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WALTER THOENLEY; 
 
 OK, 
 
 A PEEP AT THE PAST. 
 
 BY T1IE AUTHOR OP 
 
 "ALLEN PRESCOTT" AND "ALIDA." 
 
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 L I ) 
 
 " Our fathers find their graves in our short memories, and sadly tell us how we 
 may be buried in our survivors. Generations pass while some trees stand, and old 
 families last not three oaks." UKN BURIAL, SIR Tnos. BROWNE. 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 
 HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS, 
 
 FRANKLIN SQUARE. 
 
 1859. 
 
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year one thousand 
 eight hundred and fifty-nine, by 
 
 HARP Eft & BROTHERS, 
 
 In the Clerk s Office of the District Court of the Southern District 
 of New York. 
 
?? f 
 
 1*51 
 
 The light of early days and better years is reflected 
 m the young faces around me; and recollections of the 
 PAST are united with gratitude for the blessings of the 
 PRESENT, when I inscribe these pages 
 
 TO 
 MY GRANDCHILDREN. 
 
 M76014 
 
WALTER THORNLEY, 
 
 CHAPTEK I. 
 
 IN the village of Ashton, which, in order to avoid cu 
 rious surmises as to personalities, as well as critical in 
 vestigations as to accurate topography, it need only be 
 said, was within the bounds of Massachusetts, there lived 
 at the period to which the commencement of the fol 
 lowing tale refers 1780 a person of the name of Graf- 
 ton. He had but recently become a resident of the 
 place a fact in itself of not much importance, but which 
 had excited no small speculation among his neighbors. 
 
 The residence Mr. Grafton had chosen was, indeed, 
 little suited to his previous habits and associations. A 
 traveled man, a scholar, and a gentleman without a fam 
 ily, it might well be supposed, could find few induce 
 ments to adventure into a rude settlement, in the vicin 
 ity of which the savage yet lingered. Still there was no 
 mystery in the case. It was simply an instance of idio 
 syncrasy. He had, though yet in the prime of life, seen 
 the world, had participated in its pleasures, had not es 
 caped its trials, and had not withheld himself from its 
 duties. But a nervous dislike of the restraints and de 
 mands of society, co-operating with a reserved temper 
 and health not robust, had led him to seek in retirement 
 the enjoyment of his favorite pursuits, which he could 
 not disguise to himself was as selfish as impracticable in 
 the busier haunts of men. Accident had led him to this 
 particular spot, where his townsmen, leaving him the 
 
4 
 
 enjoyment .of .bis books and his time, were quite willing 
 to ^commute -hik personal services for the pecuniary aid 
 *\ h$; was- at -all- times ready to contribute. Although not 
 * * more than -thirty,, ;hB ttpp eared older ; for a countenance 
 marked by reflection, and an air of languor, gave the ef 
 fect of more years than he had seen. His manner be 
 trayed no consciousness of superiority, and his dress, 
 though scrupulously neat, was equally unostentatious, 
 yet both sufficiently indicated that he belonged to a 
 more cultivated order than the persons among whom he 
 had taken up his abode. His house, to which a small 
 garden was attached, in size and style befitted the small 
 establishment within, consisting of himself, a lad for out- 
 of-door services, and one female domestic, who united in 
 herself the offices of chamber-maid, cook, and house 
 keeper. Bat, far from conceiving this to be derogatory, 
 not the Diva triformis could have entertained more com 
 placent notions of her importance in her three-fold ca 
 pacity than did Damie Turner of hers, as she passed 
 through her several transformations, and finally attain 
 ed, at about five o clock in the afternoon, her most dis 
 tinguished position. Then, with clean gown, cap, and 
 apron, she was prepared to attend on Mr. Grafton s tea- 
 table, to "turn out," in country phrase, the refreshing 
 beverage, and to see that things were as they should be. 
 Damie, who rejoiced in the baptismal name of Dei- 
 damia, was a woman of a "certain age," whose single 
 blessedness it might have been unjustly suspected no 
 man had wished to disturb. Beauty had never been 
 among her gifts, which was perhaps the reason of her 
 very just estimate of it she often averring that "to be 
 pretty behaved was much better than to be pretty look 
 ing." She had many good qualities, was kind-hearted 
 and upright, and, though self-sufficient, was not insuffi 
 cient. Mr. Grafton, on his part, was easily satisfied, and, 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 5 
 
 so long as his books and papers were untouched, was 
 not unreasonably curious about her housekeeping. 
 From this indulgence, Damie s power grew in time to 
 overshadow the little household, Mr. Grafton submitting 
 to an evil of his own creating, by good-naturedly apply 
 ing the Shandy maxim, "We lose the right of complain 
 ing by forbearing to use it." 
 
 A fine day in May had closed, and, seated in his 
 study chair by the side of a fire, even at that season not 
 unwelcome, Mr. Grafton was poring over a favorite au 
 thor, with no sound to break the silence but the purring 
 of a privileged cat. The evening wore away to a late 
 hour. The lights in the adjacent dwellings, one after 
 another, had been extinguished. He shut his book, and, 
 with his eyes turned to the window, and arrested by a 
 candle that still burned in a distant part of the village, 
 he applied the line, which has so often occurred to oth 
 ers, 
 
 " So shines a good deed in a naughty world," 
 
 when he was roused by the sound of horses feet. They 
 approached, and appeared to stop at his gate. It open 
 ed, and in a moment a knock announced a visitor at 
 such an hour an unusual occurrence. As Damie open 
 ed the door, a person entered so hastily as to brush out 
 the light in her hand she always insisted designedly 
 and she could only discern a tall figure much muffled, 
 who, without heeding her, proceeded quickly toward the 
 room in which Mr. Graft-on was seated, and presented 
 himself with the air of a gentleman, but with a counte 
 nance expressive of anxiety and urgency. 
 
 With a courteous request to be seated he complied, 
 but without laying aside his cloak, though apparently 
 encumbered by it r and though the fire seemed to invite 
 him so to do. His body, strangely disproportioned to 
 his face, which was thin and rather pale, arrested the 
 
6 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 usually incurious gaze of Mr. Grafton, and an awkward 
 silence ensued, while Damie purposely loitered in the 
 room, and the stranger directed his piercing eyes "by 
 turns on both. At length, as if he had no time for cer 
 emony, he abruptly requested a private interview with 
 the former. 
 
 As soon as they were alone, throwing aside his cloak, 
 he revealed to the astonished Mr. Grafton a child of 
 about three years of age asleep on his breast, an attempt 
 to conceal whom had so much added to his apparent 
 bulk. 
 
 "The little fellow is so wearied with his drive," said 
 he, gently disengaging him, " that I doubt if he wake to 
 night; but I must liberate myself, at all events, for I 
 have brief time for even a few words ;" saying which, 
 and forming a pallet of his cloak on the floor by his 
 side, he laid the child on it without disturbing his slum 
 ber ; then, addressing Mr. Grafton in a tone of confidence 
 and respect, he continued : 
 
 " Your name and character, sir, are known to me, and 
 I can give no better proof of the high estimation with 
 which you have inspired me than by the trust I am about 
 to repose in you. Without circumlocution for, with 
 you, truth the most direct must be the most acceptable 
 the object for which I have ventured to obtrude myself 
 upon you is to request that you will become the protector 
 of this child, without question of his birth or destiny ; that 
 from this moment you will receive him under your roof, 
 there to remain till claimed by his natural guardians." 
 
 Occupied in a survey of the person who proifered so 
 unexpected and so unwished-for an expression of his re 
 spect, Mr. Grafton did not immediately reply, nor was 
 the result of the survey favorable to the request. 
 
 There was in the stranger, with the carriage of a gen 
 tleman, an easy assurance that by no means inspired 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 7 
 
 the confidence it expressed, while his eye, quick, intelli 
 gent, and penetrating, sought rather to observe than to 
 be observed. He might be rather younger than Mr. 
 Grafton, and was decidedly handsome; yet there were 
 hard lines, traced either by bad passions or an irregular 
 life, that gave a sinister expression to his face. 
 
 ""I wait your assent, sir," he continued, with a slight 
 frown of impatience, but in the blandest tone. 
 
 " You can hardly be serious," replied Mr. Grafton, "in 
 expecting an assent to a proposition so unqualified, and 
 unattended by a single circumstance that can even justi 
 fy my assuming such a responsibility." 
 
 " The more unqualified the trust, the greater the con 
 fidence reposed." 
 
 Before the shuffle could be detected or replied to, he 
 continued : " And allow me to add that Mr. Grafton is 
 the last man living who would require to be justified in 
 the performance of a benevolent action." 
 
 "Excuse me, sir; but we will, if you please, dispense 
 with compliments. This is at least as much a matter of 
 business as of sentiment ; and, to be very plain with you, 
 there must be strong claims to induce me to take it into 
 consideration even for an instant. If there are such, 
 which is in the highest degree improbable, I am willing 
 to hear them." 
 
 The stranger, it would seem, had trusted to the effect 
 of his full and broad demand on what he had been led 
 to consider the easy temper of Mr. Grafton to produce a 
 sort of amazed compliance ; but, unabashed by its fail 
 ure, with persuasive accents he proceeded : 
 
 " I can plead no claim but that of the friendless. This 
 poor child is cast upon you by the same Providence that 
 has more than supplied your own wants, and now calls 
 on you for that portion of your care for which there is 
 no natural claimant." 
 
8 WALTER THORNLEY; OK, 
 
 Though uttered in the most respectful manner, this 
 laying down the law of moral obligation by a stranger, 
 requiring as a duty a favor of such magnitude, was so 
 offensive that Mr. Grafton was on the point of express 
 ing a decided refusal, when the child who till now had 
 lain quietly gave signs of awaking, turned over, stretch 
 ed his limbs, and opened his eyes, which happening to 
 rest on his near neighbor, the fat, beautiful tortoise-shell 
 colored cat, he started up, and, uttering a cry of surprise 
 and pleasure, exclaimed, " Oh pretty ! pretty !" 
 
 What eloquence so persuasive as the sweet voice of 
 infancy ! The repellent emotions which were kindling 
 in the breast of Mr. Grafton were stilled. Eepressing 
 the reply he was about to make, his eye rested on the 
 little being before him, as, refreshed and animated, he 
 scrambled up from the pallet that had been spread for 
 him, and sought to win the sleek and beautiful animal 
 by his caresses. 
 
 The appearance of the child was well fitted to fix the 
 attention of a person even less kindly disposed than Mr. 
 Grrafton toward such sometimes wayward sprites. His 
 sturdy little figure, his finely-formed and well-set head, 
 covered with luxuriant curls, which yet permitted the ex 
 posure of^ms fair forehead ; his bright eye, his ruby lip, 
 scarce passed from the rose-bud of infancy to the better- 
 defined lines which develop it a little later; the dim 
 pled cheek, the joyous laugh, the graceful attitudes into 
 which he unconsciously threw himself in his gambols 
 with puss, the warm light shed by the fire, presented a 
 study for a painter as well as an appeal to a philanthro 
 pist, and Mr. Grafton felt his refusal melt away in a gush 
 of kindness and pity. He began to take a new view of 
 the matter, to seek in his heart excuses for what ap 
 peared to his judgment a piece of Quixotism. " Sup 
 pose I am a bachelor, unskilled in the care and training 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 9 
 
 of a child, I am the more unembarrassed by any con 
 flicting duties ; and my beloved quiet I shall but enjoy 
 it the more if it be sometimes interrupted." 
 
 The distrust, too, which he felt for the stranger in 
 creased his compassion for the child. "Shall I leave 
 him," he thought, " perhaps to an evil destiny, when it 
 is asked of me to rescue him?" But Damie there was 
 the rub; "she would probably object to her share of 
 the additional burden, and he should deprive himself of 
 her services, or be involved in domestic jars. What 
 then? Should he for such a consideration reject the 
 little creature thus cast on his mercy ? No ; Damie, im 
 portant as she was, might go, the child should stay." 
 
 The stranger eyed him attentively, and read in the 
 softened expression of his face the operation of new 
 feelings. 
 
 " You consent, then, I perceive, sir," said he. " You 
 justify my hopes, and secure to yourself the reward of 
 the beneficent. That," rising, and presenting a letter, 
 " contains all that it is necessary to communicate. Fare 
 well. I must be many miles from here before the dawn," 
 and hastily wrapping himself in his cloak, as if about to 
 leave the room, he paused a moment, and fixed a part 
 ing glance on the child. 
 
 " I must leave him without his knowledge," continued 
 he in an under tone, rather as if addressing himself; " he 
 would resist my doing so were he aware of it, though, 
 when I am gone, he will be easily pacified." Then, with 
 an inclination of the head, a finger on his lip to request 
 silence, and a quick inaudible step, he vanished as if in 
 corporeal, leaving Mr. Grafton time neither for farther 
 question nor reflection. He held for some moments me 
 chanically the letter committed to him, scarcely sure if 
 he were not in a dream, so strange and sudden had been 
 the revolution wrought in his quiet abode. Curiosity, 
 
 A2 
 
10 WALTER THORNLEY; OB, 
 
 however, soon prompted to a perusal of it. It contained 
 a small sum of money and the following lines : 
 
 " His name is "Walter Thornley ; his age three years. 
 A valise, containing such clothing as is at present neces 
 sary for him, will be found at your door. Funds shall 
 from time to time be remitted for his support. He is 
 not to be sent to a public school ; but his education must 
 nevertheless be that which befits a gentleman. You will 
 not communicate the circumstances under which he has 
 been confided to you, yet an appearance of mystery is 
 to be avoided. Curiosity is not to be excited." 
 
 The easy impudence of these requirements by the 
 obliged party provoked a smile. 
 
 11 A pretty fellow, truly!" exclaimed Mr. Grafton; 
 " imposes on me the trouble of rearing and instructing 
 his child, and dictates the manner with the air of a sov 
 ereign prescribing the education of his heir apparent I" 
 
 In the mean time Damie, who had heard the stranger 
 withdraw, and who was by no means superior to the in 
 firmity common to all persons excluded from confer 
 ences, entered, with some ready excuse for her reap 
 pearance, when the sight of the child struck her dumb. 
 Looking from him to Mr. Grafton, from Mr. Grafton to 
 the child, she stood silent and motionless. At length, 
 recovering her speech, she exclaimed, as she seated her 
 self in the nearest chair, " Well, if I ain t beat !" 
 
 Mr. Grafton was sufficiently disposed to obey the last 
 injunction of the letter. He had no mind to be a village 
 wonder, to prevent which, he quietly remarked that 
 "the child had been placed under his guardianship, and 
 that he and she must make the best of it." 
 
 This did not satisfy Damie, who, bursting with ques 
 tions as to "who?" "what?" and "where?" condensed 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 11 
 
 all into one, which she trusted would lead to a solution 
 of every other. 
 
 " What is his name ?" she inquired. 
 
 Mr. Grafton informed her, adding, with affected indif 
 ference, uncertain as yet how this addition to her cares 
 would be regarded, "You see, Damie, that you and I 
 can not shut ourselves out from the troubles of the world 
 any more than others. If we do not seek them, they 
 come to us." 
 
 The child, meanwhile, all unconscious that his destiny 
 had passed into other hands, was pursuing puss from 
 one covert to another, till she had ensconced herself un 
 der the chair occupied by Damie, who, not yet decided 
 in what light to regard the little intruder, was following 
 him about with her eyes in mute perplexity. 
 
 At this juncture the cat, who, among her immunities, 
 chiefly valued her quiet nap before the study fire, who 
 had not been so hunted about since she was a kitten, 
 and, though she " wore motley," had no fancy to play 
 the fool, grew tired of having her well-dressed whiskers 
 twitched, her tail pulled, and her smooth coat of many 
 colors brushed the wrong way. When, therefore, she 
 had gained her last retreat, and her indefatigable pur 
 suer, with a cry of exultation, seized her, she turned on 
 the defensive, and inflicted such vengeance with her 
 talons, that he was obliged, though not without a brave 
 struggle for victory, to release her, uttering at the same 
 time a scream of pain, and holding up his bleeding chub 
 by hand with an imploring look to Damie. 
 
 Mr. Grafton was at rest; the crisis was favorable; 
 Damie caught him in her arms, beat puss, and kissed 
 his hand; and the little fellow, moaning with pain, re 
 clined on her bosom till he completely subdued her. 
 
 "He has cried himself to sleep," said Mr. Grafton; 
 "where will you lay him for the night, Damie?" 
 
12 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 "Where?" repeated she; "why in my own bed, be 
 sure. The poor little cre ter sha n t never sleep nowhere 
 else." And there, accordingly, he was safely bestowed 
 with no sense of suffering or desertion. 
 
 In the morning, however, strange voices and objects 
 disturbed him. The images which frolic and pain had 
 chased away returned. He looked in vain for some fa 
 miliar face, till, disappointed and confounded, he threw 
 himself back on his pillow, covered his eyes, and cried 
 aloud for some one, but with such imperfect articulation 
 that the united efforts of Mr. Grafton and Damie could 
 make nothing intelligible of the sounds. 
 
 " Poor boy !" said Mr. Grafton, sadly, " he calls for 
 those who can not hear, and who would not if they 
 could. Fortunately, his tender mind will soon yield to 
 other impressions." 
 
 In effecting this change, the fearless temper of the 
 child much aided. He was soon won by kindness, and 
 reposed himself without distrust on his new friends, 
 though his heaving bosom and occasional sobs indicated 
 that his little heart was troubled. For days his anxious 
 glance was directed to every opening door, and an ap 
 proaching footstep would arrest his attention in the midst 
 of his play. In her endeavors to soothe him, Damie 
 found his first acquaintance, puss, an able coadjutor. 
 Having instructed him so to caress as not to irritate her, 
 she skillfully combined something of responsibility and 
 occupation with amusement by making it his business 
 to feed her, an office that so delighted him that his own 
 meal was often left untasted till he should place her 
 saucer of milk and her morsel of meat. Amid her kind 
 attentions to the little stranger, Damie s curiosity re 
 mained as unsatisfied and as eager as ever ; and, finding 
 Mr. Grafton insensible to all her hints, her woman s in 
 genuity was set to work to extract information from the 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 13 
 
 child himself. Here she was alike unsuccessful. In 
 vain she tried and pumped ; asked about father, mother, 
 brothers, sisters, home; and she at length relinquished 
 the attempt to interpret words which, as the past was in 
 part effaced by new impressions, seemed fewer and more 
 unintelligible at every trial. The valise, which had 
 been the first object of her investigation, was found to 
 contain a supply of clothing, but no marks. It was evi 
 dent that pains had been taken to efface them from a 
 few articles more worn, and of finer materials, and which 
 were ornamented as mothers love to deck their darlings. 
 But the greater number were plain, and appeared not to 
 have had any. The former Damie abstracted for rea 
 sons of her own. 
 
 " They ain t no use now ; he s most grown out of em ; 
 and who knows but they may be wanted some day to 
 sartify to the child?" 
 
 The benevolence of Mr. Grafton soon gathered its re 
 ward. The little being thus strangely imposed on him, 
 as if conscious of peculiar obligations, seemed to strive 
 to make the only return in his power his caresses and 
 obedience. 
 
 Without disturbing the quiet, he infused cheerfulness 
 into the hitherto joyless dwelling. By a sort of instinct 
 he seemed to know when he must suppress and when he 
 might indulge his merriment, and 
 
 "Provoke 
 A partnership in play." 
 
 If Mr. Grafton were reading, Walter remained immov 
 able on his little cricket, and addressed his inseparable 
 companion, puss, in whispers. But when the book was 
 laid aside, and his " uncle," as he was instructed to call 
 his guardian, at leisure, he knew he was permitted to 
 approach, to mount his knee unchidden, and to ask for 
 the oft-repeated, never-wearying story which Mr. Graf- 
 
14 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 ton himself a child in simplicity and tenderness soon 
 learned to adapt to his auditor. Day after day was told 
 the tale 
 
 "Of orphan babes, 
 With berries smear d, with brambles torn," 
 
 of dutiful but unfortunate Eed Eiding-hood ; of the mar 
 velous bean-pole, the top of which, like the fabled sum 
 mit of Demavend, was nearer heaven than earth ; of the 
 magic slipper, and the beneficent fairy, and all the fan 
 tastic tales of the olden time, which, after amusing the 
 nurseries of our granddames, furnish the drama of their 
 adult descendants. But, above all, Walter delighted in 
 the wonderful achievements of " Puss in Boots," and 
 nearly renewed the ancient battle between himself and 
 his four-footed friend by an attempt to force her into the 
 same unseemly guise. Then, changing his theme, Mr. 
 Grafton would descend from these legends to the expe 
 rience of common mortals, and inculcate a moral from 
 the fate of those who had neither fairies to befriend nor 
 ogres to distress them ; of good boys, like himself, and 
 of bad ones whom "nobody loved" a predicament, of 
 all others, terrible to Walter. At other times, in the 
 scene of Damie s labors, with the irrepressible activity 
 of children, he proffered his " hindering help," by which, 
 if her work was not advanced, he was amused, and she 
 was not displeased. Sometimes, his powers and faculties 
 suspended on the revolutions of her wheel, he would sit 
 silent and motionless, his eye following, as with slow, 
 retreating step she mysteriously extended the roll into v 
 the long and slender thread ; then would come the rous 
 ing turn which was to render it fine, and smooth, and 
 strong; and then, after a momentary inverted motion 
 of her wheel, it was carried to the point of the spindle, 
 which seemed to Walter to swallow up the yarn as fast 
 as Damie could spin it. To the hum of her wheel she 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 15 
 
 added a song as monotonous ; yet, as if his ear were at 
 tuned to sound, and could catch its slightest variations, 
 he listened with satisfaction, and was impatient of inter 
 ruption. 
 
 To his amusement succeeded his instruction, and Da- 
 mie was advanced from his nurse to his dame. The la 
 bors of the day over, she assumed, with her afternoon s 
 better apparel, the office of schoolmistress, taught him to 
 repeat the strange characters of his horn-book, and to 
 utter those first simple combinations that were to be to 
 him in after years the key to knowledge. His aptitude 
 and docility rendered commands and punishments un 
 necessary. His attention seldom wandered but when 
 puss coaxingly rubbed alongside, inviting a brush from 
 his familiar hand ; and then a tap from Damie s knitting- 
 needle, the extent of her penal administration, soon re- 
 called it. 
 
16 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 YEARS passed, and Walter, having acquired all that 
 Damie could teach, was not slow to apply the key with 
 which she had furnished him. The Bible, almost the 
 only book she was acquainted with, notwithstanding 
 that she had used it as one of primary instruction, he 
 continued to peruse with interest, if not with " spirit- 
 1 ual discernment." The wonders it unfolded, the hero 
 ism, suffering, and fidelity it recorded, expanded his 
 young mind, while Mr. Grafton was careful to impress 
 the lesson which might else have escaped his perception, 
 and to direct his excited sensibilities to the Being whose 
 character it revealed. There were not then, as now, 
 books for all ages ; and, when Walter humbly requested 
 " something to read," Mr. Grafton despairingly raised 
 his eyes to his well -filled shelves, where ancient and 
 modern tongues poured forth their treasures, but only 
 for those who had earned them by hard and patient 
 study. 
 
 The eager desire of Walter for knowledge was not, 
 however, to remain unsatisfied. It became an addition 
 al tie between him and his guardian, who, thus won from 
 his more dignified pursuits to the personal instruction of 
 a child, supplied by oral teaching the deficiencies of the 
 period. This was fortunate for both. It withdrew Mr. 
 Grafton from occupations which, if they could not ex 
 tinguish his sympathies, prevented their full exercise ; 
 and it brought Walter s mind into more frequent com 
 munion with one not less pure and good than it was 
 rich and beautiful; and while Mr. Grafton created or 
 found we leave to others to choose between the exist- 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 17 
 
 ence or not of original propensities a correspondence in 
 his pupil with, his own poetic temperament, which open 
 ed a new source of sympathy, he thought he could al 
 ready discern, too, the germ of a character sufficiently 
 strong to resist the illusions it loves. 
 
 As Walter s mind advanced, Mr. Grafton fed it " with 
 food convenient;" and study, hard, pains-taking study, 
 succeeded to the hitherto less arduous method. Diffi 
 culties only increased his zeal. They were surmounted 
 with an ease that at once surprised and gratified his in 
 structor; but, nevertheless, Mr. Grafton was sometimes 
 doubtful if an education so entirely secluded did not ex 
 ceed the injunctions imposed on him. He feared, too, 
 its effect on the temper of the boy, who, though both 
 fearless and kind, was exclusive and self-dependent to a 
 degree not consistent with the ordinary condition of 
 man, which makes it at once a necessity and a virtue to 
 confide in his fellows. 
 
 Though a small settlement in a rude country, there 
 was of course being in New England a school. To 
 this Walter was now sent, not so much for its ostensible 
 advantages as to bring him into union, and peradventure 
 into collision, with those of his own age. Here he was 
 soon distinguished by his industry, quickness, and obe 
 dience. His truth, courage, and generosity had their 
 natural effect on his companions. He was on good 
 terms with all, but a certain sense of uncongeniality on 
 both sides prevented intimacy. Yet he mingled in the 
 usual sports of his age, for which his fine physique well 
 fitted him ; and such were his fairness and good-nature 
 that, though generally excelling, he excited no envy. 
 All yielded to Walter Thornley, whether at book or 
 ball, as if the attempt were vain to outstrip one whom 
 Nature had marked as her favorite. 
 
 His fourteenth year was now completed, and it may 
 
18 WALTER THORKLEY; OK, 
 
 be asked, had no clue offered to the mystery that in 
 volved him ? and was he himself aware of it ? So far 
 from a solution, the enigma was the more complete, in 
 asmuch as the remittances, gradually diminishing, had 
 soon ceased altogether. Though pained, as it regarded 
 Walter, by this apparent desertion on the part of his 
 natural friends, Mr.Grafton rejoiced for himself. Pecu 
 niary considerations were of little importance to him. 
 Not rich, he had yet enough for the moderate wants of 
 himself and his. ward, and could not deeply regret what 
 seemed to secure an undivided right in one whom he 
 felt daily more necessary to his happiness. In reply to 
 the inquiries of Walter he had carefully avoided what 
 ever would excite a curiosity he could not gratify. He 
 had represented him as an orphan, because such he be 
 lieved him virtually to be ; and, evading farther particu 
 lars, he hoped to preserve his mind, at least during its 
 tender state, from a knowledge, the effect of which he 
 dreaded on one of his temperament. 
 
