was all covered with snow, far and near 
 their dazzling uniform, and large showy horses, 
 full of mettle, and impatient to snuff the wind 
 and smoke of battle altogether it was a sight 
 well itted to thrill the blood, and give that deep 
 delirious feeling of terror and passion to the young 
 heart, wkich rouses it, like fire thrown into the 
 den of a wild animal. 
 One of the enemy stationed upon a hill in their 
 
 | rear now gave some signal, that changed their 
 
 1 course, for they reined short about, and trotted 
 
 slowly along the side of the hill, while he kept 
 
 upon its verge, as if watching the movement of 
 
 some other body below in the opposite plain. 
 
 " This will never do, said Archibald, " tftey 
 rnay be leading us into ambush ; we must take 
 higher ground, and always be prepared to come to 
 battle or not, as we please. Carry swords! 
 right wheel ! trot!" 
 
 " Right wheel ! trot !" echoed behind us, rank 
 after rank as they wheeled from the line, where 
 we stood six deep, and trotted gallantly round to 
 a more commanding elevation. 
 
 " What think you now ?" said Jasper, falling a 
 little out of place, to exchange a word with 
 Clayton. 
 
 "Think ! damn it I think that you have 
 been humming me he a raw recruit! no I 
 knew better the first time that I saw him in the 
 saddle. He has seen service." 
 
 "So they say, 1 was the reply, and Jasper 
 spurred to his place again. 
 
 I could not but look behind for a moment, where 
 I saw Jasper s red face shining, with the honest 
 exultation of his heart his little eyes twinkling,, 
 as if Archibald had been his own son : and there 
 was Clayton, now I began to like him keeping 
 his horse s head in line ; and, whenever he could 
 get an opportunity, trying to adjust himself to 
 the saddle, and sit like Archibald. 
 
 For myself, I can hardly tell what my feelings 
 were. First, there was a rush of fierce, terrible^ 
 delight T^nTff then a brief alarum in my heart,. , 
 followed by a sort of religious fervour, -exceeding: 
 wrath and indignation, tranquillised and subdued,, 
 ajsif God and his angels were fighting with usy 
 Nay, at the very onset, when the word had been, 
 given to charge, and all the hills round rung with 
 the melody ot trumpet, the neighing of horses, and 
 she shouting of their riders, when we had joined 
 battle, and I heard nothing but the shriek of wo 
 men, saw nothing but the pale , wasted face of my 
 poor mother, aad the dead body of Mary, under 
 the hoof of trampling horses, there was no feeling 
 of terror in all this none ! but there was a sub 
 limity that distended my whole heart, as with fire,, 
 and flood, and tempest; and when, in the thick of 
 the battle, our ranks were broken, and each was 
 wrestling, man to man, with his adversary, on foot 
 or on horseback, the face of my father and brother, 
 and that of the death struck Arthur, went by me in 
 one rank, as I thought, and all fled before them T 
 | After all thisl know not what happened, until my 
 horse stumbled among the dead bodies, and threw 
 me into a mass of human blood and trodden snow.. 
 God ! how the field looked. But stay, I am an 
 ticipating. Is it not wonderful ? I hud stood and 
 gazed upon my brother, not a minute bef- re, after 
 the blood of one man was upon him and listened 
 to his composed voice, and fancied that there was 
 something preternatural in it, but now I was 
 dripping with it from head to foot, and 1 felt no 
 other emotion than a little loathing and sickness. 
 Is it.apt wonderful, that timid and peaceful men,\ 
 who had never seen the red blood run trickling; 
 | from the bright blade of a butcher knife, without a; 
 quick trepidation of the heart youthful too, like 
 Archibald, and Arthur, and myself, in the very 
 spring.tide of our gentleness and compassion, or 
 grown old, like my father and Arnauld, in the 
 beautiful hushed tranquillity of a farmer s home, 
 
SEVENlY-SIX. 
 
 ^hat had never seen the gleam of a broadsword, 
 / nor heard the bugle call, nor the neigh of cavalry, 
 jaor thsloud, quaking reverberation of heaven and 
 arth, beneath the tread of horses and horsemen, 
 rushing to battle, that such men should sit as we 
 sat, breathing hard, and straining like b;ood- 
 hounds in the slip, all our veins swelling with im 
 patience for the outcry of death. Oh, is it not 
 past all belief, that such changes should be wrought 
 with such instantaneous suddenness. Yet so it 
 was, the grey hair of my mother whistled about 
 my face, and I felt as if the shadow of Mary 
 rode at my side, with one incessant moaning cry 
 of violation. Wlia_t..A.Kthur feit I knnw not ; but 
 there was the settled aspect of death upon his 
 forehead wherever I met him ; and wherever he 
 appeared, the very horses made way for him, for 
 2ns riding was that of one commissioned of God > 
 ^no sound, no cry escaped him ; but drugged to 
 the very lips, saturated to the very skin with 
 blood, he still smote his way onward, and 
 wrestled and dealt, giving no quarter, showing no 
 mercy. And my father, too, I saw him only for 
 a moment, after the enemy broke through our 
 little squadron, riding with alibis might, breast to 
 breast with Archibald ; aad oh, there are passions 
 and passionate thoughts in the human heart, veius, 
 and vessels, inuumerable and delicate, unseen and 
 hidden, unknown and unsuspected, till a prepara- 
 ; tion of blood and fire hath been poured into it. 
 Tiieu, like the morbid anatomy of death, the se 
 cret and mysterious winding of every channel, with 
 all its sub le and exquisite ramifications, becomes 
 slowly articulate aad vivid, with the rush of the 
 infusion. 
 
 But let me have done withthi?.,my children, and 
 return to the preparation in hand. We were com 
 ing along, in a slow trot, as I have told you, upon 
 the brow of a hill, apprehending no danger, and 
 sure of our power to retreat at pleasure ; when, 
 all at once, the man on the hill gave a. signal, which 
 we had reason to believe conveyed some unex 
 pected intelligence to the enemy, for he imrnedi- 
 ately set up a shout, wheeled at full gallop, and ap 
 proached us in a most gallant style. 
 
 " Masterly, by I 1 cried Jasper : " rein up ! 
 jcein up!" 
 
 " Gallop," said my brother, " gallop !" 
 He was instantly obeyed, and we came round 
 where we could only be assailed in front, a high 
 bank sheltering us in the rear, a broad ditch and 
 several heavy broken stone walls covering our 
 right, and the left entirely open to us, if we chose 
 to escape. The enemy ncrew stronger aad stronger 
 as he approached. I saw Jasper throw a troubled 
 look at Archibald; and, the next moment, Arnauld 
 spurred up to him at a headlong speed, pointing 
 to another party that were just dashing athwart 
 the creek, one after the other, about a mile off. 
 
 "" It is too late now," said my brother; " we 
 iiave nothing left but to do our duty ; then, in a 
 ioudvoice.be proclaimed his intention " to con 
 quer or die. 1 
 
 The words were scarcely out of his mouth be 
 fore the frout rank of the enemy fired their pistols 
 in our faces, wheeled, and were followed by a 
 seeoad, and a third, without drawing a blade. 
 
 Several of our men fell ; two or three of the 
 torses broke out of line, or ran back upon tkeir 
 fellows ; and Archibald, who had never been ap 
 prised of this mode of attack, appeared con 
 founded for a moment : when, just at that time, a 
 
 covered wall in our front, which we had not seen 
 till then, and against which the snow had drifted, 
 brought up the~front rank of the enemy, as they 
 were preparing to wheel upon us, and to follow 
 up the charge with their sword* ; and a universal 
 confusion aad embarrassment prevailed. 
 
 Now is the time ! cried Archibald, " now is 
 the time ! down upon them, my brave fellows ! re 
 member Mary Austin !" 
 
 At the sound of that cry, out leaped a horseman 
 from the middle of the front rank, and the whole 
 troop rushed headlong upon the enemy, shouting : 
 " Mary Austin ! Mary Austin ! Down with the 
 Hessians !" 
 
 We were instantly among them, disordered, it is 
 true, and utterly broken up by our own impetuosity, 
 and the nature of the ground ; but the enemy wer 
 more so, their horses were weaker, and less ac 
 customed to the snow : they stumbled at every 
 step, fell, and rolled over us, and about us in every 
 direction. Not a shot was fired now ; every maa 
 joined battle, sword in hand, with whoever was 
 nearest to him : and, such was our tremendous 
 desperation, that twice, before I could suspend the 
 blow, or see my man. I exchanged a cut with one 
 of our own troop. In the middle of this, the 
 whole field, as far as I could see, was covered with 
 horse and horsemen, battling in their saddles, on 
 foot, or rolling over on the ground like so many 
 gladiators. 1 saw one rank, the only unbroken 
 one, rush by us, and T had just time to see all the 
 faces in it that were dearest to me, when Ar 
 chibald s voice was heard again, shouting, " Form^ 
 form ! trumpet !" 
 
 "They are rallying," cried Jasper ; " in upon 
 them now ! the day is our own ! hourra, my boys 
 hourra, my fine fellows!" And then, by Heaven* 
 there was a sound afar off, martial and wild. It 
 was the sweetest melody that I ever heard in my 
 life ; it seemed as if a rank of bugles had been 
 blown all at once above our heads. There was a 
 general pause of astonishment and delirium. But 
 the pause was only for a breath ; a party of the 
 enemy appeared rapidly forming anew, and all at 
 once there came thundering around the hill another 
 body. 
 
 " Virginia for ever ! Virginia ! hourra for Vir 
 ginia ! cried somebody at the left. 
 
 " By heaven and earth, 1 cried Clayton, and 
 another named Crawford, both of whom were 
 wounded , and one unhorsed ; now, my boys, you 
 shall see some fun. 1 I reined up, and twenty 
 others did the same, while the enemy endeavoured 
 to rally in two or three places. But the Virginians 
 gave them no time, for they actually rode down 
 the first party without exchanging a shot, and 
 then divided and scoured the field. It was then 
 that my heart failed me my head swam. I could 
 BO longer distinguish friend from foe. My horse 
 tumbled, and when I came to my recollection I 
 was smeared all over with the blood and brains of 
 a poor fellow upon whom I had fallen. I arose, 
 and attempted to stand. There were at least 
 thirty or forty human beings about me, dead and 
 dying : the snow all stained and trodden. Her* 
 a wounded horse, snorting and pawing, and 
 sweeping his blood-red mane over th snow, and 
 shuddering so as to throw the blood from it like 
 spattering rain all about him ; there a rider trying 
 again and again to disentangle himself from a 
 struggling animal. A loud groan, a suffocated 
 neigh, a deep harrowing exewation, a word or two 
 
28 
 
 THE NOVEL NEWSPAPER. 
 
 of prayer, and now and then a shriek that went 
 through and through me, I could hear. I arose 
 upon my feet, astonished to find life enough left 
 for it. I was frightened, too, to find it so late 
 the stars were already beginning to appear. Mer- 
 eiful Heaven ! could it be that we had been so 
 utterly defeated. I stood and listened, but there 
 was no sound of pursuit. Then it was that I 
 would have laid down and died, stiffened and cold 
 as I was ; foi I began to feel that I had been 
 stunned, and that our party Kiust have been cut 
 to pieces, or we should not have been left to perish 
 in the snow. I was not then aware how late it 
 was in the afternoon when we met, but my disor 
 dered memory made me feel as if I had been left 
 a whole day to die. My blood grew warmer, and 
 I saw another man, and another moving, as if 
 they would soon be able to rise. Oae of them 
 succeeded. I know not what he felt, but all my 
 hostility was dead ; I could as readily have struck 
 a knife into the heart of my own brother, in the 
 presence of God himself, as to strike hands in 
 wrath under a sky so cold and blue, in the awful 
 stillness of evening, after such a day of peril and 
 wrath. We advanced: he hesitated. It was one 
 of the enemy. Poor fellow, he was as little dis 
 posed as I for another mortal encounter ; for 
 though, while he put one hand to his forehead and 
 staggered, like one giddy and blind with pain, the 
 other fell to his left hip "by a sort of mechanical 
 motion, yet it was almost as instantly withdrawn 
 andextended. After apause, I gave him mine. God 
 bless the poor fellow. We were so weak, both of 
 us, that we leaned for a moment upo. each other s 
 bosoms, and then he sank upon the snow, reacli- 
 ing his hand to me again, and uttered in a broken, 
 inarticulate voice, " Utn Gotten Wilkn." I had 
 taken him by the arm with a feeling of brother 
 hood, for that never deserted me yet, blessed be 
 God but a groan that I knew thrilled my blood, 
 and wrought, like returning animation to a frozen 
 man, tea thousand inconceivable pains. I dropped 
 the poor fellow s hand it fell like that of a corpse 
 and followed as well as I could, in the sudden 
 darkness and tenor of my mind, the melancholy 
 sound that I had heard. 
 
 It was my father s voice it was. He was just 
 able to show that he knew me to put out his 
 hands to me, as if with a blessinor, whf n the bugle 
 rang again, and down came a body of horsemen, 
 two hundred at least ; friends or foes. I cured not. 
 I p.ever left my father, nor lifted my eyeSj nor 
 dislodged his venerable head from my arms, till I 
 hear a the voice of Archibald, in a tone of distrac 
 tion, crying to" Dismount dismount, and collect 
 the dead." 
 
 jV Oh ! my father, my father ! my brother ! he 
 cried, running hither and thither about the field. 
 "Oh!" 
 
 He heard my voice. It was very feeble, but he 
 heard it, and we were instantly weeping in each 
 other s arms. 
 
 " Unhurt, my dear, dear brother ? said I. 
 
 "Oh! I know not," he replied, "nor care. 
 Jasper, Jasper here." 
 
 We soon found, to our unspeakable joy, that our 
 father was not mortally wounded, as we had reason 
 to believe, but was rather faint from the loss of 
 blood, and perhaps a dislocated shoulder, and we 
 were soon on our way. I was unable to ride. 
 We soon understood the cause of the delay. Oar 
 party had b:en victorious, and, while our division 
 
 pursued the enemy, taking a number of prisoners, 
 and marking their route by dead bodies, another 
 had ridden about the neighbourhood for carts and 
 carriages to convey the wounded. I was put iato 
 one tumbrel with my father. On each side of us 
 rode a horseman, one of whom I knew, but the 
 other was a stranger. 
 
 "Archibald," said I to the first, "where is 
 Arthur?" 
 
 " Arthur?" 
 
 " There ! was the reply, pointing to the horse- 
 men on our right. 
 
 "Not in the cloak?" 
 
 " Yes ; that cloak he took with his own hands 
 from an officer, and hurled him headlong to the 
 earth at the same moment." 
 
 The herseman fell back, as if just recollecting 
 where he was, threw off his cloak, passed us in 
 silence, and flung it into the carriage. 
 
 "Poor Arthur, sail he, his heart is untouched 
 yet. How has he escaped ?" 
 
 " Wrap it round his body, 1 said Archibald, 
 coming up as I began to envelope my father with 
 it. " He escaped miraculously ; but his roan was 
 killed, and himself a prisoner once." 
 
 " And you " 
 
 " I know not. The pistol bullets troubled the 
 mare for a while. I felt sorry for her ; the smelt 
 of gunpowder is rather unpleasant, when burnt 
 near enough to singe her eyelids. Poor Hetty 
 woa, woa." 
 
 I turned about, willing to make him feel that 
 such levity was horrible at such a time, in one so 
 young, but there was such a mortal lividnessin 
 his face, that, struck with terror at the thought 
 of his being deranged, I had well nigh shrieked 
 aloud ; but he rode on, the cold moonshine coming- 
 down upon our cavalcade with every variety of 
 light and shadow as we wound our way over the 
 dazzling snow, th2 steel scabbards of the horse 
 men ringing and glittering at every step, the 
 solemn trampling of the horses, their blowing, 
 the crushing snow, the heavy lumbering of the 
 loaded waggons, loaded with the dead and the 
 dying, friend and foe the hour, the awful stillness 
 about, and in truth I can well say, that I have 
 never felt, from that moment to this, such au 
 overpowering: sense of mortality. 
 The household were already apprised of our 
 approach ; yet, who can describe the meeting r 
 Daughters and fathers, husbands and wives ! 
 
 Arnauld was wounded too, and very seriously ; 
 for he had fought with a desperation that appalled 
 the stoutest of the young men ; perhaps from the 
 terror of falling alive into the hands of taem, to- 
 whose prince he had probably sworn allegiance, as 
 he had taken his protection. His daughters ran 
 to him ; but their grief, bitter and cruel as it was, 
 had nothing of the unutterable sorrow of the wife 
 Lucia fell upon her knees ; held his pale hand to 
 her lips, wiped away the frozen blood from hii* 
 temples (for he had fallen near my father, and 
 lain there motionless and stiff till the dead cart, 
 came by,) with her own hair, and wept upon his 
 forehead and eyes. Clara sat down by him, 
 and pressed her delicate hands with nil hi* 
 might upon her heart ; holding her breath, as if- 
 the first sound would be a shriek. The mother, 
 the wife, the beautiful and passionate O, who 
 shall tell he sor-owof her spirit? She tore open 
 the bosom of her lOi d, called distractedly upon the 
 surgeon ! Clinton, ! Oadley ! and her children 1. 
 
SEVENTY-SIX. 
 
 Then, while the tears gushed out of her beautiful 
 eyes, till they blinded and choked her, she would 
 yield to the gentle violence of Clinton, who sat 
 by her, and held her hands in his until Lucia her 
 self leant upon his bosom, and not as upon the 
 bosom of a brother. Archibald s tread sounded 
 behind me : he had already been with our blessed 
 mother, and I I had not. 1 rushed by him ; 
 but the hue of his face frightened me. He stood 
 with his eyes upon Lucia, unable to speak or 
 move. I ran in to my mother I found her calm, 
 patient, awfully collected, sitting by the bed upon 
 which my father lay, and stayed no longer than to 
 hear our surgeon pronounce him in no danger, 
 and to see her, who had been so collected and | 
 immoveable till then, at the sound of that judg j 
 ment, throw herself upon his neck, stranger as j 
 he was, and sob there aloud, as if he had been her ( 
 own son nay, her only son ; and then sink down 
 upon her knees, with an expression of the deepest j 
 thankfulness, and bury her agitated, altered face j 
 in her hands, till I was fain to fall upon my knees 
 beside her, and kiss her wasted forehead, and 
 then leave her ; for it may as well be told, the 
 natural yearning of my heart in a measure ap 
 peased by this duty to my mother, I had others 
 another the whole force of which I knew not 
 till that moment. Poor Clara, poor dear Clara, 
 thou! the haughtiest of women; thou, whom I 
 had sworn in my own heart, five years before , when 
 I was an awkward clown, to humble to the dust; 
 O, now I saw thy proud spirit brought down with 
 consternation and sorrow, tenderness and and 
 love ? Yes, it was love, it could be no longer 
 concealed; She hid her face in my bosom, and I 
 felt her warm tears trickling into my very heart, 
 her trembling hands giving way, at last, to the 
 convulsive expression of long- smothered feeling ; 
 her heart beating vehemently against mine, and 
 her warm cheek unconsciously resting against 
 mine ; the same blood circulating, I almost be 
 lieved, through both our frames at the same mo 
 ment. I wept too, I will not deny it; wept the 
 more, for having, like herself, so studiously con 
 cealed my passion for whole years ; and yet, sorrow 
 ing as I did, that one I loved should sorrow as she 
 did ; rejoicing, nevertheless, to see one prouder 
 than Lucifer colder, it was thought, than the 
 unsunned snow, reposing with the helpless and 
 enchanting confidence of tried love upon my bosom 
 mine ! where I had never hoped to feel the 
 forehead of any woman reposing ; and, last of 
 all, a woman, whose very hand I had not dared 
 to touch ; whose very name I never could bring 
 myself to pronounce but with an affectation of 
 dislike, or at least of qualified friendship. 
 
 " But where is Archibald? 1 said Clinton, put 
 ting his lips to the forehead of Lucia; by Heaven 
 it is true ! and I told Archibald of it, and that the 
 colour did not even rush to it, as if to reprove the 
 unlicensed touch. But he only shook his head 
 patiently and smiled ; poor fellow, so that it 
 brought the tears into my eyes. 
 
 " He was here a few moments since," said the 
 surgeon, and the next moment, as if the sound of 
 his name brought him into sight, he stepped for 
 ward, advanced as if to offer some assistance, 
 dropped his eyes, as if unwilling to meet the eyes 
 of Lucia, who, just becoming- sensible of her 
 situation, so young, so beautiful, her black hair 
 all dishevelled, and da-hed eyes, swimming in 
 light and tearfulness, and cheeks burning with 
 
 shame, was endeavouring to draw her shawl over 
 her partially exposed bosom with an agitated 
 hand a 
 
 "Archibald, 1 said she, faintly, "you are not 
 wounded, I hope?" without daring to look up. 
 Her hands were just at that moment employed in 
 parting her hair upon her forehead, to keep it out 
 of her eyes. 
 
 " Not mortally, Lucia," said Archibald, with a 
 tone that went to my heart (her hands fell into 
 her lap motionless as death), " but deeply, irre 
 trievably." 
 
 I know not if Archibald meant it, or observed 
 what I did ; but Lucia s head dropped, and I savr 
 the tears fall, drop after drop, upon the dark dress 
 of her mother, upon whose bosom she leant. 
 
 He went to her, took her hand it lay passively 
 in his, and fell not, even when he opened his own 
 as if to relinquish it. "Lucia, Hea Heaven bless 
 you, farewell! said he, carried it to his lips, and 
 left the room. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 And there were sudden partings, such as press 
 The life from out young hearts. 
 
 Not one of the household slept that night, but we 
 Lad the comfort to know, long before morning, that 
 Mr. Arnaukl, whose leg had been bruised, arm 
 dislocated, and head cut in two or three places, had 
 little to apprehend ; while our sturdy old father, we 
 were assured, would be well enough to mount his 
 horse in a few days at furthest, having escaped with 
 a few flesh wounds, and the loss of about hall his 
 blood. I wanted to see Arthur, for I had not seen him 
 to speak with him since he was the happiest fellow of 
 all the world ; his loud, clear voice resounding in 
 the cold air like a trumpet, as he parted from us the 
 night of of the night of blood and ruin. I found 
 that he occupied a room in one of the wings, which, 
 after some rambling, I found. There wassomeLody 
 stirring within, some one breathing as if his very 
 heart would break. 1 knocked. 
 
 No answer was returned, but the tread of naked 
 feet approached the door. 
 
 It opened, and a woman stood before me. She 
 put out her hands kindly, and then started back,, 
 and covered her face with them, uttering a cry of 
 horror. 
 
 " Merciful Heaven 1" I cried, " Lucia, dear Lucia, 
 do not be alarmed, it is I. Where is Mr. Rodman s 
 chamber? Forgive me, my dear friend, and compose 
 yourself. You have not been in bed?" I turned 
 to go, but she came to me, and put one hand to her 
 forehead, and stood in the moonlight, like some 
 disembodied creature, scared in its quiet element, 
 looking at me, as if to ascertain if I had spoken the 
 truth. And this was really your object really ?" 
 putting her hand aifectionately upon my arm. 
 
 " Surely, dear Lucia, you cannot doubt it." 
 
 " O, no, 1 she added, dropping her hand upon my 
 shoulder, " I cannot." There was a distant step in 
 the same gallery she shook from head to foot, ai.d 
 I, terrified to death at the tkought of being kten 
 there, stepped back gently and on tiptoe to my room, 
 but startled all the way, and particularly at one 
 corner, by a sound like the suppressed breathing of 
 some one concealed. For a moment I stopped, with 
 
30 
 
 THE NOVEL NEWSPAPER, 
 
 the resolution to see if it were a creature of flesh 
 and blood, or only some delusion of my troubled 
 "brain ; but recollecting immediately that, if it should 
 be the former, my duty to Lucia rendered it a sacred 
 matter that I should pass away undetected-, even in 
 *ay innocence, for the most innocent action is capable 
 of evil interpretation I went on at the end of the 
 gallerv. I paused again, for a distant door opened 
 and shut with a slow, cautious motion, and a figure 
 that at first, from its muffled appearance, I took for 
 toy own shadow (and only discovered it not to be 
 ao by standing still for a moment) passed athwart 
 the white wall. 
 
 Ashamed of my own feelings, for they were all in 
 an uproar fora moment, with I dare not utter the 
 thought, the disordered dreaming of my brain, the 
 late terrible events, the death-like stillness of the 
 dwelling Avhere I was, the holy and awful moonlight 
 above me, the figure of the person, I could not be 
 mistaken, but whither had it gone? 
 
 As I stood, another door opened, and Arthur 
 Hodman walked past me. I spoke to him: and 
 be turned with a slow, reluctant motion towards me, 
 and then gave me his hand in silence. We went 
 down into the court, and walked together in a dead 
 silence, for half an hour at least; his tread was 
 measured, like that of men in a funeral march,and his 
 "breath labouring deep, and drawn at long intervals. 
 Occasionally, when \ve turned, so that he was opposite 
 the moon, and my countenance shadowed and hidden, 
 I would lift my eyes to his. O, my children ! far 
 fee from you and your s that sorrow and desolation, 
 for which there is no comfort that bereavement, 
 that, O righteous Heaven ! which leaves the smit 
 ten heart sore to the centre, and bleeding, with no 
 sweet memory to balm it ! no tears to fall upon it ! 
 i nothing but the substantial pressure of calamity. 
 | Poor Arthur, but a few days, and his step was a 
 j bound, his voice the filled horn his heart the abid- 
 i Jng place of gentle and high thought, festivity, and 
 love. A few days, and God had written, in lividncss 
 and shadow, the death of his loved one the destruc 
 tion of all his hope, upon his broad forehead. His 
 hair blew about it, now, as if that too had been 
 touched with death; and his sunken eves had a 
 aolemnity aud blackness in them that alarmed and 
 awed me ; their motion was not unsettled, but there 
 was a strong, rigid lustre in them, as if the fountain 
 that fed them was nearly dry. " Poor Arthur !" 
 said I, pressing his hand, " farewell." 
 His hand made no reply 
 
 * O, my brother!" I cried, looking him in the 
 face. " My cousin, dear Arthur, you terrify me, 
 speak to me no : do not speak to me the sound of 
 your voice is terrible but show me, by some sign, 
 that you know me." He stopped, his lips trembled, 
 lie locked my hand in both of his, and turned to go ; 
 but, overpowered by the deluge within him, which 
 had gathered till it would have way, he fell upon 
 3ny neck, and I believe wept, for rny dress was wet 
 about the breast afterward, but whether with his 
 tears or Lucia s I know not; but I felt his heart heave 
 like a surge under mine. 
 
 Once more he shook my hand long, and with all 
 his strength, lifted his head in silence, and returned 
 to his room, while I pursued my way to my own 
 .1 found Clinton there, in low conversation with 
 Archibald ; and though, from some words that struck 
 jnj ear, I thought that they were talking confiden 
 tially, and therefore endeavoured to apprise them 
 of my approach, by walking heavily, yet, so deeply 
 were they engaged, that I was already at my own 
 bad-side beford they observed me. Clinton then 
 
 gathered up his cloak about him. I started at the 
 appearance of his muffled shadow: I felt my blood 
 boil, but I dared not utter a sound. 
 
 " Your brother has returned)" said Clinton to 
 him. 
 
 " I am glad of it," was the reply " come to tfc 
 bed, brother, I have something for your ear. 1 
 
 I approached, and he sat up in the bed, the collar 
 of his shirt opened, and the fine fashion of his whitd 
 shoulder and chest all exposed, with a beauty and 
 delicacy almost feminine, in their whiteness and 
 smoothness. 
 
 " Sit down, brother; don t interrupt me. Yon 
 have known something of my thought and doing, 
 toward Lucia Arnauld. I have had some pleasant, 
 some sorrowful dreaming (his voice trembled) 
 and there have been times when I thought of doing 
 some noble and uncommon deed, for the love that I 
 bore her. God only knows, brother, how I have 
 loved her so secretly, that I have not dared 
 to tell it to my own heart ; so passionately, 
 so devoutly, that, with an opportunity for years to 
 to to take advantage of her warm-hearted, gener 
 ous sensibility I 
 
 Clinton trembled, and turned away his face. "I 
 have never dared to touch her hand, unless she put 
 it into mine, until this night; and that was to bid 
 her farewell for ever. Brother, it is hard to give her 
 up to tell the tale of our own disappointment to 
 have loved as 1 have from my first breath, with an 
 awful feeling of tenderness and veneration.it is hard; 
 but to give her up so suddenly to one that has known 
 her so short a time, that is bitter bitter ! But young 
 as I am, and beautilul as she is, it must be doee. 
 We are apart for ever. Give me your hand, brother ; 
 your s, Clinton. Another, a braver, and older man, 
 a taller, and handsomer man loves her ; not as I have 
 loved her that is impossible. Would I stand in the 
 way of her prosperity? No! I would rather, had I 
 ten thousand hearts, throw them down for her to walk 
 over, to the arms of him that could make her happier. 
 I am yoving, and sickly, and weak of an unsocial 
 make a blunt, cold manner and a haughty and 
 forbidding countenance. I have never told my love, 
 never talked about it I could not; but there is that 
 within me, that which will not bow nor bend. God 
 hath put it there, and God only shall put it out. 
 Woman never shall, flow long I may live I know 
 not. and I care as little; but while I do live, and 
 when I die, it shall be worthily without complaint 
 or repining He loves her, I know. Do not shake 
 your head I know it. He has dealt fairly offered 
 to renounce her played the game of a soldier with 
 me. What should I do? Fight him! No, that 
 would not put my heart at rest, nor quiet her s. 
 Permit him to renounce her take advantage of his 
 noble nature? You are troubled, Clinton agitated. 
 Do not let me distress you. Now mark me and 
 you, brother, bear witness for me. I am not fond of 
 quarrelling, or blood am rather young, to be sure ; 
 but I can quarrel, Cluiion, and can fight, as I have 
 lately learnt. I am a man of few words you are 
 welcome to Lucia take her, and be happy with her. 
 Do that and I will love you as a brother her as a sister. 
 But but trifle with her, baffle her young heart, 
 and boy as I am, Clinton, I will never sleep till I have 
 put my sword through your heart. No remonstrance 
 I have done with her now. Happen what will, our 
 hearts will never unite again. We are not fitted for 
 each other; my nature is too stubborn and haughty; 
 too selfish it may be. A wife of mine shall be my 
 wife, and mine alone. There, brother, good night; 
 Clinton (shaking his hand), good night." 
 
Clinton turned to depart, and had reached the door, 
 Tprhen my brother arrysted him by asking when they 
 should march. 
 
 "To-morrow, if possible, 1 was the reply, in an 
 agitated voice, " but next day at furthest." 
 "Why so?" said I. 
 
 " Because," he replied, " Washington is hotly 
 pressed. Cornwallis, with the 6lUe of the whole 
 British army, is at his heels ; our soldiers are drop 
 ping off by companies upon the inarch the cursed 
 effect of short enlistment. By the time that the 
 rascals know one end of a musket from the other they 
 are cut adrift, and are sure to run off with the public 
 arms. 
 
 "To-morrow then be it," said my brother; " this 
 is no time for delay." 
 
 " No, for if Cornwallis follow him as closely to the 
 Delaware as he has through New Ark, we shall lose 
 ur baggage, if not our army, as sure as there is a 
 Cod in heaven." 
 " Good night." 
 
 * Good ni.nht, good night!" repeated Clinton, for. 
 ally, going back and shaking my brother s hand 
 again for nearly a minute before he-departed. 
 
 I had half a mind to mention my suspicions, but a 
 little reflection convinced me of the impolicy of it. 
 What could I say ? that he was abused. Shame on 
 jny heart for conceiving such a thought. 
 
 Yet I could not sleep, and with the first dawn I 
 was in my father s room. He was abundantly better ; 
 and when he found that we were set upon moving 
 ff directly, he appeared doubly impatient to go with 
 ms. But Mr. Arnauld was not so well; the symp 
 toms began to assume, if not an alarming, at least a 
 more serious aspect; and the bungling rascals from 
 the army were so wretchedly supplied with the 
 instruments of their profession, that it was little better 
 than certain death to be pulled and hauled about by 
 them, or lacerated, and sawed into, and cut, as the 
 ase might be. By reference to a report in Congress, 
 about this time, you will find that the medical infir. 
 mary, and surgical and hospital fluff, cannot be 
 xaggerateJ. In the whole army there were not three 
 omplete sets of surgical instruments. I have occasion 
 to remember it well it had well nigh cost me my 
 Mle,at a later period, instead of the leg that I lost. 
 
 " What shall be done?" said I ; " some of our men 
 ught to be left to protect the family. What say you, 
 Clinton ?" 
 
 "Certainly," he replied, "six or eight stout 
 fellows: and 
 
 " What ! said Arnauld, raising his bandaged 
 head, and firing with the passion of his heart, " whut ! 
 leave six or eight such fellows to idleness, when every 
 bone and sinew in America should be in action? 
 No, Clinton, no ; much as I love my wife and children 
 dear as my household and home are to me, by 
 Heaven I had rather see them given to the flame s 
 Mian" 
 
 " And to ruffians?" said Clinton. 
 " No, -no, Clinton, a father s heart could not wel 
 bear that ;btaway withyon, away ! to horse! tohorse 
 Oadley. You will protect my family best, by helping 
 to drive back these hell-hounds that are overrunning 
 our blessed country. To horse ! There are five me 
 f us here, two of whom, Oadley and myself, can do 
 garrison duty or rather hospital duty (smiling) ye 
 and I expect u reinforcement every moment 
 Sampson, with his crooked boy, will be here this 
 morning a tough old blade; and a very devil the 
 young one ; and if Nell come with them, as I expect 
 *re shall hare enough to Jkeep us all in heart, am 
 augh, whatever happen. So to horse ! to horse 
 
 SEVENTY-SIX. 31 
 
 man and boy ! and leave us to take care of ourselves. * 
 " Right," said Clinton, " he is right, Mr. Oadley ; 
 f every man stay at home to defend his own dwelling,, 
 who shall defend his country? We must take our 
 chance (with peculiar significance, as if he under 
 stood where my thoughts were at the moment), our 
 ;hance, Oadley, with the rest. To camp, to camp I 
 ind we shall sooner clear the land of these devils,, 
 ;han if we huddle about in our own hearths,. They 
 will always outnumber us at home. Ha! the bugler 
 call !" 
 
 He ran to the window. " Fine fellows ! glorious 
 ellows !" he cried, the men are all in the saddle, 
 farewell, Mr. Arnauld, farewell. Keep a stout 
 leart. 1 
 
 "Farewell, colonel farewell, Oadley there, take 
 my hand remember remember ! if any thing 
 lappen you understand me ; my family have few 
 riends my daughters (he was scarcely articulate} 
 none. They are proud girls, Clinton; high blood;, 
 generous hearts, Oadley. I don t reproach you. 
 You have not done entirely right ; but yon could not 
 deceive me ; and there is a comfort here in al 
 Young men, it is no pleasant matter, upon a bed like 
 this, the sweat and blood starting from every pore of 
 your skia, to have the thought of of rifled inno 
 cence beauty broken-hearted spoiled loveliness^ 
 and O, God ! have mercy upon me but no 
 matter, now it is too late if I die (more firmly) 
 if I die, I say, and you are the men that S 
 believe, my family will never miss me my daugh 
 ters, I mean. My wife O, my dear wife * 
 
 He could say no more all his firmness aban 
 doned him. The tears ran down his cheeks, drop- 
 after drop, as if wrung from his very heart; auci 
 when we embraced him again, the bed shook under 
 him. Tha thought of his wife the beautiful and! 
 pure of heart, that had left him powerless, and we 
 dared not no, we dared not utter a sound to disturb 
 the sacred stillness that followed, and we left the 
 room ; but his sobs were distinctly audible upon the- 
 landing, where I had stood the night before. We- 
 were passing the very spot where I had heard the- 
 low suffered breathing: it was a recess, and still iu 
 shadow. I could not forbear lifting my eyes to 
 Clinton s forehead, as we passed it ; and, it might 
 be fancy, but it appeared to me that there was a faint 
 paleness, like that of one taken suddenly sick at tho 
 heart, upon his ample forehead, and that his arm* 
 contracted a little within mine, as he met my look ;. 
 yet he walked firmly, steadily, and there was a, 
 haughty self possession, not very becoming at such 
 a time of sorrow and tenderness, nor called for by 
 the occasion, and rather, I hoped that I did not 
 wrong him, rather like that of preparation, where 
 one dares not abate one jot of his utmost stateliness, 
 lest it may invite a freedom of observation that might 
 disturb it. 
 
 We came to the landing. " I shall meet you in> 
 the yard," said he, taking out his watch. 
 
 I bowed, and hurried to the apartment of my 
 father. Archibald I found locked in my mother s 
 arms; ray father sittingby, with the same unaltered, 
 unalterable countenance ; and she, wretched woman, 
 weeping like some widowed one nnjr, like som= 
 dishonoured widow I 
 They were the first tears that I had seen her shed,, 
 openly ; and when she came to me, I felt the inward 
 lamentation of a mother, the inaudible, deep feeling 
 of a woman, unable to utter a sound against my 
 bosom, like the rush of waters. " My son," said she,. 
 " O zay son !" pressing her cold lips to my forehead 
 
32 THE NOVEL NEWSPAPER. 
 
 and eyes, which were all wet with her tears, " do 
 not thou abandon me. * 
 
 " Abandon thee, mother ! no, though the heavens 
 should pass away. Come what will, I will never 
 abandon thee !" 
 
 " God bless thee ! my child." 
 
 My father arose, and stood up, and laid one hand 
 upon the shoulder of my mother, and one upon mine ; 
 they were the hands of a giant, and a prophet: " O, 
 
 God ! father ot all mercies ! have compassion upon 
 us ! We are old and sorrowful ; and about, it may 
 be, oh ! our father, to be childless. The parting 
 thjit we HOW take, may be for life. Do thou sustain 
 usr~Pour into the mother s heart a tenfold conso- 
 lation stiffen the sinews of the father, and the hus 
 band, and make his children strong and terrible, 
 that they may avenge their mother, though we 
 perish. Farewell! my boys! farewell 1 The 
 voice of your country is wailing for you ! the 
 ahriek of a dishonoured people the cry of freedom! 
 the broken heart of your mother about to give you 
 up that of your father about to followycu. O, my 
 wife, my wife! (my mother had fallen into his amis, 
 speechless and death-struck, as if that were all that 
 was left to her the presence of her aged husband). 
 Boys ! embrace your mother once more ; you will 
 probably never see her again. Do it with a stout 
 heart; bear up against it like men. Do not wake 
 her : it may be better for her, much better, if she 
 never open her eyes again." 
 
 V> e did as we were commanded we knelt before 
 her, and carried her lifeless hand to our eyes, and 
 lips, and heart; unable to speak, unable to weep, 
 took the blessing of our father, and were hurrying 
 through the house, blinded and stunned by the rush 
 of darkness and emotion, our arteries all distended 
 to aching, with a strange, awful sorrow, like that of 
 men going voluntarily to martyrdom and sacrifice. 
 
 There was a carnage in the yard, out of which 
 leaped in succession a young boy, a savage-looking, 
 distracted creature as I ever saw in my life, with a 
 spring like a panther; and stood licking his hand 
 and lip, with a tongue like a calf: then a finished 
 romp, for she bounded, with her hair all flying in 
 the wind, out of the carriage, without waiting for 
 assistance, and ran .laughing and skipping into the 
 house, and then a rigid, choleric-looking, little old 
 gentleman, in a claret-coloured coat, lame of one leg, 
 growling at every step he took, in a low voice. At 
 auy other time 1 should have smiled at the strange 
 ness of the association, and their wild, unnatural 
 aspect; but this was no time for smiling. The men 
 were all ready, and I turned to look for Archibald, 
 but he was gone ; and I, willing to find some com 
 panionship, followed in the direction that I supposed 
 he had taken. 1 entered the house with a hurried 
 step, and saw my father and Arthur parting, the 
 young man still bearing the same implacable steadi 
 ness and solemnity of aspect his dress and manner 
 utterly unlike what it had been thoughtful, yet 
 careless, like that of a premature old man, suddenly 
 put into possession of some fearful secret, the secret 
 of his own hidden strength. Voices were near me, 
 and I stopped as I was passing the window of the 
 very room where, a few weeks before, Archibald and 
 I had seen the two sisters. Lucia was leaning upon 
 the shoulder of Clinton, pale, pale as death; but, 
 with a vehemence of passionate, bashful endearment, 
 that sent ray biood back with a start to ray heart. 
 I thought of Clara, and, half distracted with the 
 thought of never seeing her more, by any possibility, 
 I went through room after room, heedless of every 
 body, till at last I found her with her mother, She 
 
 arose, as I entered, came tome, and put her two 
 hands into mine. Her mother looked at her with 
 amazement ; her lips moved, and she would have 
 expressed her astonishment, even in her sorrow ; 
 but Clara turned to her, her bright eyes shedding 
 not only light, but sound. It appeared to me lil,e 
 the Indian gem, that gives out beauty and brightness, 
 and low music, for ever. 
 
 " Mother! 1 said she, " the secret has been well 
 
 kept, thanks to your admonition. I have done 
 rightly. When you know all you will approve of 
 my conduct. At present, 1 am above all disguise; 
 Mr. Oadley and I are about to part, perhaps, for 
 ever I caunot bear to conceal it longer 1 love 
 him 1" 
 
 " Gracious Heaven !" cried her mother, " are you 
 distracted, Clara? at such a time 33 this ! a proud 
 girl, to to" (she covered her face with her hands, 
 a ,d burst into &n hysterical sobbing). 
 
 " Leave me, Mr. Oadley ; farewell, Heaven bless 
 you. You knew something of my temper. What 
 I do, I do openly. You must not presume froii what 
 has happened here. My mother may blainu- me, but 
 my own heart shall not. Alone, away from my mo 
 ther, who is weeping at my indelicacy, I should have 
 parted with you less tenderly ; now, farewell ! " 
 
 I would have put my lips to her forehead, but she 
 coloured : " What !" she exclaimed, " have I to tell 
 you again, Oadley, that there is no mystery in my 
 nature. Theie is my mother, while her face is co 
 vered there shall he nothing done that is capable of 
 an evil interpretation. 
 
 Her mother arose, and her hands fell at her side 
 powerless ; but her beautiful eyes were full of ten 
 derness and surprise. 
 
 " Clara," said she, " it is my own fault. But I be 
 lieved this affair at an end. The secret has been 
 well kept. I love your noble nature I respect it ; 
 the thing is sudden now, but he is an honest man. 
 God for ever bless you !" putting her hands together, 
 and kissing us as she did so. 
 
 I lifted my eyes to Clara s face ; her red lips 
 trembled, but there was no reproof, no affectation ; 
 and though I would have given the world to touch 
 her sweet mouth, yet I dared not, and contented my 
 self with kissing her white forehead. 
 
 The next moment Archibald s tread was heard ; he 
 looked in, and beckoned to me. 
 
 " Come in, come in, my dear Archibald ! * said the 
 mother, throwing her arms about his neck. " O my 
 poor boy ! my heart would break, did 1 not know ; 
 but bear up, bear up, my brave fellow ; there are few 
 women worthy of such a man." 
 
 Archibald gently released himself from her arms, 
 wiped off the tears from his temples and cheek ; 
 tears which had fallen from her eyes in the embrace. 
 
 " How pale you look! oh, Archibald, Archibald, 
 your own mother cannot love you more than I do. 
 Farewell ! farewell ! 1 feel that I shall never see 
 you again! remember, however, happen what may, 
 that I am your friend that will you not see Clara ? 
 (Claia was standing at the window.) 
 
 " Yes," said Archibald, bowing his head ; " with all 
 my heart, Clara." (She gave him both her hands; 
 there was a rush of blood to her temples ; and her 
 voice, always mellow, smooth, and rich, like her fa 
 ther s for a moment was touched with the unsteady 
 and passionate modulation of Lucia s); " dear Clara, 
 I have said and done many things, my dear friend, 
 very many, to pain and distress you. Believe me, 
 dear Clara, they were never unkindly meant, and I 
 should have told you long before, that I was sorry 
 a ad ashamed of them; but you knor my temper (her 
 
yes gushed out with beauty and brightness !h 
 tears ran down her pale cheeks, as if her heart wer 
 breaking, and yet she stood upright, without conceal 
 inent or shame; her red lips pressed together witi 
 -an expression of fervent and deep delight, homage 
 pride, and admiration, as he continued) "I neve 
 loved talking ; and had we never parted in this way 
 but lived all our lives hereafter, as w have hithert 
 lived, I never should have told you, in words, ho* 
 inestimable dear you are to me. Actions, actions, 
 Clara they would have shown it in time- bu 
 farewell. My actions henceforth are afar oft , and 
 not among women you may never hear of them 
 L therefore tell you, with my lips, what there is n( 
 ether mode left of telling you ; that there is one 
 nay two, come forward, my brother who k lowyou; 
 great value, your constant nature, and the deep sin 
 cerity of Why, how is this? Do you understand 
 sach other ? you do Heaven be thanked ! Brother 
 take her; be to her what she deserves, the best anc 
 truest of men. Clara, that brother, you do no 
 know him well yet, he does not know himself ; he was 
 not born for a sluggard it is for you to say whether 
 ne shall die one. 1 have studied him ; I know bin 
 well, better, I believe, than any other person. He wii 
 always rise with the occasion. You may make o 
 him just what you please. * 
 
 I was thunderstruck, abashed and Clara stood 
 nth a proud smile upon her mouth. I had no lei 
 sure to see or hear more, for the sweet-voiced Lucia 
 was heard as in deep conversation, near the door. 
 Archibald coloured, and so did Clara, but a mortal 
 paleness followed in his face. 
 
 Can you not see her ? can you not for one mo- 
 ent, Archibald?" said Clara, in a tone of expostu 
 lation. 
 
 " No," he replied, and then, as if a new thought 
 had struck him, he added, "Yes, I can, I will it were 
 a pity to part unkindly, for the last time. 1 
 
 "How, for the last time ? said the mother : "you 
 speak as if you were resolved. 1 
 
 " I am you will hear no more of me, after I leave 
 
 e house, except in one event." 
 
 "And what is that, dear Archibald?" said Clara 
 He shook his head, but would not explain, but I had 
 reason to believe that he alluded to a change of name, 
 
 rhaps her marriage, or death, for after he had left 
 the house he announced his determination of enter 
 ing the service by an assumed name. 
 
 He continued, (while the bugle rang in the court 
 yard the horses neighed, and the voiceof preparation 
 sounded through all the apartments, like an army 
 broken up in the house of prayer, so awfully hushed 
 had it been an hour before), I jumping to battle, 
 Clara; not for fame, not altogether for vengeance or 
 hatred, nor for ambition, except it be the ambition 
 of my own heart, for the deeds that I do shall die 
 with me whatever they be : no! but I shall go into 
 the tlnckest and hottest of it, I am sure, with a com- 
 posure very uncommon in one so young and inexpe- 
 rienced. I .shall do my duty, Clara, wherever I may 
 nt ; weak and boyish as I am, my thought will be 
 steady my hand firm, my eye true, in the commo. 
 toon ot batlle-for that, Lucia for that, (pressing her 
 
 don here "" ** ^"^ WU1 * Q thin S to the comm - 
 ^ Oh, Archibald,! do pity " said Clara. 
 
 xr 0t T I h pe " inte rrupting her. 
 
 "No; but I pity her." 
 
 * So do I," said Archibald, from my soul I pity 
 her, the dear enthusiast." 
 
 My heart misgives me, Archibald ; there have 
 been too much hurry, rashness, precipitation here 
 
 3 HE NOVEL NEWSPAPER. No. 87. 
 
 SEVENfY-SlX. 
 
 -a brave man, an honourable one I do believe- 
 yet it is not wise or temperate. What think you?" 
 Clara, I cannot say that here, which I would 
 not say to her face and his face." (A tear ran 
 down under his shut eyelids, and he turned awav \ 
 
 "Well, Archibald, you I know; mV fSr 
 knows you; my mother; Lucia; and, whatever 
 you may think, depend upon it we shall always 
 love and revere you. Jn distress we shall turn to 
 you in sorrow and in trial shall we turn to vou 
 mvain? ask you in vain ?" 
 
 There was a convulsive heaving of his chest as 
 the mother came to him, and stood side by side 
 with Clara, watching the troubled beauty of hi 
 eyes, and the frightful lividness of his lips 
 
 fc "T U *? re y V ngl * rchibald > younger than your 
 brother there ; but when all other men fail us 
 all-all ! we shall turn to you, youthful as you are, 
 sure of your power and strength." 
 
 Why was I not hurt at this? was it that I felt 
 the truth of it, or that the amazing honesty and 
 openness of Clara, and the certainty that I pos 
 sessed her whole heart, reconciled me to all other 
 manifestations of love ? The mother bowed upon 
 his neck and he lifted his deep blue eyes to 
 Heaven, locked their hands in his, whilst, almost 
 for the first time in all his life, the bright tears 
 trickled down from his open eyes, with an expres 
 sion of heroic joy. 
 
 "Archibald," said the mother, " I am afraid 
 that you are not blameless in this matter but it 
 is too late now : she is a proud girl ; a proud, im 
 patient spirit ; watch over her be a brother to 
 her she may want a brother look to her." 
 
 "Wretched, mistaken woman said Clara 
 
 How she has trifled with" 
 
 " Hush ! hush !" said Archibald, with unalterable 
 solemnity ; " I will never hear a movement of her 
 heart condemned in her absence. I mav have my 
 thoughts too ; thoughts that I may tell her, or 
 keep here here, till they kill me : but I have that 
 love for her, and all that she loves, that inward un- 
 resistmgness to whatever wears the pure counte 
 nance of love, that I cannot bear to hear it spoken 
 lightly of." 
 
 " Well, then, farewell! farewell!" said the mo 
 ther and daughter ; " you must see her." 
 
 " But keep your eye on Clinton," said Clara. 
 
 " I will, night and day," he replied, seizing my 
 arm and hurrying me along, till 1 found that we 
 were now approaching the same sound of voices 
 n earnest, broken conversation. 
 
 He tapped at a door, which was immediately 
 )pened by Clinton, who had risen from the sofa 
 where Lucia sat, with a disordered, strange 
 aspect; the apartment was exactly under that in 
 which we had been : a fact which accounts for 
 the sound of their voices appearing so near to 
 us, in every interval of conversation. Clinton 
 appeared a good deal disturbed ; and poor Lucia, 
 here passed over her white forehead, white as the 
 driven snow, a hurried emotion, but barely visible 
 n the dim light of the apartment, every window 
 >f which was yet darkened; and objects could 
 mly be seen, after we were within, for a minute 
 >r two, by a pale crimson illumination, throwa 
 iy the blood-red curtains, through which the day 
 toured in, with a beautiful waywardness ; a sort 
 f voluptuous light, rather like that of a summer 
 unset, than a bleak wintry morning. 
 
 " All ready?" said Clinton, hooking up his long 
 abre, that rattled at every motion, of his body. 
 
THE NOVEL NEWSPAPER. 
 
 " Yes, sir," said Archibald ; " in ten minutes. 
 Ah! they are impatient" (the bugle sounded 
 again) ; " we are to be iu the saddle. But, before 
 1 go, I have taken my brother here, to bear wit 
 ness for me your patience." 
 
 He then went up to Lucia, who put her hand 
 timidly, but haughtily too, into his, and attempted 
 to rise. 
 
 " No, Lucia," (standing before her, and hold, 
 ing it, ) " do not rise. I ask for no such evidence 
 of respect. I know that when 1 am gone, you 
 will remember me in spite of yourself ; the time 
 may come when you will find (come hither, 
 Clinton ; come nearer, brother) that you have 
 been rash it may come, I say not that it will 
 God knows how fervently I pray for your hap 
 piness, and you will know it too, Lucia, when you 
 are older and wiser. Not no, it is impossible 
 that you should ever know the full value of the 
 heart that nay, Clinton, do not interrupt me ; I 
 deal plainly with her, I deal fairly. Surely it is 
 no unreasonable indulgence, for one consum 
 mately blessed, as you are, to permit one so I 
 will not say so wretched or so humbled ; but so 
 disappointed Clinton, by ! I will not be in- 
 terrupted (striking the hilt of his sword) and if 
 you interfere again, man as you are tall as you 
 are, I will bring your forehead to the dust." 
 
 Clinton retreated a pace or two, tapped the hilt 
 of his sabre with his fingers, and smiled! d n 
 him, I could hardly keep my own sword in its 
 sheath, but Archibald heeded him not, and con 
 tinued, though Lucia sat like one terror-struck. 
 
 " What I say now, is the last that I shall say 
 what I do, shall be done openly. 1 do not 
 come to you, Lucia, lamenting that I have not 
 been less cold, and cautious, and rational for I 
 sought a woman for a wife and no wife of mine 
 shall ever be made speedily. I do not come to 
 prejudice you against Clinton secretly, for I will 
 do nothing that either he or you may misinterpret, 
 or think unkindly of me for, when I am gone. 
 My honesty to both of you at this moment, will 
 be the best guarantee that I shall never profit 
 of any advantage that may hereafter fall in my 
 way, to poison either of your hearts against the 
 other No, Lucia, no ! But I came to say, with 
 all my heart and soul, God bless you both ! There, 
 Clinton, take her hand and I do say, God bless 
 you both! If you ever want a brother, a friend, 
 an avenger, Lucia, remember me. If you never 
 do if you are happy blessing and blessed for. 
 get me you will be none the happier for remem 
 bering me. You have been imprudent very im- 
 prudent there is something in Clinton that I 
 cannot bring myself to like he is too easy and 
 confident has too much of that fascination, 
 seductiveness, and self-possession with the young 
 and beautiful ; too much of that profligate manner, 
 which has made your own father the destroyer of 
 forgive me, Lucia, I have spoken plainly, too 
 plainly, if it were to be repeated but I would say 
 to you, beware ; and I would leave a lesson upon 
 your heart that should sink into it, deeper and 
 deeper, to the last moment of its heaving. Be 
 prudent, I anticipate no evil I predict none I 
 pray for none I appeal to my God for the truth 
 of what I say ; and, however you may both doubt 
 me now, you shall see that I have spoken the 
 truth, when all our hearts are uncovered before 
 the judgment-seat ! farewell!" 
 , She arose, parted her black hair with both hands , 
 
 and stood looking at him for a moment, as if 
 struck with sudden blindness ; then carried his 
 hand passionately to her lips flung it away, and 
 threw herself into the arms of Clinton. 
 
 My brother could not stand that, with all his 
 noble preparation. He staggered like a drunken, 
 man to the door rushed into the yard and, ere 
 twenty minutes passed, Clinton and all of us 
 were in full trot for the camp of Washington. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 The trumpet s dread hourra ! 
 
 The stirring minstrelsy of the camp, the martial 
 aspect of the mounted Virginians, whose brown, 
 manly faces, athletic frames, and weather-beaten 
 furniture, showed plainly that they were men to be 
 depended upon, and had been, ere then, put. to the 
 proof: the trampling of the horses the pressure 
 that I still felt about my bosom, whereon Clara 
 had leant the affectionate, strange Clara ! All 
 these things, and the deep tumult within me, 
 could not so utterly employ my senses, but that I 
 would sometimes start, like a man waked from a 
 dream, by the challenge of some distant sentry 
 the sudden pistol-shot the word the rattling of 
 scimitars and chains, or the quick trumpet blast, 
 and almost wonder for a moment to find myself 
 on horseback ; and then my mother I father I 
 But while 1 was pursuing this train of reflection, 
 in a dead silence, like that of our last trooping, 
 though the sun shone hotly upon us now, I heard 
 the noise of horses feet pressing behind me, and 
 the next moment Clinton s voice, addressing some 
 one with a sort of sarcastic mockery. 
 
 I turned, and saw him, just abreast of my bro 
 ther, who slackened his trot, and fell behind with 
 him. I was alarmed for a moment, by hearing 
 (for we had actually forgotten his situation till 
 then,) him say, " You forgot that I was disabled 
 in the sword-arm." 
 
 "In truth I did," said Archibald, in a louder 
 voice, rather of surprise; "but you look angry, 
 Clinton, Are you disposed to quarrel]" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Wait till your arm is well." 
 
 " Never mind the arm," said Clinton, turning 
 his horse aside. "We can ride into yon wood, 
 there. I am a tolerable shot with my left hand." 
 
 My brother followed him, and I, indignant at 
 such wickedness, struck the rowels into my 
 beast, and was at their side in a moment. 
 
 " What is the meaning of this?" said Clinton, 
 imperiously. " Back to your place, sir." 
 
 "This is my place," I replied. 
 
 He reined short about, looked me in the face 
 a moment, and then said, " Young man, I have 
 half a mind to order a brace of Virginians down 
 upon you. What ! do you menace me ? Jasper I 
 hollo! Jasper!" flourishing his sword with his 
 left hand. The troop instantly halted, and down 
 came a rank of horsemen full gallop. 
 
 "What do you mean to do?" said Archibald, 
 eyeing him haughtily. 
 
 " Order him to be bound, hand and foot, to one 
 of the trees there," was the reply, "or hewed 
 limb from limb where he sits." 
 
SEVENTY-SIX. 
 
 11 There will be two swords to that bargain, 
 Clinton," said Archibald, taking out his pistols 
 coolly. " Remember ! we are not in service yet. 
 Brother, look to your pistols." 
 
 "Would you shoot a wounded man?" said 
 Clinton, reining his horse. " Woa, Rocket, woa. 
 Fire, if you dare!" 
 
 " No, you are safe ; but look ye (taking a silver 
 whistle from his pocket), "my men know the 
 sound of this : we are too many for you. The 
 iirst sword that is drawn, Clinton, in wrath, will 
 bring every man down upon your Virginians. A 
 pretty figure you would cut, then, wouldn t you, 
 "before the commander-in-chief ?" 
 
 Clinton bit his lip, waved his sword for them to 
 go back they obeyed, and we followed slowly 
 after them. 
 
 ^Archibald," said he, "this is a damned 
 faolish affair. Will you forgive me ? there is my 
 hand. These cursed women are eternally in my 
 porridge. I " 
 
 I reined up, expecting to hear the report of a 
 pistol ; but Archibald went by me, showing no 
 sign of agitation, except a vigorous swelling of 
 the nostrils, and a little more steadiness of eye. 
 ^ " I never was out on a foraging party in my 
 life cur ?e it, Rocket, stand still, can t you ? 
 Have you been among the idiots too, hey ?" 
 
 Rocket leaped out, almost from under him, and 
 Archibald I saw, with his hand, riding abreast of 
 Clinton, nearly at a gallop, upon Rocket s mane. 
 Their ill blood was not quite down I saw, and 
 therefore I took the liberty to dash along-side too. 
 
 " Hold in a moment," said Archibald, through 
 his shut teeth, " let the troop pass out of sight. 
 Brother, leave us a while." 
 
 "I will not," said I. 
 
 Archibald looked astonished ; but, seeing that 
 I was determined, he waited in a dead silence till 
 the last man had turned the road in our front, 
 throwing his head around as he did so. 
 
 Archibald then wheeled short, and came up to 
 Clinton, so that their horses heads touched. 
 * Well, Gunpowder, what s the matter now? 1 said 
 Clinton, with a laugh, "you seem quite as ready 
 for a shot just at this moment, as I was ten 
 minutes ago." 
 
 It was a minute before my brother could speak, 
 and twice before he uttered a sound, his hand 
 was upon the holster, and twice, as if the wounded 
 arm of Clinton had not been thought of, till he 
 was ready to bring him from his horse, was it 
 withdrawn. "Clinton!" said he at last, "do 
 not make me shoot you upon the spot hate you 
 curse you, aad despise you do not !" 
 
 "Why, what the devil is all this about? a 
 drivelling girl. Dam me, when you have been in 
 the army as long as I have, you will laugh at 
 such Quixotism pho pho. I love the wench 
 that s the truth on t, but damn it, you are not in 
 earnest, Oadley. Mr. Oadley, don t let him 
 murder me!" 
 
 I had just time to lay my hand upon Archibald s 
 arm, when, struck himself at the peril of his own 
 temper, he turned as pale as death, took out his 
 pistols, and discharged them at a tree. The bark 
 flew at each shot, and Clinton changed colour 
 and well he might, for there wasn t such a marks- 
 man in the state. 
 
 " Clinton," said my brother, in a low voice, " I 
 am unwilling to believe that you are a fool or a 
 l. I am trying hard to persuade myself 
 
 that this is all a shau*. Tell me, Clinton, if you 
 wouldn t break my heart tell me that you do 
 love her." 
 
 " Love her !" cried Clinton, touched by hisr 
 manner, till his feet shook in the stirrups. " Yes, 
 I do love her, Archibald, more than all the women 
 upon earth more than I ever thought that I was 
 capable of loving any woman on earth any 
 thing." 
 
 "Thank you," said Archibald, "but" 
 
 " Any thing but Rocket, I mean, 1 said the in 
 corrigible Clinton. 
 
 1 was obliged to speak. " This levity, colonel," 
 said I, " to say the least of it, considering my 
 brother s situation and mine, in regard to that 
 family, is neither thoughtful nor generous (his 
 eye kindled) ; but I have no disposition to quarrel 
 with you. I am principled against duelling, and 
 prefer spilling my blood, and seeing your s spilt, 
 for our common country, and " 
 
 " Mighty fine, Mr. Oadley; but I shall find & 
 time" 
 
 " When you please," said my brother, striking 
 his hand upon his thigh, and looking up in his 
 face. Country , or no country, when you please ; 
 where you please ; how you please. Across a 
 table left-handed." 
 
 Clinton stopped a moment, for the troop, it ap 
 peared, had halted again upon a rising ground, 
 where they could see our movements, and their s 
 seemed to indicate that they had discovered some 
 signs of hostility in our countenance or deportment : 
 for they separated, while we were looking upon them, 
 man after man, until they occupied two different and 
 distinct pieces of ground ; our men on the one, and 
 the Virginians on the other, facing; partially 
 inclined to the direction where we were as if but a 
 word, and they would have galloped, sword in hand, 
 upon us or upon each other. 
 
 "Not now,/ said Clinton, " not now ; blood will 
 be spilt, if we waste any more time. Give me your 
 hand, Archibald; your s, Oadley. Markme I hold 
 you both answerable to me, and myself to both; but 
 let us do our duty, first, to Washington." 
 
 The proposal was accepted : and on we rode, in a 
 sullen, terrible silence ; until at last my horse reared 
 with the sound of Clinton s loud voice and unaffected 
 laughter. " Come, come, Archibald," said Clinton, 
 " no more of this ; we have carried the matter far 
 enough. 1 
 
 Archibald contracted his forehead, and replied 
 nearly in these very words; for they made a strange 
 impression on me, being delivered with a cool, delibe 
 rate expression of sagacity, as if his whole opinion 
 of Clinton had changed, and could never be changed 
 back again : 
 
 " Colonel Clinton, 1 can bear to lose her bear to 
 see her wrested from me, after a three weeks 
 acquaintance, by a stranger ; but I cannot bear to 
 hear her affectionate, noble nature, treated irre 
 verently. No man that ever knew her worth, no 
 man that was ever worthy of her, could do it. 
 Pshaw ! do not menace me, Clinton. There is not 
 that man alive, there never was, whom I would permit 
 to speak lightly of Lucia Arnauld." 
 
 " You are certainly under some mysterious obliga 
 tion to her, sir. I * 
 
 " Your sneering, Clinton, doesn t disturb me if 
 it be true, as you think it is, that I have loved her, 
 even unto death, and been put aside for you, that 
 does not, and shall not, give you a title to make one 
 profligate allusion to her. I am no longer her lover. 
 
THE NOVEL NEWSPAPER, 
 
 Ride slower, if you wish to hear me through ; it is 
 the last time that I shall name her name to you. I 
 shall never be her husband ; but I am a brother, and 
 as her brother, sir, whatever she may wish or say, I 
 shall hold you answerable for every word and deed, 
 said or done, in relation to her. You are amazed to 
 hear a boy talk in this way. Sir, men have grown 
 old in a single day, grey-headed in a single night, 
 very wise in a single hour. Attribute all that you 
 see strange in me, to what has passed within the last 
 forty. eight hours. In that time, I have lived an 
 age of agony and horror, passion and disappointment, 
 sorrow and humiliation. She that I loved, has 
 abandoned me he that I would have died for, speaks 
 of a woman, whose very name, if he knew her, with 
 all her frailty and infirmity, he could not pronounce 
 aloud, for his life ; speaks of her as if she were the 
 hireling wanton of a camp some polluted creature 
 the abused strumpet of a whole army. I do not 
 ask if this were pleasantry ; for if it were, it would 
 make me tremble and weep for her. Men that love 
 truly, can no more trifle in that way with the sacred, 
 and beautiful, and tender relationship of love, than 
 they could stand and assist in dishonouring their own 
 mother. Uut it is not true, Clinton. It was not 
 pleasantry, it was no premeditated contrivance ; it 
 was the expression of habitual profligacy, a constitu 
 tional and settled irreverence for women ; an utter 
 incapability of loving, except as a sensualist or 
 voluptuary. So, no more of that here let us part. 
 I shall take care, with my own hands, to inform 
 Lucia of this conversation ; she may then judge for 
 herself. You appear disturbed : I am glad of it. I 
 would fain see you moved, Clinton, to tears that 
 might be some expiation for the outrage that you have 
 done nottome not to Lucia, but to the sequestered, 
 timid, and holy image of Lucia that I bear in my 
 heart. You were never worthy of her, Clinton ; you 
 never will be. I have been deceived in you I 
 have assisted in deceiving her. But, as I am a living 
 man, it shall not be my fault if she be not un 
 deceived ! You needn t smile ! Archibald Oadley 
 yet has a place in her heart, to which your image 
 will never penetrate never ! It is the best, and the 
 least visited spot there ; and when she dies, my name 
 will be found there. I could have told her this, but 
 I feared, mistaken boy that I was, to thwart her 
 pleasant dreaming with you. Farewell, Clinton. 
 With my consent we shall never meet again. I 
 shall do my duty; nay, I understand you, butllwe 
 thought better of it. Whatever you may think of 
 my courage, I will never meet you, for any thing 
 that has yet taken place between us, until your arm 
 is well, and our country has no further need of us. 
 N t then, Clinton; not even then whatever you 
 may do to provoke me ; if you should be the husband 
 of Lucia the the father of herchild. Thutsmile ! 
 O G d, Clinton ! is not the very thought of being 
 the father of children, borne by Lucia, enough to 
 purify your whole nature? if not, Heaven have mercy 
 upon you !" 
 
 His voice was inarticulate with emotion; and, 
 whatever Clinton may have thought, lam sure that 
 he felt awe-struck in the presence of the intrepid 
 boy. Soon after, we joined the troop ; and, about 
 an hour before sunset, fell in with the advance of 
 Washington s army. Signals and salutes were 
 exchanged, and a general hourra was uttered at the 
 sight of Clinton : (yet the name that they hailed him 
 by was not Clinton, though I shall continue to call 
 him so :) and his noble horse pranced, and stamped 
 about, as if impatient to rush anew into the battle. 
 
 " Halt !" cried Clinton, putting his horse at speed j 
 
 " to your place, Captain Oadley ; that is the baggage 
 coming ahead. We shall meet the commander. in- 
 chief in half an hour." 
 
 " Yes, sir," said an officer, facing about, " he is 
 with the rear- guard ; and Cornwallis advance is 
 constantly engaged with it:" (and oil he set at full 
 speed.) " We must cross the Delaware to-night, or 
 all is lost!" 
 
 "Masterly! by Heaven," said Clinton, his noble 
 face blazing outright at the noise of the distant mus- 
 quetry and drums. " Jasper, he has kept him at 
 bay for ten days. 1 
 
 Our horses grew impatient: but we were soon 
 relieved, for a young fellow rode up, his horse all 
 covered with foam and sweat, made his salute 
 without stopping, said a single word to Clinton, who 
 gave the word to gallop, and then set off toward the 
 sound. 
 
 We followed ; but as our course was on the side of 
 the road, for the whole centre was taken up with 
 waggons, artillery, baggage, and the hospital stores, 
 (including sick and wounded) we could not go beyond 
 a slow trot. 
 
 "Hourra! for Washington!" cried Clayton, 
 rising in his stirrup ; * that s his trumpet ! I should 
 know it. among a thousand. 
 
 My blood thrilled at the sound ; my brother fell 
 back, inconceivably agitated, to where I was ; and 
 Arthur, his horse keeping time proudly, to the 
 cheerful roundelay of the trumpet, came upon my 
 left, so that we occupied, precisely, our old relation 
 to each other. 
 
 A trampling of horse was now heard ; a solemn 
 stillness followed : and at the end of about five 
 minutes Washington appeared, a little in advance of 
 several young officers, superbly mounted upon a 
 magnificent white charger, whose hoofs rang, when 
 they struck the frozen ground, like the bluvf of a 
 battle-axe. I heard Archibald catch his breath, and 
 saw his head droop as Washington approached, 
 with Clinton at his side, in earnest conversation. 
 They rode directly up to my brother : who, whatever 
 might be his thought, for I looked for something 
 terrible had the presence of mind to sit suddenly 
 erect in his saddle, fasten his keen eye upon the eye 
 of Washington, and make his salute, in a manner 
 that made the whole line of horses start back. It 
 was beautifully, gracefully done; and Clinton, I 
 could perceive, was proud of it. 
 
 " Captain Oadley," said Washington to me, in a 
 voice that made my heart sink within me ; I 
 attempted to stammer out sim,3 reply; but I could 
 not. 
 
 " No, your excellency, 1 said Clinton, spurring to 
 his side ; " that is Captain Oadley," pointing to 
 Archibald. 
 
 " Indeed !" was the only reply, after a pause in 
 which you might have counted twenty; while the 
 commander.in-chief, with that sublime, stately 
 serenity which is to be seen even now in the picture 
 of Stuart, although taken at a much later period, 
 turned his large, steady eyes upon my brother, till 
 I thought that he would have fallen from his horse, 
 abashed and overpowered with veneration. 
 
 " So very young ! Colonel Clinton, you will put 
 them upon duty to-night we have no time for 
 refreshment and to-morrow bring Captain Oadley 
 to me. 1 Saying this, he put his handsome horse 
 into a slow gallop, an<l passed on. 
 
 " Captain Oadley," said Clinton, dropping behind, 
 and assuming nil at once the air of command best 
 fitted to his countenance, the occasion, and the place 
 he sat his horse royally indeed, and the superb 
 
uniform which he wore laced athwart the breasf, 
 gave all the properties of his full chest and broad, 
 square shoulders to the eye " you will keep your 
 men upon the wingyonder," pointing to the right 
 * take what prisoners you can, without hazard ; cut 
 down every straggler and deserter without mercy, 
 and give notice of all that drop from fatigue." 
 
 Captain Oa/iley made the salute as if he had never 
 seen his face before, gave his orders, and immedi 
 ately took his position, scouring the plain ground, 
 far and near, till past eleven o clock that night, 
 having been nearly twelve hours in the saddle. 
 
 Our army was now in full retreat to Princeton, 
 having left Newark and Brunswick, before Corn- 
 wallis, with alight body of picked men, amounting 
 to more than double the number of ours ; and so 
 hotly pressed was Washington by the unexpected 
 vigour of the enemy, just at the time wheu he was 
 supposed to have gone into winter quarters, and the 
 term of enlistment was expiring with our troops, 
 that the van of the enemy successively entered 
 Newark, Brunswick, Princeton, and Trenton, while 
 the rear of our army was leaving each place. But 
 at last, blessed be God ! we left the banks of the 
 Delaware, at twelve o clock at night, just as his van 
 appeared upon them. 
 
 My children ! I must pause. I would have you 
 realise the tremendous peril in which your father 
 and uncle all his family and friends nay ! all the 
 hopes of America, were placed at this hour. Corn- 
 wallis was dashing after us, with all his strength 
 and zeal, at the head of six thousand men ; and 
 every man that we could count made only twenty- 
 two hundred, on the day that we crossed the Dela 
 ware ! Nay, in a few days after, we were reduced to 
 about fourteen hundred and fifty ! Think of this 
 a broad river in our front scarcely men and horses 
 enough to drag our military stores no possibility 
 of resistance, or re reat the whole country struck 
 with terror and silence. What would have become 
 of us, had we been overtaken but a single hour 
 before we embarked ? God only knows but it is 
 my belief that we should have been at this moment, 
 with the gallant men of Ireland, the vassals of 
 PJngland, the hewers of wood and the drawers of 
 water, to a patrician rabble, and a profligate king. 
 But why was not Washington pursued further? 
 The shores of the Delaware were encumbered with 
 materials for the construction of rafts and platforms ; 
 and he himself, in a letter to Congress, declared 
 that nothing but the infatuation of the enemy saved 
 him. Some have pretended to say that Sir William 
 Howe was not seriously disposed to destroy Wash 
 ington ; but the truth probably is, that he was a 
 cautious co nraander, knew not the strength of our 
 army, or rather its weakness, and was unwilling to 
 cross a broad and rapid river, with a division that 
 could not be readily supported, if Washington 
 should turn upon it, supported by a general rising 
 of the country. Sir William Howe has been blamed 
 for his circumspection- Burgoyne for his impetu 
 osity Cornwallis for one can hardly tell what 
 any thing, in short, that would exonerate his country 
 from the disgrace of being beaten, by men who 
 wanted only to be slaves, to be the best troops upon 
 the earth. 
 
 Yet, after all, there was something inexplicable, 
 not only in the movements of General Howe and 
 Lord Cornwallis, but in those of Washington, at this 
 time: for the former, but for the destruction of a 
 .little bridge over the Raritan, would certainly have 
 taken our baggage ; and when the latter did not 
 move from Princeton until Cormvallis was within 
 
 SEVENTY- SIX. 37 
 
 three miles of it, yet Cornwallis consumed seventeen 
 hours there ! actually sleeping on the way before be 
 advanced upon Trenton, which is only twelve miles 
 distant. There is only one way of accounting for 
 this. Cornwallis must have had positive orders, and 
 Washington must have known it: or, becoming 
 careless and desperate of the result, which is possible 
 even in Washington he loitered upon the road ; 
 and the enemy, taking it for a stratagem, were in 
 timidated into extreme precaution. 
 
 Soon after this General Lee was captured, ami 
 Congress abandoned Philadelphia. It was a general 
 season of darkness and dismay but let me not 
 anticipate. 
 
 Pluce yourselves with us in the boats, my children -, 
 imagine that you see Archibald and myself holding 
 our horses by the head, with one foot upon the 
 gunwale, looking into the black, deep water the 
 enemy just coming in sight flash after flash shot 
 after shot sent alter us, with a loud word or two, in 
 laugh and scorn, from the enemy ; and now and then, 
 a horseman dashing, at full speed, along the bank 
 before the torches. It was a magnificent night, 
 but very dark, except in a part of the heavens which 
 were all on fire, with a storm just rising. The 
 opposite bank we found in possession of a small body 
 that had been thrown over in advance : but such was 
 our timidity for a while, that when some fellow 
 shouted " the enemy !" we were all thrown into 
 disorder for a moment, without reflecting on the 
 impossibility of such a thing. There was a strange, 
 cold hurry of my blood, when the water, and foam of 
 the horses at windward, as they fretted upon their 
 bits, and shook their wet manes in the wind, blew ia 
 my face. And when I landed, wet through, and 
 chilled and stiffened in all my limbs, I cannot deny 
 that somewhat of the generous enthusiasm for liberty 
 which 1 had felt, appeared extinct within me. Ours 
 was the third, or fourth boat; and I recognised 
 Washington immediately and he, my brother; for 
 he rode down, directing him to form upon the right, 
 saying, as he did so" I have heard of your good 
 conduct, young man. You have joined a sinking, 
 but not a desperate cause; and I am sure that the 
 brave men with you will live to experience the efiect 
 of their example. Remember me to every individual, 
 at your leisure, and give me a list of their names. 
 Where so many are leaving me, the country ought to 
 know who are coming in." 
 
 " By all the stars of heaven! 1 cried my brother, 
 flourishing his light weapon in the wind, as Wash 
 ington rode off,; " how a few words from such a man 
 as that can agitate a human heart. Brother ! I am 
 no longer a boy, no longer weak. Washington has 
 spoken with me face to face, and hereafter, mark me, 
 I give way to no man upon this earth. * 
 
 I was carried awav with his enthusiasm. And now, 
 being safe from pursuit, we were thrown off into a 
 separate covering party, while the Virginians, sa 
 luting us as they passed with something more than 
 a military feeling (for hadn t we been in battle to 
 gether ?) filed oft in a contrary direction to join their 
 companions. 
 
 The next morning.at an early hour, Clinton joined 
 us, still with the air of a superior in command, and 
 addressing my brother, who was smoothing the mane 
 of his beautiful mare, said to him, 
 
 " The commander-in-chief has confirmed your 
 appointment, sir, and permitted you to select one 
 hundred men, for a while ; hereafter they will be 
 reduced. At presest they are too numerous for 
 your command : you have the liberty of namingyour 
 own officers. 1 
 
38 
 
 "My men shall choose for themselves," said Ar 
 chibald. 
 
 " No, sir, that will not be permitted ; the service 
 lias been too long the sport of that shamiul practice. 
 It leads to indulgence, carelessness, and neglect of 
 duty. "Whom would you name?" 
 
 "Arthur Rodman, said my brother, bowing, 
 " ariOonafEafr Oadley, and whom you please for the 
 rest. V- 
 
 " Your recommendation will be attended to, 1 said 
 Clinton, facing his horse ; "but I would have you 
 know, gentlemen, that the eye of the general is upon 
 you. He expects the greatest vigilance, and severest 
 discipline. You are now in service, and subject to 
 martial law. 
 
 There was something sarcastic in the tone with 
 \vhich this was said, as if meant to irritate ; but my 
 "brother took no notice of it, observing only, after he 
 had gone 
 
 " His manners mend apace, brother; but that arm 
 of his seems wonderfully improved in camp. (I had 
 observed that it was no longer in tbe s-ling.) Do 
 you know the surgeon that attends him ! 1 
 
 " No," I replied ; " he came very opportunely to 
 the house, and I believe had been in service. 1 
 
 " Did you ever see the arm? were you ever by at 
 a dressing?" 
 
 " No ; but I remember hearing Mr. Arnanld say 
 to him that his movements were wonderfully easy for 
 a broken limb." 
 
 "I do not believe that it was broken, said Ar 
 chibald. " It was bruised, and perhaps dislocated, 
 for I know that the wrist was terribly swollen. But 
 my notion is that it will soon be well. 1 
 
 " So be it, 1 said I ; " the sooner the better. We 
 understood each other, and shook hands upon it. 
 
 In this manner, with some little alterations of in 
 cident and command, several days had passed, during 
 which short time our spirited little troop, out early 
 and late upon hazardous and fatiguing, if not dan 
 gerous service, began to attract the admiration of the 
 general s staff. La Fayette, in particular, then in 
 the prime and beauty of manhood, full six feet high, 
 riding a dark bay horse of superb carriage, fre 
 quently passed by us at our exercise, and threw in a 
 word or two of incitement to my brother, which fired 
 Ms very heart. 
 
 " I told you, said I, when he had left us one day, 
 after addressing him with that princely air which 
 yet characterises the ancient nobility of France 
 * I told you that you would never be able to pass off 
 under an assumed name." 
 
 " No," he replied ; " I had not reflected upon it 
 then. A little timely precaution, before we met the 
 Virginians, might have done it. But it was a vain 
 thought, after all : a secret cannot be well kept by 
 one hundred. I have abandoned it. Let our old 
 father have the comfort of it." 
 
 " It is said to have been a masterly retreat," added 
 my brother, " this of our commander, through the 
 Jerseys. I just heard that rough, honest, weather- 
 "beaten man (pointing to General Knox), and that 
 tall one there, with the fiery grey eyes (pointing to 
 General Cadwallader),in conversation, as they hnltec 
 at the left of our troop, say that it beat Xenophon s 
 Tetreat all hollow, and that nineteen days had beer; 
 consumed on it." 
 
 " Wonderful ! said I, hardly knowing why so 
 except that other men called it wonderful, whose 
 judgment and truth were authority with rne. 
 
 " The country have taken the alarm, too," sai 
 my brother. " They came pouring in on all sides 
 
 THE NOVEL NEWSPAPER. 
 
 and the talk is of a speedy battle, if we can ge* 
 
 nough abaut us to make a stand. Let us be pre- 
 ared. Arthur, I find, is melancholy as ever. Does 
 le sleep at all ? * 
 
 " Very little," I answered. " W T ake when I will, 
 e is always lying in the same position, with his eyes 
 mlf shut in the saddle, too, night and day." 
 
 " So much the better, 1 said my brother. " Jasper 
 ays that my troop are better horsemen, in all but 
 unning at the ring, than any troop of cavalry in the 
 erviee; and I 
 " Do you improve ? 
 
 " Yes ; I am more than a match for him now. He 
 onfesses it himself. A French gentleman here 
 hat thin, sprightly fellow that you saw talking a 
 vhileago with the Marquis " 
 " La Fayette? 1 
 
 " Yes. He has promised to teach me small-sword, 
 le says that Clinton is the best man in the army at 
 hat. But, patience patience, brother; a small 
 iword is a safer weapon than a pistol ; w orth accom- 
 )lishing myself in ; and I am determined to be first . 
 >r nothing. I have played three or four hours a-day 9 
 md my master predicts wonders. 
 
 The British troops were thrown into cantonments, 
 extending all along from Brunswick to the Delaware, 
 and presenting a front towards Philadelphia. 
 
 This began to agitate our commander, till he could 
 leither eat nor sleep. We could perceive that his 
 nauner was more solemn and thoughtful than ever ; 
 and one day, when I was detailed upon duty, and 
 araded in front of his quarters, I remember that, 
 as he came out, there was a handsome, florid-looking 
 voting man, named Wilkinson (since then general, 
 Lhen major), with him, on whom the eyes of W ash- 
 ngton were turned with an expression of mournful, 
 )ut intensely deep resolution. Wilkinson appeared 
 a good deaf affected, and as he passed me, walking 
 with his sword, he had the air of one who was 
 willing to have it known that he had been dining 
 with the geueral-in-chief. His eyes were full to 
 overflowing. 
 
 Now, then, to clip their wings, while they are so 
 extended," said Washington to the ,poor boy who 
 brought an account of the enemy s situation and 
 numbers, Jemmy Ilice, the idiot, as he was called ; 
 and soon after a blow was struck that startled all 
 America from her sleep, like the trumpet of resur 
 rection. 
 
 It was about this time that a damp had fallen 
 upon the very heart of our people by the capture of 
 Led He had been an universal favourite. His 
 talents abundantly over-rated, his achievement sat the 
 soalh magnified beyond all belief, and all his faults, 
 his domineering, arrogant pretensions, forgotten or 
 forgiven ; and, somehow or other, the people took it 
 into their wise heads that he had suffered himself to 
 be surprised, as the handsomest way of abandoning 
 a desperate cause. They were mistaken. Lee was 
 surprised, and had no good reason to wish himself 
 out of our hands, or in the hands of the British, for 
 he and Lord Stilling were for a long time kept in 
 confinement as rebels and traitors, rather than pri 
 soners of war. But more than that, his capturejjyas 
 providential in the extreme. Look at his position 
 upon the map. See where he was taken ; entirely 
 out of his line of march. No ; if the truth must be 
 told, it is this : Charles Lee was willing to sacrifice 
 Washington to his popularity. He loitered upon the 
 road, and went aside from it under the idlest pretence, 
 at the time when Washington was vehemently press 
 ing him for succour, with no other object, or at least 
 
SEVENTHS IX. 
 
 is difficult to imagine any other, than to strike 
 out some such brilliant coup de. main upon the *!X- 
 teuded outposts of the enemy as Washiugton then 
 meditated, and afterwards performed upon Trenton. 
 And had he succeeded merciful Heaven! my blood 
 curdles at the thought he would have been in the 
 place of George Washington, commander.in-chief 
 of our armies, and the Caesar of America. 
 
 But let me return. Just before the battle of 
 Trenton, on a most beautiful evening, while we were 
 walking in front of our troop, that had been out on 
 a fatigue party through our cantonments along the 
 Delaware, there was a fine martial-looking young 
 man halted near us, accompanied by another of a 
 stouter, more substantial, and farmer-like aspect, one 
 of whom we found to be Colonel Reid, and the other 
 old Put, or General Putnam. " Well primed, " said 
 Put, " well primed. (Returning a large rusty horse 
 pistol to the holsters,) Reid, we are in troubled 
 times. I wouldn t sleep without a cocked pistol in 
 my hand. Dark times, dark times, Reid. 1 
 
 " The darkest time of night/ said Reid, " is just 
 before day, general." 
 
 "Ha! by heaven and earth," cried my brother 
 dropping my arm, " there goes our father. 1 
 
 He was right. The old man had come at last, 
 stout and terrible as ever, passing with the indiifer- 
 ence of a veteran through all the paraphernalia of 
 war, with fifty-nine horsemen and nearly 200 foot at 
 his heels. Washington mounted, and rode down to 
 receive him, and gave the old man his hand before 
 all the soldiers. 
 
 There was our reward: there it was. Who 
 wouldn t have spilt blood for his country, to see the 
 hand of his old father so taken at the head of a 
 whole armj ? 
 
 The old man bowed his grey head upon the 
 general s hand, and I could see that his knees 
 trembled, and his eyes were nearly shut and quer.ched 
 when he lifted them. A word or two passedbetween 
 them, when the general pointed to Archibald, who 
 stood patiently awaiting the issue, and then rode off. 
 
 Our father got leisurely from his horse, embraced 
 us affectionately, told us that all were well all. 
 Spoke of Ciinton and Lucia. I was amazed at my 
 brother s self- possession. He showed no weakness, 
 no emotion at the name. My father bore a letter 
 for Clinton, which was sent to his quarters; butnot 
 an hour had passed before a messenger came with 
 orders for Captain Oadley. 
 
 I arose to accompany him. 
 
 %< At your peril, 1 said the messenger. " I am 
 ordered to keep my eyes upon you. He must go 
 
 alone. 
 
 " Tell your naaster, sir, that I shall not go alone. 
 If Colonel Clinton would see me, he must come to 
 my quarters; or wait till I am under his command." 
 
 "That s my noble boy," said my father, " but 
 hey? how s this? you look pale, Archy. Can t 
 you forgive him yet ? pho, pho ! never mind the 
 girl she * 
 
 Hush, father: I can bear any thing but that !" 
 They then walked away till the canvass was rudely 
 thrust aside, and Clinton stood before us, his eyes 
 sparkling with rage, his lips bloody. 
 
 Is that your work, sir?" said he to Archibald, 
 throwing doun a letter. 
 
 My brother smiled darkly : but took it up without 
 any sign of trepidation, keeping his eye upon him 
 fora while, and then running it over the page. 
 
 " Yes, sir, it is, 1 said he* 
 
 " And how dared YOU?" 
 
 39 
 
 ", Dared! O, it was no such daring matter. I 
 told you that I should do it, and I always do what I 
 promise. 1 
 
 " Fool -madman !" 
 
 " Colonel Clinton, these are my quarters. I should 
 he loth to strike you, my superior officer but " 
 
 Here Clinton s eyes fell upon my father, and his 
 manner instantly changed to the same careless, un 
 thinking levity that he wore when we first knevy 
 him ; caprivating all hearts, yet confounding them 
 at the same time by the violence and suddenness of 
 its transitions. 
 
 Archibald went a step nearer, as if distrusting his 
 own eyes. 
 
 " Damn it, Oaclley," dashing the back of his hand 
 over his eyes, I dou t half like this affair : I have 
 been very like a villain and will you give me 
 your hand, and forget what has passed?" 
 
 " No, 1 sai my brother, " no. When Colonel 
 Clinton has explained two or three little matters 
 reformed in two or three, not very important par 
 ticulars repented, deeply and truly, of two or 
 three matters of no moment if he want a friend, 
 here stands one that will be his friend his friend 
 indeed. Till then, never. * 
 
 Clinton looked disturbed; but, finally, the natural 
 wild levity of his character prevailed. " Done ! I 
 subscribe to your terms; I will be what you desire, 
 my little chaplain. I " 
 
 Archibald looked, and I felt deeply offended. He 
 felt that lie was no longer a boy, and he would not 
 he treated as a boy. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 By torch and trumpet sound arrayed, 
 Each horseman drew his battle blade; 
 And furious every charger neighed, 
 To join the dreadful rerelry ! 
 
 " We shall keep our Christmas in a serious way, 
 father, said I, in answer to some remark of his, the 
 evenii g of his arrival, respecting the preparation in 
 our neighbourhood. 
 
 " No more so than they will," answered the old 
 man, passing his hand athwart his eyes. " This 
 will te the first one, for twenty-six years, that your 
 mother and I have passed away from each other, 
 or abroad from our own roof. God help the aged, 
 who, in the dead of winter, are driven asunder, as wo 
 are. The winter of the year plays bitterly upon 
 
 them that arc exposed, in the winter of the heart, 
 for the first time, under such a miserable contrivance 
 as this" (the snow was blowing through the rent 
 canvass at the moment, and sprinkling the table, 
 upon which my brother lay, with his arms stretched 
 out, and his face lying upon them, as if spent and 
 wered with fatiue " for the first time in 
 
 overpo 
 
 their old age. It is no merry Christmas to them." 
 
 "Nor v\illit be to the enemy, I m a thinking, 
 father," said Archibald, lifting his head fora mo 
 ment. The traoes of weeping were yet upon his eyes, 
 and a quick confusion passed over his face, as he 
 saw our eyes glancing, where the moisture and 
 breath of his wet lips had frozen upon the table, 
 and the tears had fallen like rain, and dashed his 
 arm athwart the whole, exclaiming, " It we are to 
 remain here much longer, we shall be weather-proof 
 indeed. 1 
 
40 
 
 THE NOVEL NEWSPAPER. 
 
 " What mean y<m, Archibald?" said ray father 
 to him. " Your countenance was fuller of expres 
 sion than common ; are the enemy in any peril ? 
 
 " Hush, father, we are not permitted to talk aloud 
 of such things. All that I can tell you is, that a 
 double portion of rum has been issued to the soldiers ; 
 several days provision ordered to be kept constantly 
 cooked ; all the surgeons kept busy in preparing 
 their instruments and bandages; and that something, 
 I know not what, or if I did I would not breathe it, 
 is in agitation. Let us be prepared then, at a mo 
 ment s warning. I have not taken off my clothes 
 for these six nights ; and the saddle has almost grown 
 to Hetty s back; and, besides, I can tell you further, 
 that Washington has not shut his eyes for the last 
 forty-eight hours. I saw him, at three o clock yes 
 terday morning, pacing the hard ground in the rear 
 of his quarters for an hour together. Council after 
 council has been called, at which only two or three 
 of his most intimate and confidential officers have 
 been admitted. So let us be prepared. Whatever 
 it is, I feel assured, from the bearing of our com 
 mander, that it is a desperate matter. Let us be on 
 the alert silent as death, and prompt as the angels 
 of death." 
 
 " Amen !" said the old man, putting his hand upon 
 Archibald s head. " Verily, verily, thou art the 
 child of my old age." 
 
 I was startled at the sudden reply of Archibald. 
 There was a peevishness and impatience in it; and 
 lie talked with that hurried earnestness, which is 
 common with them that talk to drown their own 
 thought. I wondered at it. I had wondered too at 
 the strange communicativeness that he hail just mani 
 fested, and began to study him with more attention, 
 to discover, if possible, what it was that so wrought 
 upon him. 
 
 " You are disturbed," said I, at last. " What has 
 happened to you." 
 
 He lifted his deep, beautiful, intelligent eyes upon 
 me attempted to speak dropped the lids two or 
 three times, and opened and shut his lips, with that 
 dry, peevish expression, which shows the unquiet 
 nature of the spirit within more forcibly than any 
 words; and then, as if ashamed of his own weakness, 
 stooped to the floor, or rather to the trodden earth , 
 for we had no other floor, and picked up a letter, 
 which he pushed toward me, ami then turning sud 
 denly to my father, while I began to read it, asked 
 Lim liow Mr. Arnatild was. 
 
 " Bad enough, poor gentleman." 
 " Not dangerous, I hope ? 
 
 " No, we hope not; but his hurts have been fol 
 lowed by a fever and derangement, during which he 
 raved incessantly of Mary Austin. Don t frown, 
 Archibald; the hand of "God hath fallen heavily 
 upon him, but his proud spirit is humbled to the 
 earth. If ever mortal man was truly and deeply 
 penitent, sorrowing, ashamed, and submissive, Ro 
 bert Aruauld is so and when I left him, sick and 
 sore as lie was bereaved and darkened as they all 
 -were. I have good reason to trust that they were all 
 happier with him, and prouder of him than ever." 
 " And my mother?" said Archibald, choking. 
 " Tiiere is no consolation for her, boy earthly 
 consolation I mean. She is going to her grave ; and 
 I am prepared to go wilh her. May it be God s will 
 that we shall sleep together, in the same grave! 
 our bridal, and marriage, and death should be the 
 saaae. I could pray to die first, and away from her : 
 but that would be unnatural, selfish. I am better 
 able still than she to withstand the wintry desolation 
 
 of survivorship. Her heart is sick and sore yet, 
 even unto death." 
 
 "Let it not be agitated then," said Archibald, 
 for that would be a death to it now perhaps, which 
 at another day it would resist for ever, pressing 
 his own hand upon his own heart with all his 
 strength. " Well, brother, you have finished, I see ; 
 what think you of it?" 
 
 I shook my head. 
 
 " Mistaken girl," said Archibald, "how little she 
 knows her own heart." 
 
 " Head that," said I, giving him a letter that my 
 proud Clara had written me. It was as follows : 
 
 " We had hoped, dear Oadley, to see you for a few 
 hours at Christmas ; and, sad as the prospect is, we 
 shall not give up the hope until the night has passed. 
 We feel, it is true, when we hear of your movements, 
 for in one way and another, while you are near us, 
 we seem to hear of every thing that is done by our 
 little army we feel strangely as the thought comes 
 over us, that near as you are you cannot be with us 
 sick or well, living or dead, without the permission 
 of others that never heard of, or care for us. I have 
 no time to write more; your father goes sooner by 
 three days than he had meditated : in consequence, 
 though he will not own it, of a dream that a little 
 madcap here had respecting him and his reinforce 
 ment. My dear father, blessed be Heaven, is in the 
 way of restoration but yau cannot well imagine 
 my" delight and gratitude his heart is not the heart 
 tliat he fell sick with. Our Heavenly Father hath 
 touched and purified it. Your mother has consented 
 to sit with the family now, and we hope to make her 
 feel more comfortable after a while. 
 
 " Ellen Sampson, who arrived just as you were 
 setting out, and caught a glimpse of Rodman and 
 your brother, is strangely infatuated about him. 
 She is the life of the whole family, and vows that, 
 solemn and strange as he is, and wild and frolick- 
 some as she is, he shall be her true knight, and bids 
 you tell him so, sending a lock of her bright hair for 
 au amulet. 1 
 
 " Here it is brother, offering it to him. 
 
 " Piio, pho ! read on, 1 said Archibald, without 
 looking at it, "read on : what says she of of " 
 
 I lifted my eyes to show him that I understood of 
 whom he would inquire, and glancing at my father, 
 whose loud breathing announced that he had fallen 
 asleep ; while Archibald threw off his watch cloak, 
 covered him with it, and sat by his side so as to 
 support his head upon his bosom ; I read as fol 
 lows : 
 
 " Remember me to Mr. Rodman, who, we are 
 told, as well as yourself (bad English, but I cannot 
 help it in the hurry of y feeling) is an officer ; and 
 tell him that the stout-hearted never despair; that it 
 is unmanly to be stricken to the heart by any sorrow, 
 any calamity, any humiliation ; tell him that a wo 
 man says so ; and bid him awake, stand up, bear his 
 forehead to the sky, and shake off the fetters that 
 encumber him. H is Maker will not hold Mm guilt 
 less of Jjis own bToouTTf he rashly, presumptuously, 
 or, with aleelrrig"of despondency, let it out, no mat 
 ter in what cause. 
 
 " And now, as for you, dear John, allow me to 
 address you so; it is an endearing appellation, and 
 may be a comfort to you, if any thing should here 
 after happen to sunder us " 
 
 " To what T said Archibald, starting. 
 
 " To suri ler us!" 
 
 " She writes very composedly," said he, in reply , 
 
SEVENTY-SIX. 
 
 41 
 
 with a sort of bitter pleasantry," 
 
 )lation; but proceed." 
 
 as if such an event 
 were in her contemplate 
 
 " I never used it to mortal man except to you I 
 have reserved it to this moment. I have been think 
 ing much of you since you left us, and I have come 
 to the conclusion impelled tu the inquiry, perhaps, 
 by what; Archibald said when we parted, th;it we have 
 all 
 
 "What ! not one word, 1 said Archibald, dropping 
 his hands with a sick and despairing helplessness 
 Upon the table. 
 
 " Yes," T replied, reading on : 
 " Poor Lucia does nothing but weep all day and 
 all night ; she is so altered, that you would scarcely 
 tnow her. Why she suffers more cruelly than I, is 
 naturally to be accounted for: she is younger, and 
 her swain is pestering her continually with letters 
 that would make any heart bleed; never more than a 
 ine or two, and written as if he were on horseback,. 
 svhile the pen is never out of her hand. Poor, dear 
 Lucia; I like not the commencement of this affair ; 
 but her happiness is in the keeping of Heaven ; of 
 an honourable man, though an imprudent one ; and 
 of your brother Archibald, tell him this. 1 
 
 " Gd bless her," said Archibald, covering his 
 face, and bowing his head religiously, till it touched 
 the grey locks of our father. 
 