 But, though Walter acquiesced in the silence of his 
 guardian, there were yet certain vague reminiscences 
 lingering in his mind, like visions of a pre-existence, 
 which strangely perplexed him, and which he cherished 
 as persons of a poetic imagination dwell upon their 
 dreams, as something that carries them beyond the 
 common and the limited into the unrestricted regions 
 of the ideal and the extraordinary, where they may in 
 dulge in thought and emotion forbidden within the sober 
 confines of reality. Like dreams, he feared that they, 
 too, would vanish into insignificance if reduced to lan 
 guage, which seemed incapable of " bodying" the faint 
 traces, the scarce perceptible connections, the momentary 
 associations, which came and went like shadows over the 
 surface of memory. There were visions of a lady who 
 smiled and wept, who caressed and soothed ; of spacious 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 19 
 
 rooms, and beautiful wanderings among flowers ; of lying 
 on the soft grass that seemed to spread immeasurably 
 around him ; then of restraint and authority, and a tall, 
 dark man ; then of noise and fright, the dashing of wa 
 ters, and the roar of winds. Then all was a blank till 
 Mr. Grafton, Damie, and puss filled up the vacancy. 
 How much of this could be traced to original first im 
 pressions ; how much had been afterward supplied by 
 ideas which, as the mind received them, fitted into and 
 perfected its half-formed imagery, he could not ascer 
 tain, nor did he desire to do so. It was a part of him 
 self, and as such he clung to it. 
 
 Many circumstances of Walter s condition co-operated 
 with these impressions, in giving that turn to his mind 
 which, invidiously termed "romantic," is but another 
 name for quick sensibilities and generous impulses, crav 
 ing objects and opportunities above the comprehension 
 or desire of ordinary men. His secluded and simple 
 habits left imagination to its own creations, unshackled 
 by the forms of artificial life the most effectual of seda 
 tives ; at the same time that its freedom, invigorating to 
 mind and body, preserved him from the sickly sentimen 
 tality of a dreaming boy. Without apprehensions of 
 their Indian neighbors, many of whom were the subjects 
 of religious instruction, and perfect in the woodcraft of 
 the place, Walter, with his gun and dog, fearlessly roam 
 ed the forest which still closely skirted the village. 
 There, threading its mazes, penetrating its deep recesses, 
 looking up to catch the sunbeam that could scarce find 
 its way to his path, or provoking its echoes with his 
 rich musical voice, he was unconscious of a want. 
 
 To this temper, allied to whatever was beautiful, 
 Walter s reading had also contributed ; some of which, 
 if it answered no other end, at least preserved him from 
 low associations and vulgar pleasures. Among graver 
 
20 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 matter in Mr. Grafton s library, he had found records of 
 that picturesque age which, as M. de Sismondi skeptical 
 ly asserts, always eluding our investigation, is ever a lit 
 tle farther than we can penetrate. "Plus on etude 
 1 histoire, et plus on voit que la chevalerie est une in 
 vention presque absolument poetique ; on n arrive ja- 
 mais a trouver par des documens authentiques la pays 
 ou elle regnait: toujours elle est represente a distance 
 et pour les lieux et pour le terns." But to Walter, his 
 imagination fired by the idea of devoted pages, trained 
 in every gentle and manly service, and destined to a 
 career of faith, humanity, and courtesy, it seemed as real 
 as the skies above him. 
 
 A favorite ramble of his was along the river, which, 
 after passing near the village, proceeded for more than a 
 mile beyond it in a tolerably direct course. It then 
 took a sharper turn, and dashed over a rocky ledge, fall 
 ing from a height of fifty or sixty feet into a ravine, 
 over the stony bottom of which it found its way into an 
 other part of the town, where a few houses were known 
 as the " South End." Then, escaping from every ob 
 struction, it resumed its full and placid course till it pass 
 ed far beyond the bounds of Ash ton. The richly- wood 
 ed sides of the ravine that shut in the river permitted a 
 walk along its margin, by which a fearless foot might 
 gain the summit. There, on one side, a small grassy plat 
 closed in with trees afforded an inviting resting-place to 
 the adventurer, whence he might gaze into the chasm, or 
 be lulled to sleep by the 
 
 "Water s fall with difference discreet, 
 Now soft, now loud." 
 
 On both sides of the ledge over which the waters fell 
 projecting masses of rock had suggested the idea of a 
 bridge, these furnishing secure abutments. But the 
 arts were still young in Ashton. The trunk of a largo 
 
A PEE? AT THE PAST, 21 
 
 tree which had accidentally fallen just beyond the cata 
 ract, and to which others had been added, served in place 
 of a more artificial structure to those persons with steady 
 nerves, who, to save time, went by this shorter cut from 
 Ashtonto "South End." 
 
 The place had, too, its legend to add to its attrac 
 tions. In a conflict near it of two hostile native tribes, 
 the daughter of the vanquished chief, hotly pursued by 
 the victors, to escape captivity was said to have thrown 
 herself from the rocks that overhung the ravine. A 
 sycamore, not far from where she took the fatal leap, 
 marked the spot. It was old, and the winds had played 
 roughly with it ; but as it reared its broken trunk and 
 white branches above the underwood that partiallv con 
 cealed it, it justified, in the delusive lights and shadows 
 of the night, the fancies of the country-folk ; who, as 
 the story ran, had often seen a gigantic phantom raising 
 its arms, and in the act of precipitating itself into the 
 abyss. Be this as it may, pity and superstition had con 
 secrated it. 
 
 It was Walter s delight to pick his way along the 
 stone-strewed margin, till, having reached nearly the 
 base of the fall, he contrived, by the aid of fissures, pro 
 jections, and saplings the tough nurslings of the rocks 
 to gain by zig-zag approaches the summit. There, 
 throwing himself on the soft grass that seemed spread 
 for his reception, a vague foreshadowing might some 
 times suggest to him that such was life its high places 
 only to be attained by hard and adventurous toil. Nor 
 would his ardent young spirit have been discouraged by 
 the admonition that, even when thus gained, they are 
 often, alas! like a scant and dizzy height, "too narrow 
 for friendship, and too slippery for repose." 
 
 But an exclusive companionship with nature, Mr. 
 Grafton would not permit ; and more for his pupil s ad- 
 
22 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 vantage than his own gratification, he sought, as Walter 
 grew older, what society the place afforded. The pro 
 fessions were represented by the village pastor, lawyer, 
 and physician. These, with their families, and a few 
 others, served to cultivate those feelings without which 
 our nature is stinted and but half-grown. They were 
 all respectable men in their way. Dr. Mills, undisturbed 
 by old or new schools of medicine, by allopathy, homoeo 
 pathy, or hydropathy, killed and cured to the general 
 satisfaction. Squire Whiting, when he could not settle 
 a difference amicably as a referee, fought the battle 
 stoutly as an advocate. But first, in all respects, was 
 good Dr. Jarvis. Those were the days of reverence, when 
 the clergyman s well-worn black suit coat, breeches, 
 and worsted stockings ; his steel shoe-buckles, cane, and 
 pocket-comb ; his rusty cocked hat, even from its peg 
 behind him in his pulpit on the Sabbath, inspired more 
 respect than the young of the present time are capable 
 of feeling for any thing. It is fair to say, however, that 
 Dr. Jarvis had stronger claims than even these. To 
 much of the learning of his period and profession, he 
 added a kindly nature and the manners of a gentleman. 
 Though none could more pertinaciously defend their 
 tenets, nor maintain a more uncompromising warfare 
 with gainsayers, yet, when these had passed the confines 
 of this world, there was none whose charity was so earn 
 est in devising an escape for them from the very fate he 
 had denounced against them. His feelings, indeed, what 
 ever he might say and he did say many things as hard 
 to bear as to understand were in charity with all men, 
 and it was sometimes surmised that to indemnify him 
 self for what he deemed necessary severity to the living- 
 he dealt thus mercifully with the dead. 
 
 It was not a small benefit that Mr. Grafton derived 
 from his guardianship that he was thus drawn from a 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 23 
 
 morbid love of solitude ; and that by his good-natured 
 polemics with Dr. Jarvis, his disputed points of law with 
 Squire Whiting, his incredulous but patient acceptance 
 of Dr. Mills s remedies, and his hospitalities to all, the 
 little courtesies of life were kept alive. 
 
 Among other apparently insignificant circumstances 
 that went to make up the experience and character of 
 Walter, was his intercourse with one who, though among 
 the humblest in Ashton, filled a place that no one else 
 could fill. This was Jedediah Cooley, otherwise " Jed," 
 by which abbreviation he was universally known, to the 
 practical oblivion of his patronymic. He had been a 
 Eevolutionary soldier, and was at this time a pensioner, 
 and, moreover, peddler, fiddler, fisherman, sportsman, 
 and songster. His fund of military anecdotes, of songs, 
 and personal adventure, recommended him to the young, 
 and, in addition to this, between himself and Walter had 
 been early established certain sporting sympathies. He 
 had been his instructor in all sylvan arts ; services that 
 had been well repaid, for, besides minor good offices, 
 when a " season of sickness" had occurred a period to 
 which Jed was fond of alluding Walter had proved 
 himself both efficient and grateful. 
 
2-i WALTER THORNLEY; OK, 
 
 CHAPTEE III. 
 
 THE winter had been long and severe; and as the 
 punishment of many acts of " downright presumption," 
 as Damie did not scruple to say, with the opening 
 spring Mr. Grafton was attacked by rheumatism so se 
 verely as to call for more attention than he was disposed 
 to pay to himself. Having resisted all domestic nos 
 trums, Damie, with equal confidence, asserted that it 
 could only be cured by "the Pool" the popular name 
 then given to the Sulphur Spring at Lebanon. "Doc 
 tors stuff," which, with a common inconsistency, she be 
 lieved in only when administered by herself, and of 
 which she would have said, in the words of the quaint 
 old drama, 
 
 "It doth them more good, when they sellit, 
 Than all the buyers who take or smell it," 
 
 "wouldn t be of no use." 
 
 Lebanon was at the distance of nearly two days jour 
 ney something of an undertaking to stay-at-home per 
 sons. It had, too, or was supposed to have, its perils. 
 The road, through a hilly and rough country, was much 
 neglected, and, as some reported, absolutely dangerous. 
 This, however, was not one of the things of which Mr. 
 Grafton made much account, though their good pastor, 
 on the Sabbath preceding his departure, did think ilfex- 
 pedient to " put up," as the phrase went, prayers for his 
 safe-conduct a devout practice in keeping with the 
 times, and one which the present generation, who trust 
 themselves so recklessly to a blind and irresistible force, 
 might do well to imitate. 
 
 Storing the wagon, at the suggestion of Damie, with 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 25 
 
 such comforts as in the then accommodations of the 
 place might not be found, and with Walter as compan 
 ion, attendant, and driver, one fine day in the middle of 
 June Mr. Grafton bade Damie farewell, who, shading her 
 eyes with her hand, looked after them as long as they 
 could be seen, with more anxiety than is now manifest 
 ed when a steamer parts its moorings for an Atlantic 
 voyage. 
 
 "Well," said she, as she re-entered the house, and 
 busied herself with its adjustment, " they are off the 
 Lord have marcy on em ! Walter is a helpful lad, and 
 will see that the cre ters are well looked a ter ; but he 
 can t do nothin for the rheumatiz ; and Mr. Grafton, 
 take him out of his books, though he is the best man 
 ever I see, isn t much." 
 
 Ponder this, you who insist that knowledge, per se, is 
 power. 
 
 Toward the close of the second day they reached the 
 little village of Lebanon, without any of the accidents 
 that had been predicted. 
 
 On the side of the high hill which rose above it two 
 houses offered themselves for their accommodation, both 
 sufficiently unpretending, but the lower one more invit 
 ing, because more accessible, the hill being very precip 
 itous. To this they directed their course as a first ap 
 plication, and, finding such a promise of comfort as sat 
 isfied them, were content to remain. Wearied with his 
 journey, Mr. Graflon soon retired, postponing till the 
 next day an investigation of the place and the persons 
 he might find there. 
 
 A beautiful morning called our travelers to a view of 
 the valley beneath them, not, indeed, varied to the de 
 gree it now is with well-cultivated farms, clusters of sub 
 stantial houses, a boldly undulating country compre 
 hending many miles, and a distance that stretched with-. 
 
 B 
 
26 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 out intervening veil to the far mountain outline. The 
 primeval forest still held partial possession, and excluded 
 much that has since been laid open to admiring eyes ; 
 but enough was even then to be seen to give an idea of 
 the whole. 
 
 A visit to "the Pool" was the first business of the 
 day. There was found a little open reservoir, overshad 
 owed by trees, into which the spring poured itself, and 
 around it on benches were seated the patients, as if wait 
 ing for the angel who should "trouble the waters." In 
 a few moments he appeared in the form of a fine, healthy, 
 bare-footed boy, who, filling tumblers, presented them 
 to such as desired it. 
 
 At present, the chief recommendation of this water is 
 its purity and softness ; but at that period the belief in 
 its efficacy for many complaints was strong, and, more 
 over, confirmed by deposits of sulphur on the sides of 
 the Pool in such quantities that people often gath 
 ered it to take with them on their return to their 
 homes. 
 
 Mr. Grafton and Walter, both quick observers, were 
 speculating on the persons near them, chiefly plain coun 
 try-folk, who compared their cases and experience, the 
 various doctors and remedies to which they had resort 
 ed, etc., etc., and were unanimous in the opinion that 
 " the Pool" was better than all. While this was pass 
 ing, Walter s attention was attracted by the approach of 
 a wagon, small and light enough to be drawn by hand, 
 descending from the upper house. It was brought quite 
 close to the Pool, and its occupant, a boy apparently 
 eleven or twelve years old, was served with water. 
 
 Walter observed that the servant who attended him 
 supported him while he raised himself to drink. This, 
 together with the extreme delicacy of his appearance, 
 awakened his sympathy, and, approaching, contrary to 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 27 
 
 his usual shyness toward strangers, he tried to find some 
 occasion to speak to him. It soon offered. The little 
 invalid dropped his handkerchief, the servant did not 
 observe it, and Walter hastened to pick it up and hand 
 it to him. He received it with a smile, and by the mes 
 merism of youth a communication was established. The 
 servant now drew near, took up the pole of the wagon, 
 and they turned from the spring. It dragged heavily up 
 the steep ascent, and Walter, who had followed a few 
 paces, extended a helping hand without speaking. It 
 was not rejected, and they were soon at the door of the 
 upper house. Here Walter was about to turn away, but 
 the little fellow said, with a wistful look and friendly 
 tone, " Don t go !" and Walter lingered. 
 
 Presently a lady appeared on the piazza and descend 
 ed the steps. Bending over the wagon, she kissed the 
 child tenderly, saying in a sweet German voice, " Guten 
 morgen, mein liebes kind ; how came you to desert me 
 thus?" 
 
 "Master Oscar wished, ma am," said the servant, re 
 spectfully removing his hat, " to surprise you by show 
 ing how early he could be dressed, and how strong he 
 is growing." 
 
 "Yes, mamma," said the boy, eagerly, " I am so strong 
 I almost raised myself without Wilson s help." 
 
 "Indeed!" exclaimed the lady. "Thank Heaven!" 
 and again, with eyes full of love, she bent over him, and 
 again she kissed him. 
 
 Walter turned away, and hastily retraced his steps 
 down the hill. He could not have very clearly defined 
 his feelings, and he would have stoutly repelled any in 
 quiry into them. He only knew that never before had 
 he so keenly felt that he had no mother s love. 
 
 " Who is that fine-looking youth, Wilson ?" asked the 
 lady. 
 
28 WALTER THORNLEY; OK, 
 
 The man professed his ignorance. 
 
 " But, mamma," said Oscar, " we must find out. He 
 is so very good-natured. Do you know that he helped 
 Wilson draw me up the hill ? It was his own offer, too ; 
 no one asked him." 
 
 " That was indeed very kind and thoughtful," she re 
 plied. " We will ascertain who he is when we next go 
 to the spring." 
 
 Meanwhile, Mr. Grafton, who had observed Walter s 
 attention to the sick boy, turned to a gentleman at his 
 side, and inquired who the child was. The question 
 was addressed to the village doctor, in frequent attend 
 ance at the Pool, and, having been called professionally 
 to the child on his arrival, was better able than any one 
 else to answer it. 
 
 " He is the son of a Mr. Middleton. The father is an 
 Englishman ; but, though his wife speaks English per 
 fectly, it is with a foreign accent, which I take to be 
 German. Carriages, horses, and servants show them to 
 be people of fortune, but they are quite unassuming in 
 their manners. She especially ; he is one of your noli 
 me tangere 1 people ; but the son is a fine fellow." 
 
 " Have they been long here ?" 
 
 "About three weeks. They came for the health of 
 their child, who, I understand, is the only survivor of 
 four." 
 
 " And is he likely to be benefited by the experiment ? 
 he is an interesting-looking boy." 
 
 " Oh, too handsome ! too handsome !" said the doctor, 
 shaking his head. " I never like that complexion ; but 
 he is mending, and, with good care, I think they may 
 save him." 
 
 "Where do they reside?" 
 
 " I believe near New York. They have been in this 
 country some ten or twelve years, but he retains all his 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 29 
 
 John Bull stiffness, and will, I dare swear, as long as lie 
 lives." 
 
 In the course of the day there was the same gathering 
 at the Pool, and soon the wagon and the little boy ap 
 peared, accompanied by a lady leaning on the arm of a 
 gentleman, whom Mr. Grafton rightly inferred to be Mr. 
 and Mrs. Middleton. The relationship between her and 
 Oscar would have been suggested by their strong mu 
 tual resemblance, except that, with the same clear blue 
 eye, delicately-cut features, and profusion of silky light- 
 brown hair, her complexion, though fair, had not the 
 fatal transparency through which that fate is seen, which 
 so often attends those who seem like victims decked for 
 sacrifice. Her sweet face and courteous manner were a 
 passport to all hearts. Mr. Middleton, on the contrary, 
 invited no approach. A fine person and gentleman 
 ly deportment made an immediate impression, but, be 
 yond what politeness required, he encouraged no inter 
 course. 
 
 Oscar s eye eagerly sought Walter, whom having 
 found, he pointed out to Mrs. Middleton, saying, earn 
 estly, "Do, mamma, speak to him." 
 
 She was on the point of advancing toward him, when 
 her husband, perceiving her intention, restrained her, 
 though very gently, and said, "Wilson, go to the young 
 man, and request him to do Master Oscar the favor to 
 come here." 
 
 The message was delivered and obeyed. Oscar greet 
 ed Walter with a smile, and Mrs. Middleton, kindly ex 
 tending her hand, said, "I am happy that my son has 
 formed such an acquaintance, but, that I also may share 
 his pleasure, will you have the goodness to give me your 
 name ?" 
 
 Walter felt as if he could give her his heart. 
 
 "Walter Thornley, ma am." 
 
30 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 " What a nice name!" exclaimed Oscar, ready to ad 
 mire whatever belonged to his new friend. 
 
 "Papa, this is Walter Thornley." 
 
 Mr. Middleton, whose attention had been otherwise 
 directed, turned rather suddenly at hearing himself thus 
 addressed, looked inquiringly at the youth, then politely 
 but coldly offered his hand, but said nothing. 
 
 " And I," said Oscar, " am Oscar Middleton ; now we 
 know each other, don t we?" And so it seemed, not 
 withstanding that a few hours previously they had been 
 ignorant of each other s existence. Precious immunity 
 of young hearts ! 
 
 Henceforth Walter s time was divided between attend 
 ance on Mr. Grrafton and Oscar ; and as the improvement 
 in the former soon began to justify Damie s recommend 
 ation of the Pool, Walter was more at leisure to devote 
 himself to the latter. His gentle ways ; his hand always 
 in the right place in moving, lifting, and adjusting Oscar; 
 that instinct by which even children often know how to 
 adapt themselves to the suffering, rendered his services 
 more acceptable than Wilson s ; and Walter, in no long 
 time, became his most reliable attendant. Then his com 
 panionship was so amusing ! He had so many things to 
 tell of his wild wood-life, of his forest sports, and Indian 
 traditions, that, in listening, Oscar s body grew stronger 
 as his spirit became lighter. 
 
 Though difference in years under other circumstances 
 would have kept them asunder, it now served only to 
 unite them by a sense of usefulness on one side, of reli 
 ance on the other. In addition to this, Oscar s delicate 
 health had confined him so much to the society of those 
 older than himself, that he was sufficiently matured to 
 value the superior attainments of Walter. 
 
 A fortnight had thus passed, during which the inti 
 macy of the boys had drawn Mr. Grafton and the Mid- 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 31 
 
 dletons together. Between himself and the lady a friend 
 ly, almost familiar intercourse was established. He, as 
 an invalid, excited her interest, and by attentions to him 
 as such, she endeavored to repay the really important 
 services that Walter was rendering to her son. Then he 
 had seen her country in his younger days ; he under 
 stood its language and admired its literature. He loved 
 its music and its poetry ; could sympathize with Klop- 
 stock s love for his " Meta," and comprehend and pity, 
 if he could not justify, the " Sorrows of Werter." Wal 
 ter, who had never seen his guardian in society so stimu 
 lating, listened, and wondered at the new phase under 
 which he appeared. 
 
 In Mr. Middleton Mr. Grafton had scarcely less inter 
 est than in his wife, but it was of a very different char 
 acter. He was to him a study, and a painful one. 
 
 a His is not a handsome face," thought he one day 
 when he had been long speculating on it ; " no, not what 
 is commonly so called, and yet, from its variety and 
 power, it rivets my attention beyond any I ever saw. 
 Sometimes harsh almost to severity, then tender almost 
 to sadness ; never cheerful, yet occasionally bright with 
 a gayety that seems to play but on the surface, and re 
 minds one of sunshine upon ice light without warmth. 
 A man, I should say, of quick sensibilities of strong 
 impulses rather than stern resolve and yet sometimes 
 he looks as if he could dare death in the pursuit of a 
 purpose ; yes, dare, perhaps, but not endure. His man 
 ner is as uncertain as is his face always polite, though 
 often cold to repulsiveness, he will yet suddenly surprise 
 with a cordiality that embarrasses by its strangeness." 
 
 That Mr. Grafton, on his part, should impress his new 
 acquaintances favorably was to be expected. Gentleman 
 was so indelibly stamped upon him that the most sus 
 picious and exacting could not distrust his claim to be 
 
32 WALTER THOBXLEY; OR, 
 
 thus considered, while the intellectual and spiritual char 
 acter of his face spoke to whatever was high and holy 
 in those with whom he held communication. Simple as 
 a child in his manners reserved from modesty, not pride 
 there was no artificial barrier to the fountain within. 
 He was no egotist ; he could not speak of himself or his 
 interests ; but though he did not offer his own heart to 
 the inspection of others, he never withheld from them 
 his sympathy. 
 
 "While Mr. Grafton found matter for reflection in his 
 new acquaintances, Walter was not less observant. Al 
 ternately attracted and repelled by Mr. Middleton hard 
 ly knowing whether or not he liked him he was yet 
 conscious of an uneasy interest attaching to whatever he 
 said or did. On the other hand, Mrs. Middleton inspired 
 him with emotions as delightful as new. Her beauty, 
 her manner, invested even ordinary actions with a charm. 
 But when she caressingly leaned over her son, when she 
 laid her soft fair hand on his head, or turned his light 
 curls over her fingers, a strange undefined feeling of des- 
 olateness would come over him, while he gazed with such 
 sad admiring eyes as on one occasion caught the atten 
 tion of Mr. Middleton, and Walter felt a rough rap on 
 his shoulder. Looking up, he saw that gentleman re 
 garding him with a smile unusually mirthful. 
 
 "Take care, young sir," exclaimed he, " you must not 
 fall in love with my wife." 
 
 " I don t know what you mean, sir," replied Walter, 
 in all simplicity. 
 
 Again Mr. Middleton smiled. Oh I am not at all jeal 
 ous, I assure you rather pleased with your involuntary 
 homage ; but" shaking his head " I see there is a very 
 soft place in your heart, my boy. I hope you may not 
 some day find it out to your cost." 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 33 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE health of Oscar rapidly improved; the pure, 
 bracing mountain air probably the chief agent in his re 
 covery. The symptoms that had filled his parents with 
 apprehensions of spinal disease had nearly disappeared, 
 and the doctor could honestly assure them that he was 
 thus far safe. He now sat up without support, and 
 moved about with only the assistance of an arm, or a 
 cane ; but Walter, even more necessary to him as a com 
 panion, still passed part of every day at the upper house. 
 
 One morning when he and Mr. Grafton had, as usual, 
 joined their friends on the piazza, where Mrs. Middleton 
 was seated at her tambour-frame, and her husband, after 
 a short conversation, turned again to his newspaper, 
 Walter found a place at a table, where, among other 
 things scattered on it, lay a large open book richly illus 
 trated, over which Oscar was poring. 
 
 " Oh !" said he, " I m so glad you ve come. Here is 
 something that mamma packed up for my entertainment, 
 that I have been so wishing to show you, but it has not 
 been taken out till to-day. It is full of the queerest 
 things ; just look !" 
 
 It was a work on Heraldry, and Walter was as eager 
 to see as Oscar to exhibit. 
 
 "This is the very thing!" said he. "It will explain 
 what I have read of; but you must help me to under 
 stand it." 
 
 Delighted to be able to teach Walter any thing, Oscar 
 poured forth his little store, accompanied with a modest 
 disclaimer. 
 