 "Tell him also that he is properly appreciated, 
 his honesty, I mean, and good intention in his note 
 to poor Lucia. It appeared to jar her a good deal at 
 first ; but she pronounced his name, with a benedic 
 tion when she had read it, and then turned deadly 
 sink ; but, as she did not offer to let me see it, I have 
 never importuned her about it, feeling assured that I 
 may trust the dear creature to Archibald now, as I 
 would if he were her twin brother. 1 
 
 The tears trickled through his fingers, and fell, 
 drop by drop, past the light, so that I could 
 count them where I sat, though little did he 
 think that they could he seen. 
 
 "What! did you write to her?" said I ; "is 
 it a secret?" 
 
 " No," he replied, taking a paper out of his 
 pocket. " That is the very note. She returned 
 it to Clinton ; "but finish the letter." 
 " I have finished it," I replied. 
 " No there is some writing athwart the outer 
 page." I turned the letter, and found the fol 
 lowing words written, as if after the letter had 
 been ^folded "What is Clinton s real name? 
 Lucia knows it, hut father does not, and he is a 
 little angry and sore about it. Tell the colonel, 
 if he be a colonel, to tell his name quickly if he 
 have any or " (the rest was illegible.) 
 
 " But why did she return your note?" said I, 
 opening it, " and to you?" 
 
 " She did not. T wish that she had kept it, and 
 srnt Clinton a copy. Pshaw ! what drivelling 
 tenderness is this. Why should: I wed the wife of 
 another man his wife (his voice died away into 
 a low muttering sound, as he continued) aye - 
 let me believe it let me accustom myself to 
 think of it Lucia Lucia Clintou ah well, 
 
 The Note. " Clinton has spoken disrespectfully 
 of you : you best know whether you have me- 
 lited it. My notion of the man is, that he is a 
 dissolute, unthinking fellow ; a tyrant in temper 
 changeable as the wind and utterly unworthy of 
 your !ove. I have told him so. I have told him 
 that I would inform you of it. But I did not tell 
 him, as I do you, that there are noble qualities 
 in his nature ; that much of his profligacy is of 
 manner rather than heart ; that I believe he may 
 be, in time, worthy of the unutterable happiness 
 that no matter, Lucia I only pray that you will 
 be firm ; such men are only to be taught wisdom. 
 by their suffering. Make him suffer be firm 
 they value nothing, but in proportion to the dif- 
 
THE NOVEL NEWSPAPER. 
 
 ficulty of attainment. Would you win him 
 Beware how you let him see his power over you. 
 Would you keep him ? Set a guard upon your 
 very pulse, thought, and eyes. Would you charm 
 away the licentious spirit of his nature ? Banish 
 the evil one that abides in his heart, and settle 
 him down into a hero ; for that he may be, if you 
 deal aright with him. I would not hurt ybnr 
 innocent heart, Lucia you know that I would 
 not be wary, unyielding, prepared, and let him 
 have nothing to boast of, in any event ; something 
 to hope for, whatever may happen. You under- 
 stand me ; I know your noble, unthinking, pure 
 and lofty confidence ; but he is not the man for 
 such confidence not yet, I mean what he may 
 be, must depend upon you. 
 
 "ARCHIBALD OADLEY." 
 
 Having copied this for your eyes, my dear 
 children, from the original) which is yet in my 
 possession, I will now endeavour to give you 
 the substance, and indeed much of the very 
 language (for I had that till the house was burnt) 
 of her s to Clinton, which enclosed Archibald s 
 to her. 
 
 " DEAR CLINTON, Am I never to see you 
 again ? Where are you ? We hear the noise of 
 artillery, and, night after night, the sky is red 
 dened with the blaze of some farm-house. Heaven 
 only knows what will become of us ; I am very 
 wretched, very need I tell you why? O ! Clin 
 ton, there is a yearning here, an unsatisfied, 
 dreadful I know not what to call it it is as if 
 my heart had been exhausted in a receiver it is 
 very terrible. And sometimes, when I catch a 
 glimpse of my haggard face in the furniture, for I 
 dare not look in a glass, T I cannot but weep. 
 Do come to me we are not safe I am sure that 
 we are not. There is nobody but my poor sick- 
 father, and four or five men, chiefly servants, to 
 defend us in case of another midnight gracious 
 God, Clinton, can you bear to think of such an 
 event ? But why need I ask you what have you 
 at hazard? what have I now? Ask your own 
 heart, mine cannot answer. It would die to meet 
 your face. I know not how 1 have been able to 
 write thus much; there is a rush of shame, 
 snd horror, and indignation through my whole 
 f.ame. Clinton, is that true? read that note. 
 Have you dared to aot to outrage my name, I 
 hope, ere the print of your lips had left my fore 
 head ; bu; have you dared to speak of me lightly ? 
 dis yes, that is the word, but I cannot write it ; 
 read the note for yourself, read it, is it true? If 
 it be, hear me, Clinton, hear me. You little 
 know me, but you know something of what I may 
 be able to do. by what I have already done ; you 
 little know me, if you believe me tame or spirit, 
 less. Ask Archibald that stout-hearted boy, 
 Archibald, whom I O, do not flatter yourself, 
 Clinton : it was not all love so sudden, mea 
 sureless, appalling O no, it was not ; but I 
 s/iciiticed him to you, and I rave strangely, 
 Clinton, ^and cannot for the life of me retain, 
 eveu in conversation, the ordinary coherency of 
 life. Perhaps I arn disordered I could almost 
 pray that I may be : but let me see you first, once 
 more, only once. Yet what do I say he is 
 honest, so honest, that I cannot doubt him ; 
 so fearless, that I am mad to put his godlike 
 spirit in such peril, and therefore I must be 
 
 lieve him. Hear me ! my thought is steadier for 
 a moment. Hear me ! what I say, that will I do. 
 Much as I have loved you do love you if you 
 have spoken disrespectfully of me (yes ! that i 
 the very word ; 1 have written it at last), farewell, 
 for ever ! farewell ! farewell ! There is no hope 
 f jr you none. Depend upon nothing that has 
 passed ; place no confidence in my weakness, nor 
 in the recollection of it you understand me the 
 heat that thawed in your breath will have been 
 frozen to adamant, never to melt again never, 
 never, if it be true. I know what your hope will 
 be, but you will be disappointed sorrow-stricken. 
 Young as 1 am, beautiful as they say that I am, 
 passionate and tender as you know me to be, that, 
 even that, will have no wei-ht \vith me. Shame 
 I can endure ; death, death, Clinton, but not 
 indignity." 
 
 I heard my brother gasping for breath, but I 
 dared not look up, and continued to read 
 
 " I believe that Archibald tells the truth I 
 believe, therefore, that this is a final adieu, and I 
 think that I can see you smile ; but my early 
 hope, and you can estimate its lightness, when I 
 tell you that I myself, I a woman in love to 
 distraction believe it to be a desperate one : for 
 I have known Archibald for many years, you but 
 for a few weeks ; I think that I can see you smile, 
 haughtily and confidently, while you read the 
 threat, as if assured in your own heart that one 
 word or look of your s will bring the love-sick 
 girl, now that she is so utterly in your power, 
 upon your bosom again. You are mistaken. If 
 it be true, farewell for ever! But beware of my 
 father of John of Arthur ; and, most of all, of 
 Archibald ; } r onr blood, Clinton ! I would not 
 have it spilt for me, but I cannot prevent it. I 
 foresee that if Archibald tell the truth if do I 
 say if? O ! God, that that should be my only 
 hope : falsehood in Archibald Oadley ! Do not 
 aelieve that I doubt him, because I enclose this 
 etter to you No : it is because I would show 
 my confidence in you. If you are innocent, put 
 your sword, not through his heart, not no, no 
 et him alone let him perish in his own way : if 
 guilty God for ever bless you, Clinton, but I have 
 
 ne with you." 
 
 My tears, in spite of all my efforts to the con- 
 ;rary, now ran with a feeling of insupportable 
 heat and soreness down my cheeks. I folded the 
 etter, and reached it to my brother without lifting 
 my eyes :but having held it for a moment, and 
 not observing any motion to take it, I spoke. 
 
 " The letter, brother" 
 
 He returned no answer; and in turning round, 
 tor he was a little at my left side, I found him. 
 vith his head and arms hanging lifelessly over 
 ;he body of my father, as if his noble heart had 
 itopped for ever. For twenty minutes that I 
 employed myself in chafing his temples, our father 
 tanding over him like a dead man, helpless and 
 lorror-stiuck, he gave no sign of life. But at 
 ast O ! it was the happiest moment of mine 
 ic opened his eyes, moved them about faintly for 
 
 moment or two, rested them upon our father, 
 ,nd then put out his hand with a slow, reverent 
 action. " Do not weep, father, do not : nor you, 
 rother. Help me out into the air a while, and! 
 hall be well." 
 
 " It snows violently, dear brother, and you are 
 ill in a sweat," said I, putting out my hand through 
 he canvass. 
 
SEVENTY-SIX. 
 
 43 
 
 " It matters not, lead ineout," he replied ; " I 
 can bear the snow, but not the heated atmosphere 
 of this apartment it chokes me." 
 
 Poor fellow ! our breath was congealed upon 
 our cloaks within that heated atmosphere. 
 
 We led him out, therefore; and the wind 
 whistled, and the fine snow was driving through 
 and through his beautiful hair, and into his 
 bosom; yet it melted as soon as it struck 
 his forehead, and his patient eyes shone out so 
 brightly, that we were terrified. 
 
 At last he stood up, knit his brows, brushed 
 away the snotv froKi his coat, and turning to u?, 
 said that he was ashamed of himself; but while 
 he spoke, evidently with the desire of proving 
 that he was altogether restored, he fainted away 
 again, and would have fallen into the drifted 
 snow, but for my father. We were justly 
 alarmed now, and sent for the physician of the 
 corps. 
 
 He came, an3 ordered Archibald to be brought 
 immediately to his own quarters, which were 
 rather better furnished than the others, and fitted 
 up as a sort of hospital. All the next day he 
 never opened his lips, aor the next night, except 
 to ask the time, and order the horse to be out at 
 the exercise, an hour earlier than usual, intend 
 ing to be with them, but he could not ; and it 
 was not till almost noon, when the stirring about 
 him, as we struck our tents, awoke him, that he 
 seemed to recollect himself, for he immediately 
 arose, and with a little assistance dressed him 
 self, in spite of the remonstrance of the physician. 
 
 " You do not understand my malady, dear 
 doctor," he said, buckling his scimitar upon his 
 side. "It is inactivity thought ha ! Clinton, 
 what are they doing ?" 
 
 " First, let me ask you," (eiving him his two 
 hands with the utmost cordiality and frankness) 
 " are you able to undergo another night s duty be 
 fore sleep ?" 
 
 " Yes : but I hope that it will be the last." 
 
 " Nay, do not flatter yourself weary so soon ? 
 Ha! what do you mean, Oadley, are you des 
 ponding ?" 
 
 " No, no; what s to be done? tell me," said 
 mj brother, repeatedly, setting his foot upon the 
 table, which shook with the unsteady pressure, and 
 belting his spurs with a faint, trembling hand, and 
 a sick aspect. 
 
 " You are very weak, dear Archibald," said 
 Clinton, taking the strap out of his hand; "but 
 if you can sit your horse you must. Yv r ashing- 
 ton has spoken of you in council not an hour 
 since, aud you are to be intrusted with serious 
 duty. I knew that you were ill, bu c I kept it 
 a secret till I had seen you. Can you keep your 
 saddle?" 
 
 " Yes, for a while. What is to be done ?" 
 
 " About an hour before dark," said Clinton, 
 all on fire with the thought of battle, " you will put 
 your men in motion secretly, and come in by a 
 circuit at M Konkey s Ferry, there to cover an 
 embarkation, which will take place at dark. You 
 will be particularly wanted- Sullivan and Greene 
 have no horse there ; and my notion is, that after 
 taking your party, we shall have to dismount all 
 the troops, and take their horses for our light 
 artillery but that is not yet determined upon. Do 
 not interfere with Kuox s men ; they are jealous 
 as the devil of the Southerners. Keep clear of 
 them, and consider yourself under Washington s 
 
 command alone, and move only for yourself, whea, 
 he is away." 
 
 " But whither are we to march?" said my 
 father : " I feel rather awkward." 
 
 " New levies always do, "said Clinton, laugh 
 ing. " But we shall soon put you in training ; not 
 a man knows the design yet. First, we are to 
 cross the Delaware that is all that we know yet. 
 Cadwallader has moved off in beautiful stile not 
 a man knows for what ; and Irwing- I saw, a few 
 hours ayo, putting his men in motion. My 
 thought is Ood bless Washington for keeping 
 the good old fashion ! that we are to give the 
 enemy a Christmas ball and dance 
 
 " Christmas?" sa d I, involuntarily glancing 
 at Archibald. 
 
 " By Heaven !" he replied, walking to the 
 door of the tent, " so it is ; who knows what 
 may have happened at the appointed hour. Bro 
 ther, brother, the chairs may be empty of our 
 bodies ; but which of our spirits may not be 
 among them at the hour of their fullest revelry ?" 
 
 I was inconceivably affected; his manner was 
 so solemn, settled, and the tone of his voice so in 
 ward and prophetic. But we had no time to 
 exchange either congratulation or encouragement, 
 for every moment was precious. Our men were 
 paraded in the light of the setting sun the whole 
 camp under arms, tents struck, and a general, 
 bat beautiful c- lerity, full of strictness and pre 
 cision, gave evidence that something momentous 
 was in agitation. Washington came out just 
 ahead of us, and mounted his great white horse, 
 with that air of absolute authority, which began 
 to distinguish all his movements about this time, 
 for Congress had made him little less than a 
 dictator at last ; and Archibald, when once upon 
 the back of his spirited little mare, seemed to 
 forget, in the presence of his commander-in- 
 chief, all sense of infirmity, if not of mortality: 
 for when Clinton raised his sword, while he rode 
 by the side of Washington, as a signal to my 
 brother to set off, it was done in such a gallant, 
 soldier-like style, that Washington pressed his 
 white charger forward at leas^ twenty yards 
 abreast of iny brother, utterly regardless of the 
 young cavalcade about him, as if carried away 
 for a moment with enthusiasm ; and well he 
 miirht have been, for ray brother s eyes shone 
 intensely bright, and his pale, boyish face was 
 illuminated with a strange, settled sternness, well 
 calculated to startle the boldest. For my own 
 purt, I forgot his age, and moved after him as if I 
 had been the junior : but so it has been through my 
 life ; that boy, after the first twenty years of his 
 coarse, during which I had passed by him, re 
 gardless of his eye or attitude, took his position, 
 all at once, and was never afterwards driven from 
 it. I tried, again and again, to recover my ancient 
 sway that was in vain; my equality next that 
 was equally so ; till at last, wearied out with a 
 perpetual warfare, against a spirit that always 
 would keep in advance, through all his arteries, 
 heart and vt.as had been ruptured and burst in 
 the effort, I .siienlly abandoned myself to his steady 
 dominion acknowledged his supremacy, and slept 
 quietly ever afterward. 
 
 The night was intensely cold, and we were de 
 layed many hours longer than had been anticipated, 
 by an accumulation of ice in the river. And here, 
 if you would get a good notion of the countenance 
 of Washington at this time (the most eventful and 
 
44 
 
 THE NOVEL NEWSPAPER. 
 
 trying moment of his life), I would recommend that 
 you study a picture just painted by a Mr. Sully, of 
 Philadelphia, upon this subject. He has been 
 singularly happy ; and when I recollect the face of 
 Washington, as he reined up for half an hour 
 within pistol-shot of me, it appears to me that 
 some man must have painted it who was with us 
 at the time. Before we came down to the ferry 
 there was an awful solemnity, darkness, and rpose 
 in it. But there, when in sight of the troops, as 
 they were severally embarking, every man of whom, 
 SO long as the face of their commander could be 
 seen, even after the boats had put off, kept his eyes 
 upon it, was full of a loftier, more animated, 
 youthful, and heroic expression of encouragement 
 arid confidence. 
 
 You have heard of General Knox, then colonel, 
 and of his stentorian voice. I assure you that no 
 justice can be done to him or it. My ears rang 
 for a fortnight after at the same hour of the night ; 
 and do yet, when I remember how he galloped 
 about, cursing and swearing, dismounting every 
 five minutes, and lifting at his own artillery like a 
 giant. He was a gallant fellow : full of bloo d, with 
 all fct[r : blunt, strong New England hard hood. 
 An<J Green>, too, he was there ; the only man of 
 all dltr -armies capable. I believe, in case of any 
 disaster, to take the place of Washington^ Therg 
 xhg^at 4 jfull of deep, religious composure, his broad 
 forehead frontirig the fires lliaT were "kindled" near 
 the place of embarkation. 
 
 At last, though not until three o clock in the 
 morning, we were fairly landed upon the Jersey 
 shore, and by five had taken up our line oT march. 
 Clinton was every where, riding through the horse 
 men, along by the infantry and artillery, carrying 
 orders, cheering the men, and infusing, wherever 
 he moved, the very spirit of chivalry. But my 
 brother poor fellow, arid my father too, were 
 silent as death. I saw them, while the division 
 was forming, meet, shake hands, and part; but I, 
 alas ! had no opportunity to embrace the old man 
 before we were upon the march ; but he eawme, 
 and holding out his sword, shook it manfully, as if 
 to encourage me. I answered the signal. I saw 
 no more of him till the affair was all over. 
 
 " It was very remarkable," said my brother in 
 a low voice. "Rodman, take the command 
 a while (Rodman leaped forward, and as he passed 
 me I heardhisloud b/eathing, asif now he was about 
 to behappy indeed), ft is very remarkable, my dear 
 brother, that they should b?,at this moment, sitting 
 about a table with three or four empty chairs at it, 
 for three or four living men a father, two sons, 
 and a cousin ; is it not awful to think what may 
 happen?" 
 
 "It is impossible," said I; "you forget the 
 hour: it must be near morning. 1 
 
 "True," said he, as if awakening all of a sud 
 den; " and it is not till to-morrow night, Christ 
 mas night, that the chairs will be set for us dead 
 or alive. I had forgot; I had half persuaded 
 myself that, at this moment, their eyes were fixed 
 on a serene blue sky ; it may be in prayer for us, 
 little dreaming that the snow, ;tnd rain, and dark 
 ness, are driving in our faces, and that 
 
 " Hush, brother, 1 said I ; " we are overheard." 
 
 "Icare not, thoughit be by Washington himself, 
 continued my brother; "nay, do not trouble 
 yourself to look behind ; whoever it be he shall see 
 that I am not the worse fitted for death, for having 
 prepared myself for it. 1 
 
 "Death!" said I, and would have added some 
 word of reproof, had not a tall, majestic figure, on a 
 horse, that even in the rank of white horses ap 
 peared unusually whits, rode slowly athwart our 
 rear, followed by ten or twelve other horsemen. 
 
 "By Heaven, brother! you will have lost hij 
 favour. It was Washington himself," said I. 
 
 "I care not," he replied. " George Washington 
 himself (if he be the good and great man that I 
 think him) has a heavier heart than I at this 
 moment, is as sorry at the thought of the blood that 
 he is about to spill and altogether better prepared 
 for death. 1 
 
 "Brother," said I, after a moment s pause, " we 
 are strangely disturbed by our disorderly watching 
 and sleep Last night was Christmas eve, after 
 all this morning I feel it at my heart yes, I am 
 sure of it ! eyes that we know, lips that we love, 
 hearts that we would die for, are all in prayer for 
 us at this blessed moment. As I live, the thought 
 rushes in upon me, distending my own heart, till 
 it aches with fullness." 
 
 "And so it is, as I hope for mercy! Well, 
 Heaven be praised farewell, brother let us do 
 our duty, and commit ourselves to God. I see the 
 light breaking in there, and a movement. Hush 
 hush! farewell." 
 
 " Fare-veil !" said I, "brother," and just then 
 our who e army passed softly and silently, by two 
 or three officers, one of whom I knew to be Clin 
 ton, posted upon the road side, continually waving 
 their swords, with a motion asif to enjoin the most 
 deathlike stillness ; and deathlike it was, for 
 nothing could be heard but the blowing of the 
 horses, a jolting sound now and then in the wet 
 snow, where the artillery-waggons and gun-car 
 riages cut through into the ground, and a general 
 rush as of deep, heavy water. 
 
 A few moments after a troop of Virginians, under 
 Captain Washington (afterwards so distinguished 
 at the sputh) paraded, in beautiful style, through 
 the heavy snow, and brought us intelligence which 
 tended to accelerate our march. Before his arrival 
 we had hoped (as I afterwards found) to surprise 
 the enemy at Trenton while yet overpowered by 
 the festivities of the preceding night, and make his 
 morning sleep the sleep of death ; but now that 
 hope was abandoned, for Captain Washington had 
 encountered his picket, exchanged a tew shot, and 
 left him prepared, for what it is remarkable that 
 he h<\d already heard a vague rumour of our in 
 tended attack. Yet this very affair, which at first 
 threatened to be so disastrous, the frolic of Captain 
 Washington was probably the chief reason why we 
 succeeded in surprising the enemy at last ; for, as 
 that was not followed up, he retired to quarters, 
 after waiting a reasonable time, as we afterward 
 found, thinking the whole a Virginian row. 
 
 Our troops were now thrown into two divisions. 
 We were separated from our father, who was de 
 tailed under Sullivan and St. Clair, to take the 
 river road : while we, under Washington himself, 
 Greene, Morris, and Stephens, pushed onward 
 through what is called the Pennington-road. 
 
 A few moments afterward, just while I thought 
 my heart had lost its motion entirely, for I felt, in 
 looking about me, and seeing the dark array of 
 substantial but noiseless creatures, horses and 
 waggons, as if the whole army were an apparition 
 acavalcade of dead men, marching from one place 
 of burial to another. I heard a shot so near me, 
 that my horse leaped out of the rank. This was 
 
SEVENTY-SIX. 
 
 45 
 
 followed by a loud cry two or three words a 
 volley and theu shot after shot, as if a line of 
 sentinels, sleeping upon their posts, had suddenly 
 started up, one after the other, fired off their pieces, 
 and run in. 
 
 Our advance were well furnished with bayonets, 
 and they immediately charged upon the picket, and 
 we dashed after them, trampling them to death 
 with our horses riding over them like a whirlwind, 
 without speaking a word or firing a shot. This 
 was scarcely done when we heard the firing of the 
 other division at the opposite quarter, so admirably 
 timed had been the arrangement, and we imme 
 diately galloped into the centre of the town, horse 
 and foot, determined to ride the enemy down, or 
 bayonet them before they had time to form. 
 Washington was dreadfully exposed. The first 
 picket, thinking this a second attack of the same 
 little skirmishing party that had fired into them 
 before, neglected to give the alarm ; and the out 
 posts, though they fought most gallantly, retreating 
 step by step behind the houses, disputing every 
 inch, and,presenting their bright bayonets, without 
 a flash of powder, wherever we rode in upon them, 
 so that we could not, with all our cutting and 
 spurring, force our horses upon them ; and then, 
 the moment that we faced about, blazing away 
 upon us, and running to the next house, were 
 driven in, 
 
 At last we had an opportunity for fair play ; the 
 Hessians were formed and forming, their whole 
 front glittering with bayonets. A tremendous 
 struggle was going on at our right, under the very 
 eye of Washington, with the enemy s artillery, 
 which was taken ; when, with a troop of horse, in 
 which I fancied that I could see my father nay, 1 
 am almost certain that it was he, by the disorderly 
 movement of his horse, for he broke out of the 
 ranks, and was twenty yards ahead of the other 
 men. Archibald rode down, his cap off, his sword 
 flashing, like a firebrand, in the light and smoke 
 of the musketry. " Charge ! charge !" they cried, 
 " charge ! my brave fellows ! and provoke them to 
 fire." Another troop! another! and another 
 thundered down from the right and left, but with 
 no effect at all upon the invincible Germans ; their 
 front rank kneeled all around, while the rest were 
 forming, and presented their bayonets without firing 
 a shot. 
 
 "By Heaven!" said Archibald, shouting as if 
 his heart would break, to Captain Washington, 
 " I will try them again !" and, as he said so, he 
 rode at full speed, so near, that it appeared to me 
 that he could have struck the enemy with his sword, 
 and fired his pistol into their faces. Our front 
 rank followed the example, and the next moment 
 all the Hessians brought their pieces up to their 
 cheeks, and poured a tremendous volley in upon 
 us. I saw my father fall ; Arthur reel in his stir 
 rup? ; but Archibald (as if prepared for this very 
 thing) shouted "Wheel and charge !" 
 
 Wheel and charge !" repeated a hundred voices 
 in our rear ; " wheel and charge !" 
 
 We obeyed and the snow flew and the swords 
 flashed ; and the next moment a hundred of the 
 enemy, the whole of his first rank, were trampled 
 to death before us ; and twenty human heads rolled 
 upon the ground, under the feet of our horses. 
 
 The infantry under Green poured in volley after 
 volley at the same time ; and Knox, having 
 brought round his light field-pieces to bear, as if 
 
 they had been blunderbusses, played in upon them 
 with an uninterrupted roll of thunder and smoke. 
 
 It was impossible to stand it ; no human being 
 could have endured the hurricane of fire and 
 bullets longer. They threw down their arms 
 about one thousand men in all and then it was, 
 then, when it was necessary to move about the 
 quieter operations of strife, that we felt the intense 
 coldness of the night, the keen air cutting into our 
 new wounds like rough broken glass. Several 
 were frozen to death, and two of our own men. 
 But my agony was for my father. Heedless of the 
 reiterated commands of Arthur, and Clinton, and 
 Washington himself, who was impatient to be 
 away with his prisoners before a rescue, I con 
 tinued riding over the field, and examining the 
 bodies. At last I found him, the good old man, 
 flat upon his back ; his great heart heavy with the 
 bullets that had been poured into it. I wondered 
 at my own calmness when I first discovered the 
 body, at my own unspeakable collectedness. At 
 first there was a darkness and dizziness about my 
 eyes, and then I began to doubt if I were in my 
 right senses ; but Archibald and Arthur rode up 
 to me, the latter with his white pantaloons covered 
 all over with blood and dirt, and we alighted, and 
 tearing open his bosom, discovered that there was 
 no life in him ; that his aged breast was literally 
 blown to pieces ; and the trumpet blowing, we 
 took the dead hand in ours, successively, without 
 looking at each other ; cut off, hurriedly, a lock of 
 his grey hair, saturated and stiff with frozen blood 
 mounted and left him, with an inconceivable 
 calmness, for it was not till our wounds were 
 dressed, that we thought of our mother our poor, 
 dear mother. 
 
 " One of the chairs." said my brother, passing me, 
 and pointing to a litter in which I could distinguish 
 a wounded officer, "was not vacant, although it 
 might not have been given to mortal eye to see with 
 whom it was filled ; and another had well nigh been 
 at the feast of the dead." 
 
 "God be thanked, brother," said I, " that it is 
 neither you nor Arthur. But whom do you mean?" 
 
 " God s will be done," was the reply. " I spoke 
 of Clinton he had two horses shot under him, and 
 was brought down at last by the same volley, with 
 Captain Washington. I saw him when he fell; he 
 waved his sword to me, and if ever man s face spoke 
 without sound, his said, Archibald, I repent: God 
 bless the woman of my heart ! I hope that he is 
 not mortally wounded. He was a brave fellow, 
 and and I have been very hard upon him; I 
 cculd not have borne so much, I fear a generous 
 fellow, for " 
 
 " Are you not grateful, brother, for the protection 
 of Heaven?" 
 
 " Grateful, brother !" he replied, smiting his 
 breast; " that were a poor word to express the un 
 utterable thankfulness of my heart. Washington is 
 81 f e you are safe Arthur is safe our country is 
 s ife, and 1 I have not been cut off in the blossom 
 of my pride." 
 
THE NOVEL NEWSPAPER. 
 
 CHAPTER "X. 
 
 Thou, land of the free ! 
 
 Thou hope of the nations ; what trance i in thee 
 Thou parent of heroes ; the bravest and hest, 
 That ere smote the plumage from tyranny s crest. 
 
 "Brother," said I, as we stood side by side again 
 holding our horses by the bit and throat lash, to 
 steady them under the movement of the boat ; " this 
 is the third time that we have been upon the waters 
 of the Delaware in darkness, with horemen and 
 horses about us. What fearful vicissitudes for men 
 like us to have experienced within so short a time." 
 "True, true, brother," he replied; "the water 
 here, that ripples along our boat side, shining like 
 broken silrer, drifting against it, may run blood 
 yet, Hinder the burthen that is now upon it. We 
 are growing old apace. If years are to be numbered 
 by events and trials, we are already aged men !* He 
 stopped, and a long breath shovred how deeply he 
 had been employed. 
 
 " They fought gallantly," said.I. 
 " They did indeed, brother, and Wilkinson you 
 remember Wilkinson he was close at my side 
 during a part of the hottest fire, cheering us on in 
 the finest style (it was the present General Wilkin 
 son, my children,) and Washington the captain 
 his voice and sword were every where." 
 
 " But who w r as that young man that I saw rush 
 ing forward, his face blackened with the smoke of 
 the enemy s cannon, just under your horse s hoofs, as 
 you charged on the left? Some young officer, was 
 he not?" 
 
 "You probably mean Lieutenant Monroe : once I 
 was so struck by the solemn, undisturbed earnest 
 ness of his countenance, that I reined up, in the 
 middle of a charge, to look at him." 
 
 That same Lieutenant Monroe is now the Presi- 
 ;nt of the United States. 
 
 " Have you learnt the enemy s loss. It must 
 have been considerable, for our fire was like one 
 continual clap of thunder," said I. 
 "About forty, I heard General Greene say, as I 
 passed him, to Archibald, and among them their 
 gallant leader, Colonel Rahl God have mercy upon 
 him. It is a fearful thing to die so suddenly in a 
 foreign land, where we have gone to let out our 
 blood for money, or for glory. Every man has his 
 price the soldier is little better than the bravo, if 
 he be paid in the same coin among strangers 
 poor fellow ! and yet who would wish to survive a 
 blow like this?" 
 
 " I should not, 1 said Archibald. 
 4t His officers, I am told, complain that he would 
 not permit them to entrench." 
 
 " Nonsense, brother : his officers, like all other 
 men, will not take more than their own share of 
 humiliation and shame, you may depend on it. 
 The truth is, that they did not expect us scorned 
 us and Cornwallis himself, so it was said yesterday 
 at Washington s table, had once gone back to New- 
 York, intending to embark for England regarding 
 the war as all over our power extinct. But, it may 
 be, that his lordship "Was very discreet very in 
 postponing vich a communication. Washington, it 
 is said, dark and desperate as it was on all sides, 
 listened to the story, and repeated it with a pleasant 
 countenance, as the harmless vanity of a young man, 
 who knew not the spirit with which he was contend 
 ing a spirit, that iron could not bind, nor fire con- 
 *uine, nor darkness, wind, nor rain extinguish." 
 
 nes 
 mi. 
 
 \ dei 
 
 "I saw poor Rahl." 
 
 We were now in the deepest part of the river, 
 where the new ice had rushed together, and piled 
 itself up like a snowdrift upon the bkck water y 
 yielding nevertheless to the pressure of eur boat, as 
 by some unskilful management, she was brought 
 against it, in the eddy, and surging all under the 
 water, as if it had been a frozen spray, light as the 
 very vapour. We were jarred, horse and man, by 
 the contact, for a moment, as if our boat had sud 
 denly foundered ; but after a brief, violent struggle, 
 our horses recovered their foot-hold, braced them 
 selves anew, with their instinctive sagacity, against 
 the ridges purposely provided in the bottom of tlie 
 boat, and my brother continued, 
 
 * I saw him, poor fellow, while his officers were 
 gathered round him his nostrils swimming in blood 
 his dark eyes hardly yet extinct, and his shoul 
 der absolutely shot away. There was a calm ter 
 rible darkness in the aspect of death then so sud 
 denly hot with the festivities of the night, dream- 
 ing, but one blessed moment before, of his babes 
 and his dear one. Brother, say what you will, this 
 trade of war demands a tremendous preparedness 
 a heart of stone an eye of fire a hand of iron. 
 A trade that O, we may yet live till the rush of 
 our blood is done the eddy of our heart frozen 
 the foam and froth of our arteries hushed, in a re 
 pose more awful than death ; when, for the very 
 deeds that we have done this day, tears from the eye, 
 and blood from the heart, may be no expiation. 
 Brother, I tremble." 
 
 " It is the night wind, Archibald." 
 
 " No, brother, not the night wind ; that could not 
 penetrate to my vitals, or make me feel so coldly 
 so like death, just here." 
 
 Our boat struck just then, and so unexpectedly,, 
 as to make our horses stumble upon us. We were 
 "n some danger, but Archibald s presence of mind 
 md my bodily strength prevented any disaster. He 
 eaped out of the boat to avoid the hoofs of the 
 nare, and she plunged headlong after him, followed 
 >y half a dozen other horses, that had been first 
 hrown upon their knees by the sudden jar, and 
 cept there by the boat swimming round. It was 
 lot deep, and Archibald had the self-recollection 
 o abandon the bridle, and dive under our boat^ 
 hile I, leaping into the rotten ice and half frozen 
 ater, kept off the horses from the shore till he had 
 eciired his foot-hold. We had then little difficulty 
 n bringing out all of them but one : and he, poor 
 ellow, was of such prodigious strength and temper, 
 hat we feared to approach him. Several times he 
 warn up to us, aud stretched out his head, as if to 
 ring the bridle within our reach but we were too 
 ar from him. He then attempted to mount the ice, 
 nd plunged, at least fifty times, into the deepest 
 )art of the river, blowing and snorting the while, 
 o that we could hear him all along the shore. And 
 ow and then, through the sleet and darkness, we 
 ould see the noble creature throw himself half 
 ut of the river, place his fore feet npon the newly, 
 orrned ice make a desperate effort the ice would 
 ive way we would hear the rush and plunge he 
 vould go under and rise. Our boats were such 
 reat, unmanageable things, we were utterly unable 
 n assist him ; at last he grew desperate the rattling 
 f his nostrils became incessant his blows upon 
 le ice one uninterrupted strugg e then, poor 
 reature, a long, loud, half suffocated neigh a 
 ew more struggles, and he passed under the iee, 
 s we supposed, for we heard a sound as if it came 
 rem the bottom, long afterward, afar ofi , and dying 
 
SEVENTY-SIX. 
 
 47 
 
 away in the distance and darkness. I declare, 
 strange as it may seem, that men who had been in 
 battle, and seen their own father dead, without 
 shedding a tear, should be so overcome by the 
 death of a brute yet, I declare to you that our 
 hearts were heavy, even to tears ; and either of us 
 would have risked his own life, I have no doubt, tor 
 the safety of the noble animal when we heard his 
 last loud, convulsive sobbing, and saw the amazing 
 strength of his blows, as he broke through the ice 
 at every leap. 
 
 We were instantly formed ; and all the prisoners, 
 to prevent the possibility of recapture from a 
 desperate enemy, stung to madness at the nature 
 of the blow he had received, were marched off to 
 Philadelphia, under a strong escort, composed of all 
 our horse, and the chief part of our light infantry 
 so called, not because we had any heavily-armed in 
 fantry, but because they were in a measure provided 
 with guns and bayonets. This step was a wise one, 
 for the enemy had a force along the Delaware far 
 superior to ours; and, at Princeton, a battalion of 
 infantry. 
 
 This was the first time that I had ever been in 
 Philadelphia, and I rode along, street after street of 
 noble buildings, side by side with my brother : who 
 seemed, I know not for what reason, except that his 
 face was remarkably pale, and full of a noble, un 
 common expression for one so youthful, to attract 
 universal attention. The streets were thronged, but 
 whether in congratulation or not it would have been 
 difficult to say. The women certainly looked 
 pleased, and some were beautiful indeed ; so beauti 
 ful, that many a stout heart rode unsteadily by them ; 
 and so I remember particularly, as we wheeled from 
 Sixth into Market-street, a throng of girls among 
 whom was one who laughed as we passed, and one 
 that uttered a cry. I heard the voice, but did not 
 see her by Heaven, i thought that Arthur would 
 have fallen from his horse. I dared not look at him, 
 till the animal, surprised by the loose rein, dashed 
 over the pavement, as if he had been shot through 
 the heart, the length of two or three squares, before 
 Arthur could bring him to his place again. And 
 now and then, too, as I passed along, I could see a 
 broad-brimmed hat, a pretty little bashful face, with 
 the hair parted smoothly upon the forehead, a some 
 thing in a drab-coloured dress, conscientiously 
 scrupulous against being seen to look upon military 
 parade in the open street here and there peeping 
 with scandalous, if not impious eagerness, through 
 the half-open curtains, or shutters of a high window, 
 or door standing just upon the jar. 
 
 Far several days after the battle we were kept in 
 continual motion, scarcely eating or sleeping 
 marching and countermarching in all directions ; 
 first, after collecting a body of Pennsylvania militia, 
 under General Mercer as brave a fellow as ever 
 stood fire and leaving our prisoners at Philadelphia, 
 we immediately returned to the Delaware, and re- 
 crossed it again, making the fourth time that 
 Archibald and I had gone from one shore to the 
 other, with swelling hearts and mournful thoughts; 
 alike in that, yet how unlike in all that shakes the 
 sinew, or shortens the breath of men ! At first we 
 were adventurers, untried in battle, going to camp, 
 and flying in consternation before a scornful army 
 that lined the opposite bauk, and kept squibbing at 
 us in derision ; the secon d time, upon 4 a matter of 
 such peril, that, if we failed and that we did not 
 was miraculous, as two out of three of the divisions 
 did fail (I speak of those under Cadwallader and 
 
 Inving), the pulse of all America would have stopped 
 perhaps for ever : desperate men, going, in dark 
 ness and storm, upon the sleeping and dreaming, like 
 the angels of death ; the third time, conquerors, high 
 in heart, covered with blood and glory ; with all 
 the sleepers and dreamers in ourpever; the fourth, 
 which was the present time, with a complicated 
 feel ing of apprehension and thrilling delight. 
 
 We marched to Trenton, and took possession of 
 if, with an army of only eighteen hundred men. 
 This was on the twenty-ninth of December; and, of 
 this number, twelve hundred were to be discharged 
 on the first of January ! Tremble, my children ; 
 read the history of these days, and tremble ! God 
 fought with us, or \ve had perished again and again, 
 in our blindness and infatuation. Bounties were 
 offered, enormous for the time, two dollars a-head; 
 they were taken, pocketed, and carried off; but at 
 last, the Pennsylvania militia came in, electrified by 
 the shock at Trenton, which had caused the enemy s 
 heart to contract, and his extremities to be drawn 
 in ; and our force was augmented to about fiva 
 thousand men. 
 
 One day, while we were in this situation, my 
 brother came to me, with the traces of what always 
 astonished me, when I saw them upon his face, 
 tears upon his countenance. "I have just left 
 Clinton ; I have wept with him; I shall love him, I 
 fear, better than ever." 
 "Fear why so?" 
 
 * Because if I once love him, my hand will trem 
 ble, I am afraid, when the time of judgment is at 
 hand: I" 
 
 What mean you, brother ? There is that in your 
 eyes which I would fain see dissipated : you are not 
 the man, I hope I believe Archibald, to spill the 
 blood of a human creature, for any lighter cause 
 than the salvation of your country. You shake your 
 head. Archibald, my brother ! have I not heard 
 you denounce the duellist, duelling? You do not 
 deny it then why 
 
 He interrupted me impatiently ; " Let us talk no 
 more about it now I shall do nothing rashly be 
 assured of that ; but we are exceedingly earnest to 
 get Clinton away. I think that what say you to 
 it ? if he could be nursed tenderly very tenderly 
 by by I cannot well utter my thought, brother. 
 But what need of words? You understand me; will 
 you escort him to Mr. Arnauld s ? I see that you 
 are surprised ; but if you will not, I will, and deliver 
 him with my own hands into the arms oi Lucia, 
 and help him to make his peace with her." 
 
 "That is my noble Archibald!" I cried, embrac 
 ing him; " that is what I looked for. Yes ; I will 
 go or you or " 
 
 " No, brother ; I prefer that you should go. I 
 shall neve/ enter the door again, if I can help it : but 
 you may " 
 
 " You have forgiven him, then relented? * 
 " No ; but Lucia may, if she please. I have no 
 concern with her. I have done my duty, and I 
 leave it to her to doher s. My opinion is, that there 
 is only one course for her to pursue but that O, 
 it is only one star in a midnight firmament of total 
 blackness." 
 
 I looked at him for some time without opening my 
 lips. A strange thought darted, like a startled 
 eaglet from the high place of her abiding, athwart 
 my mind ; but ere I could look to her place in the 
 sky, or her shadow on the earth, she was gone, 
 unseen and unheard and all was hushed and beau 
 tiful, as the pale, blue air of a warm day. I dared. 
 
THE NOVEL 
 
 B& Ittfe it back I dared not mention it it was a 
 flash of unutterable brightness, and I dropped my 
 eyes when it passed as if blinded by it. I don t know 
 you will understand me, my children, but I have 
 been endeavouring to be very line after the fashion 
 of the day. 
 
 " You will go, then ?" said he, laying hie hand 
 upon my shoulder, and looking me affectionately in 
 the face "you will go and you will see her her 
 whom you love and you will be happy. Forgive 
 my perturbation, brother it is not envy no ! but 
 it is a far deadlier feeling, to a heart like mine it is 
 hopelessness God bless you and her and (hesitat. 
 ing) her too !" 
 
 " Are we to have another battle ? said I " there 
 are mysterious movements in camp and midnight 
 councils." 
 
 " I believe that we may begin to look for one, was 
 the reply. " Washington cannot retreat all the 
 eyes of America are upon him he is suppos?d to be 
 five times as strong as he is, and if he should retreat 
 with his augmented force, the people would fall back 
 into their old despondency. The enemy are cruelly 
 exasperated, and bent upon retaliation. " Cornwallis, 
 I know, has abandoned his design of carrying out 
 the news of our destruction for a few days longer, 
 joined his men in the Jerseys, concentrated" his whole 
 power left a body at Princeton, and is now moving 
 upon us at this place. The firing that we heard just 
 now was the advance of his army, encountering that 
 of our s under Greene." 
 
 While we were yet speaking, several horsemen 
 came in at full gallop; and it was soon known, for 
 we were in our saddles before the noise of their hoofs 
 had ceased ringing in our ears, that Greene, who had 
 been sent out to reinforce a small advance, placed 
 about a mile in front had met them in a disorderly 
 retreat, and was himself thrown into confusion by 
 their rascally impetuosity, to get away from the 
 enemy. 
 
 There was only one way to arrest them. Knox 
 and Greene advanced fourcr.pital field pieces, to the 
 bank of a little stream before us, called the Suspinck 
 Creek, and played upon them with such ablaze awd 
 tempest, that they fell back, and left us at leisure to 
 arrange nearly forty pieces, some of which were 
 ready to open upon them at their first approach. 
 It was a beautiful night 
 
 " Would that I might communicate with Lucia for 
 a single moment!" said Archibald, as we drew out 
 our whole cavalry, to the left of the line of cannon, 
 from which an uninterrupted roll of thunder, smoke 
 and brightness, was kept up, while we were convers 
 ing " but my heart is heavy, brother, not, I believe, 
 with apprehension or doubt, but with do not smile 
 upon rue, with a foreboding. I may not see Lucia 
 again. I have treated her harshly*_We are on the 
 eve of another battle that little creek is fordable 
 the whole force of the enemy is assembled on the 
 opposite bank our s upon this. Cornwallis look ! 
 by Heaven, the whole sky is in ablaze! 1 
 
 I turned about, and saw the heights at the west 
 ward of the town all alive with bustle and light 
 Cornwallis displaying and extending his columns 
 with narrow intervals (whence the artillery thun 
 dered upon us, incessantly) as if to gain our rear 
 outflank us, and put us to the sword without mercy. 
 Yet it was beautiful, magnificent. The very earth 
 shook under the roar of the cannon and the air 
 was loud with a perpetual reverberation, the sky 
 black with smoke. Add to this, that we were not 
 one thousand yards apart. 
 
 "A battle is inevitable," continued my brother- 
 "it may be latal to one of us, and if these feelings 
 may be trusted, it will they are net those of fear or 
 despondency, but rather of a solemn religious belief, 
 that I am not to survive it. If I fall," (drawing his 
 bright weapon, and severing a lock of hair from his 
 temples), give that to Lucia; tell her that that 
 I loved her to my last breath; and bid her love 
 another, if she can !" f =vl^R 
 
 His manner was awful, really awful ; my blood 
 ran cold at the sound of his voice; and his lips, it 
 appeared to me, were motionless, emitting sound iu 
 some inward preternatural way. $$$& 
 
 " I accept the hair," said I, "but I am ashamed 
 of my brother ashamed of him for the first time in 
 my life." 
 
 He smiled mournfully, took my hand, and holding 
 it fora moment to his breast, said, " I do not blame 
 you. You have no such feelings. Heaven dothnot 
 vouchsafe them to you to any but the weary and 
 wasted to them that pray not to live. Ashamed of 
 me ! are you? By to-morrow night, John, when the 
 red sun hath gone down, your feeling will be more of 
 sorrow than of shamr perhaps for these words; if 
 it should be remember remember that Archibald 
 forgave you, and blessed you!" 
 
 He fell upon my neck, and kissed me, while his 
 soft hair was blown into my eyes, and over my 
 lips. 
 
 "But, if I survive if why then, brother, you 
 shall be welcome to feel ashamed of me, and of what 
 I have said the weather is very moist and warm 
 I am sweltering under this cloak." 
 
 " But kfep it on, nevertheless," said I, " we have 
 sudden changes along here, and before morning you 
 may want more cloaks than one." 
 
 An officer here rode up to my brother, and or 
 dered him to trot his horses loudly about the rear, 
 while the baggage and three pieces of ordnance 
 moved off to Burlington. 
 
 " The} are in council, 1 said the officer, " and 
 we know not what will be done it is getting very 
 cold." 
 
 " Yes," said Archibald, " the most sudden change 
 that I ever felt. It is not five minutes since I was 
 complaining of the strange closeness and warmth of 
 the air." 
 
 " I felt the same half an hour ago. Ha ! what 
 means that? some stratagem I suppose." 
 
 I looked, and found that our troops were doubling 
 their fires the whole length of their line. 
 
 "It will be intensely cold, I am sure," said I, 
 " the iron tread of the troop rings famously already 
 upon the ground ; a single hour since it was a soft, 
 noiseless blow. They will want all those fires before 
 morning : look. The north wind has got among 
 the smoke, and the dark blue sky can be seen in 
 patches over us. Another hour, and I will answer 
 for it, that we have a bright, unclouded starlight 
 over head." 
 
 " And a wind that you could sharpen razors 
 against," said the officer ; " these Norwesters are 
 mighty keen and wholesome to people (lowering his 
 voice) in a well-built house, before a roaring fire." 
 
 "Shall we fight? said Archibald. 
 
 The officer shrugged his shoulders, and replied, 
 "Yes, or retreat by the Jersey side, and cross at 
 Philadelphia ; either of which is, speaking after the 
 manner of men, damned hazardous." 
 
 Archibald turned away in displeasure. He 
 would sometimes, when violently heated, suffer an y 
 oath or profane word to ^escape him; but never- 
 
of late, in a serious moment, and never at all, with 
 out deep penitence and shame. 
 
 At length, however, we were directed to gallop 
 along, as silently as we could. And the whole 
 army, upon a road like the solid pavement, now filed 
 oft" toward Princeton, crossing the creek in a death 
 like silence, behind our double fires, without dis 
 turbing the enemy, who deserved to be broken, man 
 and horse, for permitting it, and arrived at Prince 
 ton a little before day-break. 
 
 This, as you will perceive in the event, was a 
 masterly manosuvre, and is said to have been pro 
 posed by St. Clair, a lion-hearted fellow, when all 
 were looking in each other s faces, dreading to 
 speak. "Right!" answered Washington, after a 
 moment s consideration, " that .must be the blow. 
 Cornwallis, it is probable, impatient to retrieve the 
 disaster of Trenton, has pushed on us with his main 
 body ; and left, it is also probable, a weak rear 
 guard at Princeton." 
 
 For eighteen hours had we been under arms ; and 
 for two whole days constantly employed in march 
 ing, countermarching, and fighting, without au 
 hour s interruption, except at the creek. 
 
 No sooner said than done, our army was in 
 motion ; we crossed the creek, as I told you, in a 
 silence like the wind of midnight, and arrived at 
 Princeton, almost without having spoken a loud 
 word, just before day-break. The weather was in 
 tensely cald, but the whole sky was luminous 
 and beautiful; not a bird could have hurried over 
 it, like the scared swallow, or the drifting eagle 
 asleep upon the high wind, without being seen. 
 We were already about to join battle ; yet, won 
 derful as it may seem, I felt little or no emo 
 tion, certainly none of terror, but rather a pro 
 found repose in all my faculties, as if they had been 
 overwrought and slept, as men will sometimes sleep 
 upon a rocking precipice, loosened by the turbulent 
 ocean. General Mercer was a little in advance, 
 when Major Wilkinson, who first discovered the 
 enemy (three regiments), about a quarter of a mile 
 distant, on the march for Trenton, dashed athwart 
 the advance, and communicated the intelligence. 
 At the same moment, an order was given, and Archi 
 bald wheeled off to the left, leaving us to follow ; 
 and as I approached, giving me his hand for a 
 moment " Farewell, brother, farewell !" said he, 
 stretching his bright weapon at the full length of 
 his arm, and heaving out his chest in the starlight. 
 
 * Farewell," said I, striking the rowels home, and 
 leaping past him ; I could not bear it. Colonel 
 Mawhood, on account of the ground, saw us, but 
 partially, and taking us for a light party sent out to 
 harass him, gave himself no trouble about us; 
 neither halted nor formed, but came down upon our 
 infantry \\itha steady countenance and quick tread, 
 till the very bayonets clashed, then poured in a 
 volley upon us, and charged. Our men had scarcely 
 a hundred bayonets with them ; most of their pieces 
 were rifles, and they instantly broke, and fell back 
 in disorder. It was"a moment of the extremest peril. 
 Washington saw it, and leaped into the space between 
 the two parties, while our men were forming, reined 
 his magnificent white charger like a madman, I 
 confess, short upon the enemy, and received suc 
 cessively the whole fire of the two parties, without 
 losing a hair of his head. At the same moment 
 Mawhood, sword in- hand, mounted upon a superb 
 animal, with two little spaniel dogs barking and 
 yelping at his heels, wheeled, and galloped hither 
 and thither among our men, and finally cut his way 
 
 through them, and escaped over fields and fences 
 with afew,a very few of his men, towards Pennington 
 At the moment when this charge was made by our 
 troops, in consequence of the desperate hardihood of 
 Washington, the result of which was that sixty of the 
 enemy were bayoneted upon the spot, our little 
 troop darted in upon them in one uninterrupted 
 blaze and thunder. Never did I hear such a tramp 
 ling of horses and clashing of swords. We broke 
 our way literally through the disordered rabble. A 
 party of them escaped to the colleges, but we pur 
 sued them at full gallop, hewing them down at 
 every plunge, and entered with them, some of us on 
 horseback, and others at the head, of whom was 
 Arthur, on foot, and soon dislodged them. Greene, 
 we found afterwards, had a slight brush with Corn 
 wallis, who alarmed at what he took at first to be 
 thunder, in the direction of Princeton, had pushed 
 forward, with a desperate eagerness, to the protection 
 of Brunswick, where lay his whole baggage, and 
 where General Lee was held prisoner. We would, 
 but human nature could not hold out longer ; we 
 would have set fire to the one, and released the 
 other, before his lordship had recovered from his 
 consternation, but it was impossible. Our rcen ac 
 tually dropped from their horses upon the road ; and 
 at every step some poor fellow threw himself down, 
 praying permission to sleep what must have been, 
 in the heat and delusion and exhaustion of the mo 
 ment, the sleep of death, undisturbed, upon the 
 drifted snow. Our horses too, during the remainder 
 of our pilgrimage, dragged their very limbs after 
 them so feebly that, while their flanks ran with 
 blood, and their flesh quivered at the touch of the 
 spur, they were enabled to keep in a trot for more 
 than fifty yards at a time; and, finally, we were 
 obliged to dismount and lead them, some dropping 
 off by the way, and our men employing themselves 
 all the while in destroying the bridges and breaking 
 up the road, until we arrived, on the sixth, at Mor- 
 ristown, with our prisoners, nearly three hundred in 
 number. 
 
 Two of the British regiments escaped the fifty. 
 fifth, by the way of Hillsborough, to Brunswick ; 
 and the fortieth, after a little scuffling, to the same 
 place. But the enemy were panic-struck. They 
 fell back, shaking in every joint, concentrating at 
 every step, and successively abandoning, in their 
 trepidation, without firing a shot, every foot of ground 
 that they had gained south of New York, except 
 Brunswick and Amboy ; while the American militia 
 awoke all at once, overran the whole country with 
 whatever implements of warfare they could lay their 
 hands on, cutting the enemy up, whenever he dared 
 to show his face in small parties, till at last he was 
 obliged to forage with his main body. 
 
 Within thirty days, my children, this mighty de 
 liverance had been wrought. Within thirty days, 
 tin; whole of New Jersey, lj in;.; between New Bruns 
 wick and the Delaware, had been lost and won, and 
 lost and won again won first by a gallant and well- 
 appointed army, from a shattered and flying rabble, 
 and retaken from the conqueror, wrested from him 
 in a clap of thunder, by the ghost of an annihilated 
 militia, who had suddenly leaped out of the ground, 
 as it were, at the noise of the cannc.i at Trenton; 
 
 buried nations and the battle field ; jind each that 
 slept, as he leaped rrmrhts saddle a.^alu, while the 
 skies were passing away, the stars fulling, the sun 
 going down in a rain of blood and fire, had sought 
 his enemy anew, as he vsas emerging with the dark 
 
50 
 
 THE NOVEL NEWSPAPER. 
 
 population, and thundered upon his crest as he 
 
 There, my dear children, I have been willing to 
 forget the battle and the subject for a while, and 
 amuse you, for I know your taste and that of our 
 people, with a few rockets, and but let me return 
 
 " Where, in the name of Heaven, is Archibald ?" 
 -criedjArthur, galloping by me, about four hours after 
 the battle it was the first time that I had heard his 
 voice for weeks " I have ransacked the whole field, 
 I have asked every human being, I 
 
 For a moment I felt as if I were shot through 
 the heart ; I remembered Archibald s farewell ; 1 
 remembered too seeing him, a little before, dashing 
 among the enemy when they stove into the college ; 
 and, " God of Heaven," I exclaimed, dropping the 
 reins of my Horse, and reflecting back the terrified 
 paleness of Arthur upon his own forehead, as I re 
 collected where I had seen him, " that must have 
 been he." 
 
 " Where ! where ! said Arthur, his voice ringing 
 through and through me, like a strong trumpet. 
 
 * O, it was he ! it was he !" I repeated, " no other 
 living man could have done it ; his horse reared as 
 they faced upon him, and fired a volley into his 
 bosom. 
 
 "Gracious God," said Arthur, " did he fall?" "I 
 know not," said I, " I did not think of my brother 
 then, but I remember reining up and holding my 
 breath, as the smoke rushed out of the college doors 
 and windows, and a man on horseback appeared 
 leaping amid a perpetual blaze of powder, and whist 
 ling of bullets." 
 
 " That was in the college, was it not? " Yes," 
 I answered, catching at the eaper light of his won 
 derful eyes; "yes! what hope is there? 
 
 " He escaped ! he escaped ! I saw him leap 
 down the high steps, firm in the saddle, giving a cut 
 in the rear as he went, and our party broke in upon 
 the enemy just as a whole platoon was levelled at 
 him ; nay, I ara sure that not a ball struck him 
 then ; but I know nothing more, I have not seen 
 him since. The piece that was brought up was 
 o well served, that the enemy surrendered after 
 three or four shots, and I saw no more of your 
 brother!" 
 
 " He is safe! heis"safe! said one of the troop, 
 riding up with my sword, which I had dropped 
 without knowing it, startled at the cry of Arthur, 
 I suppose, as if a dead man had broken silence, 
 while I was standing over him for he was on foot. 
 
 " Who is safe?" I cried, striking my spurs into 
 the lacerated flanks of my poor horse, and determin 
 ing to return to the battle-ground at all peril, and 
 continue the search. 
 
 " The captain the captain!" he cried, and true 
 it was, for the next moment Archibald himself ap 
 peared, coming in with five of his men at his heels, 
 driving ten or twelve prisoners before them. His 
 action was menacing, and his look frightful. I 
 should hardly have known him his whole uniform 
 was saturated with blood, as if he had been bearing 
 wounded men to the hospital. Upon his white fore 
 head were spattering drops, and his beautiful hair 
 itself stood out, stiff and frozen, under the pressure 
 of his iron-bound cap, as if that too were full of 
 blood. 1 shuddered as he passed me I could not 
 speak : I tried, and my lips moved, but I could utter 
 no sound I felt as if a spirit had gone by me; the 
 hair of my flesh rose, and my flesh itself crawled. 
 Nay> but for me, I verily believe that he would have 
 clo?en the skulls of two or three of the prisoners, a* 
 
 they drove them along like wild beasts before them, 
 pricking them at every step with their swords, and 
 flourishing their sabres round their heads heads 
 that disdained to duck in the whistle and blaze of 
 the sabres, but looked with a steady eye upon them. 
 Archibald, in particular, seemed as if he could 
 hardly keep his hands off. 
 
 " For shame," said I, " brother O, for shame!" 
 leaping forward and catching at his arm ; I had half 
 a mind to strike it down with my sword, such was 
 my wrath and horror, " warring upon the prisoned 
 and the helpless! * 
 
 " Brother ! he replied, wiping the blood from 
 his forehead, and looking at me sternly " brother, 
 you know not what you do. Were I prone to blood 
 shed, this foolish interference had cost every man of 
 them their lives ; and you, perhaps nay, I do not 
 say it jestingly, I am in no humour for trifling now 
 it might have cost you, yours. Brother, these 
 eleven men are murderers ; they have just put all 
 their bayoneis, again and again, through the bravest 
 heart that ever beat " 
 
 " Whose!" I cried; my blood running 1 cold at 
 the look of his terrible eyes " whose?" 
 
 " Mercer s ! 
 
 " What, have they slain him how? tell me I 
 never shall forget him. I saw him but once or twice, 
 but I shall never forget his carriage or voice!" 
 
 " He had leaped to the ground, and was leading 
 on his men to the charge, when, by some mistake 
 in the evolution, he found himself a prisoner sur 
 rendered, by the living God, I saw it! I saw him 
 surrender ! I saw him throw down his sword ; I 
 had just escaped, with about twenty of my troop, 
 from the cottage ; yet, before I could get to the 
 spot, thirteen bayonets were in his noble heart " 
 
 He suddenly stopped, " Why how is this?" said he, 
 "Arthur! dear Arthur! I have never seen that 
 smile upon your broad forehead since, dear Arthur ; 
 speak to me are you wounded ? do you feel that it 
 is mortal !" 
 
 Arthur shook his jhead, and a shadow went over 
 his face. 
 
 " What ! so cheerful, Arthur, and yet unharmed 
 afar from the place of sleep, and quiet and deep, 
 deep loveliness and innocence." 
 
 " Are you wounded, brother?" said I, seeing the 
 blood bubble over the top of his tight boots, as he 
 rose in the stirrups, or pressed upon them with the 
 movement of his mare 
 
 " Yes," he replied, smiling " yes, and if it were 
 not to be a tedious affair, I should not be sorry if 
 if it should be seriously or even pardon me, bro 
 ther, but I cannot forbear the truth even mortally ! * 
 
 " It is impious, 1 said I. " Impious, Archibald : 
 whatever is, is right!" 
 
 11 True," he replied, locking his hands, and reel 
 ing a little in the saddle, " true, brother, and God be 
 praised, that in the heat of battle I remembered that, 
 and thought of Him Him, the Everlasting and 
 felt that inexpressible awe and devotedness that I 
 cannot well express it it was, in a measure, as if to 
 rouse one of his angels, I had heard him give Wash-/ 
 ingtoa iu charge." 
 
8EVENTY-SIX. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 I never loved a tree nor flower, 
 But twas the first to fade away. 
 
 ~ But I am strangely altered now ; 
 
 I love no more the bugle s voice, 
 The rushing wave, the plunging prow, 
 The mountain s tempest-clouded brow ; 
 f-- The daring, the exulting flow 
 
 Of all that made me once rejoice ! 
 
 We had now been at Morristown four days : the 
 enemy had fallen back, fold upon fold, coil upon 
 coil, like some vast serpent, whose development 
 had been suddenly checked~"by a furnace. My bro 
 ther sent for me, and desired me to write a letter 
 for him, which, he added, " you are to take to 
 morrow to its destination. The geueral has 
 consented that you, with twenty picked men, shall 
 convey Clinton to Mr. Arnauld s, and stay there 
 for two weeks " 
 
 " But will you not go ? can you not ?" said I, 
 embracing him. 
 
 " No, I cannot ; nor -would I, if I could, ex 
 cept to see my mother. You will say to her all 
 that I could, and I shall give you aline or two." 
 
 "And Arthur, what shall be done with him ? 
 You are too ill to keep up his spirits." 
 
 " You are mistaken : upon a sick bed, or the 
 bed of death, men are apt to become very com 
 panionable. I am better company for Arthur than 
 you. You are too happy, too blessed, and of too 
 steady and serene a heart for one that sorrows 
 like Arthur Rodman. But let us say no more of 
 him ; he will not leave me, he cannot. When will 
 you set out ?" 
 
 My heart beat hurriedly, stopped, beat again, 
 with a sort of whirring motion, like a partridge 
 rising. He smiled ; but, after a moment s pause, 
 added affectionately, " You are a stout-hearted 
 fellow, John ; blood does not appal you, quiet-eyed 
 as you are ; the flash of musketry, the ring of 
 bayonet and bullet, cannot disturb you ; yet, man, 
 there is what 
 
 * Will eat the heart of valour through. 
 
 * You smile to hear me quote poetry at such a 
 moment, but so it is. Beware how you put your- 
 self in the power of woman, no matter who she 
 is, no matter how long you have known her, loved 
 her, or been beloved ; no matter how passionately, 
 never put yourself in her power. But if you 
 should, as youvalueyourimmortalhappiness, your 
 own, your dearest feeling, the concealed and pure, 
 do not let her know it. The first is nearly death ; 
 the latter worse than any death. It is dying of a 
 trodden and scorned heart ; a bruised and bleeding 
 lip ; a cancer of the soul." 
 _ I was unable to reply ; for though, at another 
 time, I should have rallied him upon such a dis 
 play of peevishness and eloquence, because his 
 heart had been roughly visited by the ungentle 
 wind ; yet my faculties had begun to fall down 
 abashed before him, of late, whenever he opened 
 his lips, and I was silent. 
 
 "Give that to our mother," said he, handing 
 me a letter. I opened it, and read as follows : 
 
 " I do not pretend, my beloved mother, to pour 
 any consolation into the widowed heart ; nay, nor 
 do I dare to attempt it. There-ia-*meJBeisg7 HlIcl 
 
 the Father of th 
 
 only one, fitted for that office : the Fi 
 fatherless, the Husband of the widow. 
 
 " But there is comfort for us. Our father died, 
 foot to foot, face to face, with the enemy ; [red 
 with the blood, of men, shed in sacrifice. 
 
 " His hair I cut from his temples with my own 
 hand ; the smell of the powder is yet upoa it ; it 
 was scorched in the blaze, and washed with the 
 heart-blood of the enemy. Remember that. 
 
 * I do not pray the widow to be comforted ; the 
 wife to weep no more ; the mother to forget the 
 desolation that is about her ; but, oh, my mother, 
 let us turn our eyes upward, and lay our forehead 
 in the dust, for whom the lord loveth, he chast- 
 eneth. 
 
 " My father died, preparedly, in the loud 
 thunder of battle. May his children die like 
 him! 
 
 " Farewell ! 
 " My own dear, dear mother, farewell ! 
 
 " ARCHIBALD." 
 
 "The other," said he, as I finished, handing 
 me that which is subjoined, " you are welcome to 
 read." 
 
 I fear, Lucia, thatyou have attributed too much 
 importance to the language of which I spoke, and 
 to the word that I used, with no very scrupulous 
 regard to the consequences. That Clinton spoke 
 lightly, irreverently, disrespectfully of you, is true ; 
 but so would every man, that should speak of you, 
 in my estimation, I mean, unless he spoke of you 
 as something not lawful to be mentioned at all. I 
 do not mean to flatter or deceive you. You know 
 well what my feelings have been. They are 
 changed. I love you now as a sister ; and, as a 
 brother would, parting with his sister, do I now 
 address you. Clinton is dangerously ill ; the army 
 have gone into winter quarters, and here, where 
 there are so few comforts, and none of that atten 
 tion, that, which none but women, and women too 
 that love, devotedly, tenderly, can bestow, if he 
 remain, we may at well bid him farewell for ever, 
 at once. He is deeply troubled aboutyou ; altered, 
 I do believe, essentially, in his habit of thinking. 
 Have I any influence with you ? then let me en 
 treat of you, my dear sister, to forget all that has 
 past, all but your love to him, I mean ; and be to 
 him his nurse and beloved one. Can you ? will 
 you ? No matter what he has been. You love 
 him. No matter what he has done. You love 
 him. All men have their faults ; and, generally, 
 in proportion to their virtues. Remember that, 
 and, whatever of evil you may discover, or imagine^ 
 in his nature, be assured that there is a heroic 
 quality at bottom to counterbalance it. What say 
 you ? you are not vindictive nor are you light of 
 heart, or irresolute. I have warned him not to 
 look for easy terms. He thinks jjthat he knows 
 you^better than I. He does not. He is mistaken. 
 In some points, it is possible that he may ; but 
 for your character, your character, Lucia, there is 
 no human being, not even your own father, that 
 knows it so well as I. Nay, for I would disguise 
 nothing from you ; rash and precipitate as you 
 are, I have prayed him to be prepared for the 
 worst. He smiles, but his fine eyes fill, at the same 
 time, when I tell him, that a reconciliation is by 
 no means certain ; that an everlasting separation 
 is by no means impossible. He does not believe 
 me. He cannot ; for he knows not of what wo 
 men, that love, are capableand you, of all 
 
THE NOVEL NEWSPAPER. 
 
 women. Lucia, had you been my wife, at the 
 bidding of my hand, I know that you would have 
 thrown yourself under the hoofs of a whole squa 
 dron, leaped from a precipice, into a furnace, into 
 the sea. I know it ; you may not believe it ; he 
 cannot, but I do. Yet, I know too, that were your 
 nature roused to all its preternatural display, you 
 would have done the same things, contrary to my 
 bidding, prayers, and tears, and cries. 
 
 * Forgive him, Lucia, forgive him, for my sake, 
 and be happy. For my sake. Am I presumptu 
 ous ? perhaps you may say so, to him, Lucia, 
 while he is sitting by you, his strong arm about 
 your slender waist, your soft voice murmuring upon 
 
 his eye-lids No, no, I am wrong; you 
 
 do not permit such things. He dare not, by 
 Heaven, he dare not embrace your waist, till Hea 
 ven hath bestowed you upon him for ever. Dare 
 he ? tell me, Lucia. If he dare you are lost. 
 Yet what right have I to ask you ? I ! who never 
 dare to put my lips to your hand. I ! who, when 
 you opened your mouth, felt my heart stop, and 
 the room grow dark with the rush of blood to my 
 temples 1 
 
 "Am I presumptuous? tell me as a brother, 
 have I offended you? Tell me I 
 
 " Farewell I would write for ever if it might 
 be ; but no ! you are another s already, in the 
 sight of Heaven and I! Well, well, may you be 
 happy, very happy, sister. 
 
 " Your friend and brother, 
 "ARCHIBALD." 
 
 " P.S. Clinton is the favourite of the camp, 
 and astonished all eyes at the last affair but one. 
 The whole army are loud in praise of his conduct 
 and intrepidity ; it is said that, in the very heat 
 and whirlwind of the fight, he was fall of the same 
 pleasantry that we have seen Nay, I cannot, 
 cannot continue in this strain. It will break my 
 heart. But sister forgive him forgive Clinton, 
 and bless him?" 
 
 "And would you send that?" said I. "Are 
 you aware of the consequences ? Clinton will 
 certainly cut your throat, whether he marry her 
 or not." 
 
 He smiled, and shook his head, with a mournful, 
 gentle seriousness of manner, that was new to me. 
 " That," said he, " will depend, in some measure, 
 upon myself, and I have no particular inclination 
 that way." 
 
 Our horses were now at the door, Clinton in 
 the litter; and, dispatching five of my men in 
 advance, to prepare the family for our reception, 
 we set forward, and at the end of the second day, 
 near sun-set, while the western heaven was running 
 together, like rough gold, and thin, drifting, blood- 
 coloured vapour, we had just come in sight of the 
 house, and were descending a steep hill, when, on 
 lifting up his head for a moment, and throwing 
 his eyes about, he appeared to recollect the place, 
 for he motioned with his hand to stop, and beckon 
 ing to me, I came up to him. 
 
 " It was there," said he, " there, exactly where 
 that horse is passing now, that they first fired 
 upon me. I set off at speed up that hill, but, 
 fiuding nine of the party there, I determined to 
 dash over that elevation in front ; I attempted it, 
 but shot after shot was fired after me, until I 
 preferred making one desperate attempt, sword in 
 hand, to being shot down, like a fat goose, upon 
 a broken gallop. I wheeled, made a dead set at 
 the son-of a-bitch in my rear, unhorsed him, and 
 
 ) actually broke through the line. It was then that 
 I first saw Archibald, and but for him but no, I 
 am not permitted to tell that I have promised 
 not to tell, that he saved my life, and brought 
 down a fellow, at twenty yards, with a pistol ball, 
 at full speed : and I am very scrupulous, very, 
 about my word ! so, if you should ever hear of any 
 such thing, you will do me the justice to remember 
 that I refused to tell you." 
 
 I smiled, and would have replied ; but, just then, 
 a loud bark at my feet made me look down, and 
 there was poor Fidele, a favourite dog of Lucia s, 
 tumbling about the light snow, and yelping like 
 a devil. We had been descried, long before we 
 approached, and found all the family, all that were 
 able to meet us for the first time, ready, with 
 glistening eyes, to meet us at the portico. 
 
 " Where is 1 I would have uttered the name of 
 Clara, but 1 could not. My heart sank in my 
 bosom, and my poor mother threw herself, sobbing 
 violently, into my arms. She had heard the tale. 
 Her manner was enough to convince me of that ; 
 and, when I kissed off the tears from her shut 
 eyes, and felt her strong heart beating against 
 mine I could have fallen upon my face before 
 her, and wept aloud. 
 
 " My dear, dear John!" said a sweetvoice, and 
 Mrs. Arnauld, flushed with beauty and emotion, 
 embraced me, still still there was one absent ; I 
 rushed past them all encountered a man in the 
 passage just took his hand at passing, and felt 
 that I was welcome indeed it was Arnauld him 
 self and ran to where my heart told me Clara 
 was to be found. I entered she attempted to 
 arise from the window ; but she could nut she 
 staggered and fell. I put my lips I did and 
 they thrilled, as if they had touched a coal of fire 
 to her blessed mouth, before she had sufficiently 
 recovered to reprove me. A haughty flash went 
 over her brow, her eyelids fell, a colour, deeper 
 than any crimson, it was a transparent flame, 
 followed ; and then, after looking me in the face 
 for half a minute, she sank gradually upon her 
 knees, and remained there for a minute, in un 
 utterable humility and thankfulness. She arose 
 then, and when I sat down, overpowered by 
 the deep tumult in my own heart, the proud 
 Clara stood by me, and suffered my arm by 
 Heaven she did to encircle her waist, and press 
 her bosom to my forehead as I sat, without any 
 other reproof, than that of laying her hand gently 
 upon my head, and murmuring " I am satisfied! * 
 For the first time I turned pale ; for the first 
 time I remembered her letter. What could she 
 have meant ? I asked her ; but she smiled, and her 
 glistening eyes swam anew. "lam satisfied!" 
 she repeated. "You are returned to me. And 
 you have dared to put your lips to mine ; you are 
 innocent she is innocent." 
 
 She ! who ! who is innocent ?" 
 Lucia." 
 
 Lucia !" I echoed, colouring to the temples, I 
 am sure, and trembling under the touch of her 
 soft hand. 
 
 Her beautiful eyes stopped all at once, her lip 
 quivered a moment, and as if, in spite of all her 
 confidence in me and Lucia, the emotion that I 
 betrayed had been a natural confirmation of al 
 that she feared, her hand gradually, and without 
 design, slid powerless from my forehead, andrested 
 upon my shoulder. 
 I put>ine upon it ; it was cold as death, yet I 
 
felt it beat unstsadily. " Lucia, 1 said I, " dear 
 Clara," recovering my self-possession, and draw 
 ing her more closely to my breast, " speak to me, 
 dearest ; what have I done?" 
 
 It was a long time, a long breathless time, 
 before she could utter a sound, and when she did, 
 for a moment, all the hushed sorrow of her heart 
 came out with it, and she sobbed aloud upon my 
 bosam. And then, as if that were the last, last 
 weakness of which she was ever to be guilty, she 
 released herself, with a firm hand, from my arms, 
 retreated a pace or two, fixed her eyes steadily 
 upon mine, and when she saw them sink, as they 
 did, abashed before hers, would have left me, 
 probably for ever, had I not detained her by 
 violence. 
 
 "What would you?" said she, severely. " Have 
 you any defence ? any ?" 
 
 I was fully sensible now that no time was to be 
 lost ; but how could I speak of what I had seen ? 
 how account for the fact, that Lucia had opened 
 the door, at the first tap how shame on me ! I 
 was so disordered by the beautiful apparition 
 before me, so full of tumult and delight, notwith 
 standing her fearful wildness, that I forbore to 
 urge any defence, willing, Heaven forgive me, to 
 prolong the enjoyment a while, and a little pro 
 voked too (though fluttered by her jealousy), at 
 the imperious severity of her bearing. 
 
 Would you believe it. this artificial embarrass 
 ment of mine continued so long, that I could not 
 open my lips at last, and stood before her, like a 
 guilty creature; nay, when she moved away from 
 me, I had neither the power to arrest nor detain 
 her, with hand, or voice, or suppl cation. 
 
 Nay, she was gone, absolutely gone, before T 
 was sufficiently master of myself, to be sensible of 
 what had happened ; and when I was, it was with 
 a feeling of pettishness, as if I had been ill- 
 treated; and there mingled with it immediately 
 the ancient leaven of my nature, and I struck my 
 hands together, and swore, as I had ten years 
 before, to bring down her proud spirit to the dust. 
 
 How long I stood so I know not ; but I know 
 well, that 1 had matured my plan, before I stirred, 
 or breathed ; and felt sure that, as my innocence 
 was in my own keeping, the proof of it always at 
 hand, and that, as I could restore myself whenever 
 I pleased, to the place that I might appear to have 
 lost in her affection, by a single word, I How 
 long I might have continued in the deep reverie 
 that followed, I know not, had I not heard a 
 soft foot passing over the apartment on the tip 
 toe, in the further end of it, where it was so dim, 
 with the twilight lustre of evening, that a body 
 would have appeared like a spirit. 
 
 I knew the step ; every pause, every foot-fall, 
 every accent ; and was already planning a tri 
 umphant expression of my countenance for the 
 haughty girl, when she stopped, and I could hear 
 her breathe, as if her heart were full. I stood 
 more erect, without turning about or appearing to 
 heed her approach 
 
 Gracious Heaven ! how readily the heart may be 
 deceived. 
 
 The apparition a beautiful little creature, with 
 hair the colour of raw silk, very light blue eyes, 
 dancing in tears was not Lucia Arnauld 1 O, 
 no 
 
 I caught my breath, and she, overcome with 
 confusion, and trembling nevertheless, addressed 
 me after the following fashion : 
 
 SEVENTY-SIX. 53 
 
 " I pray you, Mr. Rodman I bless me ! 
 don t look at me so you terrify me I pray you 
 I pshaw! I never could make a set speech in 
 all my life, except to the giddy creatures about 
 me ; I have something to tell you I know you; 
 knew you before I came here ; have wept for you 
 doa t let that flatter you I ve wept for many 
 men before, and blushed for hundreds, and laughed 
 at thousands, so as I was a saying I ve yes . 
 I ve wept about you, not for you did I say for 
 you Lord ! how you stare at a fellow! " 
 
 In truth I did stnre at her ; her rogu sh little 
 face, parted lips, and spirited eyes; her very at 
 titude, was so full of comical expression, the very 
 manner in which her pretty little foot, with a 
 broad paste buckle, rested in advance, as she leant 
 toward me, was full of coquetry, frolic, and ex 
 pression. 
 
 " There s my hand," said she, " take it if you 
 dare. You are very wicked, I see you are ; any 
 body might know it by your face ; now tell me, 
 are you an honest man ?" 
 
 In spite of myself, I fell into her humour 
 " Upon my honour I am!" said I, and took her 
 hand, and would have carried it to my lips ; but 
 she caught it away, with a look of angry surprise, 
 and measured me from top to toe, like an insulted 
 princess. 
 
 " Well, well (shrugging her shoulders), O ! the 
 taste of some people, and then ! the impudence of 
 others, a melancholy, desolate creature ha! ha! 
 ha ! ha ! " 
 
 She would have left me, but I detained her ; 
 and she stood wiping her hand where I had 
 touched it, as if a snake had crawled over it ; her 
 red lip agitated like a transparent rose leaf, with 
 an insect under it. 
 
 " Sir, you are not the man that I expected to 
 find you ; you never deserved such a blessed crea 
 ture ; it would be a sin and a shame to tell you 
 but my heart will burst, and you know it, I see 
 it plainly, by your saucy eyes, if I don t tell you, 
 I I are you sure that you are the same Arthur 
 that-" 
 
 I grew serious immediately, aware of some un 
 accountable mistake. 
 
 " O yes! that now, that will do! Look so, 
 till I have told you all about it ; and if your 
 wicked heart don t leap out of your body, you 
 are, I won t say what ; I haven t mentioned your 
 name since I ve been here I was afraid to 
 asked no questions waited till 1 could see you ; 
 but how came she to fancy you you a melancholy 
 creature ! pho, pho ! you are ready to laugh in my 
 face at this moment, arn t you?" 
 
 " Yes," I replied, nodding. 
 
 " How long do you remain here?" said she. 
 " Two or three days, perhaps. But stop for 
 whom do you talce me ?" 
 
 " For whom do I take you ? a pretty question 
 for Arthur Rodman, the talk of the whole country, 
 the lover of 
 
 " I cannot hear you another moment," I re 
 plied ; "I am not Arthur Rodman." 
 
 " Not Arthur Rodman!" she cried, turning 
 deadly pale, " pray, (recovering herself, and 
 curtseying) who the devil are you? 1 
 
 " Jonathan Oadley, etherwise John. 1 She 
 started back three paces, and dropped another 
 profound curtsey. 
 
 " And who the devil are you?" said I. 
 
 " Ellen Sampson, otherwise Nell," she replied. 
 
54 
 
 THB NOVEL NEWSPAPER* 
 
 I gazed at her with a strange feeling ofasto 
 mshment, delight, and terror ; might not she be 
 mad? 
 
 The troubled beauty of her pale blue eyes, their 
 delirious brightness, the intensely vivid red of her 
 lips, just parting playfully, her white teeth glit 
 tering within them, like like by Heaven there 
 never was any thing so white, as they appeared to 
 me, for a moment, contrasted with the gushing 
 crimson of her swollen lips, the ethereal, eager 
 delicacy of her attitude. Really she stood like 
 some creature of the bright element, just emerg 
 ing for a moment, upon the tranced eyes of some 
 one, that had been gazing, till he was blinded, 
 upon the setting sun. 
 
 " Ellen, 1 said I, " I" 
 
 " Upon my word ! you don t breathe often, T 
 imagine ; hush, hush, not another step. I am 
 glad to find that you are not Arthur Rodman, 
 because I could not, giddy as I am, bear to see " 
 (swinging her arms, and clapping her little hands 
 before and behind her, while her tongue ran as 
 fast as she could speak, and her bright hair 
 danced like a quivering halo about her head at 
 every swin?, and the tears ran out of her eyes full 
 gallop, at the same moment), " bear to see a 
 creature like him, after such a deplorable a 
 
 a O, hang it, 1 can t talk about it; but if 
 
 Arthur Rodman had kissed rny hand, he never 
 should have heard another syllable of the mat 
 ter" 
 
 " I suppose not," said I, laughing, attempting 
 to catch her arm. 
 
 " Hands off Porapey Arthur Rodman, I said, 
 not Jonathan Oadley ; what a name ! Lord, I 
 should die a haven t you some other name? 
 what do they call you, when they are not laughing 
 at you, nor angry, nor " 
 
 " John" 
 
 " Well then, John. Do you love Arthur?" 
 
 II Of a truth," said I. 
 
 " I believe you," she cried, skipping about, 
 and looking at her delicate feet all the time, as 
 if they belonged to any body but herself ; " let me 
 see you cut a pigeon wing pho, pho, in this 
 way, I mean take care why, John, that s your 
 name, you know you dance like a man a-skait- 
 ing." 
 
 All this while she was practising her steps 
 before me, just as if we had been brought up 
 together all our lives ; but she suddenly stopped, 
 tripped up to me, stood a moment on tip-toe, 
 about a foot from my face, staring me in the eyes. 
 
 " I know what you are thinking now, just as 
 well, as well as if 1 were in your own heart 
 mind ! you think T am a fool, I am not," laying 
 it down with her little fore-finger very emphati 
 cally, " I am not. You think me crazy. You 
 are mistaken. What did they bring me here for ? 
 to mope in the corner, to kill spiders, pinch the 
 girls, and cry my eyes out ? Stop, come here ; 
 there is somebody listening, now mind me " 
 
 My heart fluttered again; I remembered, all at 
 Once, how Clara had left me, and I could have wept 
 with shame and vexation. 
 
 " I have something to tell you about Arthur; 
 nobody knows it but myself; you shall know it, if 
 you ll be good so, when shall I see you again ; 
 as you live don t disappoint me hush, hush." 
 
 " To-morrow evening, at the same hour, in the 
 same place," said I, hardly knowing what I had 
 said. 
 
 " Bye new, 1 she replied, " jye, John," shaking 
 her hand with affected awkwardness, like a fat 
 infant, " day-day 1" 
 
 She had been gone ten minutes, before I re 
 covered my senses ; and when I did, there was 
 a strange sensation at my heart that I had never 
 experienced before a restless, dissatisfied, aching 
 spirit, I determined to pursue Clara; but it was 
 already so dark, that I could not, and I descended 
 Merciful Heaven! I had forgotten my own 
 mother. Oh, shame on the profligate heart of 
 her son a grey- haired mother, widowed and 
 broken of heart, had been forgotten by her first 
 born. I ran to her. I found her, troubled with 
 my arrival, and expecting me, in a remote apart 
 ment, hovering over a dim fire, like something 
 unearthly, her withered hands pressed upon her 
 temples, and her eyes leoking through her dis 
 turbed hair, as if they had been turned to stone. 
 " Mother, dear mother !" I cried, throwing my 
 self upon her neck. 
 
 She suffered my embrace, without any apparent 
 emotion ; and then put me aside, and stood her 
 stately form, once eminent for beauty aad stature, 
 unbowed, unbent, with the pressure of all her 
 woes and rivetted her old eyes upon the dark 
 entry, which could be seen through the door that 
 I left open, as if she expected some other what 
 other I know not to follow me. 
 
 I was afraid to interrupt her, and, after a 
 moment, in which she stood, like a priestess 
 about to receive some preternatural augmentation 
 of power she shook her head mournfully, turned 
 to me, bared my forehead with both hauds, looked 
 into my eyes for a moment, and then, gradually, 
 her face wrought up to such unutterable horror, 
 the blood flashing over her forehead, and the light 
 streaming from her eyes that I could not endure 
 it I covered my face with my hands, and shook 
 from head to foot. 
 
 " Ay, shake, shake!" she cried " the tree 
 was uptorn, the old man shattered, and, and, oh I 
 my dear, dear bey (falling upon my bosom and 
 sobbing like a child)- where have you been? I 
 did not know you for a while ; where is father ? 
 some how or other, my son, I have not remem 
 bered of late that ah ! Archibald?" 
 
 I started, as if Archibald himself had stood 
 before me. It was Lucia but O, how altered ! 
 
 1 went .to her, and took her hand. God bless 
 heFTTJod " for ever "bless her! She was a minis 
 tering angel to my poor old mother, kind to her 
 all the day long, watching by her, and nursing 
 her, while her own heart ws breaking, till hex- 
 beauty had waned, and her wonderful eyes were 
 dim with the death dew. 
 
 I was unable to speak, and she then bore the 
 silver cup to my mother, holding upon my hand, 
 as upon that of her last friend. 
 
 "Poor dear Lucia," said my mother, putting 
 her old arms about her white glittering neck 
 
 he will never return." 
 
 Lucia shuddered; but I I immediately ex 
 claimed, "Do not believe her, Lucia; he will 
 return, he has returned, he is here at this 
 moment." I thought only of Clinton. 
 
 Madman that I was! my mother s arms 
 dropped, and she stood for a moment, as if the 
 spectre of my father had started up, all at once, 
 aefore her. 
 
 And Lucia O, she shut her eyes, and pressed 
 her two hands upon her heart, as if it were 
 
SEVENTY-SIX. 
 
 56 
 
 burstingjust whispering, so audibly that I could 
 rarely hear the words : 
 
 " Heaven forbid O, heaven forbid! here, 
 Archibald ! O, heaTen forbid." 
 
 It was some minutes before I could command 
 myself sufficiently to prepare her for the arrival 
 of Clinton, after having undeceived her, but she 
 cut ine short at once, with a sweet, mournful 
 smile her breast heaving at the same moment 
 piteously, and, as if the swell would never, never 
 subside, " I saw your brother," said she, firmly. 
 
 I stood, holding her hands, but struck by the 
 strange solemnity of her manner, as she said this, 
 I dropped them "What do you mean, Lucia?" 
 I said, leading her to a seat. 
 
 Ske sat dowa, my mother on the one side of 
 her, watching every emotion of her pale, beautiful 
 face, hs if for life and death, while I sat listening 
 like one disturbed in his own senses. 
 
 " I always lock my room ef late," said she, 
 (faltering and averting her eyes) "I locked it 
 last evening. About this time, or about an hour 
 before, 1 returned, and found it locked yet the 
 shape of a man was sitting -at the further window, 
 with his face leaning upon his hand. I could not 
 be mistaken ; it was Archibald I know not what 
 followed I attempted to stagger to him, but a 
 sudden sickness of the heart, giddiness and blind 
 ness followed, I ah that s Ellen s voice 
 another time, my friend I am very sad, very 
 heavy at the heart, another time dear mother, 
 what can I do for you?" 
 
 I was yet unwilling to leave to another, a duty 
 so perilous as mine that of announcing the 
 arrival of Clinton, wounded, perhap? mortally, 
 under the same roof of this passionate girl ; and 
 had revolved, again and again, a hundred methods 
 of doing it, without startling her too abruptly, 
 asking myself how they had kept it a secret from 
 her aloae ? and waiting to hear her mention his 
 Q ime. But we were interrupted 
 
 " Colonel Clinton will not lie down he swears 
 he will not, child, till you run to him," sairf Ellen 
 Sampson, skipping in. 
 
 Lucia arose calmly, and said, " Then will I go to 
 him. Miss Sampson, Mr. Oadley." 
 
 I was amazed and struck at her tone. Where 
 was that inward depth, that impassioned music, 
 that, to have heard once, would set your heart 
 thrilling the very vibration of which, upon the 
 ear, convinced you, with a speed like electricity, 
 that she who spoke, loved and loved desperately 
 where was it now ? My eyes filled before I knew 
 it, and when she put back her raven tresses, and 
 departed, with the air of something regal, in 
 sorrow; and, I may as well speak it, for so it 
 appeared to me, in humiliation I did involuntary 
 homage to her, by bowing my body, and almost 
 touching my forehead to the floor. 
 
 They departed and my dear mother s eyes, 
 were already heavy. She kissed me affectionately 
 and putting her head upon the pillow, slept, as 
 she sat, leaning against the bed while I stood 
 ever her. 
 
 The supper bell rang, and in following the sound, 
 I encountered, successively, a little lame old man, 
 a savage- looking boy, Mr. Arnauld, a stranger, 
 who was afterwards a source of great comfort to 
 me, Mrs. Arnauld, and all but Clara. 
 
 " She will not appear," said I, to myself, " she 
 would lose her self-possession ; she knows it, and 
 dare not trust herself." How little I knew her* 
 
 Before we were seated, she entered the room, with 
 a firm step, a little paler, I thought, than usual ; 
 but very firm, as if nothing had happened. 
 
 I observed that all eyes were upon us, and I 
 faltered out her name, bowing. She returned it. 
 
 " Why howisthis ?" said her mother, colouring, 
 it I > -v\r e have already met," said Clara, 
 endeavouring to smile, but carefully avoiding to 
 meet my eyes. 
 
 It soon came to my share ; but why tell such 
 things 1 our supper was comfortless, and I I was 
 wretched, yet stung to the quick, angry with my 
 self, and provoked at the composure of Clara. 
 
 My children, these were trifles only ; but be 
 ware of trifles. A light blow, the lightest, may 
 render a priceless jewel of less value than the 
 dust beneath your feet. To them that love, little 
 matters are important important ones, little. 
 Hearts that could bear to be torn asunder by 
 death, smitten with palsy, when they had grown 
 together, bruised and trodden on, without bleeding, 
 will madden at the petty exasperations of life ; 
 a little neglect, a little uiikindnes* will be death, 
 because, they reason wisely, a little unkindness is 
 the failure of only a little kindness, and who can 
 pardon the omission to do, what may be done 
 with so little trouble ? It is these little things 
 which show most directly the alienation, habitual 
 alienation, and antipathy of the heart. Remember 
 my words. And remember my story. Tis the 
 last drop^ that runs over ; the ast breath that 
 starts the ship ; the last word that breaks the 
 heart. 
 
 After supper we collected all with my dear 
 mother, around a blazing fire. Even Clinton was 
 trundled out, perilous as it would seem, and sat 
 as near as might be to Lucia. 
 
 Her lashes were wet, and he would have held 
 her hand, as he leaned his noble face upon the 
 hiijh cushion at his side pale as that of a dead 
 man, but with a beautiful timidity, as he thought, 
 for I could see his fine eyes sparkle through the 
 half-shut lashes though I thought it another and 
 more awful feeling. She withdrew her hand 
 twice from his, without looking him in the face; 
 and, each time, a dark convulsion passed over the 
 lower part of her face, like a spasm perhaps a 
 contraction of the heart. 
 
 The idiot boy, for so he appeared to me, sat 
 on a low stool in the very corner ; his wolfish eyes, 
 blood-shot and wandering, incessantly glancing 
 about, like those of some wild animal at the sight 
 of fire. He sat bent nearly double -licking his 
 knuckles continually with his enormous tongue ; 
 and his sprawling hands, and red wrist which, 
 in consequence of his shirt sleeves, and the position 
 in which he sat, at times holding upon his knees, 
 and rocking to and fro all the while, appeared 
 more like the claws of some monster, than the 
 hands of a boy. His teeth were very large, and 
 of a dazzling whiteness, so that, when he smiled- 
 which was very rarely, or spoke, which was still 
 more rare, there was something very frightful in 
 his appearance. Had such a creature started 
 out suddenly upon me in a lone wood, I should 
 have shot him dead upon the spot, without asking 
 any question, I am sure; and even now, when I 
 saw him, poutinc his dark lips, and licking them, 
 as he looked at Clara and Lucia by turns, I could 
 not forbear shuddering, and, with a curdling 
 horror and heat of my blood, recalling the story of 
 baboons and ourang outangs, who had carried off 
 
56 
 
 TUB NOVEL NEWSPAPER. 
 
 the planters women even to the top of inacces 
 sible rocks and trees. Nay, though my nature is 
 net blood-thirsty and the sight of human blood, 
 at any time, will give me, to this day, a convulsive 
 start, and sickness like death yet, I really felt 
 uneasy in the presence of this obscene and abom 
 inable shape ; and wanted to strangle him. 
 
 His sister saw me watching him, and probably 
 read the expression of my countenance, for she 
 coloured rivetted her pretty eyes upon me, and 
 shook her head, saying audibly "you are mis. 
 taken." 
 
 I started coloured, I suppose, and fell into 
 another reverie. 
 
 Near her, with his lanae leg swathed in red 
 flannel, and lying on a cushion before him, sat her 
 father, Mr. Amos David Sampson his sharp, 
 pimpled face looking as if the blood were about to 
 start through it hij little gooseberry eyes shining 
 sideways, through lashes like a wisp of hay, at 
 every speaker in succession; and his lips moving, 
 all the while, as if he were gnawing the inside of 
 them a snappish, disagreeable old gentleman as 
 one could desire to meet with so I thought. 
 
 " You are mistaken, said the same voice 
 again. And I lifted my eyes, in some confusion, 
 I confess, for it had not occurred to me that, as I 
 sat, with my hand over my face, under pretence of 
 shading it from the great lamp just over my head, 
 studying all the faces about me, that another eye 
 was studying mine, if not my heart also, at the 
 same moment with unsparing accuracy too. 
 
 I was in the middle 0f the circle, leaning upon a 
 heavy round mahogany table, which creaked aloud 
 at every movement. 
 
 Near me, bolt upright, in a suit of thunder and 
 lightning, as it was called a material of domestic 
 manufacture, of different colours, and woven 
 clouded, then much in use with along red waist 
 coat, and a cocked hat, too small for his head, 
 which, it was said, he had worn night and day for 
 half a century sat a tall, thin gentleman, all legs 
 and arms, it appeared to me who, as 1 afterwards 
 observed, had the pleasantest way in the world of 
 tacking his thoughts together, and re- compounding 
 all the disordered fragments that others happened 
 to throw away with an infinite variety, like a 
 kaleidoscope without ever turning his head 
 smiling, or winking. His eyes were rivetted upon 
 a picture that hung over the fire-place, which, I. 
 was told he had been in the habit of studying, with 
 precisely the same expression, for a week at a 
 time (his visit never lasting more than a week) 
 during nearly sixteen years. He was an ancient 
 friend of the family and had been so long accus 
 tomed to eating, what he called his Christmas 
 dinner, at Mr. Arnauld s, that he began to regard 
 it as a sort of annuity, to be paid when wanted ; 
 and it was therefore no uncommon thing for him 
 to stalk into the room, in the middle of the dog 
 days, without stirring a muscle, and announce 
 his intention of eating his Christmas dinner with 
 them, which meant boarding with them for a 
 week or ten days. I had been prepared for his 
 manner but no preparation could have prevented 
 me from feeling surprise. He talked all the while, 
 like a man in his sleep or one conversing with 
 spirits, always in the same tone, without emphasis, 
 accent, or modulation; and to the last hour of his 
 visit, he could not have told the subject of that 
 very picture, upon which he had gazed so long 
 nay, when it was turned once, with the backside 
 
 out (in consequence of a death in the family), 
 he never appeared to observe the change yet, 
 while studying it, his eyes would wander from one 
 side to the other, and involuntarily adopt the ex 
 pression of them that were painted, so that a 
 stranger would take him to be the profi U - .dest of 
 connoisseurs. 
 
 "You are mistaken!" said the same voice. I 
 almost started from my seat. How could I be 
 mistaken ? was it not evident that she was mad, 
 her brother a fool, and a beast evil as evil could 
 be ; her father a most choleric, wicked old fellow, 
 and Dr. Hastings a learned, pedantic, disordered 
 simpleton ? such were my convictions. But I 
 will try to give you, as well as I can remember ir, 
 a part of our conversation on that evening, which 
 I shall never forget, and leave you to judge for 
 yourselves. To save the constant repetition of 
 /said he, and said she 1 shall give the names at 
 .^fir.st of each speaker, as in a dialogue. 
 
 Arnauld (turning slowly about, so as to front 
 my face, and occasionally watch the change in 
 that of Clinton) "Well, young man, you have 
 seen powder burnt seriously again? what will be 
 the effect, think you?" 
 
 Mr. Sampson. "Of what? seeing powder 
 burnt? make the young dogs too saucy no living 
 with t em, the rascals- -make my house too hot 
 for them." 
 
 Young Nick showed his teeth, and rubbed his 
 hands, when his father said this. 
 
 Mrs. Arnauld. " O, my dear Mr. Sampson, 
 caro amico too severe, too severe indeed these 
 young men ought to be admired, welcomed every 
 where; it is they that protect our daughters, 
 and " 
 
 Mr. Sampson. "Humph." 
 Mrs. Arnauld. " In short, Mr. Sampson, but 
 for them ; O, you are much too severe, Itaucoup^ 
 bcaucoup" (pronouncing the final consonant), 
 while the husband bit his lips, Lucia dropt her eye 
 lids, and I saw my mother s lips move, as if she 
 were trying to repeat the word to herself. 
 
 "The battle of Trenton, battle of Princeton 
 ancora una volla, only think ; while all the young 
 men of the country were flying away from their 
 deliverer, Washington, the great le grand (pro 
 nouncing it Ice grand] as we call him abroad ; and 
 you are all about yo ur fire-side, bonvivyans our 
 young men, sword in hand, nay, our old men. fell 
 upon the enemy ; God bless me ! I beg ten thou 
 sand pardons," running to my mother, who had 
 fallen back in the chair, without motion. 
 