 " Indeed I don t know much about it myself, as I have 
 B2 
 
34 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 only looked it over once with mamma ; but we will help 
 each other." 
 
 They were soon deep in the book with its quaint and 
 antiquated Norman terms, which Oscar, with an amusing 
 complacency, repeated for the instruction of Walter. 
 "Field, ordinaries and charges, chef, f ess, and hose; bends 
 and cheveron. Party my coupe, and coupe my party. 
 Parti per chef, per f ess, and per lend; or, argent, gules, 
 vert, pelkts, bezants, torteaux, ermine, and vair" Lions 
 in every fantastic attitude ; stags and bulls heads caboss- 
 ed; leopards, eagles, and dolphins; battle-axes, spears, 
 and daggers ; helmets, crests, devices, and lambrequins ; 
 gauntlets and greaves ; crosses in every conceivable va 
 riety ; roses and fleurs-de-lis ; cups, baldricks, and horns, 
 etc., etc. 
 
 "And are all these strange things significant?" asked 
 Walter. 
 
 " To be sure," answered Oscar, with the confidence of 
 an amateur ; "at least they were so once. Perhaps they 
 make coats of arms now to suit people s fancy, and crowd 
 every sort of thing into them, for the book says the most 
 simple are the most ancient. Here now is one, * parti 
 per pale, argent and guled nothing more that means 
 divided perpendicularly, one half white, the other red, 
 and it belongs to one of the oldest families. Mamma 
 says this is as it should be ; for the best-born persons are 
 the least ostentatious." 
 
 They continued to turn over the leaves quietly, till 
 Oscar exclaimed, " Ah ! here is something would suit me 
 nicely. See! Falcon close, confined to its perch, and 
 Falcon rising? with wings just beginning to spread 
 themselves not yet fairly off I d take that if I had 
 to choose. I am leaving my perch; by-and-by I ll 
 fly!" 
 
 " And what does this queer little dumpy bird mean?" 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 35 
 
 " Dumpy bird! " repeated Oscar; "why, that s a 
 martlet, and never has any feet, because it was given to 
 younger sons, who had no land to stand on." 
 
 " Oh, then, that would do for me," said Walter. 
 
 " And why for you? You have no older brothers, 
 have you?" 
 
 "No, nor no land neither; I am Walter the penni 
 less. " 
 
 " Well, they say I am to have plenty of land, but I 
 would give it all for a brother. Ah ! here is one would 
 suit mamma, a pelican wounding herself to feed her 
 young; that is just what she would do." 
 
 Mr. Grrafton, seated by Mrs. Middleton, had engaged 
 her in conversation, but it flagged as her ear caught the 
 sounds from Oscar s table; and, as he uttered the last 
 words, he observed a sigh to escape her, and her moist 
 ened eye turned to her son. 
 
 " Ah ha !" continued Oscar, with emphasis, and in a 
 higher key, " here is something we haven t got, and we 
 don t want do we ?" Then, lowering his voice, he whis 
 pered to Walter an explanation, who replied by a nod 
 of intelligence. 
 
 Oscar s louder tone had roused his father, who, catch 
 ing his last words, laid down his paper, and said, " Pray 
 what is that, my boy, which you neither have nor want? 
 I am glad you are so reasonable. We generally desire 
 most what we have not; what is it?" 
 
 Oscar looked a little foolish ; his father repeated the 
 question, and he replied, " A * baton sinistre] papa." 
 
 A cloud came over Mr. Middleton s face, and in a man 
 ner almost fierce, he said, " Who has dared to put such 
 ideas into your head? Has Wilson presumed to in 
 struct you? or " 
 
 "Dear papa," said Oscar, "Wilson does not under 
 stand heraldry, you know." 
 
36 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 "Who, then," repeated his father in the same tone, 
 "has given you this superfluous information, filling your 
 mind with " 
 
 Mrs. Middleton had risen from her frame and ap 
 proached her husband, and now, putting her hand gently 
 on his shoulder, said, " If there can be a fault in a mat 
 ter so trifling, it is mine. Oscar asked me for an ex 
 planation, which I gave. I always tell him the truth." 
 
 Her voice, her touch, were enough. Subdued at once, 
 he took her hand, raised it to his lips, and said, "You 
 are always right ; I am always wrong." 
 
 " Not so, dear Godfrey. But if sometimes wrong, as 
 we all are always generous and ready to atone, which 
 all are not." 
 
 He replied only by repeating the word "atone" in a 
 low voice, and then resumed his paper. 
 
 Mrs. Middleton, without apology or explanation, or ap 
 parent consciousness that such might be required, return 
 ed quietly to her work, and the boys tried to busy them 
 selves in their book. 
 
 But the harmony of the morning was not to be re 
 stored, and, as soon as could be done without betraying 
 the reason, Mr. Grafton reminded Walter of the hour, 
 and they withdrew. 
 
 As they descended the hill Walter said, "Mr. Mid 
 dleton is a strange person. Do you not think, sir, that 
 he is a little insane ? His coachman, I understand, says 
 (for Wilson is more guarded) that he sometimes keeps 
 his room, where no one, not even his wife, goes near 
 him. And then he is so uncertain ! At times he makes 
 me feel as if I could do any thing for him, and then 
 again he is so strange that it seems as if his mind could 
 not be sound." 
 
 "No, I do not think so. He is rather the spoiled 
 child of fortune, and having been disappointed, or per- 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 37 
 
 haps ill-treated, his nerves are out of tune. I am glad 
 to be assured by his devotion to his wife and child that 
 there is no domestic unhappiness. If we referred all 
 human inconsistencies, "Walter, to insanity, we should 
 make the world a maison des faus? " 
 
 Yet, notwithstanding this interpretation, Mr. Grafton 
 did not wholly reject Walter s suggestion, which tended 
 to increase his interest in the family, and his regret for 
 his departure, which, as he was now quite restored, was 
 to take place in a few days. 
 
 The next morning, as Oscar was sitting by his mother, 
 he said, "I want you to ask papa to do me a great favor." 
 
 "Why not ask him yourself, my son?" 
 
 " Because he never refuses you any thing." 
 
 " Nor you, Oscar, if it be proper." 
 
 " Well, this is proper ; and yet I am afraid. I know 
 papa loves me but sometimes he speaks so " 
 
 "Your father has much to trouble him, and we all 
 have our faults, Oscar. We must love our friends with 
 them, since we can not have them without." 
 
 "You have none, mamma " 
 
 Mrs. Middleton would have checked him, but he pro 
 ceeded, "No, no, you have no faults! You are kind to 
 every body, and Wilson says all the poor people say 
 you are an angel." 
 
 " Oh, my child, it is easy to earn such commendations 
 from those who are starving. A full meal, fuel, and a 
 little money will lend wings to any common mortal." 
 
 "Perhaps so; but their wings drop off when they come 
 to the light, like the man s who went too near the sun; 
 but yours only look brighter." 
 
 "Stop, stop, little flatterer! and tell me what is the 
 great favor you are wanting." 
 
 " It is that papa would invite Walter to go home with 
 us only for a visit, I mean." 
 
38 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 Mrs. Middleton hesitated, and looked rather doubtful ; 
 then said, " Your father is not fond of having stran 
 gers" 
 
 " But Walter is not now a stranger." 
 
 " No well, I will do what I can for you, unless you 
 will ask yourself that is best, believe me. Your fa 
 ther never refused you a reasonable gratification." 
 
 A few days after, Mr. Grafton and Walter called to 
 take leave, and the visit, which all seemed equally un 
 willing to terminate, being ended with an exchange of 
 regrets and good wishes, Mr. Middleton said, as they rose 
 to go, " We will, if you please, leave the boys here a 
 few moments, while you indulge me with a walk on the 
 piazza." 
 
 " I have," he continued, when they were alone, " a re 
 quest to prefer in behalf of Oscar, but one in which Mrs. 
 Middleton and myself take part. We wish you to al 
 low Walter to remain here, and to return with us to our 
 home. We shall be grateful for as long a visit from him 
 as you can consent to." 
 
 " You are all very good," replied Mr. Grafton, some 
 what embarrassed by the unexpected proposal, " so good 
 that I grieve to say no. But I can not at present part 
 with him. The conditions of my guardianship are rig 
 id, and I must conform to them." 
 
 Mr. Middleton looked disappointed. 
 
 "Were you like some men I might urge you," he 
 said; u but I am so well assured of your desire to give 
 happiness that I am satisfied you decline to do so only 
 for sufficient reasons. But if not now, some other time ; 
 and one word more ; your nephew has interested us not 
 only by his kind attentions to our son, but by his un 
 common gifts. Have you decided on his future ? Can 
 he obtain in your retired situation the advantages to 
 which he is entitled?" 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 39 
 
 % 
 
 " Not all I could wish, of course, but more, perhaps, 
 than you suppose. He is now advanced in some studies 
 as far as youths of his age in a country where a classical 
 education is much behind that to be obtained, and there 
 fore required, in yours ; and in his reflective powers he 
 is far beyond them. His mind is more than usually im 
 pressible, and gathers from books and from every ex 
 ternal object with no other stimulant than its own en 
 ergy. As to his future, that does not depend on me ; 
 I have little fear, however, but that he will make a way 
 to usefulness, and that is the best distinction." 
 
 Mr. Middleton looked as if he wished, yet did not know 
 how, to proceed. At length he said, 
 
 " I will not farther press this matter at present, but if 
 at any time money should be necessary I have no in 
 fluence in this country, you know call on me. Here 
 is my address. Pardon me if I am impertinent." 
 
 " My dear sir, you are only generous beyond all claim, 
 and I ought therefore to be frank with you, though little 
 disposed to speak of my own affairs. Should his re 
 sources be inadequate, I have enough for him and myself. 
 I will only beg you to preserve for us your good-will 
 and remembrance." 
 
 At an early hour the next day, after another farewell 
 to Oscar, who had insisted on being at their lodgings for 
 the purpose, Mr. Grafton and Walter were on their way 
 homeward. 
 
 The morning was exquisite ; and Mr. Grafton, reno 
 vated in health, gratified with the acquaintance they had 
 made, from which he hoped some future good to his 
 ward, and well pleased to return to his quiet home, cast 
 a cheerful glance around him, and "Walter endeavored to 
 shake off regretful feelings. 
 
 Considering it due to Mr. Middleton, Mr. Grafton com 
 municated his kind invitation. 
 
40 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, ^ 
 
 " May I ask what you said, sir?" 
 
 " I had only to tell the truth, and confess myself not 
 at liberty to consent. Would you like to go?" 
 
 "Yes, sir; but you know best, I dare say." 
 
 Still Walter did not look satisfied. After a silence 
 of some time, and divers unconscious applications of his 
 whip, which, considering his horses were doing their best 
 up a long hill, probably seemed to them quite unneces 
 sary, he, said, 
 
 "I should like to ask you a question, sir." 
 
 "As many as you pleas* 1 , Walter." 
 
 "Then why did you say you were not at liberty to 
 consent? You, only, have the control of my actions." 
 
 " Oh ! well, perhaps I did not use to Mr. Middlcton 
 just that form of expression." 
 
 "But you do to me, sir; and it is why you use it at 
 all that I wish to know." 
 
 "You are critical, Walter," said Mr. Grafton, with a 
 smile. "Do we not often so express inability ? We re 
 gret that we have not the powev to do a thing, which is 
 just the same." 
 
 " Perhaps so, sir ; but when you have sometimes re 
 fused a request of mine, you may have said you could 
 not comply, but it was never in a way to imply that you 
 could not if you chose to do so." 
 
 " Guardians are often restricted in certain particulars. 
 Be assured that I shall never interpret my limits too 
 rigidly. For the present we will say no more about it." 
 
 But it was not so easy to repress in Walter s mind the 
 train of thought that had been suggested. 
 
 Near the decline of the next day, Damie, having been 
 forewarned of their approach, received them at the door 
 step. The evening being rather chilly, though it was 
 July a freak our capricious climate often indulges in 
 she had a cheerful little blaze on the parlor hearth ; 
 
A I KUl AT THK I AST. 41 
 
 Mr. Graflon s chair was in its usual place, Ins stand and 
 candles placed by it, and every piece of furniture had an 
 expectant look. As she observed Mr. Grafton s im 
 proved condition, Damie was, as an Italian would say, 
 "gloriosa" She had advised the journey ! she had pre 
 dicted the cure ! 
 
 "Well," exclaimed she, "if the Pool isn t wonderful! 
 Why, you are as spry, sir, as Walter; and he, too, though 
 he ivas parfectly well when he went, he, too, is better 
 now." 
 
 This declaration provoked a laugh at her expense, 
 which she was too proud, too happy, and too busy to 
 resent, 
 
42 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 CHAPTER Y. 
 
 THE summer passed ; but, though Walter attended to 
 the cares that, as he grew into greater trust, devolved 
 upon him, and failed in no respect in his accustomed 
 application to study, Mr. Grafton saw with regret that 
 his boyish happiness seemed yielding to a thoughtful- 
 ness which, always in some degree natural to him, had 
 of late become so prevailing as to suggest some special 
 cause. Still, as he made neither communication nor 
 inquiry, Mr. Grafton, whatever he might conjecture, 
 thought it best to defer the revelation which he was 
 aware must soon be given. This was unexpectedly 
 hastened. One evening, as he was reading, and Walter 
 was, or affected to be, occupied in like manner, he sud 
 denly turned to his guardian, and said, " Are you my 
 uncle, sir?" 
 
 Off his guard at this unlooked-for inquiry, Mr. Graf- 
 ton instinctively answered, " No, Walter." 
 
 "What relationship, then, is there between us?" 
 
 " None whatever." 
 
 With a strong effort to suppress his emotion, Walter 
 said, in a proud and injured tone, " Then I have been 
 deceived for twelve years. Tis time, sir, to deal differ 
 ently with me." 
 
 " My dear boy, the deceit of which you complain, if 
 it indeed deserves so harsh a name, has been most re 
 luctant on my part. I have only sought to defer what 
 would give pain. But you are right. The time for 
 concealment is past. Take this seat by me, and I will 
 give you such facts as are in my possession." 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 43 
 
 Walter did so ; the story was told in few words, but 
 many would fail to express its effect on the hearer. His 
 intense gaze, his changing color, his quivering lip and 
 heaving chest, better told the conflict of emotions that 
 shook him. For some time he could not speak. His 
 first words were those of gratitude. Convulsively press 
 ing Mr. Grafton s hand, he could only say, " My father !" 
 and the effort brought tears to his relief. 
 
 Mr. Grafton, unwilling to infuse his own distrust into 
 Walter s mind, had been careful to express no opinion 
 of the person by whom he had been committed to his 
 care, while ignorant of the relationship subsisting be 
 tween them. 
 
 " Has he never written ?" asked Walter, at length. 
 
 " Never." 
 
 * But the promised remittances he surely sent them ?" 
 
 " For a short time." 
 
 Walter s countenance fell. 
 
 "How do you explain their failure, sir?" 
 
 " I can not, otherwise than by supposing that he may 
 be no longer living." 
 
 Walter shuddered. 
 
 "Dead!" he exclaimed, "and all knowledge dying 
 with him I Oh, it can not be ! do not, do not say so 1" 
 
 "I only suggest a possibility; there may be other 
 and excellent reasons. We must hope the best." 
 
 But distress, doubt, fear, spoke in Walter s face. He 
 longed to ask if Mr. Grafton believed this person to be 
 his father, but he could not; he dreaded, he knew not 
 why, to have the idea confirmed. He only asked that 
 he would more minutely describe his appearance. 
 
 Mr. Grafton did so. 
 
 " The same ! the same !" exclaimed Walter, as if from 
 some secret recess of memory an image came forth, 
 bringing with it, too, dim recollections of endearments 
 
44 WALTER THORNLEY ; OR, 
 
 that had won his infant confidence ; and he softened to 
 ward one who, a moment before, had repelled him. 
 But with these came also a fear, and his heart fainted 
 within him. 
 
 " Perhaps it is better I should never know," thought 
 he. " I may only hear my birth to blush for it." 
 
 Mr. Grafton, tenderly regarding him, easily divined 
 the doubts, the conjectures, the apprehensions that pass 
 ed like shadows over his expressive face, but he forbore 
 to avow his participation in them. 
 
 "My dear boy," said he, affectionately laying his 
 hand on his head, and stroking the rich hair from his 
 brow, "let us talk no more at present, it is late; but 
 henceforth we shall have no secrets from each other." 
 
 A beautiful autumn came, glorious with its yellow 
 lights and gorgeous foliage ; and, animated by its brac 
 ing influences, Walter seemed more like himself than he 
 had of late done. "With his gun on his shoulder, his 
 lunch in his pocket, and followed by Peto, a mongrel, 
 with a strong infusion of bull, unfit for sport, but great 
 as a guard or companion, and one who would not be re 
 pulsed, he set off for a day in the woods. 
 
 On his return home, finding himself near the lower 
 termination of the ravine, the fancy took him to climb its 
 precipitous side as he had often done ; but what should he 
 do with Peto, who had been more a plague than pleasure 
 during the day, and would here be a serious encum 
 brance ? A neighbor lad who was passing by the usual 
 route to the village offered to relieve him both of dog 
 and gun, and Walter, sharing with him his game, con 
 sented, Peto going off with the air of a dismissed offi 
 cial, conscious of incompetency. Then, winding his way 
 up the ravine, he put forth his strength and agility to 
 the task of reaching the summit. Having gained it, he 
 threw himself panting and excited on a bed of leaves 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 45 
 
 with which a slight frost had strewn the ground, and 
 surrendered himself to the tranquilizing influences 
 around him. 
 
 A soft vapory haze was spread over the declining 
 day, rendering nature like a lovely woman seen through 
 a transparent veil even more lovely. The woods had 
 put their glory on 
 
 "Oh, Autumn ! why so soon 
 Depart the hues that make the forest glad ?" 
 
 There were no discordant sounds, but through the 
 still air was heard the murmur from the ravine, and the 
 distinct but gentle dropping of the golden leaves that 
 the frost had disengaged. Walter watched them as they 
 fell till a dreamy thoughtfulness came over him. To 
 this succeeded a sense of loneliness, suggested by the 
 companionship that seemed to pervade all nature. The 
 hum of insects told of numbers ; the birds that twittered 
 among the trees that shaded him were arranging a social 
 southern trip when the shorter days should come ; a cow 
 that had broken bounds, and had found some green 
 spots near him, from time to time gave a motherly call 
 to her silly calf who had strayed too far from her ; even 
 the senseless river at his feet seemed hasting to some 
 " meeting of the waters," as if willing to lose itself so 
 that it might mingle with others. 
 
 " Nothing is alone but myself," sighed Walter. 
 
 Wearied with his day s ramble, reverie soon disposed 
 to sleep, and he was transported to the "land of dreams." 
 He there appeared still to lie on his cliff-top bed, while 
 groups of happy children and caressing mothers were 
 near him. Lambs gamboled about their dams, and pa 
 rent-birds were feeding their nestlings in the trees ; but 
 none cared for him, or even seemed conscious of his 
 presence. He was alone, in the midst of life and love. 
 By-and-by a cloud intervened, and all were gone. While 
 
46 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 he lamented, it parted, and disclosed the image that had 
 haunted his childhood a tall, dark man, with eyes bent 
 on him that penetrated to his heart, and weighed on him 
 like a nightmare. He tried to move he was transfixed 
 by their gaze. 
 
 The low growl of a dog broke the spell, and he awoke 
 to behold that very face leaning over him; and Peto, 
 who had eluded the custody to which he had been com 
 mitted, guarding him with an air of defiance. 
 
 Walter raised himself on his elbow, laid a restraining 
 hand on Peto, and turned a full, undaunted look on the 
 stranger. 
 
 "Walter Thornley?" he asked. 
 
 " Yes," said Walter. 
 
 "I thought so. But you do not and can not know me" 
 
 Years had left their mark on that face, but there were 
 still the same strong features, the same singular expres 
 sion that had, as it were, burned itself into his infant mind. 
 Naturally tenacious of all impressions, and rendered still 
 more so by a life so quiet and unvarying as to produce 
 but few, Walter gazed on him with a clear conviction of 
 his identity. He had risen, and, standing erect with 
 arms crossed upon his breast, as if to control the beat 
 ing of his heart, and endeavoring to speak with compo 
 sure, he said deliberately, 
 
 "Yes I do." 
 
 It was evident that the stranger was unprepared for 
 this reply, and he returned a look of rather displeased 
 surprise. 
 
 "Know me! and as what? or whom?" 
 
 " As one with whom I have some mysterious connec 
 tion. Oh, give me a name by which to call you !" 
 
 Surveying Walter from head to foot in silence, and 
 with an expression difficult to define, though certainly 
 inquisitorial and severe, his face at length melted into a 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 47 
 
 smile meant to inspire confidence, and he replied, " You 
 shall know me, and for your best friend. There, give 
 me your hand. Now let us be seated. Here 4 is a rock 
 that will serve for our purpose. I have something to 
 say, and not much time. First, let me express my sat 
 isfaction with yourself nay, hear me," continued he, 
 in a less gentle tone; "I have the right, young man, to 
 commend or to blame reward or punish therefore lis 
 ten without interruption. Your appearance, your air, 
 your language, all indicate that my choice of a guardian 
 was well made. Go on as you have begun, and success 
 will be yours." 
 
 " Success!" repeated Walter ; " I want affection, confi 
 dence, and that which is not refused to the poorest the 
 knowledge of who and what I am." 
 
 " And can any one," replied the stranger, with a sar 
 castic smile, " can any one better instruct you than your 
 self? What makes your identity but your own mind ; 
 your own consciousness ? What can I tell you of Wal 
 ter Thornley that you do not know better than I do ?" 
 
 "Oh, do not trifle with me!" exclaimed Walter, no 
 longer able to restrain his emotion. " I entreat you, 
 I conjure you by every thing sacred to tell me what my 
 heart is bursting to know tell me what gives you a 
 right over me? by what name I should call you? by 
 what name should I know myself? Oh, tell me !" said 
 he, with a gush of feeling that had little effe.ct on his 
 hearer. 
 
 " Be calm, Walter. This will not advance your ob 
 ject. I am not to be moved from a purpose by the tears 
 of a boy. You must remain for such time as I alone 
 shall decide in your present ignorance. I will only say 
 that, if you do not thwart me, you shall eventually know 
 all. If you do," he added, with a threatening aspect, 
 "you will never know. Be obedient, be satisfied to re- 
 
48 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 main as I have placed you, and it will make the happi 
 ness of both ; for let me tell you that we are each to the 
 other a destiny for good or for evil, as you shall act." 
 
 These words, uttered with a look and tone that sent 
 a chill to "Walter s heart, silenced him; but his spirit 
 was working strongly within him. The authoritative 
 and menacing voice, the cold almost contemptuous 
 answers to his natural yearnings, the smile of irony at 
 such a time, all repelled his confidence and roused his 
 resentment. Starting to his feet, he exclaimed, in the 
 impotent violence of a boy, " I will know ; you shall no 
 longer trifle with me 1" 
 
 Peto, a close observer, instinctively felt that all was 
 not right. From the first he had cast a doubtful eye on 
 this unknown visitor ; but now, when he saw him rise, 
 and lay an arm on Walter with a view to check his im 
 petuosity, a hostile growl, and a slight movement of his 
 upper lip, indicated that he required but small encour 
 agement to make an inconvenient member of the con 
 ference. 
 
 " I advise you," said the stranger, with an angry glance 
 of distrust at Peto, " to keep both yourself and your dog 
 under better control ; unless, indeed, you intend to use 
 his fangs to effect the determination you have just ex 
 pressed." 
 
 "Oh, sir!" said Walter, cruelly wounded, "how can 
 you speak to me in this manner? If you could only 
 see my heart ! You once treated me kindly. I have 
 not forgotten it. I once looked on you as my only 
 friend. Oh!" exclaimed he, trying to take his hand, 
 and resentment subdued by those recollections, "oh, 
 look at me, and speak to me differently !" 
 
 The stranger was moved. He did not reject Walter s 
 hand ; he was silent for a moment ; then, in a voice rough 
 with the emotion he endeavored to suppress, he said, 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 49 
 
 " Pshaw ! folly ! enough of this. You have heard my 
 conditions tis needless to repeat them. I have but one 
 other thing to say. Your remittances have been irreg 
 ular ; they may be so again, but you are never to make 
 that a pretext for disobedience, or worse may follow. 
 Here is something for the present more will come." 
 Then presenting a purse, which Walter unheeding let 
 fall to the ground, and shaking himself loose from the 
 grasp which would still have detained him, he plunged 
 into a thicket near them, and was soon seen crossing the 
 rude bridge that spanned the ravine. Peto sprang after 
 him, but, recalled by his master, he only tossed up his 
 head, and, giving the short, angry bark by which dogs 
 express their contempt at an unsatisfactory encounter, 
 looked up in "Walter s face to congratulate him. 
 
 But he was in no mood to return it. The twilight 
 had faded away, and the night that was settling on him 
 seemed an emblem of the greater darkness that now fell 
 on his future. Throwing himself on the ground, bury 
 ing his face in his hands, he gave vent to the conflicting 
 feelings with which he had thus far struggled. Again 
 and again he reviewed the scene just passed; again he 
 repeated every word and studied every look. He could 
 extract no comfort, no assurance nothing but that he 
 was a helpless boy in the power of a hard man. 
 
 Long he lay and bitterly he ruminated, till a lovely 
 young moon peeping through the trees offered to light 
 him home. He rose, and Peto, who had not left his 
 side, gave a jump and a joyous bark; but, as if sudden 
 ly recollecting himself, made a pounce upon the rustling 
 leaves, and, extracting something, brought it with a wag 
 of his tail to his master. It was the purse, of which 
 Walter had not thought since it dropped, and which he 
 now took almost mechanically. It was heavy with gold, 
 but he did not examine it. 
 
 C 
 
50 WALTEK THORNLEY; OK, 
 
 "I ll never use a dollar of it," said he, proudly, "till 
 .1 know by what right he dares to give it to me. Come, 
 Peto, home 1" 
 
 On reaching the house he found Damie just setting 
 forth in search of him. Her troubled brow changed to 
 a frown of displeasure as soon as she saw him safe. 
 
 "What on airth, Walter, made you stay so? I ex 
 pected nothin but that you d broke your neck climbin 
 them there rocks. It is ridic lous to frighten us so! 
 stayin out all day, too, without half victuals enough 
 no wonder you look so dragged ! Your uncle has been 
 walkin up and down, worried most to pieces, I can tell 
 you." 
 
 He passed her with but few words, and, going to Mr. 
 Grafton s room, found him anxiously looking from a 
 window. 
 
 At the sound of Walter s step he turned to express 
 his relief, but, struck by his countenance, exclaimed, 
 " What is the matter ? What has happened ?" 
 
 Walter could answer only by throwing himself into a 
 chair, and saying, "I have seen him! I have seen 
 him!" 
 
 " Whom, Walter ? What can you mean ?" 
 
 "That man!" 
 
 Mr. Grafton seated himself by him, took his hand, and 
 forbore farther questioning till he had soothed him suf 
 ficiently to give voluntarily the particulars of the inter 
 view. He heard them indignantly ; but chiefly intent 
 on quieting Walter s fearful agitation, he said, gently, 
 " Be comforted, my dear boy ! We have still one thing 
 to be thankful to him for: he has not separated us, as 
 he might have done had it suited his purpose, and as 
 remorselessly as he has now wounded you." 
 
 " Separate me from you I He should have killed me 
 first!" 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 51 
 
 The next morning Mr. Grafton, not farther to excite 
 Walter, went alone to South End to make inquiries. A 
 gentleman had arrived there on horseback late in the 
 preceding afternoon ; had asked some questions as to 
 roads, and the shortest walk to the upper village ; had 
 then set out on foot " to see the falls," as he said. He 
 returned after sunset, immediately called for his horse, 
 and went away. Nothing farther was known or could 
 be heard of him. 
 
 This occurrence proved an occasion of increased solic 
 itude to Mr. Grafton. Walter, though always more 
 thoughtful than boys of his age, had never been other 
 than cheerful and happy. His temper, sweet and affec 
 tionate, was never ruffled by unreasonable or capricious 
 moods ; always kind and obliging to others ; unexacting 
 and grateful for himself. But now Mr. Grafton remark 
 ed with pain that he was listless, gloomy, irritable, though 
 never so to him ; excited to sudden causeless anger, then 
 even unreasonably self-accusing all indicating the rude 
 shock his nature had received. Of the stranger he rare 
 ly spoke : when he did so, it was with a proud, defiant 
 air. 
 
52 WALTJEK THOBKLEY J OK, 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 ANOTHER interval, and Walter, who was left a fitful 
 boy of fifteen that sensitive age when, to the inexperi 
 enced observer, a sudden, strange perversity often seems 
 to blight the sweet promise of earlier years, now reap 
 pears, when nearly twenty -one. The interval, unmark 
 ed by any change in his external condition, by notice 
 from the stranger, or even by the remittances that might 
 have been expected, had left a strong impression on 
 himself. The irritation induced by his peculiar con 
 dition, acting on the susceptibility of youth, had sub 
 sided. The feverish impatience of concealment, the fret 
 ful resistance of a power he could neither comprehend 
 nor love, the galling sense of dependence, had all gradu 
 ally fallen under the control of reason. He had learned 
 to look his situation in the face, and had even dared to 
 form his own plans. 
 
 " I belong to God and myself," he had reflected. 
 "There only I am accountable for whatever powers 
 have been intrusted to me, and I will not waste them in 
 a cowardly subserviency to any human being. Nor 
 will I permit my inner self to be the victim of cruelty 
 and caprice. My mind to me a kingdom is. There I 
 will reign supreme." 
 
 These were no vain resolves, as was manifested by 
 the fast maturing character of Walter. It might, in a 
 different state of things, have been almost to be regret 
 ted that one so young should be so wise ; his natural 
 impulsiveness so repressed ; the frank, confiding tem 
 per the beauty of youth so checked. But he be- 
 
A PEEr AT THE PAST. 63 
 
 lieved that it depended on himself alone to be saved 
 from the palsying effect of his condition. 
 
 "I have," he thought, u a solitary and hard path be 
 fore me ; but, like the princess in the fairy tale, I must 
 not falter, whatever threats assail me. I may have much 
 to bear ; I must, then, learn to be strong. I must be my 
 own counselor ; I must, therefore, keep my feelings in 
 subjection, and to do so I must keep them to myself." 
 
 " My dear sir," said he one morning to Mr. Grafton, 
 " I have completed my majority, and though I can never 
 sufficiently bless your kind guardianship, tis time to re 
 lieve you of it." 
 
 Mr. Grafton looked at him in silent surprise. 
 
 "Yes, sir ; this Walter Thornley, who, as child, boy, 
 and man, has given you so much trouble, must hence 
 forth take care of himself." 
 
 "But, Walter if I understand you hear me a mo 
 ment. My guardianship was restricted by no legal 
 forms; it was to continue till those having a natural 
 right should claim you." 
 
 " And how long, sir," replied Walter, with a cold 
 smile, " do you suppose that would be? No ; my reso 
 lution is taken. Forgive me if this has been done with 
 out consulting you ; but I felt I must act, or die. I am 
 not, however, so presumptuous, so self-confident as not 
 to beg your continued guidance so far as to put me, if 
 you can, in the right way, but go I must." 
 
 "Go! where, Walter?" 
 
 "Anywhere ! any where from Ashton, that, left wholly 
 to myself, I may ascertain what I can do." 
 
 Mr. Grafton, grieved as he was at this unexpected de 
 termination, saw, nevertheless, a purpose so fixed, that 
 to resist might result in mutual unhappiness. The only 
 thing to do was to try to guide it ; and, revolving it in 
 his mind, as Walter continued to urge its necessity, he 
 
54 WALTER THORNLEY; on, 
 
 became in part a convert, in so far as to acquiesce in an 
 attempt to carry out his wishes. Nothing short of that, 
 he saw, would satisfy him ; should it fail, he might be 
 content to remain as he was. 
 
 The first thing that occurred to Mr. Grafton was to 
 enter him as a clerk in a lawyer s office in New York ; 
 in proposing which, he added, " The fee paid on such 
 occasions is not large. I have at my command enough 
 for that, and for your other expenses during your ap 
 prenticeship." 
 
 " No, sir," said Walter. " To this moment I have 
 been your pensioner. I can not be so hereafter. I will 
 leave the law for a time, till I have by some means 
 earned enough to pay my own way." 
 
 " Walter I" said Mr. Grafton, with much feeling, "you 
 are wrong. You are trying to create new relations be 
 tween us. No longer father and child, we are to be 
 debtor and creditor. The little I have is, and will be 
 yours.. Why treat me thus ?" 
 
 Walter took his hand; he pressed it; he bent his 
 head over it ; choked down the tears that were rising to 
 his eyes, and, when he could speak, said every thing that 
 gratitude and affection dictated, but remained unmoved 
 in his decision. 
 
 " It must be so. If you would see me a man, let me 
 go, sir, and in my own way." 
 
 The next thing thought of was to write to Mr. Mid- 
 dleton. He had once proffered his assistance. There 
 was, therefore, no impropriety in asking merely if he 
 knew of any employment adapted to Walter, stating his 
 eager desire, by his own efforts, to secure his support. 
 
 The letter sent, Walter was more at ease. The first and 
 most painful step had been taken the communication to 
 Mr. Grafton. In about a week letters were received, and 
 among others the desired answer from Mr. Middleton. 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 55 
 
 Walter watched his guardian s countenance while he 
 read. At first it expressed blank disappointment, then 
 with a sudden burst of indignation he threw it toward 
 Walter, exclaiming, " O World ! World ! did I not do 
 well to quit you!" 
 
 The letter, polite and cold, in substance was as fol 
 lows : Mr. Middleton was surprised at the application, 
 which if he had ever authorized, it must have been un 
 der an impulse that reflection would have checked ; for 
 how could he, a retired stranger in a foreign country, be 
 supposed to have any practical knowledge available to 
 Walter? He wished the lad success; but, so far as he 
 might venture to suggest, for one so young, without pat 
 ronage or fortune, his present obscurity was his safest 
 condition. With good wishes for himself, etc., etc., it 
 concluded. 
 
 "Well," said Walter, calmly, "it is just as I once 
 thought. Mr. Middleton is insane, and if not, then 
 worse much obliged by his advice, which we can do 
 without. What next shall we turn to, sir ?" 
 
 But Mr. Graffcon s attention was riveted on a letter he 
 had just opened, and which, though he looked at it, he 
 did not appear to read. Presently he ran it hastily over, 
 and, as if relieved, said, " I beg your pardon, Walter. 
 The sight of a handwriting I had not seen for many 
 years startled me ; I feared I could not say what ; but, 
 like many terrors with which we torment ourselves, 
 mine was unfounded. Among other matter, the letter 
 contains somewhat that has a bearing on our present 
 perplexities. The gentleman s name is Meredith; his 
 residence is in New York, where you prefer to go : hear 
 what he says." 
 
 After a reference to early friendship and long separa 
 tion, the letter proceeded as follows : 
 
56 WALTER THOBNLEY; OK, 
 
 " I almost question my right to give you any trouble, 
 and yet, if you are what you once were, you will 
 not refuse to oblige a friend. I have an only child, a 
 daughter. She has had, thus far, what is called the 
 best instruction, but it is superficial and of little value ; 
 something more is necessary to satisfy me. But young 
 people now-a-days think that they, too, constitute a re 
 public, and are quite capable of self-government; and 
 for this reason I will not send my daughter to a board 
 ing-school, where she will learn little but insubordina 
 tion. The only alternative is a l select one, as they are 
 called, or private lessons. I have tried both, and like 
 neither. But if I could find a competent tutor, who 
 should reside in my family, I believe that, with his in 
 struction and my supervision, my object can be secured. 
 I wish her to have a solid education Latin and mathe 
 matics as the foundation, and on this a superstructure of 
 history, philosophy, and whatever else we may agree 
 upon. If you happen to know of a person qualified for 
 this charge, and* at the same time unexceptionable, please 
 inform me: his salary shall be so liberal as to satisfy 
 him." 
 
 % - * - 
 
 " I will take the place, sir," said Walter; " that is, if 
 you can recommend me." 
 
 " Consider, Walter. It may be very irksome ; it may 
 even be offensive ; it often is so ; for parents, with an 
 absurd inconsistency, will trust the minds and hearts of 
 children to persons whom they will, nevertheless, treat 
 as inferiors. In this case, however, such injustice may 
 be prevented. You should go as my ward; you will 
 then be put on the footing to which you are entitled." 
 
 u Pardon me, sir in that way I decline to go. It 
 would be improper as it regards the parents, and fatal to 
 my duty as a teacher. As your friend and ward, Mr. 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 57 
 
 and Mrs. Meredith would not feel at liberty to make de 
 mands or to find deficiencies ; and, on my part, courtesy 
 to your friends would restrict the uncompromising fidel 
 ity due to my pupil. Forgive me if I presume to differ 
 from you ; but I fear lest your tenderness for me should 
 mislead you. Send me with such credentials as to char 
 acter and competency as you think I deserve, but noth 
 ing more. For the rest, I prefer to depend on myself. 
 If they fail in common delicacy or humanity, I leave 
 them, but I will claim nothing as your protege." 
 
 Mr. Grafton reflected. He did not partake of Walter s 
 proud indifference in regard to the mysterious person 
 who had, or assumed to have, a supreme right over him. 
 He did not, indeed, expect good from him, but he was 
 not equally sure that he had not the power to injure. 
 Walter s plan had one recommendation it would pre 
 vent embarrassing questions, and tend to the incognito 
 he wished him to preserve. He therefore acceded to it. 
 
 "But how, my dear boy, am I to live without you?" 
 sadly exclaimed Mr. Grafton when other considerations 
 had been weighed. 
 
 "Say, rather, how am I to live without you, sir? 
 But no, I shall not be without you. Your affection, your 
 advice, and your wishes will be ever with me to com 
 fort and guide me." 
 
 An answer was immediately returned to Mr. Mere 
 dith, and after a short time came an acceptance of the 
 tutor, but so qualified as a good deal to nettle Mr. Graf- 
 ton. "If he did not prove, on trial, to be satisfactory, 
 he would be returned, all expenses paid." 
 
 " I will not send you like a bale of merchandise," said 
 Mr. Grafton. 
 
 Walter laughed. "Do not take it so, my dear sir; 
 this is just what I should have wished. It is exactly 
 fitted to my humor." 
 
 02 
 
58 WALTER THOENLEY; OR, 
 
 Walter s preparations were now to be made, and in a 
 state of astonishment and alarm Damie appeared. Years 
 had increased her attachment to Mr. Grafton and his 
 ward, but they had also invested her with privileges 
 sometimes inconvenient. Like Corporal Trim, she 
 "loved to advise," and an occasion now offered itself. 
 
 " Is Walter going away ?" 
 
 " Yes, Damie." 
 
 "But where under the canopy can he be so well off 
 as here, sir ?" 
 
 " Young birds must leave the nest, Damie." 
 
 " Yes, and hawks must catch em, too : what is he goin 
 for, sir?" 
 
 " To seek his fortune," said Mr. Grafton, with a shrug 
 intended to check farther inquiry. "He naturally de 
 sires to earn his own snpport." 
 
 " Arn his own support ! " repeated Damie, her reluc 
 tance to part with Walter inducing her to disparage his 
 ability " arn his support! why, what in all natur 
 can he do ? He s never done nothin but jest study and 
 larn. He might be a minister, be sure he knows 
 enough ; but he hasn t no call for that. What, then, can 
 he do?" 
 
 " The next thing to preaching, Damie : he is going to 
 teach." 
 
 "To teach? and where, sir? and who?" 
 
 " A gentleman s daughter in New York." 
 
 " Goin to teach one gal 1" replied she, contemptuous 
 ly. "Well, if that isn t a poor business! Teaching 
 thirty or forty might be worth a man s while. Why 
 not take the district-school here ?" 
 
 "But suppose, Damie, that he should receive more for 
 one scholar there than he would for the whole school 
 here" 
 
 "More! why, is she so hard to larn? She isn t un- 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 59 
 
 der-witted, sir, is she?" continued Damie, with a jeering 
 smile ; " if she be, tis, be sure, a pretty hard place." 
 
 "No ; bright and quick enough, I ll engage." 
 
 "And what will he get, sir?" 
 
 " They will settle that when they meet." 
 
 " If I was you, sir, I wouldn t let him stir a step till 
 I knew. Tis no way to send the poor lad off mong 
 strangers, and let them impose on him." 
 
 " Never fear, Damie. Walter is not a person to be 
 imposed on. You and I shall miss him greatly, but if 
 for his advantage, we must bear it, you know." 
 
 But not heeding this reflection, she proceeded : 
 
 "Ever since, in this very room, he showed me his 
 poor scratched little hand, I ve set by him. Boys, I 
 know, are hateful, always turnin up Jack. I never 
 could bear any on em but Walter." 
 
 " But Walter has not been perfect, Damie." 
 
 "Parfect! no, be sure; who is? But when once in 
 a while he was unruly he would be so sorry a terward, 
 and wanted so to make it up ; I only loved him better 
 for t. Besides, it was jest because he was growin so fast." 
 
 " Well, well, don t grieve, my good Damie ; he will 
 return to us all the happier and wiser for experience." 
 
 "But when, sir? People go, but they don t always 
 come back!" and her voice grew thick. "I ve heard 
 that afore; we may be all dead and buried when he 
 comes " 
 
 "No, no, not so bad; a few months and we shall see 
 him again." 
 
 Silenced, if not resigned, Damie retired; but it was 
 to pour out to Walter what she might not say to Mr. 
 Grafton. His wardrobe before her to examine, mend, 
 make, and in all respects arrange, while he occasionally 
 offered a suggestion, she resumed her theme ; lamented 
 and advised, concluding with, "And what in all natur 
 
60 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 is your uncle to do without you ? You have been the 
 savin on him !" 
 
 "/save him!" exclaimed "Walter, who would have 
 reversed the proposition. 
 
 "Yes, yes. Savin on him! be sure you have. I 
 mind what he was afore you come ; nothin but teachin 
 you and playin with you put any life in him ; and now, 
 when he hasn t got no special trouble, he looks younger 
 than when you come. He looked so poor then, you 
 hav n t no notion, Walter. Folks said he was only sick 
 ly ; twasn t no such thing, except it was heart-sickness. 
 I ve watched him many a time set and look in the fire 
 as if he was clean out of the body, and then start up, 
 take his hat, and walk out. By-and-by he d come in, 
 lookin maybe a little better, but so sorrowful and down 
 like. But no matter what the trouble was, he never 
 wasn t cross nor fretty. He seemed to want to make 
 others happy, even if he couldn t be so. Well, I guess 
 I know. I larnt the signs," said she, shaking her head; 
 " twas a hard lesson, but I hav n t never forgot it." 
 
 "What do you mean, Damie? This is all new to 
 me." 
 
 " Yes, I suppose so ; for now when he has any such 
 turn come over him, and once in a while it will come, 
 we call it narvous, you know. That s as good a name 
 as any; but, Lord! what different things it means! 
 Now the plain truth, Walter, is that, sure as I stand 
 here, your uncle was disappinted, crossed in love as 
 folks say. I can tell; I hav n t had experence for 
 nothin ." 
 
 " Experience, Damie !" 
 
 "Yes, Walter; for all what I seem to you now, I 
 wasn t so always. I had I had a friend " 
 
 Damie stopped, and Walter, touched by the workings 
 of her strong expressive face, looked at her in silence. 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 61 
 
 Then, as if ashamed of a weakness, she proceeded, with 
 an effort : " Lost at sea ; news came the very day we d 
 fix d for our publishment." After another pause, "Nev 
 er love to speak on t. A dreadful storm ! that s why I 
 fly round so when the wind blows. I can do three days 
 work in one when it storms. They brought me home 
 his watch; twas hangin in his berth when he was 
 knocked overboard, and there tis now at the head of 
 my bed, keepin time for me till he and I meet in etar- 
 nity." 
 
 Walter, in happy ignorance of similar emotions, knew 
 not how to address her. He only took her hand and 
 pressed it kindly ; and, after a moment s hesitation, said, 
 " Yes, Damie, though parted here, we shall find those 
 we love in Heaven. Perhaps you are right about my 
 uncle. I can not tell ; but whatever trouble he may 
 have had, it has only made him a better man. Some 
 persons it makes worse, you know." 
 
 "So it does, Walter. It makes their hearts harder 
 than Pharaoh s. But don t let s say no more about it. 
 These here shirts, Walter, ar n t no dependence. You 
 had ought to have told me in time, and I would have 
 made you a new set ; but never mind, I ll go right at 
 em as soon as you are gone, and send em to you. Let 
 me see ; this is your best coat, not much the worse for 
 wear. I ll put new cuffs, and then it ll do." 
 
 Walter smiled. " City folks, I hear, are critical, Da 
 mie. I shall want a new coat." 
 
 " Well, you wouldn t, if you staid here, in six months. 
 So it goes. What s the use arniii money if you must 
 spend it all? jest as good stay here and not want it. 
 Now let me see stockin s? Yes, all right; but no- 
 body ll darn em for you now. Be sure you keep count 
 of all your things, for they say that down in York 
 they ll steal the eyes out of your head. Now one thing 
 
62 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 more I want to say to you, "Walter. It lias been on my 
 mind for many a day, but while you was here there 
 wasn t no use speakin of it. You know I am not ex 
 pensive ; and, as I hav n t any near relation, I ve saved 
 up mostly all my wages, and Mr. Grafton has put em 
 out for me. Now this I mean for you don t go for to 
 interrupt me. Yes, for you. I hav n t nobody else to 
 give it to. But, mind, Walter, it is only in case you be 
 have. My honest arnin s sha n t never go to be spent in 
 any wickedness or folly. I meant to keep it all a gath- 
 erin till I died, and so leave you a good lump at once ; 
 but what s the use? So, if you want some on t now, 
 here s twenty silver dollars in my chest for you to take 
 with you ; and if any misfortin befalls you, let me know, 
 and I will send you what you want." 
 
 No kindness had ever touched "Walter more ; but, 
 with the heartiest expression of his feeling, he neverthe 
 less resolutely declined the good creature s offer, who 
 could only be reconciled to his refusal by a promise that 
 if the money were required he would certainly send 
 for it 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 63 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THE day for Walter s departure came, and with a 
 manly front, but a throbbing heart, he bade farewell to 
 his friends. As he turned for a last look at the dear 
 old weather-beaten house, with its Puritan roof descend 
 ing to the very tops of the windows, that seemed to look 
 out from the projecting eaves like eyes from under over 
 hanging brows, he cast many tender thoughts to this 
 shelter of his helpless years, and devoutly asked that 
 peace might rest upon it till he should see it again. 
 
 According to her custom, Damie sought her consola* 
 tion in work ; and after adjusting Walter s deserted room, 
 religiously preserving every article he had left, and lock 
 ing the door, she was "flying round," as she termed it, 
 in search of other safety-valves for her excited sensibil 
 ity, when a well-known voice met her ear, and a man 
 entered the kitchen, singing, 
 
 "A white cockade and a peacock s feather, 
 American boys will fight forever !" 
 
 "Why, Jed," she exclaimed, "is that you? Where 
 have you been ? I began to mistrust you d gone to the 
 ( Hios, " a name by which she and others not better in 
 formed designated Ohio, and inclusively the great north 
 western Ultima Thule, "and that I d never set eyes on 
 you again. When did you come back ?" 
 
 Before he answers he must be more particularly in 
 troduced than he has yet been. He now reappeared 
 after a tramp in his commercial capacity, with his pack 
 on his back, instead of a gun, or a pole suspending a 
 string offish. Having been " on the circuit," as he dig 
 nified his calling, he wore the remains of a cocked hat, 
 
64 
 
 part of his array when serving among " the old Conti 
 nentals." The " regimentals" themselves, still in exist 
 ence, were reserved for the 4th of July and other extra 
 occasions, among which was included " goin to meetin ," 
 which he did when birds were not in season and when 
 fish wouldn t bite. In person, short and thick, with a 
 slight limp in his gait, a full ruddy face, a pleasant smile, 
 quick gray eyes in one a cast, which gave to his coun 
 tenance a comical and roguish expression ; hair slightly 
 turned and thinned, more by hardship than years : such 
 was Jed s outward man. 
 
 " Not see me again ! Why, Damie, my dear, I m the 
 sort that always comes back. Them that s no use to 
 nobody" with a self-satisfied air " is always sartin to 
 come back." 
 
 "Now, Jed, don t go for to be modest, or I shall be 
 rally uneasy about you." 
 
 " Well, then, Damie, you sha n t have no consarn about 
 me on that account. When did I come? Why this 
 very minute, and of course I couldn t pass your door." 
 
 " And you haven t had no breakfast, I know ; so sit 
 down and you shall have a hot rasher." 
 
 While she prepared it and bustled " round," he disen 
 cumbered himself of his pack, and stretched his legs on 
 the settle, giving forth, according to his custom, scraps 
 of old songs. At length, seating him at the table, Da 
 mie rested for a few moments from her labors ; but such 
 a gloom gathered over her face, that Jed remarked it, 
 and, resting his knife and fork, exclaimed, " What ails 
 you, Darnie ? Any thing happened ?" 
 
 " No, I m well enough, only tired some, getting up so 
 early to help Walter off." 
 
 " Walter off!" repeated Jed, with a look of consterna 
 tion. " Where ? What for ?" 
 
 Damie gave the required information. 
 
A PEEP AT THtf PAST. 65 
 
 " Well, if I a n t sorry I Gone to York ! What shall 
 I do without him ?" 
 
 " You!" said Damie, her feeling of personal loss ag 
 gravated by any one presuming to share it. " What 
 shall /do?" 
 
 " Why, Damie, I ve known him off and on most as 
 long as you have, and a pleasanter lad, boy, and man, I 
 never see. And didn t I teach him to use a gun, when 
 you went into fits about the powder ? No more danger 
 in t than in so much black pepper, if folks is only car - 
 ful ; and didn t I teach him to bait his hook,, and show 
 him the best places ? And didn t he come every day to 
 see me when I got the fever? And when people told 
 him twas catchin , in partic lar for young folks, didn t 
 he say, like a brave boy, he couldn t die but once, and 
 he better do so then, than to desart a friend in distress ? 
 And didn t he bring me nice things that you made for 
 me, and read the papers for me ? No, don t tell me ! 
 I shall miss, him, and I will miss him !" 
 
 This eulogy of her favorite, with the allusion to her 
 own kindness, silenced and softened Damie. 
 
 " Why didn t he go into the army," continued Jed, 
 "if he must go away? That s the place for him. They 
 say we re agoin to have a brush with the French, and 
 he d be a major gin ral in no time." 
 
 " Army I Don t speak of it. Killin and slaughterin 7 
 folks ! He s fit for somethin better, I guess." 
 
 " Come, come, Damie ! no more of that. Don t go for 
 to abuse the army. I wonder where you d all be now 
 if twa n t for the old Continentals and the rest. And 
 who keeps the country quiet now but the soldiers? 
 Who puts down whisky boys, and Shaysites, and mobs, 
 and riots, but the soldiers? Killin and slaughterin , 
 indeed ! I don t like that better than you ; but if my 
 country and glory says so, you know " Then putting 
 
66 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 on a tender comical air, and with appropriate gestures, 
 he burst out with 
 
 "Adieu ! adieu ! my only life, 
 I go where honor calls me ; 
 Remember thou rt a soldier s wife, 
 Those tears but ill become thee." 
 
 " Don t be a fool, Jed. Be quiet, and eat your break 
 fast. I ha n t no spirits for such trash." 
 