 Nell. "This would be well enough, Aunt, 
 mighty well; but, now and then, some worsted 
 colonel 1 (her brother s teeth chattered, and he 
 peered through his black hair at the colonel, and 
 chuckled, good-naturedly, I confess ; but, curse his 
 teeth, they made my blood run cold I could think 
 of nothing but a young Cannibal, tearing human 
 flesh), "a teasing lieutenant, comes down upon us 
 peaceable creatures, and carries all before him." 
 
 Mrs. Arnauld. " By a koop dec mane, cappo di 
 diKiierazzione . 
 
 Mr. Arnauld. "Coup-de-main, my dear, if 
 wholesome English won t do," (shifting his posi 
 tion), " dispcratsione." 
 
 Nell. "Aunt, did you ever learn French, or 
 Italian?" 
 
 Lucia. "Cousin!" 
 
 Clara. (Turning her eyes full upon her, in 
 silence.) "My mother, Ellen, is pray dear Ellen, 
 
what think you of a sleigh ride ? to-morrow after 
 noon." 
 
 Ellen. " Afternoon! what time ?" 
 
 Lucia. " Toward evening. 1 
 
 Ellen. " O, yes," clapping her hands ; O yes ! 
 of all things in this world, a sleigh ride ; O, no, 
 no, no! bless me, I can t I m engaged. 
 
 Mr. Sampson. " The devil you are ! to whom." 
 
 Young Nick. "To that chap, 1 (nodding at 
 me). 
 
 Mr. Arnauld turned, and looked at the boy, and 
 then at me, and then at Ellen, who coloured all 
 over. 
 
 Here Doctor Hastings began to mutter to 
 himself, gradually raising his voice at intervals, 
 until it became sufficiently audible for us to dis 
 tinguish the words, " odd fish, battle like that! 
 poor creature! Caro amico ; wounded, very good j 
 no, no, couldn t bear it; engaged! bless me, so 
 young very bloody, very." 
 
 Arnauld. " Gentlemen, his deep mellow voice 
 coming, as it were, from the most inward place of 
 his whole heart, while it fell, drop after drop, like 
 molten iron upon my own and, if I might judge 
 by the compressed lips of Clinton, whose facewas 
 in shadow into his also, while it was evident that 
 Mr. Arnauld did not wish to be understood by 
 othersr 
 
 - -mao. who goes out to fight the 
 
 battles of his country loaded down with prayer 
 and benediction, he who goes out to bare his bosom 
 to the bayonet and bullet, should have a clear 
 heart as well as a stout one. Woe to him, woe to 
 EmiT if the wail of innocence- be ringing in his 
 ears ; if the curse of the widow hath fallen upon 
 his heart ; and woe to him, ten thousand times 
 over, if the hand of a brother or a father be ever 
 placed upon the hilt. There are men not many, 
 it is to be hoped, beautiful as Apollo, their hearts 
 breaking out, as it would seem, at every word that 
 they utter ; men that, trespassing rudely upon the 
 innocent and lovely, the generous and noble, would 
 dare oh, there have been such men ; and there 
 may be more of them, whose word is death, whose 
 approach is dishonour ; men that would dare, in 
 the wanton revelry of their spirit, to tread upon 
 naked hearts, yes, drive their very horses over the 
 torn bosoms and trodden beauty of woman, that 
 they might have it to tell of, when they hadescaped 
 the wrath of the abused father ; or " 
 
 I dared not look up ; there was a mortal silence, 
 but soaiebody, I felt sure, was dying near me ; and 
 when I turned, I saw the face of Lucia buried in 
 Clara s lap ; one hand held in Clinton s, as if to 
 assure him that he had no share in this ; his eyes 
 flashing fire ; and himself trying, in vain, to arise 
 and walk out of the room, as if to order his horse. 
 Poor Mrs. Arnauld, there, sat like one struck with 
 thunder, at the moment of song and dance, en 
 treating him, almost on her knees, not to move ; 
 the idiot boy s eyes glistening with tears, and his 
 kp writhing ; his father quivering all over like a 
 stul-horse reined in too long, while the trumpet 
 was blowing. Clara sitting upright, pale as 
 d>ath -- 
 
 The silence that followed was unbroken, till, in a 
 soft, distant voice, as if to change the conversa 
 tion, Ellen demanded, if any of the company had 
 ever heard of a man in the neighbourhood, by the 
 name of Frederick Crawford? 
 
 The answer was general and immediate but 
 the change of expression in the face of Arnauld 
 
 SEVENTY-SIX. 57 
 
 was instantaneous and terrible. He turned his 
 searching eyes upon Ellen ; but either she had o 
 meaning in the question, or she had a wonderful 
 self-command, for her countenance did not change 
 in the least ; but his ! heaven and earth ! the 
 sweat burst oat upon his forehead ; his dark, lu 
 minous eyes were suddenly quenched, as if ia 
 blood ; and several times he attempted to put his 
 hands to his throat, while gasping for breath, but 
 they fell, several times, powerless, into his lap 
 with every symptom of a fit. 
 
 His wife was inconceivably terrified ; and a 
 general bustle took place, till he quelled it, sternly, 
 by asking Eilen, if she knew aught of Crawford? 
 
 " Yes," she replied, innocently, "yes, uncle, I 
 know that he is a scoundrel." 
 
 Arnauld s face became livid, but he added, " do 
 you know him ; who he is, or what ?" 
 
 " Who he is !" answered Ellen, her face chang. 
 ing, all at once, to horror, as she caught his eyes, 
 and her lips turning white, while she came near 
 him, and said, "Yes, uncle, I do know him, 
 now." 
 
 Clara, I observed, was writing, and the next 
 moment, with a sweet, noble composure, she 
 handed a slip of paper to me, on which was written 
 as follows : 
 
 " Treat me as usual. My father knows nothing, 
 but he is all awake. Do not stay long. Farewell ! 
 I have given you an opportunity. I shall never 
 give youano her. You could not deny it. I respect 
 your honesty." 
 
 I looked at her, but it was impossible to catch 
 her eye ; and Clinton, just then, put his hand into 
 mine, giving it a fervent pressure " Let us go," 
 said he. 
 
 "Yes," I replied, "with all my heart ; the 
 sooner the better." 
 
 " What means this, young men ?" said Arnauld. 
 " Beware how you trifle with an old man. Do not 
 be rash. Things done in a breath, a whole life 
 has been too little to atone for. 
 
 " Clinton !" said Lucia, rising, with a beautiful 
 undauntedness, and standing before him, " I see 
 by your eyes what you meditate. You are wrong. 
 If you have any regard for us, for me for me, I 
 entreat you to stay." The mother joined in the 
 persuasion, and Clara and Ellen. 
 
 " And you," said Clara to me, "You have been 
 very dear to us." 
 
 " Have been, 1 said I, in alow voice, " since when, 
 Clara?" She trembled in replying 
 
 " You will not surely return till you are wanted 
 in camp!" 
 
 There was an accent of kindness affectionate ea- 
 treaty in her voice, that almost brought tears into 
 my eyes ; but a temper, a new temper, had uprisen 
 in my heart, stubborn as death, implacable as hell, 
 one that I never had dr. a:nt of, and I replied 
 
 " I shall go to-morrow at day-break." 
 
 " At day-break," said Ellen, running up to me ; 
 " you are a pretty fellow ! is this the way vou keep 
 your promise? I "spose you ll come back again by 
 sunset." 
 
 Clara, before she knew it, glanced at me, and then 
 at Ellen, as if doubting the evidence of her own 
 senses ; but she disdained to speak, and I was far too 
 haughty to explain. 
 
 I turned to go, but Mr. Arnauld interfered ; " My 
 friends," said he, with great solemnity, " what thi 
 meaning of all this affair is, I cannot pretend to 
 imagine. But I am jealous of appearances. Sleep 
 
58 
 
 THB NOVEL NEWSPAPER. 
 
 this night quietly under my roof, and go away to 
 morrow, with God s blessing upon your head. What 
 ever happen, I will never pursue, nor molest, nor 
 thwart you. He hath taught me humility and for 
 bearance. But go to night to.night, Clinton to 
 night, Oadley,and at the risk even of his displeasure 
 I will pursue you, till I am at the bottom of the 
 whole, yea, to the furthermost extremities of the 
 earth, and then, if there be aught that a lather could 
 not bear to see or hear, that father s blood you shall be 
 wet with, or he shall wash his hands in that of your 
 hearts." 
 
 ** Let us go," said Clinton, composedly. 
 "No mercy, Clinton, no mercy !" cried the dis 
 tracted Lucia, falling upon her knees before him 
 " Oh, do not go." 
 
 "Is there any hope? 1 said Clinton, tenderly 
 putting his hand upon her shoulder, while her father 
 stood, as if irresolute whether to trample her down 
 upon the spot, and complete her degradation, or to 
 uplift her, and curse him to his heart. 
 " Any, for the man that you have loved? 1 
 "None," said Lucia, recovering herself, and stand 
 ing up, while her sweet voice came, like an echo 
 issuing from her heart. " Before you came to me 
 you knew it. You pretended to know me no, Clin 
 ton, no ! there is no hope ; I cannot deceive you. I 
 have loved you ; I love you no longer, but I cannot 
 
 hate you ; I cannot hate the man that 
 
 Clinton 1 look me in the face, do not deceive your- 
 self; there is no hope for you, not even that which 
 now thrills at the bottom of your heart. Remember, 
 remember ! nothing that can happen will bring me 
 back to love Are you a man? Forget me. 
 
 Are you a man ? Do not leave this house in anger. 
 I appeal to your heart. You have done that that. 
 for which there is no reparation; Heaven forgive you. 
 I do forgive you ! (putting her hand in his). From 
 my soul, I forgive you, and pity you. You have 
 done that do not leave us in anger. Remember 
 our love. * 
 
 "Mr. Arnauld," said Clinton, rending away the 
 cloth from his bosom, his eyes gushing out, for the 
 first time in all his life, with unutterable love, and 
 tenderness, while he leaned against the high chair. 
 " Strike ! drive your sword through my heart up 
 to the hilt; I deserve it; I 
 
 " Clinton !" said Lucia, dropping her arms- 
 He saw her eyes, bowed, turned away his face, 
 aud buried it in his hands. 
 
 " I cannot go to-night, Oadley ; I cannot, Clara 
 I looked at her, and half extended my hand, but 
 there was no correspondent motion in her; and my 
 countenance darkened, particularly when I heard 
 her say to her sister " Lucia will not want for con 
 solation ; where hearts are readily won or lost It 
 was bitterly said, and alluded, I knew, to the unhappy 
 error in. which she was, respecting the night inter- 
 View. 
 
 " Before you go," said Ellen, looking srtangely 
 serious for awhile " I would say a word to you 
 father, shall I go into the dark entry with him ?" 
 
 " Certainly, Nell ; he will be more hurt, by a do 
 zen, than you coxcomb!" 
 
 She led me out, and requested me (giving me a 
 card), when I went to Philadelphia, to inquire at a 
 house in Sixth-street, for a person, where I would 
 hear of something to my advantage. 
 
 " Can I trust to you ?" said I : " your countenance 
 is full of mischief." 
 
 " To me ! * said she ; facing to the light, when I 
 found it all in tears. 
 
 I will trust to that," I exclaimed" farewell;" 
 
 1 You shajl first go in and bid farewell, and sit an 
 hour with them ; it is early." 
 
 I consented; and though our first conversation 
 as very embarrassing and the latter part restrained 
 and startling, yet it was full of significance, passion, 
 and deep feeling every word told. 
 
 The chattering of the boy awoke me from a re- 
 erie, and I found him listening with evident de 
 light, and a good-humoured expression, to Dr. 
 Hustings, in which delight even his father appeared 
 to participate, with a pleasantry of eye, that led me 
 to distrust the suddenness of my first judgment. 
 
 The doctor preserved, precisely, the same attitude 
 now that he first sat down in ; his long legs sprawled 
 out at their utmost length, nearly divided that part 
 of the room from the rest, and though each of us had 
 stumbled over them in turn, vet the doctor appeared 
 as insensible of all that had happened, as if they 
 were none of his, and he had been sleeping in a mill, 
 for he woke not till the noise stopped, and then fora 
 moment he would start, look a little askew, us if all 
 were not right ; and then, as if right or wrong, it 
 was no matter of his, would relapse again into the 
 same audible reverie, in somewhat after this fashion : 
 
 "Odds fish! up to the hilt; poor creature, poor 
 creature ! if men could only content themselves with" 
 (here his voice died entirely away, and he pursued 
 the question and finished the sentence in his own 
 mind) "odds fish ! women will have them; odds 
 fish, not go to-night; forbearance! good; hand 
 grenade, lighted in a powder magazine set ; odds 
 fish ! what a talking ; always said, that drift wood ; 
 very cold, very cold indeed. Christmas. Pho,nou- 
 sence. Not so, not so sir, that marble ! (the chim 
 ney-piece was a beautiful marble, the colours rushing 
 together,) fire, metals, all in fusion see it, hear it 
 I can assure you, that, having prepared the precipi 
 tate and Lord I lord ! what a profligate ; worsted 
 colonels ! excellent, that horse no, poh, poh, no 
 split in the off shoulder, split? split peas, split wood, 
 split heads, split! split, same word, goodnight : bless 
 me, all alone ! 
 
 As he concluded this soliloquy, he turned his 
 head to the left, where the room was all vacant and 
 desolate ; and he supposed, it is probable, that he 
 had been left alone, nor would he have soon disco 
 vered the mistake, had not the boy turned Ms chair 
 round, while he kept on with his soliloquy, so that 
 he could see such of us as were yet left. 
 
 But enough of this. I w. s m s aken in all thei 
 characters. The boy was neither a beast nor a devil 
 but a singular ly active, shrewd young dog ; the father, 
 an old fellow of singular pleasantry ; and Dr. Hast 
 ings, with no more learning or pedantry than iny 
 boot-jack so much for rash judgments ; and Ellen: 
 but of hei-jhereafter. 
 
 Clinton^and I slept together, in the same room. His 
 manly nature could support him no longer he 
 loved truly and devoutly now ; and, with the true 
 feeling of all men, the more truly and devoutly, in 
 proportion as the object of his love seemed more and 
 more implacable and distant. 
 
 He wept aloud feigning, whenever he could no 
 longer suppress his sobbing, to cough, the conse 
 quence of which was, that in the morning, when I 
 was ready to mount my horse, poor Clinton was 
 delirious. 
 
 What could I do? I was not delirious; and I 
 left the house, as I said I would, at break of day 
 Oh, Heaven ! with what different emotions from 
 those with which I entered it the last night, or left 
 it before. 
 
 Clinton was delirious, and I left him : committing 
 

 59 
 
 him to the family, and leaving one serrantwith him, 
 almost desiring, in the bitterness of my spirit, that 
 he might die under their inhospitable roof, and I 
 II that I might never meet, hear of, nor see Clara 
 again ; Clara ! for whom I would have laid down my 
 life at that moment. 
 
 SEVENTY-SIX. 
 
 that there was a brief warring, for a moment or 
 two, when the golden-haired Ellen, and the pale, 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 Go then ! if e er we meet again, perhaps 
 I may be worthier of you, and, if not, 
 Remember that my faults, though not atoned for, 
 Are ended. SARDANAPALUS. 
 
 The day was just breaking, when I mounted my 
 horse. The whole eastern sky was of a hlood red, 
 through which an intermittent flashing of pale flame, 
 thin and beautifully faint, was kept up ; while all the 
 broad circumference of heaven was rolling like a 
 dark ocean, except just where the red sun, like a 
 great furnace, gave out an awful troubled brightness, 
 with a white rolling vapour, that mounted up/ just 
 over the hill tops, and then rushed away toward the 
 western horizon, as if driven there before a high 
 wind. 
 
 I rode onward, hardly willing to look into my 
 own heart for the motive which made me avoid the 
 road that kept longest in sight of the house ; and 
 only pausing once to look at it, as it came, by a sud 
 den turn in the way, almost in front of me. I rested 
 then, arid, perhaps the keen wind had done it I 
 felt my eyes smarting; my heart, too, (perhaps it 
 was the mountain air and the deep snow,) labouring 
 as in travail, with one continual, uninterrupted 
 throe. It was not to borne. I had outridden my 
 men already ; hut here, regardless of the steep, 
 perilous road (which, I assure you, was far more 
 so than that by which Putmau once escaped; I 
 have seen them both since, and I assure you, that 
 I would not ride down this a second time, as I did 
 the first, for all this world, and that I would ride 
 down that where Pitman did, at any time, for a 
 mere trifle that was a foolish, but not a perilous 
 feat of his; but mine was that of a madman, as well 
 as a fool), I struck spurs into my horse, and went 
 down, with such terrible speed , that I lost my 
 breath, and should infallibly have been dashed to 
 pieces, had not the snow been soft, as well as deep, 
 so that, at every plunge, my horse went into it 
 breast high. And, as I live, I touched the crupper 
 with my back, all the way down, and my feet were 
 on each side of his head. 
 
 This could not last long, and I was recalled to a 
 sense of my inhumanity and rashness, by seeing the 
 white snow tinged all along my route, with the 
 blood that had gushed out, hot and smoking, from 
 the lacerated flanks of my horse, and my men almost 
 In the clouds, as it appeared to me, in the momen 
 tary glimpse that I had of them, reining their horses, 
 as if they were near the brow of a precipice ; and 
 leaning forward over their necks, to see by what 
 miracle I should escape. 
 
 I was fain to dismount ; and it was a full hour 
 before I got into the level country again ; a part of 
 which time my mind was meditating, with a pro- 
 found melancholy sorrow and haughtiness, on all 
 that had occurred, nor, for it is no light object 
 with me, my dear children, to make you familiar 
 with, all the working of my heart, nor can I deny 
 
 princely Clara, came into competition. I had heard 
 much of the doctrine of election ; in theoTog y , I had 
 found it to mean, something that was intelligible to 
 them to whom nothing else was intelligible ; in law, 
 the right of harassing a poor devil more ways than 
 one; in love, much the same thing. But here was 
 a case of no ordinary difficulty. 
 
 Had it been one of the black vapours of theology, 
 I should have peopled it immediately with beautiful 
 shapes; a question of law for I was unfortunate 
 enough to have an uncle for a lawyer, of whom, I 
 will here take an occasion to relate an anecdote, I 
 should have been quieted at once : he was a surly, 
 strong-minded man, educated in the courts of West 
 minster Hall ; and used to say, " John, clients are 
 gamblers. The spirit of litigati >n is the spirit of 
 gambling. Once provoke it, and the devil can t lay 
 it. Once get a man into court, and no matter how 
 he is used, he will go there again, if he lose, to re 
 trieve his loss ; if he win, to win again. A man 
 wrote me a letter once, to this effect; he was worth 
 a hundred pounds a-year to me, and about half that 
 to his family ; they starved, his creditors starved, 
 but his lawyers were sure to be paid. Sir, I gave 
 my brother Dick leave to go upon my meadow and 
 shoot muskrats. He went. Do ye think the 
 damned didn t gig em? I want you to bring as 
 many actions against him, as it will bear. Yours, &c. 
 Never study the law, John, it will be sure to make 
 you a scoundrel ; you have some talents that way, 
 now," meaning the law, I suppose. 
 
 " Pray," said my mother, I remember, " pray, do 
 you not, you lawyers, class idiots, lunatics, children, 
 and women altogether?" 
 
 " Yes, sister, when married; and why not?" said 
 ray mncle. I never could bear the law after that ; 
 and now that the doctrine of election rushed in 
 upon me, like a dark wind, I felt, I cannot well 
 describe how I felt ; but as if I could go to the end 
 of all the world, throw off the profession of arms, 
 and sit down to some less destructive occupation. 
 My thoughts were all in an uproar. New passions 
 arose, a new ambition, new powers; I thought of 
 being eloquent; the bar, the pulpit, the pho, 
 
 Sho why should I relate to you all the disor- 
 ered wandering of my mind why? that you may 
 know the heart of your father, the heart of man, 
 without the peril of encountering it, diseased and 
 festering as it is ; with the nakedness of our own. 
 Boys, I have wrestled with angels, till the sun went 
 down ; with devils, till the day broke, and I would 
 have you learn all the wisdom without any of the 
 sorrow that I learnt. Follow me, then ; I will lead 
 you, for I can do it, as distinctly as if it were but 
 yesterday, through all the vicissitude of my thought, 
 as I walked my horse, leisurely, along the untrodden 
 road. 
 
 To the church? no! There is no field for am- 
 bi!6h~; the climate is too changeable, the fashion of 
 our worship too formal and staid ; no, I will never 
 go into a place, under pretence of ministering with 
 angels unless I have angels to minister unto ; never, 
 (ill I have been chastened, even unto death. Clara 
 said right. I have not known myself. These 
 thoughts are new to me ; the war once over, I must 
 be something, less helpless and contemptible than a 
 shattered veteran. The church! where, as my 
 uncle, the lawyer, used to say, the people go, for 
 every thing but what they pretend to go for; where, 
 if a man want to know who has any new clothes, ha 
 
60 
 
 has only to go on a cold Sunday ; every new coat, 
 bonnet, and shawl will be there. 
 
 After this, I know not well where I rambled for a 
 while ; but at last I came to the family again, with a 
 sort of start. 
 
 That rascally French and Italian ; I could bear 
 any thing better. Why not talk English? The 
 French. O, I could not love a woman who had one 
 atom of the French nature in her heart. There was 
 Madame G ; she was telling me a story one day, 
 and, having omitted some word upon which the whole 
 joke depended (and a villanous joke it was), she re 
 ferred me to her husband, who sat at my elbow, for 
 it with leave to tell me, when she had left the room. 
 He began, and when he came to the part, he forgot 
 it, and bowing to me, ran into the next room, the 
 door of which stood open, where I heard him ask his 
 wife what it was. She told him, and he returned, 
 laughing all the way, and told it to me. It was a 
 shameful, blackguard story, founded on a mistake. 
 That was French sentiment. I watched it ever 
 afterward. I would]as soon love a woman that should 
 send me an indecentpicture, while I could hear her voice 
 giving the direction to a servant, under pretence that 
 she could not put it into my hands herself as her 
 who could do this, Yet Mrs. Aruauld often speaks 
 of their beautiful propriety, saying that a French 
 girl never ventures to say of a man that he is well 
 made, a fine person, or any such thing; nor as we 
 do in Philadelphia, go to see naked pictures, and 
 naked statuary by ourselves. No, in France, ladies 
 would be ashamed to go to such places, except in the 
 company of men not merely for protection, but lest 
 it should be imagined that they went in secret to 
 indulge a vicious appetite. Nay, more she even 
 justifies the toilette regulations of French women; 
 the etiquette of the boudoir. O, shame ! I remember 
 
 when Miss was languishing upon a sofa, near 
 
 me, once; a fat, unwieldy, turbulent maiden of 
 fifty, that Mrs. Arnauld, the Kiother of pshn, I 
 \vill forget her. She opened her deep, exquisite 
 eyes upon me, with that irresistible wickedness of 
 meaning so common to her; and reminded me of 
 a French author that we had been reading toge 
 ther (I read the language, but could not speak 
 it), where he speaks of a pretty woman languishing 
 in bed, and putting out a white hand to you fami 
 liarly, when you enter the room ; now and then, too, as 
 if by accident, halfrevealing the prettiest foot in the 
 world " all very well," said she ; " very well indeed, 
 in the lovely and youthful ; but an old woman ! 
 law! "You may kick and sprawl," said I to 
 myself, all over the room, if you will, but it won t 
 do. Yes! the mother of out with it, heart 
 Clara! she has put that into my thought. So much 
 for France, and French women, and "French senti 
 ment. 
 
 By Heaven, but I did love her O (Clara I meant), 
 O, I knew her approach ; I cnuld feel it, with my 
 eyes shut and ears sealed, the sweet influences ! 
 the atmosphere her fine heart from my very boy 
 hood ; and yet, yet ! I am already an outcast. Well, 
 I thank her that I am not humbled. 
 
 Ellen Nelly Nell what beautiful hair what 
 a faint, bashful, luminous eye and that dimple. O, 
 the little creature stood, like something transparent, 
 before me ; I thought that I could see her young 
 heart beating and bobbing about, as if it were encased 
 in crystal. Why did she speak to me? why ? why 
 do women ever interfere ? why as they always rio 
 in love affairs ? why ! the moment that they suspect 
 a partiality in either party, do they report an en 
 gagement ? O, it is easily told : the startled fawn 
 
 THE NOVEL NEWSPAPER. 
 
 is not more timid and distant, nor more easily turned 
 aside from the gushing water, than a young heait in 
 its first love. Every match that a woman breaks off, 
 no matter how, by her meddling impertinence folly, 
 lying, or coquetry, augments her own chance, because 
 it keeps undiminished the number of unmarried men. 
 Nell Sampson beware ! there is more evil within 
 this heart than thou art thinking of; more than I 
 myself ever dreamt of. If it be not explained, that 
 which gave a troubled lustre to the impatient eye of 
 Clara ere we meet again, woe to thee ! Winter may 
 pass away, summer may come, but the scent will lie 
 for ever; and you may as well hope to turn the 
 staunch blood-hound from her chase while the 
 spattering silver is upon the green hills >as my heart 
 aside from its purpose. I knew it not till this 
 moment ; I knew not that I had aught of this spirit 
 within me. But now now I feel as if I were newly 
 born, indeed, for all that Clara has foretold born 
 for mischief as if I could stand up before the 
 assembled werld herself my face undisturbed 
 my forehead unmoved, till the vessels of my brain 
 were all ruptured ruptured by my thought charged 
 with extravasated blood the furhace of my heart 
 burning to the last sob. I started my own breath 
 ing was terrible, as these forbidden speeches came 
 out, from the darkness where they had slept so long 
 breathing! no, it was snorting it was like the 
 fierce gasping of a tired panther. 
 
 Ellen how beau tilully she danced, too! the motion 
 of her limbs made music. But Clara she never 
 dances. She is too stately for the dance ; too awfully 
 chaste for the profligate revelry of the dance, and yet 
 I loved her loved her! Aye, till the very pulse of 
 my life stood still at her bidding. This they call 
 unbending, when a tall, princely creature is fool 
 enough to jump about a large room to the sound of 
 music fools! it is bending, rather bending to the 
 earth. I cannot bear to see a lofty mind employed so 
 like the babies of this world ; I 
 
 Clara! I would never have parted with thee, had 
 I known the full extent of what I have already 
 Buffered and now, dear Clara it is far less in sor 
 row, than in anger that I I by the bright sun 
 of heaven ! I do fear that we have trampled down 
 all the beautiful vegetation of the heart shut our 
 eyes to the loveliest apparition of all our experience 
 sealed up our senses to the odour that issues from 
 all that is touched by the hot, beating hand of 
 genuine passion for ever and ever ! O, Clara, thy 
 heart, dear! O, give me the unvisited, untouched 
 one thou wilt never be happy, and I O, why 
 have I left thee? Then, why "not return? (I half 
 wheeled my horse) no no sooner would I die 
 ten thousand times over I 
 There, my children, there ! You have now a fair 
 chart of the rambling, incoherent journeying of my 
 thought for some hours when, happening to put my 
 hand into the breast pocket of my military surtout, 
 I was startled at the rustling of papers. I pulled 
 them out and instantly as if my brother hud stood 
 before me, and called me with a pistol-shot from a 
 troubled dream, I started broad awake. They were 
 his letters, to my mother and Lucia. How strangely 
 I had forgotten them. But what was to be done? 
 my men were no where within sight or halloo (I 
 confess, moreover, that I was not very solicitous that 
 they should be for, to say nothing of my soliloquy, 
 which I now felt, as I came to my senses, had occa 
 sionally been far from inaudible I was not very 
 sorry for an opportunity to return proudly for a 
 moment.) They will believe, said I, when they see 
 me riding up, that I have come to sue for mercy. 
 
I will not undeceive them I will enter the house, 
 present them with my own hands, and return, do 
 what they may to my saddle. 
 
 I did so I rode back no living creature saw 
 me, or announced my approach, until I stood before 
 them just about the hour of dinner. Clara fell 
 back upon the sofa. 1 bowed, and ga^e the letters 
 to Lucia who was preparing some herb tea, I 
 thought, in a little silver can. Her hand shook, 
 when she saw the hand-writing. 
 
 " Here is another," said I, " which you will be 
 so kind as to deliver, after I have gone " (giving 
 her that to my mother.) 
 
 She tore open hers, read it as if it were her death- 
 warrant, covered her face, and left the room, for 
 bidding me with her hand to follow. 
 
 Again I was upon my way benighted, and, but 
 why need I relate the paltry adventures of the day ? 
 The next evening I was in the arras of my brother, 
 determined never to leave him again. 
 
 " How fares it, brother? 1 said he " you are not 
 the man that you were. What has happened ?" 
 
 "Fellowship! 1 I exclaimed, giving one hand to 
 him, and another to Arthur, who sat by " Fellow. 
 ship !" " By Heaven, 1 he cried, rising in his bed, 
 and rivetting his steady eyes upon me "O. by 
 Heaven, it has fallen at last I all women are alike ! 
 are they not ? * 
 
 " They are," said I; and then we embraced. 
 " Well, well, so much the better," said Archibald,/ 
 " for Washington. $AJBjail_a,n_serve two , mastersv 
 Woman and war, woman and manhood, woman and 
 God,. are fire and water; they cannot live together 
 for a. moment. 1 
 
 * Cousin, said Arthur I started to hear the 
 sound of his voice I could not reconcile myself to 
 it it was the voice of a stranger " the reapers are 
 ready the harvest nodding; we must go down to it 
 speedily. * 
 
 " How, said I " shall we do any thing; can 
 we, before the spring opens?" 
 
 " I hope so, said Archibald " or we shall starve 
 and rot where we are. " See there !" he cried 
 pointing to a foot soldier that was hobbling by at the 
 moment " that poor fellow has gone literally bare 
 footed, day after day, among the ice and snow; one 
 third of our men are in the same situation not one 
 in five has a blanket and we have been two whole 
 days without provision the wretched parsimony of 
 these farmers about here, and the villanous new 
 management of the Philadelphians, have brought 
 our little army to death s door." 
 
 " Philadelphia ! said I, recollecting my engage 
 ment, and inconceivably agitated with the crowding 
 thoughts that rushed in upon my brain dilating all 
 the veins, till they ached. " Arthur what say you 
 for a ride there? Brother, can you spare him?" 
 
 " I ! Certainly I can. I shall be out in a week ; 
 and, but you must seek higher authority than mine, 
 for leave of any absence now." 
 
 " Not for myself," I answered ; " I have a fur- 
 lough." 
 
 " True and I will answer for Arthur what say 
 you, Arthur?" 
 
 Arthur agreed to it immediately, as if, like myself, 
 he was ready for any change of scene, any, in the 
 world, rather than such cold, wintry inaction. And 
 J proceeded to relate the meeting with my mother. 
 
 Archibald shut his eyes, and pressed his hands, 
 I ocked and trembling, upon his breast ; but uttered 
 na sound more, either of surprise or sorrow. The 
 
 SEVEKTY-SIX. 61 
 
 blow was too deep for that the bleeding was in 
 wardly. 
 
 I then led him to my interview with Clara he 
 smiled shook started up but when I came to the 
 trial and forbore, as I was obliged to, all explana 
 tion of the cause which led to the misunderstanding, 
 he caught my hands wildly. 
 
 " Brother John brother ! you are a madman 
 you have thrown away, like a child, a jewel beyond 
 all price the heart of a proud woman-^-O, how I 
 pity you. You are a madman ; brother, think of it, 
 down upon your knees and think of it if it be not 
 too late, too late, beyond all that I can imagine. I 
 know not what you have done, or said, or thought 
 I care not. She has loved yon, and she ! Clara 
 Arnauld.is not a woman to forget her love. She has 
 loved you, and she will love you for ever and ever. 
 To horse, then, to horse ! before you sleep ; ride for 
 your life if it be not, imleed, too late too late 
 and throw yourself into her arms. O, brother, bro 
 ther! that men should be so wasteful of that happi 
 ness, that! the rapture and passion of a devout 
 
 woman as to kill it, so unworthily ! O, if such 
 
 a creature ! any that wore the shape of a woman, 
 were but to move her sweet lips at me, as I have 
 seen the proud Clara moving them at thee O, I 
 would lie down upon my face, and set her foot upon 
 my neck rend my own heart from its socket and 
 give it to the wolf or the vulture before her eyes. 
 
 I was deeply affected with his manner, I cannot 
 deny it. But I was ashamed to follow his advice 
 ashamed to tell the truth, for that would be, or 
 might be, to breathe upon the spotless bright mirror, 
 where his soul had grown blind in gazing: and 
 ashamed too to confess, before his lordly forehead, 
 that I had been capable, first of trifling, innocently, 
 with such a heart as Clara s ; and next, of meditating 
 its reduction, like a famished garrison, by cutting off 
 its nourishment, light, and air, as if a heart so wasted, 
 so thinned away, were to be coveted. But I dared 
 not to trust myself to any longer contemplation of 
 the subject, chiefly, I believe, because there was 
 something pleasant in this new companionship with 
 Arthur and Archibald, as if my desolation could 
 compare with their s ! O, shame ! the paltry 
 caprice of a heart, drunk with enjoyment, full to 
 repletion, and bursting with triumph and deep rap 
 ture, to be compared with the darkness and fire of a 
 spurned and trodden one : over the embers of which 
 the wind of passion blew again, and again, till they 
 blazed with a brightness too terrible for the eye of 
 meditation : or that appalling, substantial shadow, 
 which lay, like a malediction upon the spirit of Ar 
 thur, pressing his broad forehead to the dust, pinion 
 ing his faculties, and darkening his thought for 
 ever! O, no! but I heard one rail so eloquently 
 at woman, and the other look so majestically down 
 upon all the plebeian sorrowing of men, in conse 
 quence, it seemed, of his trial, that I almost prayed 
 for a reason as terrible ! that I might join in denounc 
 ing them too ! 
 
 I then spoke of Clinton (my brother held h is 
 breath) ; told all that I had seen (his eyes flashe* 
 fire his lips quivered, his teeth rattled; and when I 
 had done, he wiped off the sweat from his face, as i 
 the rain had fallen there ; shook his head and re 
 plied, faintly, but audibly nevertheless), " Enough,! 
 can see her, hear her very words see every move 
 ment of her eyes, hands. She is right. You are 
 right. He cannot prevail ; there is no hope for him. 
 My letter has done its office." 
 
 " Your letter," said I. unwilling to deceive him. 
 
62 
 
 THE NOVBL NEWSPAPER. 
 
 " You are mistaken. When all this happened I had 
 not delivered the letter." 
 
 " What ! do I understand you rightly. Then 
 (thoughtfully, while his white brow clouded, as if 
 overrun by a dark blood all at once) then there is a 
 mystery at the bottom of this which I will drag forth. 
 When will Clinton be out." 
 
 I told him all that I knew; and we spent the 
 greater part of the night talking about the family, 
 and their several characters. 
 
 * Brother," said I, seeing that Arthur was asleep 
 "Brother, I believe that Lucia loves you. 
 
 " You do, said he, calmly. "You are right. I 
 have no doubt of it more than she ever dreamt of. 
 The time will come when she shall love me more 
 ten thousand times more than ever. I know her 
 nature now, every thought of her heart." 
 
 " Then, let me return your advice ; why waste the 
 priceless jewel?" 
 
 " John ! John Oadley !" he replied, rising like a 
 spectre, and stretching out his wasted arms to me 
 while the fitful lamplight flashed strangely over his 
 features, in shadow and brightness, " you do not 
 well know me yet. But the time is coming when 
 you will. You know how I have loved Lucia that 
 1 have loved her as never man loved woman would 
 have died at her bidding, and yet yet ! by all the 
 angels of heaven ! I would see her dead and buried, 
 before I would take her to my heart, after Clinton 
 had put his lips upon her face." 
 
 The blood spouted from his nostrils as he spoke, 
 and sprinkled the coarse linen of the bed. His look 
 was frightful, his voice solemn beyond expression, 
 convulsed, and broken ; and when he had done, he 
 shed tears. 
 
 The next day I took particular pains to look into 
 the state of the troop, inquire the true situation of 
 Archibald, who I found was in no danger, obtain 
 permission to go to Philadelphia with Arthur for a 
 companion ; and the third day after my return, just 
 when they began to light the market, we entered the 
 city, at a handsome trot, our sabres ringing, and the 
 iron hoofs of our well-shod chargers rattliug like a 
 whole troop of cavalry along the pavement. 
 
 "That is the number, said I, at last, stopping 
 under a ,lamp, and reading the card. "Take the 
 reins a moment, Arthur, while I knock." 
 
 There was neither knocker nor bell, though the 
 house was large, and rather imposing ; and I struck 
 the door with my loaded whip till the whole neigh 
 bourhood rang again. Several windows were thrown 
 open ; but when they saw that we were Continentals 
 mounted, they were instantly shut again, for they 
 dreaded our visitation as little better than a robbery, 
 or at least a requisition for every blanket and shoe in 
 the family. 
 
 A stout, handsome, black fellow soon appeared, 
 and, as if he had been prepared to expect us, threw 
 open the door, and descended to take our horses. 
 "Is Mrs. Eustace within? 1 said I. 
 
 "Yes, massa; massa he find her in the parlour 
 (pointing up a broad staircase, beyond which we saw 
 a large door standing open), a room brightly illu 
 minated, as if with a large fire and several persons, 
 women 1 thought, moving hurriedly about it like 
 shadows upon a bright wall. We entered, and 
 Arthur, at the sound of two or three voices, appa 
 rently ascending the stairs over my head, caught 
 suddenly at my arm as if he were falling. I turned 
 a little surprised, and beheld a change in his coun 
 tenance surpassing all that I had ever seen it was 
 stoue absolute stone. His lips were parted, and 
 
 while he held my arm till the very bone ached, 
 he stood like one struck dead, while listening to 
 music, coming out of the grass in the low wind. 
 
 We entered the room ; and before I had time to 
 make my salutation, a pair of soft, delicately soft, 
 bands were put into mine and a voice, that I could 
 not be mistaken in, said to me (the lights were all 
 gone, and the red blaze of the fire had diminished, so 
 hat I could not well see her countenance and the 
 whole room smelt of burnt camphor, as if it had been 
 thrown upon the fire to dazzle and blind us as we 
 came up the stairs). 
 " And is that Mr. Rodman ?" 
 " Yes," I replied, " but when ? in the name of 
 Heaven, and how came you here?" 
 
 Hush you have a deep part to play a tragedy 
 it may be. You have been expected for two days. 
 I had almost given up the hope of seeing you. I 
 came away after dinner the same day that you did 
 the house had got too hot to hold me. Clara ! ha ! 
 then there is something in it! Clara Arnauldis 
 Have you heard nothing ? not a word since?" 
 " No," I replied ; " how should I ?" 
 " Then, Mr. Oadley,! pity you ; you hare broken 
 a proud woman s heart. 
 
 My own was in my throat as she spoke, and I was 
 fain to sit down. 
 
 " Ha Arthur, what ails you, what are you looking 
 at?" 
 
 He never moved ; but in a far corner of the room, 
 in a sort of recess, like a library, or Venetian window 
 with dark curtains, sat a female figure looking up 
 at the moon, that just then stood still in the blue 
 heaven, as if held there by the incantation|of beauty. 
 The figure moved, sighed ; and Arthur, rising 
 slowly and involuntarily upon his feet, gradually 
 stretching out his arms, as if gracious God! The 
 low, mournful warbling of a sweet voice came to my 
 ears, like something that I had heard, I know not 
 when I know not where before; and Arthur fell 
 fiat upon his face. 
 
 I saw him fall, but I was unable to stir hand or 
 foot. I stood hushed as death tranced with a 
 deep, deep terror and torment at my heart, as if I had 
 broken in upon some haunted place. Somebody 
 caught my arm, " Awake ! said a voice " awakej 
 speak to it ! it is Mary ! 
 
 I staggered to the window ; I fell upon my knees, 
 not daring to breathe or lift up my eyes. The shadow 
 arose, turned with a mournful, slow motion, so that 
 the moon shone full upon her face. 
 
 It was Mary ! it was ! I had only life enough 
 left to put my hands, like a dreamer fearing to awake, 
 upon her flesh ; and see her, the blessed martyr, 
 stooping over me, with her troubled, melancholy lips ; 
 it was not to be mistaken O, no ! no ! no ! the un 
 earthly paleness of her forehead, the preternatural 
 darkness of her eyes, their slow, incessant motion. 
 " Mary ! I cried ; " O, Mary, speak to me," I 
 said, attempting to rise; but her whole weight was 
 upon me. At the sound of my voice she started; 
 her eyes flashed her lips moved she put her hands 
 upon my forehead pushed aside my thick hair 
 stooped down, pressed her wet lips to my eye-lids, 
 and whispered" O, Arthur, Arthur how could 
 you leave me?" 
 
 Her tears ran down her cheeks like rain ; and when 
 I looked up, I saw Ellen struggling witk all her 
 might, her hair dishevelled, her pale eyes streaming 
 with tears and light against Arthur, who stood 
 stooping toward her, as if he had been struck blind. 
 Mary had not seen him ; I arose, her soft hand 
 
SEVENTY- SIX. 
 
 Seating in mine, her young heart fluttering against 
 mine: her pale neck, against which I had wept, 
 glittering with the tears that I had shed and put 
 her into the arms of Arthur. 
 
 The moment that his face ^touched hers, the very 
 moment she uttered a loud cry, leaped into his 
 bosom, shivering like a drowned creature, and 
 screaking and wailing so pUeously, that I 1^ 
 could neither hear nor see, till I felt some one 
 dragging at iny arm it was Elleuor. 
 
 " Come, come," said she, "come, every thing 
 depends upon this shock ; let us leave them together. 
 O,merciful Heaven, let us be gone." 
 
 I suffered myself to be led away, and we stood at 
 the window of the next room in darkness. I know 
 not how it was, except that sorrow and sympathy are 
 apt to be companionable, and they that have wept 
 together are many years in advance of them that 
 have only laughed together. I could hear them 
 sobbing yet, and then, a sweet gentle murmuring, 
 that I knew to be hers, and then a passionate shriek, 
 and the name of Arthur pronounced, again and 
 again, as in delirium. I would have returned, but 
 Ellen Miss Sampson, I should say, forbade me. 
 
 " O, no I" said she, laughing and crying at the 
 same moment; " do not go, do not go, I entreat you ; 
 the prettiest catastrophe in the world," releasing 
 herself from my arms, and skipping to one side of 
 the room, where she could see them. 
 
 "O, O! come here, come here; this minute 
 there is love for you : that s your true love a dead 
 woman burnt to ashes, coming to her senses, in the 
 arms of her lover ; O, O, O !" (rubbing her hands, 
 while .the dark shadow of Arthur was on her, as he 
 stood, with one knee resting upon a deep sofa in the 
 corner, leaning over, with an air of the deepest and 
 most affectionate tenderness, the beautiful, frail 
 creature that lay upon it, half supported by one of 
 bis arms; her magnificent tresses floating brightly 
 over the back of the sofa, in the strong current of 
 air that swept up the chimney ; and her wild eyes 
 glittering in their humidity, like a young leopard s 
 in the red firelight; her face upturned to his, and 
 mouth parted like statuary, at the very moment 
 when it is about to be turned into flesh, and the 
 heart is ready to gush out with love and music at the 
 lips.) 
 
 " O, look, look!" repeated the eager, delighted 
 girl at my side, catching ray hand passionately, and 
 flinging it away again, alternately, with a pettish 
 carelessness, as she was carried away by her enthu 
 siastic heart at some sudden emotion of Mary, or 
 sufficiently mistress of herself to discover that she 
 was almost caressing me a man, a stranger, in the 
 unbridled extravagance of her sympathy. 
 
 " But how, in the name of Heaven," said I, "how 
 is this ? That is Mary Austin, I ll swear to it." 
 
 " Don t ask me, don t ask me," she answered; 
 " see, see, she knows him, the dear creature ? hear, 
 hear, hear her; dear, dear Arthur. O let us 
 go, let them be alone, and happy for a while ;" 
 saying this, she shut the door softly, and coming up 
 to me, past her white hand over her eyes, and then 
 putting it into my hand. " It was dripping wet," 
 
 Said while I smiled at her simplicity, lively, and 
 
 deep feeling, so innocent, yet so disordered. Re 
 member that there was no fire in this room, no light, 
 none but that which the moon threw in, doubtfully, 
 through a long row of curtained windows ; " come, 
 now I ll tell you all about it. You thought me 
 crazy ; I am not ; that poor creature! bless me, why 
 don t you keep the step," (we ,were walking to and 
 fro in the room). 
 
 "Let us sit down," said I, leading her a step or 
 two toward the window-seat." 
 
 "No, no, aunt is below, and brother; they must 
 hear us walking, or we shall be interrupted. What 
 the deuce are you laughing at ! till that poor crea 
 ture : O, if you had seen her, when we first found 
 her, she would not open her mouth ; she did nothing 
 but cry all day long, and stare at us, just so ! why, 
 what s the matter ? were you never stared at before ? 
 " Found her !" said I, " what do you mean ?" 
 "Lord! that s just like you; you won t let 
 a body say a word; I wish you d hold your tongue 
 a moment- Brother, you know brother? yes, you 
 do; you need not shake your head ; I saw you watch- 
 iug him, poor fellow; and let me tell you, Mr. Oadley, 
 as handsome as you be, and as big as you be, and as 
 proud as you be, brother Nick has got as big titheart,. 
 and as brave a heart, and as good a heart, as your own. 
 He was the one that saved her ; he shot the wicked 
 man that had her on his horse behind him, and was 
 currying her off : but then the horse ran away, and 
 when he fell oft , she was lashed to him by a great 
 ugly leather belt. How you breathe; what s the 
 matter?" 
 
 We were now standing still ; and I confess that,, 
 in the deep intoxication of my heart, I had forgotten 
 Clara, Arthur, Mary, and all the world, for a mo 
 ment, in looking down upon this innocent little crea 3 * 
 ture, whose delicate lips were muttering music below 
 me, just even with my breast; every word fell into 
 my heart ; I could feel it : I led her slowly, step by 
 step, to the window, and gradually, without knowing 
 my own design, or having any design in reality, had 
 drawn her, as I would have drawn a small child, to 
 sit upon my knee ; she was surely unconscious of it, 
 for she never changed her tone, or faltered, or shifted 
 her soft eyes, but continued thus : 
 
 " We couldn t find out her name ; and all the 
 inquiry that we could make was of no use, for my 
 father said, that she looked like a French girl, and 
 was probably the wife of the trooper that brother shot;, 
 and then there were several farm-houses burned that 
 same night; and the horse ran a mile before the 
 rider fell; and when brother, who can run very 
 fast, faster than a horse, through the woods, came 
 up to the poor girl, she was dead dead as, as 
 what s the deadest thing in the world? and then he 
 took her up in his arms, and carried her to Major 
 AVinchester s ; and when father came, he sent off an 
 advertisement to the paper in the city, describing her,, 
 but nobody came to ask how she did, poor creature ! 
 and so we slept together, and she never spoke; yet she 
 wasn t mad for she sung sweetly , and was afraid as death 
 of men and one day, when she was in the street, for 
 she was very quiet, quiet as a lamb ; but I was away 
 then I was at Mr Arnauld s, and aunt wrote me 
 all about it : she was out there at the next corner, 
 and the prisoners were brought in .hem that 
 Washington took up at Trenton, and by and by, 
 when the horses were galloping through the street, 
 she shrieked out all at once, and fell dead again, and 
 a man that was there on horseback, his horse ran 
 away with him, and all the neighbourhood began to- 
 talk about it, and make inquiries about him, but he 
 was gone ; so my aunt told me, and she said, that the 
 poor thing s name was Mary, and that she was con 
 stantly talking about Arthur, Arthur, and Rodman, 
 and Frederick, and Crawford ; so my aunt wrote me 
 all about it It was just a day or two before 51 U 
 came. O, I forgot to tell you that we found out 
 her name was Mary, for she started and (rembled at 
 that name ; well, just before I saw you " 
 "Where," said I, " do, dear Ellenor, do tell me, 
 
THE NOVEL NEWSPAPER. 
 
 so that I can understand you jour eagerness car 
 ries you away, I " 
 
 "O Lord! was there ever such a wretch; you 
 won t let me say a word you take my breath 
 away : ha ! she is singing, bless her dear heart : 
 there, there! did you ever hear such singing as 
 that ?" 
 
 Somebody opened the door a little just then, and 
 retreated, leaving it ajar, so that the red light from 
 the next room flashed along the floor, like a stream 
 of crimson lustre, coming to a point just at our feet. 
 
 "Beautiful, is it not?" she cried, putting her 
 little foot on it ; " do you sing ? Come, let me hear 
 you. O, happen what may, love! Do you know 
 that? Stay, I ll sing that to you by and by. O, 
 I was telling you about poor Mary. So, I was down 
 to Mr. Arnauld s, and just when you were setting 
 off with that troop of horse, I heard somebody, 
 one of the girls, pointing to you, as I thought, say, 
 somebody asked who you were, she said that you were 
 Arthur Hodman ;and then, when you had gone, but now 
 I remember, that Arthur wasnearyeti, but I don tmind 
 him much , nor that white-faced little fellow there, that 
 they called Archy, Archibald, or some such name. 
 I could see nobody but you, and when I heard from 
 aunt, two or three days after, that the strange, sick 
 girl was talking about Arthur Rodman, I began to 
 inquire all about him, thinking all the while it was 
 you ; at last I could not ask any more ; I felt me 
 lancholy, and I never mentioned your name, but 
 romped and laughed all the day long, while Clara 
 and Lucia were moping in a corner. But, at last, 
 when I saw you, and saw you meet Clara in the 
 bed-room, I was provoked at you and her, and so I 
 determined to know who this girl was, that had gone 
 crazy for you; but it never entered my head that 
 you were Mr. Oadley, or that the poor mad creature 
 was Mary Austin, till that very evening, when I 
 found out that uncle Arnauld was Frederick Craw- 
 ford. O, the villain ! then it came to me all at 
 once ; and then, I had made up my mind before, to 
 bring about a meeting between Mr. Rodman and 
 Mary ; but mind, I don t know who she was, and 
 never knew, till I came to put the whole story to 
 gether here, the night when brother found her, and 
 the time that your house was burnt, when it came to 
 me all at once, like a blaze of light ; and then Lord ! 
 how like a fool you look." 
 
 Indeed I did look like a fool ; the whole family 
 were standing at another door, and looking at us. 
 How long they had been there I know not; it was 
 in the dark side of the room, and it was only at that 
 moment that my eyes had fallen upon what appeared 
 .0 move a mass of shadowy creatures and human 
 faces. 
 
 They all came forward now, and threw open the 
 broad door, which showed the whole room to us 
 where Arthur and Mary sat. 
 
 I trembled from head to foot ; but she was she a 
 fool, or a maniac? she sat as still and carelessly 
 upon my knee, turning wp her lovely hair, band 
 after band, like a mass of drawn gossamer, over her 
 white forehead. 
 
 "Well, Nick, what are you grinning at?" said 
 she. 
 
 Nick shrugged his shoulders, lolled out his great 
 tongue, and jogged his father, who only asked her, 
 what the devil she was in my lap for. 
 
 " His lap ! gracious, so I am !" the colour rushed to 
 her temples, her hands fell, her hair veiling her 
 -whole face ; and when she parted it again, her 
 lashes, and lips, and cheek were all wet with tears 
 
 and shame. Sweet innocent ! as 1 am alivifigman, 
 I do believe that she knew it not, till she was to!4 
 that she was sitting in my lap. Her enthusiasm, so 
 passionate, fervid ; her rapid articulation, her in 
 cessant volatility, the electric operation of her mind, 
 her whole frame quivering at every shock of her 
 heart, as if her veins ran quicksilver ; all this had 
 made her utterly forgetful of propriety ; and I, I 
 was the villain, in the deepest tumult of my heart; 
 yea, when it was L tormented with a feeling, as if it 
 were naked, and soft female lips and eye-lids were 
 incessantly touching it all about, I had still suffi 
 cient self-command to count the throbbings of her 
 delicate pulse, and drink, to delirium, the passion 
 that her blue eyes shed iutomybosom-t was it love? 
 no ; but I felt that she loved me, loved me unwit 
 tingly, to death; and that set my heart heaving, as 
 if a sudden tide of high wine were beating within it. 
 
 I arose and apologised ; but, whether it was that 
 this family were all mad, or all unlike the rest of 
 human creatures, no further notice was taken of it, 
 than a heavy curse or two from the old gentleman 
 on my modesty, and a good natured warning from 
 the aunt, for young ladies, in dark moonlighted 
 apartments, to keep walking, if they can, as long as 
 they can. 
 
 Ellen kicked up her heels, and was skipping off 
 to the room in front, when she suddenly stopped, 
 shook her finger at us, and leaned forward, like a 
 spirit worshipping at the altar of true love for the 
 first time. They appeared not to heed our ap 
 proach; they sat upon the same sofa, holding on 
 each others hands, and just then, Mary, who had 
 been looking in the face of Arthur, as if she feared 
 that it would fade away if she took off her eyes for a 
 moment, the tears running continually down her pale 
 cheeks, drop after drop, gushed out, all at once, 
 into a passionate burst of sorrow, and articulated 
 his name. Arthur, poor felloe ! as if he too thought 
 itall an apparition, caught up her hands to his mouth, 
 and covered them with kisses, while his eyes ran 
 over, open as they were, and rivetted upon hers. 
 
 The trial was becoming too terrible for us, and 
 we rushed in to separate them; but they clung to 
 each other like two phantoms. Mary shrieked, and 
 Arthur, grasping her with one arm, drew forth his 
 bright sabre, and flourished it over his head, with a 
 perpetual motion, as if he feared to be torn from her 
 again. At length, however, he became more ra 
 tional, sheathed his sword, laughed, wept, danced, 
 and embraced us all, one after the other, in spite f 
 the cries that Nick uttered, as if all his joints were 
 crushed, or the awkwardness of the aunt, whom he 
 held up, two feet from the floor, while she covered 
 her face with her hands, and squalled with down 
 right vexation. 
 
 " Fire and fury," cried old Mr. Sampson, " give 
 me a sword, give me a sword : Nick are you all 
 mad? Bedlam, Bedlam broke loose." 
 
 What might have happened I know not, had the 
 old man succeeded in drawing Arthur s sword from 
 the sheath, while he was dancing about, jvi^h Ellen 
 in his arms, like a madman, had not young Nick 
 caught his hand, when it was about half out of 
 the sheath, and made him by main force relinquish 
 his design, by holding his arms behind him, while 
 he stamped and swore. 
 
 " Fire and fury, sir, put her down ! what the 
 devil, Nell, are you mad? this comes of your plot 
 and catastrophes, and put her down 1 damn you, 
 put her down ! let go my hands, Nick." 
 
 " Let go my hair, father," yeHed the boy " let 
 
go my hair! while the father suddenly released 
 himself (just as Ellen fell out of ArthuVs arms 
 exhausted, upon the sofa), and stood in the middle 
 of the room, with both hands full of hair. 
 
 SEVENTY-SIX. 
 
 
 int] 1 E i le " C uld get her breath she b rst 
 into a loud laugh, in which Nick soon joined, with 
 a noise l.ke the yelping of twenty w:it J er .s P amels 
 then the lather, then the aunt, and finally all but 
 Arthur, who began to recover, and poor Mary, who 
 sat staring at us through her white fingers as it 
 
 But enough of this-Mary was not mad, not 
 stain 1I : Vde f raU - ed 1 the blood of her heart had only 
 stagnated for a while; and before we parted, she was 
 able to relate, by starts, with some interruptions of 
 
 fSFw\ TT ^i a fev Sli ht Aberrations of 
 reason, what she recollected of that terrible night. 
 She saw Arthurs face in the blaze; and, the nex 
 moment, saw h,m fall, as she believed and fled 
 
 sevea sh * thro 8 h ^ Wi 
 
 several shots were fired, and once, she thought by 
 
 STdthV "?"" *"** * considerable distance-! 
 
 Hesln H r C1 J n deSerter a deserter! 
 Hessian! and, a few mornerts after they fell 
 
 SrTed awav 115 ^ ^l " ^ t!11 ^ W od has be " 
 r ed an ay, and my heart exhausted by them " 
 
 i e there! that wil1 do dear M r Rodman 
 dear Mary now what do you think of me, Mr 
 
 3^^~^JZ& 
 
 JNell has there, do go now, will you?" 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 I ve felt my, heart grow strangely ci>ld, 
 And sink, as though its pulses slept, 
 
 v\ hen underneath thy shadowy fold, 
 
 I ve felt thine unrelenting hold, 
 
 At midnight, and have waked and wept. 
 
 I ve lived to see thy damp dispelled 
 Thy wet^, cold shadow pass away/ 
 And that despotic phantom quelled 
 1 hat o er my blood dominion held, 
 Like night snow o er the flower of day. 
 
 "Well, Arthur," said I, when we had at last 
 found a tavern to put our heads into, " I am triad 
 
 -"J Tllll 
 
 neJpIess as if bound up in 
 <r"?v "iT" * v l aie awa J the wild beast, 01 
 
 SSST?^F^ 
 
 SfKSSS SH 
 
 about h i ? Sm ke ro]li "g a ^ *hi"g all 
 it her ; and then, then, a horseman went by her- 
 where she knew not where ? It was in astrange olace 
 and many beautiful women were about hef-lawe 
 horses, and a great crowd of armed and una el 
 SSlS* dow " cas t feces-and then she grew 
 sensible of the past; but afraid to 
 r, whom she had seen fall she deter 
 
 li va^VdbT 1 16 ab " her Wer " " - T S^lle-^ 
 
 a-JSaSSSS 
 
 she cried, throwing herself into his arms, " I re- 
 member it all now-all! will you forgive ine -can 
 
 
 V-s I hope for mercy, Mary," he cried, raising his 
 , noble eyes to heaven, and then bowing his 
 upon tier hands, and kissing her white neck 
 i nope lor mercy, Mary, this mirpnl n .i *. 
 
 Certainly," I replied, troubled a little at the 
 sed 88 CyeS> ^ ^ ^"^ that his face ex ~ 
 
 Letusgo back tins moment," he cried, "there 
 is no knowing what may happen-come, cousin." 
 n hy said I, you are not afraid that the 
 
 " Ah cousin, if you felt as I do, so full full-O 
 Heavenly Father I y OU could not smile at any thing - 
 come, I cannot sleep; will you go with me? 
 
 for a week?" ^ ^ de3th; X haVen 1 ^ ^^ 
 "Then I will go alone," said he, firmly, "I will 
 not lose her agam; I will sleep upon the steps " 
 And be taken up by the patrol !" said I. 
 
 ^ 
 
 8a v U is to llke $ 
 NKWSPAPEB, No. 
 
 is scimitar rattled upon the floor; he turned and 
 faced me, for a moment, like an enemy; but that 
 bearing soon passed away, and he gave "me both his 
 hands, say.ng, in the well-ren.e.nbered voice of a 
 generous heart, solemnized by trial and sufiering- 
 the voice that he uttered before the loss of his loyed 
 one -before his noble face had turned to stone 
 oetrified I in the continual dropping ef his heart from 
 his eyelids-" Jonathan Oadley, cousin, I forgive 
 you; I torgive you, with all my heart and soul 
 lity me; who knows what may happen ; fire and 
 sword may again reach her; do you wonder that I 
 should haunt the place of her habitation, after all 
 that 1 have suffered ? O, cousin! if there were but 
 one possibility, in millions and millions, that the 
 spoiler might approach her again, or the fire break 
 out, while she was sleeping, and I asleep upon mr 
 post what would become of me, John? I have 
 been near, very near, nearer than you would believe, 
 
THE NOVEL NEWSPAPER. 
 
 to self-destruction more than once ; but God hath 
 palsied my arm, turned aside the bayonet, and melted 
 the bullets into rain ; but let this happen again, and 
 God himself would be weary of interposition. O, 
 you know not what I have suffered ; look there ! 
 flaking a paper out of his bosom,) see you that dust ! 
 that is her heart ; in that paper, have I persuaded 
 myself, are the ashes of her blessed heart ! I went 
 among the live embers at midnight ; 1 leaped into 
 the flames, sought with my naked arms, amorg fire 
 and smoke, and crumbling skeletons, where 1 had 
 seen her and the man that I slew, fall. I found 
 them, buried in ashes ; blind and desperate with 
 horror, I tore them asunder, plucked away the white 
 "bones, yet reeking with blood, and transparent with 
 teat, dislocated every limb, and saw her pure and 
 blessed heart, naked, within its habitation ; I put 
 my hand upon it, and it crumbled to ashes there 
 are the ashes ! Do not look so terribly upon me, 
 John ; I am neither mad nor wandering, nor have I 
 teen ; this was done in secrecy, and to my last 
 breath it had never been known never, never ! but 
 ibr this miraculous discovery. O, my cousin ! this 
 will explain it all ; my silence, fixedness, sleepless 
 ness. Why should I be heard ? Why should my 
 Toice be uttered? Had I not perpetually burning 
 against my heart this terrible relic ; all that there 
 ivas on this- side of the blue heaven to comfort me ; 
 why should I murmur? why complain? was there 
 not a perpetual warmth and consolation here? why 
 turn aside from death ? when death itself was perpe 
 tually at my heart, for here I wore it here ! the 
 place is red you see, even now, with the preternatural 
 vitality that the ashes retained. Why should I 
 sleep? could sleep give me any consolation any 
 dreaming, so wonderful, and comforting, and com 
 posing so like death, as the stupifying warmth and 
 pressure of these ashes ? O, no no cousin ; look at 
 me. I appear stout and strong; my tread sounds 
 like the tramp of a war-horse ; my voice is like the 
 Toice of a strong man; my eyes full of brightness 
 yet, had not the battle speedily borne me down, nor 
 the pestilence, nor the sword, I should infallibly hate 
 died of a broken heart ere another summer Lad shone 
 upon me. There ! I have done with that now (scat 
 tering the ashes to the wind), I give it to the winds! 
 Spirit of woman, whosoever thou wast, I bless thee, 
 from the deepest place of all my heart, for the conso 
 lation that I have felt in the deceit to the winds 
 with thee! and may God gather thy dust into his 
 bosom, as I have gathered it into mine 1 
 
 " No, John, I know lhat it is childish ; I feel that 
 it is; yet, there is a possibility, and lhat is enough 
 for one, that has been going out in his own darkness 
 so long; there is a possibility that my watchfulness 
 may be of use good night ! I do not ask vou to ac 
 company me; I cannot sleep, you can. Sleep then, 
 and may your dreams be as s eet as mine, though it 
 rain ice upon me, ay, or fire, while I am lying 
 before her door. Smile if you will, laugh at my 
 extravagance ; I had rather be laughed at, than weep 
 tears of blood, or carry the ashes of a human heart 
 in my naked bosom, till they have consumed me." 
 
 " Well," said I, " go, if you will ; a few weeks will 
 sober you down. I do nut blame you, I cannot ; I 
 only wish to Heaven, that I had some one to watch 
 over in the same way, and you should have a lair pull 
 for the mastery, though the north pole thundered 
 upon us in broken ice, and the stars dropped upon 
 cur heads. 
 
 " Oadley, you are laughing at me good night." 
 
 * Good night; you remember the street ?" 
 
 lt Remember it ! ay, blindfolded I could go t it, 
 by the alarum here ; that would lead me aright." 
 
 He left me. and I sat down to ruminate n the 
 events of the day. Clara was still uppermost in my 
 thought, and a hot, scorching sensation of sham* 
 flashed like the heat of a furnace, over my face, a* I 
 thought of her now. Had I done right ? Would I 
 have set patiently to see her her in the lap of 
 another man ! 
 
 The thought was madness ; I struck the table with 
 such force, that my arm pained me to the shoulder 
 for a whole hour; I started upon my feet. 
 
 " Yet what have I to hope, proud, invincible wo 
 man !" Icried, " what have you left tome, ! nothing, 
 nothing but abject humiliation. Can l go to yon, 
 and kneel, and supplicate to be heard ? weep for a 
 new trial? and pray you to forgive me, that curse 
 on the spirit that drove us asunder but ten thou 
 sand curses on that which would put a man at the 
 feet of a woman, whose lord he would be. No, no, 
 Clara, thou shalt never have to reproach the hus- 
 bind of thy heart the father of thy children thy 
 children ! dear Clara, I, I rny tears fall like rain, 
 now never for having forgotten the manhood of 
 his nature. No, Clara, no ; I can die for thee di 
 many deaths; but. as I have never sought thee for a 
 mistress, but for a companion in trial, a partner in 
 love, a relation for all the heroic sympathies of OHJ 
 nature, a wife 1 cannot, will not, sue to thee. 
 
 "What then? is Ellen Sampson the woman to 
 supplant thee, thee? O, believe it not. Thou art 
 a woman, Clara ; she, a child ; thou, lofty and com 
 manding ; she, timid and fearful, yet rash and pas 
 sionate, imprudent and perverse, so that may I 
 
 not teach her, by some cruel lesson sparing her, in 
 the hour of her extremes! self-abandonment may I 
 not teach her what nothing else can. I may ? But 
 have I the power? Does she love me? so ardent, so 
 sudden, so impetuous, so innocent, so changeable,, so 
 volatile, yet so sensible. May I not, without de 
 stroying this flower, breathe so holly upon it, that 
 the white leaves will shrivel for a moment, and pro 
 tect the dew at the heart. I will; but my own 
 strength, am I sure of that? Clara, be thou with 
 me ! 1 invoke thy chasie spirit. I do not tremble. 
 Thou shalt be b.y me; and, if I i alter, let thy 
 tears drop upon me, though I see thee not! let thy 
 farewell sound in the low wind ! though thou art in 
 visible ; and I shall know thee, and forbear. I shall ; 
 1 kuow it, I feel it." 
 
 I slept after this, and was awakened by the tread 
 of somebody entering my room softly. I arose, and 
 put my hand upon my pistols, which were always at 
 my head, and often in my hand, while I dreamt, I 
 dare say, of late, since I had been taught to lio upon 
 my arms in camp. 
 
 It v\as Arthur. 
 
 " It is as you said ; the Philistines have been upon 
 me," said he. 
 
 " What o clock is it?" said I, startled at the cold 
 sternness of his voice. 
 
 " Near daybreak," he replied ; " the stars begin to 
 look dim, and the east is growing fiery." 
 
 " What has happened? sit down, and tell me^ 
 you will disturb the whole house;" (he kept walking 
 about). 
 
 " Yon know," snid he, " that I am not quarrel- 
 some, but rather patient." 
 
 I could not see his countenance; but there was a 
 movement in the mass of black shadow before me, 
 as lie sat upon tlie bed, that shook the whole room. 
 " Yes," said I, " you have always been remarkable 
 
SEVENTY-SIX. 
 
 67 
 
 for your forbearance; what has happened? I have 
 seen you put up with many a thing that, had .you 
 been a little mun, or not half so strong as yon are (he 
 had the strength of a lion), you would have died to 
 avenge. But the powerfularealwaysmagnaniraous; 
 it is only the weak that are irritable and waspish; 
 they dare not forgive, for it would be attributed to 
 pusillanimity. But what has happened ?" 
 
 " I ll tell you," he replied. " I have been closely 
 -engaged hotly with a troop of scoundrels, watch 
 men, I dare say, and was finally obliged to cut my 
 Way through them." 
 
 " Did you leave any in the field?" said I, forgetful 
 of the difference between cutting an enemy down in 
 Philadelphia and Trenton. 
 
 * No, but I disabled one fellew, who thrust a pole 
 into my face. 1 
 
 " O, if that be all, come to bed." 
 
 * To bed ! no, I thank you ; I am going on ano- 
 
 ! 1 II 
 
 Uner errand. 
 
 " Not to the same place, I hope. Are you mad." 
 
 " No ; I shall only go near enough to see the top 
 of the house, in case ef fire, you know.* 
 
 I laughed outright. " In case of fire!" said I, 
 ** come, come, a little sleep will fit you the better for 
 <luty by and by." 
 
 " I cannot sleep," said he; " T must walk about, I 
 am too happy to sleep so happy, tint as I am a 
 Hying man, Oailley, I should have made some of the 
 rascals a head shorter but for Mary." 
 
 " Hon ! did she see you?" 
 
 " Not that I know of," he replied; "but at the 
 thought of her her, Oadley, my h jart was at peace 
 with the whole world, upon my soul; I could have 
 shaken hands with the devil himself, or a Hessian, 
 had I met him." 
 
 "Suppose you send them all, to acknowledge the 
 favour at the feet of Mary, 1 said I, "you are but 
 little less mad than Don Quixote himself. Stop, I ll 
 go with yon ; I dare not trust you oat again alone. 
 -Let us tackle our nags, and take a view of the citv 
 "till after breakfast, when we ll call on Mary, and " 
 
 " And blue eyes hey, cousin ?" said he, laughing, 
 for the first time, as he used to months before. 
 
 I could have wept for joy. I told him so ; and 
 we were soon upon our proud horses, rattling with 
 their iron hoofs towards the Schuylkill. Our ride 
 was pleasant: but our blood was in such a tumult, 
 that it was impossible to see or hear any thing. 
 Arthur s face ! oh, it was religious and composing to 
 iook upon it. 
 
 About noon, for we had been compelled to observe 
 an uncommon etiquette for the age, in consequence 
 of Our shabby wardrobe, which required no little 
 oaxirac; and furbishing to make it tolerable, we made 
 our appearance before the ladies. 
 
 "Lard! what a coxcomb you are, cried Ellen, 
 <he moment that we entered ; and Arthur met Mary, 
 whom he led oft . " Look at your hair, now ; pow 
 dered and frizzled like a wig of soapsuds. Here, 
 here, come and sit down by me. There ; turn your 
 head, brother. Packofi , Nancy, bring me a broom. 
 There: whewl whew! There whew ! whew!" 
 
 In a twinkling, all the powder that the scoundrel 
 at the barber s shop had covered my brown hair with 
 vas in the wind, a cloud of dust. 
 
 " There," she cried, jumping upon the sofa. 
 ""There! now look in the glass. Nancy, bring 
 father s shaving glass." 
 
 I caught one look ; it was quite enough. I co 
 loured to the eyes. The romping girl had put my 
 feair, which (I cannot deny it) was remarkably beau* 
 
 tiful, into the strangest disorder in the world, by 
 brushing out the powder with a corn broom. 
 
 "Lord, you are angry now. Ha! ha! ha! 
 (dancing round me, and shaming me with her fingers) 
 I can see it in your eyes." 
 
 I attempted to catch hold of her, for the room 
 was emptv, but she drew up, and pronounce!, with 
 an expression particularly comic, a famous iiraxitnof 
 the day, "Too much freedery breeds despise." 
 
 " Come hither, child," said I; " come." 
 
 "Child," she repeated, pouting aud colouring. 
 " I am no child, I assure you." 
 
 " Well, well, come tome a moment, Ellenor, dear 
 Ellenor, and listen to me as you would to your own 
 brother." 
 
 She stopped, looked more serious than I had ever 
 seen her, glanced at the door, and repeated the word, 
 brother with a marked but delicate emphasis. 
 
 " Are we safe from interruption," said I, " for a 
 few minutes?" 
 
 "All the morning all," she replied. "They 
 have all gone to dine at Mr. Pillow s ; all but brother 
 Nick, little Nancy there, and I." Saying this, she 
 tripped up to the door and locked it, and the-n came 
 back, a little agitated I thought, to the sofa, as if 
 restrained by some new feeling from her customary 
 display of festivity and girlishness. 
 
 " Come hither," said I, taking her hand gently, 
 and drawing her to me, so that my face was just 
 opposite her bosom. 
 
 I looked up, with a strange hurry in my blood, 
 and put my hand, my left hand, while my arm en 
 circled her waist, upon her shoulder. Her eyelids 
 drooped, and a rush of scarlet passed over her neck, 
 warming my very hand where it lay upon her beau 
 tifully-moulded shoulder. 
 
 My deliberate intention, when I held this thought 
 less, innocent creature so near to my heart, that 
 every throb of her s I could feel, like a little bird 
 fluttering to get loose, was to give her a gcnile 
 admonition that she should never forget, but a 
 new, strange, yet delightfully intense feeling shot 
 through my veins ; and when I looked upon her, so 
 young, so utterly within my power, I could have 
 wept upon her neck. "Ellenor, said I, after 
 several vain attempts to articulate, " Ellenor. 
 
 She put her soft hand upon my forehead, as if she 
 meant to assuage the throbbing that she saw there. 
 I dared not look up again, but, at the touch of her 
 hand, drew down her face to mine, and impressed a 
 kiss upon her sweet mouth. 
 
 She started as if a serpent had stung her, turned 
 deadly pale, and burst into tears. 
 
 " Ellen, 1 said I : " dear, dear Ellen, forgive me 
 1 I knew not what I did." (A lie, by the way.) 
 She was speedily soothed. But I accursed spirit 
 that it was I felt still an invincible desire to try 
 the sincerity of her heart yet further, and, while her 
 pale cheek was yet wet, and pressed against mine, 
 her voice murmuring faintly in my ear, " Don t 
 oh ! don t," I pressed her again to my heart, and 
 imprinted kiss after kiss upon her forehead, lips, and 
 eyes, in a transport of passion. But then my heart 
 smote me : the spirit of Clara, the awful Clara, 
 passed before me, and I turned to the sweet flower 
 upon my bosom, blasted, like some blossom by a 
 storm of hot ashes. She gave no sign of life. Her 
 beautiful hair was all over my shoulders, her pale- 
 lips just parted, so that her biigiit teeth were visibla 
 within, her arms falling lifelessly over my shoulder. 
 I was terrified to death. She had been utterly in 
 my power utterly. No human help YTU& sear; n 
 
68 
 
 arm to save no eye to pity ; yet God be merciful 
 to me for it. I was merciful to her. 
 
 At last she stirred, opened her soft eyes, attempted 
 to stand up, hut when she saw me again, the thought 
 of what had happened, and what might have hap 
 pened, pure and blessed as she was, rushed darkly 
 over her face again, and she gasped for breath, and 
 fell again upon my bosom, and sobbed for ten mi 
 nutes, as if her dear heart would break into ten 
 thousand flaws. I did not attempt to soothe her; I 
 would not. I was willing that she should feel, as 
 bitterly as woman can, the peril of such confidence, 
 the humiliation and horror of such an escape. And 
 then, while she trembled from head to foot, shud 
 dered, and turned nway oh, with such a look of 
 thankfulness and supplication I, I threw open the 
 door, and proposed a walk. She understood me, 
 and aware of the necessity that there was to appear 
 unmoved, she hurried in preparation, and we went 
 out together. The air blew coldly, yet the shaking 
 of her arm, as it was locked in mine, was not the 
 palsy t.f cold : it was that of the heart. At last I 
 had an opportunity of speaking to her, face to face. 
 
 " Ellen, 1 said I, * hear me. You do not well 
 know me yet. I am not a villain. Do not weep, 
 dear, do not. I shall be gone to-day (her hand 
 beat and trembled violently in mine); the chances of 
 battle, you know a thousand things (I wanted to 
 mention the name of Clara, but I dared not; I felt as 
 if it were profanation and cru 3! ty wanton cruelty) 
 may prevent you from ever hearing what I have 
 now to say to you. Beware of your own heart. You 
 are too unsuspicious, too frank. Men are I will 
 not say what they are; but I believe this, and I 
 would have you remember it, that there is not 
 another man living who would have spared you as 
 I have. Nay, hear me out, terrible as it is to you. 
 "What could have saved you ? what, but my own 
 forbearance? You were powerless, in a trance. No 
 mortal man, Ellen, could have torn you from my 
 arms, vet yet I would have you remember it 
 you were permitted to leave them unprofaned. Can 
 I give you any greater proof, is there any under 
 Heaven, that I have unconquerable principle at the 
 bottom, and that I love you (her hand fell from my 
 arm, and her tears ran down her cheeks like rain), 
 too tenderly, too purely, to wrong you? No, Ellen, 
 I pity you, I compassionate you. It is a bitter and 
 terrible lesson for you, but it will save you, with your 
 delirious, sensibility, from onemore bitter and terrible. 
 T./ncUily for you. you fell, inexperienced as vou are, 
 into i he hands of an honest and honourable man. 
 And now, what have you for j our consolation ? 
 Yo i are humbled to the dus>t; ] know it, 1 s,ee it. 
 But hear me. I know your sex ten thousand times 
 better than you do. There never lived that woman, 
 who might not be brought into the same peril. I 
 never met with one, no, not one, whom I could riot 
 have destroyed if I would, with the same opportu 
 nity that I have had with you. 1 do not mean as 
 to time; but if 1 once had a place in her heart, and 
 one hour of hallowed surety from interruption. You 
 tremble. Let this comfort you. You may believe 
 me, for I cannot tell a falsehood ; and the more that 
 you know of mo, or of woman, the more you will be 
 convinced of the truth of this. 
 
 " Your patience for a moment ; I see Arthur and 
 Mary yonder ; we will join them. But let me as 
 sure you, dear Ellenor, of this I know that it will 
 comfort you my tenderness for you is quickened 
 unutterably by this event ; it has made me acquainted 
 with your whole heart, all its confidence, all its in- 
 
 THE NOVEL NEWSPAPER, 
 
 discretion ; and my respect yes, tremble if you will, 
 you have been upon a precipice, one of shame and 
 death, reproach and dishonour, tremble! Let it be a 
 warning to you, my dear girl; but mnember this, 1 
 cannot deceive you my respect for you, I know 
 what I say, my respect for you is greater than ever. 
 You have heart, sensibility, courage. You are no 
 longer a giddy child ; you are a woman now, in ex 
 perience. Remember this. I love you more and 
 respect you more than ever." 
 
 Poor fiirl, she tiied in vain to dry her eyes, and 
 when we met Mary, neither could look into the 
 other s face ; they joined hands, and blessed each 
 other, and we continued our walk in silence : and, 
 finally, returned to the house, in season to partake 
 of a cold dinner ; after which we spent the day with 
 Mary and Ellen, so happily, and so innocently, 
 though scarce a word was spoken, that 1 have often 
 gone back to it in thought, as to one of the happiest 
 upon the record of my whole life. 
 
 Our party, toward the hour of separation, was 
 augmented by a dashing girl, and one or two young, 
 riotous, ill-bred men, who, we were told, were 
 Quakers. The girl was not: but she was a cele 
 brated toast, and really confounded us with her 
 volubility and affectation. Her dexterity was in 
 finite, her blunders incessant; and not unfrequenlly 
 I had occasion to admire the delicacy of reproof, er 
 the wit, of Ellen. 
 
 " I can t bear for my life," said Miss Fitzwil" 
 liams (the lady I have just mentioned) a fat, vul 
 gar creature, with all the fellows at her heels." 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! ha! haw ! haw ! haw !" laughed the 
 brace of Quakers, sprawling their legs about, and 
 leaning back in their chairs, with their hands in 
 their breeches. 
 
 " Plenty o stuff," cried one ; " haw ! haw ! haw 1 
 ha ! ha ! hee, hee !" cried the other. 
 
 " O, yes," cried Miss Fitzwilliams, " rich as 
 Keezus, or the dog of Venus." 
 
 " Or the Dolphin of France, or Clam of Tartary," 
 said Nell, cutting in, with her eyes dancing in their 
 sockets. 
 
 Mary smiled, and Arthur was fain to stoop down 
 for something near the fire, while Miss Fitzwilliams 
 asked, with great eagerness, which of em all was 
 the richest? 
 
 " Keezus, I imagine, said Nell, without stirring 
 a muscle. 
 
 " Yes, I thought ; so I ve read again and again 
 about them other fellers: but well, Lord, 1 wonder 
 how a woman can sleep, when she knows that the 
 men are only running after her for her money s sake. 
 
 " And why not?" said Ellenor, with a sudden 
 change of countenance, that startled me could it be 
 possible, was all her vivacity artificial ? I really be 
 gan to believe so, so gracefully, so beautifully, sat 
 the sweet dignity of seriousness upon her delicate 
 features. "And why not for a woman s money! 
 as well as for her beauty ! or her family ! or her 
 Toice! or her fashion! or her dancing? Woman 
 cannot expect to be loved for herself alone. And she 
 who would be unhappy at the thought that a man 
 had married her for her money alone, and not for 
 herself, would be cruelly apt to believe, if she were 
 beautiful, that he had married her, notfor herself, but 
 for her beauty." 
 
 " La! how you talk well, did you ever?" said 
 Miss Fitzwilliams, rising, and wrapping her fine 
 tippet about her beautiful Joseph, utterly unable to 
 reply, while I, astonished at the manner of Ellenor,. 
 went up to her, and gave her my hand, with a look 
 
SEVENTY-SIX. 
 
 of veneration and deep sincerity that I know she 
 felt, for she coloured to the temples, and her eyes 
 filled instantly! "Heaven bless you!" said I. 
 " You have raised yourself wonderfully, wonderfully 
 in my estimation. Persevere ! and never ferget, 
 night nor day, what I have told you. If you ever 
 want a friend, a counsellor, a brother, remember me." 
 
 " Farewell, Mary, farewell ! said Arthur, I had 
 desceaded the stairs and saw him bow his head upon 
 her neck. " Remain here. You are not yet entirely 
 recovered. Remain here. Write to me; and I will 
 to you. It is hard to part ; but it must be farewell." 
 
 We walked on, in silence, to our lodgings, en 
 tered the room, which was encumbered with baggage, 
 pedlars pack, trunks, and men, lying about the floor 
 in all directions. 
 
 " To bed," said I, taking the light. 
 
 " Just as you say, 1 he replied, lingering. " I 
 should prefer selling off directly ; tha moon is very 
 bright, and I am impatient for action." 
 
 "To camp?" said I: Are you mad; when do 
 you expect to find time to sleep there, if you can t 
 here ?" 
 
 " Well, well, John, to bed here, then. But, for 
 myself, 1 had rather ride all night long under that 
 cold moonlight." 
 
 " With the northern blast blowing a hurricane of 
 snow into your eyes, I suppose?" said I. 
 
 " Yes than to lie down on the softest bed in the 
 city," he continued. 
 
 Be that as it may, we slepi^ quietly ; awoke betimes, 
 puid our reckoning, contrary to the custom of the 
 day, and were soon upoa our return. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 Among my hopes, too early blown, 
 But one is left its hermit glow 
 In solitude is lovelier though, 
 And warmer, like the flowers I ve known, 
 O er cold, dark earth neglected thrown, 
 Retired and blooming, though alone, 
 A violet hope beneath the snow. 
 
 For two whole hours not a word had been spoken. 
 
 " John !" said Arthur, turning about, arid looking 
 Hie steadily in the face, " are we in our right senses 
 do you believe? 
 
 "We! I cannot be positive for more than one, 1 
 said I, laughing " but" 
 
 " I am serious, 1 he said, interrupting me ; " I am 
 deeply troubled here (laying his hand upon his 
 heart), and I do fear, that I am not sufficiently 
 grateful to our Father above, for this to prove a 
 reality." 
 
 I was struck by the expression of his face it was 
 cloudy. 
 
 " My dear Arthur, I replied, riding up abreast, 
 and taking his hand, " I do not wonder at your feel 
 ing. Few such mercies as these are ever vouchsafed 
 to man and at this period of our lives, while the 
 hot blood is racing through our veins, with every 
 thought and impulse, we are apt to be especially 
 neglectful of our duty to God. Let us be wiser. 
 The battle is for ever at hand HOW. Let us not be 
 found asleep upon our post. 
 
 " Right, cousin," said he, recovering, and with a 
 solemn movement of the arm confirming every word 
 that I uttered, as if it had been a vow about to be 
 
 registered above ; " I have thought much of it, daring 
 the darkness and terror that have been about me ; 
 but never so intensely, so emphatically, as since the 
 hour that Mary, dear Mary, stood up before me, like 
 one touched by the hand of a prophet, and brought 
 anew into life, that I might be a better man. Yes, 
 I have thought much of it, and have come to this reso 
 lution to be prepared for death at any moment; 
 not, as I have been, by desperate hardihood, indif 
 ference, or a desire of quieting the dark tumult in 
 my mind ; but as a man, a Christian. Let us be 
 prepared; not by burnishing our arms, or sleeping 
 upon them ; hut-by a prayerful and uninterrupted 
 reference to our Maker, in every moment of our life. 
 O, John! our lives have been a reproach to us. 
 Say what we will ol His mercy comfort our 
 selves as we may with the thought, that we have 
 no heavy sins to our charge ; yet, yet, cousin, consi 
 dering our temptations, we hare transgressed heavily. 
 I feel it I know it. 
 
 The tears ran down his manly face, but he did not 
 appear to be sensible of it, for he kept on, in a slowr 
 walk, side by side with me, stopping now and then, 
 and putting his hand upon mine, as if to enforce what 
 he said. 
 
 " I have rushed into battle headlong, like a wild 
 beast, careless of my destiny, and drunk with pas 
 sion. So have you;- we have never stopped our 
 horses in the smoke and flame for a single instant^..... x - 
 JtuJble.ss God that we were yet on the saddle; nay, // 
 nor when it was over, have we ever fallen upon our ^ 
 faces, among the dead and dying, to thank our Al 
 mighty Father that we were nut of the number. 
 O^cousin ! these are sins, unpardeuable sins, when 
 creatures like us, so untutored in the ways of blood, 
 can spur our horses over whole ranks and layers of 
 the (lead : behold the lacerated bosom of a human 
 creature gushing out, under the blow of our iron 
 hoofs; stumbling over human faces, gashed lips, and 
 ghastly eyes, we, who have been so peacefully and 
 quietly brought up without emotion, after a few 
 weeks of desperate familiarity with blood; what will 
 become of us if the war should last for many years ? 
 will our hearts be human then ? will there be one 
 atom of pur earlier nature left ?^ope atom, that has 
 not been baptized in blood, and hardened in fire? 
 No, cousin ! this is my resolution; to say little of 
 my duty henceforth, but to do it night and day; 
 never to talk of religion, but to nurse it in the holiest 
 place of. all my heart : to fight the battles of my 
 country, though there be no end to them, till she be 
 the conqueror, before I dream of any other duty." 
 
 " What ! Arthur, you would not give up Mary, 
 the new-found Mary?" 
 
 " No, never, but with life. But love shall not 
 sway me, as it does other men ; jt,,shall not make ine 
 forget! ;:] of my country or my God. No! He has 
 given her to me again, from the fire and smoke of the 
 midnight ravisher, untainted, unprofaned ; and He 
 can preserve her for me, till the night of darkness 
 hath gone over my country. 1 
 
 " Yon will marry her, though?" 
 
 " Marry ner ! while the question of slavery is un 
 settled while America is loosened to her foundation 
 marry her, and make a coward of myself in the 
 battle a traitor to the great cause, double and treble 
 the stake that 1 am now playing for her widow 
 hood and the orphanage of our children, slavery." 
 
 " Children!" said I, smiling. 
 
 " Ay, cousin children ! I do not tremble in pro 
 nouncing the word ; I do not, and will not, affect an 
 impious insensibility on that subject; if I marry. I 
 
 , 
 
/** 
 
 Vt 
 
 THE NOVEL NEWSPAPER. 
 
 look to have children, or I never would marr} 
 never! and would I, think you, hazard the begettiu t 
 laves? What! leave the children of Mary Austi. 
 and Arthur Rodman the dark heritage of slavery 
 no, let us die, if it must be, toiling and wrestling Jo 
 freedom; but, till we are free, let us not put in ha 
 zard the freedom of our posterity. No, let the natiot 
 be extinguished the whole nation rather ! But 
 
 Our horses plunged together as he spoke, and se 
 -off at full speed ; we rode breast to breast 1 or half a 
 mile, before we could fairly subdue them. 
 
 " A good omen," said I ; " we must ride together 
 Rodman, together ! whatever happen. 1 
 
 " Agreed," he replied, striking my horse upon the 
 swell of his chest " agreed ; the heart of that beast, 
 John, is beating with the contagion; hark! how it 
 rattles in his chest. Think you that man have less 
 ardour, less emulation ; no, blood horses will split 
 their arteries in the race; and shall men, like our 
 selves, faint and fall away at a less hazard? 1 
 
 Thus you see, my children, something more of this 
 man s character. I had never known him, nor 
 myself; nor, indeed, had we known each other till 
 the war broke out, and we had ridden man and horse, 
 over man and horse, elbow to"elbow, in the red battle. 
 
 Whether it be, that trial and calamity, war, and 
 the perilous vicissitudes thereof, do really en ate a 
 new character, or only deveiope the sooner thai which 
 is, that which might never have been known under a 
 more quiet sky, and less troubled ten) perat ure; whether 
 it be, that all men have certain hidden capabilities, 
 or hidden faculties ancLtaleuts, that are onlv to be 
 revealed, improved in the storm and convulsion^}! 
 know not ; but this I know, that out of four or five 
 men. whom 1 had known all my life, before we went 
 .into battle together, there was not one who did not, 
 fere the war had ended, manifest/a grandeur of 
 thought, a sublimity and energy of expression, and a 
 ^ / -steadiness in action, infinitely transcenuing all that 
 I could have conceived of him before the war. 
 
 Look at the men of our revolution ; where dt you 
 find such laces now? Why.arenot their children s 
 written over, and sculptured as deeply? Why! 
 because the impress of relationship the hand of 
 uature never yet operated upon the countenance of 
 man, and never will, with" aught of that terrible 
 distinctness, with which political convulsion chisels 
 out the head and the face of her chosen ones. Look 
 at the men of our revolution their very counte 
 nances are the history of the time. 
 
 You may believe me, my dear boys, that this 
 abrupt disclosure of Arthur had an amazing effect 
 upon me. It set me meditating upon my own impru 
 dence upon Clara and ere we arrived at the tent 
 of Archibald, for we took a wide circuit in reach 
 ing Morristown I had made up my mind to be a 
 better man, and a trtTer one, to Heaven and to her. 
 
 ~ rt Brother," said Archibald, who was. sitting up 
 When he entered, " I have been impatient for your 
 Teturn. We must not leave our lone mother in a 
 strange house. 1 
 
 *_" Why not ?" said 1 ; " Lucia ministers to her like 
 a daughter; and where shall she go? * 
 ft Arthur could contain his feelings no longer ; he 
 <threw himself into a chair, and sobbed al md con- 
 tinually repeating the name of " Mary, Marv." 
 
 " Poor fellow," said Archibald, turning towards 
 liina, and leaning upon his shoulder ; " what has 
 happened to him ?" 
 
 I was fain to tell the whole; for some minutes 
 Archibald stood upright, looking at me, with a stern, 
 pallid countenance, as if doubting whether I w; a 
 
 not in sport ; his eyes then began to move ; tears 
 ran round the balls, and he put his hand upon my 
 temples, and shook his head, as if, perhaps, he thought 
 that I was disordered ; but be that as it may, he 
 soon knew the whole truth, and of the whole three, 
 he was the happiest! Never did I see his heart so 
 full; his religious, devout rapture.,^ so eminently 
 exrjressl^e;as,now, ia.Jii* ujuta blue eyes, shaking 
 hands, and convulsive lips. 
 
 Let us separate, " said he ; " I cannot talk now ; 
 leave me a while." 
 
 We arose at his bidding, and went out, traversing 
 the camp, and maturing our thought for the future ; 
 but almost in silence, for the stillness was only- 
 broken now and then by some contraction of the 
 hand, and a deep breathing for a moment, as we 
 turned alternately, in our march, and caught each 
 other s arm unable to speak, yet too happy, far too 
 happy, for silence. 
 
 And here, my children, you will allow me to 
 pause a while, remarking, that no matter of im 
 portance took place for several weeks in our iitde 
 camp, till Archibald was restored, and Clinton 
 rnoined us, for the purpose of carrying your 
 thought abroad, to the more distant operations of 
 our country, in the field and council. 
 
 Congress were now sitting in Baltimore ; and 
 one of their first movements was to declare George 
 Washington supreme and independent, as the 
 commander of our armies, and manager of the 
 war ; nay, to declare him little else than a military 
 dictator. 
 
 They were wrong. They deserved to be tumbled 
 from their seats for it. At first, they were so nig 
 gardly and dastardly in their grants, so bountiful in 
 their limitations andrestrictions, and qualifications 
 and conditions, that he was little else than a 
 nominal commander, incapable of exercising any 
 discretion, but at the peril of a court-martial. 
 And now they put into his hands the sword, and 
 the purse, and the law, at one and the same mo- 
 meat. They betrayed their trust. They behaved 
 unwisely ; and though it gave to George Washing 
 ton s "virtue the last trial, the trial of fire, yet 
 he men that put him to the proof deserved to be 
 :rampled to the earth, bound hand and foot, and 
 driven over by the iron chariot of despotism. It 
 was no virtue of theirs, no want of power or 
 opportunity in Washington; nothing but his own 
 ublime and heroic disdain of crowns and sceptres, 
 and all the paltry baubles, that other men, and 
 ;he greatest too, have coveted ; nothing but that 
 which prevented him from being a king in the 
 and, backed by the whole power of Great 
 Britain. He was left to appoint and displace his 
 fficera at pleasure, establish their pay, call for any 
 number of men that he pleased from the several 
 states, and compel the public to receive the con 
 tinental paper at par, as if any human power 
 ould do that. 
 
 The enemy began to threaten Lee, too, with the 
 lunishment of a deserter ; and Congress imme 
 diately authorised Washington to retaliate, blow 
 or blow, indignity for indignity, upon Colonel 
 Campbell, and five Hessian field officers. This led 
 o an alarming agitation in the public mind ; and 
 .hen there had been a serious disagreement brewing 
 at the North, which finally led to a reproof of 
 General Schuyler, one of the most indefatigable 
 men that ever lived, and one of the truest hearts that 
 ever beat for America, by Congress ; and the ap 
 pointment of General Gates to the 
 
the Northern army Granny Gates, as he was 
 called, a talkative, pleasant old gentleman, who is 
 remembered now rather for his good fortune than 
 his generalship. 
 
 General Arnold, the traitor, had also begun 
 about this time to make a noise in our camp ; several 
 desperate affairs on land and sea had made him a 
 subject of universal attention ; aatl had he been 
 a better principled man, a religious one, not a 
 pretender, he would have ranked with the foremost 
 of our heroes. His courage, however, sometimes 
 degenerated into rashness ; and his singular good 
 conduct, to downright madness. 
 
 But still our little army increased so slowly, 
 that the month of June was about to open upon us 
 without our having the power to strike a blow. 
 And often since, in reflecting on this season, I 
 have thought it past all explanation, that Sir 
 William Howe should have been ignorant of our 
 weakness; and I have wondered why he did not 
 make a dash into our very encampment, months 
 before he manifested any disposition of the kind. 
 But so it was we slept upon our oars from 
 necessity, he upon his from choice ; and while we 
 drifted down the current, about the same distance 
 and relationship were preserved for months and 
 months, when a few stout pulls on his part would 
 hare brought him along-side. During this state 
 of indolent suspense, two or three slight affairs 
 took place in our parties, just sufficient to keep us 
 awake, and talking, within our entrenchments, but 
 nothing of any note, except at Sag- Harbour a 
 smart decided thing. So let us return to our 
 story. 
 
 I shall take it up at the time that I first saw 
 Clinton, face to face, which was about six weeks 
 after his return to camp, and nearly three months 
 from the time of his wound ; perhaps nearly four. 
 He was an altered man, and the intercourse that 
 had once subsisted between him and Archibald, 
 who had now become one of the heartiest and 
 strongest, as well as most active, youns; fellows in 
 the army, seemed to be entirely forgotten. There 
 was no sign of recognition between them, not a 
 word nor a look. ; but, in the deep blue eyes of 
 Archibald, and the dark flashing balls of C inton, 
 there was a mute expression of mortal antipathy, 
 or at least, so I thought, whenever they passed 
 each other. Clinton, I observed, was perpetually 
 practising with the small-sword ; and Archibald, it 
 was thought, had no equal now in the army. Every 
 leisure momeat was spent in the exercise, and 1 
 was constantly on the watch, together veitl 
 Rodman, to prevent the deadly conteniion that 
 seemed about to take place. But I never spoke of it 
 to Archibald ; or rather, he would not permit me 
 to approach the subject, though 1 tried repeatedly 
 to sound him. Nor could Arthur, whose intrepid 
 heroic calmness, led him directly to the point, 
 when he bore down like a tempest upon the doc 
 trine of false honour ; nor could he provoke my 
 brother to utter one word in their defence. 
 
 Clinton, too, though an altered man, was fuller 
 of levity than ever ; but it was a bitter am 
 sarcastic levity, and such as, I should think, 
 would escape from the heart of a high-bloode 
 profligate, mortified and cut to the soul, by some 
 unknown, unforeseen disappointment : but his 
 voice was louder than ever, his carriage more im 
 perious than ever, his jovial, frolicksome manner 
 more delightful than ever, to them with whom he 
 associated ; and the leisure of the camp, his high 
 
 SEVENTY-SIX. 71 
 
 tature, his acknowledged personal pre-eminence, 
 ind his perpetual absence, round the neighboHr- 
 lood, were alarming indications of his nature ; 
 ntrigue after intrigue came to our ears, and one or 
 ;wo serious encounters ; and often have I seen him 
 at a distance, reining his beautiful horse like a 
 centaur, as if the animal were apart of himself; 
 all eyes upon him, every mouth repeating his 
 name, as he rode proudiyand confidently through 
 nis evolutions when there would be a sudden 
 change in his career his arm would drop, he 
 vould heave his body back in the saddle, and sit 
 for a moment, as if his thoughts were not upon 
 the display in which he was employed ; and then, 
 erecting; himself suddenly again, as if ashamed 
 of his absence, and impatient for action, he would 
 strike his rowels, inch deep, into his horse, and 
 shoot, like an arrow, along the whole line of tents : 
 and often too, when I have heard the laugh and song 
 in some officer s marquee, with the voice of 
 Clinton ringing like a trumpet in the middle, it 
 has suddenly died away ; and if I could by any 
 means and Arthur had observed the same thing 
 obtain a glimpse of his person in full, I was sure 
 to find him dark and mournful ; his attitude like 
 that of a man sick at heart, and absent in mind; 
 scorning the noisy revel, in which he had been 
 goaded by his proud, reluctant, tyrannical spirit 
 to participate, and scorning himself that he had par 
 ticipated ; indeed, whenever I sawhim, bis face was 
 thoughtful not solemn not stern but thought 
 ful until he saw himself observed, when his spirit 
 would brighten outright, and the boisterous merri 
 ment of a soldier, rioting in his unquestioned 
 dominion, would ring, with a startling loudness, 
 upon the ear. 
 