 "Damie, my dear, you must do as we soldiers do. 
 We bury a comrade to the tune of the Dead March ; but, 
 that done, we come back in double quick time. You ve 
 done all you could for the lad, and now he s gone ; but, 
 instead of takin on, you must cheer up for what re 
 mains." 
 
 " That s true, Jed. Shall I cook you another rash 
 er?" 
 
 " No, thank ye, Damie ; I ve had a royal breakfast 
 a dainty dish to set before the king ! Now to busi 
 ness. You don t ask me nothin about my luck." 
 
 " No more I haven t! well, how was it?" 
 
 "Why, the circuit was better than common. I ve 
 sold pretty nigh every thing, all but one shawl, and that 
 I had a notion you d like. See, here it is." 
 
 " That is nice ; but no, I don t want it." 
 
 " Oh, you couldn t have this partic lar one if you did. 
 This is promised; but if so be you liked it, I know 
 where I could find its fellow for you." 
 
 " Promised !" said Damie, with another glance at 
 what now seemed to have acquired a new value in her 
 eyes. "Who to?" 
 
 "A very pretty young woman at one of the quality 
 houses on the river. She wouldn t take it now because 
 she hadn t the money ; and, though I offered to trust 
 her, she said, like a sensible gal, she d wait till I come 
 again, and so here it goes into my pack for her." 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 67 
 
 " That s a rale nice shawl," said Damie, "and if twasn t 
 promised, I don t know but " 
 
 " Let me throw it over your shoulders just to see if it 
 looks as well on you as it did on her ; for, though you 
 can not have this one, I dare say I m most sartin 
 that I can get one like it." 
 
 Damie submitted to have the shawl put on, and look 
 ed in the glass approvingly. 
 
 " No ; if I can t have this I won t have any. I have 
 heard that story often enough. There an t never two 
 things jest alike." 
 
 " Well, Damie, I like to be accommodating you know. 
 It may be six months afore I go to the river again, and 
 she may change her mind by then women s apt to 
 and I didn t promise posi-tive-ly. So, as you like it, 
 Damie, it is yours;" and, leaving the tempting " article" 
 floating about her, he proceeded, with all dispatch, to 
 close his pack, while she, with her usual promptness, 
 produced the money. As she handed it to him, she 
 said, " I raly forgot, Jed, with all our talk, to ask about 
 your leg. How can it stand such long tramps all over 
 creation ? It can t trouble you any more, I should think." 
 
 " Oh," replied he, limping badly at the suggestion, 
 " don t speak of it. I try to forget it ; for you know I 
 must keep movin ; besides, a fellow that has stepped to 
 such music as I have, hates to go halting about like a 
 beggar. No, no, Damie ; my poor leg will never be bet 
 ter in this world, and my pension wouldn t pay, if twasn t 
 for the thought of how I arn d it. And now, good-morn- 
 in , Damie," and he was off, to the tune and words of 
 
 "I left the lines and tented field, 
 
 Where long I d been a lodger ; 
 My humble knapsack all my wealth, 
 A poor but honest soldier." 
 
 " Poor /" said Damie, as she looked after him. " Yes, 
 
68 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 that lie is, and honest, too, accordin to his notion ; but 
 that is like his eye, rayther squinty. There he goes, 
 spry as a cricket ! That leg of his has arnt him more 
 than his whole body ever did, I guess. Tis a queer leg ! 
 Sure to be worse if any body thinks it s better ; and al 
 ways dreadful bad about the time pensions is paid. 
 Well, tis sartin he was wounded, and he doesn t a ter all 
 get more than he desarves. I never could see into it, 
 why the poor fellows that gets the hardest knocks should 
 have the smallest share of the profits. Then that shawl ! 
 how he talked me into it ! Goodness me ! I don t want 
 it. I have so many now, I shall have to sit up nights to 
 wear em out. But that s Jed all over ; he can twirl any 
 body round his thumb ; he hasn t got that twist in his 
 eye for nothin . I never see one of them sort that wasn t 
 downright rogues, or else as cute as Old Nick ! howso 
 ever, Jed s a good-natur d fellow, and loves to do every 
 body a neighborly turn, and he does set by Walter, I 
 know." 
 
 "Damie," said Mr. Grafton, as she entered to arrange 
 the parlor, " did I not hear a man s voice in the kitchen?" 
 " Yes, sir ; Jed has come back." 
 " Why did you not bring him in to see me ?" 
 " I didn t think you d care to see him to-day, sir." 
 " Why not ? We must not shut out our neighbors 
 because we are less happy than usual. And a woman, 
 too, passed the window with a basket, who was she ?" 
 " Oh, that was that shiftless cre ter, Miss Jenks." 
 " But she has no vice, and her shiftlessness, as you 
 call it, only makes her more pitiable. You gave her 
 something?" 
 
 " Be sure, sir. You will always have me give, so I 
 filled her basket with one thing an other. I shouldn t 
 mind doin so, but she s so proud, and always wanting to 
 pay." 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 69 
 
 1 Perhaps that is only her mode of expressing her re 
 gret at being burdensome." 
 
 There was one way by which Mr. Grafton aggravated 
 Damie: seeking to excuse those she considered un 
 worthy. She was not censorious nor harsh; but she 
 did not comprehend 
 
 " That where ye doubt, the truth not knowing, 
 Believing the best, good may be growing. 
 In judging the best, no harm at the least, 
 In judging the worst, no good at the best." 
 
 "No, sir; tis nothin but downright pride. She is 
 willing enough to beg, not a bit afraid of being burden 
 some. She pretends to buy just to save her pride. She 
 has always some way of fixin it ; sometimes she s goin to 
 bring mops, but they never come ; or, if they do, I have 
 to give two prices for em. To-day, twas, * If the Lord 
 is willin , I ll bring you some berries ; but they ll be like 
 the mops, I guess. I fixed her well enough t other day. 
 She * wonder d if the squire hadn t a bedstead he d sell 
 her. Yes, sartin, says I. How much would he ask? 
 So, says I, six dollars full price, you know, sir. Oh 
 dear, says she, I can get one for that at the shop. I 
 dare say, says I; but I don t see why we should sell 
 under price, if ours is full as good. " 
 
 Damie ! Damie ! said Mr. Grafton, laughing. You ll 
 ruin my reputation. Now I shall be obliged to give Mrs. 
 Jenks a bedstead to retrieve my character." 
 
 "No, you sha n t do no such thing, sir. Give her a 
 bedstead, indeed ! There s better people than she to be 
 helped. You know Sally Crandell, sir?" 
 
 " The nice young woman who sews here occasionally? 
 Yes; what of her?" 
 
 "She is, you know, sir, an orphan; has nothin , and 
 lives with her aunt, a queer-tempered cre ter. Well, she 
 has a son, and Sally and he kept company, and were to 
 
70 
 
 be married next Thanksgivin . But he has turned out 
 so unsteady, that Sally, though she feels dreadful about 
 it, has changed her mind, and won t marry him. And 
 her aunt throws all the blame on her; says that her 
 flirty ways has made him so, and threatens to turn her 
 out of doors." 
 
 "I ll go and speak to her, and perhaps I can bring 
 her to reason." 
 
 "Pray do, sir; she thinks every thing of you, sir." 
 
 " And if I fail, Sally can come here ; we can give her 
 a room, can t we, Damie ?" 
 
 "Lord bless you, sir, yes. There s another thing I 
 was goin to tell you : Kyders, the shoemaker, is carry- 
 in on as bad as ever. He s drunk pretty much all the 
 time, and his wife is in fear of her life. They ve just 
 put him in jail, and his tools, and his stock, and every 
 thing needful for his trade are seized for debt. His wife 
 wants to redeem em, for she says, when he comes out of 
 jail, and finds nothin to work with, he will give right 
 up, and drink himself crazy, and perhaps murder em 
 all ! It s a dreadful pity ! He is a kind man when 
 he is himself, and a good workman, and his wife s a 
 rale good woman. She is tryin to get up a subscrip 
 tion to save his things. It will take thirty dollars or 
 more. I was a thinkin , sir. that perhaps you would 
 give somethin toward it, and so I made bold to speak." 
 
 " Quite right, Damie ; I ll see about it," and he took 
 his hat and walked out. 
 
 " Now," said Damie, " that means he ll go and do the 
 whole on t. See about it, with some folks, is as much 
 as to say do nothin ; but with him tis always tanta 
 mount to doin every thing ! The less he says, the more 
 he does. Well, the best way to lighten our own hearts 
 is to lift the load off other people s. That s the way 
 he s always done. And so now I ll go and do what / 
 can for Mrs. Kyders." 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 71 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 AT the period referred to, traveling was attended by 
 difficulties little understood by the present generation, 
 for whom time and space are nearly annihilated. Postal 
 communications were pretty generally established, but 
 few stage-coach routes existed, and mails were trans 
 ported in such modes as were convenient. As his read 
 iest way, Walter, after a drive of some five-and- twenty 
 miles of bad road, consuming the greater part of the day, 
 took the coach from Albany to New York, well pleased 
 to be en route for the Great Metropolis even then in the 
 ascendant she has ever since maintained. At the con 
 clusion of the fourth day he was dropped, with his bag 
 gage, on the stone steps of a handsome house at the 
 lower part of Broadway, near the Bowling Green. 
 
 In the interval since the city had been relieved from 
 British occupation some fifteen years it had risen lit 
 erally like a phoenix. The great fire which, while they 
 held possession, had consumed nearly a fourth part of it, 
 had made room for better buildings than those it had 
 displaced. " Canvas Town," on the present Whitehall 
 Street, so called from the tents which for a time supplied 
 the place of the habitations destroyed by the fire the 
 wretched shelter of a more wretched population had, in 
 its turn, disappeared, and was succeeded by good and 
 handsome houses. The lower part of Broadway was 
 now the especial sphere of fashion. Sidewalks and 
 lamps had been given to it, and the unsightly gutter in 
 its centre no longer existed. The gardens, too, of the 
 patrician families, many of whom had formerly a "plai- 
 sance" on the Broadway, though their residences were at 
 
72 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 the western end of Stone Street, then an aristocratic 
 quarter, were now covered by fine houses. The fort 
 and its sentinels, once the representatives of royalty, and 
 holding in awe the subject city, had surrendered to a 
 republican government-house without guards; and the 
 Bowling Green in front of it was relieved of the king s 
 statue. On the site of old Trinity Church, destroyed by 
 the fire, a second had been erected, to yield in time to 
 the present one, far exceeding its predecessors in size 
 and beauty. 
 
 Broadway, thus renovated, reposed in elegant exemp 
 tion from all vulgar occupation. Private equipages 
 moved along its clean and airy length unjostled by om 
 nibuses. Shops had not yet invaded it, except at what 
 was then its upper end ; and the few carts that appeared 
 seemed rather permitted than, as now, the rightful pos 
 sessors. The side-walks, clean and unobstructed, were 
 the favorite promenade of well-dressed ladies, who now 
 adventure there at the peril not only of silks and vel 
 vets, but of life and limb. 
 
 Not alone in Broadway, but throughout the city, the 
 change was apparent : in the new nomenclature of the 
 streets, the absence of sentries at great men s doors, the 
 increased activity, the evidences of wealth, and a grow 
 ing commerce. Manners, too, were in a transition state. 
 Coffee-house Bridge, at the foot of Wall Street, where, 
 before the war, gentlemen "used most to congregate," 
 was no more. The Saturday -night club at Brock s Tav 
 ern, with tea, politics, and oysters, had given place to 
 other, and perhaps less justifiable relaxations; and wa- 
 ter-sockies a small black-fish were no longer sought 
 by lawyers, who used to meet in summer, a little out of 
 town, for the purpose of thus regaling themselves. 
 
 The evening had closed on the city, and Walter could 
 only form an imperfect idea of the objects immediately 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 73 
 
 surrounding him, and of that which naturally chiefly 
 struck him its vastness. 
 
 His ring at the door was answered by a grave-looking 
 colored serving-man, who, on being told his name, asked 
 him to walk in. 
 
 "I am expected, then," thought he: "so much the 
 better ; I am not come too soon." 
 
 He was ushered into a room which he soon compre 
 hended to be the library furnished with heavy mahog 
 any chairs, high, straight-backed, and black with age ; 
 seats covered with crimson moreen, and window-curtains 
 of the same material, raised by cords and pulleys instead 
 of being drawn aside. Bookcases of the same dark 
 wood, with glass doors, rilled the recesses of the room, 
 and a Turkey carpet covered the floor. On the centre 
 of the mantle-piece was a richly-cased clock, of old-fash 
 ioned form, bearing on its silvered dial the name of "Pea 
 cock, Eoyal Exchange, London," and no glass or china 
 was allowed to glitter near it. Good maps were hung 
 wherever space admitted of them, but no " dbjet d art" 
 relieved the grave aspect of the room, evidently furnish 
 ed according to the taste of one opposed to innovation. 
 By a round table, very dark, and whose polished sur 
 face reflected the lights from two candles in tall, mass 
 ive silver candlesticks, in a library-chair the only 
 thing in the room in which ease appeared to have been 
 consulted was seated a middle-aged gentleman. He 
 was reading, but he laid down his book and turned 
 his eyes to the door as Walter entered, who, to cut 
 short all uncertainty, advanced, and presented Mr. Graf- 
 ton s letter, the superscription of which announced the 
 bearer. 
 
 " Ah !" said Mr. Meredith, now first partly rising from 
 his chair, and coldly motioning to another, " Mr. Thorn- 
 ley be seated, sir." 
 
 D 
 
74 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 Walter obeyed, and Mr. Meredith, having read his let 
 ter, folded and laid it down. 
 
 " You left Mr. Grrafton well, I hope." 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 " Your journey has not been very fatiguing, I suppose. 
 Hardy habits make one indifferent to such things." 
 
 Walter bowed. Three days and two nights in the 
 mail-coach, over very bad roads, was not pleasant, but 
 not to be spoken of. 
 
 A silence ensued, which neither seemed to care to 
 break. Presently the clock struck the hour of tea, and 
 Mr. Meredith rang the bell. 
 
 A tea-tray was brought in, rich with highly- wrought 
 silver; another, on which were the only edibles bread 
 and butter, in slices incredibly thin, on a china plate, 
 and, on another, hard waffles well termed wafers. 
 These constituted the substantiate of the meal, which, to 
 our hungry young traveler, promised rather to provoke 
 than to satisfy his appetite. Then came 
 
 u The bubbling and loud-hissing urn, 
 Throwing up a steamy column;" 
 
 and Mrs. Meredith entered a lady somewhat past her 
 prime, but still comely, with " gracious womanhood and 
 gravitie," well harmonizing with her puce-colored silk 
 dress. Her handkerchief, of the finest India muslin, 
 was disposed over her bosom in what was called "a 
 craw" a style that obtained for the wearers the sobri 
 quet of the " Brest (c est d dire breast) Squadron" from 
 the voluminous expanse of which peeped a a modesty- 
 piece." She wore a cap, in the fashion called " French 
 night-cap," with a high crown, full lace border descend 
 ing low at the ears, and a large white satin bow in front ; 
 a thin muslin apron, ornamented with tambour-work, 
 and black lace mitts nearly meeting the sleeve, which 
 terminated at the elbow. 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 75 
 
 "Mrs. Meredith," said her husband, "here is Mr. 
 Thornley, whom Mr. Grafton has sent to us." 
 
 "Walter bowed, in deference to the lady, not to the 
 manner of his introduction. She courtesied slightly, 
 said in a gentle tone she was happy to see Mr. Thorn- 
 ley, and passed to the ministration of the tea-table. 
 
 Just in the shadow of Mrs. Meredith, like a little satel- 
 ite in attendance on its primary, was a young girl, 
 
 "As faire as faire mote ever bee," 
 "And in the flower now of her freshest age," 
 
 for this was her fifteenth spring. Had a passport been 
 made out for her, it might have run somewhat in this 
 wise : Face oval ; complexion fair, and so clear that, 
 with every emotion that stirred the young blood, it man 
 tled in her cheek to the richest bloom. Eyes full, and 
 finely set hue indescribable; some would say gray, 
 some hazel, and others blue. "Eyebrows of the Graces." 
 Eyelids well fringed. Nose not classical, but, neverthe 
 less, a very proper nose. Mouth perfect, revealing teeth 
 far superior to pearls whatever poets may say and 
 little dimples in which Love and Frolic played. 
 
 Her soft, wavy brown hair was turned back from the 
 fair ingenuous forehead by a long tortoise-shell comb, 
 and fell behind nearly to the waist. Her dress, more 
 simple and appropriate than that of an infant in these 
 days, was a fine Holland (linen) frock, with a tight and 
 rather a long waist, buttoned up at the back. The skirt, 
 full and plaited, was open behind. The sleeves, short 
 and looped up, showed an under one of linen cambric, 
 turned up with a lace-edged cuff; the same trimming at 
 the neck, which was uncovered. A moderately stiff 
 stays confined the waist ; for, though the steel busk and 
 stiff circular front were now generally discarded, Mrs. 
 Meredith, attached to old customs, and accepting her 
 husband s opinion that relaxation in dress tended to the 
 
76 WALTER THOKNLEY; OK, 
 
 increasing and alarming relaxation in manners, still ad 
 hered to the stays with certain mitigations ; and the fine 
 ly developed "bust and erect person of her daughter 
 showed that she had received no injury from it. A 
 broad sash, with long streamers behind, differing little 
 but in name from the rejected "leading-strings ;" green 
 morocco shoes, covering little feet, in nice proportion 
 with a very pretty pair of hands, completed the young 
 lady s attire. 
 
 "This, Mr. Thornley," said Mr. Meredith, "is my 
 daughter, Miss Eleanor Meredith." 
 
 The young lady courtesied ; "Walter returned a bow 
 as cold and distant as if prescribed by her father. Had 
 they met in Ashton under the same circumstances, he 
 would have involuntarily extended his hand in token 
 of the friendly relations he hoped to establish between 
 himself and his pupil ; but he readily understood that 
 here it would be regarded as a liberty, and he was per 
 fectly satisfied to omit it. 
 
 "If the face," thought he, "be an index to the brain, 
 I shall not have much difficulty as a teacher." 
 
 The tea was not enlivened by many words. "When 
 the tray was removed, Mrs. Meredith took up her shut 
 tle and busied herself with knotting, and Eleanor seated 
 herself by her with her filigree-work. " What on earth 
 those taper fingers were about ! why those narrow gold- 
 edged strips of paper of all colors were thus rolled up, 
 and then carefully disposed of," Walter could not divine, 
 and the knotting too was equally a mystery, unaccus 
 tomed as he was to the elegant trifles with which city 
 ladies occupied themselves. 
 
 Mrs. Meredith, with the " pleasant ways of woman 
 kind," made some attempts at conversation, to relieve 
 what she thought must be the awkward situation of 
 Walter; but, though kind, she was mistaken: he was 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 77 
 
 simply tired, and soon requested permission to retire. 
 He was accordingly lighted to the attic by the servant 
 who had admitted him ; and, having placed his candle 
 on a table, he surveyed the room ; then, looking from 
 the window to the street, which seemed immeasurably 
 beneath him, he thought, " Well, I am nearer the sky 
 than I have ever been before, I believe, so I may be said 
 to be rising in the world ; but I am mortally hungry. 
 Oh! for a cold cut from Damie s buttery. I have not 
 gone so supperless to bed since I was a hop-o -my- 
 thumb under her discipline. But sleep will cure all. 
 Oh, well saith Spenser : 
 
 " Food and sleep, which two upbcare, 
 
 Like mightie pillars, this frayle life of man, 
 That none without the same enduren can. 
 
 If I have not the first, I am sure of the second." 
 
78 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 IN the morning Walter was shown into the dining- 
 room, where he perceived more decoration. With the 
 same generally substantial character was intermingled 
 modern taste, showing that innovation had been less 
 sternly resisted in the female department. The ma 
 hogany furniture was carved instead of plain. Chintz 
 curtains of a graceful form had replaced worsted ones. 
 The walls were hung with a handsome French paper, 
 and a large commodious sofa and stuffed arm-chairs gave 
 an air of luxury to the room. On the mantle-piece was 
 a French clock, where the flight of time was enlivened 
 by cupids. But this concession to the present genera 
 tion was indemnified by the china shepherds and shep 
 herdesses, the admiration of the preceding, that support 
 ed it on either side ; and these, again, were flanked by 
 lustres of recent date. A large mirror, so placed as to 
 reflect these adornments, was richly set in the fantastic 
 taste of the Louis Quatorze period ; but the thousand 
 fanciful trifles that fill every inch of space in the present 
 parlors and drawing-rooms then were not. 
 
 Walter found the family assembled. A few moments 
 intervened before breakfast, during which Eleanor read, 
 or appeared to read, and, having nothing else to do, Wal 
 ter occupied himself in looking at her. She seemed to 
 him even prettier than on the previous evening, in her 
 chintz frock of many colors, her vandyke of fine cam 
 bric, and apron of the same ; or it might be that, having 
 volunteered a u good-morning, Mr. Thornley," as he en 
 tered, he was disposed to regard her more favorably. 
 
 The breakfast over, and Mr. Meredith having read his 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 79 
 
 papers, lie said, " I am going to my office now, Mr. Thorn- 
 ley, and, as you may like to look a little about you be 
 fore commencing your regular occupation, we will say 
 nothing of it at present. If I am not otherwise engaged 
 this afternoon, I purpose to have some preparatory talk 
 with you in the library." 
 
 Walter had only to assent, and deferring his explora 
 tion of the city, he retired to his room to write to Mr. 
 Grafton. 
 
 Two o clock was the dinner-hour. When he entered 
 the room he found the family already seated at table, 
 and, in addition, two guests. Mr. Meredith motioned to 
 Walter to take a chair at his left hand, and said, " This 
 is Mr. Thornley, gentlemen, of whom I spoke to you." 
 
 Of the persons so addressed, one raised his eyes with 
 a slight inclination of the head ; the other, turning to 
 ward him a face from which a laugh had not quite 
 passed, gave him a careless, good-natured nod, and pro 
 ceeded with his conversation. But, however little the 
 notice bestowed on Walter, his own attention was at 
 once engaged by the gentleman last mentioned. In age 
 he seemed about thirty -five ; in stature, short and thick 
 set. The lower part of his face was mirthful, but there 
 was power in his well-developed forehead, and quickness 
 in his deep-set, vivacious gray eyes. An observer might 
 have safely pronounced him as acute in argument as in 
 jest irresistible, while the negligent enjouement of his 
 air showed that business and care sat lightly on him. 
 
 They were both lawyers, and the conversation, though 
 chiefly professional, was animated and agreeable. Dull 
 points of law were enforced by a joke, and humorous 
 anecdotes confirmed "grave precedents," in all of which 
 the gentleman referred to excelled. 
 
 The dinner was so bountiful that Walter comprehend 
 ed the scanty city tea. At the proper time, one gentle- 
 
80 
 
 man begged to take wine with Mr. Meredith, and the one 
 who had so much attracted Walter asked the same favor 
 of Miss Eleanor, seated next to him. Mr. Meredith with 
 out speaking filled Walter s glass, as he would have done 
 that of a child or an inferior ; but having done so turned 
 away and continued to converse with his guests. Wal 
 ter left his wine untouched. 
 
 The gentleman, after talking with Eleanor, seemed 
 disposed to some farther acquaintance with her. 
 
 "And so, young lady, you are learning Latin, math 
 ematics, and of course the whole circle of sciences, eh?" 
 
 Eleanor blushing replied, " Only a little, sir." 
 
 " Yery well ; the less the better. Let me give you a 
 word of advice. I can spare it, for I get plenty of it." 
 
 A laugh from the others seemed confirmatory. 
 
 " Don t mind them ; they are laughing, not at you, but 
 at me. Now for my advice. Don t spoil those pretty 
 eyes by hard study, for one of these days some very 
 clever fellow will rather have you conjugate for him in 
 plain English the verb to love, indicative mode, pres 
 ent tense, first person singular, than that you should 
 speak all the dead languages. Besides another thing 
 you like to dance ?" 
 
 " Yes, sir," said Eleanor, with a smile. 
 
 "Ah! I thought so; but you can never dance well 
 in blue stockings no lady ever did ! Take care of 
 the heels. The head your head, certainly will take 
 care of itself." 
 
 " Bad advice !" exclaimed Mrs. Meredith ; " very bad 
 advice, sir ! You ll spoil my daughter." 
 
 " My dear madam, don t you perceive that I am act 
 ing on the defensive? Young ladies will be treading 
 on our heels if they neglect their own. In fifty years 
 they ll be contending for the right to vote, for seats on 
 the bench, and professors chairs, if they are allowed to 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 81 
 
 go on. "We must check them, or we men shall be ex 
 tinct among the lost races ! Latin and mathematics ! 
 Why, my dear madam, tis a repetition of the original 
 sin ! Knowledge to women ! tis the forbidden fruit. 
 No, no; samples and receipt-books forever!" 
 
 Mrs. Meredith shook her head, but did not refuse a 
 smile. 
 
 " I am sorry to say," continued the gentleman, " what 
 must needs shock your conjugal reverence ; but your 
 husband is the most inconsistent man I know." 
 
 " Inconsistent ! I can not think it." 
 
 "No, I dare say not; but I can prove it. No man 
 more alarmed than he at the progress of democracy, 
 and yet he puts the greatest leveler into the hands least 
 able to use it discreetly knowledge to women. Why, 
 we shall beat the French. Instead of one goddess of 
 reason, every town and village will be overrun with 
 them." 
 
 Eleanor listened, but not with an undivided attention. 
 She was puzzling herself to discover what the gentleman 
 could mean by dancing in "blue stockings!" and she 
 cast a furtive glance at Walter as she " wondered if Mr. 
 Thornley knew." But she had no time to speculate 
 on his countenance, for he rose at the moment to leave 
 the room, saying to Mr. Meredith, " I will attend you in 
 the library, sir, when you please to send for me." 
 
 "Very well," replied Mr. Meredith, but without sug 
 gesting that he should stay longer. 
 