 But these things could not last long. The 
 French gentleman, of whom I have before spoken, 
 Monsieur du Coudray, had become exceedingly 
 fond of my brother and swore impetuously, 
 wherever he went, that there wasn t his match in 
 America, at the small-sword. Clinton heard of 
 it ; and one evening, as we all sat together, playing 
 cards, Archibald, in a remarkable good humour, 
 and Arthur ;iltogfth<r the man that he had been 
 for months before, his heart running over at the 
 lips, at every word a gentleman entered, and 
 presented a note to my brother. 
 
 He took it, read it, laid down a segar that 
 was in his mouth, faced the cards before him, 
 without looking at the bearer, and wrote with a 
 pencil, upon the face, " accepted." 
 
 The stranger retired, and Archibald played out 
 his hand. 
 
 Du Coudray, a creature brimful of chivalry, 
 threw himself back in the seat ; and, pretending 
 to arrange the cards, sat for several minutes, study 
 ing the countenance of Archibald ; at last, tap 
 ping, first my brother s heart and then his own, 
 said, " Monsieur, ah, ah ! Monsieur! Je suis a 
 vous ! ne m oubliez pas !" 
 
 " No," said my brother, as if he understood 
 him, "no, there is my hand on it. He says 
 fencing, not fighting, sir." 
 
 The Frenchman smiled, lifted his eyes, made a 
 motion with his hand, as if to lunge to the very 
 hilt, shrugged, and returned to his cards. 
 
 " Brother," said I, "it is time to be serious ; 
 what is the meaning of this ? I canqpt remain 
 silent ; I cannot pretend to misunderstand you." 
 " Well then," he replied, smiling, " Clinton is 
 
THE NOVEL NEWSPAPER. 
 
 disposed to fence a little with me ; have you any 
 objection?" 
 
 " With foils, brother? or blades ?" 
 
 " Foils, I suppose," was the reply, " for he 
 speaks of doing it to-morrow, before some of 
 his companions, and he could hardly think of 
 that, if there were any thing very serious in his 
 thought." 
 
 " I am not so sure of that," said Arthur, "and, 
 happen what will, I shall go with you." 
 
 " And I, brother." 
 
 " For," continued Arthur, " I don t like all this 
 preparation; there is some trick in it. We know 
 the rules of the camp ; and while Washington 
 commands, we cannot fight." 
 
 <l Very well, then ; come, brother, tis your 
 deal ; you shall go with us. Ha! Rodman, don t 
 look at your cards, face the trump, man ; what 
 the deuce ails you? well, Coudray (sorting h ; s 
 cards), I hope you have something you lead, you 
 know; come." 
 
 One trick was taken in silence ; when the next 
 came, Archibald jumped up from his chair, cry 
 ing, " Why ! what a blunderhead ! the game was 
 ours ; ah, poor Coudray, you will never learn the 
 vile game ; how rrany times I have told you not to 
 lead from a king and knave ; or ace, queen ; 
 there ! just what I expected." 
 
 I looked up, and was satisfied. Could a man 
 feign so well ? no, it was impossible the pas 
 sionate eagerness that he felt in the game was 
 natural ; my heart was easy from that moment. 
 I felt that he could not have any deadly intention 
 in his. 
 
 Du Coudray, too, threw down his cards, with a 
 smile, and began a conversation about the move- 
 meuts of Congress, who had adjourned to Phila 
 delphia. It appeared that he had joined our cause, 
 as a volunteer ; and that his influence had been 
 so great in France, as to induce several fine spi 
 rited young fellows of high rank to stake their 
 fortune with him. He had been mads inspector- 
 general of ordnance in our staff, with the rank of 
 major-general ; but some jealousies having arisen, 
 the noble fellow had just written a letter to Con 
 gress, offering to accept the rank of captain for 
 himself; and that of ensigns and lieutenants for 
 the few of his friends, who had thrown up their 
 rank at home to accompany him in this perilous 
 adventure. 
 
 The intelligent countenance and dark eyes of 
 the young Frenchman were full of the deepest 
 expression, while he was engaged on this subject ; 
 but it vanished instantly when he arose, as if 
 giving place to some thought yet deeper ; and he 
 shook my brother s hand more seriously, I 
 thought, than the occasion seemed to demand. 
 
 I took Archibald s arm, soon after, and led him 
 out in front of the tent, where we could talk tcge- 
 
 her, a while, without the risk of interruption. 
 
 " How has Clinton succeeded?" said I, " you 
 /ever speak of the family of late ; yet something 
 must have happened, I am sure of it, for you 
 have heard from them, and yet have never told me 
 what. Nay if I pain you, I will forbear ; I do 
 
 not ask you how Ciarais.or Lucia, or " 
 
 " Lucia and Clara are both well," said he, 
 firmly. 
 
 " Why do you never speak of her, then ?" 
 
 " Of Lucia you mean ?" said he. 
 
 " Yes ; I am sure that she loves yo4i." 
 
 " So am I," said he. 
 
 " And that shs has cut Clinton adrift, on ac 
 count of her love for you." 
 
 " I have no doubt of it," he answered, in the 
 same tone. 
 
 " And what do you mean to do, Archibald ?" 
 
 " Nothing," he replied. 
 
 " But surely," I continued, willing to probe 
 his heart, no matter how deeply, so that I could 
 touch the place where all his hatred of Clinton lay, 
 " surely you cannot have forgotten her ?" 
 
 "Forgotten her, brother?" said he, facing 
 upon me, putting both his hands upon my 
 shoulders, and looking me steadily in the eyes ; 
 "You have some design in that question; you 
 never could ask it else ; it never came from your 
 heart; what is it?" 
 
 " I would know, dear Archibald," said I," if 
 you have forgiven Clinton." 
 
 " Then, why not say so, John, why not say so 
 at once ? I should not wince or prevaricate. No, 
 1 have not forgiven him. I cannot forgive him. 
 He broke in upon the only heritage that I had, 
 and spoiled it with fire and sword. He took the 
 only dear one, the only unspeakable dear one, of 
 all this world from me, the heart of of Lucia. 
 She loved me, and he knew it. Yet he took ad- 
 vantage of her proud temper, a peevish moment, 
 such as they that love truest will have now and 
 then. And, poor Lucia ! she believed that he had 
 supplanted me. I knew better I knew her well. 
 I expected to see the earth give way under their 
 feet; yet, in my hushed agony, I prayed so long, 
 and so devoutly, that it might not be, for her 
 sake, that at last I had persuaded myself that it 
 would not be ; and that she, whom I most loved 
 of all created things she whom he had taken out 
 of my heart, almost without desiring it cer 
 tainly without knowing aught of her value, and 
 assuredly, judging of her as a wanton, that she 
 might yet be happy in his arms. ^_aught4U$ to 
 have prayed it. I ought not to have believed it. 
 f olight to have known better. I oughtlo have 
 known that the woman who has once loved Ar 
 chibald Oadley, can never love another man. John, 
 John, I cannot forgive him. Yet, for her sake, I 
 would not lift my hand against him. Nay, not 
 so fast. I deserve no thanks. I shall not pro 
 voke him; not throw myself in his way; but 
 mark me, I do not promise that, if he put himself 
 wilfully in mine, I shall not, as I once threatened 
 to do, do my best to bring his proud forehead to 
 the dust. You tremble. I know your sentiments 
 on duelling and those of Arthur and you know 
 mine. You are disturbed. I do not wonder. 
 You are the only living creature that knows my 
 real thought. No, I cannot forgive him. For 
 myself, for all that I have suffered, though it is 
 better to be supplanted in a few hours, no matter 
 by what hellish stratagem, no matter by what ac 
 cidentafter a few hours, by a stranger. Yet I 
 could forgive that, as I am a living man, I could ; 
 I call God to witness it, brother I could ; but I 
 cannot, I will not, forgive his profligacy his I 
 cannot proceed I have spilt my blood for that 
 family, and I am willing to spill it again Dis 
 honour" 
 
 " Your eyes are frightfully brilliant, brother 
 what have you to complain or ? The dishonour is 
 his, not hers. She has stood up, when he lay 
 prostrate at her feet, and refused him him that 
 never sued to woman before in vain." 
 " I know it, and I bless her for it," cried Ar- 
 
chibald, wringing my hand. " I know it I know 
 it. I love her for it, more than ever. Nay, she 
 did more, she tended him through his illness, wept 
 over him, prayed with him, watched with him. 
 gave him every opportunity that a lover could 
 wish, and yet Oh ! righteous Heaven ! what a 
 magnificent heart had that man once within his 
 reach, had he only known its value yet she re 
 fused him again aud again. Nay, when in health, 
 backed by all his beauty, and pride, and sorrow, 
 and penitence the solicitation of all her friends, 
 the sincerest love, tears from a man that never 
 shed tears before at the foot of woman the re 
 membrance of past tenderness, and the belief that 
 she should never see him more, nor me yet she 
 Stood upright before all her family, and calmly put 
 aside the naked heart that he offered, too, upon 
 his knees. God bless her for it. 1 
 
 "Bitterly, bitterly hath she repented of her 
 rashness," said I. " Yet yet there is something 
 more than humiliation required to bring back the 
 proud heart of Archibald, I fear. He has no com 
 passion for fraiity, no forgiveness for a sin like 
 hers, no mercy. Oh ! rny brother " I fell upon 
 his neck, awestruck at the solemnity of his eyes ; 
 they were severe and terrible, unrelenting as death. 
 
 " Do you utterly abandon her? said I. 
 
 " You have no right to ask that question," he 
 replied. "No man liviag, not even her own 
 father, has the right to yet I will answer it. I 
 do not mean to abandon her what more ? Ask 
 me no questions : I shall answer no more. Hence 
 forth I go alone to accomplish the thought of my 
 heart. She has suffered she must suffer more. 
 How much I cannot pretend to say, but enough 
 to make her a reasonable creature." 
 
 " Yet Clinton has no hope," said I. 
 
 "None. I could have told him so before he 
 asked her. None." 
 
 " And you love her ?" 
 
 " Yes ; as never man loved woman." 
 
 " And she loves you with all her heart and soul 
 without hope?" 
 
 "Yes; sol believe." 
 
 " Brother brother." 
 
 The sentinel here levelled at ti<3, and would have 
 fired, but for my timely recollection. He had 
 challenged already, it seems, but we had not heard 
 him. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 HOMER.* 
 
 " There !" said Du Condray, stooping as he en 
 tered our log hut, " there, monsieur ! ce sont 
 
 * I should have written this in Greek ; but the 
 translation that I have given, though not alto 
 gether so fashionable or learned as some that have 
 been made, and are used on like occasions, will 
 now be intellijribla to every body. If it should be 
 thought so, I shall be amply rewarded for all my 
 trouble in making myself entirely acquainted with 
 the original. It is, altogether, truer than Pope s. 
 
 SEVEXTY-Slxi 75 
 
 charmants, les fleurets, voila!" laying two pair of 
 glittering foils upoa the table " ce sont excel- 
 lents." 
 
 Archibald took up one, and putting his finger 
 upon the button, asked why he brought two pair. 
 
 " Oh, moa Dieu ! peutetre, il vous faut plus de 
 deux." 
 
 "Very well. Come, monsieur, lead on. Come, 
 brother come Arthur. All ready, monsieur." 
 
 "Oui, tout, il est pan, said the Frenchman, 
 leading us to the northern breastwork and parapet. 
 " Stirling," cried he, facing the sentinel, who 
 stopped, brought his firelock smartlv to a present, 
 and then continued his walk. 
 
 We soon came to a place that had evidently 
 been prepared for the occasion. The snow was 
 levelled, and covered with sawdust all about, and 
 in the centre trodden as smooth and level as the 
 platform over which we had passed. Clinton s 
 friends were already on the ground, with counte 
 nances that looked very little like play. 
 
 " I don t much like that man, said Arthur ; 
 " look to your arms." 
 
 I turned in the direction of his eyes, and saw a 
 thin, spare man, with very black eyes, scowling at 
 us, his cocked hat pushed on one side, as if ia 
 defiance, so as to reveal two very deep scars npon 
 his forehead, and his hancl resting upon the hilt of 
 a hoi-seman s sword, almost as tali as Archibald. 
 
 Monsieur Du Coudray seemed, by a sort of tacit 
 acquiescence, or rather invitation, to be invested! 
 with the rank of marshal for the occasion ; and 
 no light honour did he appear to esteem it, for he 
 gave his or. ers with the peremptory air of a field- 
 marshal, arranged the masks, crossed the foils, 
 and posted the spectators, like one experienced in 
 all matters of ceremony. 
 
 Clinton s eyes were insufferably haughty, and I 
 could not for my soul dispossess myself of a belief 
 that he had come prepared for something serious ; 
 yet there was a bitter pleasantry in some of his 
 jibes, and a sarcastic, keen irony of tone, that be 
 tokened the most perfect self-possession all the 
 while. But hearken to the sequel. 
 
 Archibald took his position. Both had taken, 
 off their boots and coats and were standing ia 
 their slippers; when Clinton, casting his eyes on 
 the tall, black-eyed man of whom I had just 
 spoken, seemed to request his interference. 
 
 He stepped forward, insolently enough, in front 
 of Archibald, and with a sneer, which caused Ar 
 chibald s forehead to contract and his lip to 
 writhe, asked him if he had any disposition to 
 take the mure first. 
 
 Du Coudray smiled, while his dark eyes flashed 
 fire at the interference ; and he remarked with a 
 shrug, that in France that was the last ceremony : 
 " Apres qu on a tire absolument la dernier. 1 
 
 The stronger seemed exceedingly disposed to 
 quarrel; and I was just on the point of tapping 
 him on the shoulder, when Arthur walked up to 
 him, and looking him full in the face, begged to 
 know what business he had to interfere. 
 
 The other stepped back, and struck the hilt of 
 his sabre. 
 
 Arthur smiled, folded his arms, and measured 
 him from head to foot. " Sir," said he, " I see 
 that you are disposed to quarrel. There shall be 
 no quarrelling here till that affair is settled. After 
 that, if you are troubles m; ay, or any of you 
 I shall take you in hand." 
 
74 
 
 THE NOVKL NEWSPAPER. 
 
 The other coolly unsheathed his hanger, and 
 made a motion for Arthur to follow him. 
 
 But ere the motion was complete. Archibald, 
 Du Coudray, myself, Clinton, and two others, 
 stood sword in hand, and almost foot to foot. 
 
 " Stop," said Archibald, " stop. If you have a 
 notion of fighting:, we are ready to indulge you. 
 If broad-sword, let us mount our horses, and do 
 the thing handsomely ; if small-sword, one at a 
 time will be the pleasantest ; and I I will fight 
 the whole of you, one after the other, with plea 
 sure." 
 
 Clinton interfered however, at once, resolutely, 
 and with an air of command, that soon brought 
 these mettlesome gentry to their senses, and the 
 foils were soon after resumed, the salute gone 
 through with, and they began to play. 
 
 Not a breath could be heard ; the Frenchman 
 stood like one contemplating a game for his own 
 life, his eager eyes streaming with fire. 
 "Ah! a hit," said the tall stranger. 
 Du Coudray shrugged his shoulders " Oui, 
 touche." 
 
 "Another, another," said the stranger. 
 " No," said Archibald, calmly, " no ; the first 
 was a fair hit, the second only a touch in the 
 sword-arm, and the third no hit at all, though a 
 very hazardous experiment.* 
 
 " How hazardous," said Clinton, sharply. 
 " So hazardous," answered Archibald, in alow, 
 deliberate voice. " that I could parry and hit you 
 every time that you should do it." 
 
 " Damn a" said Clinton, getting warm, yet 
 ashamed to own it ; " let us try again." 
 
 "No ; pardon me that would not be a fair 
 wame for you ; but I give you leave to do it when 
 ever you please, without notice." 
 They began to play again. 
 " There ! That 1 suppose was no hit," said 
 Clinton, peevishly. 
 
 " It certainly was not," said Archibald. 
 "Black the foils," said Clinton, flinging his to 
 one of the officers with an angry expression of 
 coatempt. 
 
 I looked at Archibald. His attitude was sin 
 gularly composed and graceful, the muscles of his 
 arm, the sleeve of which was rolled up, showing 
 spiritedly as he continued pressing upon his foil. 
 I uever saw such an arm: it was a limb of knotted 
 serpents. 
 
 But Du Coudray could not restrain his impa 
 tience ; he looked vexed, mortified, beyond all ex 
 pression. 
 
 The foils were blacked ; and I observed that the 
 feet of Clinton and Archibald, as they came upon 
 guard, soun ed with a more than common em 
 phasis. Their eyes, too, were fiercer than when 
 they began. 
 
 Clinton pressed him hotly, and the p ay was 
 beautiful for more than a minute, when suddenly 
 Clinton s foil flew out of his hand, and Archibald s 
 was bent nearly double against his breast. 
 " Foul play," said the stranger, interfering. 
 "No, sir," said Du Coudray, fronting him 
 fiercely ; " no foul play. Pardon ! he may disarm 
 and strike too. Pardon, monsieur." 
 
 Clinton was red with shame and vexation ; but 
 Archibald remarked, with a tone of much kind 
 ness, that he did not intend to disarm him. 
 
 "To be sure," said Clinton, laughing, but very 
 bitterly ; no man that breathes could disarm 
 me. You smile, sir what do you mean by it ? " 
 
 " Do you insist on knowing?" 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 " Why, sir, I can disarm you as fast as you can 
 )ick up your foil, if you will only lunge at me 
 unless you have a bridle in your glove. 1 
 This was said with marked emphasis ; and 
 linton turned pale, but did not reply. 
 "Or wrap a pocket handkerchief about your 
 guard." Du Coudray came to me, rubbing his 
 lands, and telling me, as well as he could, that 
 now he understood it all that Clinton could not 
 lave held his sword a moment unless he had a 
 bridle in his paim, and that now we should see 
 some sport. 
 
 Another round followed with great spirit, and 
 Archibald was hit acknowledged it, by putting 
 his hand upon his left side ; but before I could wink 
 he had returned it. And so it continued for se- 
 eral minutes, until the sweat streamed from both 
 their faces, Archibald uniformly returning the hit 
 instantly after receiving it, while Du Coudray 
 could not stand still for his life. 
 
 " Two and two, 1 said Du Coudray. 
 " No," said the stranger ; " three to two." 
 Archibald smiled, stepped back, and, as Clinton 
 followed, lunged and hit him. 
 
 Du Coudray clapped his hands. " Tree to 
 tree now, sair, I suppose ?" said he. 
 
 I wondered at Archibald s coolness and self- 
 pos^ession. It seemed impossible that he could 
 look so, unless sure of his superiority and yet F 
 where was it? 
 
 " You smile," said Clinton ; " my attitude 
 doesn t please you?" 
 
 " No," Archibald replied. "You are a little 
 careless. You don t come upon guard after 
 lunging." 
 
 " And what else," said Clinton, with a sneer. 
 
 " Several things, sir," said Archibald, beginning 
 
 to pull off his gloves, and look about for his coat. 
 
 " Stop, sir," said the imperious colonel " stop ; 
 
 I have not done with you yet. I cannot let ycu 
 
 escape thus." 
 
 "La plus belle!" said Du Coudray, handing 
 Archibald the foil. 
 
 "Colonel Clinton," said Archibald, "you are 
 mistaken. You cannot beat me. I am more than, 
 a match for you." 
 
 The colonel stamped with vexation ; and yet 
 there was, at the same time, a pleasant expression 
 in his countenance as he turned toward the tall 
 man, and wiped the dust from his foil. 
 
 " But you were pleased to tell me," said Clinton, 
 ironically, "of some faults that I had fallen into. 
 I should" be proud of any further information from 
 a master." 
 
 Archibald, with the most innocent face in the 
 world, jusc as if he took it all in downright ear 
 nest, replied, " Colonel Clinton has been out of 
 play too long. You hold your arm too high. I 
 could f^ive you the quatre has whenever I pleased. 
 When you cmipez, too, quatre, and tierce, you are 
 too low. You never press on my sword first, and 
 do it so widely, that I should be sure to hit you if 
 I lunged straight forward. You hold your hand 
 ton low for the circle and double, and you degage 
 like a schoolboy." 
 
 "Hell and the devil !" cried Clinton " what 
 do you take me for?" 
 
 A fjfth rate player," said Archibald, patiently. 
 Clinton struck at him, and, as Archibald caught 
 
the blovr, came upon guard, and then lunged fa- 
 riously several times. 
 
 " The button is off, 1 cried Arthur. " Stop, stop. 
 The button is off." 
 
 "Never mind," said Archibald, disarming Clin 
 ton again, while Du Coudray picked up the foil. 
 
 " It is broken," said Arthur. 
 
 Never mind ; it is all the same to me," said 
 Archibald, in a tone of stinging sarcasm " and, 
 if 1 mistake not, much the same to Colonel Clin 
 ton." 
 
 Clinton could bear it no longer. He foamed 
 at the mouth, his forehead turned red as blood. 
 and he was hoarse with passion. 
 
 "You think that you can hit me," said he, 
 fiercely. 
 
 " Yes, a hundred times running," was the reply. 
 
 " Break the button off your foil, if you dare 
 then." 
 
 " Are you serious 1" 
 
 " Perfectly, said Clinton, aiming a blow at 
 Mm (not with the point) that Archibald caught 
 like lightning, 
 
 " With ail my heart, then," said he, stepping 
 back. " Brother, stand back ; Arthur, stand back. 
 Du Coudray, take your stand with them, hand to 
 hilt. Let no man interfere ; for by the living God 
 (snapping off the button as he spoke) I ll not 
 spare my own brother, if he cross me now. You 
 know how I have forborne, till human patience 
 eould forbear no longer." 
 
 We ranged ourselves immediately, with flashing 
 eyes, opposite the three strangers. Arthur, I 
 observed, as he drew his sword, planting himself 
 face to face with the black-eyed one. I expected 
 to see "blood spilt other blood than Archibald s. 
 A single word would have sent us to the encounter. 
 
 Clioton and Archibald stood eyeing each other, 
 and feeling their points. 
 
 The stranger took out a couple of files from his 
 pocket, and offered to sharpen them. 
 
 Dn Coudrav glanced at my brother significantly, 
 who immediately threw his foil to the wretch for the 
 purpose, and observed, taking up the buttons, and 
 s eiitg how near to the point they had been broken 
 off, "That there had been some delicate management 
 there. I observed a little of it. Did you tile them, 
 Du Coudray ?" 
 
 " No," he replied, taking one of them. 
 
 On examining, we found that the point had been 
 filed down, so that they Cuuld not but break. He 
 looked about us for explanation, but my brother 
 smiled darkly, and bade him beware, hereafter, how 
 lie lent bis foils. The truth now broke upon us. It 
 was a preconcerted plan. The gallant Frenchman 
 had been made the instrument of a deadly pivpara 
 tion. The foils had been borrowed by some of 
 Clinton s friends, and filed, so that a duel might be 
 fought, in the heat of fencing, under pretence of 
 accident. The whole mystery was now explained ; 
 and when the mortal combatants came upon guard 
 for the last time, I felt my blood run cold. 
 
 They crossed their swords, and then, as if each 
 had a word or two to say in kindness to the other, in 
 memory of past times, the same love, the same 
 battles, the before they drove at each other s hearts, 
 thev both spoke : 
 
 " Archibald ! 
 
 "Clinton!" 
 
 " I owe you no hatred," said Clinton," but it is 
 ibo late. Are you prepared ?" 
 
 "Fullv but stop a moment. If you play as badly 
 
 s k VEWTY-SIX. 75* 
 
 now as you did before we broke the buttons offj I 
 foresee that it will be fatal to you. I do not want to- 
 run you through, but I shall do it. Nay, do not be* 
 impatient. Suppose you wrap a handkerchief round 
 your guard." 
 
 Clinton s nostrils dilated with scorn. 
 
 " Corne on, said he, " come on," advancing with 
 an incessant motion. Away went his sword, but a* 
 Archibald did not follow him up, he recovered it 
 again and came upon guard in a masterly style so 
 masterly, that Archibald s eyes sparkled with plea 
 sure. They renewed the combat, and Clin:on s 
 sword entered Archibald s neck, when it appeared 
 to me that, if he h.id straightened his arm, he would 
 have run Clinton through the body. 
 
 "That was awkwardly done," said Archibald, 
 dropping the point, and stepping back after Clinton 
 withdrew his, and the blood spouted out as if an 
 artery had been wounded. "You were entirely at 
 my mercy. I you had better stop." 
 
 Whether it was the sight of his own blood, or the. 
 sense of his danger, that did it, I know not, but his 
 voice and look were terrible as he uttered the words,, 
 in a low murmuring voice, " you had better stop." 
 
 " Stop!" cned Clinton, with a scornful bitterness, 
 as if Archibald had been crying for mt-rcy. " Mis 
 taken man." He pressed upon him again, but Ar 
 chibald continued for several minutes as it appeared 
 to me, to parry his thrusts with consummate dex 
 terity, returning none, and not even making a reportq 
 in which Du Coudray had ofien said that he was 
 unrivalled fur his quickness and brilliancy, until 
 both dropped their foils again, and stood panting, as 
 if their veins would burst, the sweat running from 
 their foreheads, and their hair wringing wet, though 
 it was an exceedingly cold day. 
 
 "Now then ?" said Clinton, approaching Archi 
 bald again with a mortal paleness about the lips; 
 "Now then for the last round ? 
 
 " The lust !" said Archibald, retreating with a 
 fixed eye, while Du Coudray could not forbear 
 watching every movement of his arm. Clinton, 
 rushed upon him, and played his weapon with an 
 incessant (lash ; and then there was a word or t\vo 
 passed between them, a pause, and the name of Lucia 
 Arnauld was pronounced by Clinton, I believe with 
 some other word I know not what ; but Archibald 
 leaped from the ground, as if wounded, saying, in a 
 voice that went through me, 
 
 " Your blood be upon your own head ! 
 It was but a word and a blow a death blow for 
 Archibald sprang from the ground; their blades 
 flashed fire and rung; the guards struck ; Clinton s 
 fle-v twenty feet high in the air breaking into 
 several pieces, and Archibald s hilt sounded upon 
 his breast. Clinton threw up his arms, the sword 
 snapped in his body, and he fell dead upon the spot. 
 
 For a moment there was a silence like that of the 
 grave. Not a motion, nor a breath was heard. We 
 stood appalled and thunderstruck at the suddenness 
 of the catastrophe; but, the next moment, aloud, 
 deep sob came from the body: it shuddered rolled 
 over, with ils mouth full of blood and saw-dust the 
 face upward and never stirred again. 
 
 Archibald stood over it as if struck blind ; the 
 broken foil in his hand, bright as silver, though it 
 had just been withdrawn from ihe vitals of a human 
 being: then, looking about upon us, like a murderer, 
 he stood, as if as if frightened at the sound of his 
 own tread in tho snow afraid to trust his own voice 
 glanced at the broken weapon, which dropped 
 
"6 THE NOVIL 
 
 from his hand, as if it were death- struck covered 
 his face, and walked out into the open air followed 
 by Du Coudray, Arthur, and myself. 
 
 We had not gone twenty yards when we heard the 
 word of command, and, on looking up, found ourselves 
 surrounded by a file of men. 
 
 " Stand," said the corporal of the guard. All 
 obeyed but Archibald. 
 
 "Your swords," said he, advancing. Each of us 
 obeyed without a moment s hesitation. 
 
 But Archibald either did not understand him, or 
 disdained to reply, for he passed on. 
 
 " Make ready ! present ! said the corporal. But 
 Archibald never turned his head; and, but for Du 
 Ceudray, who stepped before the men, with violent 
 gesticulation, we should have had bloody work of it 
 yet for they were on the very point of throwing 
 their bullets into Archibald ; and Arthur was ready 
 to second me iri any retaliation, however desperate. 
 But the corporal had compassion on him, and went 
 up to him politely, and begged his sword. 
 
 " My sword !" said Archibald, staring at him ; 
 "are you mad. 1 
 
 " You are under arrest, said the corporal. "All 
 the gentlemen have given up their swords and you 
 must give up ycam." 
 
 "Must I!" said Archibald, drawing it from the 
 scabbard. By God! I ll cleave the first man to 
 the naval that puts himself in my way. AVho sent 
 you?" 
 
 "The commander-in.cbief," said the corporal, 
 stepping adroitly beyond his reach, and beckoning to 
 the guards. 
 
 " Lead me to him," said Archibald ; " and mark 
 me at yeur peril, give sign or signal to the rascals 
 there. Do it ; arid I ll wake you a head shorter 
 (whatever become of me) before mortal man can help 
 you." 
 
 The corporal led on with a martial step, and we 
 followed, till we were in sight of Washington s quar 
 ters, when the corporal signified that only my brother 
 and I were to enter for the present. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 It is not that I dread the death ; 
 For thou hast seen rue by thy side, 
 All redly through the battle ride. 
 
 " Captain Oadley," said Washington to my brother, 
 as we entered his quarters, about an hour after our 
 arrest there was something exceedingly solemn in 
 his tone : " How happens it, sir, that I see you with 
 your side-arms? 
 
 Archibald stood proudly, yet.x e _ v l el ?.Ut! a lb r > before 
 him, pale as death his brown hair saturated with 
 sweat, and frozen upon his white forehead, his large, 
 deep, blue eyes fainting not, nor fading in the awful 
 presence. He replied. 
 
 " I refused to give up my sword to any body but the 
 commander-in-chief." 
 
 Washington raised his head ; a slight movement ol 
 his nether lip seemed to betray an inward agitation 
 as slight ; but he merely stretched out his hand in 
 silence, and Archibald obeyed it, by unbelting his 
 sword with a resolute hand, and laying it respect 
 folly upon the table. 
 
 Washington then turned, and made a motion to a 
 
 NEWSPAPER. 
 
 ; fine-spirited looking officer (Colonel Reid), which he 
 obeyed by leaving the room. 
 
 A deep silence of some minutes followed ; during 
 which the commander s steady look was never taken 
 from the sword, except to glance, for a moment, at 
 my brother, who stood rather haughtily, I thought, 
 after he had given it up ; and then at me. 
 
 " You are brothers, I believe ?" continued Wash 
 ington. 
 
 " Yes, sir," said Archibald. 
 
 " You knew that duelling was prohibited in the 
 army ?" 
 
 " Yes, sir. 1 
 
 There was another silence of some moments, in 
 which I could see the lip of Washington writhe 
 i gain, and his broad forehead darken with thought ; 
 rel it was but just visible, like the emotion of one 
 hat. great as he is, cannot, when his bones and blood 
 ire jarred, cannot forbear showing it in the calm of 
 lis eye, or the hue of his lip. 
 
 " Am I to believe that the death was accidental ?" 
 " No, sir ; I slew him deliberately," said Archibald. 
 "What!" answered the general, raising his arm 
 n wrath, and then letting it fall upon the table before 
 n m, as if his great nature had rebuked him ; and 
 :hen he continued in a deep, tranquillised tone to 
 speak as follows: 
 
 1 have been assured that the affair was an acci 
 dent that several gentlemen had assembled for 
 
 encing that, by some accident, Colonel Clinton 
 was slain. Yet, it was intimated to me, that there 
 liad been a growing hostility between you for somo 
 time. It was for that reason that I have ordered your 
 arrest. It is no light matter, young man, to have put 
 jeopardy the lives of eight men eight officers. 
 But my duty is a plain one. The law shall be en 
 forced. Is it not enough that we have the enemy 
 upon us from without, but we must be murdering 
 each other in cold blood ?" 
 
 He was evidently much disturbed ; either at the 
 thought of putting seven young men on trial for their 
 lives, before a court martial, or at the death of Clin 
 ton, who had long been a member of his family. 
 
 "I did hope," continued Washington, with a 
 temperate fervency of manner, that brought tears 
 into Archibald s eyes, " that this would prove what 
 it has been represented to me a hasty, accidental 
 affair ; and that a young man of such promise would 
 not have been the first to set that discipline at nought, 
 which he has been so long conspicuous in the support 
 
 " May I be permitted, said Archibald, faltering a 
 little in his voice, less, it was evident, from any terror 
 of punishment, than the fear of having offended his 
 commander, "to " 
 
 Washington signified to him to proceed ; and he 
 continued, standing before him, with his arms folded, 
 and his slight frame shaking with emotion, till he 
 had told the tale as it was; and till the faee of 
 Washington altered first to compassion, then to 
 sorrow, then to admiration. I do not mean to say 
 that he tcdd the cause of the quarrel ; but the whole 
 of the quarrel, which ended so fatally, he did tell, 
 modestly, but manfully, till Washington himself 
 changed colour; and then, turning slowly to us both, 
 
 " I shall inquire into this. In the mean time, 
 you will remain under arrest but not in confine, 
 ment." 
 
 We bowed, for the motion of his hand was not to 
 be misunderstood or resisted ; and withdrew, just as 
 Colonel Reid was returning. He stopped as we 
 
passed him wiped a tear from his eyes, and gave 
 his hand to Archibald : " Poor Clinton, 1 said he. 
 
 "Poor Clinton, 1 said Archibald, from his heart ; 
 and we passed on. 
 
 The whole encampment was in an uproar; soldiers 
 and officers were crowding about us, at every step, 
 some with menacing, others with compassionate 
 looks, for Clinton was an universal favourite with 
 the southern men, and universally execrated by the 
 northern ones; nay, so far had things gone at times, 
 that a mischievous spirit might have made a drawn 
 battle of it. more than once, by a little meddling. 
 
 " Dear brother, 1 said I, seeing him stop and put 
 his hands to his head, as if in extreme pain, after 
 we had passed the crowd, "you look wretchedly; 
 are you wounded? 1 
 
 "I feel so, said he; "put your hand here. 1 I 
 gave it to him, and he laid it on his temples ; they 
 beat furiously, but as he moved his neck under the 
 pressure, I observed that his bosom was full of 
 blood. I was terrified at the quantity; it was coa 
 gulated, and I could have taken it out by handfulls. 
 I hurried him to the tent, and found that, at every 
 movement of his head, it gushed out again, like a 
 little spout; but the surgeon who examined it put 
 me out of all apprehension immediately, as to the 
 wound. " That is nothing, said he, with emphasis; 
 "but God bless me, what a fever he is in !" 
 
 He was in a fever and, for two weeks, I never 
 left his bed-side; but, at last, I had the happiness 
 to see him on the saddle again, paler, a little, than 
 usual ; weaker, but not sadder, for that were impos 
 sible. 
 
 " There is your sword," said an officer, entering 
 one day after dinner, and handing a sabre to Archi 
 bald ; " the commander bids you use it, hereafter, 
 not against your friends, nor his friends, but the 
 enemies of your country." 
 
 Archibald bowed, and the moment that the officer 
 had left the room, threw the weapon from him, 
 saying 
 
 " Brother! I have half a mind never to buckle it 
 on again." 
 
 " Why?" said I, in surprise. 
 
 " I am weary of the trade of blood ; it wears me 
 to death." 
 
 " Archibald !" said I, " hear me ; we have gone 
 too far now to retreat we__hii*e~ -&ieedy and have 
 been dishonoured. Let us first atone for our trans- 
 .gresskms, recover cur name and flienT there is my 
 hand, go where you will when you will, I will fol 
 low you." 
 
 " Hftw a.tone for them ?" said he; " how recover 
 our name? By spilling more blood I fighting more 
 battlesj .killing more human creatures ! Brother, I 
 am not very sure, not so sure as I have been, that 
 this war is a righteous one." 
 
 "For shame, Archibald," I cried, "for shame! 
 would you have your children slaves !" 
 
 "God can make them free,* he replied, "and 
 they were better and happier as slaves, than if their 
 freedom, that priceless heritage, were bought with 
 blood." 
 
 " But God will not, cannot be hoped to work 
 miracles for us; we must labour ?" 
 
 "God hath jaidttLou shalt not kill ; we dare to 
 
 8ay, ThoirsaltTt kill ? Tjoa r ~ h~aTtr 1)5 wecrtFie Theav ens, 
 
 fnlT come down to ns, and taught us that we are one 
 
 great brotherhood yet man, presumptuous man, 
 
 j hath dared to set his majesty at naught, trample on 
 
 his law, and make the nations of the earth murderers. 
 
 ! Nol I must think of this. What I do shall ha 
 
 SEVKNTY-SIX. 77 
 
 done, not rashly, not unadvisedly, but temperately 
 There s,, much. blood upon my "hands, too much, it 
 may be, for me ever to sleep quietly again but all 
 of it, all ! that I have hitherto shed nay, not even 
 my (uviijis so loathsome and sickening, so terrible 
 and blinding, as that of poor Clinton ; yet, yet ! as 
 I am a living man, brother, were it to do over again, 
 I would do precisely what I, have done, though I 
 went to hell for it." 
 
 I shuddered from head to foot " Brother," said I, 
 " what devil possesses you ! You have been, at inter 
 vals, since that affair, frightfully blasphemous, yet 
 YOU used to be somewhat solemn of thought, at times, 
 and humble, and would pray, now and then ; but 
 since Clinton s death 
 
 " I cannot pray I cannot," he said, turning 
 abruptly away from me, " I dare not. 
 
 " But whatever be your resolution," said I, " you 
 will not think of abandoning the army, while it is in 
 danger. * 
 
 " What danger?" 
 
 " Sir William Howe has taken the field, left New 
 York, put all his troops in motion, and we are hourly 
 expecting an attack. Lord Sterling has just been 
 Sent out. La Fayette and, if the enemy does not 
 attack us, we shall have the finest opportunity in the 
 world for distinguishing ourselves ; for his line of 
 march, encumbered as it is with baggage for an army 
 of eighty or a hundred thousand men, we are told r 
 reaches nearly twelve miles along the road." 
 
 His eye flashed fire. " The sooner the better/ 
 he cried; " I_onlj want to hear the stirrups ringing 
 again, the trumpets blowing, and I shall be happy, 
 happy ! Alas, poor Clinton! to die may be verj r ter 
 rible, to die so suddenly, Is t>o ; but to survive Oh ! 
 that is to suffer. Every thing that I touch feels of 
 blood. Every thing that I see or smell, looks and 
 smells of blood, detestable hot blood, foaming and 
 smoaking from the ground Ha ! was that light 
 
 t- 
 
 nng 
 
 " No," said I, " hark ! it is one of the cannon 
 at the north ; ah ! that s the report. 
 
 " By Heaven," he exclaimed, putting his hand 
 before his eyes, " I have become the veriest coward 
 that breathes. Strange delusions are upon me. I 
 thought, just then, that I was upon the Delaware 
 again ; that I saw a horse drowning in the black 
 water, the body of Clinton entangled in the trapping. 
 I was just on the point of leaping in, when the 
 thunder broke about my heart ; and the blue lightning 
 flashed, like a serpent of fire, hissing through the 
 water; are you sure that it was a cannon? 1 
 
 "Certainly, I replied ; "I ll lead you to the 
 very gun in five minutes. 
 
 " And this ! (striking the snow with his foot), this 
 is the solid earth? You would persuade me of that, 
 I suppose ; why, John, I can feel it heave under my 
 tread like the ocean ; no, like graves about to give rp 
 their dead; and when I strike my foot upon it thus, 
 hark! do you not hear a moaning? a jarring too, as 
 if you leaned against a great organ whil-e it was in 
 full play ? 
 
 You distress me exceedingly, dear Archibald, * 
 said I ; "rouse yourself. These humours will be the 
 death of you yet. 
 
 " The sooner the better, brother." 
 
 " That is impious," I replied. " You are young, 
 full of high thought, and " 
 
 " Weltering in human blood, go on " 
 
 " And fitted," said I, " for much blessing to man 
 kind." 
 
78 
 
 THE NOVEL NEWSPAPER. 
 
 " Rouse yourself, tear, away the grave clothes that 
 are about you, and come forth 1 
 
 "Come forth! come forth! speak to Clinton, 
 
 "brother ; bid him come forth ; bid him come forth 
 
 from the holes of the rock, the charnel house ; and 
 
 I, by Heaven! I will take his place joyfully you 
 
 weep! Brother, it is unmanly to weep. Unmanly 
 
 of you yet I, I would give the world to weep, but 
 
 I cannot ; there is nothing but molten lead at my 
 
 I lieart ; no tears, none ; they are all dried up ; the 
 
 <^ fountain is full of dust and reptiles." 
 
 " A fierce and wayward spirit, brother, 1 said I, 
 deeply affected by his manner. 
 
 "A wayward spirit, brother, not a fierce one; a 
 melancholy spirit^ weary of slaughter, bowed down, 
 not by calamity, not by peril, not by sickness, but 
 "by doubt and sorrow. That sky look up brother 
 so blue and beautiful, sweeping darkly about uswiih 
 a swiftness of motion so uninterrupted and eternal 
 that we mistake it for an immoveable vault ; so 
 swift ! that we mistake motion for solidity ! Brother, 
 I never look up to that sky when the stars are in it, 
 "but there comes rushing over me a flood of brightness 
 and disorder I hear the neighing of horses, the 
 clashing of armed men, the breaking of water about 
 me and under me, and all the earth in commotion ; 
 wind and fire ; while that serene and beautiful dome 
 above, thickly beleagued with God s bright cherubim, 
 rolls for ever above us, undisturbed, unmoved, in its 
 sweet and awful repose. 
 
 " At this moment, brother, dark as it is, I can see 
 a troop of horsemen racing like a disorderly rabble 
 over the white snow, and wheeling and galloping in 
 the rnoou light. I can see their faces; count them 
 one by < ne ; distinguish all their horses; see the 
 dark eyes of Arthur streaming with fire; hear my 
 own voice in the wind ; all this wiih my ears stopped 
 and my eyes shut, as plainly as I saw it and heard 
 it all the night before that inroad of murderers upon 
 ur house ; the night before ! no, the very night ; 
 brother ! oh brother, could we but have met them ! 
 and now ah ! a storm. 1 
 
 * No, dear Archibald ; no, it is only the noise of 
 distant cannon surely you can see as well as I?" 
 
 "No, 1 fear not; I am blind and dizzy ; shattered, 
 I fear let me lean upon your arm dark shadows 
 are about me, unpleasant faces; they jar my blood, 
 and Ha ! there ! that splash of the water ! Oh, it 
 was precisely the same that sounded on my ears 
 "When the mare leaped out of the boat. 1 
 
 " It was not water, brother; it was the broad 
 striped flag there, flapping in the wind." 
 
 We were just under it ; it was the red and blue 
 flag, striped and stained, and that was the first day r 
 gof its floating. 
 
 "Where? said he; " it is very dark there was 
 a beautiful starlight when I came out." 
 
 I stopped. There was something in his manner, 
 more than in his words, that frightened me; for he 
 leaned upon me with his whole weight, like a sick 
 man. 
 
 "I see no stars," said he; "let us go back, I 
 know not where I am. The ground is unready, and 
 I expect it to fall in at every step. And while I hear a 
 continual hum of voices, rattling of armour, a flapping, 
 like many eagles above me, yet I can hardly per- 
 suade myself that we are not. upon the Delaware 
 again : it is a strange phantasy; but I can hear the 
 <juick sound of the rifles along the bank, and almost 
 istinguish the horses that dash, hither and thither, 
 as they did on the night of onr first embarkation 
 and there too is the same cold, troubled moonlight. 
 
 away at the north-east, gushing over the barrier qf 
 black clouds, like a while torrent, bursting in the 
 wind and now ! by Heaven ! brother, you are 
 weaker than I how you tremble? does it snow, 
 I can feel it driving in my face or rain? or what! 
 are you weeping ?~Stop ; speak to me ; am 1 awake, 
 or not? Are we going on; speak? are we upon thfe 
 water ? or the land ? going, or coming from Tren 
 ton? 1 
 
 I was utterly overcome; unable to articulate a 
 word. And it was only when I had led him back 
 to our quarters, and sent for our good physician, that 
 I was able to step without reeling. The doctor 
 looked alarmed; but attributed the sudden blindness 
 of Archibald to a quick rush of blood into the brain, 
 after sitting in a recumbent posture for a long time; 
 yet, with al) our care, it was some days before we 
 were able to repeat the experiment of leading him into 
 the open air. 
 
 But when we did he took a new and firmer as 
 pect. And when Arthur returned (for he had been 
 absent several days OH a visit to Mary), he was able 
 to mount his horse, and accompany us in our little 
 scoutiug parties. 
 
 At last, however, the signal was given. Our tents 
 were struck ; our log huts demolished ; and our 
 whole army put in motion. At the first sign of pre 
 paration, the noble fellow started up, as, from a 
 trance, leaped into the saddle, and dashed away to 
 the head of his men, with all that high, heroic 
 expression of earnestness which used to characterise 
 him. 
 
 i " Now, john," said he, plucking out his sword 
 * nowTlbr something better than complaint!" 
 
 Yet, though we were constantly under arms, mareh- 
 ingaml countermarching, itwasnot untilJune 19, that 
 we were able to make any calculation, from the ca 
 pricious movement of Sir William Howe. At first 
 we thought that he would cross the Delaware, and 
 pour into our entrenchment, man and horse, without 
 giving us time to breathe; but we soon lound that 
 he had left all his boats, and bridges, and heavy bag- 
 gage, at Brunswick ; and come, after a rapid march, 
 unparalleled indeed for him all at once, to a full 
 stop. Washington himself, we could perceive, was 
 confoundedly puzzled ; but neither alarmed nor ia- 
 timidated by these contradictory operations of hi 
 antagonist; and finally, when that antagonist had, 
 after having thrown up a chain of redoubts, extend 
 ing from Somerset to Brunswick suddenly aban 
 doned them, as soon as they were completed re 
 treating to Brunswick, and thence to Amboy, with 
 out striking a blow, except at the churches, court 
 houses, and other buildings upon the road, which he 
 left, reddening and smoking with devastation, our 
 perplexity was increased to a distressing degree. 
 \V_ejvere willing to fight, anxious to fight but few 
 men^ouuThave Dome, as we did, the uninterrupted 
 tension of their faculties, for such a length of time, 
 as we did bodily and mental, during the period of 
 indecision. All felt it, but no man more than Archi 
 bald; his sinews were strung to snapping again and 
 again during the day. Again and again would the 
 drum roll, at dead of night, and we would hear the 
 trumpet ringing over our faces, as we lay, each man 
 by his own horse while the trooper that blew it, 
 golioped along the darkly mustering battalions w* 
 would leap into our saddles form, and await the 
 signal of battle, in the expectation that the enemy 
 were upon us a few vollies would roll over the> 
 clouded sky a distant drum or two rattle for a mo 
 ment a solitary cannon peal like an earthquak 
 
SEVENTY-SIX. 
 
 fclong the trembling ground and we Would be OJ>i 
 dered to our repose again. 
 
 To Archibald, more than to any of Us, this trial 
 was terrible ; naturally impatient, he was (chiefly, 
 I believe, that the uproar might drown certain recol- 
 Wtionsof Clinton) unspeakably so about this time 
 And, at last, when General Greene had been ad 
 vanced to fall upon the enemy s rear, and Wayne 
 and Morgan upon their flanks, with Washington 
 and the whole main body to support them Archibald 
 could be restrained no longer ; and just at day light, 
 when Morgan s infantry attacked ihe Hessian pick- 
 ets,.and drove them in, he rode suddenly down upon 
 them at the head of his troop, without wai ing for 
 orders heedless, it would seem, of every thing but 
 employment ; for such was the disorderly nature of 
 his attack, that, but for Morgan, who, for a moment, 
 mistook him for an enemy, and suddenly called in his 
 men to receive him, he would probably have been 
 sacrificed for hi impetuosity. 
 
 I heard Morgan speak of it afterward. " Damn 
 the young madcap," -said he, in his broad, fearless 
 way, " I had brought my men off, and was just ready 
 to giv him a volley that would have left half his 
 troop upon the field, when he came round upon the 
 enemy in such a style, that it took my breath away ; 
 broke in upon them, cutting and slashing like so 
 many devils ; and would have been shut up, but for 
 a company of my boys that poured in a round or 
 two upon some infantry, who were rallying to sup 
 port the picket." 
 
 Morgan literally rained fire upon the enemy that 
 day ; and so hot and fierce was the tempest, that 
 they crossed the bridge, at Brunswick, and threw 
 themselves into redoubts on the eastern side of the 
 river; and then, without waiting our approach, 
 abandoned them, and hurried with unspeakable pre 
 cipitation along the A ui boy road. 
 
 What possessed Sir William Howe to cut so 
 many flourishes before a handful of men, and after. 
 ward retreat so precipitately without coming to 
 action, has always been a question with military men. 
 The uncharitable hare attributed it to every thing 
 but a want of courage ; but I, I am not uncharitable 
 to a brave man, nor unkind to the memory of an 
 honourable one ; my notion is that he overrated our 
 strength ; and what wonder? our countryman did so 
 at least five hundred per cent! that he had been 
 electrified by some recent operations of Washington, 
 when he was literally alone, standing up amid the 
 war of darkness and ice that thundered upon 
 America, deserted, doubted, and alone. This had 
 taught Sir William a wonderful degree of wisdom 
 and circumspection. 
 
 Our army now moved to Quibbletown; and Howe 
 passed over a part of his troops and his heavy bug- 
 gage to Staten Island, evidently with the hope of 
 perplexing us still more. But Washington was too 
 many for him ; he drew in his light parties, and 
 kept possession of the high grounds, determining 
 not to avoid a battle, if it were offered on such terms 
 as would do, nor to invite one, unless at some mani 
 fest advantage of position, that should counterbalance 
 the difference in number. 
 
 Yet nothing effectual could be done. Lord Stir 
 ling, it was true, had a scuffle with the enemy lor 
 tw> or three hours, in which he manifested infinitely 
 more courage than generalship more rashness, I 
 should say. His lordship was a brave man, but 
 (and a bitterer thing could not be said of a soldier, 
 though weln\e chosen to take it as a compliment in 
 k late wa: ), he did not know when he was beaten, 
 
 nay, nor when he was in mortal peril. 
 
 Changes in the northern army had taken place 
 I abotlt this time; the long pending dispute between 
 General Gates andSchuyler, was brought to a preci 
 pitate and foolish termination by the blockheads in 
 Congress, who turned first one and then the other 
 out of command, neck and heels, without trial or 
 examination. And Howe finally passed over to 
 Staten Island, leaving us in possession of the Jerseys 
 again, with nothing to do but to listen to frightful 
 stories of Burgoyne, who, it was believed, had al 
 ready begun to pour in his legions upon us, like an 
 inundation, from the north. I remember my own 
 feelings; and love to recall the bright eye and 
 clouded aspect of Archibald at this time, who was 
 really, I believe it in my soul, the only man within 
 our entrenchments whose heart did not stop some 
 times, when the tale of Burgoyne and his army of 
 veterans, his world of artillery his own reputation, 
 and the hordes of Indian marksmen that followed 
 his camp, came to our ears. 
 
 But we were becalmed We had no power to get 
 up and stir our limbs. The enemy stood aloof from 
 us ; and we had the mortification to lie, like chained 
 giants, iroued ankle and wrist, upon our beds, and 
 hear clap upon clap from the north and east; the 
 capture of Prescott, the retreat of St. Clair, the 
 affair of General Herkimer and Staten Island ; the 
 valiant conduct of Arnold ; and, finally, one report 
 that shook us to the dust and jarred the whole 
 country, the battle of Bennington, where farmer 
 Stark served the enemy , hour after hour, with bayonet 
 and ball ; and brought them down, at last, a thousand 
 men of war, prisoners and dead, to the sturdy yeo 
 manry of the north. I remember the noise in our 
 camp when the news came, as if it were but yester 
 day. There was a great outcry and tumult. 
 
 Archibald leaped upon his feet, struck his hands 
 together, with a loud shout; and then the teal" 
 gushed from his eyes, and he shook from headtt 
 foot with shame and vexation. One only thing wd 
 found to relieve us. 
 
 A young fiery Pole had got a footing in our army^ 
 (it was the Count Pulaski) and Washington had per 
 mitted him to form a body of light horse ; from that 
 hour Archibald and he were inseparable. PulasLi 
 was decidedly the best horseman, and the most dar 
 ing beyond all comparison that I ever saw ; am 1 , 
 after a while, he seemed to attach himself to Archi 
 bald with a feeling more like the passion of brother, 
 hood than that of common friendship. Every day 
 I could perceive the advantage of it. Every day 
 were we taught some evolution that was new, or 
 corrected in some mistaken practice of our own; 
 indeed, at last the count was pleased to say (I heard 
 him as he sheathed his snord, after manoeuvring 
 us for a whole afternoon), that he would put his 
 legion now, man for man, against any on this earth. 
 Archibald s mare stood upright at the sound, but not 
 of her own accord, I imagine, for her flanks were 
 reeking dismally when she passed me a moment 
 afterward. 
 
 Again we were put upon the march. For nearly 
 a month, by the continual and contradictory evolu 
 tions of Sir William s army, and the fleet ol Lord 
 Howe, we were kept in a state of perpetual anxiety 
 and doubt, not knowing whether the enemy meant 
 to strike at the north or south; one was as probable 
 as the other; and we, unluckily, had no army of 
 observation except the main body, which we dared 
 not move a day s march from the centre, be ween 
 what we believed to be the points of attack meditated- 
 
THE NOVEL NEWSPAPER. 
 
 by the enemy, lest, the moment we had turned to 
 the right, he should dash to the left ; or if we turned 
 to the left, for the choice was always in his power, 
 as it generally is with the assailant, he should face 
 suddenly about and play the devil with our right. 
 Yet for a whole month, from the 23rd of July to the 
 22d of August, this state of suspense and trial con- 
 
 tinued altogether more painful and discouraging, 
 I am sure, not only to the army, hut to Washington 
 himself, than any time of the same duration during 
 the war. 
 
 But at length we were done with feints and 
 manoeuvres, and were put seriously upon tke march 
 for Philadelphia; for intelligence, that could be 
 depended on, had arrived. The enemy were in the 
 Chesapeake. We were about eleven thousand strong 
 then ; and at last, on the 10th of September, we took 
 possession of a commanding ground on the east side 
 of the Brandy-wine; our main body at Chadsford, 
 with General Maxwell, occupying a hill on the op. 
 yosite side, on which he entrenched himself tolerably 
 the same night. 
 
 "Now," said Pulaski, riding up to Archibald, 
 and saluting him with a motion of his keen weapon, 
 that looked very like a play of firework -for a mo 
 ment; " now! my brave friend, we shall have an 
 opportunity to try your metal, horse and blade." 
 
 "And temper?" said Archibald, whistling the 
 sword in a circle of light (that one of the men swore 
 was to be seen there after he rode off.) about his 
 head. 
 
 La Fayette was riding slowly by, at the moment, 
 and smiling with that expression of calm benignity 
 which made him the favourite of the whole army, 
 reined up and exchanged a few words in French, 
 (which I did not well understand then,) with Pulaski, 
 whose eye flashed fire as he exclaimed in downright 
 English, 
 
 "Aye! by the Virgin, as brave a heart as ever 
 beat ! He only wants age," glancing at Archibald. 
 
 We were soon after abreast of each other. 
 
 " A battle is at hand now, said I, " brother, what 
 are your feelings ?" 
 
 " Calm, unutterably calm." 
 
 "Do you ever think of home now? You have 
 done speaking of it." 
 
 " You," he smiled, " you have a round about way 
 of asking a question. But I understand you ; yes, 
 I do think of home, my only home, night and day." 
 
 " I am glad of it," said I, cheerfully. " We seemed 
 "by a common consent to have abandoned all conver 
 sation, and even all allusion to it." 
 
 " You do not understand me," he said ; " I do 
 not speak of our mother God be merciful to her! 
 nor of Mrs. Arnauld, Mr. Arnauld, Mary Austin, 
 Clara, your Clara; what! a blush, a thrill! well, 
 brother, if we pass through this trial, a way must 
 Toe found to make her acquainted \\ ith this ; I thought 
 that you had forgotten her." 
 
 "No, "said I, resolutely, "no; if we ever meet 
 again, it must be by accident. I will have no in 
 terference." 
 
 " Nor I," he replied, "and henceforth, when yot 
 mean to ask me, if I have forgotten Lucia Arnauld, do 
 not put your question in the shape of Do yoi 
 ever think of home HOW? He frank with me, and 
 I will with you. Artifice defeats itself. I hurt you 
 but it is well that I should. You will be the better 
 for it. Deal plainly with me, like a soldier, like 
 man, John, and I will conceal no thought of my 
 lieart from you. Would you have me believe 
 iliat you are a wily, love-sick fellow, toiling to wiu 
 
 another into some talk of her that you love, without 
 th manhood to speak boldly about her? For shame, 
 brother! Yeu love her; and you pay her a poor 
 compliment, if you deal thus ivith her. No, speak 
 eut, speak boldly, however she may have treated 
 rou ; and, whatever happen, she will he proud ef 
 , ou, and that is better than her love. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 Ah, few shall part where many meet ; 
 Their blood shall be their winding-sheet, 
 And every turf beneath their feet C4 
 Shall be a soldier s sepulchre.. /}O * 
 
 The battle of Brandy-wine wns fonght on the 
 ilevenfh-of September) 17T7, and lasted all the day 
 long. It was a bloody affair to us; and had well 
 nigh been fatal to Greene and Sullivan. 
 
 We had been in the saddle about four hours, 
 under the intrepid Pulaski, who, with his own hand, 
 examined our points, pistols, and furniture, as if assured 
 that the struggle would be adeadly and long continued 
 one. The day by Heaven ! it was one of the most 
 beautiful that ever broke over the earth. We were 
 about half a mile from the main body, ranged along 
 a green slope, lacing the west ; our horses, in number 
 about four hundred, standing as patiently as so many 
 marble creatures; until, just as the eastern sky 
 began to redden and undulate, and cloud after cloud 
 to roll up, and heave like a great curtain upon the 
 wind, and the whole heaven seemed discharging all 
 its beauty and brightness upon one spot I happened 
 to turn about, and saw the tall Pole, bareheaded, 
 tilting his horse, like some warlike presence come 
 up out of the solid earth to worship upon the very 
 summit of the hill behind us; it might be, for the 
 noble carriage of the man the martial bearing of 
 the soldier would permit either interpretation ; it 
 might be, in the awful employment of devotion or, 
 in the more earthward one of martial observation. 
 But, suddenly, he reined up his charger, shook the 
 heavy dew i rom his horseman s cap replaced it, 
 and leaped headlong down the hill, just as a bright 
 Hash passed away on the horizon, followed by a loud 
 report and the next moment, a part of our ranks 
 was covered with dust and turf, thrown up by a 
 cannon-ball that struck within a hundred yards of 
 the place that he had just left. Our horses pricked 
 up their ears at the sound ; and all at once, as if a 
 hundred trumpets were playing in the wind, came 
 the neise of the enemy in his advance. 
 
 Pulaski unsheathed his sword called out a select 
 body, and set off at a full gallop to a more distant 
 elevation, where we saw the enemy advancing in two 
 columns; one, under Knyphausen, which moved in 
 tremendous steadiness, like a dark, solid mass, in a 
 direction toward Maxwell; the other, under Corn- 
 wallis, which seemed to threaten the right flank of 
 our main body. Intelligence was immediately sent 
 to Washington, and reinforcements called in from 
 the horse that we had left. 
 
 We kept our position, awaiting, for a whole hour, 
 the sound of conflict; at last, a heavy volley rattled 
 along the sky a few moments passed, and then 
 another followed, like a storm of iron upon drum 
 heads. The whole air rung with it ; another and 
 another followed, and then, gradually increasing in 
 loudness and loudness, came peal after peal upon us, 
 
SEVENTY-SIX 
 
 thunder, 
 
 8! 
 
 till it resembled one continual clap of 
 Tolling about under an illuminated vapour. 
 
 ArchibjJji-GOttld-iiot sit still and his mare seemed 
 
 , possessed with a devil ; in her effort to rush toward 
 
 / the quarter where the white, fiery, transparent 
 
 | smoke evolved and eddied, like that of a furnace in 
 
 f a high wind with one uninterrupted reverberation, 
 
 she struggled, and snorted, and plunged, till the 
 
 clear bright blood ran outof her nostrils, and frothed 
 
 and foamed about her lips; there was rebellion in 
 
 her very eyes. 
 
 But Pulaski, with all his impetuosity, was a 
 general, and knew Ins duty too well lo hazard any 
 movement, till he should be able to see with certainty 
 the operation of the enemy in the vapour below. 
 Meanwhile, several little parties that we had sent 
 out came in, one after the other, in full gallop, with 
 the intelligence that Knyphausen had broken down 
 upon Maxwell in magnificent style been beaten 
 back again and again ; but that he had finally pre 
 vailed, and that Maxwell had retreated across the 
 river. 
 
 A thin vapour now rose from the green earth 
 below us, and completely covered the enemy from 
 our view. It was no longer possible to follow him, 
 except by the sound of his tread, which we could 
 feel in the solid earth, jarring ourselves and our 
 horses; and now and then, a quick glimmering in 
 the mist, as some standard was raised above it 
 some weapon flourished, or some musket shot 
 through it like a rocket. 
 
 About an hour after, a horseman dashed through 
 the smoke, on the very verge of the horizon and 
 after scouring the fields for a whole mile, within 
 view, communicated with two or three others, who 
 set off in different directions one to us, with orders 
 to hurry down to the ford, where the commander- 
 in-chief was determined to fall upon Knyphausen 
 with all his power, before Cornwallis could come to 
 his aid. It was a noble but hazardous game : and 
 Pulaski, whose war horse literally thundered and 
 lightened along the broken and stony precipice by 
 which we descended, kept his eyes warily to the 
 right, as if not quite certain that the order would 
 not be countermanded. 
 
 We soon fell in with Greene, who was posting, 
 all on fire, to give Knyphausen battle ; and the next 
 moment saw Sullivan in full march, over a distant 
 hill (upon which the morning sun broke out just 
 then, as if leaving the heavens for a while), to turn 
 the enemy s flank. 
 
 This arrangement would have been fatal to 
 Knyphausen ; but unluckily there was a stop put 
 to it, almost in the very moment when we were 
 ready to fall upon him. man and horse, by the alarm 
 ing intelligence that Cornwallis had moved off to 
 another quarter. There was a moment of irreso 
 lution doubt. It was the death of us. Greene 
 was recalled; and Sullivan commanded to halt. 
 Hardly had this happened, and our horses were 
 covered with sweat and froth fretting like chained 
 tigers upon the bit; our men, covered with dust, 
 and blinded with the wind and sun- for it was ex 
 tremely hot and sultry when a heavy cannonade 
 was heard on our right flank ; and Greene, whose 
 division we had been attached to, was put in motion 
 for the support of Sullivan, whom we had left some 
 hours before. The truth now broke upon us like a 
 thunder clap. The f nerny had passed, concentrated 
 (as we supposed), and f .lien upon our right. Lord ! 
 I never shall forget Greene s countenance when the 
 news came ; he was in the road side, uoon a verv 
 
 steep bank but he wheeled" where he was dashed 
 down the bank his face white as the bleached 
 marble and calling to us to gallop forward, for 
 encouragement, without throwing ourselves into the 
 enemy s p^wer, put his division forward, with such 
 a tremendous impulse, that they marched four miles 
 in forty minutes: we held on our way, in a cloud 
 of dust, and met Sullivan, all in disorder, nearly a 
 mile from the field, retreating, step by step, at th 
 head of his men, and shouting himself hoarse 
 covered with blood and sweat; and striving in vain 
 to bring them to a stand while Cornwallis was 
 pouring in upon (hern an incessant volley. 
 
 Pulaski d ished out to the right, over the broken 
 fences; and there stood a while, upright in his 
 stirrups, reconnoitring while the enemy, who 
 appeared, by the smoke and dust that rolled before 
 them in the wind, to be much nearer than they 
 really were, redoubled their efforts : but at last he 
 saw a favourable opportunity. The column wheeled, 
 the wind swept athwart their van, revealing them, 
 like a battalion of spirits, breathing fire and smoke : 
 he gave the signal, Archibald repeated it, Arthur, 
 and myself. In tl-iree minutes we were ready for 
 the word ; and when Pulaski, shouting in a voice 
 that thrilled through and through us, struck spurs 
 to his charger it was half a minute so fierce and 
 terrible was his charge, before we were able to come 
 up with him. What could he mean? gracious 
 Heaven! my hand, convulsively, like that of a 
 drowning man, reined up for a moment when I 
 saw that we were galloping straight forward, into a 
 field of bayonets yet he was the first man ! and 
 who would not have followed him ? We did follow 
 him, and with such a hurricane of fire and steel, 
 that, when we wheeled, our whole path lay broad 
 and open before us, with a wall of fire upon the 
 right hand and the left, but not a bayonet nor a 
 blade in front, except what were under the hoofs of 
 our horses. My blood rushes now, like a flash of 
 fire, through my forehead, when I recall the devasta 
 tion that "we had made, almost to the very heart of 
 the enemy s column. But Pulaski he, who after 
 ward rode into their entrenchments on horseback, 
 sword in hand, was accustomed to it; and, having 
 broken over them once aware of his peril, if he 
 should give them time to awake from their conster 
 nation, he wheeled in a blaze of fire, with the in 
 tention of returning, through a wall of death, more 
 perilous than that which shut in the children of 
 Israel, upon the Red Sea but no ! the walls had 
 rolled in upon us, and we were left no choice, hut 
 to continue as we began. The undaunted Pole 
 rioted in the excess of his joy ; I remember how he 
 passed me, again and again, reeking with blood 
 riding, absolutely, upon the very bayonets of the 
 enemy; and, at last, as they pressed upon him 
 and horseman after horseman foil from bur saddles 
 when we were all faint and feeble, and even 
 Archibald was fighting on foot, over his beautiful 
 mare, with Arthur battling over his head, we heard 
 the joyful cry of succour ! succour ! and felt the 
 enemy give way heave this way and that, and 
 finally concentrate beyond us. " Once more !" cried 
 Pulaski, " once more!" and away he went again, 
 breaking in upon them, as they were forming; and 
 trampling down whole platoons in the charge, before 
 a man could plant his bayonet, or bring his piece to 
 an aim : and the next moment, we were scouring 
 over the ground, where I could yet see Archibald 
 and Arthur battling it, with four or five of the 
 enemv s horse ; but our aspect, as we came thunder- 
 
82 
 
 THE NOVEL NEWSPAPER. 
 
 ing round upon them, proved sufficient. They took 
 to their heels, and we brought them both off, un- 
 wounded unhurt. 
 
 It was getting dark now, but the hour was that of 
 sunset, when, in this climate, the sky is like a mass 
 of coloured vapour floating over a bath. Greene 
 was forming in our rear, with that fearful calmness 
 which boded a terrible time always to him that ven 
 tured upon it. The ground was favourable to him ; 
 and the half.hour that the enemy lost by our charge, 
 a mere handful in his solid column, was of incon 
 ceivable benefit to Greene, for his men were literally 
 out of breath, and ready to drop down at the first 
 onset. But that half-hour gave them an opportunity 
 to see their commander s face, and hear his voice, 
 and from that moment they would have stood their 
 ground, though the heavens had rained fire upon 
 them. 
 
 \ I have been in many a battle many a one that 
 made my hair stiffen afterward in my sleep when I 
 dreamt of it but never in one where the carnage 
 was so dreadful, the rush of blood and fire so inces. 
 I smt, as that which followed the arrival of Greene. 
 | We were unable to strike a blow. The enemy 
 \ imagining us, no doubt, to be much more formidable 
 than we were, had hedged in all his exposed points by 
 a rank of men, kneeling with planted bayonets; and 
 though we rode upon them again and again, dis 
 charging our pistols in their faces, yet not one ol them 
 shut his eyes, or fired a shot, but where he knelt he 
 died, and his place was immediately filled by another 
 " as resolute, so that we could not the thing was im 
 possible repeat the blow that we had given. 
 
 But one thing happened, within my own sight and 
 hearing, that nearly brought me to the ground, in 
 terror and helplessness. Two horsemen had set 
 upon me, and while I was doing my best to return 
 their visit, I saw that they were only part of a 
 squadron, whom we had not seen before, or who had 
 just been brought into action, and that several were 
 upon Archibald, who, while I was looking upon him, 
 reeled in the saddle, and took a blow I thought, 
 that cleft his head, for his bearskin cap flew, and his 
 horse broke from the encounter, and dashed off to 
 the right. I followed, and soon came in contact 
 with Weedon s Virginia brigade, which soon relieved 
 M3 from all apprehensions on my own account ; for 
 the enemy fell before them, rank after rank, like flax 
 iu the blaze. They were supported by a body of 
 the Pennsylvania militia, near the head of whom I 
 saw La Fayette the reins all loose, wounded in the 
 arm, his red scarf shot away, and streaming in the 
 wind, yet showing the same unaltered front, and 
 leading the raw militia up to the very eyes of the 
 nemy, while a sheet of fire scorched their faces. 
 
 I continued my course, and soon discovered a 
 horseman staggering in the darkness, whom I knew, 
 from the shape and bearing, to be Archibald, long 
 and long before I could get to him. It was he and 
 he was faint, very faint, from the loss of blood. I 
 I spoke to him, and was reaching out my hand to 
 atch the rein of his unmanageable horse, when the 
 animal stumbled, rolled over, snorted, so as to cover 
 me with a shower of blood, and died. Archibald 
 fell with her ; and for some minutes I stood over 
 him, utterly unable to hear if he answered me or not, 
 such was the terrible noise from the place of con 
 tention so deafening, so blinding and such the 
 low, deep, inarticulate sobbing of my poor brother. 
 At last, however oh, how unspeakably dear was the 
 first sound of his voice at last he spoke. 
 
 "Arthur? John?" 
 
 " Yes, brother," said I. 
 
 We were sitting upon a wet bank, and it was quit* 
 dark. 
 
 IPlgthef, isjt you ? I would give tbe world for 
 a drop oT cool water." 
 
 I left him, and ran about for a long time before I 
 was able to find any- and, after all, was only ablete 
 bring him a small quantity in my leather cap, that, 
 I dare say, had been trampled into, and bled into, bj 
 dying horses and men that day. 
 
 " God bless you," he cried, drinking it every drop 
 before lie returned the cap, and without stopping to 
 breathe. " Ha ! the cannon still. Will they fight 
 for ever? Let us go back." 
 
 " What ! are you able to go back? 
 
 " Able ! he cried, leaping upon his feet " able ! 
 aye, and will, though a whole regiment of horses had 
 been shot under me. I I " 
 
 He staggered, and fell athwart the trodden turf, 
 and lay for some minutes without speaking; so long, 
 indeed, that the firing had ceased, and we heard the 
 two armies moving away. Heard,! say, but I mean 
 that I felt them; for, inconceivable as it may seem 
 to those who have had no experience, it is true that 
 the tread of a battalion, heavily armed, may be felt 
 many miles by a person lying upon level ground ill 
 a serene day. The Indians know this, and profit 
 by it. 
 
 But the battle was now over, and we were at last 
 discovered by a party of our own troop, who, igno 
 rant of their loss, were scouring tho open country, 
 to protect the wounded and cut oft the stragglers. 
 
 We then crossed the river, and moved up towards 
 Sweed s-ford, while Sir William Howe, who seemed 
 to be satisfied whenever he had fought us without 
 being beaten, and was never prepared to follow up 
 any advantage, halted three days upon the field of 
 battle to contemplate the havoc that had been made; 
 while our cause was nevpr in greater danger. We 
 had lost nearly twelve hundred men, and ten bras* 
 field-pieces. 
 
 Archibald had been sorely bruised, and fatigued 
 beyond example, in the strife, but in no other way 
 was he materially injured. 
 
 Again we were upon the river, Archibald and I 
 sitting together ; and he, poor fellow, lamenting the 
 loss of his mare as if she had been his wife. By 
 this I mean, not that he whistled and sung, but that 
 he wept aye, wept, for the loss of the noble beast, 
 and believed, I am sure, to his dying day, that she 
 died of a broken heart. " Would that I had let her 
 have her own way, "he said. 
 
 While we were ruminating on the event, and 1 
 was watching his full eyes, and almost mocking at 
 his grief, we heard a loud cry and a plunge. We 
 turned, and saw Du Coudray, whom we instantly 
 knew by his beautiful uniform, in the middle of the 
 current, upon the back of his furious horse. Un 
 luckily, in the animal s terror, he had entangled his 
 feet in the reins, so as to keep his mouth and nose 
 under. The gallant Frenchman lost not his presence 
 of mind for a moment, but threw himself from his 
 saddle, while the fiery horse was beating the dark 
 water all into foam about him, and attempted to gain 
 the shore. In vain, in vain. He fainted, struck, u 
 we always thought it probable, by the hoofs of his 
 horse. He gasped a moment, made two or three 
 desperate plunges, sobbed the water rushed into his 
 throat and he gradually sunk, till nothing but hi* 
 beautiful hair was seen floating upon the wave, and 
 the motion of his hands, blindly toiling under the 
 water for a moment longer. Many an arm wa* neac 
 
SEVENTY- SIX, 
 
 liim, many a voice. He heard them tried to reach 
 them; put his hands out of the water for a little dis 
 tance, the fingers wide apart, and went down then 
 for ever. 
 
 Poor fellow ! Archibald was near to him, but 
 net the nearest ; and when he went down he uttered 
 a.loud cry, threw himself half out of the water, and 
 sunk. Archibald plunged after him, but it was too 
 late Du Coudray had been swept away. 
 
 Again were we on the point of battle. It was the 
 17th of September. We were ou the Lancaster-ioad, 
 near the Warren Tavern. Archibald was just able 
 to sit his horse, and felt particularly solicitous to do 
 his duty again ; for Washington had been pleased to 
 speak to him face to face for his good conduct, and 
 he was now to battle under Washington s eyes. Our 
 van was already engaged, and Pulaski, all on fire for 
 another dash at the enemy, was beginning to show 
 the usual symptoms of onset, when all at once the 
 windows of heaven were opened, and the rain poured 
 down in such torrents that both armies drew off 
 ours with every cartridge that they had spoilt, theirs 
 to march on to Philadelphia, of which they took pos 
 session immediately. 
 
 And here an affair took place in which Arthur 
 xras personally concerned. He had been detached 
 with about twenty of our troop to the aid of Cap 
 tain Lee s dragoons, for the purpose of destroying 
 some flour. Colonel Hamilton was with us. We 
 had succeeded in our purpose, and were about re 
 turning, when our videttes that we had left out 
 came down upon us at full speed, with the enemy 
 at their heels. I was near Hamilton, who imme 
 diately ordered us into a flat-bottomed boat, leaping 
 his own horse in at the same time. I obeyed ; and, 
 as we put off under several successive vollies from 
 the enemy, poured into us like hail from the bank 
 and bridge above us, I saw Lee and Arthur. They 
 faced suddenly, with one other dragoon in the rear, 
 upon the advancing column, and dashed athwart 
 the bridge in their very faces, under a general 
 discharge. Over they went, with the fire stream 
 ing from the heels of their horses, and all eyes 
 upon them I, for one, holding nay breath, and 
 expecting to see their bodies fall off at the first 
 turn of the horses. But no not a bullet struck 
 them. It seemed miraculous : yet so it was. 
 And when I had hold of Arthur s hand a few mo 
 ments afterwards, and saw his unaltered counte 
 nance and handsome eyes bright with his deliver 
 ance, I could scarcely believe my own senses 
 nay, scarcely refrain from tears. 
 
 The eaemy are in Philadelphia," said, I. 
 
 41 No, not yet," he replied ; " but on their way 
 there. What mean you?" 
 
 " I mean," said I, "that that are you entirely 
 at ease about Mary ?" 
 
 " Perfectly," said he, smiling. " Do you know 
 where she is ?" 
 
 " In Philadelphia is she not ?" 
 
 He shook his head. 
 
 " No," said he " no, I thank you. She is in 
 better quarters." 
 
 "By Heaven Arthur it isn t possible! that 
 young man with you ; can it be, that he " 
 
 A young, handsome fellow had lately joined 
 Arthur ; and for a moment I was childish enough 
 to think what I am ashamed to utter. He un 
 derstood me coloured, and frowned. 
 
 " No," he exclaimed " no ; I do not ask you 
 what you thought. I should not like to hear it. 
 But Mary is safe at Mr. Arnauld s. Ha ! you 
 
 are strangely disturbed. Mark me, they are well, 
 very well -all, except Clara and Lucia. They have 
 heard of Clinton s death." 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 Through tangled juniper, beds of weeds ; 
 Through many a fen, where the serpent feeds. 
 And man ne er trod before. 
 
 * # # * 
 
 And near him the she- wolf stirred the brake, 
 And the copper-snnke breathed in his ear. 
 
 # # * * 
 
 In hurrying rapidly over the events ofthisperiod, 
 which related to the operations of the army, I have 
 omitted to mention an incident, which, at the time,, 
 made little impression upon us (Archibald and, 
 myself I mean), but which, from the consequences 
 that afterwards grew out of it, became exceedingly 
 important. 
 
 I have already alluded to the jealousies and 
 heart-burning between the eastern and southern, 
 troops ; and it is a fact not now to be denied, that 
 the New Englanders, with a few exceptions, were 
 the most substantial men for the service. There 
 was scarcely a foreigner in their ranks ; all were 
 natural born Americans. But the levies of our 
 southern brethren were sadly adulterated with such 
 rabble as could be bought cheapest. There were, 
 some noble exceptions, of course. Smallwood s 
 regiment, and Morgan s, were full-blooded south 
 erners ; their arteries running with fire and chi 
 valry. 
 
 About the time when these discontents first 
 broke out, Archibald came accidentally in contact 
 with a Yankee, named Copely, ChsteJ^-Copely 
 a strange, cold-blooded fellow, with resolute fea 
 tures, light grey eyes, aud a remarkably muscular^ 
 sinewy frame, of the middle size with a little twist 
 in his neck to the left, that cost him many a. 
 pleasant gibe. He was a man of few words- 
 bitter and sarcastic and no companion. There 
 was something mysterious, too, in his manner 
 toward Archibald ; for, contrary to his known 
 habits, he seemed to court the acquaintance of my 
 haughty brother. And in time (such was the. 
 nature of his temper the cold, silent dominion, 
 that he exercised over all about him) that Archi 
 bald himself, a creature whose very tread was re 
 bellion to all that looked like an assumption of 
 authority over him became so infatuated with 
 this man, that he would put up with any thing from ; 
 him. I never liked him, nor did Arthur; yet it 
 would have been impossible to give a reason for. 
 it except that there was a sullen, implacable stea^ 
 diness ; a sort of passionless insensibility in all tlu;t 
 he said and did, which bore hard upon us, I con-, 
 fess ; with an expression of superiori y. Nothing, 
 seemed to move him. He would say the bitterest 
 things, and the pleasan test, with precisely the same 
 tone. Why he had sought Archibald s acquaint 
 ance, was a matter of inquiry with all our division. 
 He was known and shunned; and, when they 
 appeared together, there was a general expression, 
 of surprise. I suspected some design in it ; yet 
 what could it be ? Archibald was not popular 
 nor rich nor powerful. 
 
THE NOVEL NEWSPAPER. 
 
 This thine: had continued about two months, 
 until Arthur and I had forgotten to speak of it, 
 even to each other; and the troop, who were 
 passionately devoted to Archibald, had become, in 
 a measure, reconciled to the cold evenness of 
 temper (so unlike what it had been) that charac 
 terised him, and grew upon him day by day, after 
 his acquaintance with the Yankee. 
 
 I have seen Copely when I thought him hand 
 some ; no, not handsome something better, 
 higher, nobler. There was a remarkable expression 
 of jpaanhood and strength in his manner of sitting, 
 standing, or in even folding his arms. His fore 
 head was very high, but sun-burnt and hard. So 
 knitted were his joints, so compact his frame, so 
 firm his tread, aad so confident and cool were all 
 his movements, that there was not a man in the 
 army whom I would not sooner have encountered 
 than Chester Copely. I have never seen a hero, 
 for Washington was of a race above heroes, but 
 my notion has always been, that Copely was in 
 tended for one. But let me give yousome example 
 of his conduct and conversation. They will enable 
 you to judge better of his true character than any 
 general description. 
 
 After we had first seen him, and noted him for 
 the cold, strange indifference of his looks on all 
 occasions in battle and out it was remarked 
 that he would be absent for a week or ten days at 
 a time in the neighbouring country, without any 
 notice being taken of it; nay, it would almost seem, 
 without asking leave ; for, when nobody else was 
 permitted to move beyond our entrenchments, the 
 Yankee captain used to come and go as freely as 
 if our camp had been a public market-place. At 
 last a rumour came among us that he was in the 
 confidence of Washington, to a degree passing all 
 belief; and that he was consulted whenever any 
 affair of moment was in agitation alone, and apart 
 from all the favourites of Washington. How true 
 this was I cannot take upon myself to say ; for 
 he never spoke or hinted of any such power or 
 confidence; and when others hinted at it, pretty 
 broadly, too, at times, he paid precisely the same 
 kind of attention to it that he did to every thing 
 else; neither affecting concealment nor frankness 
 bat wearing always the same not haughty, it 
 was not haughty, but proud, insensible, regalfront 
 as if things that troubled other men were beneath 
 his attention, except in the mechanical routine of 
 his duty, and there he was unrivalled. His dis 
 cipline was stern, implacable, unrelenting, less 
 from any feeling of ambition, or because he 
 coveted the name of a disciplinarian ; but merely 
 as if he scorned to be outdone, even in what he 
 regarded as beneath him. That he was on a 
 footing different from that of any other young man, 
 in the army, with Washington, I can testify to 
 from my own knowledge. I was eye-witness once 
 of a scene where Washington stood before him, 
 with a troubled countenance and an agitated 
 frame and seemed for a whole minute unconscious 
 of my presence ; while Copely eyed me with his 
 cold bright balls all the while as if he had been 
 expecting me. 
 
 It was just about this time that he formed an 
 acquaintance with Archibald ; and there were 
 hours when, as they passed me in the dark or at 
 night, treading in time upon the snow before our 
 tents, I should have believed that they were bro 
 thers, and I a stranger. More than once have I 
 heard a suppressed sob ; from, I dare not say that 
 
 it was from Copely, for his unalterable nature 
 never showed a symptom tf feeling equal to that 
 in the day time no tear, no smile, no laugh. 
 Happen what would, he was the same to all out 
 ward appearance ; collected and distant, not from 
 affection or melancholy, or reserve or sorrow ; but, 
 perhaps I am wrong, but such was my thought at 
 the time, from a natural feeling of superiority mis 
 placed. 
 
 He was deeply read, and had travelled ; but this 
 was not to be discovered by a common man. He 
 disdained to parly with a common man ; not 
 because he despised or pitied him, or was proud of 
 his own character, but from a natural incapacity 
 to herd with him. 
 
 It was thought that he never slept during the 
 night ; for, pass his tent when we would, he was 
 always sitting at his table, if in camp, like one 
 employed on forbidden matters, about which he 
 was careless, because there was none but himself 
 to understand them. 
 
 At last a report reached us, after one of his 
 longest absences, at a time when we were just 
 about breaking up, in the hope of a battle from 
 Sir William Howe, that he was to be married 
 and that too immediately, to one of the most ex 
 traordinary women in the country. How the report 
 came, where it originated, we know not. But 
 there was a cloud upon his face at his return, and 
 his conferences with Archibald were more frequent 
 than ever. I remonstrated, and mentioned some 
 thing of my suspicion and thought concerning 
 him. Archibald smiled ; but his lips were agi 
 tated ; I saw that. Arthur observed, too, that he 
 always went armed beyond what seemed required 
 by his situation ; that the door of his tent was 
 always secured, and that he never admitted any per 
 son, till he had first made a bustle within. These 
 were trifles, but they all served to quicken our ob 
 servation and wonder. We learnt, too, that he 
 was the subject of especial animosity to several 
 southern officers ; and one day, it was just after 
 the report of his intended marriage had reached 
 us, we made an attempt to rally him about it. 
 He had been riding out with Archibald ; and 
 when they returned, whether it was that their 
 faces had become flushed with the exercise, or 
 that something had happened to disturb them, I 
 know uot ; but I thought I had seldom seen two 
 heads more unlike each other, and, at the same 
 time, so full of character. Copely, too, had 
 equipped himself in a new uniform, that laced 
 athwart his Ju^adjchest, so as to exhibit all its 
 maflty- pT opm tions ; and the contrast between his 
 marked and athletic frame, and the delicate ex- 
 would have been 
 was a little the 
 
 taller ; but, in every movement there was the 
 strength of a lion but that of a lion sleeping; 
 wlTttrre^eTy^nTTrrmetit of my brother was that in. 
 the quietest time of a young catamount, her sinews 
 always crouching, while her joints are all loose 
 and supple. 
 
 But before I relate what I am about to, you 
 will bear this in mind, that Copely talked to all 
 men, on all occasions, in the same manner ; say 
 ing, with a face like cast iron, the severest things 
 in the world, without appearing to intend it. And 
 yet, there was no affectation of dry humour, or sim 
 plicity, or gravity in him. All was natural and uni 
 form, like the expression of a strong brain and solid 
 heart; and when we were sometimes all struck 
 
SEVENTY-SIX. 
 
 85 
 
 aback at thejibjruDt plmni^sjo^Jjij^jnanner, he 
 would look Touna upSfiTusT^as if he pitied our 
 amazement, and knew that what he had done was 
 nothing, in comparison with what he could do. 
 Tie had a strange faculty, too, of facing upon 
 you, and throwing all your thought into disorder, 
 by soaie short remark, that you could not forget 
 to your dying day ; were anxious to resent, but 
 ftOuld riot. Add to all this, that, without appear 
 ing to intend it, he always appeared to take his 
 stand exactly upon that line which separates im 
 punity from accountability. Time and again, 
 have I seen dark eyes flashing, swollen lips writh 
 ing, and brave hearts throbbing under what he 
 had said, while it would have been impossible to 
 quarrel with him for it. JELe_.w.as hated, hated 
 jrith a .deadlines* and steadiness, by the Virginian 
 interest, surpassing all that I had ever seen. Yet 
 my brother adhered to him, and held aloof even 
 from his beloved Virginians, to consult with him. 
 
 And now I vviil attempt to give you an idea of 
 his manner, from a conversation that he held 
 with us on that very evening after he appeared, 
 for the first time, in a new uniform, which had 
 probably given rise to the report that he was to 
 be married. It was a f^w weeks before the battle 
 of Brandy-wine. 
 
 Arthur, Copely, a Captain Henshaw (one of 
 the most quiet creatures that ever breathed, but 
 the devil in battle), and myself, were forming a 
 party in the new quarters of Archibald, which, 
 by the united effort of the troop, after his re- 
 covery, had been made very comfortable. Copely 
 sat facing me, the red fire-light flashing in his 
 face, his elbows square, and toes turned in, ex 
 actly as if he were on horseback. 
 
 We had been admiring the cut of his uniform. 
 
 "Well, Copely," said Henshaw, in his plea 
 sant, deliberate way, " so you are to be married?" 
 
 " God forbid !" was the reply. 
 
 " Why so ?" said Arthur. 
 _ Copely made no answer, except by shrugging 
 his shoulders. 
 
 "Do you deny it?" said Archibald, I thought, 
 with a slight agitation about the mouth. 
 
 "Yes," said Copely. 
 
 "What!" retorted Archibald, leaning toward 
 him. " Do I not know that you are courting, 
 and preparing for it ; and that the day is fixed ?" 
 
 "True," answered the impenetrable many 
 
 " Thea why deny it?" said I. 
 
 " I do not deny that. I only deny that I 
 shall be married, and T recommend the same con 
 duct to every other man. I would never own it 
 till the benediction had been pronounced, unless I 
 were sure that there was not another man in the 
 world." 
 
 " You are very bitter ?" said Archibald. 
 
 " No ; I may be very honest. But you look 
 (addressing himself to me) as if you had some 
 thing at your heart." 
 
 " Delight and astonishment, said I. 
 
 " Pho ! you don t mean any such thing you 
 may feel surprise and pleasure ; but few things 
 would delight or astonish such a man as you." 
 
 y But why marry," said Arthur, "with such an 
 opinion of women ?" 
 
 " Why spill my blood at sixpence a-day ? Be 
 cause I must be occupied one way or another." 
 
 "But why rail at marriage? said Henshaw, 
 laughing, "where there is such a charming ex 
 
 ample before you Colonel R , he has mar 
 ried three wives." 
 1 " Yes, and that is not all." 
 
 " What else has he done?" 
 
 " Survived them. I reverence him I never 
 let him pass me witho-it taking off my hat rain, 
 or shine. I gaze upon him as I would upon the 
 Duke of Marl borough, or Turenne, or Eugene. 
 The veteran !" 
 
 "Copely," said Archibald, changing his whole 
 manner, " do you know why I have called you 
 together this evening ?" 
 
 " No." 
 
 " There is a conspiracy against you." 
 
 " I know it," said Copely. 
 
 " They are determined to provoke you, and put 
 you out of the way, if they can." 
 
 " I know it." 
 
 " You had better keep out of the way awhile," 
 said Archibald, with some emotion ; " will you?" 
 
 "But what will you do ?" 
 
 " Exactly what I have always done." 
 
 " But they will insult you." 
 
 " I expect it." 
 
 " Challenge you." 
 
 " Undoubtedly. 
 
 "Cut your throat." 
 
 " I don t believe it." 
 
 " Shoot you." 
 
 "Probably." 
 
 "And yet, dear Copely," said Archibald, draw 
 ing his chair up to him, and leaning upon his 
 shoulder, while Copely s stern features no, not 
 stern his steady features, were red with the fire 
 light; "of what avail will it be? what can you 
 do? You do not expect alone to fight up the 
 New England character, do you ?" 
 
 " Yes/ 
 
 " You are mad ; there are thirty of them, and 
 not more than six or eight of your side, whose 
 principles will permit them to fight a duel." 
 
 "I am mad. 
 
 " But what will you do if the whole thirty chal 
 lenge you one after the other ?" 
 
 " Fight the whole thirty when I have nothing 
 better to do. 
 
 "But why not keep out of their way ?" 
 
 " Because they have threatened me." 
 
 " And so you throw yourself into their way. 1 
 
 " No, not a step. I behave just exactly as if I 
 
 had never heard of the matter." 
 
 # * # # 
 
 The above will give you some idea of the man. 
 I will now relate an affair or two which will give 
 you a better one. 
 
 Just before the battle of Brandy- wine nay, be 
 fore the encampment broke up at Morristown, 
 Archibald and I were tilting at a ring, in a large 
 circular enclosure, which we called the riding-school. 
 Copely was there ; but he seemed to take no 
 interest in the sport, until a Virginian, he of whom 
 I have already spoken Major Ellis as the tall, 
 martial, black-eyed fellow, that was with Clinton, 
 at the time of his death, after a hard game, had 
 borne off the ring, repeatedly, in better style than 
 Archibald, who, before his illness, had no match in 
 the troop. Archibald was vexed not a little by 
 the airs of the conqueror ; and, as he backed his 
 horse just in front of me, and caught my eyes, he 
 struck his blade into one of the wooden posts with 
 a force that astonished me ; saying, at the same 
 time, that be could bear to be beaten by any body 
 
THE NOVEL NEWSPAPER. 
 
 better than that man. The major scowled, and 
 my brother, in a pet, swore that he was ashamed 
 of himself and his troop. 
 
 I saw the cloud gathering. But Copely, turning 
 to Archibald, asked him what he would give him 
 to beat the victor ? 
 
 " Give you !" said Archibald, " a pair of pistols, 
 such as haven t their match in the army." 
 
 " Dismount a moment," said Copely, in reply, 
 with his head on one side. 
 
 Archibald could not believe him to be in earnest ; 
 and none of us had ever seen him in heat, as he 
 used to call it, when agood swordsman went hand 
 somely through his divisions. 
 
 ." Mind the stirrup 1" said Archibald, as Copely 
 reined up the horse, and grasped the mane with 
 his left handjpreparing to mount, as if on parade ; 
 if you touch the stirrup you will never touch the 
 saddle. 1 
 
 Copely made no reply ; but was in the seat, and 
 running full speed at the ring, which he took off, 
 a id replaced at every successive evolution, till the 
 whole circus rung with huzzas. Then he dis 
 mounted and returned to the same position which 
 he had occupied before, and there stood, with his 
 arms folded, precisely as if he had no concern in 
 what was going forward. 
 
 Archibald could hardly forbear embracing him 
 on the spot ; but the major was overflowing with 
 wrath and blackness. 
 
 "We shall have a quarrel out of this," said 
 Archibald, turning a little pale ; " I perceive it." 
 
 " Yes," said Copely, justas if he had ceen asked 
 to take a pinch of snuff ; " it is very probable." 
 
 And so it happened; for the major began 
 abusing, first all mankind ; then, all horsemen ; 
 then, all strangers ; then, all captains : and, finally, 
 all Yankees. Finding that nobody was disposed 
 to answer him, and when lie had fairly run out of 
 breath, after working himself into a passion, that 
 I expected every moment, for he grew black in the 
 face, would end in an apoplexy, he stood still, 
 fumbling about the hilt of his hanger. 
 
 There was a dead silence. Copely stood with 
 h ! s arms folded, looking him in the face, as if he 
 had been some object rather of curiosity than fear. 
 " Did you know, sir, " said he, in his natural cold 
 t >ne, " that I am a Yankee. 
 
 " Diu I yes, and be damned to you, 1 said the 
 O-her, riding fiercely up to him ; " ana what then ? 
 tike it as you like it." 
 
 Ifu," Thank you," he replied ; "I admire your 
 courtesy." 
 
 For the world I would not have undergone the 
 look that Copely gave him. There was neither 
 contempt, nor scorn, nor pity, nor defiance, nor 
 c jmpassionin it ; but it was a compound that would 
 have made me feel like a fool for years afterward, 
 had I thought of it as having been levelled at me. 
 
 " Stop, sir," continued Copely, seeing the other 
 about to wheel off, as if to hide his perturbation ; 
 I have a word to say to you;" this was in the 
 same tone, the same attitude, and he was un- 
 a - med. "You have said what I hope you will be 
 sorry for. At present, I have no more to say to 
 you. But, once for all, I would have youuudei- 
 stand that this language is never to be repeated in 
 my presence. I shall be happy to see you here to 
 morrow, at the same hour, with the same com- 
 pany." 
 
 " With all my heart 1" said the other ; " now or 
 then, it is all the same to me." 
 
 Nay, you appear to misunderstand me. Yott 
 are in a passion. I cannot permit my3elf to retort 
 now. I give you till to-morrow to think of your 
 conduct. Remember I do not challenge you : 
 I do not come here to-morrow to fight you. But 
 I shall meet you here." 
 
 The major looked down upon him for a moment, 
 as if he would have ridden over him, in the scorn 
 and detestation of his heart. But nothing moved 
 Copely nothing, though Archibald appeared ex 
 ceedingly disturbed, and had been several times on 
 the point of interfering. 
 
 " What do you intend to do ?" said Archibald, 
 after a silence of nearly half an hour, as we were 
 returning. 
 
 " You shall know to-morrow. I never bark, " 
 was the reply. 
 
 The next day he went with us, unarmed, con 
 trary to all our remonstrances. 
 
 " Pho, 1 said he, coolly ; "if I arm there will be 
 bloodshed. I am not prepared for that. 
 
 We found the major there, surrounded by four 
 or five as handsome fellows as I ever saw, looking 
 black as death, however, while they held aloof 
 from the exercise. 
 
 They saw that Copely was unarmed ; and their 
 lips curled, as they called the attention of Major 
 Ellis to the circumstance ; and he muttered some 
 thing, which was too true but it made my heart 
 giddy for a moment, with passion and Archibald s 
 hand search for the hilt of his scimitar. 
 
 The exercises were gone through with, in a sort 
 of sullen, discontented silence; and Copely stood 
 all the while, precisely in the same spot in the 
 same attitude with the same countenance na 
 tural and careless. 
 
 " Gentlemen," said he, turning his eyesleisurely 
 round the enclosure ; " I see some new faces ; but 
 are all here now, that were here yesterday ?" 
 
 "Ay! ay! sir! was the reply, from twenty 
 voices at the same moment ; while the major, 
 leaning his warlike person over the broad, wuite 
 mane of his charger, which swept abroad at 
 every movement of the neck, like breakers flying 
 in the wind, seemed delighted with the prospect ; 
 a little more, I thought, than was natural, for his 
 feet rattled in the stirrups. 
 
 " Well, Major Ellis, 1 said Copely, in the same 
 unaltered, unalterable tone : " have you nothing 
 to say to me, for the intemperate language that 
 you held to me yesterday ?" 
 
 * To you ! Gort ! is it come to this ? I thoug 
 that you had something to say to me. 
 
 " I have," was the reply ; " but I would first 
 know if you have well considered it. You have 
 nothing to say. then!" 
 
 " Nothing," said the other, haughtily. 
 
 " I am sorry for it. It compels me to use harsh 
 language to you. You are a blockhead, an over 
 grown blockhead. You are an overbearing man,, 
 with, I believe, very little courage at the heart. 
 You are a disgrace to Virginia ; and had I any 
 Virginian blood in my veins, I would cut your 
 throat for the dishonour that you have done it, by 
 your brutal misbehaviour. I have done." 
 
 I looked at the major; he was trying to draw 
 his sabre, and at every moment I expected to see 
 him fail from his unruly horse, as he bent over 
 for the purpose ; while Archibald, with a keen 
 eye, and spurs reauy to strike into his charger, 
 sat with his blade glimmering in his hand, as if 
 anticipating the result. But Copely, I was more 
 
SBVENTY-S1X. 
 
 87 
 
 and more amazed at the expression of his coun 
 tenance, at every movement. I verily believe 
 that he would have stood with his arms folded, 
 though Ellis had charged upon him, aad the iron 
 hoofs and glittering sword were above his eyes. 
 But before the major could extricate his sword, 
 which had become entangled in his trappings, one 
 of his companions had mterl eied, and obtained a 
 suspension of the judgment that his heart had evi 
 dently pronounced. 
 
 " You will hear from me," said he, yielding to 
 his friend and passing out. 
 
 " If you please," said Copely. 
 
 " And me I and me ! and me !" said the 
 Others. 
 
 " If you please," he replied to each. 
 
 We returned to our quarters ; and were hardly 
 housed, when a stranger brought a note to 
 Copely. 
 
 He read it, and reaching it to Archibald, whose 
 hand shook now, though it did not shake when 
 he received Clinton s for himself, he asi^ed him 
 what he thought of it? 
 
 "Sit down, young man," said Copely to the 
 stranger. 
 
 The stranger bridled, like a blood-horse fretting 
 on the bit, and made no other answer than a re- 
 lictant, haughty inclination of the head. He 
 was true Virginia ! I could have hugged him for 
 it ; 1 hated the Yankees. 
 
 " I have nothing to say," said Archibald, re- 
 turning it; " it is a matter for your own deter 
 mination." 
 
 The stranger bowed, and said that the friend 
 of Captain Copely would communicate wilh him, 
 and return an answer when it was agreeable. 
 
 " Very courteous, very," said Copely. " But 
 stop, young man. Tell the major I will meet 
 him." 
 
 " Please to write it, sir." 
 
 " No, sir." 
 
 " And when?" 
 
 " When ? ah, well considered. I should like 
 to spill some blood for my country first. To-day 
 is Friday. Oadley, what think you of next week ? 
 I have a good deal of writing on hand." 
 
 " As you please," said Archibald. 
 
 " No, no ; next week I am to be married. I 
 must fight one battle fir^t. I should like to re 
 hearse. The major and I can fight afterward, 
 though I should happen to be disabled. But I 
 might not do for the enemy, after he and 1 had met. 
 Tell the major, that I will meet him, and all his 
 friends, one after the other. Let s see, to-day 
 is Friday ; any time that he pleases, after we have 
 had one brush with the enemy ; and I have had 
 a a after I have had my likeness taken. I 
 should be sorry to leave no resemblance behind 
 me. Is he married ?" 
 
 " Sir, I am in no disposition totriftV, 1 said the 
 stranger. 
 
 " Nor I, God knows. My question is enough 
 to prove that. If he be not, tell him that I tiive 
 him the same time that I shall take, to bequeath 
 his lineaments ; we might make it a very pretty 
 family piece." 
 
 " And what am I to say, sir ? Yes or no ? 
 when, and where, and how ?" 
 
 " Peremptory enough! But the where and 
 how I leave to him. The when I must he per 
 mitted to determine. I wish that I could fix the 
 day; but I cannot. These cursed matters of 
 
 marrying and fi s hting must be gone through with 
 first. I am under an engagement ; a foolish one, 
 I grant ; but I never break my word. After that, 
 tell the major to call in, any time when he is going 
 by, and I shall be happy to entertain him, or any 
 of his friends." 
 
 "And this is your answer ?" said the stranger. 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 " You will not be .surprised, I hope, if the 
 major should accost you with a horse ft hip to-mor 
 row?" 
 
 " Not in the least," he replied. 
 
 The stranger left us, and we burst out into one 
 loud peal of laughter. There was something so 
 irresistibly comic in the indifference of Copely, 
 which, whether felt or feigned, every one of us 
 envied. 
 
 Buc the major did not attempt to horsewhip 
 him, prubably from the fear of our commander; 
 and Copely continued to go among them just as 
 usual, till the afternoon previous to his marriage, 
 when I saw him embrace Archibnld, in whose 
 eyes, when I met him, were the traces of tears ; 
 hot tears, such as are wrung from high hearts by 
 a pressure that scorches, while it exhausts them. 
 
 But that very night, Copely returned again or 
 rather the next morning ; for about two o clock 
 I heard his voice, and saw Archibald throw on 
 his watch-cloak, and rejoin him; they walked 
 away together, and appeared, whenever they ap 
 proached, by the sound of their voices, and the 
 movement of Archibald s shadow upon the wall, 
 to be in earnest conversation. At last they 
 separated ; and when Archibald had thrown him 
 self upon the bench, with a dim lamp shining upon 
 his face, I saw it working for several minutes like 
 a convulsion. 
 
 " What has happened ?" said I. " He was to 
 have been married to-night, was he not? What 
 brought him back?" 
 
 " Death," said he, in a low voice. 
 
 "Death! heavenly Father! was she dead?" 
 
 " No, no; would that she were. But do not 
 ask me. He is not married. Good night 1" 
 
 " Good night." 
 
 I saw Copely in the morning, and fancied, per 
 haps it was only fancy, that he was paler and 
 sterner than I had ever seen him ; but perhaps he 
 had grown paler by watching as he had, week 
 after week. And so the time passed away, his 
 intimacy remaining about the same, till the battle 
 of Brandy-wine, in which he fought, it is said;~ 
 witkthe cool intrepidity of a veteran, spurring into 
 the hottest fire, with a senseless disregard to 
 danger, utterly unlike the distempered eagerness 
 of young men that are brave, and resembling 
 what one might look for in a creature that felt 
 himself to be immortal, invulnerable, and exceed 
 ingly potent. But, the battle over, and a moment 
 of repose allowed to it, the pledge of blood was to . 
 be redeemed. 
 
 It was night I had just heard the report of 
 
 a pistol ; and, on looking out, saw a crowd of 
 
 soldiers rushing into Copely s tent. A part of 
 
 j them soon returned, bearing what appeared by 
 
 their movement, as they staggered along over the 
 
 uneven ground, to be a dead body. I ran out in 
 
 a paroxysm of terror. It was a dead body the 
 
 j body of Major Ellis. Oopely had shot him 
 
 I through the brain. I entered his tent, and saw 
 
 ; him in his shirt sleeves, bandaging his left arm, 
 
 j which hung, as if broken, over the chair with 
 
THE NOVEL NEWSPAPER. 
 
 his own hand. He never took off his eyes from 
 the arm, but continued the operation, though the 
 sweat stood upon his forehead (and heart too, I 
 dare say) in loose drops, -when I entered. 
 
 Archibald followed me. 
 
 * What have you done ?" said he. 
 
 " Shot the major, he answered, without lifting 
 his eyes. 
 
 " And what has he done ?" 
 
 " Shot me," was the reply. 
 
 " How happened it?" 
 
 " How ! he accepted my invitation ; called as 
 he was going by, and I, having the vapours, I 
 suppose, for I have been very low spirited of late, 
 and would have done any thing for pastime, I con 
 sented to exchange a few shots. The man was 
 exceedingly importunate, and thought it a pity 
 to trouble him to call again ; so I took one of his 
 pistols, as I sat he on one side of that table, and 
 I on the other, just as I am now, for I had begun 
 to turn in and my coat being too tight for me, 
 had thrown it off." 
 
 " Poor fellow !" said Archibald. 
 
 " Yes poor fellow!" echoed Copely, in the 
 same tone. " It was a great pity that he called, 
 J told him so." 
 
 ***** 
 
 I left the room in horror, went to my bed, and 
 soon fell into a troubled, disorderly dreaming, that 
 shook and wasted me like a long illness. Let me 
 attempt some description of it, some only ; for it 
 would be impossible, by any power of language, to 
 give a faithful one. 
 
 rj$I was asleep. At dead of midnight I heard a 
 trumpet, as I thought, sounding to battle. I arose, 
 pained and dizzy, unwilling to go out, and desir 
 ous to skulk, if I could, into the holes of the rocks. 
 Wb Then I thought that it began to rain fire upon 
 me ; and the earth shook, and battalions of men, 
 armed all over in shining mail, spattered with 
 blood, came parading, column after column, from 
 the earth nation after nation, each of loftier and 
 yet loftier stature still, warlike and terrible, like 
 the buried apostles of liberty : and then, all at 
 once, there was a tremendous explosion, and I felt 
 myself sinking in a swamp, the loose earth quivering 
 like jelly, at every tread, and cold serpents and 
 |bloated toads all slipping about me, so thickly, 
 fthatsetmy naked foot wherever I would, something 
 ihat had life in it, some fat, icy reptile, would stir 
 (under the pressure, and then I was entangled in 
 jtke thorny, creeping tendrils of many a plant that 
 /encumbered my path ; dead bodies lay in my way ; 
 jl was pinioned hand and foot, and serpents fed 
 I upon nay blood, and vultures flapped over me. 
 \And then, out of the east there blazed, all at once, 
 .a light, like a million of rockets, that blinded me. 
 And then, I felt a hand the hand of a murderer 
 about my throat God ! that could be no dream, 
 it was too distinct ! Even in my sleep I felt it, 
 and started broad awake. My heart stopped 
 stopped as if struck \\ith death! a hand was 
 upon my head ! feeling about my hair, as if to 
 get a good hold. I shuddered, gasped " Archi 
 bald !" said I, "dear Archibald!" (Archibald 
 had been suspected of walking in his sleep since 
 the death of Clinton.) 
 
 The blood rushed back to my heart I put out 
 my hands. They encountered a human creature. 
 
 " Archibald!" I repeated, with all my force. 
 
 No answer. " What art thou?" I cried, start 
 ing up, and putting out my hands toward A hideous 
 
 shape, that sat on the table near me, with its long 
 legs swinging carelessly under it, and creaking 
 like the joints of a gibbeted man. 
 
 I heard something rattle on the floor. It was 
 a large knife. The lamp gleamed upon the blade 
 as the creature stopped to pick it up. 
 
 I was desperate now. I threw myself upon it 
 in silence ; and, after a struggle, in which I, who 
 could have torn a wild beast limb from limb, had 
 well nigh been mastered I said to it 
 
 " What the devil are you ?" 
 
 " Nick Sampson, 1 he replied. 
 
 " Nick Sampson ! what business have you here ? 
 How is Ellen ? :< 
 
 " Djing. You have broken her heart. I came 
 to kill you, but I could not. You were sleeping. 
 That saved you. 
 
 Judge of my feelings. They were unutterable. 
 It was a long time before I was able to speak, while 
 the shapeless wretch sat before me, like a coiled 
 reptile, his small, bright eyes glittering under his 
 heavy eye-brows, as if he were hardly satisfied 
 with his own clemency. At last, however, a new 
 feeling took possession of me. My horror and 
 affright had gone ; and my eyes were already 
 running along the bright blade of the knife, and 
 glancing at the door, with thoughts, that even 
 now I shudder at. He certainly~understood me, 
 for he addressed me, abruptly, thus 
 
 " You had better not." 
 
 The sound of his voice scared the demon away. 
 A rush of humanity and gratitude came back to 
 me, flooding my heart with a gentle warmth, like 
 new milk the weapon fell from my hand. 
 
 " How came you here, Sampson ?" said I. 
 
 " By dodging the sentinels." 
 
 " What, to-night! they are doubled, and very 
 vigilant. 
 
 " Vigilant ! I found one asleep ; and the other I 
 passed in his own shadow." 
 
 " And how is Ellen ?" 
 
 "Ellen," his eye snapping fire; "Ellen ! wash 
 ing her heart away with her own tears !" 
 
 " God bless x her ?" 
 
 " What, Oadley, what ! do you really pity poor 
 Ellen, really? or (menacing me) are you damn 
 it, you cannot be suck a villain ; are you mocking 
 me or not ?" 
 
 " No," said I, amazsd at his look and manner. 
 
 " No!" 
 
 " But where is she ? how is her health ?" 
 
 " I ve told you, the sap of her heart is running 
 to waste ; she has cried herself blind." 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 I ve loved to hear the war-horn s cry ; 
 
 And panted at the drum s deep roll; 
 And held my breath, when, flaming high, 
 I ve seen our starry banners fly, 
 As challenging the haughty sky, 
 
 They stirred the battle in my soul." 
 
 Nicholas left me, as be came, abruptly, and in 
 the darkness ; and I was awakened the next morn 
 ing by the sound of Jasper s voice at my door. 
 
 " We have taken a devil?" he cried ; " please 
 to turn out. He swears to your acquaintance. 
 Halloa, there?" 
 
I leaped off the chest where I slept, and found 
 poor Nicholas in the hands of two of our troop, 
 who were menacing him with their sabres, at 
 every flourish of which he ducked, less in fear 
 than surprise, I thought. His countenance was 
 so expressive, so ludicrously expressive, that I was 
 fain to laugh. 
 
 " Run him up," cried Jasper, " run him up 
 directly; the lieutenant doesn t know him." 
 
 I know that, 1 said the other, " and I ve a 
 mind to do it." 
 
 " Wnat has the poor creature done ?" said I. 
 
 " Knocked up the finest stallion in the troop," 
 said Jasper. 
 
 " How, pray ?" 
 
 * By running him out, fairly out o wind." 
 
 " Be kind enough to tell me, so that I can un 
 derstand you," said I. 
 
 " Well, sir, said Jasper, his red, honest face 
 shining as if basted in blood gravy, " I was out 
 near the north battery, just one hour before day 
 light. Simpson, Hodgers, and two or three more 
 of our fellows, were sleeping at the guarJ-house, 
 our horses saddled and bridled just by. Suddenly, 
 
 I heard a shot Halloa! I cried, for the 
 
 round dozen that Corporal Capen had for sleeping 
 on his post t other night, had made our men more 
 wakeful ! Halloa, said I, running out, who 
 goes there ? Nobody answered me ; but I saw 
 a black shadow running, like a rabbit, along the 
 ground; and then a shower of bullets was sent 
 after him damn it, don t laugh, beast; I ll stop 
 your grinning. So I jumped a-straddle, leaped 
 the ditch, and roJe after him ; Bill backed the 
 stallion, and run him till he slipped his wind, while 
 that devil there kept leaping the ditch, for 
 half an hour, with one of us after him, first one 
 side and then the other. Shall we hang him ?" 
 
 I laughed at the impudence of the fellow, for 
 daring to play such pranks in my presence, and 
 sent him off. 
 
 " Where were you going ?" said I to young Nick, 
 as soon as we were left alone. 
 
 " Home." 
 
 * Suppose you enlist." 
 
 " I will, 1 he answered, " as soon as I have seen 
 Nell, and said good bye, (striking his hands 
 together with a report that made me start it was 
 like a pistol.) 
 
 " Surely, said I, looking at him, and wonder, 
 ing at the expression of his face it was lighted 
 up, and he stood taller, by many inches, than I 
 had ever seen him! " Surely you are not afflicted 
 with ambition ?" 
 
 " Ambition ? what the devil s that ?" 
 
 "It is that," said I, my chest heaving as I 
 spoke; "it is that which dilates the heart, dis 
 tends all the arteries, lightens and animates, 
 and " 
 
 "Ha! ha! ha! No, I ve nothing of that. I 
 have no desire to \vear a beautiful jacket, or ride 
 -& handsome horse; would as soon taste blood in 
 the ranks ; nay, sooner, for there I should wade in 
 it, as to drive my horse through it fetlock deep. 
 No ! but" here was another outbreaking of 
 brightness from his whole face, " I am an 
 American, a worthless, abandoned one ; a wicked 
 fellow, and willing to die, if it please God, a 
 better man than I have lived. I love the trumpet. 
 My heart bustles strangely when I hear it splitting 
 awav in the wind. The drum sets all my blood 
 bubblin /. And the new standard Lord ! I could 
 
 SEVENTY-SIX. S9 
 
 look at it for ever ! the cannon, too, and the 
 smoke, and and O, I would die willingly, if I 
 might he where such things are to be seen con 
 tinually." 
 
 1 looked at the creature in astonishment. 
 " Surely," said I, inwardly, and shuddering at the 
 deep, sanguinary hue of his lips, that quivered as 
 he spoke " Surely, the appetite for blood is 
 natural to us all He ! Oh, men have understood 
 it well ! he cannot withstand the prompting of a 
 wayward spirit the fierce instinct though it 
 cometh not to him, with the bright beckoning of 
 a woman mailed, as it does to me, nor with a 
 countenance of dominion. There is no command 
 for him, no hope nothing bui derision and 
 mockery ; yet, for the pleasure of dabbling in 
 human blood, and watching the red issue of broken 
 hearts he is willing to put body and soul in 
 jeopardy." 
 
 "Why! what the devil have you there," cried 
 Archibald, coming up. 
 
 I told him as well as I could all that I knew of 
 the matter ; and, in return, asked him how Copely 
 was. 
 
 "Bad enough," he replied "his left arm. 
 shattered under arrest. And poor Chester !" 
 
 " C h ester f " said I. " Who is he ?" 
 
 "^Chester Copely^ was the reply. 
 
 " I thought his name was Charles." 
 
 " So did I till this morning, when I saw it 
 written at length. He always writes C. Copely, 
 and that is the reason, I suppose, for I never 
 ask, thai: we have always supposed his name to be 
 Charles." 
 
 "There seems to be a great bustle in camp, 1 
 said I. " Does the affair make such a noise ? 
 
 " O, no ; but we are on the eve of something, I 
 know not what ah 1" 
 
 A horseman here came up, saluted Archibald, 
 and informed him that the commander-in-chief 
 was on horseback, at the west battery (a little re 
 doubt, hastily thrown up,) waiting for him. 
 
 His horse was brought out ; and he set forward, 
 a minute or two a-head of me. 
 
 When I arrived on the ground, I saw him, bare 
 headed, fronting the commander, whose coun 
 tenance was remarkably stern ; but it gradually 
 changed ; and, just as I passed, I heard him say, 
 " There is your commission, sir; I am glad to find 
 that you had no hand in this affair. It must be 
 put a stop to. You are brevetted for the present. 
 
 From that moment Archibald was a major. 
 "I am afraid," said he, faltering, and I stopped 
 my horse immediately, that I might not lose a 
 word that that I am not altogether blameless. 
 Yet I was not present." 
 
 "Enough," said Washington. " Keep in your 
 saddle irom ten this morning. We shall have 
 work for you before night." 
 
 Archibald joined me, with a countenance parti 
 cularly thoughtful and solemn. 
 
 " What is the matter?" said I. 
 
 "I am a major," he replied. 
 
 " And does that make you sorrowful ?" 
 
 "Yes ; I do not deserve it. . Many a better man 
 will be under my command many a better man ; 
 and I am but a boy." 
 
 * But you can deserve it." 
 
 " Yes ! that is true ; and I will, or die. I 
 will not be in the way of any man that deserves 
 I it better." 
 
 " Are we to do anv thiner ? 
 
M 
 
 " Ye*r-did you see the general s face! 1 
 " See it I 1 said I" yes, and shook all over, as 
 I did see it. How preternaturally dark it was." 
 "Very, he replied, " very. It bodes another 
 Trenton visitation, I am apt to think. But hush. 
 Let us.be wary." 
 
 Washington passed us again now, at a slow, 
 warlike movement, his tall martial person habited 
 in a uniform, wlvch I will try, to describe: the 
 waistcoat was buff, plain buff, without an atom of 
 gold about it, very long, and opening at the 
 bottom, with flaps ; the coat, what we call a 
 French blue, rather worn and dusty, exceedingly 
 tight in the arms, and open always ; breeches buff; 
 and boots in the clumsy fashion of the day, reach 
 ing to the knees but without any expression: the 
 whole costume wearing the look of what is meant 
 for service, rather than parade. As he passed us, 
 he uncovered to our general salutation, with a 
 dignity and plainness that I never saw equalled. 
 But do what he would, he was always George 
 Washington ; full of beautiful simplicity and 
 power. 
 
 In two hours more we were in motion, under 
 himself in person, and advanced to Skippack 
 creek, where we encamped. It was about sixteen 
 miles from Germantown, where the main body of 
 the enemy lay ; Cornwallis having followed Howe 
 to Philadelphia. Lord Howe had gone round 
 from the Chesapeake, to co-operate with his 
 brother, in reducing the forts upon Mud Island 
 and Red Bank, in and upon the Delaware, 
 
 Washington was constantly in the saddle, and 
 the whole army in a state of fiery excitement, from 
 the news that came in every day, respecting the 
 operations at the north against Burgoyne, who 
 was already in a mo?t critical situation. By the 
 way, I forgot to mention in the proper place, that 
 we sustained a severe loss a few nights before this 
 movement, by General Wayne s suffering himself 
 to be surprised, and then, most unluckily, 
 parading his men in front of their fires, so that 
 every shot told ; we lost nearly three hundred of 
 our best troops, bayoneted on the spot. 
 
 On the third of October we were handsomely 
 reinforced, and Washiagtou led us against the 
 enemy at Germantown, rationally supposing, that 
 the contemplated operations upon Fort Miffliu 
 and Red Bank would leave the enemy s main body 
 considerably weakened at Germantown. 
 
 The enemy were pitched about the centre of the 
 town. His left on the Schuylkill, covered by the 
 chasseurs ; the right handsomely protected, 
 stretching far out to the west with a battalion in 
 front, occupyingChesnut Hill. 
 
 Our plan was too complicated ; the ground was 
 broken up by enclosures ; a heavy fog covered the 
 whole ground, which was exceedingly uneven, and 
 we could not see a pistol shot from our horses 
 heads. And, from the time we entered the field, 
 leaping about in a most disorderly manner, until 
 we heard Pulaski raging like a devil all about us, 
 leaping hedges and ditches, and calling out the 
 day is our own ! the day is our own ! I had not 
 seen or heard any thing of Archibald or Arthur. 
 But, in five minutes more, they had both passed 
 me, erect on their saddles, and shouting to us, that 
 the horse of the enemy (a squadron under Corn 
 wallis, just arrived from Philadelphia) were riding 
 Greene down. At the time, we knew little of 
 what was going forward. Again and again were 
 we lost, in the heavy fog, mistaking our own party 
 
 THE NOVEL NEWSPAPER. 
 
 for the enemy, and being mistaken in our turn. 
 A tremendous firing was kept up -it appeared at 
 every corner of the heavens ; a part of both ar 
 mies had fallen into each other s hands ; and, but 
 for the abominable delay at a stone house (into 
 which Colonel Margrave threw himself in the heat 
 of the battle, checking our main body, and holding 
 out till all the enemy were upon us), we should 
 have given a good account of the day s work, I 
 believe.. But, be that as it will, we were in time 
 to cover the retreat of our army exchange some 
 cuts with Gornwallis s horse; and hold him in 
 check till Steven s artillery opened upon them, 
 with a destruction like that which fell upon Sodom 
 and Gomorrah ; breaking through whole ranks at 
 every discharge, and blowing platoon after platoon 
 into the air man and horse. The Marylanders, 
 under Conway, (forming a pare of Sullivan s di 
 vision,) fought like, so ma. y armed knights. 
 
 Archibald got a cut over the left temple, which 
 soon healed ; but neither Pulaski, nor Arthur, nor 
 myself was wounded, though I had my bear-skin 
 cap riddled like a honeycombe ; and my horse 
 was bayoneted in three places ; and Arthur had 
 stirrup and bridle shot away. Yet I saw Pulaski 
 cleave one fellow to the chine at the moment, it 
 appeared to me, that a pistol was fired into his 
 very face and eyes. I looked a moment, though 
 I was hotly engaged with two good swordsmen, 
 in the expectation of seeing him fall ; but, in a 
 twinkling, he was out of sight, his blade rattling 
 like hail about the bayonets that hedged him in, as 
 he passed in a circle of incessant fire, giving point 
 and edge at the same moment. He had a horse 
 killed under him, but immediately brought down 
 his antagonist from the saddle, mounted his horse, 
 and rejoined his men. 
 
 And here I cannot forget to mention, that a long 
 time after the battle, Archibald and I rode over 
 the ground again, step by step, each pointing out 
 to the other the spot where every vicissitude and 
 accident had occurred to himself. I remember, 
 too, as if it were but yesterday, his pointing out 
 the window at the left wing of Chew s House, 
 which a spiiited young officer, under the very eye 
 of Washington, attempted to set fire to, and the 
 very tree under which he died a few moments after 
 the attempt. The window is yet shattered and 
 blackened with the attempt, and the walls are in 
 dented and bruised all about with the idle cannon 
 ading of our light artillery ; and a friend of mine 
 lately informed me of a remarkable fact, which has 
 escaped the notice of all our historians ; and which., 
 had it been known at the time, might have changed 
 the issue of the day. When Washington ordered 
 up the field-pieces, and they had began to play upon 
 the house, (which is built of a very solid, heavy 
 stone, ) he went a little in advance to reconnoitre : 
 aud, owing to the fog and smoke, was deceived 
 into a belief, that one of the back buildings con 
 nected with the house had been changed since he 
 had seen it, (for he had been perfectly acquainted 
 with the house and family,) and deliberately for 
 tified. The building even yet has a formidable ap 
 pearance, aad I can readily conceive that a mili 
 tary man might hesitate a good while before he 
 would attempt to storm it, while seen through a 
 mist. By this appearance, Washington was pre 
 vented from attempting to carry it in the rear, by 
 which he would undoubtedly have succeeded, for 
 there were all its weak points, there was it most 
 

 SEVENTY-SIX. 
 
 accessible, and there least capable of defence. But 
 to return. 
 
 After this battle, we returned to SMppack and 
 encamped ; lying literally upon our arms, until the 
 news of Burgoyne s surrender came upon us like 
 a clap of thunder. I was not ten feet from Wash 
 ington when the officer, covered with dust and 
 froth, handed him a letter ; exclaiming at the 
 same time, " Burgoyne and his whole army have 
 surrendered!" The news went like a peal of 
 electricity through the camp. 
 
 "Hourra! Hourra! Hourra ! exclaimed the 
 men, running together in all directions. 
 
 "Hourra! Hourra! Hourra! shouted the offi 
 cers, utterly forgetful of Washington s presence. 
 
 But i i could neither speak nor breathe, nor 
 take off my eyes from his face. 
 
 He read the whole letter through turned it 
 over in his hand looked at the date asked a 
 question or two, as if taught by experience that 
 good news were not lightly to be depended upon. 
 But when it was all confirmed all ! I thought 
 for a moment that he would have falUn from his 
 horse. A mighty paleness overspread his whole 
 face, like moonlight over Roman sculpture. His 
 great heart laboured, his lip worked, his chest 
 heaverl ; h>-tttfaed up bis clear eyes to God gave 
 his hand to the messenger, wnoIooKea as if he 
 could have fallen upon his face, and lain there for 
 Washington to drive his white charger over ; and 
 then dismounted, and withdrew alone all, all 
 alone to his tent. I am sure that it was to go 
 down upon his knees yes ! I am sure of it ; and 
 every man that saw his troubled port the august, 
 patient tread of the hero, as he bowed his great 
 forehead again, uncovered as it was, and walked 
 away, felt as I did, that Washington had gone to 
 prayer. It was a who e hour before a living man 
 approached him. Who would have dared ? who ! 
 to obtrude upon George Washington, while in 
 conversation with Jehovah? 
 
 I will not stop to relate what I was not an eye 
 witness of the operations upon the Delaware. 
 You will find the story well told in every history 
 upon which you can lay your hand : but keep upon 
 the track that I have chosen. 
 
 One thing I had forgotten. Young Sampson 
 had remained with us ; and, it was saM by a Vir 
 ginian, though I did not see him, fought like -a 
 ring-tailed panther," in the battle. All that 1 
 know is, that he was taken prisoner, as he said, 
 once or twice that night ; and escaped as often, 
 with the blood of his captor, and nis spoils into 
 the bargain. To my knowledge, he had three hand 
 some watches and some gold, when he returned to 
 the camp ; and was smeared and smoakeii in human 
 blood : nay, his very hair was stiffened with it ; 
 and, for a week afterwards, the snow where his 
 head lay would be soiled with crimson, though I 
 made him wash it twenty times at least. Yet I 
 doubt if any of it was unfairly shed ; unfairly I 
 mean, after the usages of war. His face was 
 blacked and scorched with gunpowder, and ue was 
 nearly bliad for a time ; and his eye-lashes were 
 singed off. But he was not otherwise injured than 
 by a braise in the side, as he said, from a regiment 
 af horse running over him. 
 
 " With gun-carriages at their heels, I dare say," 
 Added Copely, who heard him account for it. 
 
 Copely was now able to attend to duty again, 
 and went about it with the same unaltered front 
 
 a little paler, and perhaps a little calmer thanusml 
 with his arm in a soling. 
 
 Our condition, at this time, was deplorable be- 
 yond all belief. Several thousands of our troops 
 had not a blanket to wrap themselves in, though ; 
 the winter had now set in with unparalleled seve 
 rity ; a large portion without breeches, shoes, or 
 stockings. We had exhausted all our money and 
 credit and were, for a time, hardly less ragged 
 than our men. 
 
 On the 4th of December, Sir William Howe 
 advanced upon us, in power, as if determined to 
 exasperate us, naked and suffering as we were, to 
 a rash engagement, that he might go into winter- 
 quarters with a tolerable feeling of security. But, 
 after manoeuvring several days in beautiful style, 
 performing some of his evolutions within reach of 
 our cannon, he quietly, like the king of France, 
 with twenty thousand men, marched up the hill, 
 and then marched down again. 
 
 Our whole army was struck with astonishment ; 
 and Washington not less than our troops. What 
 could have led to such an unequivocal avowal of 
 Sir William s respect, it would be difficult to say ; 
 but we ought not to forget that we were altogether 
 his inferiors in every respect at the time ; and 
 thit every man in our army felt the retreat of Sir 
 William, as if we had obtained a victory over him. 
 
 On the eleventh, we began a movement in search 
 of winter quarters ; and finally pitched upon Valley 
 Forge, a place about sixteen miles from Phila 
 delphia. We arrived there on the sixteenth ; and 
 here let me pause. Here began our severest 
 sufferings. Men may talk of their Romans and 
 their Greeks ; of armies that have perished in their 
 own blood; cities in their smoke; martyrs and 
 apastles to liherty chanting their own death-song. 
 I have been in battle many times, by night and by 
 day ; I have been willing to spend my whole life in 
 it ; I have been wrapped in smoke and blaze ; 
 stunned, for hours together, with the noise of 
 cannon ; and blinded, for whole days, with the 
 flash of musketry. Yet, so help me God, I could 
 spend a long life in one uninterrupted battle, with 
 less suffering than I (and my care was nothing to 
 that of some others) than I spent that winter at 
 Valley Forge. Our poor fellows were barefooted, 
 as I have told you ; naked and starving:. A.S I am 
 a living man, in the presence of my Maker, I de 
 clare to you that I have seen the dark, swollen, 
 discoloured, and lacerated feet of a whole com 
 pany, frozen to the ground, in their own blood, 
 when we halted for ten minutes. I remember i$ 
 well ; it is no exaggeration. There were not ten 
 men among them who had either stockings or 
 shoes ; and when they put their bruised soles to 
 the earth, the blood gushed out as from a trodden 
 spun^e, so swollen and bloated were they. But 
 why dwell upon it! why? Because, since the 
 creation of this world, there nevr was an army 
 that endured so much, so patiently. Greeks and 
 Romans! blisters on the American tongue, that 
 shall dare to name them in comparison with our 
 poor fellows! e^ryfoot-fall was martyrdom ; and 
 when the windsolew7 and the storm beat and 
 the fine snow drifted over them, as they lay, shi 
 vering and naked, upon their pallets, their stout 
 hearts were never heard to complain. No ! they 
 lived while they could ; and when they could live 
 no longer, they died in silence. I have seen many 
 a stout fellow ; but one I particularly remember, 
 frozen hand and feet, chafing his purple limbs, for 
 
02 
 
 THE NOVEL NEWSPAPER. 
 
 whole hours together, without uttering a word of 
 sorrow or complaint. We made a town of log 
 huts at the suggestion of our commander ; kept 
 constantly in motion ; and were all inoculated with 
 the small-pox ; and this in the very face of our 
 enemy. For whole days we were without a mouth 
 ful of bread ; though our foraging parties were all 
 sent abroad, in every direction, to seize an appro 
 priate clothing and food ; yet we were without 
 either, owing to the mismauagement of Congress 
 always interfering, whenever it was possible, to 
 make mischief- You would not wonder at my 
 indignation, if you had seen a thousandth part of 
 the suffering that I did, for the want of articles 
 that were actually lying about the country, pur 
 chased and paid for, and rotting in the woods. I 
 but, no, I cannot trust myself to do more than 
 relate two or three simple facts. When we were 
 eight thousand strong, we were obliged to repoit 
 three thousand unfit for duty, on account of their 
 nakedness ; and this number was continually 
 augmenting, till the greater part of the army were 
 obliged to sit up, all night long, before the fire, 
 smothered and blinded with smoke, instead of 
 sleeping quietly, for they had no clothes to cover 
 them. When we were prisoners, too ; but no 
 that ought to be a prohibited theme to a man of 
 my passion. Great Britain dealt with us like a 
 destroyer ; but we must try to forget it. Thank 
 God 1 and I do thank God for it, I was never their 
 prisoner. But I have seen them that were and 
 Archibald, I remember, after his escape. He never 
 recovered from it. * They have poisoned me," he 
 cried. " I have seen powdered glass in the wretched 
 food that they gave me, on board the Jersey prison- 
 ship. It was a slaughter-house ; and the water 
 grew black about her, as if with the plague, 
 choked up with human bodies." This was all that 
 he said. But he never forgot or forgave it ; and, to 
 my knowledge, exacted a fearful retribution for it. 
 He was squalid and filthy, I have been told, 
 beyond all expression, when he returned ; but 
 there was blood iucrusted upon his face. One of 
 his keepers had given up the ghost for his insult 
 and cruelty ; and Archibald burst his chains at the 
 same moment. 
 
 Follow me ; a few steps will bring us to the 
 opening of a new campaign. France had joined 
 us. Gates, I believe, was at the bottom of a con 
 spiracy to supplant Washington. Pulaski was 
 appointed to a legion of horse, with a rank of 
 major-general ; Archibald s brevet was confirmed ; 
 Arthur was promoted to a captainship ; Copely to 
 a lieutenant colonelship in the infantry, and I I 
 remained a captain. 
 
 We had now been nearly two years in actual 
 warfare. Neither Archibald nor I had seen our 
 mother for fifteen months, though we frequently 
 heard from her : and he, I suspected at the time, 
 more frequently than ever. But at last, on the 
 arrival of Sir Henry Clinton to supersede Howe, 
 and the evacuation of Philadelphia, we heard that 
 Mr. Arnauld had removed to that city. My heart 
 throbbed mightily when 1 heard of it. I longed to 
 fall in their way (her way I ought to say) by acci 
 dent : and yet, there was the sunny-haired El- 
 lenor ; how should I meet her ? I trembled at the 
 thought. 
 
 Washington called a council of war, and proposed 
 giving Clinton battle in his retreat ; but, unluckily, 
 was overruled. So that allow me to say, that 
 there was a battle fought, r.alled the battle of Mon- 
 
 mouth, in which I received a wound that cost me 
 my leg afterward; and that Arthur particularly 
 distinguished himself in it. This is all that I know 
 of the affair. Archibald used to contract his fore 
 head, when I spoke of it, saying, that " it was a 
 hard-fought, desperate, and unnecessary battle." 
 He had began to study the science of war at the 
 time ; I had made considerable progress in it. 
 " It would never have been fought, said he, " had 
 not Washington forgot himself, in his exasperation 
 with Lee. And Lee by Heaven he is an injured 
 man ! rash and haughty as he is. He was brave 
 and skilful ; and the court-martial, with Lord 
 Sterling the president, were all a pack of blunder 
 heads, or something worse, for suspending him." 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 Grim-visaged War has smoothed his iron front. 
 
 Nearly three years had now passed in war and 
 trial. ItVas time to repose a while. The French 
 fleet had arrived. The war upon the ocean began 
 to break out in bright spots, like volcanoes, here 
 and there. Sir William Howe had moved off to 
 the south ; and was battling in Georgia. We had 
 little to do, except to plan small enterprises for our 
 out-posts to execute. Our mother had rebuilt a 
 house upon the ruins of our old mansion under 
 the superintendence of an old servant; and Arthur 
 had begun to think seriously of making himself 
 happv, while it was possible for him to be so. 
 
 " Where now, brother? 1 said I, seeing him on a 
 new sorrel charger, caparisoned iu beautiful style, 
 and Copely on a laige white horse with a black 
 mane and tail at his side, " where uow?" 
 
 " To Philadelphia," he replied. 
 
 I felt oddly about the head, but I couldn t speak. 
 
 " Will you join us? there is a furlough," (hand 
 ing me one). "Bless my soul! brother! hey! 
 what! ,vhoa!" 
 
 I staggered against his horse. 
 
 " Yes," said I, " yes, happen what will ; yes !" 
 
 "To horse! to horse !" said Copely, clashing out 
 impatiently to the right, to which I replied, in five 
 minutes from the time of notice, by galloping along 
 side of him on my noble racer. 
 
 " Upon my word, cousin," cried Arthur, his 
 handsome eyes breaking out into light. " You 
 have not been so much yourself since, whoa! sines 
 we manreuvred in the snow, on the night of of " 
 
 "No more," said Archibald, clapping spurs to his 
 horse ; " we shall expect you." 
 
 "Ar, ay!" was the reply, and we instantly set 
 forward at a brisk trof. 
 
 For some miles not a word was spoken ; for my 
 part I could not speak my heart was too full ; and 
 as for Archibald, there was a look of deadly faint- 
 ness, every now and then, iu his face, which took 
 away from me all power of questioning him. 
 But Copely rode onward with the same counte 
 nance ; his left arm, yet still from the shattering 
 that Ellis had given it, awl his head turue-.!, with 
 that peculiar cast, ea one shoulder, which, unless I 
 had known that it proceeded from a sabre cut, I 
 should have called affectation something of the ar 
 rogant and lordly, worn because it fitted the turn of 
 his chest, and fashion of his face ; and it did fi both ; 
 no man ever lived, ou waom the patrician sit better 
 
SEVENTY-SIX. 
 
 93 
 
 than on Chester Copely. He looked not only as if 
 born to dominion ; but as if dominion had been fa 
 miliar tohim from his boyhood ; not the dominion of a 
 Persian satrap peevish and effeminate ; nor that of a 
 lazy bashaw; northatof anEnglisharistocrat, spiteful 
 and jealous of all encroachment, yet wanting the man- 
 hood to resent or resist it. No; butit was that of one 
 who would look a giant in the face, without, winking, 
 and tell him, in a slow voice, " Beware! the boy is 
 already born, that shall break your sceptre ! Nay, 
 that boy was born: allow me to digress for a mo 
 ment. I think I can see him now, with his high 
 forehead partitioned all over with swelling veins, 
 half as largo as your little finger, a little bald ; just 
 as he sat and looked but a few years ago, long after 
 the Revolution, when I saw him in conversat 
 with Aaron Burr, the Ciesar of America, the mos 
 astonishing and dangerous mau of his age ; a man 
 that infused his own rebellious and fiery spirit into 
 every thing material or immaterial with which he 
 came in contact ; a man, who went about working 
 treason, tampering with the bravest and stoutesi 
 hearts of all our country in the light of Heaven 
 with an audacity unlike any thing ever seen before 
 in the history of disaffection ; setting our laws at 
 defiance mocking at our strength doing that 
 which now he has failed in it, has been called mad 
 ness; yet, for which, all the talent, and learning 
 and power of the country, were unable to punish 
 him ! a man, that poured his spirit of revolt, like a 
 flood of tire, into every heart that he came near 
 disturbing the oldest and most cautious of our ve 
 terans ; one that seemed to put himself, life and 
 name, into the power of every human creature that 
 he approached ; yet, with all this seeming, was he 
 never in the power of mortal man (as Wilkinson 
 and Eaton can show) ; a man that suffered the legal 
 wisdom of the whole country to array itself against; 
 him without trembling, and then just put out enough 
 of his own strength, and no more (wasting no jot or 
 tittle of his power), to defeat and shame them. O, 
 it was miraculous ! and since the time of the Roman, 
 there has never been a man on this earth so like 
 , Julius Cs&sar, as was Aaron Burr. Why did he not 
 succeed? is the question with me, not as it is with 
 the deeper politicians of the age ; why did he attempt 
 it? The plan is deeper than is known his resources 
 greater. Aaron Burr was never the man to hazard 
 all for nothing: a step more, and Mexico had been 
 his; and then, whe would have staid the con- 
 qiieror? Where could you have entrenched your 
 selves? in no other place, and by no other means, 
 than by encompassing yourselves round about with 
 a wall of fire. You must have had swords passing 
 for ever about you, and artillery roaring night and 
 day. Ay, one blow! and we, who now laugh the 
 threat to scorn, would have seen the President of 
 these United States, the Congress, and all others in 
 authority, driven into the Potomac. But enough. 
 Let us thank God, that a soldier and a despot was 
 blasted when he was ; and not believe, as we are 
 apt to, that we are inaccessible. Yes, I can see 
 Chester Copely now, at this moment, as plainly as 
 if he were before me ; his bald head leaning upon 
 his hands his grey eyes rivetted upon the tempter, 
 who sat, pouring his deep, deep eloquence into his 
 heart so naturally, with such an air of beautiful 
 simplicity, that when it was over, Copely said to 
 him, " You are a traitor, Aaron Burr ; and I do not 
 wonder that all who listen to you are traitors." 
 
 Perhaps, (will you pardon me for a moment?) I 
 would give you some notion of the artful, terrible in- 
 
 
 
 sinuation of Aaron Burr. We had been speaking of 
 the danger to be apprehended from the continual 
 enlargement of our territory. I knew Burr s aim. 
 Copely knew it. Both of us would have slain the 
 man whoshould have dared to propose a dismember 
 ment, directly; yet, before Aaron Burr had done, 
 we were ready or at least I was to draw my 
 sword for him. Gracious Keaven ! what attitude 
 and dominion are given to eloquence ! He first re 
 marked, that we were already too large : and, after 
 some argument, we assented to it. 
 
 " Where are the thirteen states now ?" said Burr. 
 " Look at the map. Look at their territory. They 
 are a spot only in our empire. A few years, and 
 they will be crushed. Of themselves, in* their in 
 tegrity, they are invincible. But lengthen the scep 
 tre, and you weaken it, at the same time that yon 
 render it more unmanageable. It is not only 
 weaker, but more difficult to be wielded." 
 
 " True," said I, and Copely nodded an assent. 
 "Well then," said Burr, " when shall we stop? 
 where shall we stop ? Are we not already too large? 
 where is the profit of these new states? There is 
 none. It costs more to govern them, than we obtain, 
 from them, even in peace. How shall we protect 
 them in war ? Are they not too large ?" 
 " We assented, for how could we help it?" 
 " Would it not be better then," said he (remember 
 that I am giving you only the sum of his process ; the 
 detail I am unequal to), "if it might be amicably 
 done, to retrench our dominion ; to separate con 
 tract our strength, and draw in our resources to the 
 limits of our ancient empire the thirteen confe. 
 derate states?" 
 
 " Certainly," said I, "if it could be done ami. 
 cably." 
 
 "And give them the power of constituting a go. 
 vernment for themselves ? them that have joined us, 
 I mean?" said Copely, moving his head thought 
 fully. 
 
 " Yes," said Burr. " Yes. If we withdraw, we 
 must leave them to build a government for them, 
 selves. Let that be what it may, we should always be 
 too formidable for them. Suppose, then, that they 
 should wish to separate," he continued, after a slight 
 pause, as if collecting all the dark subtilty of his 
 mind, for that special occasion, " would you oppose 
 them?" 
 
 We were silent for some moments. " I think 
 not," said Copely. 
 
 " But suppose that we wish it no matter for 
 what reason/ said Burr " and that they oppose it, 
 which side would you take ? 
 
 " That of manhood and reason," said Copely 
 " cut them off, as I would a withered or rotten 
 member, if the health of the heart were endangered." 
 
 "And who shall determine for us?" said Burr, 
 in a deep, thoughtful voice. 
 
 " Congress," said Copely. 
 
 Burr shook his head, with a mockery and scorn, 
 that no mortal man could have withstood. 
 
 " Congress, said he. " They have not the power. 
 It is the people." 
 
 " Men ! He rose from his seat. " Men J Yen. 
 ove your country. So do I. You have fought her 
 battles. So have I. You would die for her. So 
 would I. You would risk life and limb; nay, reputa- 
 ion for her. You admit that our country is too 
 arge ; that it would be wise to retrench it. Ycu 
 iay that you would assist in doing so, if the excess 
 vere to desire it, or if our own original states should 
 deserve it. This is enough. The salvation of your 
 
THE NOVEL NEWSPAPER. 
 
 Country is in your own keeping ; we must pass a 
 two-edged sword round about her we must lop off , 
 ^without mercy, the diseased and exhausting mem- 
 feers? They wish it ; we wish it. All the wise and 
 good know it. Then why wait for the tardy move 
 ment and legislation of 
 
 " Aaron Burr ! said Copely, rising, and facing 
 the arch-traitor, with the air of one that could take 
 away his breath at a word, " I wonder at your power, 
 I shudder at your disposition. You are a traitor, 
 Burr; and he that listens to you will be, must be, a 
 traitor; nay, is, if he do not silence you. To-night, 
 you are under the protection of my roof. To-morrow, 
 mark me, to-morrow, we are enemies. Good night !" 
 
 He left the room and I followed him, as he said 
 these words, leaving Burr, like the enmeshed lion, 
 snared in his strong-hold, with his dark eyes 
 sternly riretted upon the door through which 
 Copely had passed ; his right hand thrust up 
 to the elbow, into his bosom ; the left clenched, 
 and resting motionless upon the table. I shook as 
 I saw him. Was he baffled ? or were we ? It were 
 hard to tell. He was the least moved of the three. 
 
 Copely had known him twenty years before, inti 
 mately, I believe; but, now, he cut him away, with 
 one blow, from his heart, as if he had been some- 
 tiling deadly and hateful ; vegetation, sprouting in 
 its heat, verdant, with the verdure of a stagnant 
 pool ; bright, with the brightness only of corruption. 
 But letmereturn to the revolution. 
 
 " Are you much acquainted in the city ?" said 
 Copely to Archibald, as they rode on toward 
 Philadelphia. 
 {, " No ; I was never there but once," was the reply. 
 
 " Ah i" exclaimed Copely, contracting his fore- 
 
 kmiL 
 
 " But your brother he has been there more 
 than once. 1 
 
 There was something in his manner that I never 
 liked ; but his way of saying this was inexpressibly 
 provoking to me. 
 
 " Yes, sir," said I, riding up to him, and putting 
 my hand upon his horse s mane looking him 
 steadily in the face all the time" Yes, sir ! his 
 brother has been there, more than once." 
 
 " Twice, I believe," said the impenetrable being 
 " Oh, you colour, 1 said Archibald, smiling; " what 
 is the meaning of this ?" 
 
 " He can answer you best, 1 said Copely, reining 
 p, to let me pass him. " I leave it to him." 
 
 I was exceedingly nettled at this manner of pro 
 ceeding; it was too haughty, cold and forbidding. 
 "Sir," said I. 
 
 "Nonsense, brother," cried Archibald, leaping 
 between us. " I will have no quarrelling where I 
 am. You are enemies to each other, from ignorance. 
 I would have taken some pains, before, to reconcile 
 you ; but I knew that it would be a troublesome 
 affair ; and, as you could not often meet, I have put 
 it off. You know me, Chester; andyou too, brother 
 Each had cause enough, if he could read the other s 
 heart, to cut his throat. But both are mistaken 
 hi the origin of the feud. Shake hands like men. 
 Let us jog on quietly to the city ; and, I hold mysel 
 pledged, when I return, to makeyou love each other 
 more heartily than either of you now love me. What 
 -say you ? are you the men to forbear for three or 
 four days?" 
 
 Copely stopped short, in the middle of the road 
 looked at my brother, and then at me, for severa 
 moments as if though his countenance changer 
 notand my heart, upon my word, felt, as if it hac 
 
 )een drifting about in cold rain for a week, drenched 
 and soaked through chilled. At last, he deliberately 
 drew off his glove. 
 
 " Oadley," said he, giving me his hand. " I hav 
 wronged you. There is my hand ; I believe your 
 arother. It is his fault that we have not been 
 p riends before; had he defended you, ever before, 
 as he has now, I should have been a different man 
 toward you !" 
 
 I took his hand, wondering what he meant, yet-*- 
 I cannot deny it) gratified to the very heart with 
 the proud, frank carriage of the man. 
 
 " I do not ask you," said I, " what are the cir 
 cumstances to whicli you allude, now " 
 "I observe it," said he. 
 
 Archibald smiled, and stooped over his horses* 
 neck to conceal it. 
 
 " But," continued Copely, " I must tell you what 
 they are. Ride on, major, ride on ; we will overtake 
 you in a few minutes." 
 
 Archibald threw up, in a fine martial style, and 
 cantered a-head. 
 
 " You were once rather intimate with a woman" 
 My heart was in my throat. 
 " For, a woman she was, even at the age of child 
 hood a passionate, enthusiastic creature, a in 
 short, you know Ellen Sampson." 
 
 I had expected another name ; and felt, with a 
 
 bitter disappointment, a deadly sickness at the heart. 
 
 " You look very pale," said he, in the sarae 
 
 tone of voice. " Do you know what has become of 
 
 her?" 
 
 " No," I replied. " For a year I have not heard." 
 " Should you dedre to know ?" 
 I bowed. 
 
 " And of her brother father?" 
 "Yes, 1 I replied, wondering at the minuteness 
 and emphasis of his inquiry. 
 
 " He is the brother, I mean, a wanderer ; his 
 sister is dying of a broken heart ; the father is ready 
 to dip his hands in your blood, wherever he can 
 meet you and- " 
 
 "Heaven and earth!" I cried in unaffected 
 astonishment, " what have I done to merit this!" 
 
 " What done ! Look at me, Oadley, stately and 
 cold as you are honest, as you appear to be have 
 you not broken theheiirt of one proud girl, wantonly, 
 and like a child visited another I do not ask you 
 how, nor where with." 
 
 There was a pause (of deep emotion, I should 
 have said but for the nature of the man.) In 
 another, it wou.d have been emotion. In him k 
 was not. 
 
 " Ellen Sampson is my half-cousin. You are 
 startled. I doomed you to death, before I had seen 
 you, I came to your tent. I would have slain you ; 
 but a similarity of manner led me to make the 
 attempt upon Archibald~I attacked him with a 
 sword." 
 
 " Gracious God !" I cried, looking at the man in 
 amazement. 
 
 * Yes," he continued. " I had never seen either 
 of you ; I had heard only the name. I rode to your 
 quarters. I belonged to Gates s army, and left it 
 early when Morgan arrived; in consequence of a 
 quarrel with Arnold ; and it was then that I heard 
 of Ellen s shame." 
 
 " Her shame ! What mean you ? As I live, 
 Copely, there is some mistake in this." 
 
 " Silence !" said he, " hear me out. I left the 
 Northern army came here sought out your bro 
 therled him abroad, one ulear star-light evening 
 
SEVENTY-SIX. 
 
 insulted him fought, and was disabled; nay, 
 should have been slain, had not an accidental inter 
 ference given me time to discover that I was mis 
 taken in him; and, at the same time, to show him 
 that the lady, of whom I had been speaking, was 
 not, as be had misunderstood me to mean, Miss 
 Arnauld:" 
 
 " Miss Arnauld ?" said I, faintly. 
 " No, Miss Lucia Arnauld," he replied. " This 
 led to an explanation. We agreed not to mention 
 the affair ; and your brother extorted a promise from 
 me not to assail you, till" I had given him notice. 
 While I was yet on the paint of bringing the matter 
 to an issue ; for it was enough to drive any man 
 mad, who doated on a woman as I did en cousin 
 Nell, to see her wasting away like a struck flower 
 I I (his voice did falter now by Heaven it did!) 
 I saw Nick, a desperate creature, though one of 
 the best-hearted monsters in all this world, running 
 about the camp. I was a good deal alarmed; but, 
 owing to an ugly affair (raising his left arm, and 
 eompressing his lips, as if with extreme pain,) that 
 had happened a few nights before I saw him, I was 
 prevented from pursuing the matter do you know 
 your brother ?" 
 
 " I do not understand you," said I. 
 " Isn t he," (laying his fore-finger upon his fore 
 head,) " a little, a very little touched here? Don t 
 smile. Itiiinkso. I have asked him; but he denies 
 it. I ll tell you why I think so." 
 
 " Why ?" said I pained by his strange levity, not 
 f manner, but of thought, inexpressibly pained 
 t why?" 
 
 In confidence, then, I will. You do not know 
 him well. He is mad, very mad. He loves Lucia 
 Arnauld ; rein up, will you. Would you ride over 
 him? She loves him to death and distraction. Yet, 
 he set my heart in such a blaze, that," (he breathed 
 reryhanl for a while, and then continued) " I was 
 fool enough to hunt her up, and attempt accursed 
 driveller that I was ! to win a way into her proud 
 spirit. I failed. She loves Archibald, and him 
 only ; and he, O that men will trample on what 
 would give lustre and fragrance to a death-bed ! He 
 shuts up his eyes, and turns his back upon her. 
 Hey ! prick up, let us join. You know all." 
 
 As he said this, he dashed alongside of Archibald, 
 and left me to my meditations. My knee was quite 
 painful, and I felt unwilling to trot, until the pain 
 had subsided. 
 
 " This, then," said I, " is the secret; this ac 
 counts for the mortal anxiety that I have always felt 
 in that man s society. He was the messenger of evil 
 tome; and my soul cowered in his presence, in 
 stinctively." 
 
 I looked at him. He sat his horse, just as he did 
 very thing else, like a creature of great strength, 
 slumbering in his own security. All that he did 
 was of the same character ; if his hand fell upon 
 yours, though by accident, you felt that it wanted 
 but the will in him to give it a momentum that 
 would have crushed your s, bone and joint ; so, when 
 he spoke, he opened his mouth, and his heart ra 
 oit, like a current dammed up, and ready at his 
 bidding, to waste and thunder, like the spring tide 
 and swollen rivers of our country, loaded with ice 
 and foam, and blackened with wreck and ruin. 
 
 Hooked at A-w.fti bald, and wondered at the great 
 manhood of his countenance. It wore yet all the 
 fiery intrepidity, but none of the sullenness or me 
 lancholy-of his youth. It was now the face of wis 
 dom and deep thought, sorrowful, dim, and lofty. 
 
 His very port too, diminutive as was his stature, had 
 an indescribable stateliness and majesty in it. It 
 was difficult to belief when he was walking or rid- 
 ing, that he was only five feet six inches in height. 
 Yet he was no more, though tall men have stood 
 like boys before him. Nay, he was not yet Iwenty- 
 two ; and there was that in his eyes (for calamity 
 and thought are severe chasteners,) which a man of 
 thirty, deeply tried in the wisdom of the world, and 
 wrenched again and again in its concussions, should 
 not have been ashamed of. In short, he was a 
 lordly-looking fellow fuller of genius than Copely, 
 but not so full of dominion. I looked upon them, 
 followed them, listened to them, with pleasure : 
 wondering, all the day long, at the patience and 
 greatness of Archibald. His forbearance when 
 assailed ; first in life, and then in love. This 
 accounted for their intimacy ; his distress, agony, 
 unutterable agony, when Copely returned unmarried. 
 I remember it all now ; it rushed in upon me like a 
 volume of pictured light a vapour full of population, 
 loveliness, and variety. Nay, why not speak of my 
 self? I was no longer the same man. I was more 
 thoughtful, devout; and I do believe, a better man 
 now, than when I joined the army. Arthur had J 
 made me so. 
 
 " We must throw off here a while," said Copely, 
 turning, and calling to me, just as the evening wind 
 began to blow in our faces ; while they turned aside 
 from the main road, and I followed. 
 
 " Are you for an adventure, brother?" said Archi 
 bald, turning about in the saddle, and leaning, with 
 one hand upon the crupper, till I had come up with 
 him. 
 
 " With all my heart !" I replied. " What is it ? 
 
 " Hush ! hush 1 walk your horses" said Copely, 
 in a whisper. " See to your arms. Follow me." 
 
 We did follow him, in a dead silence, for more thais 
 an hour, through a wilderness of beauty and damp 
 
 "Now! now!" he said, coming out suddenly upon 
 a circular, green, turf flat, while the stars broke down 
 upon us, all at once, as it appeared to me emerging, 
 I suppose, from the darkuess of the wood. " Now ! 
 tread softly." 
 
 " There was an air of seriousness in his manner, 
 and yet a dash of pleasantry. But Archibald looked 
 troubled; he did not understand it, Isaw; and when 
 Copely fired off a pistol, suddenly, as we sat, h& 
 started as if it had gone through his head. 
 
 In two minutes, however, a fowling-piece (as I 
 judged from the whistling sound,) was fired at a 
 great, distance, on some hill ; and a horn or conch 
 shell began to wind very pleasantly upon the wind 
 
 " Forward ! cried Copely, dashing over the 
 green at full speed, with Archibald at his heels, 
 " forward." 
 
 We soon came to a beautiful farm-house, built of 
 stone, substantial and large, with every room in it 
 lighted. 
 
 " Another wedding !" said I, carelessly, but with 
 more meaning than I was ready to avow. 
 
 Archibald dropped the reins, and tried to speak. 
 I saw that he did ; for he caught Copely s arm ; and, 
 after a while, repeated it, as if, poor fellow, he knew 
 not what he said. 
 
 Copely threw himself from the saddle, fastened his 
 hotse to part of a Virginia fence, projecting over a 
 ruinous stone wall, overgrown with coloured shrub 
 bery; and, motioning to us to follow his example, 
 led us round the dwelling to a place where we could 
 see, through a fall of thick white curtains and a half- 
 
THE NOVEL NEWSPAPER. 
 
 closed window-shutter, the motion and bustle of s 
 veral persons; women and children, as it appeare 
 by their shadow. 
 
 " Stop, Copelj," said Archibald, grasping his arm 
 " what are you about ? Who are there ? Have y 
 auy surprise for us?" 
 
 " Yes," he replied. 
 
 * What is it !" said Archibald. 
 
 " Follow me, aud you shall see." He tapped a 
 the door, which instantly opened, and, at the firs 
 step, a young woman threw herself into his arms 
 sobbing and clinging to him, like a deliriou 
 creature. 
 
 "O, Chester! Chester!" she cried. 
 I staggered at the sound. A sudden giddiness an 
 darkness rushed upon me ; and Archibald, who stoo 
 like a statue for a moment, caught my hands i 
 silence. 
 
 Just then the fire flashed broadly out; and I sa\ 
 the yellow tresses of one that I knew bound 
 new, like coiled gold, in a more womanly fashion 
 and a white forehead, transparent as the broac" 
 magnoli i leaf, resting against the bosom of Copely 
 I felt relieved unaccountably relieved at the sight 
 for I knew not what strange fancy had possesses 
 me fora moment; or, rather, I am ashamed to tell. 
 At that moment, another female passed me, a 
 eoming from the open air. " O, no !" she articulatei 
 faintly " he is not there. 
 
 " Mary, dear Mary, 1 I cried, embracing the swee 
 
 innocent. She was beautiful with that patient, 
 
 lovely, humble loveliness, which awes the stern man, 
 
 44 Archibald," she cried, breaking away from me 
 
 "O, Archibald, we have not met since since" 
 
 she could not utter another word she was choking. 
 
 " No, dear Mary," he answered, pressing her we 
 
 forehead with his lips, " but let us forget that 
 
 look up, cousin, look up ! upon my word, you are 
 
 an altered woman and if he poor Arthur !" 
 
 She caught Archibald s hand to her lips, looking 
 all the time into his face, with streaming eyes as if 
 dying to ask some question, but dreading to hear 
 the answer. 
 
 Archibald anticipated her while he stood, as in 
 a trance, before the bashful woman, so full of love 
 and love s inquietude, that every limb was eloquent 
 with expression. "Dear Mary, I cannot speak to 
 you yet. You have taken my breath away, said 
 Le "I should not have known you. Nay, do not 
 Llush ; let me retain your hand ; am I not your 
 cousin ? O, I understand you. Yes he is well 
 very well and ah, how deadly pale you are ! hark ! 
 (in a whisper) he will be here to-morrow." 
 
 The poor girl was overpowered and would have 
 fallen, in (he sweet tumult that followed, had not 
 Archibald caught her, and gently led her to a seat, 
 where she and he sat, wondering at each other, in 
 speechless admiration. 
 
 I stood in the shadow all the while the door was 
 open; and, when Mary left me, I stepped back into 
 the entry, unwilling to intrude upon them, and 
 unable to think steadily for myself. 
 
 Mary sat looking him in the eyes, directly facing 
 me her gentle lips just moving, now and then, as 
 if her heart was stirred, and they stirred with it 
 the bright tears running down her cheeks, drop after 
 drop ; her mild eyes wide open, and overflowing 
 with lustre. 
 
 " You tell me, Archibald, that I am altered but 
 you! oh, your own mother would not know you. 
 You were always a proud boy ; but you look prouder 
 than ever. I caunot talk, I am too happy to talk 
 
 I my heart is too full. I had a thousand things 
 to say to you to ask you, but dear Archibald I 
 cannot remember any thing but that you are here- 
 alive and strong and that I have" not seen you 
 for many a year and 
 
 Just then, the beautiful apparition that had fallen 
 upon the neck of Copely, in the deep, awful, hushed 
 expression of devout tenderness, lifted her head, 
 and dwelt, with her eyes shut, and head turned aside, 
 as if in prayer, upon the bosom, against which her 
 young cheek leant; again and again, had I seen her 
 pale urbs opening for a moment upon his that 
 lightened over them ; and then a convulsive, invo 
 luntary pressure would follow; and she would sink 
 down again, as if altogether too happy for expres 
 sion and too weak to conceal her happiness. I 
 felt a pang I cannot deny it. It was humiliating 
 to be so utterly overlooked ; and, for a moment, I 
 forgot i hat Mary Austin had seen me, many times since 
 she had seen Archibald, who had been her school 
 fellow from the cradle, till about a year or two before 
 the inroad of the Hessians ; and that Ellen Sampson 
 the spiritualised Ellen Sampson was the cousin 
 of him, upon whose manly bosom she was leaning. 
 But I could forbear no longer. I stepped forward 
 into the light, and met her eyes, just as she was rais 
 ing them, once more, with a renewed thoughtfulness 
 aud a deepening hue ; for they seemed at first, so 
 strangely pale were they, to have discharged their 
 colour aud brightness with their tears. 
 
 She saw me. A swift paleness, like a blast, corered 
 her face instantly. Her eyes shut, and she fainted 
 dead away in his arms. Copely looked at me; not 
 fiercely not in sorrow but like a judge, holding 
 the power of life and death in his hands. I moved 
 not, I stirred not, till I saw her lips parting ; and 
 then I took her hand geutly.aud hung over her, as 
 she lay with her head in the lap of an elderly woman, 
 whom I had never seen. Copely did not reprove 
 me: but a strong hand caught at my ana, yet I 
 heeded it not: nay, though 1 knew the voice that 
 muttered in ray car to be that of the brother that had 
 stolen upon me sleeping, and knew not but he 
 night hold his hand uplifted at the moment, yet 
 I never turned my head; nay, though I felt the dis 
 ordered glance of an old man, whom I had seen 
 before, but heeded not, while he hobbled toward me, 
 with his parched lips moving with a malediction I 
 heeded them not. And when she opened her eyes, 
 and attempted 10 raise herself, I observed that she did 
 lot appear terrified, as with the apparition ofsome- 
 hing hateful Oh, no! but every moment, as her 
 collectedness returned, the early flashing of her 
 ipirit returned with it ; and she almost the dear 
 ;apricious creature almost smiled, as she carried my 
 rand, at last, passionately to her lips. 
 
 Copely had held one of hers till that moment; hut 
 hen he dropped it why, I could not imagine, wa 
 he not her cousin? had he not loved another ? Yet, 
 by Heaven the man shook from head to foot, as I could 
 ee, by his shadow upon the wall, or " Oh ! it must 
 >e," I thought; "it is only the nickering of tha 
 ire light the shadow may quiver; hut Chester 
 Copely cannot.* I was mistaken. He came to me, 
 ook my hand aad hers ; looked at us for a moment, 
 s if subduing some swell at his heart by main force ; 
 nd then spoke as follows: 
 " Do I understand you both ?" 
 " No !" said Ellen. " No !" said Mary both at 
 :ie same moment. " No 1 * cried Archibald. "No!" 
 aid Nicholas. " No, no, no 1" said the old roan, 
 ttering to his seat. 
 
SEVENTY-SIX, 
 
 It was like the continued echo of many unin- 
 liabited, desolate places. 
 
 " Hush, hush! cried Ellen starting upon her 
 feet ; throning back her banner of hair, that had 
 fallen all about her in disorder; and recovering, 
 instantaneously, all her ancient frolicsomeness of 
 expression. 
 
 "You are all mistakenall! all! You, Chester, 
 HI particular so don t scowl, but take a hint, while 
 you may. Don t leave a maiden, all forlorn, 
 offended, and alone where she may meet with as 
 handsome a fellow as that," (pointing to me.) 
 I was thunderstruck at her vivacity. 
 J< You had well nigh lost me. Ask him all about 
 it. He may tell you. Yet it was not his fault 
 no, (more seriously, and with an emphasis that 
 thrilled to my very heart) I I might have loved 
 him; nay, why should I not tell the truth? I did 
 love him better then, than I could have loved you. 
 Your cold why how black you all look ! I am not 
 mad ; no, upon my honour, I am not. You were 
 too cold, aud haughty, and repulsive; and when you 
 left me it was O, Chester, not as a man should 
 leave a young, sensible heart, that he would hold 
 in his, for ever and ever. But, you do not know 
 what you owe to that young man. Perhaps but 
 no, he may tell you. If he will not, I will." 
 
 " One word, Nell, said Copely, in the same tone; 
 while she laid her pretty hand upon his heart, and 
 shook her head, maliciously, as if to say speak 
 as you will, look as you will, this cannot be mis- 
 laken again " Do you love him ?" 
 
 She coloured, dropped her hand, described a 
 circle in the sanded floor with her toe; and then, 
 while I stood breathless before her, answered," yes," 
 looking him up in the face, at the same time, with a 
 beautiful confusion, that hang me, if I could 
 persuade myself that I was at the bottom of 
 
 " O, Ellen!" said Copely, embracing her, " that 
 is enough. I understand you. God for ever bless 
 yon, my girl ! uow I understand you your tears 
 paleness. Enough, Nell, enough. 
 
 She laughed, snapped her fingers, and then eried, 
 lier red lips parting with suppressed laughter, and 
 hea- ejes running over at the same time. " Now, 
 prisoner, look up. It s now my turn ; nay, no 
 flinching." 
 
 Copely almost smiled; but raised his eyes only, 
 without speaking. 
 
 "Do you, Mr. Oadley, keep an eye on your 
 brother Nick, a glass "of cold water there ! all 
 ready aim! Chester Copely, do you lord! if 
 won t look me in the face, I won t speak at all. Do 
 jou love Lucia Arnault!?" 
 
 At that name, Archibald moved back a step, 
 drew a breath that appeared to shatter his chest ; 
 his nostrils dilated, and he half raised his hands as 
 if to cover his face; and then dashed them away, as 
 if indignant at his own want of self-command. 
 
 " Love her !" said Copely, " yes, better than any 
 thing beneath that firmament." 
 
 " Oh !" said Ellen, half terrified at the earnest, 
 lofty expression of his voice. 
 
 " Except," locking her hands in his, and smiling. 
 O ! I never saw such a smile upon the lips of man ; 
 nay, nor of woman ; nay, nor upon the unsullied, 
 innocent lips of the nowly-born it was all truth 
 aud purity. 
 
 " And \\ill you forgive me for the trick ?" 
 " The devil ! was it you, you Ellen ?" said Copely 
 A little angry. "I half suspected it before; but 
 then as I thought that you had forgotten me, I gave 
 THR NnvoT MuwooiTjc.D XT^ ftQ 
 
 u;> the notion. Yes, I do forgive you. But you 
 nit me into a desperate affair. I believed the letter, 
 nd went on the night appointed to be married. 
 Does she know it?" 
 
 No. From that hour to this, she has regarded 
 
 you as far less presumptuous than you appeared. 
 The only thing that worries her is, that you wrote 
 ;o her instead of asking her for her answer. It 
 
 would have saved you a long ride." 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 I can fix nothing further of my thought, 
 
 Save that I longed for thee, and sought for thee, 
 
 In all these agonies ; and woke, and found thee. 
 
 " Brother," said I, as I entered our lodging- 
 room, the night after our arrival at Philadel 
 phia, and found him rising from, his devotions, 
 " whit is the meaning of this ? what disturbs 
 yon ?" 
 
 It was some minutes before he was able to 
 reply ; and, when he did, it was in a manner uu- 
 usually solemn. 
 
 " There are m?.ny things, my brother, to weigh 
 down the pride of my heart. I am ashamed of 
 many things ; afraid of many, that I have been 
 proud of, too long, and set too frequently at 
 nought. The blood of Clinton is upon me. It is 
 invain to deny it. I am wretched. I never shall 
 be otherwise. Though I were to wash my heart 
 away in my own tears, the blood would be there 
 yet, mingled with the minutest atom. It is in, 
 vain to reason. Even Copely, the stern, un 
 yielding, dispassionate, and inscrutab e Copely, 
 he has never slept soundly since he slew a man. 
 Why this is, it would be hard to tell. We have 
 slain many a brave fellow in the field ; many 
 better men than Clinton; or the major. Yet, for 
 all that they, or their troubled spirits may do, we 
 are happy. This is one thing ; another is, that I, 
 and you too, brother, have not been to a desolate 
 and bereaved parent a widowed mother, what we 
 should have been. It is in vain to deny it, John. 
 We have left our mother in the hou?e of a 
 stranger, at the mercy of astranger. This, I cannot 
 believe, is required of us. Heaven never will de 
 mand a sacrifice so unnatural. I have thought much 
 of it. One of us must go to her, and dwell with 
 her. You, from the patience of your temper and 
 being lame, you are the one. However, let us 
 think more of it. I am willing to take my chance. 
 It is too much for her poor heart, to be left hus- 
 bandless, childless, houseless, in her old age." 
 
 " Not houseless, brother; another dwelling has 
 been erected." 
 
 " Upon the embers of the old! Think you 
 that our mother can ever sleep in it ? As well 
 might she slumber in the church-yard, where 
 death and dishonour had gone their rounds, and 
 all that she most loved lay interred." 
 
 " Brother," said I, " let us never speak of 
 this. We have understood each other well 
 enough hitherto. That scene must never be 
 thought of." 
 
 " True let us forget it. That has led to this 
 alienation. Gracious God ! father and son, hus 
 band and children ! turning upon her, the broke 
 
THB NO^VEL NEWSPAPER. 
 
 hearted woman, when she is most in need of con 
 solation Oh, my brother. 
 
 We embraced, and I determined from that mo 
 ment to return to my dear mother, and be dutiful 
 to her, whatever became of my country. 
 
 " And Copely," said I, hesitating" I" 
 
 " I understand you," replied Archibald, with a 
 look of deep distress. The thing is all ex 
 plained ; a bitter and terrible misunderstanding it 
 has been. He loved Lucia, because I loved her ; 
 because she was like himself, and chiefly because 
 Ellen appeared to have forgotten him, and at 
 tached herself, heart and soul, to you. And she, 
 the rash, thoughtless girl, glorying in her own 
 disinterestedness and magnanimity went, bound 
 "with flowers, to martyrdom, in the hope of pro 
 moting his happiness. It would be idle to detail 
 the series of wild, extravagant inventions, by 
 nvhich she brought Copely to declare himself to 
 to " (he coughed, with great emphasis and 
 I knew well what it was for he could not pro 
 nounce her name, and was willing to make me 
 believe that a sudden fit of coughing was the 
 reason but no, the impediment was in his heart,) 
 " to Miss Arnauld." 
 
 " Not Miss Arnauld," said I, smiling. 
 
 " Well then," he replied, a little impatiently, 
 and colouring, " Miss Lucia." 
 
 * Not Miss Lucia," said I. 
 
 41 Damn it, brother ! why will you make me 
 swear? Lucia then, Lucia Arnauld! will that 
 do?" 
 
 Why a yes," I replied, imitating the frigid 
 manner of Copely. 
 
 " This declaration was by a letter and, just 
 after his own nature, abrupt, frank , and peremp 
 tory. The answer came giving him reason 
 enough, I confess, for I saw it, to believe that he 
 would be a bridegroom. It was a childish affair ; 
 but with all its childishness, has been wonderfully 
 tvell arranged ; and we have reasoa to believe 
 that that Lucia ahem ! does not know to 
 this hour aught of Copely s design in visiting 
 her, in his new uniform, at the time that he did ! 
 I could smile at his disappointment and mortifica 
 tion, were he not such a noble creature ; and, did 
 I not know that he sought her, less for his own 
 sake, than for hers, and mine. 1 
 
 " For yours ! how ?" 
 
 " Yes, for mine. I knew her excellence. I 
 knew that she was capable of making such a man as 
 Chester Copely happy, beyond all other men 
 proud and happy. Our tempers were alike, his 
 and mine, I mean, unostentatious, deeply, inwardly 
 devout and affectionate, but seeking concealment 
 rather than display. If she could love me, there 
 fore, she might love him. Besides, he was the 
 
 greater man, the stouter heart, the steadier . 
 
 And, if he could love Ellen Sampson, despite of 
 all her waywardness and caprice, for her high 
 heroic nature, ardent temper, enthusiasm, and 
 sensibility, how much more would he love a crea 
 ture, that, with all these great qualities, had none 
 of her girlish, quick frivolity I do not speak of 
 her caprice. Both are capricious ; but both, I 
 do believe, now, less from a natural inconstancy 
 of temper, than from pride and pique willing to 
 sacrifice themselves, and impatient for it too, that 
 they may rend and tear a heart, that, to their 
 thought, has been too insensible of its approxima 
 tion to theirs ah 1" 
 
 " Dress! dress! there s not a moment to 
 
 loose !" said Copely, striking the door open with 
 his arm, and standing before us, with an expres 
 sion that I never saw in his face before. " Go 
 with me ! they are carrying all before them." 
 
 " Who ? what do you mean ? said we, both at 
 once. 
 
 " Lucia and Clara and Arthur arrived last 
 night ; and I set off directly. The house was, as 
 that romping Ellen says, getting too hot to hold 
 us all." 
 
 " Can I believe my ears," said I. " Has Ches 
 ter Copely caught the versatility, and " 
 
 " I know what you would say," recovering 
 himself. " Yes, I have caught it ! I have no dis 
 position to deny it. There is a strange affinity 
 between us, growing out of contradictory ma 
 terials." 
 
 * What a result might be expected," said Ar 
 chibald, half smiling, "from a chemical combina 
 tion of two such hearts. But, soberly, dear Chester, 
 what are you driving at ? 
 
 " Soberly then dress yourselves in your hand 
 somest. 1 will call for you within an hour." 
 
 " Within an hour !" said Archibald ; " wait ten 
 minutes, and I will go with you." 
 
 " And you ! can you equip yourself as quickly," 
 said he to me. 
 
 " Yes," said Archibald, " even for the battle 
 ten minutes are enough for John, devotions and 
 all." 
 
 " I dare say so," said Copely, gravely. " So 
 with Frederick of Prussia: he made his men 
 pray by beat of drum. At the first tap, they 
 knelt; at the second, prayed; at the third, 
 rose. And if any man presumed to be devout, 
 one second beyond the time ; or, if he did not 
 keep time in his devotion, he was lashed to the 
 halberds." 
 
 In a very few minutes we were on our way. 
 He led us to a large mansion blazing with lights. 
 My heart beat deliriously, and I could hardly hold 
 myself up as we approached it. 
 
 I am very faint," said Archibald ; " is this 
 Mr. Arnauld s." 
 
 " No," said Copely ; " this is Mr. Patten s." 
 
 We were soon upon the landing. 
 
 "Stop! said Copely; "remember where you 
 are. All eyes are upon you. You go under my 
 introduction. Trust to me ; andremember thatyou 
 will meet some women that could shake the stout 
 est heart in our camp ; some men some officers 
 of the enemy, out on parole ! and not a few, who 
 know a good deal of our history. Heads up 1" 
 
 Ere I could get my breath, I found myself stand 
 ing in the middle of a large room, with Archibald 
 leaning on my arm, and every seat occupied ; the 
 walls studded with eyes and lips ; and all about 
 me a mqrtal silence. I thought that I should fall 
 to the earth, particularly when I heard a voice that 
 I knew, even in a whisper. A dark mist went over 
 my eyes, and I was fain to catch Copely s arm. 
 
 " For shame I 1 said he, in a low voice; " shall 
 we deserve their upbraiding ? Remember that you 
 are an American officer." 
 
 We threw out our chests on the spot ; and trod 
 outward like princes. 
 
 Lucia Arnauld was the first person that I saw. 
 She gave me her hand instantly, without the least 
 appearance of embarrassment, though I scarcely 
 dared to lift my eyes to her face ; and was afraid 
 of every rustle near me, that the apparition of 
 another would start up. The silence was insup- 
 
SEVENTY-SIX. 
 
 Sfl 
 
 portable cruel. How could human beings so 
 sport with the sensibilities of a soldier. Where 
 was their humanity ? 
 
 "Talk," said Lucia, in a wMsper, taking, my 
 arm, " say something any thing, andletus walk." 
 
 I did so, and our example was soon followed. I 
 heard a step. I lifted up my eyes. It was she. 
 She was pale as death ; but her beauty was 
 awful. Her movement was full of self-possession ; 
 and yes, it was sorrow ! that sorrow, which none 
 might presume to comfort. 
 
 We continued our walking, with an occasional 
 broken, incoherent question, until I had suffi 
 ciently recovered to look about me. 
 
 I was not a little struck at the arrangement 
 that we had fallen into, whether by design or acci 
 dent. There stood Archibald, leaning upon the 
 mantel-piece, fronting the capricious, wild Ellen, 
 about whom a score of fellows had gathered, their 
 eyes dancing an accompaniment to her voice. 
 There was a dazzling air about her a blinding 
 atmosphere ; the transparent changeableness of 
 her complexion ; the vivid brightness of her singu 
 larly iaint eyes ; her glittering hair and alto, 
 gether she was, to my view, something spiritual. 
 Archibald appeared very absent ; and she, I could 
 perceive, was malicious enough to observe it. 
 
 In another part of the room, went Copely and 
 Clara, in deep conversation. Was she listening to 
 him ? I believe not, for, as she passed along, at 
 the further extremity of the room, he relinquished 
 her arm, for a moment, to join Ellen, beckoning 
 Archibald to go up to Clara ; but Clara did not 
 seem to perceive the absence of one nor the ap 
 proach of the other; and I, while I was looking 
 at her, and wondering if the tall, queenly creature, 
 whose very step was full of dominion, could possi 
 bly be the same that once leaned, overpowered, 
 upon my shoulder, and sobbed there, as if she were 
 dying, she stood, as in a reverie; but, raising 
 her eyes a moment, they encountered mine, and 
 she turned them away with a quickness that went, 
 like electricity, through my heart. Yes ! she 
 was thinking of me ; and she started, when she 
 lifted up her eyes, and saw mine fixed upon her, 
 as if my apparition had stood suddenly before her. 
 And then, for I could not take my eyes from her, 
 she blushed all over ; why ? with shame and vexa 
 tion that she had betrayed herself so like a child 
 by musing, absence ; and quickness when 
 caught. She awoke, therefore, all at once, and 
 entered into conversation, headlong, as if poor 
 Clara ! to retrieve what she had lost. 
 
 "That man," said Copely coming up to us. 
 * Do you know him? 
 
 There was no embarrassment in his manner; 
 and when he bowed to Lucia, it was with an ex 
 pression of deep reverence, and I hardly knew 
 what else to call it; it was not pity, nor com 
 passion, but something of sorrow and sympathy. 
 Her lips trembled, and she gave him her hand ; 
 but would have withdrawn it, 1 am sure, had she 
 seen Archibald s face at the moment. 
 
 " No," said Lucia, " I do not know him, and 
 have no desire to know him. Do you, Ellen ?" 
 (addressing the sprightly creature, who came for 
 ward, half on tiptoe , at that moment, while Copely 
 fell back to enjoy the luxury of contemplation; 
 and I saw his fine eyes roving over her round, 
 beautiful waist, delicate feet, and voluptuous bosom 
 with the feeling of a husband, sanctified, and de 
 lighted.) 
 
 " Whom ?" said Ellen, tapping her gently on the 
 arm, " that elegant fellow." 
 
 "Yes, that elegant fellow," said Copely, dwelling 
 on her words with some emphasis. " He is a 
 scoundrel; and " 
 
 tl Hush, Hotspur," said Ellen, quickly "Hush ; 
 I see powder burning in your eyes ! and forty 
 thousand small swords in the blaze. Don t quar 
 rel ; there, there, stand back, I will send him about 
 his business directly." 
 
 Copely smiled ; bit his lip at the beautiful tyrant, 
 and stepped back. 
 
 The stranger was, certainly, one of the most 
 elegant men that I ever saw. In his manner, 
 voice, step, action, every thing, there was an air 
 of high fashion that I had never seen before ; and 
 a dash of pleasant profligate ease, that had beea 
 new to me, till 1 saw Mr. Arnau d. 
 
 I listened to him for a moment, until I found 
 him engaged in a playful repartee with Ellen, who 
 manifested an astonishing readiness. But still, 
 hers was not the manner to check his impudent, 
 graceful familiarity ; but that of Lucia was. Hide 
 it as he would, he dared no further encroach upon 
 that quarter. Ellen saw it, and urged him to 
 repeat his invitation. 
 
 He had just offered his hand to Lucia for a 
 walk ; but she put it back, with a manner that left 
 him no hope and yet left him nothing to com 
 plain of. 
 
 " O, no," he replied to Ellen, " no the law of 
 gallantry, as well as modesty, will prevent a re 
 newal of the solicitation," 
 
 " Modesty," said Ellen, smiling, " whose mo 
 desty?" 
 
 He put his hand gently (it was a beautiful 
 hand) upon his heart, and bowed. 
 
 The eye of Lucia said puppy, as plainly as ever 
 eye spoke in this world. 
 
 " Upon my word, Mr. Bosworth (the name of the 
 stranger) you have disordered some of the defi 
 nitions in my mind, exceedingly, by that gesture ; 
 I had always taken modesty to" be " 
 
 " Not exactly synonymous with ahem! "laying 
 his hand again on his heart. 
 " Not exactly," she replied, pleasantly. 
 " O," he continued, with a careless swinging of 
 the arm, "I was always reckoned remarkable for 
 my timidity and bashfulness quite a wonder 
 from a boy." 
 
 " You are so yet, Mr. Bosworth," was the reply. 
 " I dare say so my own mother used to say 
 that I was the most retiring and bashful of her 
 boys." 
 
 "You were an only son," I presume. 
 " Upon my word, Miss Sampson, I, I would! 
 stake my reputation on" 
 
 On what?" said she, pressing him, with a 
 little bitterness. 
 
 " On any thing that you please," said the 
 libertine, endeavouring to get released from a strife, 
 which was becoming altogether too keen for his 
 play. 
 
 " I dare say so," said Ellen, promptly" and 
 be glad to lose the stake." 
 
 He coloured, and would have replied, sharply, 
 I believe, had he not caught the look of Copely, 
 at that moment, and turned dark in the face. 
 The eyes of all the company followed his. 
 Copely advanced, leisurely, up to him ; and, 
 touching his arm, walked toward the door, poor 
 Ellen looking as if she would fall to the earth* 
 
100 
 
 THE NOVEL NEWSPAPER. 
 
 There they stopped, a moment; the look of Cope- 
 ly was menacing. He pointed to the door. The 
 other hesitated. Copely waited a moment, stamped 
 with his foot ; and, I believe, would have seized 
 him by the collar, if the other had not dodged it, 
 and passed through the door. 
 
 Copely then returned, leisurely, to the same 
 spot ; and all the company crowded about us 
 asking, with eager eyes and pale lips, " Who is 
 he ? what is he ? 
 
 " The servant of an English lord," said Copely. 
 There was a general exclamation of astonishment 
 and disbelief. " It is true," said he " and there 
 goes another; see what company (raising his 
 voice) we are brought into, by our unthinking 
 hopitality. I saw that fellow once, in Quebec. 
 I was sure of it. He robbed his master soon 
 after ; and, the moment that I met his eyes fairly, 
 he betrayed the symptoms of guilt. Then, mis 
 taking my forbearance for doubt, or timidity, he 
 began to deny it, and to resist ; and, when we 
 had arrived at the door, he recovered his self-pos 
 ses ion, all at once, and attempted to face it out. 
 But, he is gone. Our hospitality is dishonoured, 
 our daughters" 
 
 " Alas ! poor Henrietta! poor Henrietta! 
 What will become of her!" exclaimed a dozen 
 voices, at the same moment, while a beautiful 
 girl, whom I had seen upon the arm of Bosworth 
 an hour before, fainted away. 
 
 " Who is she? said I, to Lucia. 
 
 " Infatuated girl ?" she uttered, in alow voice. 
 " She never loved him ; but the wretch told such 
 magnificent lies about his family, rents, and equip 
 age, that her brain was turned. 
 
 " Yes," said Ellen, colouring with shame at 
 the self-inflicted lesson of her own heart but en 
 deavouring to carry it off, " it was the carriage 
 and four that conquered her. And now that the 
 carriage and four have gone Lord ! this accounts 
 for what he said, that he drove a coach and four. 
 I dare say that he told the truth, after all, he 
 walked so like a coachman." A general laugh 
 followed this observation and she continued, 
 conscious that Copely s eyes were upon her " I 
 would send her a tin carriage and four, to trundle 
 about in her dressing-room ; that would be a con 
 solation I " 
 
 Copely s eyes were upon her : and her s filled 
 instantly. Her head fell, abashed, at her own 
 upbraiding, and her voice died away ; and, as 
 soon as she could, she crept up to him, where he 
 stood, with a serious face, meditating, as it seemed, 
 upon what had passed. 
 
 " It was very childish," said she, slipping her 
 hand into his, so that nobody could see it, except 
 Lucia and I" I I forgive me, Chester." 
 
 I saw him press her hand and turn toward 
 her, with his heart in his face. But he said no. 
 thing, yet he looked plainer than any language 
 could speak " Say what you will : do what you 
 will ; rally servants, or lacerate the broken heart 
 ed, I cannot be angry with you." 
 
 " You are very absent," said Lucia to me, with 
 a mournful smile. 
 
 "Am I ?" 
 
 " Have you spoken to Clara? 
 
 " To to Clara?" said I not knowing what 
 was to become of me. 
 
 " You have not, I believe," said she ; " will 
 you ?" I lifted my eyes to her s ; they were beau 
 tifully bright, hers I mean : yet there was a 
 
 solemn darkness in their centre, as if death had! 
 extinguished a jewel there. I was silent a mo 
 ment, and then said 
 
 " You have not seen Archibald" (I felt a con- 
 vulsive contraction of her arm) " will you see 
 him ?" 
 
 " Yes," she answered, firmly " yes, if you 
 will recollect yourself, and meet Clara. She has- 
 not forgotten you." 
 
 " But when?" said I. 
 
 " Leave that to me," she replied. " We will 
 withdraw early. You ll go with me ; I will take 
 care that Archibald, your brother, shall attend 
 her. I want to see you. And my father and 
 mother desire to see him. But, do not mistake 
 me. I am prouder than ever. What I do, now, 
 is the extent that I shall ever do. Let Archibald 
 and Lucia be friends. They can never be any 
 thing more. Tell him this. If he have the strength, 
 the forbearance, to be content with that, we will 
 renew our acquaintance. But if he have any 
 doubt, any hope, beyond that, let us never meet 
 again. I am firm." 
 
 " I will speak to him this moment," said I, 
 strangely affected at her solemnity, and distressed 
 at her agitation. I announced the commission. 
 He heard me through, the sweat started out 
 upon his forehead "Noble, excellent girl/ he 
 said " I will ; lead me to her." 
 
 I brought him up. 
 
 " I accept your conditions, Lucia," said he: 
 and she gave him her hand. When they touched 
 I felt my blood thrill. They were like two dead 
 creatures, suddenly galvanised. 
 
 " Let us go; I have much to say to you, said 
 Lucia " Colonel Copely, give your arm to sister 
 Mr. Oadley, you ll attend to cousin Ellen." 
 
 The order of march thus arranged, we descended 
 to the carriages ; but there, a new difficulty arose ; 
 and, finally, I knew not how it was, I found ray- 
 self sitting on the same seat with Clara, her hand 
 in mine her head upon my shoulder. I held 
 my lips to her forehead I bathed her whole face 
 with my tears and was endeavouring, for we 
 were alone in the carriage, to raise her pale face, 
 so that the lanterns would show me her features. 
 She was motionless she had fainted. I burst 
 open the door leaped to the ground took her 
 into my arms, and was hurrying into the first 
 house, when I saw a man at a distance, whom I 
 knew to be a watchman. He ran to me, and, 
 after a few moments, she recovered ; but, whea I 
 proposed entering the carriage, she resisted, faint 
 ly, but positively. 
 
 " No," said shf, " let us walk. It is a beau 
 tiful night, and I have much to say to you. Let 
 us walk." 
 
 I assented, and we continued our ramble for 
 half an hour, in one of the most delicious nights 
 that ever breathed upon the forehead of man, 
 There was a firmament, full of blue eyes, all 
 over us. 
 
 I could not have uttered a word, had it been to 
 obtain my own salvation. 
 
 We had come at length to a little low railing, 
 and were walking, steadily and silently, by it, when> 
 the temptation to sit gave me courage, and I led 
 her to it. 
 
 We sat down, but still I was unable to speak. 
 She was agitated to her fingers ends. And I 
 I was running over all my thought and dreaming 
 again. The proud creature was within my power. 
 
SEVENTY-SIX. 
 
 101 
 
 "I Clara!" said I, faintly; "speak to me; 
 you have not forgotten me ; what troubles you ?" 
 Her bosom heaved audibly ; and her breath 
 was like one suffocating. 
 
 She arose she stood up ; and when, just as I 
 had done at our last meeting, 1 put my arm round 
 her waist, and btheld her bright eyes waning in 
 her tears she did not rebuke me. My heart 
 felt O, I cannot describe it giddy and faint 
 with rapture. 
 
 " Clara, dear Clara," said I, more tenderly, 
 holding her soft hands to my forehead. 
 
 " I knew not," said she, at last, recovering 
 some degree of composure, " what my true nature 
 was. I never shall know, I fear. Two hours 
 ago, no mortal breathing could have made me 
 believe that, after many years, it w uld be pos 
 sible for me to stand by a man, with his arm 
 encircling me, who had so blighted and trodden 
 on me ; I I " 
 
 Her tears fell like rain upon my hands. I 
 arose, and pressed her convulsively to my bosom. 
 Nay, Clara." said I, "let there be no reproach 
 or recrimination between us now. Our meeting 
 is but for a few hours. We may never meet 
 again." 
 
 I felt her dear arms contract, and her bosom 
 heaving against mine. 
 
 " Else, might 1 say, why was 1 trodden on, why 
 was I blighted, heert and soul?" 
 
 * Oh, Mr. Oadley wehavebeen much to blame. 
 Both have been too proud for our own happiness. 
 I thought that I was able to live and die proudly, as 
 I have lived ; but I cannot. I doubted you. You 
 could have quieted me. A word, a look would 
 havj clone it. " 
 
 " We have been mightily abused ; my own, my 
 inexpressibly dear girl. It was pride I grant it. 
 I weep for it. I should have told you, as I can 
 now, that I never wronged you never, at least, 
 till after our separation." 
 
 " Ah !" said she, raising her head. " Then all 
 that I have heard is true. Hear me. I love yon, 
 more than life. I hive wept myself nearly blind 
 since our parting. I have become convinced of 
 your innocence, and exceedingly penitent." 
 
 "O/ my innocence! is it possible?" said I; 
 "then why not tell me so?" 
 
 " What! would you marry a woman that should 
 pursue you to the cfimp, with entreaty? No, I 
 would sooner have ditd a thousand deaths. But I 
 honoured you almost worshipped you ; and I 
 trembled at the same time. I felt that I had 
 wronged you ; but how had you borne it ? care- 
 lessly carelessly, Oadley ; leaving me to die, a 
 broken-hearted woman. Oh I cannot speak any 
 more. But hear me, no matter what has happened 
 lean forgive it all forget it all except that 
 give me your hurid, Oadley. Do you love me 
 yet?" T 
 
 " Upon my soul, Clara, tea thousand times more 
 than ever, 1 exclaimed. 
 
 " Well, then> one more question. I put it to 
 your truth and honour. Are you worthy of me? 
 " No I am not not altogether worthy of you." 
 Her arms dropped; " but, nothing has happened, 
 since we met last, that I am ashamed to tell you. 
 I have been weak, love ; vain, very vain, but not 
 criminal. There is my hand. I dare to offer it to 
 you. Dare you receive it? 
 
 Sie took it ; and then were we indeed, with our 
 Jyes lifted to heavtn, and all streaming with the 
 
 flow of the bjtftst-r^then werei vet indeed a be 
 trothed pair, wedHed bbfope God, and all his angels* 
 in the warm, beautiful air. . , . , , 
 
 * Now the,n, : said daia, cece iving. ifty kiss, 
 like a -brid Cy her^nuptial benediction? "now then> 
 I am prepared to die. Let us go. But oh, my 
 friend, let us be more patient and forbearing here 
 after. Think of what we have suffered done 
 endured." 
 
 We finished our walk in silence, with a holy, 
 deep, passionate tranquillity ; such, I do believe, as 
 the married feel, when all their apprehension an(J 
 sorrow are hushed, and no mortal arm can pluck 
 them asunder ; and the murmur of their first em 
 brace, the passionate heaving of their youthful 
 hearts, hath subsided for the first time, like a blue 
 summer sea, in the moonlight. 
 
 We found Archibald parting with Lucia, as we 
 entered ; a general expression of cordiality in all 
 eyes, even in hers ; and I was welcomed, with a 
 tinge of shame, and a little pride ; but that was 
 soon over, and I turned to depart. 
 
 "Farewell! said Archibald; "Heaven bless 
 you all ! Lucia, farewell!" 
 
 " You will see me again before you leave us," 
 said she. 
 
 " If I might, 1 he replied, taking her hand reve 
 rentially, and gazing on her dark, wet lashes, as if 
 he would have given the world only to touch them 
 with his own: " If I might come and go, Lucia, 
 when and where I pleased, I would spend every 
 leisure hour with you." 
 
 "Will you walk with us to-morrow evening?" 
 
 " With all my heart," he replied : " to-morrow- 
 evening ? at what hour ? 
 
 "Dine with us, and we will all go!" said Mrs, 
 Arnauld ; " let us go enlonpoinl. 
 
 " Enbonpoint," said Mr. Arnauld, peevishly^ 
 while Lucia coloured and smiled. 
 
 " Yes," said Archibald, " we will dine with you, 
 to-morrow. 1 
 
 "Good night." 
 
 "Goodnight! good night! Heaven bless you r 
 Lucia !" said he. passing out, and resting his fine 
 eyes on her. She burst into tears, and turned 
 away her face. - 
 
 I saw that all admired him ; and that her heart 
 was too full for a word. Was it shame an& 
 penitence, for having so lightly estimated his proudf 
 spirit? 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 Caro . a me caro ! questa e una 
 parola che mi fa venire unsudore di 
 morte Non so che dire. 
 
 Our dinner was abundant and stylish ; every 
 thing to provoke the appetite, and enough to allay 
 it; yet, for such things would happen in oklea 
 time, where they that loved truly were assembled 
 scarcely a plate wis soiled. We couid not eat; 
 and it was with some difficulty, when Mr. Arnauld > 
 with that air of high fashion so eminently his own, 
 filled his glass, and commanded us to follow hi 
 example, that we were able, either to manage the 
 decanter or the wine. Our very faces shook. 
 
 come," said he, turning to his yet 
 
102 
 
 THE NOVEL NEWSPAPER. 
 
 beautiful wife, "-r/one o ,,tl>jit, put i^t, us partake 
 fully of the joy that is about us. We have been 
 foolish, j/crj* foG^sll-rraud/ ! jLet*ouy piay-er be, 
 (rising from bi*s seat,) ^haf, <)jitot thjs folk/ and 
 transgression, wisdom and caution m ay grow; 
 and out of o\xr sinfulness, sorrow and penitence." 
 
 "Ameal" responded all hearts, devoutly and 
 fervently. 
 
 "Let us be gone," said Lucia, taking Archibald s 
 arm. and moving to the door; we shall return 
 about candle-light, mother." 
 
 Her mother smiled, shook hands with Archibald, 
 and lifted her gentle eyes upward, as a mother 
 would over her own child. I know not what his 
 emotions were; but mine were delicious. I I 
 felt as if all the time that had passed in displea 
 sure were forgotten ; and that now, in a single mo- 
 meat, our hearts had been brought into that warm, 
 intimate, thrilling, and soft contact, once so dear 
 to both. I forgot all the bifcterne-s and darkness 
 of my lot; and, if I could, I would have turned 
 and fallen upon her neck, and wept the mother of 
 lara ! my mother. 
 