 Expecting a summons, Walter remained within, in 
 stead of taking the walk he had promised himself; but 
 he received no call till the hour of tea, and then no apol 
 ogy for the omission. 
 
 The same formal meal succeeded, after which Mr. 
 Meredith had an engagement, and Walter was left with 
 Mrs. Meredith and her daughter. 
 
 D2 
 
82 WALTER THORNLEY; OK, 
 
 In a voice and manner rendering commonplaces agree 
 able, the former asked him what he had seen of the city. 
 
 "Nothing, madam; I have not been out." 
 
 "Indeed! Why not?" 
 
 " In the morning I was occupied, and in the afternoon 
 Mr. Meredith had said he should wish to speak to me." 
 
 " Ah ! I am sorry. You have, then, had a dull day." 
 
 Walter could not deny it. 
 
 " But you have at least seen two of our principal law 
 yers, and I thought Mr. Hoffman impressed you agreea 
 bly." 
 
 " I was not aware that I had seen him." 
 
 " Seen him ! You dined with him." 
 
 " I did not know it, madam." 
 
 " Why, you were introduced." 
 
 Walter smiled. 
 
 " My name was mentioned, I believe; but I thought 
 that an introduction, to be such, must be mutual." 
 
 Mrs. Meredith, not knowing what to reply, turned the 
 conversation; and, willing to be complimentary, said, 
 " A country life, with its simple habits, has its advant 
 ages. I observed you drank no wine." 
 
 Again Walter smiled. 
 
 " I am not, for that reason, entitled to be commended 
 for simplicity. I like a glass of wine occasionally, but I 
 never took a solitary one in my life ; its chief pleasure 
 to me is the companionship it expresses." 
 
 A woman s tact seldom fails her. Mrs. Meredith s did 
 not, and she resolved on a secret representation to her 
 husband. 
 
 Eleanor meanwhile was silent, but her eyes often turn 
 ed to Walter, and as often as he smiled she smiled too ; 
 but why ? Perhaps she could not have told. 
 
 It must not be inferred that Walter s notice of these 
 omissions was in an exacting spirit. Mr. Grafton, both 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 83 
 
 from temper and education an observer of the small 
 charities that soften life, had carefully retained them in 
 his little household, where Walter was accustomed to 
 see their visitors, however humble, treated with atten 
 tion, and had thus been early instructed in all the court 
 esies practicable in their situation. But he did not over 
 rate them. Not so Mr. Meredith ; and Walter already 
 comprehended that when omitted by him it was with a 
 meaning, and that meaning he meant to resist 
 
 The next morning, after breakfast, Mr. Meredith re 
 quested to see him in the library, and thither they went. 
 
 The course of study for Eleanor having been marked 
 out by her father, Walter, in the main, assented, only 
 begging leave to differ in some small details. Mr. Mer 
 edith was a strenuous advocate for the technical mode 
 of instruction ; Walter, though he would not object to a 
 severe drilling for a youth destined to a profession, ven 
 tured to say that for a young lady he should prefer a 
 somewhat different method. Taught by his own expe 
 rience under the instruction of Mr. Grafton, he dwelt 
 much on the power of the teacher, not merely to in 
 struct, but to enlarge the mind ; not alone to excite the 
 taste, but to refine it. That, omitting sometimes dry 
 technicalities, lest he should disgust his pupil, he should 
 endeavor to leave no beauty in sentiment or morals un- 
 perceived, thus leading her through her lessons as a 
 means to that which was higher. 
 
 Mr. Meredith listened with attention. He was not de 
 ficient in good feeling, but the changes of the time im 
 pended over him like a nightmare. He conceived it the 
 duty of every citizen to maintain the proper subjection 
 of the young to the old, and the due subordination that 
 keeps each class in its own place. Yet he was not un 
 willing to acknowledge merit, and to admit that an indi 
 vidual might lawfully emancipate himself from restric- 
 
84 
 
 tions, nevertheless wholesome in themselves. He began 
 to regard Walter from a new point of view. Deceived 
 by his youthful appearance, he had set him down as a 
 half-taught country lad, who might possibly be made of 
 some use under his directions. He found him instruct 
 ed and mature beyond his years, with unembarrassed 
 manner, modest and unpresuming in the expression of 
 his views, yet maintaining them with dignity. He was 
 so well pleased he became communicative. " He had 
 been solicited," he said, "by some of his friends to ad 
 mit their daughters to share with Eleanor in his instruc 
 tion. But," continued he, " it would never do. I once 
 did try the experiment, but such an ungovernable set 
 you never saw ! They nearly drove the poor man dis 
 tracted, although he was almost twice your age. You 
 could never endure it." 
 
 " Just as you please, sir. I should not fear to under 
 take it on my own account." 
 
 "Why, what could you do with a dozen girls, who 
 could not be flogged like so many boys? Whose pa 
 rents would expect them to be treated like young ladies, 
 but who were, in fact, ill-bred romps." 
 
 " If inaccessible to remonstrance and reproof, I would 
 simply dismiss them sine die" said Walter, laughing. 
 
 " No, no, tis better as it is ; and as I approve of your 
 ideas as far as you have explained them, you will pro 
 ceed to carry them out as soon as you please. One thing 
 only has first to be settled I wish you to be satisfied in 
 all respects the terms " 
 
 " I beg your pardon, sir," said Walter ; " I understood 
 there was to be a period of trial. I prefer to wait till 
 the expiration of that before my remuneration is fixed." 
 
 " Trial ! Oh ay, yes ; but I am quite satisfied now." 
 
 "I regarded the provision as applicable to both par 
 ties, sir." 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 85 
 
 " How ? I don t understand you." 
 
 "You are so good as to say that you are satisfied. 
 Perhaps you are precipitate; but allow me to say, sir, 
 that, if your mind is made up, it is possible that mine is 
 not." 
 
 Mr. Meredith looked disappointed and perplexed. 
 
 " Permit me, sir," said Walter, " to be frank with you. 
 The position is a new one to me. I can not exact treat 
 ment from you differing from that which you may deem 
 proper. But, if our views in this respect do not agree, 
 I must do as I have said that I should request the young 
 ladies to do take my dismissal. A month will proba 
 bly settle our respective relations. Until that shall have 
 passed we will, if you please, sir, say nothing of terms." 
 
 Mr. Meredith was beginning to understand him. 
 
 "Your hand, Mr. Thornley !" said he, with a hearti 
 ness Walter did not think in his nature. "I respect 
 your frankness and manliness as much as I do your at 
 tainments. It shall not be my fault if we disagree." 
 
 The two previous evenings Walter had been allowed 
 to retire at an early hour, with no suggestion to the con 
 trary. This evening, however, when about doing so, 
 Mr. Meredith said, " Stay and take a little supper with 
 us, Mr. Thornley. It is a very light one, and usually 
 restricted to my family ; but if you will partake of it, it 
 will give me pleasure." 
 
 Thus invited, Walter did not refuse. The time pass 
 ed cheerfully. Mr. Meredith unbent ; and, condescend 
 ing to talk to Walter on general topics, he was surprised 
 into an interest so unusual with him, that when sepa 
 rating for the night he requested that " whenever agree 
 able to himself he would favor them in the same way." 
 
 The next morning Walter was shown into the library, 
 where, in a few moments, Miss Eleanor entered to re 
 ceive her first lesson, or, rather, to undergo a prelim- 
 
86 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 inary examination, in order to decide the course to be 
 pursued. He found, as he had been given to expect, 
 that her instruction had been but superficial, as was, in 
 deed, at the time, the fact with regard to female educa 
 tion generally. Geography and history without maps 
 or chronology; grammar by rote; arithmetic to the 
 "rule of three" examples set down in the books, and 
 the answers obtained from the same as Mrs. Malaprop 
 would say, "a supercilious knowledge of accounts;" 
 reading conducted in a similar manner, each girl in the 
 class taking the page or paragraph which fell to her 
 share, without heeding that which preceded or followed. 
 Any thing like hard study, with few exceptions, was 
 unthought of. Girls were not allowed, to use the lan 
 guage of the above quoted lady, to " meddle with Greek, 
 or Hebrew, or Algebra, or Simony, or Fluxions, or Par 
 adoxes, or such inflammatory branches of learning." 
 
 The case with Eleanor was rather better, inasmuch as 
 her father had insisted on Latin ; but her most thorough 
 attainment was in French. Among the unfortunate 
 emigres, excellent teachers were found; and, with her 
 nice ear and natural facility, she had made quite a re 
 spectable progress in it. To this might be added music, 
 not, indeed, 
 
 "The fine sleights of hand 
 And unimagin d fingerings, shuffling off 
 The hearer s soul thro hurricanes of notes." 
 
 As a science she had no claim to it. Of "harmony" 
 she knew little ; but in " melody," well called " the Poe 
 try of Music," her sweet rich voice, her musical instinct, 
 her delicate touch, all natural adaptations, did more for 
 her than her teacher. Drawing, including coloring, she 
 had learned like others. This chiefly consisted of me 
 chanical rules by which ever- varying nature was pre 
 sumed to be expressed. The same forms for the clouds, 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 87 
 
 the same straight lines to indicate water, the same tin- 
 changing tints for the sky, the same touch to express 
 every variety of tree. Flowers as unlike nature as if 
 some Egyptian hierophant had prescribed a sacred and 
 inviolable form; while perspective was still nearly an 
 occult science. 
 
 Almost the only thing really well taught was danc 
 ing, and here the teacher, generally French, could hard 
 ly fail. Heads unencumbered with learning, spirits un 
 checked by study, health unimpaired by late hours, hot 
 rooms, and stimulants, were admirable assistants. And 
 it must be conceded by the present generation that their 
 grandmothers, without any of the ologies, excelled them 
 in the adaptation of motion to music, in the true ex 
 pression of youthful enjoyment. As they moved through 
 the sprightly " contra -danse" and changeful cotillon, 
 groups would gather round them to admire their flying 
 feet, their graceful evolutions, their steps conformed to 
 every varying note, their kindling cheeks, their spark 
 ling eyes. There was no voluptuous waltz, no romping 
 polka, no stamping mazurka, no "walking through the 
 figure." Dancing was neither a rage nor a pretense ; it 
 was an earnest and natural pleasure, in which also young 
 men, now too busy or too indolent to enter into it heart 
 ily, then partook without the fear of being regarded as 
 idlers, or as dancing-masters, if they executed an " entre 
 chat" or "cut a pigeon-wing." But to return to Walter 
 and Eleanor. 
 
 Having prepared the way, and prescribed the first les 
 son, he released her, he with an impression in favor of 
 her natural capacity and good temper, she with a senti 
 ment half fear, half liking something she could not 
 well define, but entirely different from what Mr. A. or 
 Mr. B. had inspired. 
 
 And now, having inducted Walter into his new posi- 
 
88 
 
 tion, and seen him through the small obstructions which 
 threatened to render it irksome, he may be left to main 
 tain it as he can. And, as it is not intended to give a 
 treatise on education, nor to enter into the details of his 
 teaching farther than the story requires, he and his pu 
 pil shall be left to their "kies," their "kaes," and their 
 " cods," without much present observation. 
 
 The first of July came ; and, though Mr. Meredith 
 brought inviting accounts of the beauty of their coun 
 try residence, the family were content to remain in the 
 city till after the national festival of the "Fourth." 
 That anniversary was then celebrated not only with 
 noisy demonstrations, but with a pleasure that pervaded 
 every class. The rich, the refined, the fashionable, and 
 the self-indulgent did not then turn their backs upon 
 it, seeking a retreat where their trembling nerves might 
 be safe from its patriotic explosions, leaving the honors 
 of the day to be paid by vulgar, and often by ruffianly 
 excess. 
 
 On the occasion referred to the day was hailed with 
 even more than ordinary interest. The general indig 
 nation at foreign aggression held in check the angry 
 feelings of opposing parties. A more hearty nationality 
 prevailed, and religious services and an appropriate ora 
 tion enforced its proper observance. As the accustomed 
 procession passed through Broadway, from every door 
 and window it was greeted. Gentle and simple, young 
 and old, followed with eager gaze and thrilling hearts 
 the long lines that, with various insignia, civil, military, 
 and municipal, proceeded through the street to martial 
 and patriotic airs. Demonstrations of respect were made 
 before the residences of official persons ; in answer to 
 which gray heads bowed, and fair young faces smiled 
 hands were kissed, and handkerchiefs waved. Pulses 
 beat quick at the sight of the old Continental uniform ! 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 89 
 
 which, not then a mere pageant, expressed a reality felt 
 and understood ; and the New York Eangers, with oth 
 ers of the new levies among them sons of the best fam 
 ilies showed that the spirit of their sires was not extinct. 
 
 The rejoicings were prolonged into the decline of the 
 day by a gay and very general assemblage on the Bat 
 tery, then the favorite promenade. There Mr. Meredith, 
 accompanied by Walter, conducted Mrs. Meredith and 
 Eleanor. The latter, attired for the occasion in a new 
 chip gipsy, tied with blue ribbons, and a white dimity 
 cardinal trimmed with fringe, tripped along so gayly as 
 to receive a rebuke from her father. But her spirits 
 were up. The crowd, the music, the general exhilara 
 tion were intoxicating ; besides, she had recited a good 
 lesson, and Mr. Thornley had commended her : a rare 
 occurrence. 
 
 Nature, amid all changes, ever the same, unaffected 
 by the mutations of men, was just as beautiful, and not 
 more so, than now. A gorgeous sunset was shedding 
 its light over the city and bay, tinting every jutting 
 headland and island, and casting across the waters a 
 broad gleam like molten gold. As the greater glory 
 departed, the lesser replaced it, 
 
 "The heavens unfolding all their gates 
 To let the stars out slowly." 
 
 But among all this natural beauty human interests 
 prevailed. Fireworks presumed to scale the empyrean ; 
 and illuminations, in characters of flame, repeated the 
 sentiment, originating in the exigencies of the time, 
 " Millions for defense ! not a cent for tribute I" 
 
 They met troops of well-dressed people and happy 
 children; and many salutations were exchanged. Among 
 others, a gentleman accosted them, who, giving his hand 
 to Mr. Meredith, raised his hat and remained uncovered 
 while he courteously conversed with his wife. The op- 
 
90 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 portimity thus afforded was not lost. His finely-formed 
 head, his massy brow, his eyes, not effective in color or 
 size, but brilliant in expression, his well-cut profile, the 
 genial smile that graced a mouth the fit instrument of 
 truth strong and beautiful ! the whole countenance 
 informed by thought, so impressed Walter that he failed 
 to observe that " his bodily presence" was unimposing, 
 small even to diminutiveness. He felt only his superi 
 ority. 
 
 The gentleman bowed and passed, and Mr. Meredith 
 said, with a proud, complacent smile, " That is General 
 Hamilton; at this juncture no man more important to 
 the Kepublic his sword as convincing as his pen !" 
 
 Alas ! little did the speaker foresee the near extinction 
 of the life he so estimated ! a sacrifice to malignant ri 
 valry, and a mistaken sense of duty. 
 
 In their progress, approaching one of the gates, Wal 
 ter observed a phaeton and pair drawn up in the street 
 without, in attendance on a gentleman, who delayed to 
 enter that he might address some parting words to per 
 sons near him. He was one to fix attention. He held 
 his hat under his arm, as if such were his custom in 
 walking. His head and face, thus seen to greater ad 
 vantage, were striking and handsome. An air of com 
 mand increased the effect of his tall stature, and his whole 
 appearance indicated a consciousness of power, which, 
 nevertheless, did not offend, because it was felt to be 
 based on rare endowments both of mind and body. 
 
 Walter was about to ask his name, when he perceived, 
 as the gentleman ascended his carriage, that he had lost 
 a leg. 
 
 " Ah !" said he, " Mr. Morris ? Is it not ?" 
 
 "Yes; our minister to France. But," in a tone of 
 surprise, "how should you know him?" 
 
 " Great names," replied Walter, "penetrate the dark- 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 91 
 
 est places. The stars, you know, sir, may be seen from 
 the bottom of a well." 
 
 Again and again they went the usual round till Mr. 
 Meredith suggested that they should conclude the even 
 ing at Contoit s. Directing their steps, therefore, to that 
 part of State Street parallel with one side of the Battery, 
 they entered beneath an archway, on which was in 
 scribed " Columbia Gardens," where a parterre of grass 
 and flowers, surrounded by small alcoves, presented it 
 self. It was lighted, and on a stage elevated: above the 
 general level was an orchestra, and musicians were pre 
 luding the evening performance. 
 
 Mr. Meredith having selected an alcove, an attendant 
 appeared with ices, and a programme of the music for the 
 occasion. After a short interval of expectation, the en 
 tertainment commenced by "Hail Columbia!" then in 
 the zenith of its favor. To this succeeded an " over 
 ture," followed by singers, male and female ; and, among 
 other patriotic songs, "America, Commerce, and Free 
 dom" was received with a burst of applause. At length, 
 the chief attraction, the prima donna of the evening, the 
 celebrated Mrs. Oldmixon, made her appearance. The 
 power of her voice there was no denying, nor the skill 
 with which it was managed ; but such were the contor 
 tions of a face to which Nature had been singularly un 
 kind, that Walter turned away in a sort of horror, for 
 which her songs, though the most admired of the day, 
 including the favorite " Gipsy s song," were no compen 
 sation. He had not learned that " the nearer the singer 
 can arrive at a gasp, a sob, or a scream, the more success 
 fully the voice is treated." 
 
 When Mrs. Oldmixon had been encored and applaud 
 ed till Walter was wearied, Eleanor asked him how he 
 was pleased. 
 
 " I must not tell untruths to you of all persons," said 
 
92 
 
 lie. "Well, then, I do not like such music at all. 1 
 dare say because I am too ignorant to enjoy it. I had 
 infinitely rather hear you sing." 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Thornley !" exclaimed she, much pleased. 
 But Walter, unconscious of having excited emotion by 
 the expression of a simple fact, understood the excla 
 mation as a remonstrance against his bad taste, and re 
 flected, " How strange, that a creature so inartificial her 
 self could enjoy any thing so perverted !" 
 
 " I see you think me a barbarian," said he ; " but I 
 must, nevertheless, say, that a fine, full voice exaggerated 
 to a shriek, all sweetness and expression tortured out of 
 it, gives me only pain." 
 
 Eleanor said nothing, but she did not think him "a 
 barbarian" by any means. 
 
 The next day Walter was introduced to a home more 
 congenial to his habits than his city residence had been. 
 
 The " Oaks," the country house of Mr. Meredith, was 
 well adapted to comfort; plain and substantial, simply 
 furnished, pleasantly situated in that part of Bloemen- 
 dal nearest the North Eiver, and surrounded by grounds 
 under good cultivation. Walter fancied that there was, 
 too, an air of greater freedom, something like what he 
 had been accustomed to breathe. People did not walk 
 with steps as noiseless, and doors were not always closed 
 without ajar. Instead of the heavy carved mahogany 
 chairs, imposing such responsibilities on the occupant, 
 were " cottage" chairs as those of the late fashion were 
 called the feet of which, if they did not always stand 
 on the same plane, it did not appear so great a breach 
 of propriety. A large hall occupied the centre of the 
 house, into which opened dining-room, drawing-room, 
 library, and a room denominated " the study," because 
 there Eleanor had received the masters who had given 
 her private lessons. This communicated by a glass door 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. \)3 
 
 at the south with a piazza running round three sides of 
 the house, to which a long window on the western side 
 also furnished access. From the piazza a descent of a 
 few steps led into a garden, the especial delight of Mr. 
 Meredith ; who, far in advance of his neighbors in hor 
 ticulture, imported many of his plants from England and 
 Holland. Shrubberies, ornamental trees, and shaded 
 walks well disposed, increased its apparent size ; and a 
 fine wood, chiefly of oak, gave it, though so near the 
 city, an air of privacy and repose. 
 
 The study, thus agreeably situated, was furnished with 
 books, maps, globes, and whatever could justify its ap 
 pellation ; and here Eleanor had collected what she re 
 garded as her peculiar property. Albeit no student, it 
 was her favorite room ; for here were her canary birds, 
 and her gold and silver fish ; a little cabinet covered 
 with tortoise-shell, a writing-desk of Japan workman 
 ship, and a Chinese pagoda made of rice, but looking 
 like exquisitely-carved ivory. Here, also, was a wonder 
 ful nest of balls of the same material, the admiration of 
 eyes not then accustomed to the innumerable bijoux 
 since introduced. Here were, in short, all those articles 
 of taste that then constituted the staple of Christmas and 
 JSTew Year gifts. 
 
 Into this room, destined to be henceforth what its 
 name imported, Walter was introduced; Eleanor gra 
 ciously inviting him to use it whenever he pleased, a per 
 mission which its aspect inclined him to profit by. The 
 next day lessons were resumed ; the door communicat 
 ing with the hall always open, and Mrs. Meredith and 
 her work-basket always near it. Having a conjugal 
 respect for her husband s opinions, she was ready to 
 enforce them, particularly when, as in the present in 
 stance, her own experience tended to confirm them. 
 The recollection of "manners taught by Mrs. Stakes," 
 
94 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 " wax- work and shell-work by Madam Koger," and a 
 smattering of bad French by Mdmslle. Blanch Beault 
 the lights of her time enabled her rightly to estimate the 
 better instruction now offered to her daughter. Yet she 
 had a grateful remembrance of Mr. Leslie, one of the few 
 good teachers of her time so honest as to send home a 
 pupil, because, as he said, u she had learned all he could 
 teach ;" and so charitable that out of his small earnings 
 he paid a master to instruct the children of the poor. 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 95 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE month of probation had passed ; all parties were 
 satisfied ; Walter s remuneration was settled in the most 
 liberal manner, and things remained as they were. But 
 he was still learning to fit himself to his position. It 
 was plain that his standing in the family was quite dif 
 ferent from what it had been. Instead of a tolerated 
 member, he was now regarded with a certain degree of 
 complacency; and since their removal to the country 
 his companionship had seemed even desirable. But still 
 he felt that his place was "below the salt" a situation 
 in which some persons would have secured the advan 
 tages by quietly submitting to its exactions. This did 
 not suit his humor. With one of the best of tempers, 
 and having a real happiness in obliging, he resolved not 
 to be the easy, good-natured young man, always ready 
 for a vacant place, to entertain a bore, to walk or drive, 
 as a whim might dictate ; or to execute commissions 
 properly belonging to one just hovering between a de 
 pendent and a domestic. Perhaps he was proud ; but 
 pride, which in excess is a vice, may sometimes be a safe 
 guard. At any rate, he was consistent, and that, for its 
 rarity, is commendable. If invited to remain after din 
 ner or tea, exercise, books, or writing was an excuse ; if 
 a drive was suggested, he quietly preferred a walk ; if a 
 visit were proposed, he was always happy at home ; by 
 his self-dependence thus securing his independence. In 
 a little time it became a circumstance to secure Mr. Thorn- 
 ley s society ; and, somehow, neither Mr. nor Mrs. Mere 
 dith would any more have thought of making demands 
 on his time for their own convenience than on that of any 
 
96 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 other young gentleman with whom they were on terms 
 of equal familiarity. Thus much obtained, Walter glad 
 ly relaxed his self-imposed restrictions. 
 
 Meanwhile he had not been unmindful of the small 
 things which go toward making the whole man. Train 
 ed by Mr. Grafton in an observance of proprieties which 
 he had never laid aside himself, "Walter, as soon as as 
 sured of his ability to attain his own support, had sub 
 mitted himself to the hands of those persons who under 
 take to improve God s workmanship by the cut of their 
 clothes and the trim of their hair. 
 
 The fashions for gentlemen, like other things, were 
 revolutionized. Fine cloths had nearly banished vel 
 vets, cut and uncut. Waistcoats of silk shot with gold 
 or heavy with embroidery, scarlet stockings worked with 
 gold, point -lace ruffles and creepers, diamond stock- 
 buckles, solitaires, bags, and gold snuff-boxes, and all the 
 elaborate toilet of the preceding generation had disap 
 peared. Wigs were on the decline, and powder was dis 
 carded except by elderly persons, who disdained to sub 
 mit their heads to the sansculotteism of a crop, and who 
 retained it, together with their cambric chitterlings and 
 ruffles, to testify that gentlemen were still extant. 
 
 A subject of much more anxiety to Walter than his 
 own standing was his pupil. If dissatisfied, he could 
 go; that was a matter soon settled. But he could not 
 so easily dispose of the question, " Was he of any use to 
 her, or was he likely to be so ?" 
 
 With good natural powers, a sweet, ingenuous, play 
 ful temper, quick sensibility, and a confiding heart, she 
 had no taste for study, no value for knowledge. This, 
 he was aware, was greatly the fault of the parrotry in 
 which she had been allowed to proceed ; but might he 
 hope to effect the change that was necessary ? Thus far 
 he could not flatter himself that he had secured any 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 97 
 
 thing but obedience and personal good-will. He would, 
 indeed, most unwillingly have left a creature of such fine 
 impulses to instruction which, however imperfect his 
 own attempts, was very unlikely to succeed better. She 
 could not but inspire a strong interest where known fa 
 miliarly. A system of parental restraint, to which her 
 young companions were not generally subjected, would 
 have engendered in some minds rebellion or deceit. 
 She was too affectionate for the former, too fearless for 
 the latter submissive to authority, yet enjoying with 
 an excess of glee her occasional liberty ; and, like a bird 
 who, released for a while from its cage, returns without 
 resistance, she resumed her chain with as pleasant a face 
 as she laid it down. A child in ignorance, she was 
 equally so in innocence and unconsciousness. 
 
 One morning soon after their removal to the country, 
 as she seated herself at her desk in preparation for the 
 recitation, she exclaimed, " Oh, how delighted I am to 
 get back to my study !" 
 
 " Which of them ? Latin, Philosophy, History, or" 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Thornley !" replied she, with a significant 
 smile, and well understanding his look, "You know 
 what I mean my dear old room, with all my pet things 
 about me!" 
 
 " Including your books, of course. r 
 
 " Books ! Yes, some books. Arabian Nights, for in 
 stance ; some poetry, and a few novels not musty old 
 dictionaries and grammars." 
 
 "Your catalogue is rather small, Miss Eleanor; it 
 would but scantily furnish a young lady s head." 
 
 " Oh, I know that you, Mr. Thornley, would add fol 
 ios of history, and Heaven knows what ! more than my 
 poor little head could contain." 
 
 "You have never tested its capacity," said Walter, 
 willing to indulge her desire to defer the more serious 
 
 E 
 
98 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 business of the lessons, in hopes of insinuating one in a 
 less repulsive form. 
 
 " Why, do you really believe I can ever learn all the 
 things that you and papa say I must ? and if I could, 
 what is the use ? There s history now what am I the 
 better for knowing that Semiramis lived 1965 years be 
 fore the Christian era ? a good-for-nothing, wicked wom 
 an, I don t care when she lived ! or that Babylon had a 
 hundred gates ? It would be more to me if papa would 
 get one new one at our front entrance. Or that the an 
 cient Egyptian language was the same in its roots with 
 the modern Coptic ? I care a vast deal more about the 
 roots of my roses ! Or that Cheops succeeded Ehamp- 
 sinitus ? Horrid unpronounceable names ! That Sesos- 
 tris was a mighty conqueror? and so on." 
 
 " I must confess," said Walter, involuntarily catching 
 the spirit of frolic that sparkled in her eye," " you have 
 contrived to select facts not very important to you per 
 sonally ; but you should remember, Miss Eleanor, that 
 history, like every department of knowledge, compre 
 hends many details, not perhaps interesting in them 
 selves, but preparing the way for what is to follow : 
 thus we float down the stream of time to " 
 
 " No, no ; I don t float, I sink ! and pray don t speak 
 about the stream of time, Mr. Thornley, I beg of you ; 
 it only reminds me of that great chart in papa s library, 
 and it makes you seem just like a schoolmaster." 
 
 " But I am nothing else," Miss Eleanor. 
 
 " Oh, yes ; you are, sometimes. I don t ever want to 
 think of you as a schoolmaster, they are always so dis 
 agreeable ! When you talk to papa and mamma you 
 don t talk so. You think, perhaps, that I don t listen, 
 but I do. I hear every word you say to them." 
 
 "Eleanor!" said Mrs. Meredith, from the hall, "are 
 you talking or reciting ?" 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 99 
 
 " Talking, mamma." 
 
 "About your lessons?" 
 
 "No, mamma." 
 
 " Then please attend to them, and do not waste Mr. 
 Thornley s time." 
 
 Kecalled by this reminder, Eleanor, without a cloud 
 on her brow, opened her book, and, presenting it to Mr. 
 Thornley, the business of the morning began. 
 
 After a long sitting, and tolerable recitations, she rose, 
 put on her bonnet, her vandyke, and nankeen mitts, in 
 preparation for a walk. 
 
 "Do, Mr. Thornley, go with me. I am sure you arc 
 as tired as I am ; and it is so solitary, with only Bruno" 
 a liver-colored spaniel, her constant attendant. "I 
 did not use to mind it, when I could not have any thing 
 else ; but now it is different, and I am sure it would do 
 you good." 
 
 "No, thank you, Miss Eleanor. I should probably 
 be a dull companion, for walking disposes me to silence." 
 
 " A silent companion ! that is no better than Bruno!" 
 
 " No ; and therefore I will not impose myself on you." 
 
 " Well, I m sorry ! but come, Bruno ! my only friend! 
 Mr. Thornley don t care for us, so we ll amuse each oth 
 er," and off they went. 
 
 The summer months glided away with occasional dis 
 appointment, but, on the whole, with increasing satisfac 
 tion to Walter, who saw that, with now and then a re 
 lapse, Eleanor was really gaining in application and in 
 terest in her studies ; he, meantime, careful not to in 
 crease her distaste by undue rigor, secured his influence 
 by his forbearance. 
 
 One sultry morning, having been detained by atten 
 tion to her mother, who was slightly indisposed, Elea 
 nor entered the study, and, seating herself languidly, 
 exclaimed, "Oh dear! Mr. Thornley, it is so warm 
 
100 WALTEK THORNLEY; OK, 
 
 and so late, would it not be better to omit lessons to 
 day?" 
 
 Walter looked at his watch. 
 
 "It is only twenty minutes past the hour. I see no 
 reason why, having lost that much, we need lose more ; 
 and as to the heat, the most effectual way to forget it is 
 to be occupied." 
 
 "Oh, you are always so sensible! I wish I were so. 
 Shall I ever be so?" 
 
 "I do not know." 
 
 "Why can t you say you hope so, Mr. Thornley ?" 
 
 " I will, if you give me cause to say so." 
 
 "Have I not done so at all?" said she, with a re 
 proachful look. " I m sure I have tried." 
 
 "Yes, Miss Eleanor; you have done so. I am most 
 happy to admit it ; but, you know, to reach the goal, we 
 must not flag by the way." 
 
 " Well ; where are the books ? I ll begin." 
 
 They were produced. The first lesson was a weary 
 one in mathematics, indifferently got through with; 
 then a Latin translation to be corrected ; English poetry 
 to be recited ; and then the usual historical reading, with 
 a review of that of the previous day, presumed, but not 
 proved to have been studied over in the interval. This 
 last, when she was in the mood, had, in spite of her orig 
 inal disgust, been rendered, by Walter s commentaries, a 
 favorite exercise. But now she was not in the mood. 
 
 " Oh, what a tiresome world this has been !" exclaim 
 ed she, as she closed the book. "Nothing but fighting, 
 politics, and wickedness !" 
 
 " But still, at times, virtue and true greatness. Don t 
 you think so ?" 
 
 " Yes ; if they would only leave out all the rest." 
 
 "That would be a singular compendium," said Walter, 
 laughing. "Shall I prepare a digest for you, consist- 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 
 
 ing of anecdotes of men and women, omitting time, place, 
 and people, and entitle it the Philosophy of History, for 
 the use of Miss Eleanor Meredith ?" : 
 
 Eleanor returned his laugh, saying, "Yes, yes, that 
 much I might digest ; at present I am surfeited." 
 
 Walter looked grave. 
 
 " May I ask, Miss Eleanor, which of your studies, so 
 called, do you prefer ?" 
 
 "Let me see. History, with notes by Mr. Thornley, 
 sometimes quite agreeable; mathematics, so, so; rheto 
 ric, dreadful ! to speak by rule I can t endure ; natu 
 ral history, pretty well there s life in that at least ; my 
 thology, a dull story-book about impossible gods and 
 goddesses; natural philosophy, except the laws laws 
 are always tiresome, you know quite entertaining; 
 French I like very much ; drawing, very little ; danc 
 ing" stopping and looking demurely in his face " is 
 dancing a study, Mr. Thornley ?" 
 
 " Yes, with opera and rope dancers ; the last especial 
 ly, who understand some of the laws Miss Meredith de 
 spises." 
 
 "Well, as long as /can move, and see every thing 
 moving about me, I can not much care about the laws 
 of motion. If I, and every thing else stood still, I should 
 want to know the reason why." 
 
 Mrs. Meredith s admonitory voice not raised, and the 
 lessons completed, Eleanor was disposed for farther chat. 
 
 "I ll tell you, Mr. Thornley, what, of all things, I 
 should like to do; to read French with you." 
 
 "With me! Miss Eleanor. My pronunciation is not 
 good. I can not undertake to teach it." 
 
 " Then, let me teach you ; my accent is very good 
 l parfait] my teacher used to say, though I do not be 
 lieve him. Perhaps, however, it is better than yours. 
 Do, Mr. Thornley, let me teach you. Why am I to 
 
102 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 learn every thing of you, and you nothing of me ? Don t 
 you think I know any thing? Oh, I will show you 
 what a schoolmistress I can be ! I shall give you a full 
 return of the * stream of time, departments of knowl 
 edge, digest of history, reaching the goal, and so on ; 
 and make you so ashamed of your indolence, and your 
 no taste for study ! Now won t you, Mr. Thornley ?" 
 
 Walter found it impossible to resist her coaxing smile. 
 Besides, it was an exercise of her faculties, and he con 
 sented. 
 
 To this duty she always came with alacrity, and, al 
 though she at first found infinite amusement in correct 
 ing him, and even he was diverted out of his propriety, 
 it became more and more a serious occupation, he de 
 riving a real benefit from it, and she awakened to an en 
 tirely new pleasure in this sense of power. 
 
 Thus, by degrees, Walter led her on, sometimes by 
 exhortation, sometimes by turning to good account her 
 childlike flashes of fun or her merry caprices, but always 
 preserving his own ascendency. From a progress at 
 first scarcely perceptible her advance was accelerated, till 
 her young mind, effectually stirred by new ideas, became 
 eager for more and higher. 
 
 She would sit listening in rapt attention as Walter, 
 with gentle earnestness, pointed out to her how, through 
 the " beggarly elements" of teaching, she might ascend 
 to an enlarged application of these first principles to an 
 understanding of how the facts of other times became 
 the instructors of her own, and how even Error prepared 
 a highway for Truth. How Nature, grand and beauti 
 ful as she is, often taught us by the meanest agencies ; 
 how " silk- worms turned the philosophy of Sir Thomas 
 Browne into divinity," and "that Keason may go to 
 school to bees, and ants, and spiders ;" that 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST, 103 
 
 "Nothing s mean, 
 But every common bush afire with God." 
 
 How, through dry and abstract mathematics, which had 
 so often wearied her, the heavens which she loved to 
 contemplate would be comprehended, and she would 
 thus ascend to Him "who sitteth above the heav 
 ens." 
 
 It was a subject for a painter that young, childlike 
 girl that youthful teacher, wise beyond his years. 
 
 On one occasion, when seated in the western piazza, 
 at sunset, her eye intent on the lovely planet, " compan 
 ion of retiring day," she looked as if, with the poet, she 
 would have asked, 
 
 "Why, at the closing gates of heaven, 
 Beloved star, dost thou delay?" 
 
 Walter, interpreting her curious gaze, said, " Shall I tell 
 you?" and proceeded to explain the phenomenon. As 
 he concluded, she impulsively put her hand on his arm, 
 and exclaimed with animation, " How beautiful it is to 
 know all these things !" 
 
 Walter was touched ; the young spirit had come at 
 his call ; but he replied, calmly, 
 
 " Yes ; and do you not feel that it makes you hap 
 pier, too, Eleanor?" 
 
 " Oh yes, indeed ; I never was half so happy in my 
 life." 
 
 " He called me i Eleanor, 7 " thought she ; "I wish he 
 would never again say Miss Eleanor. " 
 
 At another time, when an aurora was sending up 
 
 " Its waving brightness, she, 
 Curious, surveyed, inquisitive to know 
 The causes and materials, yet unfix d, 
 Of this appearance, beautiful and new," 
 
 and bent her inquiring eyes on Walter. 
 
 He shook his head. " I can give you only conject- 
 
104 WALTER THOKNLEY; OB, 
 
 ures; but," added lie, with a smile, "as you profess to 
 like fancy better than laiv, perhaps you will be satisfied 
 with them." 
 
 " Oh no," said she, hastily, with a conscious look at 
 the remembrance of her former complacent ignorance, 
 " Oh no, not now ; now I like to understand every thing 
 every thing that you teach me." 
 
 He answered by remarks on equatorial regions, phos 
 phorescent lights, earth s motion, and so on very grave, 
 and, as Eleanor thought, very wise ; but which, being, 
 perhaps, behind this more scientific age, it may be best 
 not to expose. 
 
 But sometimes a small cloud would come across their 
 fair heaven. Mr. Meredith, not a passionate or harsh- 
 tempered man, could, nevertheless, occasionally be stern, 
 and, unfortunately, did not always discriminate between 
 greater and lesser faults. 
 
 One morning Eleanor was a laggard at the breakfast- 
 table, and her father s reproving eye gave effect to his 
 inquiry : 
 
 " Pray what has made you so late, Miss Eleanor?" 
 
 Kather fluttered by her delinquency, she replied, "I 
 was up late, papa, reading." 
 
 "Beading! and what?" 
 
 " A novel, papa, that Emily Morton lent me last even 
 ing when I went to see her ; a very " 
 
 " A novel !" interrupted her father, in a tone of sur 
 prise and displeasure; "a novel! borrowed and read 
 without my knowledge !" 
 
 " Indeed, papa, I was going " 
 But her embarrassment only confirmed her father in 
 the suspicion of a deliberate disregard of an injunction 
 to which perhaps he attached undue importance, "to 
 read only such novels as he should suggest or approve," 
 and, with increased displeasure, he added, " You may re- 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 105 
 
 tire to your room" a permission which, however un 
 graciously given, was readily obeyed to hide the tears 
 that were starting to her eyes. 
 
 Mrs. Meredith looked disturbed, but, as she generally 
 inclined to believe her husband right, she did not inter 
 fere. But Walter was not so passive ; and when Mr. 
 Meredith, in expectation of his sympathy, expressed in 
 strong terms his determination to "exclude from his 
 house the pernicious trash circulated in the shape of nov 
 els, and to enforce obedience the more rigidly as he saw 
 the prevailing tendency to the contrary," Walter ven 
 tured, as to the last, to demur. 
 
 " I think, sir," he said, " if I may be permitted so to 
 say, that you were rather precipitate with Miss Ele 
 anor." 
 
 " Precipitate ! How so ?" 
 
 " You did not allow her time for explanation, sir. I 
 have no doubt that, if not an entire justification, she has 
 a sufficient apology." 
 
 Mr. Meredith for some moments maintained his own 
 side, but Walter did not yield, and it ended in his being 
 allowed to mediate, that the present unpleasant feeling 
 on both sides might cease as soon as possible. 
 
 He found Eleanor in the study, her eyes red with 
 weeping, and her voice still tremulous, but with no sign 
 of ill-humor. Encouraged by him, she was soon calm, 
 and gave the required explanation. The book had been 
 recommended by Mr. Morton to his daughter, and Ele 
 anor had brought it home with the intention of asking 
 her father s permission to read it, but he was in town, 
 and would not return till morning. " And then," con 
 tinued she, " I only opened it to see what sort of a book 
 it was; and it was so interesting that I forgot myself, 
 and read till quite late. But, Mr. Thornley, it can not 
 do me any harm, for there is no love in it. They told me 
 
 E2 
 
106 
 
 so, or I should not have looked into it without papa s 
 leave. Can it do me any harm if there is no love in it, 
 Mr. Thornley?" 
 
 "Walter answered, with due gravity and caution, that 
 he should hope not. 
 
 " And I m sure," continued she, " I am safe enough, 
 for I don t care so much for any gentleman I know as 
 to fall in love with him." Then, with a sudden reflec 
 tion on what struck her as ill-manners, she added the 
 common qualification, saying, with an innocent smile, 
 " except you, Mr. Thornley ; I beg your pardon, I did 
 not mean to say that I did not care for you ; that would 
 be very rude and ungrateful, I am sure." 
 
 "Walter, quietly assuring her that he should never im 
 pute rudeness to her, returned to the subject in hand, 
 and, furnished with her explanation, apology, and the 
 offending volume, which proved to be "Caleb Williams," 
 peace was restored. 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 107 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 THE quiet of the Oaks was not, however, to be undis 
 turbed. His garden, to which Mr. Meredith had retired 
 on his return from a hot day in town the flowers, 
 whose bloom and fragrance seemed emulously to offer 
 an acknowledgment of his care the music of the birds, 
 whom his shrubberies invited and his mercy protected, 
 could not dispel the cloud from his brow. Pestilence 
 had breathed on the city ! and the coming woe was al 
 ready to be seen. 
 
 " Amid those scenes of late so fair 
 The Demon of the Plague had cast 
 From his hot wing a deadly blast !" 
 
 Scarcely a month had gone since sounds of joy and 
 exultation from all ages and every class had filled the 
 air, where now was only silent dread or loud foreboding ; 
 where hands had been clasped in friendly greetings, 
 and congratulations exchanged, neighbors avoided each 
 other, or met but to confirm their mutual fears. Bon 
 fires and illuminations, that, in accordance with the sen 
 timent of the elder Adams, had expressed a nation s joy, 
 were replaced by lurid flames and heavy smoke sup 
 posed preventives of contagion more truly the portents 
 of death. Peace and war, so lately occupying all minds, 
 were forgotten in smaller considerations of personal 
 safety. 
 
 The consternation soon became general. All fled but 
 those whom imperious duty, humanity, or poverty de 
 tained. More than half the population abandoned the 
 city, finding refuge in the neighboring towns and vil 
 lages, in country residences, or in slight dwellings hastily 
 
108 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 erected in great number over the island. Business was 
 suspended ; but persons from out of town ventured to 
 the post-office removed to the corner of "Wall Street 
 and Broadway at certain hours, it having been pro 
 nounced by medical men safe to do so ; and clergymen, 
 who had sought safety in Greenwich and Bloemendal, 
 came at stated times for the performance of religious 
 service. 
 
 But why sadden a simple story with farther details ? 
 Plague and Pestilence have had their chroniclers, from 
 Thucydides to Grant Thorburn ; Boccaccio, De Foe, Man- 
 zoni, and others. All tell of human nature the same 
 tale. Its cowardice and courage, its selfishness and gen 
 erosity, its desperate mockery, its palsied stupefaction, 
 its blind fatalism, and its Christian submission. 
 
 But Time, whether he "shed odors" or tears "from his 
 wings," must pass. The summer, with its weight of woe 
 and anxiety went " to the years beyond the flood," and 
 autumn, never more welcome, came. Frost, often the 
 extinguisher of life, was how hailed as its only hope, 
 and with the advancing season the fugitives began to 
 return. 
 
 In November the Merediths were re-established in 
 Broadway. At first the change was oppressive. The 
 mourning garments, the sad faces, the sorrowful details 
 that daily met them, seemed scarcely endurable. But 
 with the returning current of life the ravages of death 
 were gradually obliterated. If people met to lament 
 for the lost, they lingered to rejoice for the living; the 
 very extent of the calamity magnifying the deliverance, 
 and sorrow for the inevitable past yielding to wonder 
 at the scarce credible present. 
 
 Eleanor in the grave town library regretted the airy, 
 cheerful country study, endeared to her by pleasant and 
 profitable occupation ; but her tutor and her lessons re- 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 109 
 
 mained, and these sufficed for her. Walter encouraged 
 in proportion as she was interested, instruction was no 
 longer a task to either ; and, but that her young com 
 panions gathered round her and would not be denied, 
 her thoughts would have seldom wandered from it. 
 
 "Holidays" next brought an interruption, though El 
 eanor declared her indifference to the amusements pro 
 posed. But, in conformity to custom almost religiously 
 observed, festivity ruled the hour, and the young came 
 in for their share. Sleighing parties to "Love Lane," 
 Haerlem, and Kingsbridge ; oyster suppers and danc 
 ing ; the streets musical with sleigh-bells ; the side 
 walks, though icy and dangerous, filled with well-dress 
 ed people, gave token of the respect paid to ancestral 
 usages. Among the pleasures of the time were its du 
 ties, and respectful calls on gray-headed friends were not 
 omitted by the young. Eleanor, appropriately attired 
 in a dark-green silk cardinal, lined and trimmed with 
 fur, a hat to correspond, muffed and tippeted, and her 
 feet protected by galoches, had been thus occupying 
 the morning ; and after presenting the "compliments of 
 the season" to certain ancient ladies, the friends of her 
 family, was on her return. 
 
 In. crossing Broadway, the near approach of a sleigh 
 with mettlesome horses startled her, to escape which she 
 quickened her pace, slipped on the glazed and treacher 
 ous flagging, and fell just as she reached the curb-stone. 
 
 The driver instantly checked his speed, and a young 
 man sprang from the sleigh and hastened to her assist 
 ance. With expressions of the greatest regret he at 
 tempted to raise her ; but, though she tried to aid him 
 by her own exertions, she found it impossible to do so. 
 Perceiving her changing color, and the necessity of im 
 mediate relief, he lifted her in his arms, bore her to the 
 sleigh, and placed her in it, where, nearly fainting with 
 
110 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 pain, she sank back powerless on the cushions, just able, 
 in reply to the gentleman s eager inquiry for her resi 
 dence, to give the number of her father s house. 
 
 In a few moments they were at the door. To lift her 
 from the sleigh and ascend the steps was the work of an 
 instant, though the young man seemed too slight for the 
 burden. The bell was answered as soon as most bells 
 are, but there was time for the distressed Eleanor to 
 stammer forth her thanks before James appeared, his 
 usual dull face excited to consternation at the sight of 
 " young missus in the arms of a strange gen leman." 
 This last, however, offered no apology for the liberty, 
 but, hurrying to the first open door, deposited his charge 
 on a sofa, to the yet greater terror of Mrs. Meredith, and, 
 having explained the accident, begged to be directed to 
 a physician. In the uncertainty of the amount of inju 
 ry, the offer was not to be declined ; and the gentleman, 
 giving his card, with a request to be permitted to make 
 inquiries the next day, disappeared. 
 
 The physician, soon came. On examination it proved 
 that no bone was fractured ; but a severely sprained an 
 kle and a bad bruise were sufficient to produce the suf 
 fering. Eest was imperatively enjoined, and this, with 
 proper external applications, would, he hoped, soon re 
 store her. 
 
 As this conclusion was arrived at, Mr. Meredith and 
 Walter entered. They had been met at the door by the 
 usual exaggerations, * Miss Eleanor had been run over, 
 her leg broken, and she was very bad!" but Eleanor s 
 voice assured them. 
 
 " Don t be frightened, papa. Oh, Mr. Thornley, don t 
 look so ! tis only a sprain, and I shall be well directly." 
 
 Mrs. Meredith, having given the particulars, with 
 many comments on the young gentleman s "sensible 
 behavior," produced his card. 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. Ill 
 
 " I have heard the name," said Mr. Meredith, " but I 
 don t know the family," and he handed it to Walter. 
 
 " Oscar Middleton !" he exclaimed, with surprise. 
 
 "Do you know him?" asked Mr. Meredith. 
 
 " I once met him ; tis long ago, when we were boys ;" 
 and but for " the letter," which flashed across him, he 
 would have said more ; as it was, he remained silent. 
 
 The violence of the pain yielded to good care, but 
 Eleanor continued lame, and a prisoner. Mr. Middleton 
 called the next day, but saw only Mrs. Meredith, upon 
 whom his kind inquiries, his regrets, his good looks and 
 good manners made an agreeable impression. Almost 
 daily calls ensued ; yet he and Walter did not meet un 
 til one morning, just as Oscar rang for admission, Wal 
 ter opened the hall-door in order to go out. 
 
 Oscar did not appear to observe him, but stood await 
 ing the servant. For a moment Walter suspected his 
 inattention to be design, and was about to pass him with 
 equal indifference. Better thoughts prevailed. "He 
 may not," he reflected, "recollect me; I should not, 
 perhaps, have recognized him under other circum 
 stances." The "letter" was no longer remembered as 
 he looked in that kind young face ; he stopped, extend 
 ed his hand, and said, " Oscar Middleton, have you for 
 gotten Walter Thornley?" 
 
 Oscar started, the color rushed to his cheek, his eye 
 sparkled, and, grasping the hand that was offered, he 
 exclaimed, " Forgotten him ! never!" 
 
 The appearance of James interrupted farther commu 
 nication. Foregoing a visit, leaving compliments and a 
 card, he turned to his friend, saying, 
 
 " Come, let me go with you ; and you shall tell me 
 all I want so much to know where you have been, and 
 why you are here ;" and, taking his arm, they descend 
 ed the steps. 
 
112 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 In few words Oscar was in possession of all that there 
 was to tell. 
 
 " And so you are the tutor of the little girl I came 
 near killing. Upon my soul, I envy you ! Why, she 
 is one of the loveliest creatures I ever saw. Don t you 
 think so?" 
 
 " That would be a very safe assertion for me," replied 
 Walter, laughing, "as my observation has not been 
 large, and, for the same reason, not very compliment 
 ary; but, coming from you, it is worth something; 
 however, I shall not deny that she is a pretty child, and, 
 what is better, quite studious." 
 
 " Pshaw ! that sounds so pedagogic ; and child, too ! 
 why, Walter, I shall renounce you if you ve grown 
 priggish." 
 
 " Oh, I only spoke professionally. If I call her child, 
 it is from the relation in which I stand to her, and be 
 cause she is such in naturalness and docility, so much 
 so that I really forget her age. But tell me of yourself. 
 You are tall, and strong, I hope, in proportion." 
 
 " Oh, yes ; those springs cured me. I repeated the 
 dose the next year, and since that I am well, as / say, 
 though my careful mother will not hear of a profession, 
 and keeps me forever in the open air. She has a theory 
 about constitutions much the same as about trees : that 
 the fibre of the young wood must have time to become 
 tough and hardy before exposure. She gives me, I be 
 lieve, till five-and-twenty to acquire a close grain and a 
 rough bark, and after that I may be trusted to do some 
 thing. In the mean time, if I happen to cough, she 
 sighs ; but you see how fresh and strong I look." 
 
 Walter saw indeed that his color was bright, but he 
 feared he overrated his strength. He changed the sub 
 ject. 
 
 " And how is your mother? I can never forget her, 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 113 
 
 though I can hardly hope that she has any remembrance 
 of me." 
 
 " Indeed, you are greatly mistaken. She often talks 
 of you, and always in the kindest terms. In truth, you 
 must have taken a pretty strong possession of all our 
 hearts ; for whenever my father, in reproof of my short 
 comings, proposes a model for my imitation, he chooses 
 you, and I listen without jealousy. They will both be 
 delighted to see you. We live about six miles from 
 town. My father hates a city, and therefore we remain 
 at the Lodge summer and winter. Tell me when you 
 will go, and I will drive you out." 
 