 Clara s arm was upon mine. I felt her hand 
 tremble ; but was inexpressibly delighted at the 
 change of manner which I now perceived, in the 
 deportment of the two sisters to v a d each other 
 It was corilial, affection. -te, and very tender. Once 
 before, there was something of high reproof 
 something ungentle, in the manner of Clara; and 
 in that of Lucia, the air of a princess, coRScious 
 of her supremacy ; for, in beauty and power she 
 was abundantly superior to Clara. This had pained 
 me, distressed me, even in my sleep. It looked 
 unamiable in both. In Clara, it had an air that I 
 could not endure to think of, that of pity, nearly 
 allied to contempt ? No ; but of such a feeling 
 as that with which we regard a child ; while the 
 dark, melancholy eyes of Lucia the swan-like 
 movement of her neck; her beautiful person, not 
 so tall as Clara s, but modelled with a most vo 
 luptuous symmetry, were all radiant, with the 
 expression of defiance and conscious superiority. 
 
 This was over, and it made me so happy to see 
 that they loved each other more, as I would wish, 
 that I could not forbear, when Clarademanded the 
 cause of my silence laying my hand upon hers, 
 with all my heart, and looking at Lucia. 
 
 She understood me, and a faint hectic passed 
 over her pale forehead. 
 
 " I was wrong," said she. " I judged the dtar 
 girl too hastily. I never saw a woman like her. 
 She has her faults ; but they are dazzling ones. 
 For a time I treated her as a capricious child. I 
 was unspeakably deceived. Lucia Arnauld never 
 was a child. Her faults have always been those 
 of a woman. You do not know her. Your bro 
 ther does not. Yet, I do believe, that he knows 
 her better than any other mortal, not excepting 
 myself. She astonishes me, whenever we mea 
 sure thoughts together for a moment. The sta 
 ture of her is always above mine, by a whole 
 head. I know not why it is ; but, I do not feel j 
 of late as if I were the elder sister. You smile" 
 
 " I do, for my feelings towards Archibald are 
 of the same nature. But pray " said I. 
 
 " No, I foresee your qjestion," she said, 
 quietly interrupting me. "Never urge me on 
 that point. She loves him, I verily believe. Nay, 
 it is probable that she would not scruple to tell 
 him so; for she is, as I have already told you, 
 uuiike any other woman that I ever saw or heard 
 
 of ; but let him not hope. I can say no more. 
 Ah ! they are speaking of some matter thit dis 
 turbs her. I know by her stopping. Let us 
 walk slower." 
 
 I held back, and observed that there was a 
 troubled stateliness in her tread ; and that Archi 
 bald occasionally made a full stop, for a moment, 
 and almost faced her in his earnestness. 
 
 We continued our walk for some time, talking 
 upon indifferent subjects, and watching their 
 iiovement, with uncommon anxiety. At last, 
 she made some proposition, in a low voice, to 
 which he did not immediately reply : she repeated 
 it. He shook his head ; but after a few minutes 
 he stood fronting her, with both his hands clasped, 
 and, as we were approaching them, I heard him 
 say, very distinctly 
 
 " The thought never occurred to me : but I am 
 of your opinion. I will forward it, with all my 
 heart and soul. Brother " 
 
 I was stepping forward, but Lucia said, " No, 
 not yet. I will lead you to a place, where we can 
 all sit down together, and deliberate upon the 
 matter, like a congress. 
 
 So we continued our walk. 
 
 " You have been very ill, Clara, have you not ?" 
 
 Her voice trembled, as she replied, " Yes, 
 rather ill rather but I am well again." 
 
 I understood her, and when I endeavoured to 
 look under her broad bonnet, I could only see 
 enough to convince me that she had felt my ques 
 tion. 
 
 " And you you walk a little lame ? and " 
 
 " Yes !" I replied, " I had nearly lost my leg 
 (I felt her arm shiver in mine), I shall probably 
 never recover its use entirely. It pains me a 
 eood deal, now and then particularly on horse 
 back." 
 
 " Then, why go on horseback?" 
 
 " As an officer, I must." 
 
 "True; but, have you not done enough for 
 vour country ?" 
 
 "Clara!" 
 
 " Forgive me. I am wrong and selfish I fear ; 
 but your brother said something of your intention, 
 or his, to return to your farm, and protect your 
 mother." 
 
 " O, dear Clara!" said I, carried away by 
 feeling, " that reminds me of my duty to her. I 
 did not know till yesterday how much I owed to 
 your gentleness and assidxiity for my poor 
 mother." I could not go on my tears choked 
 me. " I God bless you for it. Yes, I do be 
 lieve that, after this campaign, I shall return, at 
 least for a time, to comfort the declining years of 
 my mother; and, if Clara if " 
 
 The poor girl could hardly stand, for what rea 
 son I know not. Perhaps there was something 
 in the tone of my voice something, the purport 
 of which I knew not, for my heart failed me ; and 
 after the silence of a minute, I asked her some 
 indifferent question. But no it was no moment 
 to trifle. We were upon the banks of the Schuyl- 
 kill. The blue water ran smoothly below, just 
 tinged with the red sunset. It was the quietest, 
 blessedest hour of all my life. A high railing 
 ran, rough and irregular, along the bank, just 
 even with our breast. I turned, and leaned over 
 it, retaining her arm all the while, and dwelling 
 patiently upon the water. The air was damp. 
 Neither of us spoke. Archibald and Lucia 
 Copely and Ellenor were out of sight. Our 
 
SEVENTY- SIX. 
 
 105 
 
 hearts were full, very full ; and, before we knew 
 it, the water below sparkled with rain drops, yet 
 the sky was cloudless. We wept without know- 
 ing it wept in the mere capriciousness of rap 
 ture. My cheek lay upon her hand, as I leant 
 forward, and affected to rest upon my own arm. 
 I felt the blood rushing through it ; and, before I 
 knew my own purpose, I had pressed my wet lips 
 to it. 
 
 She turned away her face, and I saw her bosom 
 heave strangely for a moment, and felt her frame 
 shake, as in the blast of winter. 
 
 " Clara/ said I, at last, regaining a little com 
 posure ; "by what has already happened, we 
 have been taught wisdom. Yet yet it might 
 happen again-. We are very proud." 
 
 "Very," she said, faintly. 
 
 " I am going away, Clara. Another campaign 
 is before me. When we last met let me not dis 
 tress you we were happy as we now are; a 
 single hour changed the current of our blood 
 njade all dark about us ; bereaved our hearts. 
 Might it not be so again ?" 
 
 " It might." 
 
 " And is there no way of providing against such 
 a calamity ?" 
 
 " 1 know of none," she replied. 
 
 " But I do," said I, " Clara, (I wondered at my 
 own composure, but I was desperate). You have 
 been satisfied of my innocence, in the case of your 
 sister." 
 
 " Yes, in the case of my sister." 
 
 " You are emphatic, Clara. Have you any 
 other doubt? Is there any other wham you 
 speak, Clara; now is the time." 
 
 " No, John ; allow me to call you so." As 
 she said this, she turned and faced me, with an 
 expression that I never shall forget ; so full of 
 truth, and tenderness, and sincerity. "No, 
 John, I do not doubt you. Once I did, and it 
 almost broke my heart; nay, perhaps, had I not 
 been undeceived by another, less proud than your 
 self, it would have broken it. I " 
 
 " It was not my pride, Clara, but my honour 
 that prevented the disclosure. Yes, indeed it 
 was. You smile well, let there be some pride in 
 it. The truth is, that I would never humble that 
 man in your eyes, whom I hoped to see your 
 husband. No, Clara, I loved you too sincerely, 
 too devoutly for that. I could have died for you 
 would have died for you ; but I could not, and 
 would not, even to save your own life, which was 
 a thousand times more precious to me than mine 
 own, have done aught that would have made you 
 less willing to make me your lord. As your lover, 
 I might have put my forehead in the dust. As 
 your husband, I would not. But how did you 
 know it? from whom ? * 
 
 " From Lucia herself. She told me how you 
 had met her, and ah ! what ails you ?" 
 
 " I am very faint." 
 
 " John ! I tremble for you. Your passions are 
 exceedingly violent aad I I am of a jealous nature. 
 Yet look at me I am not jealous. 
 
 She was pale as death ; poor girl ! 
 
 " But my head aches. What is this mystery ? 
 Why are you so disturbed ?" 
 
 " Dear Clara !" said I, firmly, as soon as I could 
 get my breath ; " I cannot deceive you, but at the 
 risk of losing you for ever ; nay, nay, Clara 
 remember the last meeting do listen to me 1 
 There are some things that I cannot tell you. I 
 
 love you. Let that satisfy you. I will be true to> 
 you, to the last breath, the last pulse. Let that 
 comfort you. I have never forgotten you but 
 once, even for a moment and then, I forbore to 
 darken your image in my heart : no, Clara : with 
 out first veiling that, I could not sin. And no 
 mortal hand shall veil it ! Mine cannot. Mine 
 have failed at the thought. Enough of self- 
 exculpation. You believe me. Look at me. Have 
 you that confidence in me ? ask your own heart- 
 take your own time to answer the question ; that, 
 happen what will, you will sooner believe me, if I 
 lay my hand upon your arm, as I do now, and say 
 to you in this voice : Clara ! I am innocent ! than 
 in the assembled world than, in your own senses I 
 If you cannot answer me in the affirmative, O, 
 Clara, let us part ! whatever it cost us, we shall 
 have escaped the bitterness of that death, which 
 will happen, if I am doubted again. I am proud, 
 so are you ; quick and resentful under suspicion ; 
 implacable where I am not necessary to another s 
 happiness. So are you. Think of it. If we part 
 again, it must be forever for ever, Clara. 1 am. 
 growing old; and, as a rational man, I must 
 determine soon, never to marry at all, or to marry 
 immediately. I cannot live in air. These are 
 my words. Can you, dear Clara, happen what 
 will, believe my simple word ? If I say that I am 
 innocent, believe it, let who will swear that I am 
 not. Believe, too, that if I do wrong, I shall be 
 the first to tell you of it, and wet your hands with 
 the weeping of a broken heart: and, in short, 
 never believe that I have wronged you, in thought, 
 or word, or deed unless I have told you so, with 
 my own lips ! Let me not hurry you. Take your 
 own time. It is all important to your happiness." 
 
 " I ask no time," said she, solemnly, placing 
 both her hands in mine ; " you have all my con- 
 fidence. I shall never believe aught against you, 
 unless from the evidence of your own lips, or my 
 own senses ; nor then, until I have given you an 
 opportunity for explanation. But " 
 
 " Do that, Clara," said I, clasping her to my 
 bosom ; " do that ! and your confidence will never 
 be abused ; but what were you about to say 1 
 You smile." 
 
 " But, said she, smiling, " my mother, who is 
 a woman, you know, of some experience, has been, 
 giving me a little excellent advice respecting you. 1 
 
 " How to manage me, I suppose?" 
 
 " Precisely. In the first place, she says, that 
 you are of a jealous disposition." 
 
 " I am. 1 
 
 " You are ! well, I confess that your frankness 
 is pleasant enough. But do you not feel, that 
 jealousy may become a very uncomfortable com 
 panion a " 
 
 "Clara! my jealousy is peculiar. I should 
 never doubt you never watch you never speak 
 of aught that could distress you no, never ! and 
 though permit me to say what cannot happen 
 I had become convinced that you loved me no 
 longer ; nay, that you loved another (do not weep, 
 Clara), I should never speak unkindly to you 
 never ! I should only kiss you, and say farewell 
 to you. 1 
 
 And perhaps " 
 
 Yes, Clara, I understand that blush the 
 emotion that shakes you abandon you, and yours 
 my own babes, though it broke my heart with 
 out uttering a word." 
 Poor Clara coloured to the temples at this ; but. 
 
104 
 
 after affecting to smile, though the tears ran down 
 to her lips all the while she shook her finger at 
 me. 
 
 " You ought to have Ellen ; she would manage 
 you. She would bring you back, dead or alive." 
 
 " Dead, she might but, if I were not sure of 
 my own strength, I would hang myself up at the 
 first lamp post or, I " 
 
 " For Heaven s sake, dear Oadley, do not talk 
 so. I quake to hear you. Let us change the 
 subject. What think you mother says? She 
 would have me keep you a little jealous, always; 
 and Eilen vows that she has made up her mind to 
 keep Copely, for ever, in hot water." 
 
 " Beware of that, Clara. It is no light matter 
 to trifle with the devotion of a proud heart. Men, 
 who know their own value, are jealous of it to a 
 degree, surpassing all that women ever believe, in 
 their first feeling of power. They are slaves, to 
 you, to be sure, so long as they are persuaded that 
 your tyrannical weakness grows out of your abun 
 dant love for them; and, while they believe that, 
 they will forgive you almost any thing. But woe 
 to the woman that is once suspected by her hus 
 band of practising upon his affection. No, Clara! 
 I have no fear for you ; but I pray you, do not 
 permit Ellen even to talk of such a thing, in the 
 way of conversation. It may, after a while, be 
 come too familiar to her thought ; she may be re 
 conciled to an experiment. Ala> for her, if she 
 ever should ! The spell once broken that encom 
 passes a heart like Chester Copely s, it is gone 
 forever. It is a panoply of crystal . Yeu cannot 
 shatter it at all without shivering it to dust. It 
 may bear many a heavy blow ; but, no longer 
 than while it is whole. Weaken it, and it is shat 
 tered for ever and ever. I I pray, why are you 
 smiling. Tell me, dear Clara, will you not. 1 
 
 " Certainly I am smiling at your fine language. 
 Does it seem unnatural ?" 
 
 " Very ; I have never heard you guilty of any 
 thing that resembled it." 
 
 (The publisher, after all, is obliged to admit ihe 
 truth of the remark just made ; and to apologise 
 to the reader, and to the author, for a very plea 
 sant omission here, of a whole page, which a friend, 
 to whom he applied, has attempted to supply. 
 The truth is, that one of the half sheets, by some 
 accident, was lost by a compositor : and the pub 
 lisher has done the best in his power toward 
 remedying the less, by making up about the same 
 quantity, to fill the chasm in the form.) 
 
 THE NOVEL NEWSPAPER. 
 
 " Well then, 1 said I, stopping again just opposi 1 
 the moon, which was overtopping a clump of trees 
 at the left, and pouring her tranquil, pale light into 
 Clara s eyes ; I know your firmness, steadiness, 
 and independence of thought I am about to leave 
 you. Aw*y from you now, I shall be inconceiv 
 ably weak and wretched, imagining ten thou 
 sand evils. Dare you, dear Clara dare you give 
 me a title, to think of you without trembling ? 
 
 She was silent for a moment awfully silent. 
 
 " I know not what I should reply, said she, at 
 last. This proposition is sudden and unexpected ; 
 or, rather, it should seem so; and, perhaps, it 
 is not wise nor delicate for me to understand it so 
 readily. But, I cannot pretend to misunderstand 
 you. Let me deal plainly then. I have expected 
 it* It startled me, nevertheless ; but your manner, 
 
 about an hour ngo, prepared me for it. 1 have 
 thought much of you. And it has always been 
 my notion that important matters are not to be 
 hastily determined. We should be always prepared 
 for the question of death or marriage. You smile 
 I am sorry to see it. I was never more serious 
 in my life. What I mean to say, is this that, 
 sudden as your question is, it has not found me 
 unprepared. There is my hand ! I leave it to you. 
 My father and mother have permitted me to choose 
 for myself. They love and respect you ; and 
 always have, without ever understanding the mo 
 tive of your silence or departure. Take it ; give 
 yourself the title, of which you speak, whenever 
 you please. I shall not tremble for my husband 
 while he does not tremble for his wife." 
 
 I could not speak for five minutes wife ! husband! 
 pronounced by the dearest lips in the world, too. 
 Ah ! it made "a fool of me and my heart I grew 
 giddy with my own blootl. 
 
 "But," she continued, " you are going into battle. 
 Is it vrise, think you, to be hasty ? Would it trouble 
 you less, the thought of leaving a bride or a widow, 
 than a mistress behind you." 
 
 " No ; it would not trouble me less, dear Clara ; 
 but it would, with nil the trouble and alarm that it 
 sent through my heart, send with them ten thousand 
 pleasant and sustaining consolations. God bless 
 you! God for ever bless you. I shall hold you to 
 your word and " 
 
 " Here they are ret, npon my word," cried El- 
 lenor, running down the hill, and clapping hsr 
 hands, with Copely walking leisurely after her, his 
 hat off, and his hair drenched with wet. 
 
 " Where is Archibald ? said I, affecting careless 
 ness. 
 
 " And Lucia, "said Clara, colouring. 
 " Where is Archibald and Lucia? Well, did 
 you ever hear the like, Chester ? cried Ellenor. In 
 Delaware bv this time, I dare say. 1 never saw 
 people walk like them in all my life, except why, 
 bless me, are you walking against time ?" 
 
 " They are over the hill yonder," said Copely, 
 ;* and I have come to look you up. Go with me, 
 and we will return by a favourite path of Miss Ar- 
 nauld s." 
 
 Saying this, he took the little baud of Ellen, who 
 shook her lingers at the touch, as if they tingled to 
 the marrow. "A pestilent rough hold you have, 
 Chester. That s the way you handle your arms, I 
 suppose?" 
 
 " Precisely," he replied ! " arms and hands alike 
 why not ?" 
 
 " Well, I d thank you to~be a little more tender of 
 mine they are all black and blue." 
 
 ".Want of practice, Nell, 1 said Copely, taking 
 her hand again, pulling her arm through his. and 
 walking over the hill, with Ellen expostulating all 
 the way, as fast as. her tongue could run, and scolding 
 him for his military stride. 
 
 " The devil himself cannot keep the step with you," 
 said she. 
 
 "So I perceive," said Copely, in the same tone. 
 " Saucebox," she replied, breaking away, and 
 skipping over the wet grass. " I " 
 
 Her loot slipped, and she fell upon her hands and 
 knees awkwardly enough, I confess. I would have 
 run to her assistance, but Clara held mo back, bid- 
 ding me watch Copely. 
 
 He started at first; and then, as if coming to his 
 senses, walked leisurely up to her where she stood, 
 
SEVENTY-SIX. 
 
 10>5 
 
 blnshing and pouting, her pretty hands all soiled 
 and stained with the turf. 
 
 " Monster ! your handkerchief." 
 " With all my heart, 1 said he, taking it out, and 
 wiping her hands with it, just as if they had not 
 been the prettiest hands in the world. 
 
 "What! sulky, Nell? Ill tell you what it is, 
 you ll break your neck some o these days, by your 
 romping. Remember, you are to be the wife of a 
 man that" 
 
 " That never jumped a rope in his life, I dare say. 
 Pray, Chester, did you ever go to a fire?" 
 
 " Never," he replied. " I have heard the bells ring 
 now and then." 
 
 " But could never get there till tke day after?" 
 "Never. I always started the day before, if I 
 meant to be in season for a fire, or to help a creature 
 like you, whisking about in the dew and twilight, 
 like a shadow cut adrift from its body. Come, come 
 let us be friends." 
 
 """Ko, no I won t," said the spoilt girl, skipping 
 over a rail two feet and a half high, at the least inch, 
 and sitting down by the side of Lucia, who started 
 upon her feet as she did so. 
 
 " Pray," said Archibald, rising, with a counte 
 nance that struck me "shall I propose it now? * 
 "Yes," she replied. 
 
 "My dear brother," said Archibald, turning to 
 me, " and you, Clara; I pray you to hear me for a 
 moment, patiently ; and you Copely ; and you, 
 Ellen. 
 
 " In three days more we shall leave you. Our 
 troops are ordered to the south ; Heaven only knows 
 when we may meet again, if ever." 
 
 Ellen s head dropped ; and, while her redundant 
 hair blew all about in the faint summer wind, she 
 stood swinging her bgunet in her right baud, and 
 leaning, more fondly than I had ever seen her, upon 
 the arm of Copely, who stood, as if wondering what 
 all this preparation tended to. 
 
 " We have known each other long long enough, 
 it appears, to be willing to commit our happiness to 
 the keeping of one another. What more do we 
 want? The chances of battle arc terrible, pre 
 carious, and trying ; those of love yet more so. Of 
 three women nay, of four, that I know Lucia, lot 
 me not wound you ; what I suy grows out of the 
 occa:?i )n." 
 
 Lucia stood aloof, resting against a large, over 
 shadowing tree, and leaning upon her hand, just so 
 that her dark, wet eves, gleaming through their 
 lashes, could be seen under the pale sweep of her 
 forehead. 
 
 " Of these four, Clara is the only one whose heart 
 has not erred for a mom"nt, a single moment.- I 
 Icnow four men. Of thest; four, I am the only one 
 no, I am mistaken, Arthur and I have never wa 
 vered. Marv faltered; Clara stood still, and bled to 
 death; Ellen" 
 
 Ellen covered her face with her hands, and leaned 
 upon Copcly s shoulder. 
 
 " Ellen," continued my brother; " even the dear, 
 passionate, enthusiastic Ellen, forgot her religion ; 
 and Lucia " 
 
 Her arms dropped lifeless at her side, and when 
 he oU ered his hand to her, she had scarcely life 
 enough to take it; yet she could not stand upright. 
 
 " Even Lucia forgot, and forswore the chosen one 
 of her heart; forgive me, Lucia. Copely turned to 
 her, and drugged himself, in his madness, at another s 
 eyes. Jonathan Oadley, too, for a moment, ceased 
 to be mv brother, ceased to be a man. I know it all. 
 
 John all ! do not alarm yourself and. Clara knew 
 t, and Copely knew it, long before you told it. Look 
 at that timid "girl (pointing to Ellen) she had the 
 courage to tell it all her shame, all your forgetful- 
 ness." 
 
 Copely kissed her forehead, and I sawher shoulders 
 heave in the moonlight, as if she were sobbing. 
 
 " Now hear me. Copely, take her hand ; John, \, 
 take her s. Mv recommendation to you is, that yea *i 
 marry before you part again." 
 
 I had expected this; and when he finished, I 
 turned my eyes to Clara, who blushed, vivid as fire, 
 when she met them, and smiled at the coincidence. 
 But Ellen, she could neither look up nor speak ; and 
 Copely himself appeared thunderstruck for a moment 
 yet he was the first to reply. 
 
 " With all my heart, Nell." 
 
 " Don t call me Nell," said the blushing girl, 
 looking him up in the face. 
 
 " Well then, Ellen, love what say you? But 
 why need I speak? You have not forbidden it. 
 The thought is new to me, I confess. But why not 
 make certain of this creature, while I can. Some 
 body may snap her up before 1 have turned the 
 corner else." 
 
 " Are you ready, Oadley?" 
 
 I looked at Archibald, wondering what he would 
 say : he was holding Lucia s hand. 
 
 " He speaks to you, brother," said Archibald ; 
 " what say you ?" 
 
 " Why/ said I, " it would be fo .ly to mince 
 matters any longer. The women know that we are 
 soldiers, and that as soldiers wives, they must tx- 
 pect short notice for pitching tents, or striking them; 
 we say, yes." 
 
 <l Well then, yes it is !" said Copely; " and now 
 that we have resolved, the sooner the better. I 
 hate a long grace. But Archibald, halloo ! where 
 now? stealing off?" 
 
 Archibald halted, as if on parade ; faced about, 
 with an air of ill-disguised suffering ; and Copely con 
 tinued, taking Lucia s hand, who left it passively at 
 his disposal, and placing it in his. He trembled ; 
 and her full eyes quivered in their sockets. 
 
 Archibald bowed his face upon her hand h-dd it 
 a moment ; and when he raised it, I saw that his 
 nostrils were swimming in blood. 
 
 " Would you? said Lucia, faintly, very faintly ; 
 the words just reached my hearing, like the last 
 murmur of sweet lips dying; " would you, dear Ar 
 chibald ?" 
 
 He wiped away the blood from his lips ; the flesh 
 of his forehead shivered in the moonlight; and he 
 stood, with his sublime eyes upturned to the sky, as if 
 a deadly commotion were going on within his heart; 
 his face altered, visibly, till it was like the face of a 
 dead mar. 
 
 Again he bowed his face upon her hand, but was 
 unable to sneak, 
 
 " Enough!" cried Lucia, in a voice of unutterable 
 tenderness ; " enough ! O God, I thank thee !" 
 
 She caught away her hands, and sunk upon her 
 knees on the wet turf, covering her face with her 
 shawl, and weeping aloud. Archibald attempted 
 to raise her ; but it was too late. The flower of the 
 grass had fallen. She was lifeless. Her heart had 
 broken it seemed, in the rush of her blood. 
 
 We were inconceivably terrified ; and he, poo r 
 fellow, he raved over her, like a distracted creature, 
 as she lay, with her head in Clara s lap. 
 
 But at last, Heaven be blessed! she opened her 
 
106 THE NOVEL 
 
 beautiful eyes, with such an expression of thank 
 fulness, that we wept together at meeting them. 
 
 " Let us go," said she, " let us go it is very late 
 I am happy now, Clara, perfectly happy. The 
 load is lifted I am rery faint I Archibald, let me 
 lean upon your arm. 
 
 He approached, ghastly as a drowned creature, 
 and I heard her repeat in the ear of Clara, " Now 
 I shall die contented I I am so happy. 1 
 
 " Well then, 1 said Copelv, wiping off the first 
 tears that he had ever shed in his life, I am sure, 
 " 1 suppose that we are to take all that for a con 
 sent." 
 
 " Certainly, 1 said Ellen, laughing through her 
 tears. " Would you have a girl spell her answer? 
 That is plain English joining .hand writing it 
 in reality." 
 
 " Don t you tremhle, minx, at the thought of stand 
 ing up, with a regiment of women, to he married to 
 a regiment of men I " 
 
 " Dear Lucia, I am so happy," cried Ellen, taking 
 her hand " so we shall all be ;" her voice fell, the 
 hand dropped, as she saw Lucia s face. It was not 
 the face of a bride. 
 " Never," said Lucia. 
 
 Archibald reeled away at the sound ; hut in- 
 stantly recovered himself, and walked apart with ns. 
 " Will you not join us, said she, kindly, extend 
 ing her hand at the same time ; " I " 
 
 " Stop, Lucia," he said, in an altered voice, so 
 unlike his own five minutes before, that my blood 
 thrilled, as if a stranger had suddenly spoken 
 among us. " Stop ! the three raps that we heard last 
 night upon our table were not idle." 
 
 (It was a strange circumstance to which he alluded, 
 that had happened the night before I had forgotten 
 it ; while he and I were sitting together, at our 
 table, in a dead silence, there were three loud, dis 
 tinct raps upon the centre of the table, as it a strong 
 hand had struckit, smartly, with the flat palm. Archi 
 bald, I remember, turned pule ; and, when I arose 
 to examine inlo the cause, mocked at me, saying 
 that he had heard it before ; aye, the very night 
 before the death of our father.) 
 
 He continued " There is a death near to us. Do 
 not tremble, woman. It is not your turn. But I 
 have not forgotten Clinton." 
 
 Lucia uttered a faint cry, and covered her face 
 will* her hands. 
 
 " Perfidious girl !" he cried, are you never weary 
 of torturing hearts that would die for you ! O, 
 shame upon your unprincipled, bloody nature. Eyes 
 after eyes are quenched for ever ! hearts that were, 
 O.God! Lucia, I cannot, even now, maddening as 
 I am, under this accumulated outrage, I cannot 
 speak unl.i d y to y<-u forgive me O, forgive me !" 
 He caught her hands and held them to his heart, 
 while she turned away her face, and stood like one 
 about to drop into her own grave. 
 
 " I have never touched that chord before never 
 will again. You loved him, Lucia, and would that 
 I were in his place." 
 
 She recovered. I was amazed at the awful beauty 
 of her countenance ; her bonnet had fallen back, and 
 her white forehead glittered in the pride of its lo 
 liuess and purity. 
 
 " Come hither, all of you," she said ; " how little 
 you know me. You spoke of Clinton. Look al 
 me pronounce it again. Do I turn pale do I 
 tremble? Archibald, 1 am sorry for his d^ath, very 
 sorry ; more sorry that he died so suddenly ; and 
 jet, more sorry, infinitely more, that he died by 
 your hand. But I have heard it al all ! I do not 
 
 NEWSPAPER, 
 
 blame you very much. I forgive you. There is 
 hand. Would that you could see my heart! 
 You would find a reason there, thyt would startle 
 you, to explain my refusal. Is it love for Clinton? 
 mistaken man ! He lived long enough to tread out 
 the last spark of affection in this heart. No ! Ar 
 chibald, no ! But what it is, I cannot now tell you. 
 Suffice it to know, and I pray yuu all to remember 
 it, whatever become of me ; that is a reason worthy 
 of Archibald, worthy of me. Bear with me pa 
 tiently. The secret shall not be kept for ever. A 
 little while, and you may all know it." 
 
 Our tears fell like rain upon the grass the sound 
 of her voice was that of au Eolian harp, wailing to 
 the low death wind. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 Blood he had seen, ceuld see unmoved hut then 
 Tivas shed in combat or was shed by men. 
 
 Lo! they wrestled with angels from the going down 
 of the sun, even unto the rising of the same. 
 
 " Well! of all the capers that ever I heard of, in 
 my life, this is the drollest," said Mrs. Aruauld, 
 when she heard of our resolution. 
 
 " Just what I told em! just what I told em!" 
 said Ellen, shaking her hands, as if she would shake 
 them off, at the same time. " It s a burning shame, 
 said I ; an outrage on all regular-bred novels 
 what ! for two cou;>le, face to face, in a bright even 
 ing to paugh ! it makes me feel sea-sick to ask 
 each other, pop the question, in downright English 
 all in each other s hearing." 
 
 " Shocking, wasn t it? said Nick, peeping 
 through his fingers. 
 
 " I am not at all pleased with it," said Mrs. A . 
 Mr. Arnauld shook his head. * I am," said he. 
 " It is precipitate. But, I see no reason why, in 
 such times, people should not be precipitate nor, 
 when every" hour is precious, why our children 
 should undergo a formal courtship." 
 
 "Nor I," said Ellen, meekly, in a faint, timid 
 voice, crossing her hands in her lap, and holding up 
 her head, like a little lady. "Just what I told 
 them la, said I " 
 
 " Hussh ! hush 1 don t expose yourself," said 
 Copely, leaning over her chair, with his cast-iron 
 f.ice. 
 
 " Ah ! You there Lord ! think of the ahem 
 and he is sure to appear." 
 
 " You can never be alone, then, 1 said Copely. 
 " Never without him, of late," she replied, nod 
 ding. 
 
 " Come, come, children, no more of this," said 
 
 Arnauld, his fine eyes lighting up as he spoke. 
 
 , " This is no matter for trifling, no time for raillery. 
 
 I do not oppose your intention. I do not upbraid you 
 
 for your suddenness. You have known each other 
 
 long enough., to render it unnecessary to deliberate 
 
 -much upon what, if you have not been altogether 
 
 children, you must have become prepared for. You 
 
 have known each other too intimately, I might add, 
 
 for the common artifices of the world to have any 
 
 weight with you. I have been meditating much on, 
 
 the matter. When do you leave us? 1 
 
 " On Wednesday, early." 
 
. " So soon," said Mrs. Arnauld, putting her beau 
 tiful hands upon my shoulders, "so soon, my im 
 placable son-in-law ! I would know more of you, if 
 I could, \vhile your ancient kind manner is upon 
 you." 
 
 " On Wednesday? said Mr. Arnauld, musing. 
 " Let me see. Do you wish it private ?" 
 
 " Assuredly !" said Copely ; " and I assuredly." 
 " L commend you for your discretion," he replied. 
 " But tliere needs some preparation ; not much, it is 
 true but some. Mr. Sampson must be here, feeble 
 and disordered as he is. Don t weep, Ellen, we 
 must speak plainly. Your father shall be here ; and 
 the good old Dr. Hastings, who would not sleep 
 quietly in his grave, if one of my children should 
 be married without his participation; \re must give 
 him another Christmas dinner this year, and leave 
 it to him to find out the occasion. There is Mrs. 
 Oadley too, your mother, sir, who must be here. 
 [ Parents can have no representatives in a duty so 
 awful and tender as this. And perhaps you have 
 a friend near us, I am told, whom it has been (a 
 deadly paleness shut over his face as he proceeded) 
 my misfortune, no, my wickedness, to offend. Shall 
 we send for him ? It may be the hour of reconcilia 
 tion." 
 
 " Yes," said I, impatiently, for him and " 
 " Brother," said Archibald, interrupting me 
 while Ellen glanced her blue eyes at him with an 
 expression of intense alarm. " Yes. Mr. Arnauld, 
 Arthur Rodman shall be here; ai;d I do n-t doubt 
 that " (I could see by his face that he. was think - 
 ; ing of Mary.) 
 
 I would have anticipated him, for I did not then 
 know his whole reason ; but his forehead darkened, 
 i and he turned away his face; add ng, carelessly, 
 t " I will see Arthur, and see what can be done." 
 
 " Will you take the chaise, Mr. Oadley," conti- 
 nued Arnauld, addressing me, " and bring up your 
 j mother. Make what arrangements you please 
 about her return. But my motion is, that we had bet- 
 j ter occupy one house during your absence. I shall 
 . ; leave the city immediately, and go back to the farm." 
 My heart was too full to speak a word ; and Clara, 
 i as I went by her, and gave her my hand, contri- 
 i buted not a little to augment that fulness, for she 
 i said, with a look that I shall never forget, " Onr 
 mother, dear John, must not be left alone ; she shall 
 
 i havo one child to watch over her and comfort her, 
 Whatever happen." 
 
 " G d bless you, Clara! God bless you!" said I, 
 hurrying to the window, where I heard Mr. Ar. 
 nauld give orders immediately for the chaise, and 
 saw dispositions making to fetch Mr. Sampson. 
 
 " What 1" said Copely, striking me on the shoul 
 der, " ruminating? or reconnoitring?" 
 
 I could not look round ; but I took his hand, as I 
 i would that of my own brother -and held it, in 
 I silence. 
 
 Would that we might have a third brutal," said 
 he. e 
 
 " O, would Heaven, that we might !" said a voic 
 near me the voice of Mrs. Arnaqld, faint witli 
 emotion. 
 
 " Amen !" echoed another at the window. It was 
 that of the father. 
 
 I turned, lest Archibald should have heard it ; but 
 he was occupied with Lucia, upon a distant sofa. 
 We were all silent for a minute or two, watching 
 their countenances. 
 
 I I felt a soft hand upon mine " Might it not be ? 
 they were made for each other?" 
 " True, true, dear madam," said Copely, his under 
 
 SEVENTY- SIX. 107 
 
 lip quivering as he spoke; "and for that reason, I 
 have no hope. Let us not mention it. They are 
 creatures of their own mould. Their stature is not 
 of this earth. But yesterday, or the day before, 
 Archibald would have died ere he had permitted the 
 thought of such an event to enter his heart. To 
 day, he would die, and so would she, I am sure, 
 rather than hear the sound of it aloud." 
 
 " It is inconceivable," said Mrs. Arnauld, almost 
 sobbing ; " so passionate so devoted so melan 
 choly as they are. O, if it might be ; but, no, I 
 dare not \vish it. Heaven s will be done ! I " 
 
 " The chaise is ready, sir," said the servant^ 
 popping his head in at the door, and disappearing. 
 
 I bowed, awkwardly enough, I dare say, to all 
 the good people at once, and endeavoured to give an 
 air of pleasantry to my farewell, evenef a few hours, 
 a day or two at most ; but I could not for, when 
 my eyes met those of Clara, I stopped : the bow 
 was arrested I was fain to take her dear hand in 
 mine, and lead her to the door ; where, witheut any 
 body seeing it, I had just time to put my mouth to 
 her white forehead, and spring into the chaise. 
 * * * * x 
 
 My mother O, how altered she was. The absent 
 wandering, mournful darkness of her eyes had gone 
 There was a lowly, obedient manner of resignation 
 now, in every movement: a quiet, unrepiniug, pa 
 tient spirit, that it did my heart good to see. 
 
 We were many hours together many of the hap 
 piest that I ever spent in my life. Her womanly 
 beauty was not, even yet, utterly defaced ; but there 
 was a gravity, and steadiness, cr simplicity now, in 
 all that she said and did, altogether more worthy of 
 her age than I had ever snen. While I looked upon 
 ht-r dark, full eyes, coal-black lashes, and eye-brows 
 black too, as the raven her forehead just flushing, 
 when she spoke, under the thin grey hair, that 
 mingled with the jetty black of her plain parted 
 tresses there was a chastened, subdued dignity in 
 her face that awed me. I never had respected her 
 so tenderly. Misfortune had laid her hand heavily 
 upon my dear mother : her youthful vanity her 
 almost innocent pride of beauty, had been smitten 
 to the dust. The wind of desolation had gone over 
 her dark tresses, and they were withered and blasted. 
 A shadow had fallen upon her majesty ; the 
 snow upon her hair and her very eyes were the 
 eyes no longer of a spoiled beauty, nor a delirious 
 woman ; but of the widowed and desolate one, broken 
 of heart and contrite in spirit. 
 
 We talked much and calmly of the past. She 
 made no complaint; but her voice was tremulous, 
 when she spoke of her desolation, and the kindness, 
 of Clara and Lucia. They had been daughters to 
 her and Mr. Arnauld, Heaven bless him for it ! 
 had personally superintended the erection of the 
 buildings where we now were. 
 
 She spoke of Arthur, and Mary the " poor dead 
 Mary." I was amazed ! thunderstruck ! Could it 
 be possible that she had never heard of her being 
 alive ? Yes, it was possible ! and I found it neces 
 sary to prepare her for the intelligence, very gradu 
 ally. Yet nevertheless, when it fell upon her, her 
 eyes were fixed, as with sudden death; and she 
 put her hands to her ears, as if the shriek of a 
 woman were yet ringing there, and gasped for breath. 
 At last, however, the tears gushed cut, and she fell 
 upon ray bosom and sobbed, and prayed, as if her 
 heart were bursting r.ith gratitude. 
 
 " O, iny son!" she cried, " we have abused the 
 patience of our Maker turned our faces away from 
 him, when he entreated as forgetful of all that re- 
 
103 
 
 mained upon Hie earth. His ways, ray hoy, may 
 be ways of daikness; but, assuredly, "(laying her 
 hands upon her heart, with all her strength.) as 
 suredly they arc ways of wisdom and peace. He is 
 the husband of the widow, an-1 the father of the 
 fatherless ! Do not forget him. Pray to him pray 
 tohiiT), for ever, my child. For he hath compassion 
 upon (he sorrowirrj and abused." Her sobs were 
 hysterical now, and she was obliged to rouse her 
 self, and leave mo for a while. 
 
 I understood all her feelingall her thought; and 
 i my heart stood still at the sound of her voice. The 
 reproof cut me to the heart. It was O, I cannot 
 deny it it was true. Wo had not loved our mother 
 as we ought. We had seen some innocent vanities 
 inher, for she was certainly the finest looting woman 
 of her age in the country, except Mrs. Arnauld ; 
 and, Heaven pardon us for it ! we had overlooked 
 her affectionate heart, steady principle, and un- 
 deviating rectitude. 
 
 THE NOVEL NEWSPAPER. 
 
 At last, we were on our way having left thehouse, 
 under the care of our aged and experienced overseer, 
 who had loKg been a tenant of my father s; and a 
 companion of our family, till the irruption of the 
 enemy, when his house had been levelled even be^ 
 fore our own; and he, with a numerous family, had 
 been driven out into the co d world. He was a | 
 good man, and an honest one. 
 
 But why delay the story ? We arrived on Tues 
 day about noon, and found all the parties ready, ex- 
 cept Arthur, who was hourly expected ; but 1 ob 
 served that, whenever I spoke of him, the eyes of j 
 Archibald were upon me, with a strong expression, i 
 until I could no longer support it ; and asked him j 
 the reason. 
 
 " Say nothing of Arthur," said he ; " wait till he 
 appears. Keep your eye upon Mr. Arnauld." 
 
 His voice was cheerful ; but it was a cheerfulness 
 that distressed me more than all his sorrowing. It 
 was the look of desperate, calm effort and determi 
 nation. Lucia too, while she seemed utterly absorbed 
 in the bustle of preparation, was fearfully pale and 
 languid ; and, ever and anon, there was a slight 
 shadow, and a sort of heaving, that went over her 
 face ; the very flesh of which seemed to shiver at 
 times, when no eye but mine was upon her ; and, 
 to all the world, she appeared to have no thought, 
 but of the business in hand. Yet, she breathed with 
 difficulty and every breath was a sigh ; and, of: cm 
 and often, would her eyes fill; and ske would turn 
 away her face, or drop it, as if to bite off her thread 
 
 bless me ! one would think that our two girls were 
 about to be buried alive." 
 
 " Pray," said Ellen, stepping up te Archibald, " is 
 she prepared ? I have some apprehension fur her." 
 
 " Yes, Arthur has pnmded for that," said my 
 brother, in a low voice. 
 
 The door opened, and Arthur Rodmnn entered, 
 with a veiled woman leamng upon his arm trem 
 bling from excessive emotion, and literally clinging 
 to him ; his forehead was uncovered ; and when ha 
 entered, upon my word, I do believe, that there was 
 a general exclamation of surprise and pleasure. 
 Arthur had grown very handsome; and his usually 
 calm features were nil in a blaze now with expression. 
 Mr. Arnauld advanced, and offered him his hand, 
 which Arthur accepted, at the same time ihat Mrs. 
 Arnauld exclaimed 
 
 Dear Mr. Rodman, look at the lady! look!" 
 She had nearly fallen at the approach of Arnauld ; 
 but then she suddenly recollected herself, and threw 
 back her veil : Arnauld reeled to the wall, and stood 
 staring at her, as if she h;id been an apparition, with 
 his eyes set, and mouth open. 
 
 The sweat was upon his lip, and his look was that 
 of unutterable horror and dismay. But the blood 
 came back to his heart rushing over his face, and 
 blinding him ; and he fell into a chair, where he 
 sat, for some minutes, in the terrible sileuce that 
 followed, breathing like a half drowned man. 
 
 At length he arose, and came forward ; at firsf, 
 with a faltering step; but as he came nearer, and 
 Ellen had fallen, with her eves shut, into the arms of 
 my mother, his tread grew firmer. 
 Ho took his wife s hand. 
 
 " I do not -ask," said he, in a sepulchral voice, "by 
 j what miracle this has been brought about. Enough 
 for me to believe that it is. I am a greatly bewil 
 dered here (putting his hand to his forehead,) but 
 look at mo, Mary (attempting to take her hand ; but 
 she shuddered at the touch, insensible as she was). 
 
 "Mary/ said Arthur, "stand np, and face him. 
 Stand up, my beloved, and faint not. Why should 
 the innocent and beautiful quail before such men ! 
 Arnauld !" 
 
 " Nay, Rodman, let us notrenewourhatred. What 
 has been done, cannot be undone. I am a penitent. 
 I leaned upon a spear. It wounded me. The wound 
 rankles yet. Mary Austin, can you will you for 
 give me ? me ! Frederick Crawford." 
 
 She burst into tears at the sound of that name, 
 and was speechless, she could not answer. 
 
 " Say that you forgive me, 1 said Arnnuld, hur- 
 
 when I could see, that she had hardly the power riedly, "Oh, say it. I am growing old, Mary, and 
 
 left to raise it again. 
 
 My mother embraced her ; and we were, if it 
 were possible for human beings to be so on this 
 earth, really happy. 
 
 The lamps were lighted. The two brides wore 
 ready the good parson about to stand up ; sudden 
 and fitful interruptions forced remarks and a 
 painful, solemn silence succeeding to each, had 
 rung the preparation for every heart, when Archi 
 bald entered, and announced the approach of Arthur, 
 with a lady. 
 
 " A lady 1" said several voices at once. 
 
 " A lady !" said Mr. Arnauld ; " I am sorry for 
 that. We have carefully avoided inviting aoy body ; 
 and" 
 
 " Arthur will help to make a third couple, said 
 Archibald, smiling. 
 
 " Ah ! well, that may do very well. They will 
 keep each other in countenance. I am glad of it. 
 But what agitates you so and you, Ellen ? tears ! 
 
 my death-bed will be le-:s painful, if the woman that 
 I have most injured will forgive me. Say that you 
 furgive me ! or, if you cannot speak, sweet innocent, 
 signify it, by putting your hand into mine." 
 
 " May I can I ? said Mary, just moving her 
 lips, and looking up into Arthur s face ; " may I? 1 
 
 " May you ! love yes, give him your hand, and 
 wish him well, here and hereafUr." 
 
 "Well, then," said Mary, timidly putting her hand 
 into his, " I do forgive you, Mr. Craw Mr. Ar 
 nauld, I do, and may Heaven forgive you as truly ! 
 I do not reproach you. You were not all to blame 
 not all I I cannot say any more. Dear Arthur 
 1 I the thought is hateful to me." 
 
 "There! there! 1 said Arnauld, rising in all his 
 manhood, at once, nnd standing before his injured 
 wife. " There is a pattern for woman ! That is the 
 blessed creature of whom I told you ; the truest and 
 kindest: the most affectionate, yet timid and trust 
 ing heart, that ever beat except yours, my wife, 
 
SEVENTY-SIX. 
 
 J09 
 
 (pressing his own wife to his bosom,) and now peace 
 peace ! to mine own." 
 
 "Mary Austin Arthur Rodman, are you ready ?" 
 
 Mary bowed her head meekly, as the clergyman 
 ^arose, and opened the book. 
 
 "And you, Mr. Oadley ? (Archibald stepped back !) 
 and you, my daughter? (Lucia stood more erect.) 
 .Are you also ready? 1 
 
 I took Clara s haad, and we advanced to the ap 
 pointed place. 
 , ," And you, colonel? and you, Ellen?" 
 
 "Not quite, 1 said the incorrigible girl, " these 
 plaguy gloves, tearing her hand through one wf 
 them, with a petulant vivacity, that could not con 
 ceal her emotion. 
 
 " You tremble, said Copely, tenderly. 
 
 "Pho, pho no such thing! there, deuce take the 
 glove ! I ll be married without mittens. 1 
 
 "Don t be frightened," said Copely, soothingly* 
 and really distressed at her vivacity, for her lips 
 trembled incessantly, and her eyes ran over whenever 
 she shut them. 
 
 " Frightened ! who s frightened ? You must have 
 been dining out, man. Hush ! the deed is doing. 
 Tho incantation Lord, how cold I feel! 1 
 
 ** Hush, yourself, you pestilent little bagg.ige." 
 
 But she would not let him proceed. The clergy 
 man had just come to the word obey ; and Mary had 
 just pronounced it, with a deep, sweet emphasis. 
 
 Ellen pointed at her. " Do you believe," said 
 she, loud enough to be heard by all of ns ; " do you 
 believe that I am going to tell that lie ? obey ! I 
 obey? whom? you! no. I shan t promise any 
 such thing. 1 
 
 "I ll make you," said Copely. 
 
 " How ? 
 
 "Choke you." 
 
 " How ?" 
 
 "With kisses. 1 
 
 "Faugh!" 
 
 u Come, 1 said Mr. Arnauld, " come, colonel, it is 
 your turn now. " 
 
 Copely stepped forward, and would have taken 
 her beautiful hand; but her distress was getting too 
 evident to be concealed. 
 
 " Lord, what a fumbler!" she cried, shaking from 
 he;vl to foot, and pale as death. 
 
 " There s a dreadful ringing in my ears," said 
 Cepely, softly, as the clergyman moved to his place. 
 
 "There will be, if you don t hold your tongue," 
 said Ellen, raising her hand. 
 
 "How bright your eyes are, Nell!" 
 
 " I ll tell you what it is, Chester Copely," said she> 
 looking him up in the face, while her colour came 
 and went, like flashes of fire over alabaster, for a 
 moment; "you will break my heart, if you are not 
 more serious. 1 
 
 His countenance fell, instantly; his eye-lids 
 quivered; and he held her hand to his lips. But 
 not a word did they hear not a word, I am sure; 
 for when the clergyman paused for the response, she 
 looked up, as if starting from a trance, in the prettiest 
 confusion imaginable. 
 
 " Love, honour and obey, * said the parson. 
 
 " Love honour and (glancing maliciously at 
 Copely)" ahem O O " 
 
 " Love, honour and obey, 1 repeated the clergyman, 
 seriously and emphatically. 
 
 She hitched forward her pretty shoulder pettishly ; 
 and Copely began to prepare his lips for the threat, 
 by wiping them with his cuff. 
 
 I* Obey ! obey ! obey !" cried the mad girl, rising 
 
 on tiptoe, and laughing faintly, as if her very heart 
 were breaking. 
 
 The ceremony was over ; and Copely was about to 
 offer the salutation of love, when the clergyman put 
 in his claim. 
 
 " Stop, sir, 1 said Copely, gravely ;" that woman 
 is my wife, now. I will have no man and no min 
 ister, the last of all men, profaning her lips, now I" 
 
 We all stood thunderstruck. 
 
 " I have trifled hitherto, 1 said Copely, walking 
 two paces forward, "for there was no other way to 
 win her. But, henceforth, she is mine mine, for 
 ever and ever in peril and in death ! Shame on the 
 man, shame on him ! who, under the sacredness of 
 his office, is the first to teach to the young bride, a 
 familiarity with the lips of a man not her husband. 
 No, sir, I honour your ofiice. I love mv Maker: 
 and I can worship as profoundly as any man, at his 
 altars where the wind is blowing through my hair, 
 and (he stars shining down upon me. But, I have 
 so little reverenee for the infirmities of a priest; so 
 little compassion for his weakness ; so much of a 
 deadly hostility to his temptation, that I would 
 strangle yon, sir you upon the spot, sooner than/ 
 you should touch the forehead of my wife. 
 
 " You are amazed all are terrific 1 all ! even 
 Archibald, who knows me best; even Ellen, myown, 
 my wedded one. You do not know me. You could 
 not. Look at this scar : for ten years it has been 
 bleeding inwardly yet, I never told it. I have 
 deeper ones that bleed yet. Come hither, Ellen 
 nearer love. This wedding of ours shall leave an 
 impression upon your young heart, that no time shall 
 efface. Hear me. I loved you once. You scorned 
 me -mocked at me; and then, after I had won my 
 way, by openness and manhood, into your heart, you 
 forgot me, and shut the gate upon me, the moment 
 that my back was turned. I loved you mightily. I 
 swore to be revenged. Yet, hear me through. You. 
 knownot themanwhomyouhavemadealord overyou. 
 Archibald stand back! Arthur Rodman, I will have 
 no interference ! Mr, Arnauld, your eyes cannot in- 
 timidateme. Hear me through. To win lhatgirl 
 man ! if you do not wish to see blood spilt upon the 
 spot, stand back! and, when I have done, strike. 
 Your sister shall judge me. For nine years, I have 
 batlled against her dominion. For three I have 
 done violence to my whole nature counterfeiting 
 all passions feigning festivity, when my heart was 
 breaking shutting myself up, from nil mankind, 
 when my very spirit yearned for communion why ? 
 
 " To BE REVENGED ! 
 
 " I pursued another. I gave in to a deception that 
 I hated. FrtHn the first to the last I loved you, 
 Ellen, with all my heart and soul ; and till 1 saw 
 your magnanimous nature, in the ail air between 
 Lucia Arnauld and myself, I never relented, nor 
 wavered my whole aim was to bring you to my 
 feet, and then break your heart, and leave you." 
 
 We shuddered. The creature was awful. "But" 
 his voice changed, trembled. The tears gushed 
 into his eyes, and he folded her hands to his heart, 
 while she stood leaning against Mr. Arnauld, like 
 one struck suddenly mad. " But that was impos 
 sible. My stern heart wept. I began to love you 
 devoutly" and with a kinder spirit. With that spirit 
 I love you now, Ellen. Henceforth, I have done 
 with all trifling. It is unworthy of me. With ven 
 geance, for your heart, love, is not a fit companion 
 for one where that devil is closetted. Look up, dear, 
 look up, and bless me. Here is your last trial. I 
 have counterfeited a character that is not my own ; 
 but I have riot counterfeited a better one than my 
 
110 
 
 THE NOVEL NEWSPAPER. 
 
 own. Your happiness is secure my love unalter 
 able. And this (kissing her forehead) this be the 
 pledge, that henceforth, happen what will, you will 
 never hear or see aught of this temper again." 
 
 The poor girl shook her head, and attempted to 
 stand up, but her strength had gone. It was a 
 minute or tsvo before she could speak, and when she 
 did, it was only to say 
 
 " You frightened me sadly, Chester. I thought 
 of Blue Beard the wolf in Little Red Riding Hood, 
 all the while that you stood there." 
 
 "Poor simpleton," said Copely, * will nothing 
 make you serious?" 
 " Yes." 
 
 " What, I pray ? 
 
 * Why, now that we are married, if you will only 
 tie very agreeable and frivolous for a while. 
 " The mere spirit of contradiction, then?" 
 Why, y a a o beside, to tell you the truth, it 
 sits so awkwardly upon you, that I feel ashamed 
 of it." 
 
 " Oh ! Ellen," said Copely, "you are incorrigible, 
 I am afraid. Bat let me entreat you, once for all, 
 dear, not to dishonour your noble heart and excellent 
 understanding so frequently, and " 
 
 " Upon my word," said Ellen, colouring, " are you 
 serious ?" 
 
 * Very very serious." 
 
 " And you do believe, then, in soberness, that I am 
 neither a fool, nor nor a creature of no feeling ?" 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Then why have you treated me so continually as 
 if I were ? Copelj my husband. You have said 
 that we do not know you. I believeit. But you do 
 not know me no, not me. Come to me as a man; 
 treat me as a woman ; neither flatter, nor coax, nor 
 tease me, and, lord ! there s no knowing what a 
 Spartan I shall become. What are you laughing at? 
 I can t open my lips, but your gravity vanishes like 
 a spectre, so that I am fain to talk foolishly and 
 flippantly, lest I shall look silly. Come, this appears 
 to be a general reckoning day. I have a secret to 
 tell you. Treat me like a woman of sense, and I 
 ivill try to deserve it." 
 
 ** Ellen, upon my soul, that remark of your s 
 that little, short remark carries more comfort to my 
 heart, mure security than all that I have ever heard 
 you say in your life. Oh I hang it, you cannot be 
 serious." 
 
 "But," said the clergyman, "there is another 
 couple." 
 
 " True," said Copely; " I beg ten thousand par 
 dons. I had quite forgotten. Ellen, let us step 
 aside, and give others a chance." 
 
 I glanced at her face it was a bright crimson 
 " Not another step," said she. " There ! they are 
 ready." 
 
 " What ! you do not surely mean to look on, and 
 watch how they undergo the ceremony ? said 
 Copely, moving off. 
 
 "Indeed I do," said she. 
 * Perverse and " 
 
 * Barbarian," she replied, gently yielding to him 
 as he drew her to the window-seat. 
 
 This was the last that I saw. My heart was 
 giddy. I felt a painful rush of blood through the 
 channelling of my temples ; and, though I was told 
 afterwards that I went through the ceremony with 
 exceeding steadiness, yet I knew nothing of it till I 
 felt my lips throbbing against Clara s. 
 
 Sb.3 was full of dignity and seriousness ; exceed 
 ingly pale, but firm and collected devout and pre- 
 jpareu. 
 
 The clergyman paid me a remarkable 
 I remember, when he was through. 
 
 " You have thought more of this ceremony, and of 
 its great obligation," said he, " than all the people 
 that I ever married. May Heaven bless you. 
 
 Ah ! a horseman ! cried Mr. Arnauld; " what 
 is the meaning of this?" 
 
 We all crowded to the window, and saw Archibald 
 dismount. "We had not missed him and Lucia, 
 where was she? 
 
 The next moment he entered, his hair all in dis 
 order, his forehead covered with sweat, his deep blue 
 eyes strangely disordered in their lustre. 
 
 He bowed hastily, and said something in the way 
 of apology for leaving us something that none of 
 us could understand or recollect after he had gone 
 glanced rapidly round the room, as if in search of 
 somebody 
 
 " Lucia," said he, " where is she?" 
 " Here I am," said Lucia, stepping forward from 
 the corner, where, hidden by the heavy curtains,, 
 she had sat for one hour concealed from our obser 
 vation. 
 
 Her step was singularly firm : her carriage haughty. 
 " Will you favour me with the conversation which 
 you promised ?" said Archibald, advancing toward 
 her, and offering his hand. 
 
 " Assuredly," she replied; "but are you ready? 
 is all prepared? all!" 
 "All," said Archibald. 
 
 " Follow me for a moment, then," said she. 
 * Mother, I shall not be gone long." 
 
 Her hand was upon the door as she said this, and 
 her mother, struck by her preternatural steadiness of 
 manner, advanced a step or two, as if to address her. 
 " No, my dear mother," said the haughty girl, her 
 sweet lips parting with a mournful smile ; " no, it is 
 impossible we must be alone." 
 
 A bright colour flashed over the eyes of Mr. 
 Arnauld, r.nd he exchanged a glance of disquieted, 
 earnest pleasure with his wife as the door shut upon, 
 them. 
 
 They had been gone about ten minutes, though it 
 appeared much longer, for we were breathless in our 
 expectation, trying in vain to start some subject for 
 talking, but not one of us had our thought or senses 
 sufficiently at our command to understand any thing 
 whatever. At last, all at once we heard a sharp cry, 
 as if a dagger had been driren through and through 
 a human heart: a cry that froze our blood. It 
 thrilled through every apartment of the house. We 
 sprang from our seats, the women screamed, and we 
 burst open the door through which Archibald and 
 Lucia had passed. 
 
 The great doors that opened into the hall, from 
 the portico, were wide open ; the lamps blazing ; and, 
 at the foot of the steps, there stood a horse, saddled 
 and bridled, with ihi gate open behind him. 
 
 While I was wondering at the signs of prepara 
 tion below, something to me it appeared like a 
 spectre, starting out of the solid wall came, stag 
 gering out of the darkness, athwart the hall. It 
 was Archibald. The room behind him, the walls 
 beyond, were all black as midnight. The light of 
 the lamps could not penetrate so far. 
 
 It was all the work of a moment. As he ap 
 proached me, aiming blindly toward the portico, I 
 pronounced his name, with a sensation of unutter 
 able alarm ; but he heard me not. His hair stood 
 upright. There was blood upon his lips and sweat 
 upon his forehead, as he went Vy me, with his eyes 
 wide open, without seeing me. 
 I know not what followed, for a minute or two* 
 
SEVENTY-SIX. 
 
 lit 
 
 I was like one suddenly deprived of all motion and 
 life. The whole family rushed into the room oppo 
 ite; a loud and gen 3ral shriek followed and, the 
 next moment, while I was groping my way to their 
 aid, hardly conscious of what I was doing, I en 
 countered Mr. Arnauld, staggering under the body 
 of a woman (it was Lucia ;) the mother and all the 
 family following, like distracted creatures. 
 
 Archibald passed on in the general consterna 
 tion; descended the steps ; leaped into the saddle ; 
 and was gone, ere any other voice than that of 
 wail and lamentation was heard. 
 
 I had only time to see, as Copely turned 
 fiercely round, and ordered his horse, that blood 
 was upon Lucia s hands, and a print upon her fore 
 head as of bloody lips when 
 
 When O, righteous Heaven 1 she opened her 
 eyes, locked her white hands, gasped for breath, and 
 then fainted away again. 
 
 Her distracted father bore her away followed 
 by my mother and her s, and my wife ; while I, God 
 only knows what had been my thoughts 1 cannot 
 recall them, but they were very terrible, so terrible, 
 that, when I saw Copely bare-headed in the saddle 
 with his holsters over his arm I could have 
 cheered him onward, to the massacre of my only 
 brother. 
 
 The whole house was in an uproar, the servants 
 running hither and thither, and we utterly unable to 
 control them. 
 
 A trampling of hoofs followed and a horse, with 
 the reins loose, and saddle turned, came thundering 
 into the court, the iire flashing from the pavement, 
 Kke a rocket, at every blow of his irons. 
 
 " Whose horse !" said I " not Copely s is it?" 
 " No, sir," said a servant " it is not the colonel s; 
 I gave him the parson s, as he stood ready tackled." 
 
 " Merciful Heaven," said the good man. " I 
 tremble for the consequences ! But, let us be pra- 
 parecl." 
 
 " Joy I joy ! joy ! rang a dozen voices, all at 
 once, from the top of the stairs. 
 
 We crowded to the place, and fell upon our 
 knees. The blessed Lncia was herself again un- 
 wounded, unhurt; the blood upon her face and 
 hands she knew not whence it came. She was 
 rational and told us that we had seen Archibald, 
 she believed, for the last time. 
 
 A new horror took possession of us. The com- 
 posure of her tone was too unnatural, too calm, for 
 aught but settled despair. Was it his blood then 
 his that we had seen ? and by whom shed ? 
 
 "Ah! Copely! are you hurt? * 
 
 " No!" he replied shaking the dust from him ; 
 " but where is Rodman ? what is the meaning of 
 this? why is he not in the saddle? Ha ! Rodman 
 mount! mount ! and away. Take your pistols, and 
 if you get as near him as I did mind your reins 
 before you fire. Bring him in, dead or alive. The 
 murderer ! I should have brought him down, but 
 for that cursed horse." 
 
 " Man, 1 said I " laying my hand upon his 
 shoulder. I am Archibald Oadley s brother. What 
 have you done ? 
 
 " Risked committing murder; risked breaking my 
 neck; risked covering myself with the blood of a 
 brave man, the dearest friend on earth that I might 
 bring a murderer to justice poor Lucia 
 
 " What have you done, Copely ? said I, collect 
 ing all my breath, and all my strength, to hurl him 
 from the steps, if he answered me, as I expected. 
 " Did you overtake Archibald ? 
 
 " Almost, aad culled to him, again, aud again; 
 
 but he rode on, galloping as if the avenger of blood 
 were at his heels ; and my horse became unmanage 
 able and I, hoarse from shouting and 
 
 " At last, I lost my patience stop ! Archibald 
 OaiiJey, I cried, stop ! or, by the God of my fathers, 
 I will bring you down with a pistol bullet ! I was 
 near enough, almost, to grapple with him once, but 
 he saw nor heard me. 
 
 " I levelled" 
 
 " And fired ? said I raising my arm 
 
 " And fired !" said the cold-hearted man, without 
 moving a limb, or retreating one inch from the blow, 
 
 " Did he fall?" saii I, delaying it. 
 
 " Not immediately," he replied " but ha 
 what is the meaning of this ? Are you all mad ?" 
 
 " Answer me," I replied, " before I strike you 
 dead at my feet" 
 
 " You! Oadloy! you strike me dead! I pity 
 you. But, you are his brother. He is safe. I 
 saw him, holding on his way long after I fired. 
 He may thank my horse for it, though, and the 
 holsters over my arm ; for the moment that I fired, 
 he reared, stumbled, and threw me, head over heels, 
 into the dirt." 
 
 " Do you know, 1 said I, almost choking with 
 the thought of Archibald s escape ; and Copely * 
 too I may say, for, had he wrought Archibald s 
 doom, I should have slain him, I am sure. " Do 
 you know that Lucia is safe? uninjured un- 
 wounded ?" 
 
 " Merciful Heaven ! Oadley what ! but Do 
 
 you dare to trifle with me? Speak! speak! is she 
 not wounded? speak !" 
 
 " No no," I repeated " rash man, she is not - 
 but God only knows if my brother be not." 
 
 Our distress was inconceivable for a time but 
 Arthur returned, at last, v/ith the intelligence that 
 Archibald had been seen, in the company of a strange 
 man, riding toward the woodin the same attitude 
 still at full speed, but sitting upright, sustaining 
 himself in the saddle as no mortal man coulJ, if he 
 were wounded. This gave us comfort ; but our 
 wedding night was one of sorrow. All the dark 
 ness through, we were walking about, husbands and 
 wives, like creatures that have been shipwrecked, 
 and wait for the light of morning, to know where 
 they are. 
 
 And when the daylight came, it was bluish, 
 frightful and cold ; so that, as I was preparing to 
 mount my horse, and go in pursuit of my poor bro 
 itier, dreading no\\ the disorder of his intellect, rather 
 than any bodily calamity I felt weighed to the 
 earth with apprehension ; and I was hardly in the 
 saddle, when one of the servants cried out, from an 
 upper window that overlooked the high roud, that a 
 man on horseback was riding toward the house. 
 
 A minute more, and he was visible to me. He 
 was a young countryman ; and the moment that he 
 entered the yard, he gave me a dirty paper, which 
 appeared to be the tattered leaf of a book. Upon 
 it was scrawled, in the handwriting of Archibald, 
 these words 
 
 " Be happy. Do not alarm yourself about me. 
 Tell our mother that I shall go to the army, and not 
 return till till the war is over. Farewell farewell. 
 Heaven bless you all. Archibald. 
 
 " P.S. I am very well this morning. Farewell." 
 
 " How did he look?" said I to the man. 
 
 "Look, sir? don t know, sir kind o smiled 
 and I a most cried to. see him." 
 
 Poor Archibald ! he never smiled again. 
 
112 
 
 THE NOVEL NEWSPAPER. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 The tender blue of her large, loving ere 
 Grew frozen, with its gaze on vacancy. 
 
 Just as we wore rising from our dinner, on Tues 
 day, a lotter was put into Copely s hand, saying that 
 we should not he wanted for a week, that our fur- 
 loughs were all extended for ten days, and beseeching 
 us not to lose the occasion, by hurrying away from 
 all that was dear to us perhaps for ever. It was 
 not in the handwriting of Archibald ; but there was 
 an authority within signed by Washington himself, 
 upon which was an indorsement that we knew. 
 That was by Archibald. Love to all the family," 
 it said. "Be with ns any time before ten days. 
 Pulaski s legion are off , and we are ordered for the 
 south. 
 
 Judge of our emotion we had sat mournfully all 
 the day long beside each other, like people who can 
 count the moments of their happiness. Our hearts 
 were full, and our eyes reeled in their lustre, as we 
 arose and struck hands, and embraced all around. 
 
 Let us hurry over these ten days. They were the 
 happiest of my whole life ; days of deep feeling, 
 quiet lore, and confidence so hoty and pure, tender 
 ness so still and hushed, that when I recur to the 
 memory of them now, in my forlornness and aban 
 donment, my heart feels warm again ; and if I shut 
 my eyes, I can feel the wet lips of Clara upon my 
 forehead, trembling there, and mj arm encircling 
 her. Oh ! Clara. Peace to thy shadow, love. 
 Thou art very dear to me. 
 
 At last the morning came not the tenth morning, 
 but the eighth; for, happy as we were, husbands as 
 we were, we had not forgotten the duty of a soldier, 
 and our horses were already pawing the green turf 
 tinder the open windows, and snorting gallantly to 
 the wind. 
 
 Imagine that you see us, three stout men and true, 
 nay four two of a very lofty stature, and two, Ar- 
 nauld and Copely, nottall, but moving with an air of 
 irresistible authority ; old Mr. Sampson, recovering 
 a lit le, and leaning on his crutches at the open door 
 that looked into the yard, his white hair blowing 
 about his keen eyes and red face, like a thin vapour 
 about a bed of coals; my dear mother and Mrs. 
 Arnauld, and three brides, with Kick, full of heart 
 and glee, teasing first one and then the other all 
 huddled together, half sobbing and half smiling, the 
 lofty Clara in the middle of them, like a queen 
 among her maidens, looking out upon her husband 
 as he prepared to vault into the saddle : the roguish 
 eyes of Ellen beautifully dashed with a timidity that 
 keeps th*-m continually upon the earth, while her 
 parted lips appear constantly opening for a sally, 
 that she can find no voice to utter ; Mary, the soft, 
 gentle, patient Mary, with her quiet eyes roving 
 -continually after the form of Rodman, while the 
 colour flashes over her transparent forehead every 
 time that she meets his. It was a picture full of 
 beauty and meaning. 
 
 * - But where is Lucia?" said I " I prosuised to 
 see her this morning." 
 
 " She is waiting for you," said her mother 
 " really I forgot it * So, I hurried ofl and found 
 the dear girl, sitting at the window, with a large 
 shawl wrapped round her. 
 
 " You will see Archibald, * said she ; " give him 
 that lock of hair. He will prize it. You need 
 have no fear that he will not. I know his heart. 
 He knows mine, now. Watch over him, my bro 
 
 ther ; you are my brother now, I feel it. Tate 
 the blessing of your sister her last, it may be, 
 dear John." 
 
 " A sister !" O, I could have fallen on my knees, 
 and wept in her lap; the name of a sister "was set 
 sweet to me so new and pleasant. 
 
 " Comfort your brother. You know not, you 
 never can know, what a blow has fallen upon him. 
 Tell him, however, that I shall do as I promised; love. 
 him for ever; respect him for ever; weep for ever 
 and ever, that we may not be nearer to one another 
 than we now are." 
 
 " But why not? dear Lucia, why not?" I cried,, 
 catching her hand heaven and earth! how her face 
 altered. 
 
 " Because," said she, " I love Archibald love 
 him, O man ! with what truth and sublimity yes, 
 the sublimity of devotion ! for that reason we can, 
 never meet." 
 
 I looked at her. Her eyes were strangely bright - 
 but her voice, broken as it was, had meaning in it 
 and reason. Was she disordered? I knew not. 
 I only knew that she was unintelligible. We parted - r 
 embraced parted with our tears upon each other s 
 cheeks; Clara too dear, dear Clara! thy tears are 
 there yet. 
 
 We parted. Enough. We were soon in camp. 
 
 " Brother! 1 said Archibald, throwing himself 
 into my arms, with a sob that shook his whole frame, 
 almost to dislocation " Brother!" 
 
 I understood him but too well. I looked at him ; 
 and pressed him to my bosom. Poor Archibald. 
 It was too late. I had seen many fearful changes in- 
 my day ; many ! many in his countenance, that had 
 terrified me; but none that resembled this that I 
 now saw. He was wan as if he had risen from the bed 
 of death, his temples sunken, his lips blue, and his 
 eyes beautifully bright and thoughtful. 
 
 " Your hair is very wet, brother," said I, as ha 
 leaned against my face. 
 
 " I believe so," he answered, mildly ; "of late it 
 has bee:-i so, night and day. But," looking me 
 wistfully in the face, " you are happy all are happy, 
 
 " Not all," said I, putting the lock of hair into 
 his hand. 
 
 " What is this, brother?" said he, opening it 
 with a hand that appeared to move of its own will. 
 " Hair! whose hair? Brother, in what spirit was 
 it given ? not in mockery I hope I trust I be 
 lieve." 
 
 " No, no, Archibald ; but after she recovered." 
 
 " No matter for that ; pass over that. I know 
 all about her recovery. I thought her dead. 
 
 I repeated her message. 
 
 " God for ever bless her for it !" said he, the tears 
 starting out under his compressed eyeliJs. " O, 
 brother, let me lean on you. I am very faint. 
 There is not such a woman upon the earth so lofty 
 so " 
 
 " Then why abandon her, Archibald?" 
 
 " Why ? look at me." 
 
 I did, and was terrified : his eyes shot fire, and 
 were blood-shot, with the convulsion that my words 
 had called up. 
 
 " I I," his voice grew fainter gentler he 
 put his hands upon his heart. " Brother, I love 
 her ; she is a noble creature. Let that testimony 
 comfort her. She has done most nobly. I venerate 
 her ; love her the hand of death is upon me." 
 
 I would have rebuked him, for what he said; 
 but I could not. I had not the heart to contradict 
 
SEVENTY-SIX. 
 
 im. It was loo true. The hand of death was 
 pon him. 
 
 "Ah, Copely!" (He entered abruptly.) 
 Archibald," said the untractable man, as he put 
 out his hands to him, " do not curse me do not ; 
 I cannot bear it." 
 
 "Say no more, my excellent friend," said 
 Archibald. 
 
 " I understand you. You are a good shot see 
 here, (raising the flap of his coat, and showing 
 where the ball had gone through.) You would 
 certainly have brought me from the saddle, had 
 you been upon your own herse. Not another 
 word about it. I know it all, and forgive you ; 
 nay, do not even blame you, except for missing 
 your mark." 
 
 "Your voice is very much altered," said 
 Copely, " and you are wasted, wonderfully, since 
 we parted, I but no, I will not ask. There is 
 my hand if I can do any thing for you, say so. 
 If not, there is only one way : hear it. Where is 
 Pulaski ?" 
 " Gone south." 
 
 "And we are to follow, are we not?" 
 "We of the horse are detailed; and, perhaps, 
 you can exchange, as you are so fond of fighting." 
 " I beg your pardon, Oadley. I am not fond of 
 fighting no man likes it less ; but, just now, I 
 begin to have some qualms." 
 
 " Vapours," said Archibald, with a sickly 
 smile ; " you are newly married." 
 
 "And," said Copely,"! do not much care to 
 expose that little witch to widowhood, nor to a 
 troop of bayonets." 
 
 " What mean you ? your wife does not go with 
 you?" 
 
 " No, not in person, but in spirit, I believe, 
 poor little puppet. She has become quite ra 
 tional of late, and I should be sorry to part with 
 her." 
 
 "^"Hourra! for the major!" cried Jasper, gal 
 loping up to us ; " hourra for the legion ; we are 
 off at daylight." 
 
 " I am glad of it," s? id Archibald, fervently ; 
 and we immediately separated, each to arrange 
 his arms, shake hauls with a few brave fellows, 
 and receive their congratulations. 
 
 " We must put you in the front rank," said La 
 Fayette ; "you three bridegrooms would carryall 
 before you. It was a rash affair, I think ; but 
 you will fight the better for it if that be possible." 
 We were soon upon the march, in a cloud of 
 dust, and never rested or halted a single hour 
 beyond what our cattle required, until we encoun 
 tered Pulaski himself, and were paraded in front 
 of General Lincoln s tent, before Savannah, in 
 Georgia. 
 
 The Count D Estaings had just arrived, with 
 a formidable fleet, and the British en the station 
 had fled, like birds before the fowler, leaving 
 three of their ships in his power. 
 
 His army, about three thousand strong, were 
 just arranging themselves at Beaulieu ; and on the 
 fifteenth of September, we were brought up, at 
 full gallop, by the unconquerable Pole. Lincoln 
 was behind, and endeavouring, with all his power 
 to effect a junction, preparatory to an attack upon 
 General Prevost, the enemy s commander in Sa 
 vannah. 
 
 Till the twenty-third, we were in a state of 
 continual preparation ; Pulaski dashing hither 
 and thither, night and day, with his men, and ex 
 
 ercising them for ever in the broadsword ; anct 
 Archibald, with the same death-struck counte 
 nance, mingling impatiently in all the storm of pre 
 paration, as if to drown the suffering within him. 
 Still the moment of the town s reduction ap 
 peared distant, very distant ; yet, without an 
 hour s intei mission, for several days and nights, 
 there was one uninterrupted roll of thuuder from the 
 cannon of the enemy andv ourselves ; nearly two- 
 hundred pieces in all. And often, while Archi 
 bald and I were treading the rounds, in the deep 
 midnight, we would be covered all at once with 
 sand, or made to reel with the wind of an explod 
 ing bomb or passing cannon-ball ; till, at last, it 
 was really wonderful how unaffectedly careless we 
 became. The whole sky was in a blaze at times ; 
 and, many an hour, have I seen the smoke from 
 the enemy s south-western battery, rushing all 
 white upon the wind, like that of ten thousand fur 
 naces, with a perpetual gushing of brilliant flame 
 through it, and heard the tremendous noise of 
 the cannon below ; and the heavy, dull, earth 
 quake sound of a bomb, high in the blue air, 
 lumbering through the sky, and passing, star 
 after star, like a rebellious planet, struck from its 
 orbit. 
 
 " We are to storm the works," cried Archi 
 bald, rushing into my arms one morning, " and 
 Pulaski swears that he will ride into them on 
 horseback, if we will follow him ?" 
 
 "Follow him!" said I, "that will I but 
 when?" 
 
 " To-morrow -immediately," he replied. " The 
 French admiral is afraid of his ships the hur 
 ricane season is at hand the British swarming 
 from their station in the West Indies. In short, 
 we are to carry the works to-morrow, sword in 
 hand. Ha ! you turn pale, brother ; this comes 
 of getting married." 
 
 "It does," said I, "it does. But I shall do 
 my duty. Poor Clara." 
 
 " Forgive me, brother," said he, grasping my 
 hand. " 1 would fain find some consolation for my 
 ownbarrenness. How young I am a mere boy ; 
 yet how long, how painfully long and weary hath 
 been my life ! O, brother, brother, I have outlived^ 
 all hope all even the wish to live. The stern, dutt 
 heavy wretchedness of life, that weighs and bears 
 upon us, like a cearment of lead I I no, bro 
 ther, I cannot talk about it. Ail that I know, a^l 
 that I can know is, that, while I do live, I will 
 try to do rightly, but I care not haw soon no, 
 no ! I may be wanted no more on earth. This 
 very night, brother, sinful >s I am I could 
 lie down to sleep quietly, and happy, if 1 knew 
 that I should never wake again. Shame on these 
 tears. I am ashamed of them ; yet I cannot help- 
 them. I must weep, for my heart is young, bra- 
 ther, very young, and it is awful for a young 
 heart like mine to be so loaded down to the 
 very earth. I yea weep with me ; unmanly as 
 it is, I cannot help it. I meant to live, and I 
 hoped to die, without one murmur of complaint. 
 But I cannot. It is not in human nature to shut 
 our eyes upon all the beautiful things of this 
 world with that deadly indifference to them^all 
 which I feel, without a mortal terror and -sick 
 ness, that will have way in tears. I do not wish 
 to live ; I do not fear to die. Young as I am, I 
 am weary of life. The sun is hateful to me. The 
 happiness of others, of them thai I must love, hath 
 ceased to make my heart warm, and why shouid 
 
114 
 
 THE NOVEL NEWSPAPER. 
 
 I live? I tremble at these symptoms ; the more, 
 because the time has been, when it was niy com 
 fort and my religion, to believe that, if I could see 
 others happy, others, that I loved, I could not 
 but be happy myself. I was mistaken. I have a 
 Bolder heart ; a worse one ; a more selfish dispo 
 sition than I ever believed ; the happiness and 
 suffering of others have no longer any influence 
 upon me. I am angry and peevish with their 
 sorrow, and wrath with their childish happiness. 
 I cannot dwell upon it. Alas, brother, I rejoice 
 that the battle is near. I hope that it will be 
 my last my very last; yet God s will be done !" 
 Never shall I forget the tone in which those 
 words were pronounced ; never, the look of 
 patient, unrepining fortitude, with which they 
 were accompanied. It was the eighth of October, 
 about eleven at night and such a night ! so 
 hushed and brilliant with the innumerable swarm 
 ing fire-flies : an awful stillness all about the 
 camp, partly of preparation, (for we had resolved 
 to storm the works by daylight,) and partly of 
 terror ; for we had already been broken in upon 
 by two or three spirited sorties. There was a 
 something in the air too, as we lay upon the frtsh 
 grass, and felt it moving through our hair, that 
 made us feel mournfully. Archibald s pale fore 
 head was upturned to the starlight, and his wet 
 eyes shining, as I never saw them shine before ; 
 my bosom torn open, for the heat had been in 
 tolerable, and I would fain have slept, till 
 the trumpet called us to the assault. A strange 
 drowsiness was upon me within me as if soft 
 lips were whispering about my naked heart. 
 
 " Brother," said Archibald, after a long silence, 
 putting his hand upon mine, and leaning his 
 elbow on the turf " I am ashamed of myself. 
 Even now, alone as we are, with none to see me, 
 I cannot bear the upbraiding of mv own heart. I 
 have been wonderfully weak. Thank you for 
 that pressure. It reassures me. I look about 
 me again with new feeling. There ! that cannon, 
 the first that we have heard for an hour ; even 
 that has a pleasant sound to me." 
 
 The ball passed directly over our heads. 
 
 "We had better move further down the bank," 
 said he, changing his position; "another ball, 
 from the same elevation, may strike lower. 
 
 I followed him, with a mournful, strange, yet 
 pleasant feeling about me ; one that I would not 
 have given up for much that the world calls happi 
 ness. His thought was in the right train. The 
 sublimity of the hour the growing darkness ; 
 for the heavy fog began to roll in, like the ocean, 
 before a sea breeze and the wind rose. 
 
 " It is very awful," said he, in a low, thoughtful 
 -voice, " to sit up at an hour like this, and con- 
 template the great heaven, all of such solid blue, 
 passing away over our heads, so tranquilly ! so 
 beautifully ! and to have our hearts jarred, in their 
 worship, by the roll of cannon, or the sudden burst 
 ing of a boom." 
 
 A second ball struck the works a little to our 
 right, dismounted a piece of large ordnance, shat 
 tered the carriage into fifty pieces, and tore several 
 human creatures limb from limb. A loud shrieking 
 followed for full a minute. " Gracious God ! 
 how fef rfal it is ! brother," said Archibald, 
 " when the blood is cool the air so still, and 
 the stars so patiently looking down upon us, 
 to hear the blood rattling at our feet, and know 
 that the very sound which has passed a. ft 
 
 our heads, harmlessly, has carried an immortal 
 creature, maimed and broken, into the presence of 
 his God." 
 
 " Let us remove further off," said I ; " we can 
 be of no use. I see by the lights there, that they 
 are bearing three or four bodies off." 
 
 Another shot passed over us, and instantly the 
 lights were extinguished a crash followed a 
 loud, terrific outcry rang through and through 
 our heads ; and we saw the whole cavalcade tum 
 bled together the living* the dead, and the 
 wounded. 
 
 "The same gun, 1 sail Archibald, "a little 
 more, or a little less powder has done all this 
 terrible work. They that came, with unthankful 
 hearts, to bear away their dead comrades, have 
 fallen with them. Awful! the bearers and the 
 body the living and the dead, have fallen before 
 us. Hush ! they are in motion." 
 
 He was right. Our army had already put itself 
 forward ; and we could hear the tread of their 
 feet, like the noise of a great ocean breaking, wave 
 after wave, afar off, upon an interminable solid 
 beach. 
 
 In the mean time, it had grown very dark ; and, 
 through the deep fog that blew in our faces and 
 assembled about us, the shadows of men appeared 
 of um-arthly stature. 
 
 " Here they are," cried a voice that we knew ; 
 and, the next moment, down leaped a pair of giants, 
 as they appeared, and ran to us. 
 
 " Archibald dear Archibald," cried Arthur, 
 " nowfor it ! to horse ! to horse ! Pulaski s calling 
 for you." 
 
 " Away ! away ! cried Copely, embracing him; 
 "away! my brave fellow, and if we never meet 
 again, why God for ever bless the survivors." 
 
 " Amen ! we responded, "amen! amen!" 
 
 " And the dead, too," said Archibald. " God 
 be merciful to them, too." 
 
 " Amen ! amen ! amen !" echoed several voices, 
 whose we had not time to inquire, for Archibald s 
 horse stood stamping the platform at a little 
 distance. 
 
 " Brother," said he, talcing leave of me last, 
 " farewell ! I shall do my duty do you yours." 
 
 I saw no more of him ; but Arthur was con 
 spicuous to the last. 
 
 We moved on, in the darkness, through a sunken* 
 deep hollow, which permitted us to approach 
 very near to the enemy s lines without being per 
 ceived. It was near daylight, and uncommonly 
 cold for the season, probably owing to the heavy 
 fog, and the exhalation from an extensive morass, 
 on the very verge of which we were marching. 
 
 We had depended much on surprising the enemy, 
 and had good reason to believe that the quarter 
 upon which we moved was the weakest ; but, in 
 both calculations, we were mistaken, for a deserter 
 had betrayed our design ; and a tremendous can* 
 nonade opened upon us the very moment that the 
 head of our column showed itself. The sky shook 
 over our heads ; and the horses stumbled at every 
 step, as if the earth itself were unsteadied by the 
 roar. But the column kept on, under Sullivan 
 and D Estaing, turning neither to the right nor 
 left, and broke through their entrenchments, in a 
 eloud of smoke and fire, at the point of the bayonet 
 charging their artillerymen at their pieces, and 
 bayoneting them, in all directions, without firing 
 a shot. 
 
" Hourra !" cried the Americans " hourra I 
 the day is our own." 
 
 Up went two or three flags, in a blaze of light ; 
 dripping with blood, and torn with the thunder of 
 battle. 
 
 But the day was not our own. The enemy 
 rallied on the left, and came down upon our brave 
 fellows like a hurricane. The flags shook and 
 hundreds of human creatures that battled under 
 them, French and Americans, and English, leaped 
 headlong into the ditch. 
 
 " Now for it ! my boys ! now for it !" shouted 
 Palaski. 
 
 "Hourra for Pulaski ! hourra! hourra! an 
 swered his legion, and followed him, one after the 
 other, into the entrenchments during the pause of 
 terror that followed the cry, like a battalion of 
 devils. Pulaski was the first man. How he got 
 in Heaven only knows ; but I tried three times 
 before I could follow him ; and, for five minutes, 
 it appears to me, that he and not more than a 
 dozen men of his troep were sustaining the whole 
 battle within the line. At length, in came the 
 whole troop, man and horse. Pulaski s sword 
 flashing before them like a pillar of fire. 
 
 He was too conspicuous ; his great white horse 
 was a target, and the bullets fell upon him like a 
 storm of hail. 
 
 I saw him when he fell. He was standing up 
 in the stirrups, and I saw a tall fellow reeling 
 before him ; when, all at once, his great white 
 stallion snorted, as if his heart had broke, leaped, 
 Jill clear, of a hundred bayonets at once, and 
 Pulaski fell back in the saddle, still holding on by 
 his knees, while the saddle-cloth trailed in blood, 
 and his charger broke forward, trampling down 
 every thing that opposed him, till he came to an 
 empty enclosure, where we were endeavouring to 
 f rally about him. There his horse staggered ; sat 
 / upon hishaunches(liketheanimalthatyou may have 
 I seen in the picture of St. Paul s Conversion, when 
 God pours down a flood of glory upon him), quak- 
 v ing planted, and ready to drop dead the blood 
 gushing out of his nostrils and I saw no more. 
 We were all in a heap together. I was bayoneted 
 I know not in how many places ; and all that I 
 do know is, that I cried out to a man for quarter, 
 in the desperation of my heart, as my sword broke 
 at the hilt and my horse stumbled into a platoon 
 of bayonets, but the wretch heeded not my cry. 
 
 I was unwilling to die so. I thought of Clara ; 
 it was my last thought and the next moment, 
 I felt the blood rushing out of his throat into my 
 bosom. 
 
 When I came to my senses, there was a cofd 
 mass of coagulated deformity, shapeless and hor 
 rible, pressing against my face. I shuddered, 
 and tried to release myself ;" but I could not. My 
 hands were stiffened about it. God of heaven ! 
 it was a human face ! O, my heart discharged 
 all its blood at the thought I I shut my 
 eyes, and groaned aloud, in loathing and ter 
 rorbut 1 could not release my fingers from 
 the throat, they were so cramped and rigid 
 tvith convulsion. No ! though a broken sword 
 was in my side, and my clothes were stiff with 
 my own gore, I could not. They were rigid as 
 iron. 
 
 At last, however, just when I was shutting my 
 eyes, I did hope, for the last time, some blessed 
 human creature, tore away my hands from the 
 detestable shape, and dragged me away, over the 
 
 SEVENTY-SIX. 1 15 
 
 shattered limbs, dead bodies, and struggling 
 horses, as if to throw me into a ditch. I groaned, 
 for I could do no more : and he stopped deli 
 berately took up a gun, with a bayonet, near me, 
 and put it to my heart. I felt the point I felt 
 it ! the inhuman devil ! He was coolly searching 
 for my heart! I came, instantly, to my senses. 
 I grasped the bayonet with my hands ; and held 
 it, despite of all his struggles, till, in our tumbling 
 and turning, it came off. I was desperate. The- 
 noise of strife had gone by the fog was clearing 
 off. The sun shone about me ; and I saw, far 
 and near, the enemy riding about, and collecting 
 the dead and wounded. I expected to die, and 
 was willing to die ; but my heart rose terribly at 
 the thought of being murdered in cold blood. Th& 
 wretch left me for a moment, evidently for the 
 purpose of finding some safer weapon ; and I de 
 termined not to be sacrificed, collected all my 
 strength, griped the bayonet, and lay waiting for 
 him. 
 
 He came and, standing about three feet from 
 me, made a deliberate cut at my face, with a. , 
 sabre. I was able to parry it and, could I have 
 reached him, would have let out his heart s blood, 
 before human help could have aided him but he 
 was too far from me ; and, exasperated to mad 
 ness, by his cold-blooded, merciless depravity, I 
 hurled the bayonet at him. Thank God, it struck 
 him in the face, and he fell ! Yet, when he fell, and 
 I saw the point where it had passed through his 
 neck, and heard his horrible yelling, I was fain to 
 stop my ears, and cover my eyes, or I should have 
 gone distracted. 
 
 After this, I can remember little more than, 
 that I was in the hospital of the enemy, and 
 treated with great care and attention made a 
 friend of an able surgeon, who was thunderstruck 
 at the situation of my wounded leg inflamed 
 now to an excessive degree and, in short, that I 
 was obliged to lose my leg. 
 
 In the mean time, however, I had the happi 
 ness to hear that Archibald had escaped miracu 
 lously, after exposing himself with unprecedented 
 hardihood. For a moment I had "seen him" it 
 was after we had entered the entrenchments, en 
 gaged, on foot, with an officer of the enemy. I 
 felt no fear for him, then, for I saw that they 
 fought with swords. 
 
 Arthur had received two or three sabre gashes ;, 
 and Copely had one of his fingers shot away. 
 But the whole army, particularly the French, were- 
 loud in his praise. Every man of his command 
 had been driven into the ditch and, with the 
 exception of ten, or a dozen, all were killed or 
 wounded. 
 
 A speedy arrangement was made for our ex 
 changeand, the moment that my friend, the 
 humane and benevolent Waters, the British sur 
 geon, under whose care it was my good fortune 
 to fall, would permit it, I was put on the way for 
 my home. It was a lon^ time, and I was cruelly 
 wasted and disfigured, when Archibald and I 
 met. Yet, he was unaltered the same deadly 
 paleness ; the same settled, calm, awful insensi 
 bility. 
 
 " Return," said he ; " be a comfort to our 
 mother bless your wife and bear my 1 YJ and 
 reverence do you mark me? my reverence to 
 Lucia. Tell her not to forget me. We shall 
 meet again, here, or hereafter. Copely, and 
 Arthur, and I must remain. Copely, to atone fos- 
 
1 1-6 
 
 THE NOVEL NEWSPAPKR. 
 
 his early misconduct : Arthur, in expiation of his 
 vow for he promised never to marry till America 
 was free, and broke it shame on him ! and I 
 merely because 1 cannot live in a quiet, peaceable 
 element. 
 
 Our parting was sorrowful; and, so we all 
 thought, I am sure, a final one. My situation 
 was exceedingly critical ; and I was helpless, 
 beyond all that you can imagine, from having 
 seen some evidence of my strength, after it had 
 begun to decline. Time was, my children, when no 
 mortal man could have stood before me. I am no 
 boaster. Arthur Rodman was a tall, stout fellow, 
 and passed for a strong man ; yet I could pull 
 Arthur Rodman to the earth with one hand. 
 Yet, after the loss of my leg, and the wasting of 
 the fever that followed it, I was scarcely able to lift 
 a spoon to my mouth ; and, but for Clara Hea 
 ven bless the dear woman ! but for her I had 
 never lived through it, I am sure. My children, 
 you can never know her value. From the time 
 that you can recollect her, she was feeble and dim. 
 You should have seen her abaut the bed of her 
 husband ; sick and dying. You should have heard 
 her affectionate voice, soothin* him to his short 
 slumber ; seen her modest hand wiping the sweat 
 from his lips ! her bright eyes, waxing dim with 
 excessive watchfulness ; her patience her for 
 bearanceher love ! O, Clara ! thy husband 
 never knew thee, till thy life had fallen in martyr 
 dom to thy love ; nor thy children, till thou hadst 
 been drugged with death, to preserve their father. 
 O Clara! I am widowed, and wayworn sorrow 
 ing and dark ; yet thy image is warmth and 
 brightness comfort and consolation to me. 
 Yet ! when shall we meet again ? ah when ! 
 and, as we parted last, love, thy red lips quiver 
 ing in death ; thy faint eyes going out, in prayer to 
 God, and blessing for thy husband ! O Clara ! 
 Clara ! many a weary hour didst thou spend for 
 me ; many an impatient word endure, with 
 that emile, which, on thy haughty lip, sat with 
 ineffable beauty and power. Wilt thou forgive 
 me ? 
 
 My children, I cannot proceed any farther to 
 night. I feel as if your mother were near me. 
 Good night. 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 As women wish to be, who love their lords. 
 
 One afternoon, when I had been at home about 
 a month, and was sitting up, altogether better 
 and stronger, than I had hoped to be for a l?ng 
 season (it was the first of May ; the windows 
 were all open, and the fresh air blew in, loaded 
 with the perfume of the month,) as Clara sat by 
 me, and we were travelling back, in our thought, 
 many a day she asked me, with a slight emotion 
 passing over her face, if I remembered that corner, 
 pointing to one at her left. 
 
 We were in her father s house. The corner to 
 which she pointed was that where I had met her 
 and parted, in that remorseless spirit, which had 
 well nigh been so fatal to me. 
 
 " Yes, Clara/ I said ; " too well do I remem 
 ber it come nearer, love. I could shed tears 
 
 now, to think of my own insensibility. How little 
 I knew your value then." 
 
 " Or of your own." 
 
 " Why yes, Clara, I confess that I was very 
 ignorant of my own nature : and I do hope that I 
 have become a little wiser, nd a little better, 
 since that day." 
 
 A sweet little girl here entered, with intelligence 
 that " Mother Weston" had come. 
 
 I felt Clara s hand tremble in my own. Her 
 fine eyes changed colour a little, her lids drooped, 
 and she leaned forward in a confusion that thrilled 
 my blood. 
 
 I released her hand, and spared all remark, 
 while she stepped out of the room in silence. 
 
 I looked after her. I locked my hands con 
 vulsively upon my bosom. My heart heaved with 
 thankfulness ; I felt a strange religious tumult 
 within me. I was about to be a father. Was 
 there not room for thanksgiving ? to see the little 
 innocent, a part of our own being, ready to melt 
 again, into its original element, frail and beautiful 
 as infancy. O, my heart reeled with a delightful, 
 yet painful emotion, as I thought on it the 
 peril the agony the fruit! Woman, dear 
 woman ! thou, without whom we have no true 
 pleasure; no touch of humanity; no feeling of 
 purity or tenderness ; with what sorrow and pain 
 art thou the partner of our joy! On thee lies the 
 curse : thou art the one, upon whose tender and 
 delicate sensibilities all the agony abideth ! Ah, 
 woman ! when can we do enough for thee. Thy 
 very being is a life of dependence, helplessness 
 and travail ; what hast thou, but by the conces 
 sion of man ! no power no pride of thine own 
 no rank, or name, or influence, but what we grant 
 to thee : no pleasures of thine own ; many pains, 
 wringing pains, more terrible than any death, of. 
 which man may conceive : and we, O we have many 
 pleasures of our own, apart from thee : no pains in 
 which thou canst not participate ; and O woman ! 
 woman ! he that does not tremble inwardly, and 
 feel his heart melt, like that of a man defending 
 his own mother, or child or wife, or dear one from 
 dishonour when thou art mentioned irreverently, 
 is what can I say more? unable to know thee 
 unfit to comfort thee ! God have compassion on 
 such a man. 
 
 My reverie was interrupted here by the return, 
 of Clara, blushing to the eyes, and bearing two 
 or three letters in her hand, while the pestilent 
 old woman kept close at her heels, congratulating 
 her, till she was ready to sink into the floor. 
 
 Poor Clara ! she had not yet learnt the mystery 
 of gossiping, over caudle or teacups. 
 
 The first that I took was from Archibald. It 
 was hastily written ; and as follows : 
 
 " Mother," said Clara, "please to ask Lucia to 
 come in for a moment." 
 
 "And the other ladies?" said Mother Weston. 
 " Yes, if you please. There should be no 
 secret." 
 
 A few minutes after, in tripped , not quite so much 
 on tiptoe as she was wont, the delicate little Ellen, 
 with a remarkably loose dress, and a prodigious 
 shawl, (though it was a warm day,) about her, 
 and took her seat, just where she could see most, 
 and be least seen. And Mary her step was less 
 affectedly light than Ellen s ; but her countenance 
 was sad ; and tears were in her sweet eyes, as she 
 sat alone, and looked, thoughtfully, upon the other 
 dear creatures. Poor Mary I 
 
SEVENTY-SIX. 
 
 117 
 
 * Letters," said Ellen, pouting; "letters, 
 I am told none for me, I suppose but " 
 
 " Ah, child, every letter is for each and all of 
 us. It mutters little to whom it is directed. All 
 the privilege that I know, is that of paying the 
 postage." 
 
 " And breaking the seal," said she. " O, there 
 is no pleasure in this world, like breaking the seal 
 of a letter from one that you love. It is like look 
 ing into his naked heart shutting out all the 
 world, and " 
 
 " Selfish creature ! said Clara. 
 
 "Aye! sister," said Lucia, passing her pale 
 hand over her pale face : " but who is not selfish, 
 with some treasure ? who would share her en 
 dearment with another? No, our dearest things 
 are most our own. Some blessings are given to 
 be shared some not." 
 
 " \Vell, well ! let us hear the letter. 7 
 
 " Well then," said I, hiding the other letters 
 uuder my pillow; "the first is from Archibald. 
 It begins : 
 
 " Dear brother, 
 
 "Why do we not hear from you? We have 
 been, and are yet, exceedingly anxious, and can 
 not learn a syllable of your situation, or that of 
 the family ; although we, (I say we, because 
 Rodman, and Copely, and I,) have all written, 
 again and again." 
 
 " No crying, ladies," said I, " these misfortunes 
 are common to the times. Our letters will all 
 -come together. Recollect the peril of conveyance, 
 the liability to interception, accident, and delay. 1 
 
 " Pray go on, 1 said Lucia, timidly, and doubt 
 fully. 
 
 " 1 write you tr-day,"that you maybe under 
 no alarm respecting us, if the news of a smart 
 affair should come to you, in which we have just 
 been engaged. Copely has joined the horse, and 
 we are all under the command of Colonel Washing 
 ton. Yesterday we encountered Tarle ton s ca 
 valry " 
 
 " Whatdate is it ?" said Ellen, impatiently. 
 
 " March 28th, (1780,) I replied. 
 
 41 And fairly beat them off the field. Wash. 
 iugton is a fiery fellow ; a little rash, I think ; but 
 it told well on this occasion. Arthur is the idol 
 of the whole troop" 
 
 A sob from Mary. 
 
 " Me performed prodigies of valour yesterday ; 
 but received a terrible cut " 
 
 A faint cry from Mary, and a confirmed one of 
 sympathy from all the others. 
 
 * Through his cap; but escaped unharmed. 
 We are constantly engaged, night and day. 
 
 " I shall write you more particulaly, if I can, 
 before the express departs." 
 
 " Express indeed !" said Ellen, " a nick-name, I 
 suppose. 1 
 
 " Hush, madam, hush ; here is something to 
 interest all of us." 
 
 But she was not so easily quieted. She had 
 seen me thrust something under the pillow, and 
 had slipped her little white hand after it, so slily, 
 that I did not discover the movement, until she 
 had the bundle of letters in her possession, and 
 was skipping into the middle of tke room, as light 
 as ever ; anil, had she not turned suddenly pale in 
 the height of her festivity, and caught at a chair 
 as she passed, I might have mistaken her for the 
 yellow-haired romp that I had first met, in that 
 very room. The poor creature had nearly fainted : 
 
 but still she had sufficient presence of mind to tear 
 open the envelope, and litter the whole floor with 
 letters ; throwing them about, first one way, and 
 then the other, like a mad creature, as fast as 
 she read the superscription; until, at last, while 
 the other wife was timidly peeping after them, 
 without the power to move, she uttered a faint 
 cry, pressed one to her lips, staggered to a chair, 
 and fell into an hysterical fit of sobbing. 
 
 The letter dropped from her hand. 
 
 " Give it to me, Clara, said I ; "we must pre 
 pare these spirits for their ministering by gentler 
 gradations." 
 
 "I thought," said the extravagant creature, 
 (Ellen,) shaking her fist at me, as soon as she 
 could speak, while the tears ran down like trickling 
 silver, from her open eyes " I thought so ! I 
 knew it! I knew it. But goon. 1 
 
 " No ; there is your letter, Ellen ; your s, Mary ; 
 and .there is one for you, Lucia." 
 
 I could not forbear remarking the difference of 
 their manner, as they proceeded to open their 
 letters. Ellen was all in a flutter from head to 
 foot ; she tore it open sat down jumped up 
 rtad a few lines cried dropped it picked it up 
 clapped her hands ; and finally ran out of the 
 room with it, stopping every two or three steps, 
 and looking at it, as a mother would at a new 
 found babe, and then hurrying on. 
 
 Lucia, on the contrary, arose, with compressed 
 lips; no visible emotion in her countenance ; but, 
 v\ith one hand holding all the while by the curtains 
 of my bed, as if to steady her, reached out the 
 other for the prize ; and, when I gave it to her, 
 the dark of her eyes shot fire not a passionate cr 
 haughty fire, but a sweet mournful luetre, that I 
 loved to look upon ; and her heavy lashes gleamed 
 in it, like wet silk in the star- light. 
 
 She began to read. She paused. Her red lips 
 turned ashy pale trembled; and she put her white, 
 thin hand to her forehead, as if to clear away tl e 
 mist. "God for ever bless and protect thee! 1 
 she said, just audibly, and left the room ; not like 
 a queen, as she was wont, stately and assured; 
 but like a helpless, lofty- minded woman, sorrow 
 ing to death. 
 
 Clara s eyes followed her, and overflowed, as 
 she went out, with the compassionate working of 
 her heart. 
 
 " I know not the meaning of this," said she to 
 me ; " do you?" 
 
 " Not a syllable. I sometimes feel angry with 
 them both," said I, "and wonder if they have 
 common sense." 
 
 "They have not common sense, 1 said Clara. 
 
 "They love each other?" 
 
 "You can answer better for Archibald, than I; 
 but she loves him more than any earthly thing," 
 said Clara. 
 
 " Then why torture him so eternally ? said I 
 
 " I do not understand it ; I cannot ; I do not 
 profess to understand it," was her reply. "There 
 is something strangely mysterious in their deport 
 ment. I believe that he loves her devoutly. I 
 know that she loves him, with all the elevation 
 and sincerity of her nature ; that she wails day 
 and night for her transgression ; nay, that Archi 
 bald was never dearer to her than when he treated 
 her so coldly who could brook it ? who ! that was 
 so sought after, idolized, and wondered at as he 
 did, about the time of her acquaintance with 
 Ciiaton." 
 
118 
 
 THE NOVEL NEWSPAPER. 
 
 " Clinton 1" said I. " You speak very compos 
 edly of him. I have dreaded to mention his name, 
 even to you." 
 
 " There was no need of any such caution, 1 she 
 replied. " I always knew Clinton; his deport 
 ment and fate were foreseen by me." 
 
 "But how did she bear it? said I. 
 
 "Better than any human being would have be 
 lieved. I have never been satisfied about their 
 acquaintance. There was some treachery in it. 
 Clinton had seen Lucia before." 
 
 " What ! before he came here, wounded ?" 
 
 " Wounded ! yes, he might be wounded and 
 bruised; but his arm was not broken." 
 
 "I am glad that you mentioned that, 1 said I. 
 
 "I have always felt a desire to penetrate that 
 mystery. So, his arm was not broken ?" 
 
 "No, said Clara; "my father discovered it 
 some days before your departure. And we have 
 since had reason to believe tkat his adventure with 
 the enemy, which brought him to our habitation, 
 was a preconcerted affuir." 
 
 " I do not understand you, dear. 1 
 
 "I do not mean," said she, "that he made an 
 arrangement, beforehand, to be shot at by the 
 enemy, or wounded, or taken prisoner; but the 
 truth, I believe, to be this that he had seen Lucia 
 at Philadelphia, and given her no little trouble 
 there ; that he put his life at hazard , when we first 
 Jfnew him, to see her again, by venturing beyond 
 his videttes; and that he escaped a court-martial, 
 by the most fortunate concurrence of circum 
 stances the inroad of the Hessians, and the loss 
 of some men and the recruits that he carried in. 
 
 " But why were we not informed of this before?" 
 
 "It was not till the illness of Clinton, at our 
 house, the second time, that the whole truth came, 
 out; and then he was so humbled and penitent 
 under the rejsction of Lucia, which seemed utterly 
 inconceivable to him; there were so many high 
 hearted, noble qualities about him you were so 
 unforgiving, when once awakened, and your brother 
 so terrible in his wrath, that, after a deep and 
 continued consultation, of many a night, we re 
 solved to keep.the whole a secret; particularly as 
 O, my husband, it pains me to the very heart, 
 when I reflect on all that we so childishly put at 
 hazard, then." 
 
 " Say no more about it, love," said I, embracing 
 her with one arm, and wiping away the tears from 
 her lovely eyes, with her own hair. " We were 
 children then ; misfortune had not met us ; ca 
 lamity had not visited us; our hearts were full 
 only with the wine of life ; the lees had not been 
 tasted." 
 
 " Poison ! death ! we should say for I felt all 
 the bitterness and distress of both, during our 
 separation, said Ciara. " Many and many a 
 night, dear, have I awoke, in a profuse sweat, as 
 cold and dreadful as that of the tomb ; rny very 
 hair drenched with it, as with the night dew; and 
 often, often have Lucia and I gone, arm and arm, 
 over the apartments where we had spent our 
 Sweetest hours, with a feeling of mournful, tender 
 solemnity, that kept our eyes flowing, and hearts 
 weeping, while the cold night wind blew literally 
 through and through us." 
 
 " How did she bear the death of Clinton? 1 
 
 " How ! I can hardly tell ; not at all as lexpected. 
 It was not with wailing and bitterness ; not with 
 exultation ; but with a look and movement, such 
 as I should have looked for in a wife, whose hus 
 
 had been unworthy of her high nature 
 dying afar off. She was very ill for many days, 
 very, but she made no complaint, and kept away 
 from observation, as much as possible. After a 
 few weeks, she was able to mention his name, and 
 talk of him ; though, at first, with deep emotion, 
 and, not unfrequently, with a passionate weeping, 
 as I would of one who had irretrievably lessened 
 himself in my opinion, and cruelly humbled me." 
 
 " I confess, 1 she added faltering " I confess 
 that there is something unaccountable and dark in 
 the sudden alienation of her heart from Archibald, 
 that, to my mind, has never been sufficiently ex 
 plained by her resentment for his coldness; the 
 fascination of Clinton ; nor even by the natural 
 waywardness of woman. I allow much to her 
 pride ; much to wounded self-love ; still more to 
 her desire of humbling Archibald; but all cannot, 
 does not satisfy me. The suddenness and violence 
 of her attachment has no example in her whole 
 life. It is at war with all our experience of her. 
 Young as she was ; haughty as she was ; there 
 had fclwaysbeenaningenuousness a sort of heroic 
 feeling of truth and honour about her, in all that she 
 said or thought, or did, which took the judgment 
 captive. Change she might ; but she could not 
 change capriciously. She had loved Archibald ; 
 she might love another; butl have always thought, 
 and always shall think, that she never did love 
 another." 
 
 " What !" I exclaimed, "not love another, when, 
 she permitted Clinton s arms to encircle her waist, 
 even in the presence of nay noble, broken hearted 
 brother." 
 
 "True, I remember that; and were she any 
 other than the girl she is, I should say that that 
 explained her conduct ; but I cannot say so of 
 Lucia. She would not permit the arms of a man 
 to encircle her waist, merely to break the heart of 
 another. Some women might. I have seen the 
 time when 1 would. You are startled ; but it-i* 
 very true. I have had a more unmanageable, a 
 more wicked and resolute spirit than Lucia. But, 
 there is one thins that I cannot forbear to mention ; 
 have you never observed it ? Did you never, at the 
 time that her endearment appeared constrained ; 
 that, when she appeared most nearly his, and his 
 alone, surrendering herself utterly and unreserv 
 edly to his love that htr wild eyes deepened in, 
 their blackness deep as night and that a slight 
 shuddering was, oftentimes, visible upon her high, 
 white forehead, when he approached her ?" 
 
 "Never," I replied. 
 
 "You have not. Well! I confess that I am, 
 surprised, for it was visible to the very servants ; 
 and I overheard Margery say once, when she had 
 entered the room, and found Lucia weeping, while 
 Clinton was standing over her, and holding her 
 hand to his heart, that " she was sure that Miss 
 Lucia did not love him. Didn t I see her," she 
 said, in confirmation, " turn away her face when 
 he entered, and push him away, just because she 
 heard Archibald s voice in the court-yard ?" 
 
 " Yes, my dear husband, it is very true ; there 
 is something strangely mysterious and perplexing 
 in their love ; and, could I permit myself to be 
 lieve in spells and witchery, that would be the 
 easiest way of accounting for what in no other 
 way I can account for, the commencement, con 
 tinuation, and end of her acquaintance with 
 Clinton." 
 
 Does she ever speak of him now ?" 
 
SEVENTY-SIX. 
 
 119 
 
 * Often." 
 
 * And with what spirit ?" 
 
 * With that of compassion and tenderness, co- 
 ionring to the eyes often, and then turning deadly 
 pale but not with love. No, it is not love ; it is 
 some other feeling, as deep, perhaps a as ter 
 rible, and as wasting a compound of I hardly 
 know what to call it but at times there is a look 
 of horror, shame, and remorse with it." 
 
 " No wonder, poor girl ; she rifled and spoiled 
 the bravest heart that but here she is." 
 
 Lucia here entered, with a letter in her hand. 
 "Read that," said she, "my dear brother, and 
 tell me what there is left to disturb one who is so 
 loved, by one who is so worthy of a woman s 
 lovre." 
 
 I heard her voice with pleasure. It was deep 
 and beautiful, and I could not forbear pressing 
 her pale hand to my heart. 
 
 " Lucia, Lucia ! there is only one being upon 
 this earth worthy of Archibald only one worthy 
 of Lucia Arnauld." 
 
 She put her hand to her heart, as if a sudden 
 contraction had followed the words, and the sweat 
 started out upon her temples, I saw it I saw 
 it! Her white forehead looked instantly as if a 
 yew branch, loaded with the night dew, had been 
 shaken over it. 
 
 "What said he," she continued, timidly, "in 
 your letter ?" 
 
 Clara smiled, and appeared waiting for my 
 answer. 
 
 I had quite forgotten the letter, and, after hunt 
 ing it up, found where I had left off, and re com 
 menced. 
 
 "Arthur will tell you, what I felt rather un 
 willing to communicate, that " 
 
 1 lowered my voice, and ran over three or four 
 lines to myseif. 
 
 " Read on," said Clara. " Ah ! how pale you 
 look? What does hesay ? tears ! My husband! 
 my husband !" 
 
 I had dropped the letter. 
 
 I cannot bear to repeat it," said I, mustering 
 what strength I could, and leaning my face upon 
 her shoulder; " but it must be told. Clara, Lucia 
 dear Lucia, are you prepared ?" 
 
 " I believe so," she replied, in a low, steady 
 voice. " He has told the whole to me, I believe. 
 What does he say there ? Any thing of a con 
 sultation ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Please to read it, then. I am prepared." 
 
 I took up the letter, and read as follows: 
 "That I have been very ill very and that the 
 nature of my malady has taken a decided character. 
 Prepare yourself, my dear brother ; bear it like 
 a man. I cannot live many months perhaps 
 not till another summer. I am in a consumption. 
 I believed this some time ago, but I have hitherto 
 kept it a secret, knowing its evil effect. My 
 mother s family have all died of that sad, broken 
 hearted complaint." 
 
 " Poor, dear Archibald," said Clara, covering 
 her face with her hands. 
 
 "Oh ! Archibald, Archibald !" whispered Lucia, 
 just audibly. 
 
 " Deep thought (said the letter) will produce the 
 consumption, anxiety, melancholy, distress of 
 mind, or lowness of spirits. And what, dear 
 .John, is more likely to bring on lowness of spirits, 
 melancholy, and distress of mind, than the belief 
 
 that you are dying, night and day, by an inevitable 
 death. Hence it" is that whole families die of 
 consumption." I do not believe that it is hereditary, 
 or in the chest, or blood, or lungs. Ko; but it is 
 in the mind. One dies, and the others are suc 
 cessively seized with thoughtful, dark, and discon 
 solate dreaming. Their whole breathing is but a 
 continual reprieve ; they are worn to death by 
 their own thought, and charge it to their parents. 
 No, brother ; I have kept it a secret, till till 
 (my hand does not tremule, brother) till there is 
 no hope. I look back upon my pa*t life with a 
 strange, melancholy wonder. Much that I have 
 done appears to have been done by some other 
 Archibald Oidley, and not by me. So young, so 
 tender-hearted as I was a boy, but the other 
 day, and now dying, with grey hairs in my head 
 (it is a fact, brothei), of old age premature old 
 age, and a shattered frame; substance and being, 
 body and spirit shaken to the dust. For one thing 
 only do I reproach myself nay, for two two, 
 above all others. The blood of Clinton is one 
 my stubbornness to Lucia is another. But for 
 them, I could sleep quietly, and, mayhap, die very 
 quietly ; but they haunt me with a continually, in 
 creasing darkness and threatening. I cannot sleep 
 now at all. 1 walk all the day long, to and fro, 
 in the camp, when we are encamped, and ride all 
 the day long when not encamped, but without 
 knowing or caring where I am, or what I have 
 done. I walk in my sleep, too that distresses 
 me. I know not wkat may happen. The sentinels 
 are trusty, and I am ashamed to communicate the 
 truth. You would not believe me, I suppose, 
 should I tell you, what is very true, that, after the 
 battle yesterday, I fell asleep upon my horse, 
 while my men were returning from the pursui 4 -, 
 and might very easily have been taken prisoner. 
 At times there is a lethargy, pleasanter than sleep 
 a drowsiness, like that of sorrow and love as 
 if I were sleeping upon the bosom of some dear 
 one, that besets me, and my heart overflows and 
 but, no ! shame on these emotions. I have 
 written to Lucia. Bid her bsar up bid her be 
 comforted. We shall soon meet again again ! 
 where our he rts may beat renewedly, for ever and 
 for ever, purified and blessed." 
 
 "Purified!" echoed the sweet martyr, faintly 
 dropping her arm over the bed, and falling upon 
 her face. "Purified! I A long and con 
 tinued shuddering followed, in which the bed itself 
 vibrated, and the whole room trembled. 
 
 " But the other," said Clara, wiping her eyes, 
 and reaching me Copely s letter. 
 
 It was very brief, and to the following effect ; 
 but, just as I opened it, in"came the two brides, 
 one flushed with a beautiful confusion, the other 
 laughing and crying, all in a breath, and rallying 
 Mary with a significance that I dared not under 
 stand, till the sweet girl burst into tears, partly of 
 shame, partly of sorrow ; and Ellen threw herself 
 upon her neck, crying, " hush, hush, love forgne 
 me. I was cruel, childish, indelicate, and hush I 
 all in good time. We shall be a house full, never 
 theless (in a low voice) , by the time that he comes." 
 
 She did not mean that I should hear this ; but 
 it touched Clara, who coloured and withdrew h r 
 hand from the pillow, against which I wasleaMng, 
 to give a reproof to Ellen, that nobody should 
 understand but the women folks. 
 
 Copely s note : " Rodman would have written 
 to you, but he has j ust finished a letter to his wife* 
 
120 
 
 THE NOVEL NEWSPAPER. 
 
 and he cannot manage the pen for another line. 
 The broadsword has cramped his hand. He 
 deputizes me to give his love to you all, and 
 to say to yfm, Oadley, and to our s and your s, 
 Heaven have mercy on all of them, and particularly 
 on mine and reform her, if it be not too late." 
 
 " He be hanged," cried Ellen, pettishly. 
 
 " Prepare yourself be a man. Your brother 
 encountered and slew two officers -with his own 
 hand, yesterday, and took, with Jasper (of whom 
 more by and by), and five more of the troop, 
 twelve of the enemy prisoners ; and then went to 
 slee p in the saddle. Be a man, I say again. 
 Your brother cannot live long ; his hours are 
 numbered." 
 
 "Gracious God!" cried Ellen, "if Chester 
 Copely be trifling now, I shall hate him for ever." 
 
 " Oh 1 I hope that he is," said Mary, in a voice 
 like a lone instrument breathing to the" wind. 
 
 * His hours are numbered. A consultation has 
 been held since my last, for we are unwilling to 
 lose him but there is no hope. Am I abrupt? 
 I fear so. But you are a man yoiu- brother is a 
 man. He has no wife, no children no beloved 
 one no, I am wrong, he has an angel to leave 
 behind him." 
 
 " Not long," said Clara, kissing her sister s 
 forehead " no, no, not long, I atn sure." 
 
 " Would that you could see him (said the letter) . 
 He never looked so well in his life. His temples 
 are transparent. Every movement of his heart is 
 visible in his eyes." 
 
 (We all turned to Lucia at these words : it was 
 a description of her appearance.) 
 
 "Poor fellow! he has just left me, treading 
 firmly the road that leads to the chambers of 
 death. Why delay it ? why conceal it? It fell 
 upon me like a thunder-clap ; it might fall upon 
 you so. We have done our best to prepare you ; 
 at least, I have for while there was any hope he 
 kept his situation a secret. But my course has 
 been different. I have told you the worst. You 
 must not blame me, however, that my last letter 
 was not alarming. When that was written, I 
 began to have hope : I have none now." 
 
 " The last ! O ! we are illy prepared yet," said 
 Clara. " Would that it had arrived before this. 
 Such blows are terrible I " 
 
 " Jasper is dead, dead, poor fellow ! I saw hira 
 fall ; but Archibald has just given me a particular 
 account of the transaction, with an air of plea 
 santry, that made me scold him. 
 
 " I saw him," said he, "when the bullet struck 
 his heart ; he was at full speed. Yet he k^pt on, 
 for a whole minute, and went completely through 
 two divisions of the broadsword, as I am a living 
 man, before he fell : the saddle turned, and the 
 horse broke away from under him, the saddle-cloth 
 shot to ribbons, and dripping wit a blood. I found 
 the poor fellow, cut all to pieces ; his helmet 
 shaved away ; his uniform shot to tatters, and the 
 blood gushing out at his shoulders. He died des 
 perately. But I expected it, said Archibald, " for, 
 in his jocular way, i heard him, the morning be 
 fore the attack, while newly arranging a part of 
 the troop, inconsequence of sickness and continual 
 battle, I heard him order all the ladies in the front 
 rank." 
 
 The ladies !" said Ellen " what the deuce 
 does the fellow mean ? " 
 
 " The mares," I replied. " Jasper always called 
 
 them the ladies of the troop : most of them were 
 blooded." 
 
 " But why put them in the front rank ?" 
 
 "For many reasons," I said, smiling at tbe 
 question, so innocently asked, and wishing, froan 
 rny soul, that I hid not read the passage aloud r 
 for Copely was full of such jokes, "the tire and 
 quickness of females are proverbial ; the competi 
 tion that would bs produced ; the gallantry that 
 it would provoke the 
 
 " Read on," said Ellen, impatiently, dropping 
 her eyes ; " read on ; what does the creature say 
 next?" 
 
 " Nothing; except that I am to stand here, 
 read it yourself godfather to " 
 
 "I won t !" she cried, jumping up in a pet, and 
 running out of the room. 
 
 "Why, what possesses the poor woman ?" said 
 Mary, her sweet, innocent lips parting so quietly. 
 
 Clara smiled, and handed her the letter, which 
 sent her out of the room just as fast. 
 
 " Pray, what is the meaning of all this non 
 sense ? said Lucia, with that calm beautiful 
 propriety, which grew upon her every hour, ti>l 
 her death. " I cannot pretend to misunderstand 
 it. The feelings of the man the father ! are 
 natural : and why? Sister Clara, I am ashamed of 
 you ; yes dear, of you. Young as I am, I have 
 that within me that cannot play tricks, even where 
 they are looked for. I do not like Copely s levity. 
 The thought should solemnize him; the peiil of 
 his wife so delicate and frail as her teuevnent is, 
 that should make him speak seriously. But per 
 haps he would give it the least insupportable ah 
 that he could ; and affect a pleasantry, while his 
 h art is breaking, to amuse others. Nay s ster, 
 ami not right? What is there to reddeaat? 
 What to be ashamed of? I know not what a 
 mother s feelings are, it is true. I know not what 
 it is, to feel the stirring of life within me ; a life 
 that is to make me altogether my husband s here 
 and hereafter : but I do know this, that I should 
 neither toil at concealment nor display, in such a 
 situation, where it was not a reproach. Still less 
 would I affect such tremors ; or, if they were not 
 affected, would I indulge them before my husband, 
 or before anybody that had eyes. 1 
 
 Lucia!" said Clara, blushing all over ; "you 
 astonish me. I shall be offended, if this conversa 
 tion continue. 1 
 
 Shame on you, then shame on you ! Tie 
 woman, in your situation, whose nerves will not 
 permit such a conversation, whose temper will not 
 permit it, had better die barren. I am serious. 
 This is no sudden thought. I know what I say. I 
 have meditated upon it. I love delicicy. I trust 
 that, whatever be my faults, I have not that of 
 indelicacy at my door; bat I detest prudery and 
 affectation. You are already a mother, Clara 
 and must think and act like one. Your own health,, 
 and that of your babe, demand it. 
 
 " By Heavens, Lucia, you are a noble creature," 
 said I, kissing her ; " I am gLid of this conversa 
 tion. It will be the better for poor Clara. Hitherto, 
 the theme has been a forbidden one between us 
 two; yes, between the father and mother ! at a 
 moment so critical too, when she is most in want 
 of all sympathy and encouragement. No, Clara ; 
 give me your hand there, thank you ! I love you 
 unspeakably, as you_know. I lore modesty. I 
 revere this delicate timidity ; this bashful sensibi 
 lity ; but it has gone too far to an extent, dear. 
 
SEVEHTY-SIX. 
 
 121 
 
 unworthy of one so thoughtful and firm as you. 
 Your sweet sister has said wisely. These agita 
 tions and tremors may have a worse tendency than 
 we dream of. Let us learn to think of the event 
 without stammering ; to be prepared for it. One 
 kiss ! there there ! Now go to Lucia, and let 
 me see you kiss her. * 
 
 -Clara did, while the tears danced in her full eye 
 lids, and thanked her. 
 
 Our arms entwined altogether, in one dear, 
 thrilling embrace ; and the tears of the two sisters 
 fell upon my face, like a warm summer shower in 
 a pleasant wind just at the shutting in of day 
 light. 
 
 Woman ! the companion of our bedside from our 
 cradle to our grare ! oar ministering angel ! our nurse ! 
 our consolation in all sorrow and trial from the first 
 beating of life within us, to the List, the very last, 
 upon the bed of death ; thou art the s\\eet fountain 
 and nourishment of all onr holiest being and of all 
 our most immortal naUire and quality. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 And coming events cast their shadows before 
 # * # * 
 
 He awakened a sound, 
 
 Like the stirring that comes from the tenanted ground 
 When revelry wanders there. 
 
 In my b.*t. I spoke of the letter which Lncia had 
 re \ .v jd from Archibald. On looking over my papers 
 I have found it. 
 
 More than once have I seen it blistered with tears 
 it is har-lly legible at this moment ; and, were not 
 the sentiments so deeply written on my he?rt, I 
 should not be able to decipher it. I am sure, in its 
 present tattera 1 and de aeed condition, as it lies 
 before me, "-bile I transcribe; it with emotions, my 
 -children, that shake every fibre of my constitution 
 thai but read for yourselves remember the situ. 
 aUon of the parties youthful, lovely, strong; and 
 bowed down with a mysterious sorrow. If you feel 
 aught of what I felt, five hundred time?, in reading 
 it, your young hWrts will collapse with a terrific 
 suddenness, again and again, as tho apparition of the 
 fare broken-berried lovers, with pale lips and beau 
 tiful eyes, and leose hnir, rises before your thought : 
 read it! read it ! and say if you wonder at the un 
 steadiness of my hand, in transcribing its wild, 
 incoherent, disordered language. 
 
 (Archibald to Lucia.) 
 
 < B2tween thee, and me Lucia ArnaulJ, let there 
 be peace. The wry of our life, thou strange and 
 wonderful woman, has been a way of deep feeling, 
 pus^ion, and darkness. Let it be so no more. 
 Lucia, we have lost much. We might have been 
 
 \hfippy, blessed, and blessing. We might have been, 
 but for the untimely blight of our warm-hearted 
 affection, happy and dear to each other O, how 
 dear! for ever and ever. Lucia, there are times 
 when I CHtild throw myself down upon the green 
 earth (underneath which I shall soon lie tranquilly 
 I hope) and weep myself to death. It is when I see 
 the apparition of her that I have loved, as 1 last saw 
 her, before a bad man had stepped, in a wayward 
 moment, into the sacred place of my devotion, and 
 carelessly defaced the blessedest image of light and 
 fceautj that man ever kneeled to- her dark hair wet 
 
 and glittering with the dew her awful eyes, sha 
 dowed with the tender and absolute blackness of the 
 deepest passion. She loved then she loved me, 
 Archibald Oadley. Then, why stood I upright in 
 her presence? Why when all the world knelt to 
 her to thee, Lucia? did I uncover my brow only ; 
 and look upon thee, undazzled, unterrifiod! why, 
 when they that listened to thee while thy heart 
 warbled at thy lips, like a young bird buried in apple 
 blossoms the sound gushing out, as if she were 
 delirious and faint, with the perfume and beauty 
 about herwhy, when they looked lovingly upon 
 thee, and were prodigal of sweet things, why did I, 
 I alone, Lucia, stand apart from thee with my hand 
 over my eyes silent as death? Why, when thy 
 feet glittered in the dance, and to all that looked 
 upon thee, half-blinded by thy beauty, it seemed 
 that the music which they heard came from the 
 movement of thy limbs why stood I apart and mute, 
 while they were loud and lavish i->f their rapture? 
 O, Lucia ask thy own heart. I was a proud and 
 imperious bay. I loved thee. I loved thee too 
 much for the life of :ny own heart; too much, to 
 breathe thy name lightly ; too much, when I heard 
 thy voice or thy tread, while my heart hid itself with 
 terror and joy not to move away from the world, 
 whore I eouM shut my eyes (not en thy beauty 
 that could not be) ; where I could stop my enrs, 
 not to thy voice for that were impossible; blind, 
 and deaf, I should have heard thee and seen thee, for 
 ever and ever, after that night). Then why did I? 
 ask thy own heart, Lucia. Did I not love thee? 
 Didst thou not know it? Hath not my voice failed 
 me, and the tears filled my eyes, r.ll of a sudden, 
 when thou hast entered where I have been ; nay, at 
 the sound of thy tread has not thy own mother seen 
 my nostrils gush out witk blood. Did I not love N 
 thee? Then why, though I were mute, and blinded, \ 
 ami sought the solitary place, whore I usv.d. to go in 
 worship to thy Creator thine, Lucia for, till I 
 thought of him as thy Creator, I never loved him J 
 to meditate upon thy melancholy beauty, and swift / 
 waywardness, and power, and brightness, why was I / 
 not forgiven? Had I loved thee less, O, woman ? 
 Could I not have poured out incense to thee with as 
 wasteful a hand as another ? Did I want the power ? 
 ^he ability? no. Thou hast seen me, when minis 
 tering to women who were not dear to me, among the 
 readiest to do what I despise myself now for having 
 done; waste the truth and simplicity of my nature iu 
 the mere wantonxess of a boyish imagination ; hidng 
 my disapprobation of their fully, shrouding every 
 unlovely feature of their person or mind ; and 
 aggravating, by every artifice in my power, every 
 beautiful one. If I could do this so readily, and 
 that I did do it readilj r I appeal to thy own 
 memory, Lucia, to say, could I not, let thy heart 
 ans-.ver, in its wisdom and simplicity, could I not 
 have ministered to thee as readily ? unless withheld 
 by some better and higher leeling. I could talk to 
 others; compliment others: maintain the play of 
 conversation, with many a sprightly lip, at the same 
 moment; dance nidi others; sing with others to 
 whom I was indifferent, and who were truly indif 
 ferent to rne. Then why could I not with thee ? was 
 I careless of thy love? knew I not what a priceless 
 thing it was? O, Lucia,) how bitterly we have 
 been deceived. Our haughtiness hath been our 
 de ith. But for the breathless, sweet tenderness that 
 I felt for thee, t could have spoken freely many a 
 time, when, to all that stood about me, I appeared 
 sullen and discontented. I was not so. I was too 
 happy to talk, too proud to tell, even to thee that 
 
122 
 
 THE NOVEL NEWSPAPER, 
 
 jny faculties stood fettered before thee ; but ray mind 
 bowed down, and my tall spirit dwindled in thy re 
 buke. Lucia Lucia ! when I appeared to others, 
 nay, to thyself, dear, to love thee least I was dying 
 with my love of thee. I was indeed. * * 
 When Clinton (may I speak of him ?) When Clinton 
 came to jour lather s, Lucia (my hand is getting 
 steadier),! thought that he had never seen you before. 
 Why did you not tell me of it? why? There was 
 the death blow to our confidence. I saw you colour ? 
 I saw you address him as a stranger and yet, I saw 
 you secretly receive him as one that you had known 
 before. I saw him, but I was too proud to ask the 
 reason ; too proud even to mention it, in any way, to 
 anybody upon this earth, that I had seen you meet 
 as I had. To his last hour he knew it not; Juhn 
 knows it not to this; your mother, father, Clara 
 nobody, no living creature, Lucia, ever knew of it, 
 or ever shall, till you see fit to tell them. 
 
 Now hear me. For many hours I watched every 
 movement of your lips and eyes, till I was very sick 
 with expectation. I hoped that you would come 
 to me, Lucia, and tell me that you loved him. I 
 hoped this ; for that were better than to see you 
 disingenuous. But you did not ; no, you did not. 
 You doubted my strength. O, Lucia, how little 
 you knew it! I would have laid down my life to 
 promote your happiness in any way. If I could 
 not be your husband for a mere lover, I could not 
 be; I hated the fondness, and caprice, and childish 
 ness of that relationship ; but a husband ! O, young 
 as I was, Lucia, I felt my veins thrill with a pure, 
 and religious, and sublime emotion, when I thought 
 of my duty to you, as my wife. I wept and prayed 
 too, love, while I thought of it ; but, as I was say 
 ing, if I could not be your husband, I would con 
 tent myself with being your friend ; the best and 
 truest friend upon the earth. Why did you not 
 tell me that you had seen Clinton before? that he 
 loved you, and that you loved him? How much of sore 
 ness, sorrow, and bitterness might have been spared 
 to us ! Well, well It is now too late to weep over 
 the desolation that followed that concealment. I 
 was prepared, dear, for any thing, for every thing, but 
 caprice, in Lucia Aruauld. I could have borne to 
 lose her ; to be lost ! but not to have her fall in my 
 respect; or to fall myself in hers. I watched 
 the growing intimacv ; not with a jealous feeling, 
 not in anger O no! but with a heart that bled at 
 every pore, with terror arid consternation. I tried 
 to tear your image away from my its place, but 
 could not. I determined to tear away heart and 
 all with it, it there were no other way. I have suc 
 ceeded. My heart is dead dead! but, within it, 
 there is yet a moving of vitality, like a spark buried 
 in ashes. The flowers are withered and trampled 
 on, but the earth is impregnate with their odour. 
 And even at this moment, Lucia, while I put my 
 cold hand upon it, I feel thy image there, like a 
 
 little babe stirring under the pressure. O Heaven, 
 have mercy upon me ! * * 
 
 " Well, well at last, the spell was broken. I 
 shuddered and wept at thy infatuation ; but nobody 
 knew it. I wasted away, with the thought of blood; 
 walked in my sleep ; and rode furiously through the 
 battle, in search of quiet, everlasting quiet, Lucia 
 but nobody knew it. At last, you were to have 
 been happy. God knows how I prayed for you, 
 how heartily I would have bled to death for you ; 
 but no ! you would not trust me. I was shut out, 
 utterly, from your dear heart utterly ! well, 1 
 bore that. I made no complaint. I was weary of 
 life, faint; very faint at the hot it; but I told no- 
 
 body of it, till L:.icia, Lucia! the letters turn to 
 blood while I write ; the table shakes ; the summons- 
 vvill be repeated ; there ! there ! there ! 
 
 "Three knocks! three loud, successive, distinct 
 knocks. My hours are numbered. This is the third 
 time. Is it a delusion? Ask my brother? He- 
 sat by me one night at the same hour, and heard 
 them svhen I not only heard them, but saw the hand 
 that gave them ; saw it ! as plain as I now see this 
 paper Enough. 
 
 " I would not have slain him; no, by Heaven, I 
 would not, but for that last word that he uttered. 
 That was the death- word. I drove my sword up 
 to the hilt into his heart. He deserved it ; true or 
 not true, it matters not. He knew how I loved thee - r 
 worshipped thee ; and though it had been true to the 
 uttermost extent, he deserved death ; death ! aye, 
 death here and hereafter; death and damnation, for/ 
 blaspheming thy purity O, Lucia I did not be~ 
 lieve Turn for a moment; no, not for a moment and 
 my soul shuddered at the altar, when I remembered 
 that I had sent Clinton before God, with a lie in hi 
 mouth. * * * 
 
 " But but Lucia it is getting very dark. I 
 feel, as I felt when we parted last, and the foam 
 stood on my lips, as I stood over thee, and saw thy 
 locked hands and speechless mouth ready to crumble- 
 into dust before me. Sublime and incomprehensible 
 woman. It was too late, too late ! Death had 
 already breathed upon my heart; and it was passing 
 away in the vapour and shadow. But for that, 
 though I had gone mad upon the spot ; mad and 
 dark, for ever and ever; while the benediction was 
 pronounced yea I though I had known, that the 
 moment I had touched thy forehead with the seal of 
 a husband, thou wouldst have been a widow, and I 
 a corpse; yet, I would have married thee, neverthe 
 less ! Let that comfort thee. Proud as I am j 
 stout-hearted, and unforgiving, as I am; romantic and 
 fastidious as I am : I would have been thy bride 
 groom, Lucia, notwithstanding all that had passed^ 
 had the tale of death and shame been told me but a 
 little earlier! Now it is too late; we shall die 
 asunder loving, O ! as never man loved woman, 
 or woman, man : farewell, Lucia, farewell ! J 
 shall never meet thee again, never. I feel that 1" 
 shall not. If I should be able I but farewell, do 
 not expect another letter. May we not? hast 
 thou the courage, love? thou art very feeble and 
 I can feel that we are wasting together might it 
 not be that we could depart together? Let us pray 
 for it. * * * * Yes I 
 
 would have married thee, nevertheless ! 
 
 ARCHIBALD." 
 
 Such was the letter that Lucia gave to me, on the 
 very day that it was received. I wondered at her. 
 There was a meaning in it, that I dreaded to fathom, 
 nor had I an opportunity, for nearly three weeks; 
 during which time, James was born. Yes, James,. 
 you were the first fruit of our union, our pride and 
 beauty : and Ellen had a little girl ; a very feeble, 
 sickly thing, who, Heaven bless the sweet creature, 
 I saw afterward djing in your brother s arms. 
 
 As soon after these events had happened, and the 
 tumult of a father and a husband s heart had been 
 permitted to subside, as it could be, I opened the 
 subject anew to Lucia. 
 
 She was holding my boy in her arms ; her red lips 
 looking as if they had been moistened with the 
 kisses of her own babe. 
 
 " Lucia," said I ; " have you answered Arcb> 
 bald s letter?" 
 
SEVENTY-SIX. 
 
 123 
 
 I had no idea that she had. I asked the question 
 only by way of introducing the subject, for I have 
 observed that worn^n are less scrupulous about 
 intrusting their sacredest and fearl ullest thought 
 and confession to men, than to women ; even if 
 these women be their mothers, sisters, or daughters ; 
 and that, when they do this, they choose neither 
 lather, brother, nor child, nor husband, nor lover. 
 And they are safer in it. Men feel a pride in 
 such confidence; a pride too in protecting and 
 advising their helplessness. There cannot be any 
 collision of interest or passion ; nor envy, nor un- 
 charitableness, between them. My remark, there 
 fore, was intended to lead her into just such a 
 disclosure as would give most ease to her own heart. 
 I asked no questions. I meant to ask none. But 
 to what I said, she replied: 
 
 " I have already written to him." 
 
 " You have ! said I, astonished at her self-pos 
 session, " and has it gone?" 
 
 " Yes; nearly three weeks since." 
 
 I waited for a moment, fashioning to myself some 
 mode of inquiry, to prolong the conversation, while 
 it should neither distress her, nor myself; for I 
 began to love Lucia, the dear, patient suiferer, with a 
 quiet, deep reverence, that iiever diminished to the 
 last moment of her life. 
 
 " Take your babe a moment," said she, " and I 
 will show you the answer. You would like to see 
 it ; and I kept the copy for you and you alone. I 
 would not have Clara see it, John " 
 
 She stopped, and put her white hand upon my 
 child s head. 
 
 "I shall not live long; not many months, I am 
 sure ; as you wish for a blessing on that child, let 
 the secret die with you." 
 
 " Sister, nay, do not go yet." 
 
 " O, it makes my heart warm," she replied, locking 
 her hands, and pressing them fervently upon it, " to 
 hear that word from the lips of a man. Brother ! 
 sister! O, there is comfort, strength, and honour in 
 the countenance of a brother !" 
 
 " De tr Lucia, I cannot give the pledge that you 
 desire. I cannot become the guardian of a secret, 
 that Clara may not participate in." 
 
 " Do I hear aright, brother?" 
 
 "Yes. You do not know her; either commit it 
 to both, or " 
 
 "Weak man," said Lucia, "I pity you. What! 
 can there be no secret from a wife none ! none of 
 sorrow or shame?" 
 
 "None!" I echoed, firmly; "none, certainly, of 
 sorrow or shame." 
 
 "I will not stop to argue with you, John; there 
 are things which must be left to trouble the heart 
 of the man alone; things that should never be told, 
 but with a design to make the woman happier or 
 wiser. Why should she sorrow in anticipation of 
 what may be uncertain? Why be made to weep 
 at evils, which, to her gentleness and inexperience, 
 may be disheartening? while, to the man of for 
 titude and steadiness, they are but temporary em 
 barrassments ? No, my brother, no! none but a 
 weak husband will say I will have no secret from 
 ray wife. None but a weak husband will trouble 
 his wife with all that troubles him." 
 
 " Lucia, hear me. Of all my pleasure, my wife 
 hath her full share; of all her sorrow, I would 
 share all that I may. But how may this be, if 
 either believe that the other has some untold ma 
 lady of the spirit, or of the heart; feeding, like a 
 serpent, upon the vitals, day and night ; for which 
 there is to be no remedy, not even that of tears; no 
 
 sympathy, because it is untol . No! Twill here, 
 after have no secret, that I m.ty not, under any cir 
 cumstances, impart to my wife. All that I say is 
 this: Leave it to my discretion, liind me by no 
 promise. Let me do as I may believe it best, what 
 ever mvy happen." 
 
 " You are right, brother," said Lucia, in reply, 
 " altogether right. That is the spirit of a man. "l 
 will trust to it. I will bring you the letter. It 
 will tell, not a fearful tale; for I am still (covering 
 her face with her hands, under pretence of excluding 
 the sun,) too much of a woman to tell it all ; it will 
 tell enough to show you that, while I live, it is no 
 tale for the ear of my sister." 
 
 "There!" said she, returning soon after, with a 
 face unusually pale ; "there! take it, while I have 
 collectedaess and courage enough to give it to you, 
 with my own hands: and read it. Nay, not yet; 
 give me your boy, your little Archibald," (for so 
 we had first agreed to call htm, till Archibald re 
 quested him to be called James, for what reason I 
 know not,) " and read it while I am away. 
 
 She came to me, then ; and, putting both her 
 hands into mine, said, with a low, sweet, tremulous 
 voice, whose accents I hear yet, whenever I have 
 been more than usually devout and abstracted in 
 my religious duty, as if to reward me "Remember 
 my situation: tempted, tried, scorned, proud, young, 
 helpless, and have compassion on me. The tears 
 gushed out of her eyes all at once, as she uttered 
 these words, and she had nearly fainted ; but, at 
 last, with James nestling at her bosom, she suc 
 ceeded in raising herself, and tottering out of the 
 room the little brat squalling all the while, as if 
 he were bound up with pins and needles. Yet his 
 cry was musical to me, I mean. He did not cry 
 like any other child that ever I heard. 
 
 I opened the letter. It was hardly legible; 
 written, evidently, in the hurry of her feeling, with 
 out attention to what the world are pleased to call 
 pretty letter-writing. It follows : 
 
 " You are deeply to blame, Archibald. You have 
 stirred up a spirit within me, that will never sleep 
 again. The darkness is scattered. I see clearly 
 now, more clearly than ever, the dim and perilous 
 road over which I have trodden. You are very in- 
 eoherent. I shall, probably, be more so. You 
 speak of my appearance when you saw me last. 
 When do you mean? Where was it? I do not 
 understand you. Yet, making all possible allowance 
 for the aggravating power, which we all have, and. 
 you in an especial manner, of picturing whatever is 
 past and gone irretrievably gone, as supremely 
 beautiful and dear I find something that has given 
 me a clue to your meaning, where you speak of the 
 last time that you saw me. Yes, I understand you, 
 Archibald, I cannot deceive you. On that very 
 night I first saw Clinton. It was he that I had 
 been walking with. My heart was heavy, sorrowful 
 at your coldness pining under mortification, and 
 sore with the jeering of my companions. He took 
 advantage of it. He spoke kindly of you very 
 kindly; defended you argued as you do, that you 
 felt more than other men, because you professed to 
 feel so little. Where we feel we are hushed, ter 
 rified, silent, and under a perpetual anxiety to 
 please our manner is constrained, abrupt, fitful, 
 and capricious. Thus he reasoned with me. I 
 began to like him : not for his own sake, but for 
 yours. When we returned I found you there ; the 
 same haughty, cold, and absent manner, and I was 
 piqued at it. A few minutes after I was rallied 
 about Clinton, and threatened with your wrath. I 
 
124 
 
 THE NOVEL NEWSPAPER. 
 
 affected to scorn the latter ; and, had you not ap 
 peared with your heart in your eyes, while we were 
 talking, which you will probably remember, from 
 the confusion that it caused among us, for we were 
 afraid that you had overheard us, I know not 
 what I might have said of yon. Your manner was 
 new to me it carried me away. 1 could have 
 fallen upon your bosom and wept before the whole 
 world. Archibald, as I live, I could, with simple 
 joy, at tb.3 change. I never shall forget your looks; 
 your hand trembled your hair was wet, and waving 
 over your temples; your deep blue eyes were 
 strangely dark and mellowed, and your voice went 
 to my heart. I do not remember your words ; I 
 did not hear them ; but the sound I have heard 
 again and again since, in my sleep. I found that I 
 had never known you. I had believed you too am- 
 hiticus to love heartily ; and I was impatient of 
 being loved, with aught less than absolute and un 
 qualified devotion. ,Yqu were diminutive in your 
 person ; it mattered little to me, then, that your soul 
 was the soul of a giant. You were neither hand 
 some nor showy, though the aged, I had seen, stand 
 still before you, and the wise holding their breath ; 
 yet, such was the foolish weakness ol my heart, that 
 when I was surrounded witli taller and handsomer 
 and more fashionable men, I was afraid to acknow 
 ledge any preference for you, even to myself. I 
 loved you; but I was ashamed of it: not ashamed 
 of you no, I was very proud of you. But I could 
 not abide to hive it known among my companions, 
 fiat I had made such a choice. They cowld not 
 Icnow you ; and I have been mortified to tears, more 
 than once, at their jibes, the simpletons! and their 
 raillery, when, had yon but entered the room, you 
 would have put them and all their idols to shame, 
 \vith a single word. Archibald, this is the truth. 
 Do you remember that night, when I sat upon the 
 railing under the pear-tree, and you stood near me ; 
 and I turned away my face, and you asked me, why 
 I refused to arswer you? Yes, you cannot have 
 forgotten it. Tin: truth is this: I had not the 
 mrage to tell the truth; and I could not tell a 
 falsehood. I was very happy. The expression of 
 yaur face was noble; and I was contemplating it, as 
 
 Jou stood looking at the soft, low moon a our left, 
 had forgotten you all the world but you ; when, 
 some devil forced the observation upon me, that you 
 were very short, and lie very tall ; nay, for there 
 you steod before me, that you were so very short 
 (you have grown since,) as not to overtop me much, 
 when you were standing and I sitting. It was this 
 that mads me turn a\\a;. r my face and weep; for I 
 did weep, Archibald. I had been, more than once, 
 on the point of mentioning the walk that I had taken 
 with Clinton, in the simplicity of a young heart, 
 honest and ingenuous ; but a new, strange feeling of 
 shame and discretion prevented me, after I had 
 thought of your stature. I excused the conceal 
 ment to myself so unlike ma, as it was, by saying, 
 that it was not worth the trouble; or that, if it 
 were, it would only make you uneasy : the two- 
 reasons, exactly, which, had I known your temper 
 then as I do now, would have made me tell you. 
 This kept Clinton in my mind. Yet I did not like 
 him showy, and brilliant, and fascinating, as he 
 was allowed to be there was a freedom in his man 
 ners, which I never liked. Yet it was a novelty ; 
 and as he was a general favourite, I could not well 
 bear to throw him utterly off, at once, while I was 
 the subject of universal envy. At last, I was pro 
 voked at your security. You gave yourself no 
 trouble about Clinton. You never asked his uame 
 
 never met him, and, I have since found, never satr 
 him, though he was with me every day. Do yon 
 remember that evening after our pleasure-party 
 upon the Delaware? as you stood upon the bank, 
 and a stranger came up to me, in the dim light of 
 the hour, and took my hand, an 1 bade me good 
 night, with the air of an old acquaintance? Yoa< 
 were silent for a moment or two after he had g me, 
 and stepped back, as you saw him take my hand, in 
 a manner that I thought tame. " Lucia," said you r 
 gravely, when you returned, " he is very intimate 
 with vou." 
 
 " Yes," I replied, willing to tease you a little. 
 
 " Who is he?" said you. 
 
 " O, one of the finest fellows in the world !" I 
 exclaimed, affecting a great deal more enthusiasm 
 than I felt; for, as I h&ye told you before, 1 did not 
 like him "a universal favourite." 
 
 Indeed!" said you, and were silent, until we 
 parted at the door. There you lingered a moment: 
 there you spoke to me. I never shall forget either 
 your look or your words. You may have forgotten 
 both. I dare say that you have, but I never shall 1 . 
 The lamp shone upon your face; it was as pile a* 
 death, and I thought that I could see the traces of 
 weeping about your eyes. My emotions were 
 what? sorrowful ? Oh, no, pleasant beyond all ex 
 pression. It did my heart good to find you so 
 deeply interested in me, so cruelly disturbed. It 
 began to correspond with ray notions of love and 
 dominion. I was a foolish girl then, a coquette by 
 nature. 
 
 " Said you Oh, Archibald ! I think that I can 
 see you now, and hear your low, mournful, deep 
 voice, counselling me over again said you, Lucia, 
 goodnight! goodnight, love. Forgive me for my 
 silence; I have been troubled. I tremble for you 
 I tremble for myself. You are too kind hearted. 
 You form your opinions too hastily. I pray Heaven 
 that you may never have reason to reproach your 
 self for it, nor to to (your voice grew indistinct) 
 good night good night, dear Lucia ! 
 
 " A r ter this I said no more, and thought no more 
 of Clinton. My disposition lu.d altered, and I began 
 to look upon you as my future husband. Yet your 
 solitary, thoughtful habit, your youth, and, above al!, 
 that haughty exterior o ( yours which repelled all 
 kindness that came not from the known hand of two 
 or three, alarmed me. It was at this time, while I 
 truly loved you, but began to doubt whether you 
 loved me, or was capable of loving any woman, OT 
 any thing en earth except your books ; and while the 
 remembrance of your former tenderness had begua 
 to be like that of a dream to me, for my very nature 
 appeared to be changed that Clinton re-appeared. 
 His manner was frank and noble. He dealt fairly 
 with me for a while ; but I did not so with him 
 when I did it was too late. Archibald, I am no 
 wanton. I was never made for a harem or seraglio* 
 God never meant me to be the mistress of any man, 
 I was made for a wife, and a mother. Believe me 
 Oh ! believe me, Archibald, if you would not have 
 my poor heart expire with shame and mortification. 
 At last I found that our intercourse, hitherto so 
 innocent, had begun to assume a mysteriousness that 
 was full of excitement and terror. Wo conversed 
 by signals; we corresponded, before your eyes, and 
 in the presence of the whole family, with books and 
 cards. Yet all this while, though my heart smote 
 me at times, I was not, nor did I mean to bo unfaith 
 ful to you, if you would claim me. But you did 
 not ; you smiled, and your smile was fu 1 of biu 
 temess. Clinton persuaded me that it wa& contempt. 
 
He pretended to love me, to counsel me ; and I had 
 already gone too far, much too far, not to be growing 
 giddy with the peril of my course. At last Oh, 
 Archibald ! I could weap myself blind at the thought ; 
 but it has been told once, and I can only allude to 
 it. I was not fully aware of ray danger till I found 
 that, should he forget himself, I had no hope left. 
 He was in my room ; how should that be explained ? 
 Again he was there, and again for I dared not pio- 
 voke him ; yet I was not altogether unworthy no, 
 not then, nor no, Archibald, not till, faint with 
 excess of terror and passion from some slight of 
 yours, I awoke from a troubled dream about you, 
 and found myself in the arms of a man. I shrieked 
 
 " No matter, you have known it all. But you do 
 not know that he, he alone, prevented me from de- 
 stroying myself. What could I do? I did not 
 lore" him. But could I ever look you, whom I did 
 love, in the face again ? never, never. I was a 
 guilty creature, but not guilty : oh! no, not guilty to 
 the consummation of my shame. I I how I am 
 able to write it at all is a matter of wonder to me. 
 I am astonished at my own calmness. But bear 
 with me for a moment, that you may know the whole 
 truth. 
 
 " I loved you more than ever, because I felt that 
 I was unworthy of you; that I had injured you. 
 Clinton was penitent, I am sure terribly penitent ; 
 for he offered me immediately all the atonement in 
 his power, upon his knees. I took one night to 
 think of it only one, and resolved to marry him 
 aye, though it was like lashing myself to something 
 detestable after this event. Yes, and I should have 
 married him, but for his own perverse, foolish, and 
 precipitate nature. He triumphed too easily. I 
 might be humbled, surprised, shamed, but 1 could 
 not be trampled on. I awoke as from a trance. I 
 compared you together. I wondered at my infatua 
 tion, wept," and prayed. From that hour my resolu 
 tion was formed; happen what would, I would not 
 marry him, nor you, nor any body die, if there 
 were no other means of concealing joy shame and 
 " But Heaven hath seen fit to spare me tbp guilt 
 of murder the guilt of self-murder the blood of 
 innocence, my own blood. You slew him. I for 
 give you for it. I forgave you then; though I I 
 would have protected him at the peril of my life ; 
 for, hateful as he was to me on some accounts for his 
 ruffian passion, yet on others he was very dear to 
 me, as the only husband that I should ever wed. 
 After this, it was owing to yourself, to your own 
 continued importunity, that I told the secret. I 
 could not kill you ; I did not scorn you. I could 
 not bear that you should believe my refusal of you 
 to be owing to my horror of Clinton s murderer, 
 as you were pleased to call yourself, nor to my love 
 of "Clinton. Nay, there may have been another 
 feeling, not so praiseworthy as the desire of dealing 
 With truth, to influence me. I knew that I had done 
 that which few women upon this earth, since its 
 : creation, could have done, or would, and I was 
 willing that you should know it. I knew that your 
 , blood would thrill, your eyes flash fire, that you 
 might go mad at the recital ; but I knew also for 
 your nature is known to me better than to any other 
 living creature 1 am sure that you would, if you 
 survived the shock, feel a passion for me altogether 
 more sublime and elevating than that of love : it 
 would be wender and admiration. I have lived to 
 find that true. I can now die contented. You have 
 been willing to espouse me. Archibald, I thank 
 God that I have lived to hear the proposal, to see it 
 
 in black and white. I never should have believer! 
 it else. But I thank God yet more devoutly that he 
 has given me the strength to resist the temptation, 
 and to say, as I do say no, Archibald, no ! did I 
 love thee less, it might be. But I will bear children 
 to no man who cannot lay his hands upon their fore- 
 head and pray to God that they may resemble their 
 mother. LUCIA. 
 
 " Farewell ! I do pray that we may depart to- 
 getlier. Farewell ! * 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 What are these mighty phantoms which I see 
 Floating around me ? * * *" 
 
 * * # # ( # # 
 
 Haughty, and high, and beautiful, and full 
 
 Of seeming strength. CAIN.. 
 
 Not long after this conversation, wilhin two or 
 three days, I believe, for I remember well that the 
 pleasant eyes of Ellen were near me, and I was 
 comparing them with the mysterious loveliness of 
 Lucia s, who had just been weeping as I held her 
 hands, and blessed her with all my soul for her nobla 
 and generous confidence, wondei ing, as I did, that 
 she should look so beautiful even yet; so pure and 
 hallowed that I dared not breathe, even to her, 
 another word upon the tale of sorrow there came 
 several letters, chiefly dated anterior to the packet 
 of which I have already spoken, and one which wa& 
 dated since. That was from Copely. It related a 
 terrible disaster to our cavalry, and ran thus: 
 
 " We have had the devil to pay. Archibald is i 
 taken prisoner. Arthur narrowly escaped; with \ 
 two or three sabre cuts, not worth mentioning. Sir j 
 Henry Clinton is carrying all before him; and poor 
 Sullivan, never was mortal man so put to it! not 
 withstanding his generalship, he is tied up, hand 
 and foot, by Cornwallis and Clinton. We were sent 
 out, with a few hundred regulars, and a lew rascally 
 militia, to keep open a route at Monk s Corner, for 
 Lincoln to retreat by when he could do no better* 
 ButTarleton, would that Arthur or Archibald could 
 meet him, face to face, for a few minutes : rny notion 
 is, that he would never get through his six divisions 
 again. I say nothing for myself, for this twistof my 
 neck has become confoundedly troublesome of late 
 and I am nothing to bo compared with Archibald, as 
 a swordsman. By the way Archibald looks alto- 
 gether better than when we wrote last, and we begin 
 to have hope; but he has none or if he have any, 
 he will not own it ; he only smiles, patiently, when 
 we speak of what may be, like one that feels the 
 principles of vitality going out, one after the other, 
 in his heart." 
 
 " But, to the scuffle. General Clinton thought fit,, 
 the day before yesterday, to pack oil about fifteen 
 hundred men to bring us in dead or alive. Tarls- 
 ton legion was with them a legion of devils, to- 
 be sure; for he rides over horse and foot, with them 
 at his heels. But, we shall remember him, and, if 
 it be God s will, there may be a change of wiad 
 one day or other. 
 
 " The first intelligence that we had of his approach 
 was the sight of three of our videttes, at full speed ; 
 two of whom were cut down in our sight, and the 
 third followed into camp; we had no time to do ojar 
 duty. We were literally ridden down. The bullet* 
 
126 
 
 THE NOVEL NEWSPAPER. 
 
 r attled aboat our harness like hnil, for a moment ; 
 .aid then, before we could make a movement, or 
 .g.iin ground enough for a charge, half our men 
 were unhorsed and rolling in the dirt, Arthur 
 amongst the rest ; but he gave a pretty account, I 
 -aoi told, of three or four of the fellows about him. 
 They rode down, all at once, upon him; and there 
 they are yet. Our troop broke ; and, by the trumpet, 
 were ordered to the woods, whence most of them 
 escaped under Colonel Washington. But Archibald, 
 after having rallied a few, was attracted by the cries 
 of women to one of the dwellings ; he stove in the 
 dodr of the house, and rode through and through it, 
 with about a dozen men ; and there, in the heat and 
 moke, on horseback and on foot, with the pistols 
 ringing at his ears, the enemy without firing in the 
 windows, and the wretched women within shriek- 
 ing in the arms of their ravishers, the gallant, glorious 
 Archibald set fire to the house; slew, with his own 
 hand one of the ruffians ; and, amid a general hourra 
 and explosion, rescued three lovely creatures, in the 
 moment of their extremes! peril. But the rescue 
 was only from the flame and smoke ; the roof fell in, 
 ere the brave fellows had cleared the garden wall; 
 and three or four of their horses, that were actu- 
 j ally within the house, came thundering through the 
 I sides of it, their manes all on fire, and furniture 
 ringing, and the enemy, who gave way for a moment, 
 and held up their hands, at the terrible beauty of 
 the spectacle, immediately contracted about him 
 and his few followers, reduced to five or six now, 
 on foot, and about as many more on horseback, and 
 ifeook them prisoners. He fought to the last moment ; 
 and fell, at length, exhausted with blood, and stifled 
 with heat. But we have heard, not ten minutes ago, 
 that he is in no danger. It is for that reason that I 
 write you. I was unwilling to begin a letter, until I 
 knew his fate. He is the talk of the whole army ; 
 nay, of the two armies. They say that his beautiful 
 hair was burnt olf ; his clothes burnt to a coal; and 
 that one of the women whom he saved is a creature 
 of singular beauty and but hush, we shall be dream 
 ing treason, before we know it. It is too late now, 
 I am sure, for beauty to dream of sharing in the 
 -dominion of death. Yet bear up ; let him die ! let 
 me die ! let us all die ! it is nothing nothing, so 
 that we have done worthily. Let us learn to look 
 death in the face. It is cowardly to shut our eyes. 
 Arthur, as I told you, had a nar#>w escape. He had 
 a dear friend slaughtered under his very eyes ; but 
 Arthur avenged him; and poor Bernie (Major 
 Bernie was his name ) was literally swimming in 
 the blood of his murderers, before Arthur would per 
 mit himself to think of safety ; but then, a horse 
 happened to dash by him, a noble beast, he is before 
 the tent nov Arthur sprang into the saddle, under 
 a shower of balls from the infantry, and before a 
 dozen horsemen ; but he escaped, and joined us with 
 in an hour. 
 
 " I had a strange dream last night. I hope that 
 it is true. Give the enclosed to Ellen ; and, if it be 
 not true, bid her to pray for me, that it may be, if 
 not now that is, if it be too late, now that it may 
 be true at some future day. I dreamt that I was a 
 father ; that my babe was a boy a giant, with the 
 palest blue eyes in the world; and a lip the young 
 rascal ! so like his mother s that, when the rough 
 hand of Arthur past over my mouth, to awaken me, 
 for another battle I kissed it again and again, un 
 der the notion that it was Emma s. What shall be 
 his name Archibald, I say. 
 
 " And how conies on your little ones? If I re- 
 member rightly, John, you were in the hope of some ( 
 
 young horsemen, born, I suppose, saddled and bri 
 dled I I curse it, I cannot trifle. That girl has 
 spoilt me. I must stop it may be it may O 
 God, have compassion upon me, and avert the omen; 
 it may be, that while I am jesting about my boy, 
 I have neither boy nor girl nor wife Oadley, 
 farewell I cannot write another line, my heart is 
 
 too full. Write ! in mercy, write I 
 
 " San tee, April 16, 1780. COPELY." 
 
 The letter to Ellen, and one which we received 
 the same day for Mary, contained an account of ano 
 ther affair with the cavalry, in which Copely had 
 been wounded, and about forty of our men cut to 
 pieces, or taken prisoners, by the impetuous Tarle- 
 ton. Lincoln too was vehemently pressed. Anfl, 
 ere we could recover from these apprehensions, there 
 came, successively, to us the account uf Lincoln s 
 surrender; the humiliating terms imposed upon, 
 him ; and the destruction of a part of the Virginia 
 line, by Tarleton, who behaved in a manner, for 
 which there is no deubt that he has been haunted 
 by devils ever since no man ever deserved it better. 
 It was a scene of merciless, cold-blooded, taunting 
 butchery. The men of his troop literally practised 
 their cuts upon our unarmed, bare-headed, and kneel 
 ing militia, after they had surrendered thrusting 
 them through the face, and hacking, piece after piece, 
 from their arms and legs. 
 
 All this looked so like having overrun the country, 
 that Sir Henry Clinton, after a few more depreda 
 tions of a like nature, determined to return to New 
 York. Mistaken man ! the elements of death were 
 concocting in silence. Disasters made us stronger. 
 We fell, only to .rise, like Anta3iis, with renewed 
 power. It was success that ruined us enervated 
 us calamity only made us the more terrible. 
 
 Tiie tories of the south had been overrated ; the 
 republicans much underrated. They were impa 
 tient for a trial of strength. A general dissatis 
 faction began to prevail under the administering 
 loyalty of Cornwallis. The countenances of men 
 looked stern their hands were clenched, and 
 these symptoms of a troubled spirit were pu 
 nished and denounced, as downright rebellion. 
 Gates had been ordered to the south. The sun 
 broke out : but Gates was defeated shamefully 
 defeated, and a series of calamities and disheart 
 ening events followed, in such rapid succession, 
 at the south, that I began to think seriously of 
 mounting my horse again, and, feeble as I was, 
 leaving all that gloved, helpless and alone, be 
 hind me, to stiike one more blow at the enemy, 
 though I died for it. 
 
 Then came the treachery of Arnold ; the exe 
 cution of Andre ; the trial of General Gates ; the 
 operation of Greene at the south offering a 
 changeable map, of encouragement and terror, to 
 the eyes of our stout-bearted countrymen. 
 
 Still we had no news from Archibald ; nay, we 
 knew not whether he was living or dead. But 
 Washington was in negotiation for an exchange 
 of prisoners ; and our cavalry, at the south, had 
 begun to retaliate upon Tarleton. 
 
 At last, there was a dreary interval of some 
 months, during which we heard no direct intel 
 ligence whatever from Arthur, Copely, or Archi 
 bald. Our apprehension became terrible. We 
 were sick at the heart, and Heaven only knowg 
 what might have happened to us, had not a line 
 in Arthur s hand come to us at last, as we sat 
 together, on a cold, wintry evening, the first of 
 
March, 1781. Let that evening never be for 
 gotten in our blood or name never ! Let it be a 
 jubilee. My heart bounds now, at the thought of 
 our rapid and tumultuous transition, from des 
 pondency to joy. We have set it apart, for tears, 
 and prayer, and thanksgiving. 
 
 My boy was about a year old ; as heavy and 
 fine a little fellow as ever cuddled in the bosom of 
 a mother. We were weary and cold. Poor Clara 
 sat near me, upon a low stool leaning her elbow 
 upon my knee, and rocking the cradle, where 
 Copely s little daughter and poor James lay, 
 cheek to cheek, breathing like matted honey 
 suckles. Ellenor, whose whole character had 
 changed of late to a deeper melancholy and ap- 
 prehensiveness , was gazing all the while upon her 
 babe ; her sweet eyes running over with invo- 
 luntary tears; and Lucia, the blessed sufferer, 
 was reading aloud to us from the Bible : her 
 voice, always full of pathos and tenderness ; her 
 modulation, always full of delicate and ex 
 pressive sensibility ; her tones and emphasis al 
 ways those of passion, simplicity, and eloquence, 
 as the subject demanded either the one or the 
 other were now so sweet and thrilling, that we 
 sat and listened to her, with our lips apart, as to 
 music coming out of the grass. 
 
 "What a source of perpetual consolation it 
 is," said Mrs. Arnauld, laying her hand reve 
 rently upon the blessed book. 
 
 " Yes," said her husband, in a low voice ; 
 "weak and erring as we are; full of infirmities; 
 liable to transgression and sorrow, from the 
 cradle to the grave ; yet, is there in that book, 
 what he, who has once tasted of it though 
 broken-hearted and abandoned of all the world, 
 \vill never forget ; but will turn to, like the un- 
 weaned child to the bosom, whence it hath drawn 
 its nourishment, and draw it again, while tears 
 and sobs are choking him. Lucia! dear Lucia, 
 what troubles you ? 
 
 A faint smile played over her pallid features ; 
 and I saw that the picture which her father had 
 drawn, of a child nestling in the bosom of a 
 mother, drawing warmth and life from the sweet 
 fountain of the pure in hear<t; and the two sleep 
 ing babes before her were it was not envy ; 
 yet, there was a sorrowful sweetness in the dark 
 of her eyes, which told me, but too plainly, what 
 was the cause of that trouble which her father 
 spoke of. 
 
 " Dear Lucia," said my mother, leaning over 
 
 her lap, and looking her in the face ; " lead on. 
 
 /There we may find consolation ; they that have 
 
 | leaned upon a spear may be healed there ; they 
 
 that are broken and bruised, may find wine and 
 
 Oil there ; the flower of the grass that perisheth ; 
 
 I the beauty, that the sun and the wind have scat- 
 
 Vtered, may revive again, if nay, dear, why do 
 
 you weep ? our sorrow is not past bearing." 
 
 Mr. Arnauld arose, and walked up to his 
 daughter, and stood by her side, and pressed her 
 white, transparent forehead to his bosom. 
 
 "Lucia!" he said, in a voice almost inarticu 
 late with emotion ; " why will you break my 
 heart? Am I to stand for ever before my wasting 
 child, and see her fading away dying, hour by 
 hour, of some mysterious malady, which I I 
 Lucia, I Take comfort, my child take com 
 fort. It is good for us to be afflicted. We know 
 nothing evil yet, with certainty. I do not at 
 tempt to flatter you, I cannot ; there is little 
 
 SEVENTY-SIX. 127 
 
 ground for hope. I say it to all of you, my chil. 
 dren ; and, while I invite you nil to join with me, 
 and, laying your hands together, upon that book, 
 to put up your petitions for their safety, to Him 
 that watcheth over the widow and the orphan ; 
 while I do this ; nay, while I say to you, in the 
 sincerity of my heart a broken heart, my dear 
 ones broken by your sorrow, and crashed by the 
 weight of ancient transgression let us be pre 
 pared for the worst the worst ! yet, do I en 
 treat you to remember, that God is good ; that 
 all his ways are best and wisest ; that arise my 
 children, and let us kneel together ! and once 
 more pray for them that are away, in the battle, 
 or in the place of death." 
 
 We did kneel. We knelt together, and we 
 prayed together, till the sound of sobbing and 
 distress grew fainter and fainter ; and were just 
 rising, with the tears of penitence and submission 
 upon our cheek, when a tap was heard at the door.- 
 
 Some little disorder followed ; for the best are 
 more than half ashamed to be caught at their de 
 votion, and it was some moments before the door 
 was opened, and a stranger, treading, and looking 
 like a soldier, entered, cap in hand, holding a 
 letter to Mr. Arnauld. 
 
 "Sit down, my friend, 1 said Mr. Arnauld to 
 him, as a faint cry broke from every lip in the 
 room, except mine; but the stranger remained 
 standing. 
 
 Mr. Arnauld took the letter ; while the dark 
 eye of the veteran, (for, though he was a middle- 
 aged man, and evidently of the ranks, there was- 
 the air and authority of age upon him,j went, 
 slowly, from face to face of the little group about 
 him, without any chaiige of expression, till it 
 lighted upon Lucia ; when his lip trembled, and 
 he put his hand into his bosom, aad then hesi 
 tated, and sat down, as if undecided whether to 
 speak or not. 
 
 " My children, "said Mr. Arnauld, in a pleasant 
 tone ; " the handwriting is one that I know ; 
 nay nay be patient compose yourselves. Are 
 you prepared ? It is the writing of " 
 
 A murmur dropped from all their lips, except 
 Lucia s : she sat like a marble woman like some 
 thing over which life and death emotion and 
 change, had lost their power. 
 
 " Of Arthur Rodman." 
 
 " O, my husband ! my husband !" said Mary, 
 who had not opened her mouth before, and then, 
 fell back into her chair, almost powerless. 
 
 The stranger passed the back of his large hand 
 athwart his eyes, and shook the March rain out 
 of the bear-skin cap that he held in his hand, 
 and compressed his lip with a loud hem, as if that 
 rain had blinded him, and then sat down. 
 
 Mr. Arnauld read the letter, his agitation 
 growing at every line more aud more evident,, 
 till, at last, the letter fell from his hands, while 
 the tears were running out of his shut eyes, as if 
 his very heart were overflowing with pleasure and 
 thankfulness. 
 
 Mary moved timidly toward the letter, looking; 
 up to him, with her lips apart, as if fearing a 
 reproof. 
 
 " Nay nay, dear," said Mr. Arnauld, catching- 
 her hands, " nay I cannot bear, that you should 
 be the first to know what has happened." 
 
 He then took up the letter, and began to read j 
 while we sat hand in hand, holding by each other; 
 
THE NOVEL NEWSPAPER. 
 
 and feeling every pleasant word, at the same mo- 
 sment, like a thrill of electricity. 
 (The Letter.) 
 
 * I am well very well. We have retaliated 
 upon the enemy, and I shall get leave, if I can, to 
 visit you " 
 
 Mr.ry s head fell upon the bosom of my 
 mother. 
 
 " We have had a severe battle, and beaten 
 Tarleton like men. The particulars 1 have .no 
 time to relate. The bearer, my friend 
 
 The stranger shifted his position, and appeared 
 uneasy crossed his legs, and played with the 
 collar of his coat. 
 
 " To whom you will prove, I believe, that you 
 know how to appreciate the favour, has saved my 
 life. He will tell you all about it -" 
 
 " No, he won t," said the stranger, muttering 
 impatiently, while Mary arose, and tottered to 
 him. 
 
 " I I " said she, " I do not ask your name 
 but, (giving to him her two hands, while his 
 strong features and dark eyes were illuminated 
 *vith surprise and delight,) you saxed the life of 
 my husband. God will reward you for it ! I will 
 [ will you accept of this this, to remember 
 ma by," (offering him a locket, that she wore.) 
 
 The stranger started back, and stood haughtily 
 before her. 
 
 "No, ma am no! I ll accept of nothing. I 
 did my duty I Yes I will I Give me a little 
 lock o your hair. I my children shall have it ; 
 and when your children want their blood, they 
 shall have that." 
 
 My mother clipped off a lock, and put it into 
 his hand?. 
 
 The soldier, -uith a look of embarrassment, that 
 Eftt amazingly well upon his sunburnt countenance, 
 while Mr. Arnauld smiled, was about packing it 
 a\vay in some old continental money, ragged and 
 dirty; when a sudden thought seemed to strike 
 him ; he laid down his cap, stood over it, swung 
 his arms to and fro for a moment, and then broke 
 out into the following strange, broken, but feeling 
 ejaculation 
 
 "No no twon t do twon t do mustn t 
 find it there Say what may come o this ? Faith, 
 1M1 give it to him! No, I won t. Will he like it ? will 
 he? What! haven t I paid dear enough for it? by 
 p shaw what o 1 that! hu d save my life, too. 
 No, I won t have it can t keep it take it back. 
 I sh.a 1 lose it if I m taken, or killed in battle ; and 
 then stop I ll hide it here, (ripping open his 
 sv;ord-belt, as if utterly unconscious that there 
 was another soul within hearing,) there 1 there ! 
 now let any man touch me or the major or the 
 csp un or the cap un s wife or ah, pretty 
 creatures! (stooping to the cradle,) ah, God bless 
 them ! so like my little biddies chuck ! chuck ! 
 which is youi n? if I maybe so bold. I lord! 
 that s he I d know my cap un s boy among a 
 thousand chuck! chuck! bobby! chuck! 
 
 Who could forbear laughing ? The honest fel 
 low s eyes were running over; and he had kUse;l 
 Eilen s little daughter twenty times, b fore we 
 had leisure to remark the reddening confusion cf 
 the mother ; or the sweet embarrassment of 
 Ellen, who had twice put out her hand to pluck 
 him away from the cradle ; and then withdrew it 
 quietly, trembling and colouring from head to foot. 
 "Hey, Rodman, hey! my fine fellow! Faith! 
 .as^iteas two peas. Eyesl nose hair bo, Rod 
 
 man ! chuck ! The whole troop ould know you. 
 The very picture of the captain ! Gorry ! what a 
 fellow for a saddle ! 
 
 This was too much ; we all laughed together, 
 to see the little girl sitting upon his arm, as he 
 caught her out of the cradle, and began tossing 
 her about ; while her sweet eyes were just be 
 ginning to fill, and her face to pucker, in the blaze 
 of the fire-light, and the natural fretfulness of 
 children, when waked out of a sound sleep. Yet 
 she did not cry ; perhap?, because she was too 
 much terrified ; or, perhaps, the incessant motion, 
 of his arms prevented her. But at last, Mr. 
 Arnauld was fain to interfere ; just, it was evident, 
 as she was beginning to clear her pipesfor a squall; 
 and the mother sat laughing, for the first time for 
 many a week, as if she would kill herself, at the 
 confusion of Mary. 
 
 "My good friend," said Mr. Arnauld, looking 
 as seriously as he could, and placing the little 
 creature in the arms of Ellen, where, after turn 
 ing its eyes for a moment at the stranger, like a 
 mouse that has escaped from a cat, and quivering 
 all over, with its little mouth wide open, its pretty 
 head fell on one side, and it was sobbing itself 
 asleep immediately. " My good friend I " 
 
 And there he stopped, as if unwilling to mortify 
 the honest fellow, by a disclosure of so untimely a 
 truth ; " have you supped ? 
 
 " No, sir, that I haven t ; not a mouthful has 
 entered my jaws since yesterday morning." 
 
 A table was instantly spread ; and Mr. Arnauld 
 continued reading the letter. 
 
 " His name is Hanson. The particulars of the 
 letter he will detail to you. Archibald has struck 
 a blow that 
 
 " Archibald," said all of us, together. 
 
 Hush ! hush !" said Mr. Arnauld, seeing that 
 we were about to overwhelm Hanson with ques 
 tions; "let him finish his meal, and then you 
 shall worry him to your heart s content." 
 
 " By your leave, said Hanson, falling at once 
 upon a loaf, as it passed him on the waiter, 
 " Let me draw my rations in my own way. 
 
 " Certainly, certainly," said Mrs. Arnauld, 
 assisting to arrange the table, while Mr. Arnauld 
 continued to read as follows 
 
 " Archibald has struck a blow, that the enemy 
 will never forget to his dying day. The affair 
 of Monk s Corner, with twenty other scrapes of the 
 kind, is fairly balanced by this of the Cowpens. 
 Tarleton himself narrowly escaped ; Washington 
 was so close to him at one time, that they ex 
 changed several cuts, with what effect we do not 
 yet know. My last, I hope, apprised you of 
 Archibald s situation. I would have you prepare 
 yourself for a severe shock. You will scarcely 
 know him. 
 
 " Copely cannot write, till his hand is better ; he 
 orders me to say all that mortal man should say 
 to such a pestilent little creature (his very 
 words) as * 
 
 " Me ! I dare say, 1 cried his wife, " but I for 
 give him ; bless the creature, is he well?" 
 
 "Read on, pray read on. my dear sir," said 
 Mary, faintly- ; " what else ? 
 
 I shall write further, before Hanson departs, 
 unlsss " 
 
 Unless what?" said Lucia, seeing her father 
 hesitate, and struggle as if to suppress some vio- 
 ent tumult of joy, while he folded the paper ; 
 father 1 father ! is that all ?" 
 
SEVENlY-SIX. 
 
 129 
 
 Mr. Arnauld shook his head, and turned to 
 Hanson, who sat so as to keep his eye upon the 
 xloor, at which he kept continually glancing, 
 whenever it opened, as if he expected somebody 
 lse to appear ; we saw it, and smiled, for the table 
 was already loaded with fare, and we attributed 
 his anxiety to the natural longing of a famished 
 man ; he said to him. 
 
 " Did you receive any other letter ? 
 
 "No, "said Hanson, significantly "no sir 
 no other letter. 
 
 Mr. Arnauld breathed more audibly ; his whole 
 countenance changed to a natural, steady tran 
 quillity nearly religious. I say nearly, for even 
 in the most pious ministering of Arnauld, upon 
 his knees, there was a want of natural lowliness ; 
 a want of that beautiful truth, which early habit 
 in religious indulgence will produce upon the 
 manner of men ; and which opens a better habit, 
 when the countenance is written ail over with the 
 mysterious and deep language of passion, and 
 passionate thought, aye, and worldly experience, 
 can never entirely predominate, however deeply 
 the heart may be affected. 
 
 i There was a loner and breathless silence of some 
 minutes ; during which there was much pleasant 
 weeping, and pious inward inspiration, interrupted 
 only by the hearty smack of Hanson s lips now 
 and then, as he plucked away the exhausted 
 tankard from his mouth, with a strong hand ; or 
 the rattling of his knife and fork, which, at any 
 other time, in its vivacity, would have diverted us 
 not a little. Many of the flourishes were those 
 of a swordsman, I saw; and, before he threw it 
 down, and drew a long bre-ith pushed back his 
 chair, and wiped his mouth, I should have known 
 that he was a great hand at a sabre. 
 
 "Well," said Mr. Arnauld, looking at Hanson, 
 who, though crowded to the throat with the hearty 
 cheer, could not forbear following every movement 
 of the girl that cleared away the table, with a 
 piteous look, no\v and then shifting his position, 
 sucking his lips, and passing his broad hand down 
 his waistcoat, and sitting more upright, as if he 
 thought that, by a little jolting and good manage 
 ment, he should be able to stow away some odd 
 pounds more, nevertheless. 
 
 It was in vain to ask any questions for some 
 time; his movements were too unsteady; his 
 sorrowful, half-uttered ejaculations were so nu 
 merous, as dish after dish went away, till at last 
 by his continual hitching, he found himself along 
 side of the table again, just as the girl was taking 
 away the large tankard of cider. 
 
 " Stop," said Hanson ; " I can t bear that, my 
 pretty dear; one swallow more," 
 
 The poor girl was in the middle of the apart 
 ment, but seeing him start out of his chair, and 
 wipe his lips with his cuff, and not rightly under 
 standing his motive, and perhaps, too, alarmed at 
 his manner all the while she had been clearing 
 away the table, and thinking that his broken 
 ejaculation had more reference to herself (a natural 
 
 (thought for a young, blooming, country girl) than 
 to the supper, she stood still, with such an aspect 
 of terror and submission, shame and embar 
 rassment, that, when Hanson came near enough 
 to her, and then, instead of kissing her, as she 
 certainly expected, and for which she had prepared 
 herself, to see him catch at the tankard, utterly 
 unconscious of her proximity to it ; and then her 
 mortification it was altogether too much for our 
 THE NOYEL NEWSPAPER, No. 90. 
 
 composure. We could bear it no longer. Here 
 was an excuse, such as we wanted, and the sup 
 pressed laughter of all the evening now broke out 
 all at once, peal after peal, till Mr. Arnauld was 
 fain to put a stop to it by main force. 
 
 " I am really ashamed of you," said he, seeing 
 us all ready to break out again, just as Hanson 
 drew away the tankard from his lips looked into 
 it with a sorrowful eye ; turned it bottom upward ; 
 counted the drops that fell (shaking his head all 
 the while) and then returned it to the poor girl, 
 whom, I verily believe, he had not seen till then, 
 for the colour ran instantly all over his face, and 
 he made an awkward military bow and scrape, 
 which somewhat appeased poor Kitty. 
 
 What was this affair of the Cowpen ?" said 
 Mr. Arnauld. " Were you there ?" 
 
 "Were I there? Yes. I ll tell him capital 
 cider that capital !" 
 
 " Another tankard," said Arnauld, nodding to 
 Kitty as she went out. 
 
 " D ye see," continued Hanson sitting erecting 
 his chair, and following the girl with his eyes ; 
 " d ye see, we d got into a hobble ; trenched up 
 Cornwallis was arter us on one side, Leslie on 
 t other, and Tarleton, fiend take him 1 he was 
 galloping all over the country ; so Morgan backed 
 out, and we d got to the Cowpens. Hanson, 
 said the major to me. I was always a favourite 
 with the major after we escaped from the 
 enemy ?" 
 
 " Major who? said Arnauld. 
 
 "Why, Major Oadley, said Hanson, to be 
 sure." 
 
 " What ! is he a major ? I thought that he was 
 only a captain." 
 
 " You mean his brother, Capt un Jonathan : I 
 mean Major Major Archibald. Pray, ma am, 
 (seeing Lucia turn pale) may be you re his wife, 
 that he used to talk about in his fever his ah 
 very well! i say nothen ; but Archibald Oadley 
 is the boy, what might make any woman turn pale 
 he he hey? I -" 
 
 " You spoke of his escape. How was it ? 
 
 Well (the yankees, and Hanson was a yankee, 
 had the practice of prefacing almost every remark, 
 and every question and every answer, then, as 
 now, with a well or a why) after he got well, they 
 let him go out on parole ; and one night some of 
 em run off, and he might a gone but he wouldn t 
 out pon honour, he said so he wouldn t 
 never mind em they braced him up served him, 
 all the same as the rest now look out, said he 
 I m clear o my word, now keep me if you can- 
 so, not a week after we escaped. See here 
 (showing his wrist), I had a bayonet through, there 
 and here, and here. The balls whistled like 
 hail ; they sent hundreds arter us through the 
 bushes, but we got clear guns!" 
 
 "When was this, Hanson ?" 
 
 " Well about let me see August s one- 
 September s two October say six months." 
 
 "Six months? and why did he not write? 7 
 said I. 
 
 41 Why ; he did write, I saw him write a dozen 
 letters to you ; and you (bowing archly to Lucia), 
 you, for he cried like a child, when I beg pardou 
 capital cider ! guns ! what cider." 
 
 Never mind, 1 said Mr. Arnauid, smiling ; " so 
 now for the battle." 
 
 "Well, 1 said the major, says he, speaking to 
 me, " Hanson, damn my blood 
 
130 
 
 THE NOVEL NEWSPAPER. 
 
 "Does he swear?" said Lucia. 
 
 "Why no, only -with his eyes don t say that 
 he said, damn my blood, maa m ; but he looked 
 looked it, ma am, as plain as as two and two 
 mal es four. Guns! how he flourished his sword 
 about best broadsword in the army says he, 
 Hanson, we must score off some o their cuts ? what 
 say you? If Tarleton should full in our way, re 
 member who used to starve us while we were 
 prisoners ; and curse us, and beat us, and leave us 
 rotting in our filth and uastiuess, with bread full 
 of pounded glass, and maggotty meat that made 
 the water hiss when it touched it. Guns ! give it 
 ten yards o &tart, and I d bet on it agin a three 
 year old cat. You couldn t keep it still, couldn t 
 catch it. So we were all on horseback ; had just 
 come in and Morgan wasjust encampingonour left. 
 All at once hourra ! we heard a number of seat- 
 term shot, and^seed two or tiiree of our videttes 
 scampering, like devils, up the dill, and along the 
 bank of the river then t\vo or three volleys. 
 Tarlctcn! Tarleton! cried the major. 
 
 " Tarleton! Tarleton!" bawltd the troop. 
 In less than five miuutes, Colonel Washington, 
 Lieutenant-Colonel Copely, and Captain Rudman 
 came to their places, crying, " Remember the 
 prison ship! remember Monk s Corner ! remem 
 ber the Tories!" when Tarieton broke down upon 
 our rear, and we were stunned with the artille ry. 
 I say nothin,sir, notion of v>hat 1 saw, except 
 that, in the thick o the battle, when you could 
 see the faces of cur troop, through the smoke, by 
 the sparkles of their own swords I heard Colonel 
 Copely laughin ; and saw him, as he cut down 
 a tall fellow close by me, rein up, and burst out i 
 into a loud laugh at one of the biuudering rascals, j 
 who haa just exchanged a cut with him, and then 
 rid off, frightened out of his wits. Captain Rod- 
 man loo, did famously ; but the major ! well 
 Guns ! how he rattled auay at em ! hey. no quar 
 ter, none! It soon became a race, whoop! Morgan s 
 riflemen peppered em, fore and aft, well; the 
 horse tumbled together in heaps ; while Colonel 
 Hov\Hid, the Maryland boy, with some of the raw 
 Virginians, blazed away before them, so that the 
 horses were frightened with the noise. We killed 
 bout a hundred of em ; took five hundred pri. 
 soners, and some dragoon horses about a nun 
 dred, was just what we wanted. So, you see, 
 they got a sound drubbin." 
 
 "And how long was this? how long ago?" 
 said Mr. Artiauld. 
 
 41 Why, there was a matter of " 
 
 Another tap was heard at the door. 
 
 * I pray you, ladies," said Hanson, jumping up, 
 with a change of deportment that startled us ; 
 " I pray you, be prepared fora serious trial ;" to 
 which. Mr. Araauld noddtd. 
 
 The door opened. 
 
 " Rodman! Rodman! Arthur! Arthur!" 
 shouted all of us, at the same moment, while, 
 after a little interval, another faint voice followed: 
 * l O, Arthur! Arthur! my husband!" 
 
 " Mary! lo,ve!" said the princely fellow, put 
 ting us all aside with his arms, and rushing to his 
 wife, and taking her out from the midst of us, 
 like a giant, and standing over her, like one 
 tranced ; while she clung about his neck and 
 sobbed aloud. 
 
 There was not a dry eye in the room ; not 
 one ! 
 _ -Hanson himself snuffled, and unbuttoned his 
 
 jacket ; while Arthur, hearing nobody, seeing 
 nobody but Mary, stood over her, holding her cold 
 face to his bosom, and watching the bright tears 
 that trickled over htr lip*. 
 
 What could we do ? we were a family of love ; 
 all our sorrow, and all the sources of it, were 
 known alike to all ; all I should say, save one ; the 
 sorrow of Lucia was her own : untold, unguessed 
 at, but by me. We would have left the newly 
 met ; the desolate ; the widowed and widow, to 
 weep, if it might be, with joy, unprofaned by our 
 presence ; but, no, we had no time for it. 
 
 Arthur was standing erect, his majestic person. 
 abundantly heightened by Ins close uniform and 
 martial carriage ; his browned features radiant 
 with, intelligence ; arid his soldier-like head and 
 manner, as he stood upright, before his delicate, 
 timid, and innocent Mary, who looked so lovingly, 
 so implt ringly up to him, absolutely awed us. I 
 was half afraid to speak to him. How he had 
 changed ! " How know we," said the eyes of oue 
 to another, " how know we that he is the same Ar 
 thur Rodman whom we knew ? nay, he is not the 
 same ; he is an altered man ; sterner and taller ; 
 even his beautiful hair is withered and blighted ; 
 his voice too, that is not the voice of his boy 
 hood." 
 
 " Keaven bless you all, 1 said he, recollecting 
 for the firat time that his trooper s harness was 
 yet upon him; his tall ruffian cap that darkened 
 half the room; and that he was drenched with the 
 cold, uncomfortable rain of the season. So, 
 throwing aside his sword and ca;j, he seated 
 himself, just as he used to, before our great lire, 
 and rubbed his knees, with that expression of 
 comfort, which we see in them that have travelled 
 long in the wind, his face flushed, his heart fuJ, 
 and every eye glistening upon him, and every 
 tongue unable to articulate one of a thousand 
 questions that it had meditated. 
 
 " Supper!" said Mrs. Arnauld, " supper 
 again ?" 
 
 " Yes," said Hanson, " if you Avould save 
 troub e, you will let it stand all nijht long there 
 may be other guests," significantly. 
 
 Oh, replied Mr. Arnauld, taking wut the letter 
 again, and reading a line or two, which he had 
 omitted; " no; he says nothing of the others 
 can it be ? 
 
 Hanson nodded, and Lucia turned deadly pale, 
 as we heard the trampling of hoofs by tne win 
 dow, and the ring of a broadsword upon the 
 flagged pavement in the yard, as if somebody leaped 
 down from a horse. 
 
 " Archibald," cried she, starting from her 
 chair. 
 
 " O, no, no! it is my husband ! mine !" shrieked 
 Ellen, rushing forward, with her girl in her arms, 
 just as Copely entered. 
 
 Here was another blow for us. What were we 
 to think 1 Our hearts and eyes reeled at his 
 entrance ; might there not be another, yet an 
 other! our lips were all apart, as Copely caught 
 his wife and babe at the same moment. 
 
 " Nell! by Jupiter," he cried, laughing? 
 " why, what is the simpleton crying at? Whose 
 brat is that? mine 1 mine! hourra! hourra!" 
 Saying this, he caught the little girl in his arms, 
 and began capering about the room like a mad 
 creature, laughing and kissing it by turns, lor 
 several minutes, while Ellen ran after him, en 
 deavouring to catch at the child, and half choked 
 
SEVENTY-SIX. 
 
 131 
 
 by her own sobs : and Hanson clapped his hands, 
 and tumbled over tables and chairs in his rapture, 
 imitating, unconsciously, as if he had an iuvisiole 
 babe in his own arms, every movement of Copely, 
 as he ran, hither and thither, tossing: the child 
 about. 
 
 Another step, a I Imow not what she saw ; 
 but Lucia tottered through the door rushed out 
 into the rain and darkness ; and, a few minutes 
 after, we heard her fall, aad a faint groan reached 
 us. 
 
 Her father ran out : and while we stood await 
 ing her return, aid wondering at her sudden de 
 lirium the two husbands unable to move, from 
 their clinging wives, Archibald came in faint and 
 pale following Mr. Arnauld, with the lifeless 
 body of Lucia in his arms, just as I had seen them 
 years before. 
 
 I was appalled. Archibald looked like a ghost 
 so pnla so ghastly pale, and thin ; but withal, 
 strangely beautiful ; as if, while his body thinned 
 and \vaaed, the spirit of him became more visible 
 as if, the nearer it was to death, the body became 
 but tbe mo -e aad more intensely animate with his 
 spirit. It was, as if his heart and soul were 
 trasp.irent before me. 
 
 Lucia s insensibility continued so long, that we 
 were all thrown into a stillness and consternation, 
 so terrible, as to prevent our recognition of each 
 other. 
 
 " She is dead," said Archibald, with a patient 
 lifting of his deep blue eyes; " she is dead, bro 
 ther" 
 
 I took his hind. It was cold as death ; and 
 when I looked upon his face, the wan forehead 
 hollowed temples, ridged all over with his large 
 blue veins his fresh lips, alternately white as 
 ashes, and then of a deep b ood colour, as the 
 rapid emotion of his heart came and went, hither 
 and thither, over his face I felt as if I were 
 suffocating. 
 
 " Yes, yes," he replied, in a low voice, bend 
 ing down, over the broken-hearted mother, upon 
 whose lap the beautiful, dead face of his beloved 
 lay, like that of one suddenly struck down in 
 prayer. " O Lucia! " 
 
 Her eyelids quivered at the sound of his voice : 
 a sweet smile broke, like that of a sleeping infant, 
 about her gentle lips, hitherto so haughty ; and 
 their motion was audible, as if thsy articulated his 
 name. 
 
 All eyes were upon her : all, I should say, but 
 those of Hanson, who unable to support the ter 
 rible conflict longer, had withdrawn, leaving us, like 
 mourners, standing about the blessed sufferer, as 
 she lay lifeless helpless, and worn out. 
 
 " Lucia ! O, Lucia! 1 said Archibald, holding 
 her hand to his heart, with convulsive eagerness ; 
 and stooping over her, as if to catch the first 
 murmur of her mouth. 
 
 She drew a long breath, half opened her eyes, 
 while the tears ran slowly down through her 
 redundant hair, upon which her face lay, htlf 
 buried and pronounced his name. A slight 
 shivering followed ; and, in a few minutes, amid 
 the dead stillness of all about, she arose and sat 
 up, and put her two hands into his, saying 
 
 "Archibald, I can now die in peace I have 
 only, waited for you." 
 
 "And I, Lucia," he replied kissing her forehead 
 while the tears gushed out again at the pressure, 
 and her red lips thrilled and trembled with plea 
 
 sure I have come "to you for no other purpose 
 thin to " 
 
 "To close my eyes, Archibal ? Heaven bless 
 you! Heaven bless you for it ! O, mother, do not 
 break my heart upon the spot. Why will you 
 sob and weep so distractedly ? Is not this what I 
 have always told you? always ? Have I not said 
 father, mother, sister, brother, there is no hops I 
 God hath heard ray prayer : his hand h&th stayed 
 ^ne^ I do not desire to live. I do not deserve it. 
 He hath upheld me, till now, that I might see 
 Archibald dsar Archibald, once more. O, Archi 
 bald ! how I have wept for you ! 
 
 " And I," said he, in a solemn, sweet voice 
 like one summoned by something invisible dread 
 ing it not, and ready to depart, whenever it shal 
 please Heaven "I, dear Lucia, have wept and 
 prayed, many a night through, for you. Let us 
 be firm, the little time that is left to us I" 
 
 " What ! is there no hope: none for you, Archi 
 bald?" snid the dying girl, kissing his hands with 
 uplifted eyes and watching the changes of his 
 face. 
 
 " None, dear none. The malady is incurable. 
 I-" 
 
 "Hush, "said Mr. Arnauld, "have done with 
 this, my children. It is impious, vain, and un 
 grateful. You know not what death is, coming; 
 upon you in stillness, slowly, and perpetually." 
 
 "Do I not!" said Archibald, calmly; putting 
 his hand through his brown beautiful hair, and 
 wringing out the moisture, as if it had been the 
 heavy March rain. " Do I not? It is not rain, 
 sir; it is the sweat of death; a night sweat, that 
 hath been upon me for more than a year. I " 
 
 " Hush, in mercy, hush !" cried Ciaia. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 Of Death ? Although I know not what it is, 
 Yet it seems horrible. I have lo >ked out 
 In the vast desolate nisht, in search of him 
 ***** 
 
 I watched for what I thought his coming; for, 
 Witafear, rose longing in my heart, to know 
 What twas which shook us all 
 
 "Do you really believe, sister," said Clara, 
 "really and truly, that there is no hope ? 
 
 She was leaning over the chair of Lucia about 
 a week after the last conversation, while I sal", 
 ruminating upon the a --v fill events of the past. 
 Archibald passed the window, j tst as shs was 
 going to reply, on horseback. HU motioa was 
 very feeble aad wayward. 
 
 How unlike himself! said Lucia, locking her 
 hands ; " when he rode by that win-low before, he 
 was younger, by many years, in reality ; he ap 
 peared, ha ! how much younger ! But sorrow will 
 have way; and where hath she wrought so un 
 sparingly, a 1 * upont >e countenance of Archibald? 
 Sister, 1 will answer you. DJ not believe the 
 physician do not. He may be an honest man 
 a skilful one; but I know better tha>i he what 
 tint malady is, whose approach is felt by the 
 sufferer; aad known to be death. I know, Clara, 
 that there is no help for me. I would have you 
 prepared for it. I die of a broken heart. I do 
 not complain. I cannot. Many weeks many 
 
182 
 
 weeks may pass away, before you are called upon 
 to scatter the white flowers over my grave : \vhite 
 flowers! no! let none be scattered there. I see 
 him! seehim! two years ago, he would have 
 reined an unbroken colt, as easy as I could direct 
 the motion of that child s arm, (kissing the little 
 fat arm of James, while she spoke) yet now the 
 unmanageable creature bears him whither he will 
 and how. Poor Archibald ! thy proud heart 
 deserved a better fate. Oti ! brother, brother !" 
 
 I saw the movement of the animal, but it was 
 too late ; and 1 was unable to move hand or foot, 
 in my terror, till I saw Archibald, by a sudden 
 effort, which amazed me, rise in the stirrups, and 
 throw himself off, as the furious horse ran snort 
 ing and plunging toward that identical tree, where 
 Archibald had been well nigh dashed to pieces, 
 years before. 
 