 This was embarrassing. It was plain that Oscar was 
 unconscious of the " letter," and Walter was willing to 
 believe that his mother was equally so ; but there was 
 the fact, only aggravated by the insincere commenda 
 tions that Mr. Middleton had bestowed on him. His 
 mind was entirely settled; go to the house he would 
 not. He must excuse himself to Oscar as he best could. 
 Meanwhile, he had the comfort of finding him un 
 changed ; and as, in consequence of his almost familiar 
 admission to Mr. Meredith s, he should often see him, he 
 was satisfied, and hoped that his friend would be so like 
 wise. 
 
 The good impression made by Oscar prompted to 
 some attention to his parents. Accordingly Mr. and 
 Mrs. Meredith called on them, were charmed with the 
 lady, not much pleased with the gentleman. The visit 
 was returned by Mrs. Middleton alone, with an apology 
 on the part of her husband, and the intercourse went no 
 farther, Mr. Meredith setting Mm down as a churl not 
 worth the trouble of seeking, and Walter regretting 
 that, being from home, he had lost the only chance of 
 seeing Mrs. Middleton. 
 
 Eleanor, released quite as soon as had been predicted 
 
114 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 from the confinement of her room, was now permitted 
 to recline on a sofa in the parlor. As soon as he might 
 be admitted, Oscar was allowed to see and congratulate 
 her ; and he did so with so many protestations of sorrow 
 and shame for the suffering he had caused that Eleanor 
 could not help feeling a little important. Flattery had 
 seldom fallen on her inexperienced ear. Her young 
 companions were more likely to tell disagreeable truths ; 
 her father s cautious commendations were always accom 
 panied by deductions ; her mother, though affectionate, 
 was not demonstrative; and " Mr. Thornley ! he never 
 paid her a compliment in his life !" 
 
 As a part of their rather rigid system, Mr. and Mrs. 
 Meredith resisted an early introduction into general so 
 ciety, but they looked approvingly on Eleanor s inter 
 course with a small circle of young friends, consisting 
 of girls of her own age, with their brothers and inti 
 mates, who met at their respective houses in turn, often 
 presided over by a mamma or elder sister. Dancing 
 was varied by the innocent, if not very intellectual 
 games of Pope Joan, Cassino, and the like. Charades, 
 crambo, and conundrums had their turn; early hours 
 prevented all waste of their fine spirits, and a simple re 
 freshment was entirely satisfactory to youths as yet not 
 vitiated by " Broadway saloons." 
 
 "Mr. Thornley," said Eleanor, one clay, "I do wish 
 you would join our cotillon parties." 
 
 "I have no invitation, Miss Eleanor." 
 
 "Oh, that is only because the girls think you too grave, 
 and too too old, perhaps," she added, with a smile. 
 
 " And as I never dance, you know, they would only be 
 confirmed in their unfavorable opinion if I were to go." 
 
 " Well, I will sit and talk with you all the evening if 
 you ll go, and try to be as old as you are, and we sha n t 
 care what they say." 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 115 
 
 " I would not so much abridge your enjoyment, Miss 
 Eleanor." 
 
 " But it would be better for me ; for mamma is rather 
 afraid of my danoing much, since the sprain I got." 
 
 " Ah ! but I should disappoint others Mr. Middleton, 
 for instance." 
 
 " Oh, I only danced with him so often because he was 
 a stranger, but now he is quite acquainted with them 
 all, and can do very well without me ; so do go, please, 
 Mr. Thornley, I can arrange it easily." 
 
 "Excuse me, Miss Eleanor. I will compromise the 
 matter ; when your friends meet here I will not absent 
 myself." 
 
 Accordingly, on the next occasion, Walter remained 
 with the young people. At first some of the more 
 thoughtless exclaimed, "Eleanor s tutor! dear me, we 
 shall not dare to speak !" 
 
 But they soon found the " tutor" a valuable addition, 
 not only taking part in every game, but making accept 
 able suggestions. Among others he proposed " charac 
 ters," -which, furnishing a little mental stimulus, added 
 to the excitement. Kings, queens, and nobles, as their 
 memory served them, were enacted by the young repub 
 licans exultant in their short-lived honors. On his 
 own part, Walter, adapting himself to the topics of the 
 day, and furnished by the ingenuity of Eleanor with 
 the symbolical red cap, appeared as a furious Jacobin. 
 So successfully did he travestie the extravagance and 
 the assumption recently exhibited by the French agents 
 in this country so well did he propitiate the admiring 
 " citoyens" and " citoyennes" around him with greetings 
 of "Health and Fraternity!" so happily interlard his 
 speech with Gallicisms, the "Eights of Man," and the pre 
 vailing political slang, that at its conclusion, " Qa ira ! a 
 ira !" in its popular air, was shouted by the young men 
 
116 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 in so loud a key, that Mr. Meredith, roused from his la 
 bors in the library, entered the room to check their mer 
 riment, but remained to share it. 
 
 Mrs. Meredith, who, seated at her work, had been an 
 amused spectator, now proposed, as something more 
 quiet, "Mottoes," an entertainment that has descended 
 to our day. These consisted of lines addressed to each 
 person, complimentary or otherwise. The idea was ac 
 cepted, and immediately, pens, ink, and paper being pro 
 duced, all heads and hands were at work. But the as 
 pirants met the usual difficulty that obstructs such first 
 efforts. Pens were mended ; dipped and redipped ; ink 
 flowed, but not ideas ; brows were knit, foreheads rub 
 bed, and lips, perhaps nails, bitten ; but little was effect 
 ed. During this perturbation, Walter had, unobserved, 
 slipped his contribution into the vase placed to receive 
 it, and then occupied himself with a book while waiting 
 for the distracted ebullitions of the rest. 
 
 Eleanor, nibbling the end of her pen, bending over 
 three or four lines complete, except the rhymes, and try 
 ing in vain to find harmonies for " sage and grace," look 
 ed up, exclaiming, " Why, Mr. Thornley, you not writ 
 ing ! then pray help me." 
 
 Walter suggested " rage and lace," " cage and brace," 
 " wage and chase." 
 
 " No, no, won t do," said Eleanor, shaking her head. 
 
 " Let me see the subject, and perhaps I may suggest 
 something that will suit you." 
 
 " Oh no, no, not for the world !" 
 
 " Well, then, I ll try again : ; page and trace, ( gauge 
 and base, stage and pace. " 
 
 Again she shook her head; but, presently, having 
 found what she sought, she, with a merry look at Wal 
 ter, tossed a slip of paper into the vase. 
 
 At length the work was achieved, and the results 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 117 
 
 drawn forth, with as much interest as if votes from an 
 electoral urn if not as important, quite as inflammatory. 
 For such was the accumulation on the part of the gen 
 tlemen, in the taste of the time, of darts hearts, fire ex 
 pire, love dove, glow woe, blaze craze, that, like a bun 
 dle of locofocos, they should have been kept in a match- 
 safe^ at least till the young ladies were marriageable. A 
 few of the least dangerous may be offered to the reader. 
 One, a cut at Oscar for his gallantry, another at Walter 
 for his gravity, and two of a more sentimental descrip 
 tion. 
 
 A slip inscribed " To Mr. Middleton" ran thus : 
 
 " Sir Calydore you sure should be. 
 
 Knight of gentle courtesy ! 
 With smiles receive him, ladies all, 
 He only lives to be your thrall 1" 
 
 Another to " Mr. Thornley," thus : 
 
 " How wondrous to see Mr. Thornley, the sage, 
 
 Our juvenile sports here to grace 
 Believe me, that smiles will enliven your age, 
 And smooth out the lines from your face !" 
 
 While this was reading, Eleanor, reminded of hav 
 ing betrayed her authorship, listened rather uneasily. 
 Though it cost her some trouble, it sounded, when read, 
 flat, and not over civil ; and its good-humored accept 
 ance hardly relieved her. 
 
 To this succeeded one addressed " To Mrs. Meredith :" 
 
 "What meets us at the hour of birth, 
 Nor leaves us till we pass from earth 
 
 To spheres above ? 
 
 Exhaustless gives, and, suffering long, 
 Forgives unask d, through sin and wrong ; 
 Speaks in the last, the parting breath, 
 And still undying conquers Death ? 
 
 A mother s love ! 
 
 Mrs. Meredith accepted it with a look that sufficiently 
 
118 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 repaid the tribute, and Eleanor thought she knew who 
 had offered it. 
 
 The next was addressed to herself : 
 
 " Maiden ! with those truthful eyes, 
 Within whose heart a fountain lies 
 
 Of feeling fresh and rare ! 
 Oh, waste not life s sweet dewy prime, 
 Though joy may prune the wings of Time, 
 Be wise as you are fair! 
 
 She held out her hand to receive it; then, without 
 speaking, turned away, in order to secure it. Walter 
 continued to read, apparently unobservant of what was 
 passing. Presently, one of the young ladies said, 
 
 " What have you done with your motto, Eleanor? I 
 did not half hear it ; let me see it." 
 
 " Not now," she replied ; and then, in a low voice, 
 added, with a significant gesture, " It was good advice, 
 and I have laid it to heart. " 
 
 Thus occupied, dancing was forgotten. The hour of 
 separation came ; and, as soon as her friends had gone, 
 Eleanor, turning to Walter, exclaimed, " How agreeable 
 you have been, Mr. Thornley ! The girls were all de 
 lighted, and say you must always meet with us." 
 
 " They are very good ; but that would be hardly safe, 
 I fear." 
 
 "Not safe! Why?" 
 
 " Every one can not endure pleasure as well as you 
 do, Miss Eleanor. It would quite turn my head, though 
 yours is so little affected by it." 
 
 " Oh !" said she, half ashamed, yet rather reproachful 
 ly, "I know what you mean ; but it is not so. Only I 
 have so many things to do !" 
 
 He said no more ; but his resolution was taken, and 
 an opportunity soon offered for making it known. 
 
 " I think, Mr. Thornley," said Mr. Meredith, " that the 
 large indulgence permitted to Eleanor in good part 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 119 
 
 owing to her accident should now be restricted. "We 
 have had party -going enough. I shall speak to her 
 mother about it." 
 
 " If you will allow me, sir, I was about to say what 
 will, perhaps, induce you to continue your indulgence. 
 I wish to visit my friends at Ashton, and, if agreeable 
 to you, would take this time for the purpose. By-and- 
 by Miss Eleanor will return to study with a greater 
 zest. We must not expect too much, nor require every 
 young lady to be a Jane Grey to prefer," he added, 
 with a smile, "the divine Grecian to an Oscar Middle- 
 
 " ISTo ; children will be fools and you really wish 
 this?" 
 
 "I do, sir." 
 
 " Then I have no more to say, though I can not but 
 regret it. When would you go ?" 
 
 " In two days, sir." 
 
 " Arid when return?" 
 
 Walter hesitated, looked perplexed, even troubled. 
 
 "Will you certainly require my services, sir? Our 
 year, though not completed, shall be so considered if you 
 desire it. I do not hold you to any engagement." 
 
 " I do not desire it," replied Mr. Meredith, with em 
 phasis. " You have satisfied me in all respects, and I 
 prefer you should return." 
 
 Still Walter hesitated, but at length bowed, and gave 
 what he could hardly conceal was a reluctant assent. 
 
 " You will have the goodness, then, sir, to mention the 
 matter to Mrs. Meredith and to Miss Eleanor, and I will 
 make the few preparations that I require." 
 
 On farther reflection, it was decided that, as in conse 
 quence of domestic arrangements they would remove to 
 the country earlier the ensuing spring, Walter s furlough 
 should extend till they were settled at the " Oaks." 
 
120 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 This appeared to relieve him, and he replied more 
 readily, 
 
 "I shall come, sir, at the time appointed, unless you 
 forbid it." 
 
 " There s little fear of that." 
 
 The young circle met again at Mrs. Meredith s, and 
 Walter was escaping from the drawing-room, when a 
 glance from Eleanor, who, by the side of Oscar, was pre 
 pared for a cotillon, seemed to reproach his desertion. 
 
 " Tis the last evening," thought he, and he remained; 
 and, leaning against a window near her, followed the 
 dancers with an abstracted look. Presently a change in 
 the air recalled him, and, drawing nearer, he found Ele 
 anor dancing the " coquette." She was, in her merriest 
 mood, just making the accustomed feint of presenting 
 her hand to her partner, when she suddenly turned to 
 Walter, who, before he could comprehend her purpose, 
 found himself whirled round, an involuntary partaker 
 of the dance, much to the amusement of all. The next 
 change was the "prisoner;" and Oscar, catching Ele 
 anor s frolic spirit, instead of allowing himself to be en 
 circled, made one of the ring, and so extended it as to 
 entrap Walter, who, thus caught, folded his arms with a 
 submissive air, while his captors tripped gayly round 
 him ; but, as soon as released, made good his retreat to 
 his own room. 
 
 " There he goes I" said Oscar to Eleanor ; " what can 
 he have so important to do ?" 
 
 "Oh, he is never idle a moment!" she replied, send 
 ing a regretful look after him. " When he is not teach 
 ing me, unworthy that I am, he is reading law." 
 
 "Law! as a profession?" 
 
 " Yes ; and papa has advised him what to read." 
 
 Oscar became thoughtful, and received a rebuke for 
 his inattention. 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 121 
 
 Walter, meanwhile, took the measure of his room 
 more than once, turned over his books, did not feel like 
 reading, leaned on the mantle-piece, ruminated as he 
 looked into the fire, resumed his walk " autour de sa cham- 
 bre," and wasted the evening in unprofitable thought, till 
 roused by a tap at the door, and the entrance of Oscar. 
 
 " Ah ! you shabby fellow, to desert us 1" he exclaim 
 ed ; " but I can not abuse you as you deserve ; I am 
 too sorry ! Mr. Meredith tells me you are going away, 
 "Walter; can this be?" 
 
 " Yes ; but only for a short time ; at most not more 
 than three or four months." 
 
 " But you and I may not meet so soon." 
 
 " You! you are not going too ?" 
 
 "Yes; in a little time I shall be off, seeking what I 
 may never find, at least to the degree that is necessary 
 to keep my parents quiet. I have been more plague 
 than pleasure to them thus far. If they would only not 
 insist on my being perfectly well, they and I could enjoy 
 life without this perpetual struggle after health. As it 
 is, I must meet the embraces of the spring in the sunny 
 south, instead of awaiting her caprices here, merely be 
 cause they hear me cough once in four-and-twenty 
 hours." 
 
 " But you will return as soon as they think it safe for 
 you here?" 
 
 "JSTo; they have some half -formed plans that may 
 keep us all away, no one can say how long. But we 
 won t talk of this just now. My dear Walter, I fear you 
 think me but a thoughtless boy ; yet I am not quite so 
 much so as I seem. But I did not come here to speak 
 of myself. Tis you of whom I am thinking. For some 
 reason, I have found it impossible to get you to my fa 
 ther s. I know he is in manner cold, and often repuls 
 ive ; but his nature is generous and true, and he might 
 
 P 
 
122 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 have been a useful friend, had you allowed him so to be. 
 Nay, don t interrupt me with disclaimers and explana 
 tions ; let that pass. You had your reasons, I dare say ; 
 perhaps good ones. But, now, hear me patiently. My 
 father has, for some time, made me a liberal allowance 
 much more than I required ; for, fearing the effect of the 
 incessant guardianship, which he thinks my very life re 
 quires, he enlarges my liberty in every way that can 
 conduce to self-dependence. I pretend not to be better 
 than other youths, but, as a matter of taste, I hate vice ; 
 and, if I have not abused his indulgence, I have to thank 
 the pure influence of my mother, who has formed that 
 taste. But this, though introductory, is yet aside from 
 my object, which, in plain truth, is to say that I have 
 husbanded some three hundred pounds, and that you 
 must take them. They are my own, as you perceive, 
 but, remaining in my hands, are useless. I therefore 
 transfer them to yours, as I have the right to do. You 
 propose to yourself an honorable career. You will suc 
 ceed ; you can not fail ; but something must be wanted 
 at the outset. 
 
 Walter took the hand that had rested beseechingly on 
 his, but he did not speak he could but press it while 
 he endeavored to suppress his emotions. 
 
 Oscar, receiving this as assent, returned the pressure, 
 and said eagerly, " Now that s a good fellow ! that s like 
 yourself. I am the person obliged, and a frank accept 
 ance doubles the favor. You shall have it in the morn 
 ing. Good-night ; and God bless you." 
 
 " Stop ! stop !" said Walter. " Not so ; I have heard 
 you, now hear me. That I understand that I honor 
 your generosity, your delicacy, you must see, you must 
 feel ; and, were it necessary, I declare on the faith of a 
 true man, I would not refuse you would not wound 
 you by paltry objections to a pecuniary obligation which. 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 123 
 
 between friends, so far from humbling, elevates, as the 
 expression of that which is far better than money. But 
 the assistance you offer is not required. I have already 
 refused it from my best friend. I can not tell you my 
 reasons. Perhaps pride may have part in them. Not 
 the pride that shuns an obligation, but the determination 
 to prove that I have in myself the power to conquer my 
 fate, and make my destiny. For this I must act alone. 
 If I felt myself propped, even by the kindest arms, I 
 should be shorn of my strength ; I should cease to trust 
 myself, and I should be lost! This sounds to you as 
 presumption perhaps mere fustian. I can not help it, 
 for I can not be more explicit. Accuse my folly and 
 my vain self-reliance I submit ; but do not doubt my 
 affection nor my gratitude. Take my hand and my 
 heart give me yours. They are more to me than un 
 told gold. Oh, Oscar ! you can never know how price 
 less is love to me /" 
 
 Oscar took the hand extended to him, pressed it be 
 tween his own, and said in a broken voice, " Dear Wal 
 ter, you distress me. I can not comprehend I do not 
 judge I ought not; but one thing I do know: I love 
 and honor you more than ever, though I seem to under 
 stand you less. I can not press what you in such terms 
 reject. I can but bitterly feel that I can do nothing in 
 myself, nor for others." 
 
 Walter cast his arms around him, pressed him earnest 
 ly, and said in a tender voice ; u Yes, yes, Oscar ; you will 
 bless, and be blessed ; all /ask is strength to endure." 
 
 "Good-night!" " Good-night !" and they parted- 
 Oscar with a promise to see him again before he went. 
 But, instead of his so doing, Walter, on leaving his room 
 in the morning, found a note from him, saying that, be 
 ing unexpectedly obliged to leave home on business for 
 his father, he could not keep his engagement. 
 
12-i WALTER THORNLEY; OB, 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 AT the usual hour Walter was at his post in the li 
 brary, where, though with frequent interruptions and 
 less zeal than he could wish, the prescribed routine had 
 been observed. Uncertain if Mr. Meredith had commu 
 nicated his intention, and of its reception, he waited in 
 some anxiety. He was not long in doubt. Eleanor en 
 tered with a troubled face the flush of fun and frolic 
 all gone. 
 
 With half-averted eyes, and in a voice low and trem 
 ulous, she said, " Papa has told me you are going away, 
 Mr. Thornley." 
 
 " Yes, Miss Eleanor." 
 
 " And he says you wish to go ; is that so?" 
 
 "Yes; it is some time, you know, since I left my 
 friends." 
 
 "Is that your only reason?" she asked, looking up 
 timidly into his face. 
 
 Her embarrassment seemed contagious, for Walter 
 colored and hesitated. 
 
 "Oh! I see it is as I feared; you are going because 
 you are tired of such a careless, idle girl a pupil who 
 so ill repays your trouble. It is no wonder you don t 
 wish to teach me ; no wonder you are displeased ; I de 
 serve nothing better." 
 
 Hastily interrupting her, Walter exclaimed, "Dis 
 pleased ! never ! impossible ! do not apply such a word 
 to me. Not wish to teach you ! it has been the greatest 
 pleasure of my life." 
 
 His unusual warmth reassured her, and she spoke 
 with more confidence. 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 125 
 
 " I could not blame you, Mr. Thornley, if it were so. 
 I know I have been negligent of late why, I can not 
 tell, for I am sure I have never lost the taste you have 
 been at such pains to excite in me. But I have been 
 easily persuaded ; the girls were so teasing ! And then 
 Mr. Middleton was so kind so so attentive that " 
 She looked down, colored, and seemed not to know how 
 to proceed. 
 
 Was it that she felt the poverty of the excuse? or 
 was it a girlish consciousness of a welcome conquest? 
 Walter thought it the last, and, to relieve her embarrass 
 ment, replied in a calm and encouraging tone : 
 
 " We will not seek for the cause of what you accuse 
 yourself: a fault felt and acknowledged is in a fair way 
 to be corrected. Let us say no more about it." 
 
 "Then I feared you would never come back ; but you 
 will? You are not cheating us, Mr. Thornley ?" 
 
 "Cheating you! how can you imagine it? I would 
 not deceive you for the world." 
 
 The accustomed smile returned, and she replied, play 
 fully, "Then I will let you go. It would be selfish to 
 try to keep you longer from your family, when they will 
 be so happy to see you. But you won t forget us, will 
 you?" 
 
 " Family !" thought Walter, while a shade fell on his 
 face ; " where am I to seek for mine ?" 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Thornley, don t look so ! I would not have 
 you too glad to go, but I can not bear to see you sorry. 
 Come ! I have something that will please you a good, 
 really good exercise. I know it must be so, because I 
 have worked with all my heart. I don t mind work 
 now as I used to do. I have not forgotten the answer 
 of Euclid to the Egyptian king, of which you told me 
 There is no royal road to learning and I have been 
 up this morning studying two hours before breakfast." 
 
126 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 Walter looked pleased and grateful, and rewarded her 
 efforts with the kindest approval. 
 
 The lessons over, Eleanor rose to retire, saying, " But 
 you will write, Mr. Thornley to papa or to mam 
 ma?" 
 
 " Yes, if they wish it." 
 
 "And you will send me messages about my studies? 
 I shall not be idle because you are away. And perhaps 
 mamma will write you what I am doing." 
 
 " I shall be very happy to hear, Miss Eleanor." 
 
 " And you will tell me before you go what I should 
 read?" 
 
 "Certainly, if you desire it." 
 
 Having to make some purchases before leaving the 
 city, Walter in the course of the morning entered a shop 
 in Broadway. While waiting the leisure of the shop 
 man, his attention was attracted to the gentleman he was 
 serving. His air and dress were striking ; and, though 
 he spoke English, he was evidently a foreigner. Just as 
 he had completed his purchase, a carriage stopped at the 
 door. The shopman, casting a glance toward it, said to 
 a clerk, " There is Mrs. Middleton. She has called for 
 the article she ordered yesterday ; hand out the parcel." 
 
 But the parcel was not made up, and, while the clerk 
 prepared it, Walter, strongly impelled to see her again, 
 went to the door. The glass was down, and she was 
 giving directions to the footman. He could not resist 
 the opportunity, and approached, saying, as he present 
 ed himself, in rather a doubtful tone, "Walter Thornley, 
 madam." 
 
 Her smile and hand immediately assured him. If his 
 person was not recognized, his name was not forgotten. 
 She was but little changed herself, and compared well 
 with the image in his mind. 
 
 To her inquiries for Mr. Grafton succeeded the kind- 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 127 
 
 est expressions of interest in himself, and pleasure at the 
 renewal of his intercourse with her son ; but, though re 
 gretting not seeing him at " the Lodge," Walter remark 
 ed that the invitation was not repeated. 
 
 To his inquiry for the health of Mr. Middleton she re 
 plied with emphasis, " No, he is not well. Our mode of 
 life does not suit him. He hates cities and civilization. 
 I hope to induce him the ensuing summer to explore 
 some of the wild parts of the country. These will at 
 least have the charm of novelty." 
 
 As she spoke, her eye, which had wandered from Wal 
 ter, seemed to encounter something displeasing. He 
 turned to follow its direction, and perceived the gentle 
 man he had met in the shop at a little distance, with 
 folded arms, and gaze so intently fixed upon her as 
 would easily explain the offended expression of her face. 
 At the same moment, with a wave of her hand to Wal 
 ter, and drawing up the glass, she reclined on the seat, 
 and the carriage drove off. 
 
 As he re-entered the shop, he perceived the gentleman 
 standing as if immovable, and when he again came out 
 he was on the same spot, his eyes still following the car 
 riage, which, having passed round a corner, disappeared. 
 Then, as if mechanically, he joined Walter and walked 
 in silence by his side. 
 
 For some time neither spoke. At length the gentle 
 man said, " You know that lady, then ?" 
 
 " I can claim but a very slight personal acquaintance. 
 She is better known to me through my intimacy with 
 her son." 
 
 " Ah ! her son ! You know him, too ! Is he a youth 
 of any promise ?" 
 
 The manner of these inquiries betrayed no idle curi 
 osity. It was plain that the speaker had an interest, 
 and a painful one, in the subject, and Walter s sympathy 
 
128 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 was excited. He replied, therefore, earnestly, "Not 
 only promise, but performance. He is manly, gener 
 ous, intelligent, truthful. One of the finest fellows Heav 
 en ever made ! I am proud to call him my friend." 
 
 As he spoke he was struck by the effect his words 
 seemed to produce. The gentleman was unable to re 
 ply. At length he said, in a voice that betrayed the ef 
 fort it cost him, " Ah ! indeed ! He is not then like 
 his father?" 
 
 Whatever might be Walter s distrust of Mr. Middle- 
 ton, he could not avow it to a stranger ; and he merely 
 replied, "I have not seen him since I was a boy, conse 
 quently have no right to an opinion about him." 
 
 "But / have !" exclaimed the gentleman with a burst 
 of passion. "/ have a right both to speak and to do, 
 that but for her should be sealed in the blood of his 
 black and treacherous heart !" 
 
 Inexpressibly shocked, Walter turned on him a look 
 that recalled him from what was evidently an involun 
 tary betrayal of his feelings; for, suddenly restraining 
 himself, he said, "Pardon me, sir. The only atone 
 ment I can offer for thus intruding myself upon you is 
 to say that your honorable testimony to your friend 
 may do him better service than you can possibly com 
 prehend. Let me add an earnest request that this acci 
 dental interview may not