 A servant passed the window, at full speed- 
 another ! and another! with Arthur and Copely : 
 and we were left, in the terrible suspense that fol 
 lowed, for several minutes, till we saw Archibald 
 returning on foot, supported between Copely and 
 a servant. He smiled, as he passed her window, 
 and stopped ; signifying, with a motion of his 
 hand, that he had something to say. Clara threw 
 up the window. 
 
 " Do not be alarmed," said he ; " it was a 
 childish notion. 1 was willing to try my horse 
 once more, before I parted with him ; and he threw 
 me it is a good lesson to me. 
 
 "Are you hurt, dear Archibald ? * 
 
 " Not in the least," he replied, wiping the sweat 
 from his forehead "not in the least ! 1 am, to 
 be suie, a little mortified but i have been on 
 horseback, for the last time. 
 
 " Shut the window, Clara, 1 said I. feeling the 
 tears upon my cheek "it is very cold and bleak 
 abroad." 
 
 " It is, indeed, 1 said Copely, dashing his hand 
 over his eyes. 
 
 " Indeed it is indeed it is," said Arthur and 
 Clara, at the same moment. 
 
 At this time I was able to move, with tolerable 
 comfort, about the house and, after Bitting where 
 1 was for about half an hour, musing upon the 
 beautiful face that lay before me, her large waxen 
 eyelids, friuged with shadow and silkiness, black 
 as midnight : her dark, lively eyes gleaming under 
 them, like some mysterious splendour, about to 
 break upon us, and blind us : her round, and 
 wonderfully beautiful arm, laying under her 
 cheek : her magnificent hair, all loose upon the 
 pillow : and her young bosom just undulating 
 under the pressure of her other hand, as if 
 hushed infant were there, whom it were death to 
 stir or waken. She was insensible or asleep 1 
 thought ; but, all the while, tear after tear gathered 
 and dripped, like oozing lustre, from wet lashes, 
 and her red lips, now and then, vibrated, as if her 
 slumber were very, very happy. 
 
 After sitting and wondering at her power and 
 loveliness, for half an hour, 1 should think, without 
 uttering a word, or scarcely breathing aloud, I 
 heard Archibald s voice in the next room, and the 
 sound of lamentation. I went out. 
 
 " 1 have been on horseback for the last time, 
 my dear mother," said he, and why should 1 
 tremble to say so ? I know what 1 say. 
 
 " O my son! my son! answered my mother, 
 looking up in his face, while she leaned upon him, 
 
 THE NOVEL NEWSPAPER. 
 
 with her old arms about his neck " do not, breu* 
 my heart, all at once : do not leave me again, 
 
 Leave you, mother, never! never!" he an 
 swered, parting her grey hair with his mouth, and 
 kissing her forehead. " My mother shall close my 
 eyes my last breath, if it please God, shall be 
 breathed out upon that bosom where my first tears 
 were shed." 
 
 I ll tell you wh?.t it is, Mr. Oadley," said Mr. 
 Arnauld, disengaging my mother s arms from his 
 neck, "this is unmanly. There is hope while 
 there is life there is hope." 
 
 " Yes, while there is life there is hope, " echoed 
 somebody af?r off, 
 
 Archibald shook his head. 
 
 " O, bless you ! bless you !" cried my mother 
 " bless you for that, Mr. Arnauld." 
 
 He continued. " It is your duty to do all that 
 lies in your power for your restoration is it not ?" 
 
 Archibald bowed. 
 
 And to support the spirits of your desolate 
 and aged mother, instead ot weighingthem down. r 
 Assuredly," said Archibald, with serious eyes 
 Then let her hear no more of this. Heaven 
 hath not told us at what day, nor hour, the angel 
 of death shall summon us ; and, while it is our 
 duty to be prepared for his corning at all hours, it 
 is not our duty to wear our lives away in appre 
 hension, or " 
 
 Apprehension ! said Archibald, mildly, " I 
 have uo apprehension of death none. But da 
 
 it!i me as you please. I will obey you while I 
 have breath ; for my mother s sake 1 will live, if 
 God will let me ; and do some good before I die 
 but I wou.d have ysu all prepared you, brother 
 
 you, Lucia (looking about with troubled eyes) 
 
 no, she is not here and you, mother. Where 
 is Lucia?" 
 
 Would you see her?" said Mr. Arnauld 
 " go with me, my son. But I do pray you have 
 done with these melancholy anticipations. Let 
 us hear no imore of them." 
 
 Archibald s countenance changed. " Go with 
 me to Lucia," said he "all of you but first, 
 Hanson, that sword is your s the horse that I 
 give to Copely furniture and all I " 
 
 " Brother !" 1 exclaimed, " you behave 
 strangely. 1 never knew you so regardless of our 
 feeling." 
 
 - My dear John," he said, taking my hand, " I 
 am doing but my duty no more, believe me. 
 There is no affectation in all this. No, as I hope 
 to see my Maker. But you will have me wear 
 another face. Be it so. I shall obey you. Lei 
 us go to Lucia." 
 
 We all went together into the room, and found 
 the two children sprawling upon the floor El- 
 leor intertwining some wild flowers with the black 
 hair of Lucia poor Mary looking as if she had 
 never known happiness till then ; and Clara romp^ 
 ing with the baby ; and Lucia herself, full of faint, 
 spiritual self-possession, 
 
 Archibald paused, and|lifted his hands in admi 
 ration, as he approached her. 
 
 l< By Heaven ! he exclaimed, smiling, " I have 
 never seen you so like what you were that night, 
 when your treses were loaded with peach blossoms 
 and ah ! forgive me. 1 did not mean to distress 
 you. You f.re a stout-hearted girl, Lucia. Give 
 meysur hand/ 
 
 Lucia gave it him, with a look of doubtful 
 astonishment. 
 
SEVENTY-SIX* 
 
 133 
 
 " Do not be agitated," said Archibald. " Our 
 friends complain of us. They do not understand 
 our feeling. It is not too much to say, Lucia, 
 that they cannot will not. Have you the heart 
 but I need not ask it. 1 know that you have- 
 to to " 
 
 " To what ? said Lucia, firmly. Come nearer, 
 Archibald. There is a wildness in your eyes that 
 would have terrified me once. What do you me- 
 
 tate?" 
 
 He said something in a low whisper at which 
 a convulsive, tumultuous, bright emotion, passed 
 over her whole face. A murmur or two escaped 
 her: she kissed him, mouth to mouth and the 
 tears sprang sparkling to her open eyes and then 
 livid and purple flashes shot over her forehead as 
 he continued rising from her embrace, and saying, 
 in a cheerful tone : 
 
 " We will be sad no longer, love. What say 
 you. Shall we make glad the hearts that are 
 about us ? and, if we must die, die smiling?" 
 
 " With all my heart," she replied. .." I hate 
 this cold philosophy, that would make the coming 
 of death so dreary, and desolate, and awful. Let 
 us be prepared ; but let us lose ao more time in 
 sorrowing." 
 
 Again they embraced ; and we. arguing blissful 
 things fi-o;n the rapture that illuminated their 
 , faces, as they stood fronting each other, giving 
 out and absorbing light and beauty from their 
 eyes, and lips, and voices, like spiritualities con 
 versing in some unknown way, we were happy 
 beyond expression. 
 
 From that hour there was a visible change in 
 their countenances and deportment. I canuotsay 
 that their tread was stronger, in general, or their 
 voices fuller of tenderness and strength ; but, at 
 times, they walked as in the morning of their days, 
 and Lucia, for the first time during many years, 
 sang to us, night after night, till the period ap 
 proached for the departure of Copely and Arthur 
 when we all grew melancholy again all but 
 Archibald and Lucia 1 mean. Over them there 
 seemed to be no influence in mortal change or cir 
 cumstance. 
 
 Several eminent physicians had been sent for, 
 and tLeir testimony was truly encouraging. 
 "Keep their spirits up," said they. " It is a 
 malady of the heart, only and they may yet be 
 raised even yet." 
 
 " God bless you for it 1" we all said together. 
 " God for ever bless you for the judgment ! May 
 you hear one like to it, if ever, in sorrow and 
 apprehension, your spirits are bowed to the dust, 
 for some infinitely dear one, for whom you would 
 lay down your lives ! 
 
 " I shall not go with them," said Archibald, to 
 their questioning. " I have done my duty I 
 ^^jx-want repose, Whatever come of this, I am sick 
 of bloodshed ; and it is time that 1 should begin 
 to prepare for some change it matters little what. 
 I am sick of battle and strife. ., I want pe~ace. 
 />ii;>lCopeJy aQ d Rodman have not wasted so much as 
 I and they have more to incite them they are 
 married happy and but so am I happy O, 
 merciful Heaven ! happy beyond all expression 
 beyond a l hope. Lucia little did I ever dream 
 of this love, when I thought of our earlier affection 
 in the solitude, the awful solitude of the camp, 
 when every sound that broke upon the ear was 
 the tramp of a horseman, driven in by the enemy 
 themselves thundering over our intrenchments 
 
 or the trumpet breaking upon us. Would that 
 we had met before, that ah. brother, I envy 
 you! Copely I envy you! You have that to 
 live after you, in your sweet babes, which is 
 worth all the pleasure of life. This boy (he 
 took James up iu his arms, and pronounced 
 a benediction upon him) I would rather have 
 been the father of that boy than the founder 
 of a kingdom the deliverer of nations the con 
 queror of all the earth. This is sovereignty this 
 it is to be like a god giving life and lovelinessto 
 creatures, thatare compounded of all thatyoumost 
 love. If their children live let them, I pray you, 
 bewedded. Do not betroth them ; donotrestrain 
 them, I pray you do not ; let it be remembered ; 
 and if if I should die before them " 
 
 (I was delighted at his look, there was hope in 
 it and the // was a new qualification. It sounded 
 as if he, himself, began to feel it possible to live.) 
 
 " L u t my property be theirs, to be equally di 
 vided." 
 
 There wanted but one week now to a separation, 
 that was anticipated, like death, by our poor 
 wives. Ellen, with all her natural vivacity, was 
 inconceivably distressed and agitated, as the time 
 approached: and Mary turned pale , at the very 
 mention of it, and bowed her head, like one sick 
 at heart sick with unutterable love, and terror, 
 and longing. 
 
 " I am determined, dear Nell, 1 said Copely, 
 chucking her under the chin, one pleasant morn 
 ing, just as he was about to spring into the 
 saddle, and she stood, half pouting, half crying, 
 to watch his departure for an hour s ride, to> 
 put you upon bread and water ; little Luce, (the 
 name of his babe was Lucia,) will learn nothing 1 
 of your motherly, sweet qualities, except that of 
 crying. What am I to do ? Nay, Ellen nay, my 
 dear Ellen, do I distress you ?" 
 
 " Indeed you do, Chester," she replied, putting 
 her hands upon his shoulder, and lifting her eyes 
 to his, while they streamed with tears; "I cannot 
 bear this levity now. 1 begin to feel serious ; it 
 touches me like i a undnes?. I cannot bear it. I 
 am another the wife of a man who Chester 
 we have been childish ; let us be so no longer. I 
 can bear to lose you, if it must be so ; to part 
 from you again to no matter what for Lucia 
 O, she is the stay of all our womaaly hearts. 
 She has taught me many a lesson of utility. If 
 our country must have you, I can bear it, as well 
 as another ; but do not think, O do not, Chester, 
 that, because I laugh more ; or, rather, because I 
 have laughed more, for I have done laughing now, 
 that I feel less. No many a woman will lnugh, 
 to keep herself from crying. Many a time, Ches 
 ter many a time, have I rattled away, like a mad 
 girl, before I felt the obligation of a wife and a 
 mother ; merely that I might not fall a sobbing in, 
 the deep rebuke of your seriousness. Where was 
 your manhood ? Where your steadiness ? I have - 
 spoilt you ; and you have left me to be taught 
 wisdom by others ? You have become a trifler ^* 
 indeed you have and I am getting a solemnity 
 
 "Bless thy little heart, child!" said Chester, 
 catching her up in his arms, and running into the 
 house with her, and placing her upon the table, 
 before us all. 
 
 " There ! stay there I by all the stars above us, 
 Ellen Copely wife mother woman I had 
 rather listen t3 thy sweet lips moving, seriously, 
 
THE NOYE > NEWSPAPER. 
 
 with this p a ntrv; mvsic than to 11 the parsons, 
 chaplains, and pi iesXs. under iic<iven. Say on, 
 dearest, say ou !" 
 
 Arthur ran up, in the same spirit, as if to give 
 her a hand, while we strod together, laughing at 
 her embarrassment, and the oddity of the trans 
 formation. 
 
 <; Hands off, Rodman ! hands off!" said 
 Copely ; " no man shall dethrone that woman, till 
 1 have done homage to her." 
 
 "O, Cne>ter Chester ! cried E len, bursting 
 into tears, and falling upon his neck ; " I cannot 
 besr this." 
 
 l ^y Heaven ! cried her husband, inconceivably 
 shocked, for the first time, at her manner ; "there 
 is something that I cannot under tand in this, 
 Ellen my own, my beloved Eiieu forgive me 
 how have I woucded you ? 
 
 She shook her head, and blushed. 
 
 "By my gaiety? Eilen Yes, yes ah, how 
 it cle you know ray heart ; dovv liable are we to 
 counter r eit too strongly. Ellen, I have fei/nea 
 so long, and so steadily, that the feigning has 
 become as a nature to me. I laugh now, without 
 ]<nowia;it. When I first laughed, it made my 
 heartache. Do not believe that I am weaker, 
 frailer, or less considerate, than when we married. 
 No -I feel them excellent and high-minded 
 woman ! a veneration for thee now now ! so 
 beyond what I have ever felt before that my 
 soul stands more en ct and haughty than ever. I 
 will never trifle again. 1 
 
 Saying this, he kissed her affectionately shook 
 bands wi>h her, vaulted into the saddle ; and she 
 left us, hmiaedi* tely, for her own apartment, 
 where she shut hereif up till his return. 
 
 She v<as strangely altered her volatility had 
 all gone, since the birth of her child ; yet, she 
 was not sad, nor melancholy She was only 
 more serious and womanly ; more worthy of her- 
 Sflf, and of her husband; while he.it was evident, 
 had been counterfeiting a spirit, that was not 
 natural to him, merely that she might net be 
 intimidated, or disheartened by the approaching 
 separation. 
 
 But our hope grew stronger and brighter every 
 hour. Archibald and Lucia were constantly 
 together, and walking, whenever the -weather 
 would permit, for several hours at a time. Their 
 tones were cheerful their manner affectionate ; 
 and we found them ever ready to enter into our 
 thousand liitie pl^ns nf reform. The past was 
 spoken of, without any dangerous emotion; the 
 future, calmly and there was a look of unaffected 
 piety and submission in the countenances of both, 
 that comforted us exceedingly. I was now able 
 to walk iiboutthe farm, and superintend it ; while 
 Mr. Anurnld, for the first time since his early 
 wO .md, had recovered his health, and was pur 
 suing his plan of reformation and benevolence, 
 with a steadiness that delighted me. Clara w;;s 
 in betier health than she had ever been in he- 
 life ; from a pale, sick girl, she had become a noble- 
 looking, dignified woman. Our boy was hearty 
 as a 7oung hear, and handsome as the dreams of 
 painted children. There was every thing to give 
 us hope, even in the affairs of our country ; but 
 still, for it is ever thus there was a shadow yet, 
 to go over, the green, pleasant places for the 
 future. The war might last. Heaven only knew, 
 how long ; and Arthur and Copely were on the eve 
 of bidding their dear ones adieu, once more for 
 
 a period, ptrhaps as long as before perhapslonger 
 perhaps for ever. What wonder that we were 
 sad ? What wonder, if their wives were forgetful 
 of their blessings, in the terror of this anticipa 
 tion ? As the hour came near, they wept, night 
 and day, and would not be comforted. 
 
 But to counterbalance this, there was a mys 
 terious intelligence growing up, every daj r , 
 between my brother and Lv.cia. Her hand 
 trembled when he took it. The blood rushed to 
 l.er temples and her look was not that of one, 
 who believes that a chamber is preparing for her, 
 b-ne.xth the green eait a- O:i no it was rather 
 that of the young htart, newly awakened from a 
 long, dark, troubled dream; ha f doubtf-il, never 
 theless, if there may not be re.ility in it. 
 
 1 watched them perpetually. My heart yearned 
 toward them ; and while I saw a gradual and sure 
 improvement in Lucia s health, 1 fancied that I 
 could perceive a like one in that of Archibald. 
 Was I mistaken ? follow me, my children and 
 the sequel will tell you. 
 
 " I am thinking," suid Ciara leaning affection 
 ately upon my shoulder, below her, with my new 
 wooden limb over a chair; while Archibald and 
 Lucia passed the window, locked arm in arm 
 their faces bright with intelligence " I am think 
 ing that they are less obstinately resolved on. 
 death than they used to be." 
 
 There was an archness in her manner, that 
 made me smile. " Yes," I replied "a substantial 
 improvement has been made by the timely admo 
 nition of your father. But for that, one or both 
 of them might be in the grave soon." 
 
 " But what possesses them not to marry?" said 
 my wife. 
 
 "Have you any particular reason for asking 
 that question, dear?" said I observing that she 
 coloured a little, as she did ask it. 
 
 She hesitated. 
 
 "Clara," said I gravely. "Hear me, love. 
 Your sister has put into my keeping a secret that 
 materially concerns her. I am not bound to 
 keep it ; not bound I say, by any promise. I 
 may tell you whenever I think it wise. 1 do not 
 think it so, now will that satisfy you?" 
 
 "Ctrtfdnly," she replied putting her hand 
 upon my forehead. " That is acting like a man ; 
 that is treating me like a friend. I knew that 
 there was a secret I have known it for a long 
 while; nay, it is not certain that I do net know 
 what it is ; but I love to be dealt plainly with. 
 Do you know this letttr ? (taking a letter out of 
 her bosom.) 
 
 " No," I said 
 
 " Nor the writing ? * 
 
 " No yet stay I have somewhere seen it 
 before is it it cannot surely be." 
 
 " It is Clinton s." 
 
 " And how came you by it." 
 
 " I made him jjive it to me," was the reply. 
 
 " Made him ! - how ?" 
 
 " I met him coming out of Lucia s chamber. 
 
 I charged him desperately ; and would have 
 
 wakened my father. On one condition only, did 
 
 I release him ; that was on his promise to leave 
 
 I the house immediately, without meeting her 
 
 I again," 
 
 " O Clara and did she know it." 
 
 No it would have broken her heart. I never 
 alluded to it, never troubled, or watched her I 
 knew her too well, to doubt that some horrible 
 
villany had been practised upon her ; but I knew 
 also, whatever it was, that, if it were discovered 
 by me, it would break her heart. I have kept the 
 secret. She does not know that I know aught 
 of it. I love her more than ever. Wonder 
 at her more than ever. She has not her 
 equal among women. It is that which keeps her 
 bruised heart unhealed ; but for that, she had 
 been well, long and long ago. Read it. There 
 it is. 1 
 
 I took the letter. It ran as follows. 
 
 "O, spare her spare her, Clura, whatever 
 became of me. She is not to blame. I alone 
 have done it. Poor Lucia my heart bleeds for 
 her. I am a villain. I obey I banish myself 
 for ever. Keep .the thing a secret and I will 
 obey. No, no, it was not her fault. No woman, 
 not even Clara herself, could have escaped the 
 snare -could 
 
 (Clara s brow contracted with haughty con 
 tempt) "could have escaped me. Sue was ut 
 terly in my power, without knowing it. 
 
 " CLINTON." 
 
 " My excellent Clara," I cried, embracing her. 
 "How little have I known you. What can we 
 do for her ? Is there any thing ? any thing upon 
 this earth?" 
 
 " I believe that there is," she replied. "They 
 love each other. They have been open and plain 
 io their communication. Archibald knows all 
 all! Perhaps I speak it cautiously perhaps 
 we may bring about a reconciliation, that will 
 restore her, the haughty, and romantic, noble- 
 minded girl, to her own good opinion, and give to 
 Archibald, that inconceivably lofty and wayward 
 spirit, something to love all his life long." 
 
 " To promote that plan," said I, giving her my 
 hand, " which, I confess, I already begin to believe 
 is possible, I will spend my life-nlood. 1 
 
 " Pho, pho 1 that is too extravagant. It is so 
 like him. However (smiling), there will be no 
 need of spending your life-blood. A little de 
 licacy and patience will do it, if any thin;, will." 
 
 Thus ivas this nob.e-miailed woman, your mo 
 ther, my children, perpetually unfolding some new 
 attribute of uncommon loveliness or power, which 
 bad been ail my life long unknown, undreamt of, 
 by me. To her last hour it was ever the same ; 
 the same patient, endearing tenderness ; the same 
 dispassionate, calm judgment ; the same beautiful 
 transparency of heart ; the same unpretending 
 piety and lowliness, yet firmness. Oh, my chil 
 dren, you know not your less, nor mine, iu the 
 death of that woman. She was made for do 
 minion over proud hearts ; not for despotism no, 
 but for that sweet, quiet supremacy which the 
 soul delights to acknowledge ike th? sway of a 
 mother over her babe, a parent over her helpless, 
 sweet child. But let me not think of her: it 
 makes my heart swell, like a fountain newly 
 broken up in the desert, and I feel the tears gush- 
 ing out over the barrenness about it with a power 
 and prodigality that sadden me. Would that 
 there were a garden and turf yet for them to 
 water and refresh ; would that I might sleep now, 
 as I did once, with the untiring watchfulness of 
 Clara leaning over me, like a hovering seraph, to 
 Study every emotion of my face, aad interpret it 
 to her children. You would want no other ad 
 monition. But I must have done with this 
 theme ; there is a bitterness in it too like the fore- 
 taste of death. Come to me, Clara, come to ire. 
 
 SEVENTY-SIX. 135 
 
 I care not how soon. Let thy beckoning hand 
 appear to me this night this night, dear Clara, 
 and I will joyfully lay down my grey head upon, 
 the turf, and give up the chost at thy bidding. 
 
 But let me return. The hour of parting had 
 arrived. It was terrible. The horses stood sad 
 dled and caparisoned at the door, their heavy 
 manes flashing in the wind and sun like torn and 
 wet banners, as they struck thei-- iron coofs into 
 the green turf, and snorted to the blue skies, im 
 patient for the sway of their riders. 
 
 It is drsadful to stand by and see heart after 
 heart torn away, bleeding and desolate, at a time 
 like this the father from the mother, the husband 
 from the wife, the parent from the child yet it 
 must be. 
 
 1 lOh^mayjGrod for ever bless you both," said my 
 mother, p-j.shing; buck her lawn cap, and raising 
 her wrinkled hands to the sky, while the wind blew 
 her grey hair all over her face. We_ are parting, 
 I do fear, for the last time the last! May God 
 have you in his holy keepiiisr.* 
 
 " Dear Copely dear, dear Rodman," said Mrs. 
 Arnauld, rushing into their arms, " I feel as if I 
 were parting with two of my own children. The 
 mother that bore you, br>y*, cannot love you better. 
 We shall meet agaia again many times, I be 
 lieve but farewell" 
 
 " Farewell! farewell!" said the two young sol 
 diers, while the entry was thronged wir.h servants. 
 
 "Remember your God, young men," said Mr. 
 Arnauld, impressively. "Now is t -e time of 
 peril. /Never unshenth your sword but with a 
 belief tha^ you are doing his will. Farewell." 
 
 " And you, pray ; will you notsay God speed to 
 us ?" said Copely , giving a hand to my wife, and 
 another to me, while 1 c mid scarcely -support my 
 self. 
 
 "Aye, Rodman; aye, Copely. G d speed you 
 both," said Clara, lifting her proud pe.son to the 
 stature of a queen. " Resneinb r your-~c mntry 
 first, your wife nest, and your ch id last. What 
 ever happen, we win be its \ areats, hiead>, and 
 advisers. 
 
 Their noble hearts were full, full to bursting ; 
 and when I fell upon their necks, and wisned them 
 not with tears, but with a pressure that a giant 
 might have felt through his armour God speed, 
 they felt a confirmation of ail that Clara had pro 
 nounced. 
 
 " Lucia, dear Lucia," said both of them, taking 
 her hands, " Heaven bless and restore you. Ar 
 chibald, come hither your hand." 
 
 He obeyed, and gave them his hand. 
 
 " Living or dead," said Copely, with a solem 
 nity that shook me awfully livirg or dead, Ar 
 chibald Oadley and Lucia Arnauld, God meant 
 that you should be man and wife. Do not thwart 
 his will. 1 
 
 Lucia coloured, and faltered out some inar~ 
 ticulate words ; but Archibald was firm and un 
 yielding, and his forehead was serene- very. 
 
 Rodman then renewed the benediction, and 
 whispered something in her ear, glancing at his 
 boy, whose face was near, which made her blush 
 to the very eyes, and look just as she used to ia 
 the pride of her beauty. 
 
 " Archibald, farewell farewell," said they both 
 together. 
 
 " My friends, I" said Archibald, with a steady 
 countenance, stepping out to meet them " 1 
 God kr OATS if we shall ever meet again I believe 
 
136 
 
 THE NOVEL NEWSPAPER. 
 
 (emphatically repeating it), I believe that we shall 
 not. Many perils beset us. I regard this as a 
 deathbed separation. No; I understand you. 
 She is a woman of stout heart. These things do 
 not pain her. Why ? If true, they are better to 
 be known ; if false, they cannot injure us. So let 
 me adjure you to be merciful. We have shed much 
 blood. I ara not at ease under it." 
 
 "Nor I," said Copely, compressing his lips; 
 " but I would rather have an ocean]of blood rolling 
 over me than that that, Oadley, which spun out 
 of the brain of a scoundrel whom I shot. I 
 (his voice grew deep and terrible, as it had been 
 anciently, and his wife shut her eyes while he 
 spoke) I am not easy about that. Why, I know 
 not. There is something wrong in this warfare. 
 Custom, perhaps opinion, reconciles me to it. 
 But" 
 
 "Think seriously, prayerfully of it, my friend," 
 said Archibald. * And now farewell farewell. 
 One embrace, Copely ; one, Rodman ; and remem 
 ber that we have bled together. If you survive 
 me, to my friends be a friend. To your s and your 
 little ones, and all that love you, or are dependent 
 upon you, if I survive (smiling with a melancholy 
 smile), I will be all that you are." 
 
 Rodman and Copely then embraced their wives, 
 in one long, long embrace again, and, without 
 turning a glance toward the rest of us, except the 
 children, whom both kissed and blessed, leaving 
 their manly tears upon their sweet faces, set off 
 at full speed from the house. It was a bitter cold 
 morning for the season. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 O, night and darkness, ye are wondrous strong ! 
 Yet lovely in your strength, as is the light 
 Of a dark eye in woman ! 
 
 a noise among the leaves, like " iwangling pearls. 1 
 
 It was now the middle of May ; a warm, sultry 
 day, and a hot sun had gone over it, leaving a 
 cool, shadowy greenness upon all the wood, near 
 which we sat, about four o clock in the afternoon, 
 upon the shorn turf, that extended, in a pleasant 
 slope, from the front of our dwelling, a little a.-l mt, 
 to a blue, beautifully blue pond and fountain, half 
 buried in deep green transparent foliage, through 
 which the water glittered, like a gush and sprinkle 
 of quicksilver while we sat there, with all that 
 we loved, upon this earth, save Copely and Rod 
 man, about us our children were rolling and 
 creeping about the swar.l their little fat, naked 
 feet ruddy with the touch of the gras? ; all 1 e rts 
 happj all eyes full of love and thankfulness. 
 
 " That beautiful mist ! Archibald," said Lucia, 
 lovingly, with her arm carried athwart his face, 
 while he sat near her, with his hand resting on h->r 
 shoulder" and that hollow ! how cool and plea 
 sant it looks!" 
 
 " While the sun rains fire," answered Archibald, 
 " upon the green topped trees behind." 
 
 Kams lire !" said my mother, smiling and 
 then, with a slow, serious motion, relapsing into 
 her occupat oa of knitting. 
 
 " Archibald is given to such extravagancies o 
 late," continued Clara, touching my hand at the 
 same time, that I might observe the vivid beauty 
 of his deep eyes, while they dwelt upon those of 
 Lucia, which were turned, full of devotion, and 
 mysterious, sweet meaning, toward the wool. 
 
 It was beautiful! Far away to our right, the 
 green turf faded off to a rich, sweltering brown 
 and gradually subsided into a flat, yellowish soil, 
 where a brook had once run, and left millions a"2 
 millions of water-worn pebbles : over the dried bed 
 there still stooped a mass of the brightest green 
 rushes ; here and there, the wild flag, spreading 
 its broad, smooth leaf, and a rich body of sedge, 
 with many wild, blue flowers showing that there 
 was a hidden moisture yet at the root. Still 
 further off, there were a few pale green b rches, 
 with their silvery bark, stooping different ways, 
 and shooting up, into the blue air, their white 
 slender shafts, like pillars of light ; in another 
 spot, a mass of herbage, half trodden down ; a 
 few scattered rock heaps a lonely tree, leafed to 
 the root ; a broken stone wall; a disordered and 
 i icketty fence ; while far beyond, overgrown with 
 ruffled foliage, and raspberry bushes, and wild 
 cherry tree and thorn (a very uncommon shrub 
 in America), ran a regular and established stone 
 wall, at least half a century old ; of the substantial 
 New England fashion, with a line of poles all 
 along the top, set in cross sticks, answering the 
 various purposes of protecting the enclosure, 
 defining the limits, and clearing the land. At the 
 extreme left, there was a purple gleam on the dim 
 horizon, with many little, faint spots about it, 
 denoting that the Delaware might be seen, if we 
 had patience to look for it. About us was a group 
 of great venerable oaks, with two English elms. 
 The fashion of the latter was strangely beautiful 
 and picturesque : and one of the oaks had been 
 struck with lightning some years before ; half of 
 it had been torn down, from the top to the very 
 root; and out of this had gushed up innumerable 
 branches of willow and birch. They were now 
 about the height of a man ; while the two par s 
 of the torn giant still gave out their hardy vege 
 tation, showing that vitality was not altogether 
 extinct. The colour was rather of a brown and 
 withered hue ; but, over our heads, the other 
 sister trees had intertwined their brunches, with 
 the effect of a woven, Gothic conopy, a firmament 
 
 of leaves : some little art had been added to the 
 natural inclination of the branches, when we were 
 children, and now there was a sheltering, 
 chequered lattice-work above, exceedingly green 
 and vivid, and transparent with a late shower, 
 through which, where the sun shone, we could 
 see every movement of every cloud in heaven, by 
 a correspondent shadow upon the grass at our feet, 
 as if the leaves were vitrified. And the tinting 
 too had become beautifully varied, as the thick- 
 ness was greater or less over us while the mul 
 tiplied shadow and light above us were eternally 
 shifting, with a capriciousness that we could not 
 have accounted for, had we been forbidden to look 
 up, and see the interlacing branches separate for 
 a moment, as the matted leaves ruffled in the 
 wind, just long enough for the light to break in, or 
 for us to catch a glimpse of the blue heaven over 
 us; the fiery sun-het behind the distant shining 
 water ; the far smoke, hovering, like incense, in 
 the solitude ; or the red glittering windows, at the 
 right and left, into which the sun looked, as he 
 
SBVEN1Y-STX. 
 
 137 
 
 went down. ruddy and beautiful, beyond the tall 
 Ir^es, scattering his lustre, with a greater and 
 greater prodigality, every moment, like one 
 ashamed of his accumulated riches, and willing 
 to make all the world lament his departure. 
 
 " You look melancholy, dear Archibald," said 
 Ellenor, affectionately, putting her little girl into 
 his lap. "There 1 take Lucia to your heart and 
 Lord! how he blushes ; little Lucia, I mean." 
 
 " Melancholy ! said Mrs. Arnauld, " ah, yes 
 
 " I feel so," said Archibald. 
 
 "What! melancholy! Archibald ?" said Lucia, 
 her eyes full of inexpressible meaning " melan 
 choly, at an hour like this !" 
 
 " Yes -far more so, than in the depth and dreari 
 ness of winter, while the bleak wind pours through 
 our dwelling, and the sky snows, day and night, 
 upon us ; but it is a pleasant melancholy " 
 
 * You are strangely poetical of lite," said I. 
 "I do not remember that you ever indulged your 
 self in such language, when you were young." 
 
 " I felt less the:>, brother, inconceivably less ; 
 the endearment of that hour had no influence 
 upon me ; the passionate endearment of " (he 
 f.ltered.) 
 
 " But why melancholy, at such an hour as this ? 
 
 " The natural waywardnessof thehuman heart," 
 said Mi-. Arnauld. "When the sun shines, it will 
 run into the shadow ; and when the firmament is 
 overcast, it wishes for sunshine ; men affect dis 
 tinction, and for want of that are content with 
 peculiarity. Power is not less conspicuous, where 
 all is li^ht by its darkness, than where all is dark, 
 by its lightness. It is a cloud by day; a pillar of 
 fire by night. You love to be apart from other 
 men do you not? 
 
 Archibald smiled, and shook his head. " An 
 admirable illustration," said he, " of that ambi 
 tion, the disease of noble minds, which, in its 
 dotage, degenerates into a love of notoriety." 
 
 "Ah! 1 cried Ellen, her round, sweet voice 
 ringing like the roundelay of some pipe in our 
 ear so cheerful so varied in all its smooth, 
 delicate modulations, " 1 remember something of 
 the sort I have been at balls, where my heart 
 i eit heavier than at funerals." 
 
 " Whenever there is an overacted seriousr.es>, 
 said Clara, in her sensible, mild way, "it provokes 
 us to oppose it : and therefore, where we are wit 
 nesses to any unmeaning, or unreasonable merri 
 ment " 
 
 "In the company of puritans, I should feel a 
 prodigious fancy for a game of romps, I am sure," 
 said Ellen, interrupting her, " and many a time 
 have I ran away from a noisy, blinding assembly 
 of romps, at a ball room, just to cry by myself. 
 
 "It is no less true than strange," said Archi 
 bald, looking Lucia in the face, " that, wherever 
 we see any opinion, manner, or habit pushed to 
 / extremity, we are apt, by way of shaming or re 
 buking it more effectually, to run directly into the 
 contrary extreme. Moderation begets modera 
 tion ; extravagance, extravagance ; violence, vio 
 lence." 
 
 "But why are you sad? why melancholy?" 
 repeated Mrs. Arnauld. 
 
 There was a terrible, brief movement in his 
 thoughtful eyes, ere he replied ; and when he did 
 reply, it was with the air of one that feels much, 
 very much, but would not have it known one 
 that would convey deep counsel in alight way 
 fluid gold iu a wooden cup mystery and power 
 
 in the language of common conversation from 
 what motive? that it might be chosen or not; 
 followed or rot; taken or rejected, without the 
 cold formality of advice or preparation. 
 
 " I am melancholy, my dear madam, whenever 
 I see the sky of that colour, because it reminds me 
 of the day that I first did battle on. I am melan 
 choly, whenever I feel the warm summer air 
 blowing in my face, and stirring the thin air upon, 
 my forehead ; for it reminds me that (putting his 
 hand upon Lucia) that, in the morning of my day, 
 she would sometimes, at an hour like this, stir it 
 with her breath. I pardon me, Lucia I am 
 melancholy, madam, because I have feelings here 
 here that nobody will understand, because I 
 am not believed; because In short, tears have 
 fallen upon my forehead ; and I am unhappy, when, 
 the rain (wiping some drops from his face at the 
 moment, as they fell through the washed leaves) 
 reminds me of them mother, I would rather die 
 with blood upon my hands, than the tears of a 
 broken-hearted woman." 
 
 "What book is that?" said Mrs. Arnauld, 
 abruptly, in the pause that followed, as if anxious 
 to turn our thoughts into another channel. 
 
 "-The Vicar of Wakefield," said Mary, putting 
 her white hand upon it. 
 
 "By whom?" 
 
 " By one Goldsmith," said I. " Oliver, I be 
 lieve." 
 
 " The poet ?" said Archibald. " He wrote some 
 verses once, called I forget the name." 
 
 "The Traveller; or, The Deserted Village ?" 
 said Lucia. 
 
 "Yes, 1 said Mrs. Arnauld; "and what think 
 you of it, Mary? 
 
 "You know, my dear madam, that I am not 
 well qualified to judge; but I think it very beau 
 tiful, and very natural the book, I mean I have 
 never read the poem." 
 
 " I am glad to hear you say so," said Mr. Ar 
 nauld. " It is the best novel that ever was 
 written," 
 
 " Novell pa, said Lucia; " what is a novel?" 
 
 " Any tale, my child, like the parables of our A 
 Savio ir the fables of men any invention of prose 
 or verse though we call the latter a poem. This 
 work is, of the class to which it belongs, the most 
 perfect novel that ever was written. It is worth 
 all his other writings all his poems all his essays 
 his Citizen of the World into the bargain. 1 
 
 " Do you include dramas, father ? said Lucia, 
 turning about, so that the rich colour of the 
 setting sun shone on her like the lustre of a 
 dimmed furnace, making a picture so beautiful 
 and eloquent, that her father locked his hands, 
 and called upon us, by a motion of his eyes, to 
 look at it before it vanished. 
 
 " No, my child," said he, " dramas are a species 
 of novel writing so indeed are all compositions, 
 where imaginary creatures, invested with all the 
 attributes of humanity, agitated by the passions 
 of our nature, are put to the task of entertaining 
 or terrifying us." 
 
 " I have thought," said Archibald, " that novel 
 writing has been shamefully mistaken." 
 
 " And abused and degraded," said Mr. Arnauld, 
 impressively. " We-h^ve the highest authority 
 for novel writing. To writers ^ood novel a man 
 should be a poet, a dramatist, a painter, a 
 tragic and comic writer, a philosopher, a 
 preacher, and an orator. He should be able 
 
138 
 
 THE NOVEL NEWSPAPER. 
 
 to portray intellectual and invisible things, as 
 vividly as the substantial landscapes and coua 
 tenauces of the earth. Men of talents have aban 
 doned novel writing to women and cLildren s and 
 th^y, after beiiinniug their career with a novel, 
 disdajn to continue, but soar, as they imagine, 
 higher, by dabbling in poetry or tiie drauia. Nc, 
 my notion is, th:-it it requires greater talent to 
 write a great novel, than to write an epic poem, a 
 tragedy, or a comedy- -many a sermon, and many 
 an oration." 
 
 "And then the influence of novel writing 
 there rs Richardson and " 
 
 "The influence of which you speak is greater 
 than that of all other literature. People read 
 novels who never go to plays, or to church. 
 People read novels who never read plays, sermons, 
 history, philosophy, nor indeed any thing else ; 
 and people read novels secretly, in all weather?, 
 from morning till night, \vho do nothing else. 
 How material then is it that their power should 
 be understood ; their element purified; the con 
 duits, by which we receive this intoxicating ali 
 ment, under the superintendence of people that 
 know the consequence of drugging the human 
 heart to delirium wit!: poison and death, in the 
 shape of exhilaration." 
 
 "Ah that shadow! look, Archibald look !" 
 said Ellen. 
 
 It was a shadow of many birds, passing swiftly 
 at the time; and the water below us nay, the 
 very turf appeared to move for a moment, under 
 our eyes. 
 
 A shot r^ng just behind the trees where we sat, 
 and the n.-xt mom^ui down came two or three wild 
 birds, fluiteiing t.irtugh the blue air, almost at 
 Our feet. 
 
 They were followed by a troop of boys, who ran 
 off with them, pursued by him that had shot at the 
 birds. 
 
 " On bat Ics buissor.s, et les auires prennent les 
 eiseaux," said Mrs. Arnauld, smiling, while Mr. 
 Arnauld, throwing a pleasant eye at his wife, ob 
 served, 
 
 "You have really a wonderful memory, my 
 dear ; nay, 1 don t wonder that you laugh ; that 
 formed the motto to the ring that I gave you after 
 I came from Italy. You have applied it adroitly 
 enough," 
 
 "No 1 beg your pardon: that \vasltalian-a 
 uno what was it, Lucia?" 
 
 " Indeed, my dear mother, I do not recollect it ; 
 what was the sentiment?" 
 
 ".The sentiment! O, it was a hit at me, for 
 my coquetry ; he had been beating the bush. 
 
 " There is an Italian proverb," said Lucia 
 " perhaps that is it. Uno leva la lepre ; e, un allro 
 la pi fjli a. 1 
 
 " Oui ma chere," said the mother, bridling, with 
 an innocen affectation, that half displeased Ar 
 nauld ; whi e C ara dropped her head, and began 
 pullinar flower? for her boy. 
 
 " II ee ( chare 1 said my mother, to herself, 
 but just loud enough to be heard ; " weemarch 
 Q ir beautiful I wee march hair beautiful." 
 
 I began to pull flowers too. 
 
 " See 1 see !" cried the delighted Ellen. 
 
 I turned my face, and saw the two children, 
 each with both hands full of flowers crushed in 
 the pressure ; the liitle girl stopped, and, holding 
 up her hand, to take what the boy was offering her, 
 
 1 t her own drop ; all about them the earth was 
 like trodden velvet. 
 
 " The dog and tb.3 slalowl" said C lira, smil 
 ing ; "how ra ural an i innocent is sucu avidity- 
 See the dear crear.ures." 
 
 " 1 remember once, 1 said Archibald, " seeing a 
 beautiful picture, which represented a mother and 
 her babe. The btory was this : that child s hand- 
 fal of flowers held so <;ifTereutly from our manner 
 of hold ng them reminds me of it. The child 
 had crept to the brink of a precipice, before the 1 
 mother had missed it : when she turned her face, 
 she discovered her bab.t upon the very v rge. 
 God tovc ied her heart she tore away.the cover 
 ing from her bosom : and the little nestling turned* 
 saw ihs place of beauty, and remained immoveable 
 till s li h.id crept near eiuuj-l to catch him, and 
 faint. 1 
 
 Ti.e painter ought to have seen these children. 
 I am no painter; but, beautiful as that picture 
 was, it troubled me. The child sat upon the verge 
 of the precipice leaning back at the sight of his 
 mother, and offering a handful of the plucked 
 flowers. This was wrong. I felt it then; but 
 then I did not know, as I now do, why it was 
 wrong. That child held the flowers just as a 
 grown person would, by the stems ; hut these 
 children do not. No children, so young, would 
 eyer. Why ? Because they calch at tnat part 
 which attracts their eye : the lif^ht of a cnnUle 
 the coloured leaf, or the blossom. It is the flower 
 that they seize and tear up. Or course, the flowers 
 should be seen only, crushed and broken in the 
 hand ; and at the sides, or through their fat fiugers 
 where they parted. Another fault 
 
 " I remember that picture," said Clara; " I 
 have seen it but proceed." 
 
 " Another fault," continued he, " is this: the 
 child "is sitting upon the precipice. That was 
 wrong. Wh(n the child had gone so far as to sit 
 upon it, and let its little feet hang over, the dan 
 ger was already past ; the extreme danger I mean. 
 The peril is not half so great to the child, while it 
 is looking over the precipice, as at the m. ment 
 when it is beginning to sit down, as children 
 always do sit by turning backward to the object, 
 and rolling over. Nay, a man that could stand 
 for ever thtre, could not sit down. Now, My 
 notion is, that the child should not be sitting, but 
 creeping ; nay, I would have it so that the spec 
 tator should start, and hold his breath, and put 
 out his hands to save it, if he came suddenly into 
 the room where the picture was." 
 
 "Ah 1 ." said Ellen, smiling, " and wouldn t you 
 have the cry of the mother painted too ? so that he 
 should hear that?" 
 
 " You know," said Archibald, tapping her 
 hand, as it lay upon the grass near him, while she 
 kept pulling back her little girl, like a truant 
 robin, at every moment or two, and then letting 
 her creep away: " you know that if we see a 
 m .n falling, our horror is inconceivably greater if 
 his head be downward, or if he be likely to fall upon 
 his head. So in a picture. If we see a real child 
 about to fall upon its feet, we should feel much less 
 of that desperate convulsion of the heart which 
 would hapoen to us, if we saw the picture of one 
 falling on its head. I would suppose then, that 
 the child has crept to the precipice, step after 
 step, in gathering flower alter flower : 1 wculd 
 suppose that one hand was resting, with all the 
 weight^of its blessed little body,upou the loosened 
 
SEVENTY-SIX** 
 
 139 
 
 turf, which I would paint so that it should appear 
 fallingand detaching itself.underthepressure! nay, 
 I would represent the loose earth yieMiug below : 
 I would show that other pieces had fallen clod 
 after clod from the overhanging, flowery, unsup 
 ported brink and this I \vouidshow, by the roots 
 and withered gras?, andfibres straining and cling 
 ing together yet, and hanging down ; nay, I would 
 have some earth dropping, if it might be ; and 
 the calm, deep water below broken like a mirror, 
 by the falling gravel or dirt. You shudder! I am 
 glad of it : the picture would make your blood run 
 cold^ I would have the mother appear just at 
 this moment not standing upright, but almost 
 upon her han is and knees, almost creeping 
 .through the near hedge beneath which he had 
 crept; her bosom should be swelling, on a line 
 nearly level with the child s eye. I would have 
 her nearness and expression so great, that you 
 would exclaim on seeing wait one moment 
 only one moment ! and her hand will be upon his ! 
 and then we should all know, from the motion of 
 her body, the paleness of her lip, that she would 
 drop dead upon the spot ; yet clinging to her boy, 
 nevertheless Ah ! see that hand ! there I would 
 have the crushed flowers dropping loosely from 
 his little hand, ju.st as it is fiom that child s now, 
 while it is outstretched to you." Just then 
 the wind began to rise, pleasantly stirring the 
 branches over our green seat, and sprinkling us 
 with a few water drops. 
 
 " Let us go in," said Mrs. Arnauld ; " the sky 
 is overcast, and there is a particular blackuess at 
 the west." 
 
 " O, no, no ! mother," said Lucia ; " let us re 
 main. It is the breath of God. I feel it, like 
 returning life in all my dilated heart I " 
 
 " There will be no rain, I believe," said Mr. 
 Arnauld, interrupting her, and looking upward, 
 while his hat blew off and rolled away, to the 
 delight of the little children, as it passed them 
 but the wind is rising as I never saw it before : 
 and the clouds are gathering athwart the sky 
 gracious God " 
 
 A thunder clap broke over us at that moment, 
 with a rush of lightning, so voluminous, and so 
 tremendously bright, like ten thousand rockets, 
 that, for a moment, I believed that we were all 
 struck blind. When I came fully to the posses 
 sion of myself, 1 saw the further elm tree blazina: 
 in the wind, fifty yards higher than its top ; and 
 all our little family lying about, under a shower of 
 rain, which." as it struck the low roof of one of 
 the outer buildings just below us, broke over it, 
 like a cascade of fire. I never saw such a tre 
 mendous rush of water from the skies. The dried 
 brook was like a mill race, before I had sense 
 enough to hobble round among our sweet scat 
 tered family, all of whom, blessed be God! were 
 unharmed, though the lightning had broken about 
 us, and above us, like a volley of musketry. We 
 were soon in the house ; but only in time to see 
 the passing of a whirl. .ind, that the old men of 
 the country will turn pale now at the mention 
 of. Lord ! how it thundered ! It came onward, 
 like a vast black column, with a blood-coloured 
 brightness revolving in its centre, and the point 
 advavc^d. la a moment, we s?iw the sky all 
 black with, the branches of trees torn fences ; 
 shattered frame houses ; and every species of 
 rubbish, which clattered and shivered and broke, 
 with one incessant revolution fur a minute, over 
 
 our head. A fearful concussion iu the heavens 
 a crash followed and all was silent. 
 
 It was several minutes before we dared to look 
 into each other s fr.ces, amiil the silent anl a-vful 
 darkness that followed fearing, I know not 
 what : to me, it was like the last day ; and when. 
 C;ai*a put her babe into my arms, and dropped, 
 kneeling at my feet, it was with the look of 
 a mother, who sees the heavens passing away, 
 and the stars dropping, one after the other, into 
 th ocean. 
 
 The rain fell upon us and the wind blew 
 through and through our apartment. We lifted 
 up our eyes. The win lows were stove in ; three, 
 out of four chimneys, were blown down ; a part of 
 the roof swept off ; and the very earth, where we 
 lately sat, was torn up, as by the hoofs of innu 
 merable horses. Yec O, yet not a living soul 
 had been harmed, and when Mr. Arnauld culled 
 over our names, in the darkness, with a convulsive 
 emotion servants and all not one of the whole 
 family failed to answer, " here am I !" No, not 
 one. 
 
 Righteous Heaven! how wonderful and mys 
 terious are the sources of our consolnt on. At 
 another hour, the least ot these many calamities 
 had made us repine ; bat now, in the shipwreck 
 of our dwelling, the destruction, pro rnbly, of all 
 our hope for the season, there was not one heart 
 among us that did not beat loudly in thanksgiving. 
 Nay, in four hours fro.n the time of thy devasta 
 tion, a devastation which has never beea forgot 
 ten in that part of trie country we were re-as 
 sembled in one of the large neglected apartments 
 of the mansion happier by far than we had been 
 the night before, with a strong roof over our 
 heads, and a clear summer iky shining ia at the 
 windows. ft-, 1 . ? 
 
 " Let a man go with me," sr.id Archibald, with a 
 depth and sincerity that I shall never forget; 
 "out into the wilderness, on such a night as this 
 sit with me, as we sat together this afternoon 
 before the hurricane broke down upon us ; and feel 
 the soft air whispering about his heart, or hear the 
 thunder breaking ;.-.this feet, and see the great trees 
 bending and parting in the wind and blackness of 
 God s power. I care not who he is, or what he 
 is where born or how educated I defy him to 
 stand upright ! I defy him not to fall down, with . 
 his forehead iu the dust, and acknowledge the 
 presence of a God." 
 
 "Yet, Archibald," said I, you stcod up 
 right" 
 
 "Did I?" 
 
 "Yes," I repeated, "find Lucia ro s? ol up 
 right, while her hiir blew a v >out lik; the torn 
 flush foliage of yon honeysuckle." 
 
 " I did not know it," said Lucia, " but I re 
 member thi.t Archibald did; and 1 clung to Linn 
 for he saw something." 
 
 "Saw something! what did you see ?" said my 
 mother, who had a terrible notion of .portents and 
 prodigies, and battks in the heaven ; for, when 
 she was young (she was a native oHt>. unecticut), 
 slie had been awakened out of her sleep by a sud 
 den red light in the sky ; the heavens were all on 
 fire, probably by some passing meteor ; and when 
 others told her that armies were seen that ni^ht, 
 and chariots and horsemen, with the noise of ar 
 tillery; and that the smoke rolled Howi upon the 
 e;Tth like a heavy f >g ; s e iis "o d to i so 1 mg, 
 that, at last, she began to coif juud, what others 
 
|_10 THE NOVEL NEWSPAPER. 
 
 said with what she had seen; and before hey 
 death, did religiously believe, that she had hearu 
 drums and trumpets on that night, and seen a 
 battle above the stars. "What did you see, 
 Archibald?" said she, pressing close to him. 
 
 " God and his angels out upon the wind ! the 
 sky smoking under his chariot wheels ! while 
 they rained fire upon us," said Archibald. 
 
 " Heavens ! Archibald !" said Lucia, 
 
 tip to him, and putting her hand upon his fore 
 head ; " what ails you ! you were not looking up 
 
 when I saw you your eyes were upon the 
 ground : what did you see ?" 
 
 Clinton! I saw Clinton there." 
 She fell upon his neck. 
 
 " George Clinton ! his white bosom naked ; the 
 hilt of my sword pressing into it; the blood- 
 blood ! as plain as when he lived, trickling, drop 
 by drop O, God! down over his side; his 
 hands thrust into his own hair, with the sudden 
 ness of instant and violent death. O, Lucia, 
 Lucia! n_Q wonder that I heard the chariot wheels 
 of God the trumpeting of archangel*. The sweat 
 started out of me, from head to foot ; and the 
 turf, it appeared to me, as I bore thee over it 
 wherever I set my foot, gushed out with fire and 
 smoke, and I walked over broken sword blades, 
 human faces, and the manes of dead horses." 
 
 You are mightily disordered, my dear Archi 
 bald," said Lucia, affectionately pushing aside 
 the wild brown hair that shadowed his white brow ; 
 " I have never heard you talk so strangely ; how 
 wild you look. Did the lightning strike you V 
 
 "Strike me! feel here here, Lucia. It is 
 dust dust and ashes. Strike me! it rushed 
 through and through me I-O, 1 am very faint 
 very." 
 
 He grew deadly pale, and his head sunk upon 
 her shoulder, as he finished. 
 
 As for us, we were altogether unable to reason 
 or think steadily, for a moment. There was a 
 preternatural vividness in our recollection of the 
 last few hours; and a dim, shadowy, impene 
 trable indistinctness, of those, of all our lives be 
 fore. For myself, I am willing to declare, that 
 I could not have answered the simplest question 
 till after I had slept that night ; and that all the 
 feelings of my heart seemed crushed and stupi- 
 fied, except the love of my boy and wife. Even 
 mv mother was forgotten, in the terror and dark- 
 ne ss of our disorder. Was it the effect of the 
 lightning? I know not; but I know this, that 
 the clap was ringing in my ears for a week after, 
 <with a noise that kept me from sleeping or think 
 ing ; and that the discharge of lightning was in 
 cessant and blinding painfully so, even to my 
 shut and bandaged eyes, long afterward. 
 
 But Archibald was soon more calm; and to 
 ward morning, after we had sent out, as far as 
 we could, to inquire into the situation of our 
 neighbours, which was deplorable indeed, where 
 they lived in frame houses, and to offer them an 
 asylum, such as we- had left in ours, we all with 
 drew to our rooms ; but not to sleep. Neither 
 Clara nor I could sleep ; and I felt her tears 
 trickling, all the night long, down my neck as her 
 dear head lay upon my arm, while our little boy 
 nestled at her bosom, and slept so quietly, that 
 O ! it was a comfort to feel him stir sometimes, 
 to assure us that he was a living child, and that 
 his sleep was not the sleep of death. 
 There was a strange brightness in the west all 
 
 the night long ; and through our windows, whicH 
 were almost the only ones in th house whicn 
 had not been broken in, sashes and all, by th 
 hurricane, there was a constant glimmering upon 
 the wall, that troubled me more than I was 
 willing to confess. The night appeared immea 
 surably long; I thought that the rooming would 
 never arrive: nay, I began to have strange 
 fancies, and to doubt if in truth, the sky might 
 not have been torn away by the tempest. 
 
 "Would that the day would break!" said Clara > 
 in a low whisper, as if to see if I were asleep. 
 " It is breaking, dear," said I ; " look there. 
 " Do I tire your arm," saia she, gently raising 
 her head. , 
 
 " No ; indeed, dear, I moved it, unconscious ot 
 the weight upon it, to point to the east, where 
 that luminous, incessant surging of light appears, 
 like a sea breaking over its barriers." 
 
 "That is no day-break, my husband," said she, 
 holding her breath, and drawing near to me. " It 
 has been a terrible night a very long one- 
 pray look at your watch. It appears to me many 
 hours beyond the time of day-light." 
 
 I affected to laugh ; but I cannot deny that my 
 heart quaked, with an awful feeling, as I pulled 
 out my watch. You cannot readily understand 
 me, my children. It is impossible that you 
 should. You have never passed such a mpht. J 
 hope that you never may. But you will believe 
 that my terror was not of a light nature, when I 
 tell you that, 1 have seen some terrible things at 
 mht my father s dwelling in flames, thronging 
 with banditti and murderers :-that I have done 
 battle in the night, with twenty cannon splitting 
 in mv ears, and the ground covered with dead 
 and dying men: yet, never, never ! in all my life, 
 have 1 endured a sensation of such intolerable 
 weight, and coldness, and horror, as when 1 
 plucked out my watch, and held it up to the 
 light. As I am a living man, children, had the 
 last day been at hand, in reality and I had seen 
 the ski es run away, in silence ; and I had been 
 suddenly forgiven, I could not have felt a more 
 terrible convulsion of joy, than when I saw the 
 watch-hand pointing at three o clock, instead of 
 six or seven, and heard it, as 1 put it to my ear 
 clicking with life. My hand shook, and I was not 
 aware of my condition, till Clara exclaimed- 
 
 As I live, John, you are crying .what disturbs 
 
 iiu no, , cr .,. I was ashamed to own the 
 true cause but I embraced her, as I would, bad we 
 been plucked out of the water: we only, iroin the 
 population of the world, at the deluge- or been 
 nt away, rejoicing, at the last day. 
 Our silence continued, until the breathing of our 
 r boy called our attention to him. 
 How untroubled the sleep of that child, saul 
 " Thus will it be for ever, that the wise and 
 powerful are disquieted, in exact t roportion to their 
 risdom and power." . 
 
 " It was a tremendous visitation ! said Mara, 
 fervently pressing her lips to my cheek. " Did you 
 see how Archibald bore it?" 
 
 " That did I ! He stood up like a creature of the 
 elements, unawetl and undisturbed. 1 was amaaed 
 his calmness." 
 "And I I was terrified. 
 "Terrified! why?" ,,. 
 
 " It was unnatural. Husband, there ia something 
 
\n his manner of late, that will not let me sleep. Do 
 you not observe it?" 
 
 " I observe that he is exceedingly devout ; that x 
 he is for ever with Lucia and that the sweet wis 
 dom of her beautiful mouth is beginning to work its 
 way into his heart." 
 
 " I am not satisfied with it," said she. " While 
 they are most deeply engaged in conversation, there 
 are fits of musing that come over him, as if he were 
 holding communion with some invisible being and, 
 then he walks in his sleep." 
 
 " Yes at times, I know he does. But that is on 
 account of Clinton. He has never slept quietly 
 since. He never will. The nigh*. sweat is upon 
 him and I have heard him sob in his dreaming, as 
 if some strong hand were pressing his great heart to 
 suffocation. But I have observed a change in Lucia, 
 that delights me. She is altogether better, happier, 
 and less abstracted in her looks. She talks no more 
 of dying. 
 
 "Nor Archibald," said Clara, in a tone that 
 startled me. " He talks no longer of it. They are 
 strange people." 
 
 " They are, indeed/ said I ; " I know not what 
 they contemplate ; but a complaint like theirs, I 
 think, may always be brought on by deep thought ; 
 and unsparing, uninterrupted, long continued trouble 
 and sorrow, are often attended with a melancholy, 
 intemperate enthusiasm, which terrifies by its sub 
 limity, while it awes by the serenity, and sweetness, 
 and tenderness of its approach. Nor am I satisfied 
 what should be done. " 
 
 " I have thought," said Clara, hesitatingly. 
 " You know Lucia s pride having prepared so 
 steadily for death honestly, I am sure she would 
 
 not consent to live she would be ashamed to live, 
 now, lest all her declarations should be considered 
 as a piece of cunning. We have a delicate part to 
 act. But, my opinion is clear. I would have them 
 marry." 
 
 " Marry !" said I ; surprised, indeed, at the sud 
 
 SEVENTHS IX. 141 
 
 for another world like them that are about to set 
 out on a long journey are impatient for their depar 
 ture, after they have made up their minds, and 
 xhausted our sympathy, and found us, in a measure, 
 reconciled to tlie separation, they are sorry to go 
 <- but dare not acknowledge it willing to remain, 
 but ashamed to say so." 
 
 My notion is ah, the little wretch! how ha 
 bites!" 
 
 Master Jemmy had just discovered that the 
 fountain of her beauty was near to him and he 
 was puffing away at it hands and feet, like a fine 
 fellow when I arose, and looked upon him, leaning 
 over the mother and child, with a feeling such as a 
 father and husband only can experience. 
 
 It was time to get up. The blue east was breaking 
 into an ocean of mmultuous loveliness; the light, 
 h/re and there, issuing through the clouds, like 
 dammed-up waters forcing their way into the world. 
 It was cold, all very cold, but preternaturally 
 beautiful and flashing. 
 
 " Good morrow, love !" said I kissing her chaste 
 forehead, as I was about to leave the room after 
 standing over her for some minutes, while her fringed 
 lids, half shut over the dear babe that lay, cuddled 
 all up in a heap, under her snow-white arm and 
 her red lips were full of maternal endearment 
 " Good morrow !" 
 
 " Good morrow," she murmured inaudibly 
 pressing the boy more closely to her heart, and half 
 opening her sweet eyes for a moment ; and then, 
 while her voice died away in a faint breathing, like 
 alow summer wind among hawthorn flowers drop- 
 ping her head down upon his ruddy forehead I could 
 have fallen upon the bed, and wept with delight, 
 
 denness of the preposition. " Would it be possibl 
 
 , 
 
 happi 
 rankly, 
 
 Yes, I will answer for Lucia. Better health, 
 better spirits, have given her better views of 
 ness. But the proposition must come fra 
 without any appearance of stratagem, or intrigu 
 from Archibald. It may save both of their lives." 
 
 " You astonish me," I replied. " I have never 
 thought of this. I have suffered myself to believe that 
 both would live : nay, that both were fond of eacl 
 other; for their growing tenderness and veneration 
 Jbiave been e\ident to me but so long a time has 
 passed so many years, that " 
 
 " It matters not ," said Clara. " I believe that it 
 is not too late will you promote it?" 
 
 * With all my heart, said I ; " but how ? 
 
 " There is only one way. Archibald would have 
 uMirried her, notwithstanding all that had b^ened, 
 the extent of which, it is probable nay, it is certain, 
 that he knows, though I do not long ago ; but a 
 certain high, noble principle of honour, arising from 
 a belief that he should soon leave her a widow, pre 
 vented him from making the offer. Ho believes that 
 he will die yet and before many months. It is a 
 Childish notion the consequence of disappointed 
 affection weakness of heart and protracted 
 decay." 
 
 " You are right, dear Clara I have no doubt that 
 Archibald might live many years: nay, go into 
 battle again, with reputation and strength if he 
 could be persuaded to forget the thought of death 
 to overlook his own reiterated prediction. The fret 
 is, that people, who have been a long time preparing 
 
 at the picture before me a mother and her babe I 
 so young, so beautiful so innocent! her white 
 bosom heaving with love ; and her gentle arm in 
 tertwined about my offspring, as if it were her own 
 heart that had crept out into the air for a moment, 
 and lay under her soft hand. 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 Who made me brotherless ? 
 
 His eyes are open ; then he is not dead ! 
 
 Death is like sleep ; and sleep shuts down onr lids 
 
 His lips, too, are apart ; why, then, he breathes ? 
 
 Aud yet I feel it not. His heart 1 his heart. 
 
 The earth swims round me ! what is this ? tis wet ; 
 And yet there are no dews Tis blood ! 
 
 IBID. 
 
 My heart fails me. I never shall be able to carry 
 you through the whole war, as I intended to do, 
 when I began. It is out of the question. My own 
 return to the army ; the desolation that fell upon us; 
 the darkness the no, I cannot. I will content 
 myself, then, with relating one or two more incidents, 
 which happened soon after the conversation that I 
 related in my last, as calmly as I can, enjoining you, 
 first, that you religiously observe my instructions at 
 the beginning, and keep each packet separate. Let 
 them be marked as letters, one, two, three, &c., just 
 as I have sent them. I have good reason for what I 
 have done. They are usually about five sheets each, 
 
142 
 
 THE NOVEL NEWSPAPERo 
 
 being a quantity which I Lave osculated would be 
 about sufficient lor an evening. Intelligence from the 
 south no I will have clone with the war. The story 
 of my brother, and the extraordinary woman to whom 
 he attached himself, has taken such possession of 
 me, that 1 can see notbirg, hear nothing, thing of 
 nothing, but him and her. The war, and the men 
 of the revolution ; my o\\n sufferings, and those of I 
 iny family : theaimy, my country : all are forgotten, 
 or remembered, as a matter subordinate to the sorrow 
 of Archibald and Lucia. It is in vain that I would 
 tr} to lieep my attention any longer upon the object 
 that I set out with the war. I cannot. I can only 
 remember Archibald, as he stood before me at his 
 marriage, so spiritualised with beauty and expression. 
 But have patience with me. It is a disorderly story 
 at best ; bu( it must be told in my ow r n way. 
 
 Not long after the storm, w-e were surprised by the 
 sudden appearance of young Nick. 
 
 " Halloo, Nell," said he, capering into the room, 
 like a wild beast, learning to dance upon a hoated 
 earthen lloor, " halloo ! dnd has gone !" 
 "Gone! where?" said Ellenor 
 He stopped a dark, turbid expression hurried 
 over his forehead and his eyes filled. " There ! 
 there !" pointing downward. 
 
 EUpn turned pale. " Father poor father is he 
 dead?" 
 
 " Dead ! dead !" repeated the dwarf kissing her, 
 "but don t cry, Nell, don t cry ; he was sensible at 
 the last, and willing to die, and, bless your heart, 
 Nell, don t take on so. He died, poor old father, in 
 bis Christian senses." 
 
 I was inconceivably shooked at his manner ; it 
 was so unnatural and violent, and contradictory; 
 yet there were tears in the creature s eyes ; and his 
 ugly knees knocked together, when he saw Ellen 
 drop into a chair. 
 
 " Sister, look you. I have no great reason to 
 blubber about the old man. You know that all my 
 life long I have been kicked and cuffed about by the 
 whole family I " 
 
 She lifted her face, covered with tears " except by 
 you, dear Nell," he said, feelingly, " buffetted.and 
 shamed, and spit upon ; and why ? ask that kind gen 
 tleman there and that and that and any woman 
 here : is it that I have wronged em ? no is it that 
 I am devilish? who made me so ? where is there a 
 temper so sweet and forgiving, that no outrage, no 
 moekery none! though continued year after year, 
 will turn it to bitterness; where where (I thought 
 that he was choking.) I had hoped not to be 
 loved but pitied whose blood would not be turned 
 to fire? Look at me. I am ugly. I confess it I 
 am sorry for it. My limbs are jointed and knotted, 
 like the twisted oak ; my features are savage and 
 threatening; my nostrils like the race horse raw, 
 and red and broad. It is a sign of vigour. Could 
 you see no beauty in them ? Pardon me, forgive 
 me; nay, love me, Ellen ; for I love you better than 
 father did. Do not curse me, that I rejoiced at his 
 death. He was a benevolent man to all ihe world 
 but me; kind, to all but me; compassionate, and 
 forbearing, to all but his own offspring, the fruit of 
 his own loins; and why? because, unhappily, God 
 bad seen fit to shape me, not according to his own 
 image. See there! there is a woman whom I saved 
 from death death ] no, from what was ten thousand 
 times worse than death; yet she shudders at my 
 voice. I shot a man in the saddle, to whose waist 
 she was buckled ; covered myself with humanjjblood 
 to save her ; battled, in smoke and flame, for her and 
 hers; brought about a reconciliation between her 
 
 and her lover, who thought her dead yet she turn? 
 pale at my red, fiery eyes ; and the other loathes and 
 curses me for a brute who would not be tired of 
 well doing?" 
 
 I was amazed ! I went up to him and scrutinised 
 him ; and Mary wept aloud upon his hands, when 
 he offered them to her ; while Ellen nearly repeated 
 to me, in the same voice, what she had said years 
 before when my eyes were upon him, in the very 
 same room, and almost in the very same spot. 
 
 " You are mistaken I * 
 
 Here Archibald entered, and prayed me to go 
 with him on a walk. 
 
 His manner was very serious, and somewhat 
 melancholy ; while his voice was rather more cheer 
 ful than usual. 
 
 * And whither would you go ?" said I. 
 
 " Some miles," he replied. 
 
 "Well done! my brother; I am glad of this!" 
 said Clara. " This will do there is heart for all of 
 us in a walk of miles." 
 
 " And why not ride ?" said I. 
 
 "For several reasons," he replied, with increas 
 ing solemnity; " our horses could not go where I 
 want to go. And " 
 
 " No matter for the rest," said I, sportively ; "but,, 
 as well as a wooden leg will permit, I am your com 
 panion, if you believe that I can go where a four- 
 footed beast cannot. Are you readv ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "When shall we expect you hack?" said Mrs. 
 Arnauld, while Lucia opened her lips, meekly, as 
 awaiting the answer. 
 
 "Not for some days!" said he. 
 
 " Not for some days! what is the meaning of this ?" 
 I asked. 
 
 " I cannot well explain all my reasons here," he 
 said, glancing at the family ; " but go with me, and 
 you shall know them all before sunset." 
 
 The thought flashed over me all at once, that he 
 had heard some intimation of our design respecting 
 Lucia; and I prepared to follow him with uncom 
 mon alacrity. 
 
 We departed immediately, and had walked two 
 hours, with a great shepherd s dog at our heels, with 
 out having spoken a dozen words when he stopped 
 suddenly, under a large spreading walnut-tree, in 
 the centre of a wide enclosure. 
 
 " Do you recollect this place, brother? 1 said he, 
 pointing to the right, with his arm extended. 
 
 I paused a moment. There was something fami 
 liar to my recollection, in the appearance of the spot; 
 but I had never approached it in this direction be 
 fore ; and I knew not where we were. 
 
 " No," said I. 
 
 It was there that I spilt the blood of a human 
 beiug for the first time," he replied, in a low tone. 
 
 I shuddered at the sound of his voice. 
 
 " No-"-that is further to the right ; a full mile 
 fron here?" said I. 
 
 " You are mistaken. Here, I shot a man ; here, 
 where I now stand long and long, before you had 
 any idea of my familiarity with death : here, I saw 
 the brains oozing out of his temples; saw him writhe 
 and pluck up the grass with his red hands, and 
 fo im at the mouth, while his nostrils swam in blood. 
 Do you see that green hillock there? 
 
 " yes." 
 
 " There he lies buried. I dug his grave with my 
 own hands. I buried him. It was at the full of 
 the moon very cold very ; yet the sweat stood like 
 rain upon my forehead, when it was over." 
 
 I looked at him in astonishment was he disor- 
 
SEVENTY-SIX. 
 
 143 
 
 spect, 
 
 derecl ? He was very calm. But madmen Lave been 
 often calm. 
 
 " You are mistaken," I replied again; " when 
 the man fell, I did not know that you shot him. I 
 was Justin sight." 
 
 " You mean the trooper, brother. It was not the 
 first blood that I had spilt. 1 
 
 <4 1 do not understand you/ said I. " Let us be 
 gone." 
 
 " Can you lift that flat rock there ?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Heave it then : let me see you." 
 
 I attempted it; and, after a violent exertion, aban 
 doned it as impracticable. 
 
 " I am weaker than you, John," said Archibald, 
 mournfully ; " yet, on the night that I did this, I 
 heaved that rock Iromits place, and leaned it against 
 the tree, just where you see the bark scarred and 
 bruised there and come, let us try it together. 1 
 
 "For what purpose?" said I, getting impatient 
 at such solemn trifling. 
 
 * You shall see," he replied, stooping and placing 
 his hands under it. " Lift with me, brother, and 
 you will see. Now ! no-v I heave !" 
 
 We turned up the rock, and the first things that I 
 sa-.v, were a pair of rusty pistols, and a piece of white 
 cloth, mildewed partially decayed, and spotted all 
 over with what looked, even then, of a crimson hue. 
 
 I staggered to the tree, and Archibald stooped, as 
 if to touch it ; but he could not. His arm shook, 
 and he withdrew his hand, and looked about, in 
 every direction, for a moment then folded his arms, 
 and the following dialogue passed between us. 
 
 " Did you never wonder at my desolate as 
 when a boy ?" 
 
 " Never after that summer, when you came home 
 one morning delirious, without hat or shoes." 
 
 " Do you remember when that was? 1 
 
 " Yes pretty well. You were eighteen just af 
 terward. Lucia Aruauld had just began to be shy 
 of you." 
 
 " Right. Do you remember the sudden disap 
 pearance of young Hardy?" 
 
 I started. A strange, terrible light broke in upon 
 me. I gasped for breath. I was unable to reply. 
 
 " Tht;re sleeps Hardy, he continued, pointing to 
 his grave; " there lie his pistols; that one I t re 
 member it well, (setting his foot upon one, from 
 the muzzle of which a broken and bent rammer pro 
 jected some inches,) that is the one that killed him." 
 
 " And whose was the hand? 1 
 
 " Mine !"sid Archibald. 
 
 " Your s ! yourV, Archibald ! Oh, merciful Hea- 
 Ten! Your s! Archibald Dudley a murderer !" 
 
 " Yes a murderer." 
 
 I wept aloud. I would have denied the avowal 
 called t ;ve man accursed, for ever, who had dared 
 to whisper such a charge against him; yet there 
 was a proof the proof! who could resist it ! Besides, 
 Hardy had disappeared the night before his intended 
 departure for the army and yes, it was too plain ! 
 Archibald had murdered the poor fellow; while we 
 believed that he had joined the army, and (alien in 
 some of our early battles. This accounted for Archi 
 bald s sudden change of temper ; his melancholy ; 
 his awful steadiness in battle. Yes ! I wept aloud. 
 
 " Unhappy man ! said I shuddering from head 
 to foot, as 1 looked him in the face while his large 
 eyes shot lire upon me ; " let us be gone. I even 
 I, your own brother, do not feel safe with you. He- 
 place the accursed stone bury the instruments of 
 death ; and let us depart. 
 
 " With all lay heart/ said he, replacing the tone 
 
 with a kick. " There ! it is done. Men have said 
 that it is not possible to hide blood. See ! we have 
 found it easier to hide than to reveal it. There I 
 the deed is hidden. Now hear me. I slew Hard} . 
 His blood is upon my hands; yet it should be upon 
 his own head. You have never asked me how it was. 1 * 
 
 " I could not I dared not. I had not the heart 
 to ask you." 
 
 " Yet hear me. He fell a sacrifice to his own 
 folly and madness. I was thunderstruck at my 
 own guilt. He was dead before I knew it; nay, 
 before I meant it. We were shooting at a mark 
 we quarrelled and he struck me. I had heard of 
 duels ; but I knew nothing of how they were to be 
 conducted. It was late in the afternoon. He was 
 a soldier; about to join the army; and his air of 
 superiority had chafed me a long while. I fell upon 
 him and beat him for I would never take a blow, 
 as you can witness, from mortal man. He challenged 
 me, as we lay bleeding upon that little swell there; 
 no, not that he is buried there ; but further to the 
 left I scorned him for the thing. I did not believe 
 that he was in earnest. But he called me a coward 
 a coward ! I knew not what the word meant. 
 My reading had never brought me acquainted with 
 i f ; yet his manner of uttering the word convinced 
 me that it was something, for which 1 ought never 
 to forgive him. I would have fallen upon him again; 
 but he presented his pistol. I advanced he 
 threatened. 1 took up mine, Justin time to hear Lucia 
 Arnauld s name pronounced (strange, that two 
 men hare died blaspheming that woman!) and a 
 bullet whistled through my hair. I returned the 
 shot for we were very nenr and the smoke and 
 flash of his pistol nearly blinded me and 1 wa 
 still nearer, when I fired. 
 
 " He fell. I cannot tell you what else happened 
 I was stupified blind and suffocated with hor 
 ror. It appeared to me that many days and nights 
 passed before I left the spot. I saw him roll upon 
 the green sward. I saw the grass glitter, as it arose 
 from the pressure of his head; and shake itself, as 
 if the dew of blood upon it were hateful and scorch 
 ing as fire. I buried him how, I know not but 
 I did bury him, in the awful solitude of midnight, 
 ten thousand sweet stars looking down upon me; 
 and the blue windows above, all crowded with faces 
 that wept upon me. I buried the pistols there, and 
 the handkerchief and went home. From that hour 
 to this, I hiive never looked into this enclosure. 
 Even at noon day even now in your company, I 
 feel that it is haunted ; and can almost see Hardy 
 at my feet do not step back why do you? he is 
 not there " 
 
 " Your looks, brother ; I am terrified at your looks. 
 Let us go." 
 
 " Aye, let us go. I have seen it for the last time. 
 I can descii oe it now, when the angel of the Lord 
 sha^l read over r ~rny sentence hereafter. But I have 
 wrestled uittrangeTs all my life long." 
 
 There was something inconceivably terrific in the 
 desp calm of his look as he said this. " I pity you 
 from my soul I do, brother," said I. " You are 
 not the guilty creature that I feared. I wonder now 
 that I ever doubted you." 
 
 " Infatuated man ! Is my guilt the less that I slew 
 a human creature here, in a passion, than if I had 
 crept upon him coolly, and s>lain him deliberately, 
 Let us go. 1 
 
 " Whither?" 
 
 "Follow me." 
 
 "But whither? 
 
 " To another place, * 
 
144 
 
 THE NOVEL NEWSPAPER. 
 
 (I shuddered.) " More blood ?" said I. 
 
 Yes." 
 
 " I will not go another step. 1 
 
 " Then stay. But no come, come. It is none 
 secretly shed. I have no untold blood now upon my 
 soul." 
 
 "But why not tell of it ?" said I. "Why not 
 relate the truth ?" 
 
 "Why? In a place where a death by accident, 
 from one so young as I, would have turned every 
 heart in the country against me as a monster. No ; 
 I saw that no stir was made about it, and 1 deter 
 mined not to tell. Why should I ? He was to go 
 away the next day, and his careless, forgetful temper 
 accounted for his disappearance. He came suddenly 
 among us, and on foot. Why should he not go in 
 the same manner ? Nay, when I knew that he had 
 run away from his father to join the army, I felt 
 safe. It stopped all inquiry. The times were 
 troubled, arid all strange and bloody affairs were 
 attributed to the British or Tories. 
 
 " At first," he resumed, after a long and distressing 
 pause " at first it was my intention to relate the 
 affair honestly, just as it had happened, but my con 
 fidence in the charity of men diminished every hour, 
 and my terror of their evil judgment, which haunted 
 me day and night, with a continually augmenting 
 force, grew at last into an insupportable weight. I 
 should have gone mad, I verily believe, in the dark 
 trouble that was upon me, had not I seen other 
 hands, other lips, innocent as mine had been even 
 your s, John, dyed in human blood. I arose then, 
 and shook off the hot fetters that bound me. They 
 fell from me like an iron rain, while my spirit burnt 
 out in the battle like a furnace, and " 
 
 I could hear no more. He continued talking, and I 
 Stood and listened to him with an indescribable awe : 
 hut I heard him not, nor did I understand him. He 
 stood loftily before me, dilating in the sunshine, to 
 an unearthly stature, and his voice was like that of 
 one who has come up from the place of death. It 
 was very terrible, and continued incessant, and 
 smote upon my heart like a cold rain ; but I re 
 member nothing of what he said till we had arrived 
 at another spot, where he stood, and stretched out 
 his arms with a solemnity that kept me breathless. 
 
 " Here," he cried " here it was that my foot was 
 first set in the stirrup for battle. Here, under the 
 cold moonlight, while the very snow darkened under 
 our swift shadows, did we ride together for the first 
 time, our articulate pulses throbbing fiercely with the 
 first stirring of battle. Here, even here, whilst the 
 dwelling of our father was fired, and the red flame 
 lushing upward, with the shriek of women and the 
 shouting of death, here rode we in the moonlight, 
 carelessly reining our horses, in the brief, boyish 
 tumult of parade. Oh, how little we knew of the 
 serious business of war ! how little of what was 
 going forward at the same moment within a few 
 miles of us. 
 
 Oh, my children, I have seen man fearfully agitated 
 I have heard him laugh, like a devil, in the smoke 
 and flame of battle. I have seen men slaughtered 
 and dying, with their hearts crushed out the wild 
 "beast looking from his dark retreat through the red 
 mist, that rose in the starlight from the place of 
 slaughter. I have seen oh ! many a terrible sight 
 but nothing, in all my life, so preternatural and 
 overpowering as the look of Archibald s eyes, while 
 he stood with his pale hands outstretched toward the 
 green, distant earth, moving them, as if there were 
 shadows visible to him, and to him alone, and obe 
 dient to his motion the shadows, it may be, of man 
 
 and horse, foot and horsemen, that had died under 
 his eyes, since they last rode together within this 
 very enclosure, I could not h ive borne it longer. 
 It was like a great spell upon me, pinioning m 
 down hand and foot, lungs and heart; for I felt thfr 
 pressure within me and without me, like a suit of 
 insupportable armour, weighing me down, while my 
 arteries ran with cold lead. 
 
 " Where shall we go, brother? 1 said he, after 
 another deep silence. "It is getting dark. Can 
 you walk so far as the farm ? * 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 He took my arm affectionately, and we proceeded, 
 in a silence so pleasant, yet so uncommon, that 1 
 wept as we wandered together over the well-known 
 place of our childhood, until we approached the 
 scene of all our suffering. But there we we no, 
 I will not attempt to describe our emotion. It was 
 the first time that we had been together at the farm 
 since it arose, with the same features, from the ashes 
 and blackness of the old mansion. For a moment 
 it was like an apparition before us. For a moment, 
 so complete was the resemblance of the present 
 buildings, in all their substantial, disordered shaping 
 and relationship, that a delusion took hold of UP,, 
 and we forgot that it was a counterfeit. We had 
 then, after a shock that jarred every nerve in our 
 bodies, leisure to remark the exceeding closeness of 
 the imitation. All was there that we had ever seen, 
 even to the trees which had been consumed, and we 
 fell upon each other s neck and wept aloud, wonder 
 ing, for a time, by what preternatural agency all this 
 had been done for our bruised hearts, in silence. 
 But we soon knew the secret. The amiable old min 
 who managed the farm, and superintended the build 
 ings, had transplanted trees from the forest to the 
 places where there had been others blasted and burnt 
 with fire. Heaven bless him for it. I shall never 
 sleep quietly in any grave that is not dug beneath 
 that old tree at the left of my window. There it is;, 
 there withered and sapless, like myself, but ve 
 nerable even in its decay. Every wind that blows 
 over it, every rain that beats upon it, drenches its 
 old heart, or blows away a part of its strength. 
 How like the going down of a strong man to the 
 chambers of death. The winds go by mi 1 , and my 
 grey hair is upon them the rains beat into my 
 bosom, and my heart turns cold and stony with their- 
 buffeting. 
 
 We slept together that night. I was strangely 
 miserable, and yet I could not avoid talking all night 
 long upon the prohibited therne. 
 
 " Brother," said I, " what think you, at this time,, 
 of your own situation? Do you despair of re. 
 covery ? * 
 
 " I despair of nothing," said he. " It is not in 
 my nature to despair. But I have done speaking of 
 mjself. I have promised, inwardly, to trouble no 
 man, while I live, with sorrow, or complaint, or re 
 pining. Come what will, I am now prepared for it. 
 What little good I can do, I will do, that, when God 
 shall beckon to my spirit, it may depart in peace." 
 
 " There is comfort and eonsolation in the very 
 tones of your voice, Archibald," said I. " I p?ay 
 tell me, if I be not trespassing upon your patience;,, 
 how do you stand affected towards Lucia ? * 
 
 "Brother, he replied, somewhat startled at my, 
 abruptness,! could perceive " Brother, I I hardly 
 know. She is evidently much better. I never saw 
 her so beautiful ; and if there be tenderness or truth 
 in woman, a broken-hearted woman, I am persuaded 
 that no brother, I am wrong I ought not to 
 breathe her name, except in my prayers/ 
 
SEVRNTY-SIX. 
 
 " But what think you of her ?" 
 
 " Think of her 1" said he, rising iu his hed, and 
 sitting up, in the troubled starlight, just so that I 
 could see the shape of his head thrown hack, and 
 his locked hands elevated ; think of Lucia Arnauld ! 
 this! that she is one of the most extraordinary 
 women that ever lived ; that, could we have heen 
 together for ever, and understood the temper of each 
 other as we do now, she would have made me God 
 only knows what! but I could die for her, even now. 1 
 
 " Even now, Archibald," said I, significantly. 
 
 " What do you mean by that ? said he, dropping 
 his hands." Your voice changes what mean 
 you ? 
 
 " It matters not," said I, recollecting myself; "I 
 agree with you, in your opinion of her. What think 
 you of her health ?" 
 
 " I hardly know, he replied, calmly ; " they say 
 that she will be well again ; but they say the same 
 of me; poor idiots! Yet, I do believe that she is 
 better. Would that I could prolong her dear life, 
 with my heart s blood ! I would stand over a caul 
 dron, and let it run hot and smoking into it, if that 
 would cure her." 
 
 " Less may cure her." 
 
 < Less! what? 
 
 4t Your love." 
 
 " My love! she has it." 
 
 " Your hand marry her, Archibald, marry her 
 ah ! " 
 
 A deep silence followed ; the bed shook, and I 
 leaped out of mine, and ran to his. He was lifeless, 
 covered with dampness; and his hands were 
 clenched like locked iron. It was with difficulty 
 that I was able to release him from the hold that he 
 had caught ; but I did at last, and bore him to the 
 window, which was open. 
 
 He revived; but I was afraid to speak again, till 
 I felt the wind blowing upon his hot forehead, as 
 he leaned against my cheek. He was in my arms, 
 like a sick child ; and his hands hung, powerless, 
 over the back of ray chair. I moved them, and 
 put my hands to his temples; they were burning 
 hot, and the sweat stood on them, like a summer 
 rain. 
 
 " Do you believe? said he, faintly "I see, bro 
 ther, that this question is not inconsiderately put 
 to me. You have thought of it before others have 
 thought of it well, well do you believe that Lucia 
 would be happier, for a single moment, were she my 
 wife ?" 
 
 41 I do" 
 
 " But if she knew that she must be a widow 
 soon ?" 
 
 " It matters not," said I, " not at all, though she 
 be your widow, before the benediction has done 
 sounding in your ears; it will make her happy. 
 She has some doubt now ; she cannot but have some, 
 of of your respect for her; I mean sincerely. It 
 preys upon her. Marry her and, I know all, 
 brother all ! do not shake so, do not, I pray you 
 would you die in my arms ? You are terribly 
 still, Archibald, terribly ! what ails you ? speak, 
 brother, speak ! why do you not speak ?" 
 
 A low groan broke from bis heart ; he arose, and 
 stood up. 
 
 * 1 will marry her," said he. 
 " God for ever bless you, Archibald." 
 "And when?" 
 
 " Immediately immediately ; let no time be 
 lost." 
 
 * * * X * 
 
 This was the substance of our conversation that 
 
 night. By day-break we were on our way to the 
 ground where he broke down, to the rescue of 
 Clinton. 
 
 He stood, loking upon it with a working lip, and 
 eyes full to overflowing ; but he spoke not, no, not 
 a word, until we had left it for half an hour. 
 
 " We are getting old, brother," said he, " very old, 
 I feel like one that has worn out his appointment of 
 threescore years and ten, outstayed the sojourn per 
 mitted to man. Men talk about years and months 
 and days. I measure time by vicissitude, trial, 
 sorrow, blood. Look at me; but a few summers 
 have gone over roe. I am what the world calls a 
 young man ; but, to my notion, I am older than 
 the patriarchs. I have outlived all the pleasant 
 emotions of the heart, all remembrance of my child 
 hood ; the beauty of heaven, the clear water, the 
 green branching tree, the sporting bird, the the 
 bright lip of woman, and her love, have turned to 
 ashes in ray sight I. Let us journey a little fur 
 ther. We are near our first battle ground." 
 
 " No, it is about five miles from this place." 
 
 About sunset we came to the place. 
 
 It was all overgrown with sedge and rushes, very 
 rank and vivid. 
 
 " The soil is hot and fruitful," said he, bitterly y 
 fat with human blood. This growth of vegetation 
 is new here. I can remember when it was all 
 barren about this spot. These rushes," breaking 
 a handful and bruising them, " "should yield blood, 
 at the bidding of a hand like mine awful, is it not, 
 brother? to see the material of man, his hot heart, 
 his valorous blood, his strong sinews shooting out 
 with beneficent greenness, like this. Look, this 
 handful of rushes, and these beautiful wild flowers, 
 may be but the herbage and blossom of some young 
 heart." 
 
 " Let us go ! in God s name, let us go. 1 
 
 We departed, and arrived at night, worn out and 
 exhausted with the walk, at Mr. Arnauld s; as we 
 approached the house, he took my hand. " Not a 
 word of what we have spoken," said he, " until I 
 have tried her heart." 
 
 " Ri^ht," I replied, returning the pressure, while 
 my blood ran pleasantly home at the sight of his 
 red lips, smiling sorrowful to be sure, but smiling, 
 nevertheless, as he departed, in pursuit of Lucia. 
 
 Just as I was getting into bed, he came to me, and 
 embraced me. 
 
 " It is as you believe, * said he "she has owned 
 it. What a noble creature! she has consented 
 Heaven bless her ! And now, all that I have to say 
 is let not an hour be lost. I have my reasons. No 
 matter what they are. It ought to" satisfy you to- 
 know that I have them. Will you press the ar 
 rangements ?" 
 
 " Will I ? O, with more pleasure than I would 
 my own marriage, were Cl<\ra and I unwed at this 
 blessed hour." 
 
 " Well, well to-morrow, then, let the preparation 
 be begun. I am sure of all tbe famity and sure of. 
 her except Clara she is full of deep propriety,! 
 
 " I will answer for Clara," said I. 
 
 " True, for her consent," he replied, " bnt not, 
 perhaps, for so precipitate a consummation. When 
 will she return? 
 
 " To-morrow, with her father," said I. 
 " She is a kind creature, "said he, " never to leavo- 
 you till you have left her. Good night. 1 
 " Good night." 
 
 It was now Wednesday, and before two days had 5 
 gone over our heads all the necessary preparations 
 had been made, and the time of the nuptials settled 1 
 
146 
 
 THE NOVEL NEWSPAPRR, 
 
 for the coming Sunday night. Ah, how happy we 
 were ! All our faces were literally wet with jov 
 we cculd not pass each other, any of the family, 
 though it were a hundred times in the day, without 
 a shake of the hand, a smile of congratulation, or a 
 blessing. Sunday came. It was a beautiful day. 
 Archibald was very cheerful, or rather equable and 
 serene ; it was not so much cheerfulness, as the 
 serious countenance of a good man about to prove 
 his religion. The morning was spent in the presence 
 of our clergyman (the same that had married Marv, 
 EiTehyarfd" Clara, in religious devotion. The dinner 
 was late, and to our happiness, there came a bundle 
 of letters, containing the most grateful intelligence 
 from Copely and Rodman, of their health, comfort, 
 and the prospect of peace. 
 
 The pious man remembered it in his prayer ; 
 and, after a bumper to Washington, and " ab 
 sent friends," of currant wine, that made our 
 hearts leap with recollection (for the last time 
 that we had tasted that vintage, was at our marriage 
 before), we adjourned to the large parlour. A walk 
 Wis proposed ; and we sauntered about, Archibald 
 and Lucia dropping behind, (for an unpleasant ill 
 ness had fallen upon him, suddenly, twice within a 
 few days! and he was not able to walk far, though 
 he never looked fuller of life and power ) and con 
 versing with a tender solemnity, which, though we 
 heard nothing of the words, came to us iu the sound 
 of their voices, with the effect of prayer. 
 
 After a pleasant ramble we returned, and entered, 
 altogether, into conversation with a freedom that 
 astonished me. The windows were all open; the 
 light in our room was pale and beautifully dim ; the 
 wind was blowing about, scented with the blossoming 
 wilderness at the portico, where innumerable plants 
 and flowers were flourishing, and sweating perfume 
 and lustre. 
 
 " How sweet and holy 1" said Lucia, uplifting 
 her dimmed eyes to Archibald, who stood leaning 
 over her, as she sat, and holding by the open case- 
 sount above. 
 
 " Pray sit down, brother," said I; j" you will 
 stand in need of all your self-possession." 
 
 " I shall, indeed," he said, in a manner that, I 
 remember well, had a slight effect upon my feeling 
 then; but it was soon forgotten. 
 
 " You are serious, Lucia," said he, affectionately, 
 putting his hand upon her shoulder. 
 
 " Should I not be, at such an hour, with such a 
 man," she replied, putting hers upon it. " I never 
 saw the marriage of another, but with a feeling 
 strangely unlike that of women in general. It is 
 not that I am more timid, or less sanguine, or 
 steadier; but, some how or other, there is a deep 
 deep solemnity iu the ceremony that awes me." 
 
 " Yes, L icia know each other as we may, there 
 may be untold and terrible things within us ; 
 thoughts that cannot be uttered ; a hidden temper, 
 that no man dare avow. You smile love. I do 
 not speak of myself; and then, there are trials and 
 sorrows, unknown to any other than the married 
 heart; obligation, to be encountered, that he who 
 dares not think of must be an idiot ; and that lie 
 
 who thinks of, without trembling, must be a a 
 
 1 hardly know what to call him. He should 
 
 never be a father. Sudden blows, too, may fall upon 
 us. They that have loved us they may be smitten 
 sorely, while we have no power to help or comfort 
 them. We may be weary of the world widowed 
 and desolate. A fearful survivorship may happen. 
 You weep, Lucia weep on, dear. It is our duly 
 to be prepared for all that may happen. I am SB. 
 
 I regard our existence here, but as a continual 
 favour continually repeated ; a protracted miracle; 
 for sorrow and disappointment, and illness, have 
 taught me, that there is no wisdom in looking for 
 one hour of certain happiness." 
 
 " For shame, Archibald, said Ellen ;" would 
 you make us all hide our faces ? Come, come, no 
 
 billing and cooing yet Gracious Heaven! what 
 
 crying! crying together! absolutely crying to 
 gether ! Why Lord help you ! you are not mar 
 ried yet 1" 
 
 " Hush, hash, saucebox," said Archibald; " W8 
 are only rehearsing." 
 
 Ellen tugged at his arm, and finally led him away 
 from Lucia, to where the clock stood. 
 
 See! she exclaimed, " fifteen sixteen six 
 teen minutes and a half, left to you, yet to repent 
 and be saved." 
 
 The minister looked serious. Archibald stopped 
 before the clock, and stood, looking at it, in silsnce. 
 " Yes, 1 said he " yes! What a remarkable 
 coincidence !" 
 
 " What are you muttering about? Some incan 
 tation I suppose, 1 said the implacable .Ellen, " to 
 stop the hands! Lucia Arnauld! Lucia Arnauld I 
 he is in treaty with evil spirits already." 
 
 Lucia arose with a pleasant step, and came near 
 to him. He turned. 
 
 " You are very pale, Archibald," said she. 
 " I am," he replied, fixing his eyes upon the clock. 
 " Yes verv pray sit down pray do." 
 " No, clear Lucia no. It must not be. Let me 
 take your arm. There is a faintness here it will 
 soon be over a mistiness. Sir! Mr. Arnauld my 
 friend let the ceremony begin. This suspense is 
 insupportable." 
 
 Not till six," said Mr. Aruauld, gravely, " that 
 is the hour. 1 
 
 " Immediately ! pray you," said Archibald, 
 very earnestly ; " immediately I pray you it 
 might be too late." 
 
 Lucia moved nearer to him, and pressed his hands, 
 while she turned her dark eyes wistfully in his face; 
 but, though there was a mortal paleness on his 
 forehead, yet his blue eyes were pre-eminently ex 
 pressive, tender and beautiful. 
 
 Where I stood, which was about five or six feet 
 from him, I was astonished at a phenomenon that 
 was visible to me. A thin vapour rose continually, 
 from his hair, like the mist from wet ground at night; 
 and his forehead glittered with the dew of his heart. 
 Yet it was not unpleasantly warm. I was on the 
 point of speaking; but, at that moment, the clergy 
 man stepped forward : placed her hand in Archibald s, 
 with a benevolent smile while a look of noble 
 compassion was bent upon Archibald, as he did so, 
 expressive of uncommon respect and love. 
 
 And who would not have felt the same? His 
 remarkable expression full of wisdom and corrected 
 passion; the tamed haughtiness of his red lips; the 
 deep passionate blue of his eyes, tempered, in their 
 brilliancy, by some hidden and mysteiious feeling, 
 as if he were in the expectation of something that 
 we were all unprepared for. Such, at least, was his 
 appearance. It may be that I have fancied this 
 since ; but my belief is, that at that time, while I 
 stood before him, the same opinion arose within me. 
 The ceremony went on ; and such was the solem 
 nity and low tenderness of the clergyman s voice ; 
 the profound devotion apparent in the countenance 
 of Archibald ; the beautiful confusion, and quick 
 tumult of pale and red, upon the face of Lucia 
 rushing like sun-set shadows over suiuoist foliage: 
 
as rapid and varied, that most of us -were affected, 
 even to tears. 
 
 The benediction was pronounced. Archibald 
 turned bent forward, and put his lips to the mouth 
 of his bride trembled from head to foot attempted 
 to rise but he could not agaiu and again but 
 his head . ell on her shoulder. 
 
 " God of Heaven ! cried Mr. Arnanld, thunder 
 struck at his mortal paleness, and the strange help- 
 lessness that came over him : " I never saw a human 
 being so agitated in all my li e: why, even Lucia 
 is firmer. Lean on me, Archibald. 
 
 " No, father," said Lucia : " no ! I am his wife 
 
 S&VENTY-SIX; 147 
 
 now. He shall lean on no living creature, while I 
 am able to support him my husband! 
 
 " Lucia, my wife !" he uttered, faintly, pulling 
 her forehead down to his lips, while she stood over 
 him, pressing his damp temples to her heart. 
 " i a h ! one kiss love ! one one be prepared, 
 Lucia I ah ! " 
 
 He stood suddenly erect upon his feet ; the light 
 flashed over his face. It was the face of a dead 
 man. He fell upon the floor : a loud shriek followed. 
 Where were we ? Where ! We ran to him we 
 raised him up. It was too late I Almighty God I 
 it was too late ! HIS WIFE WAS A WIDOW 1 
 
 THE END OF SEVENTY-SIX. 
 
, BERKELEY 
 94720 
 
w** 
 
 F26701 
 
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 THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY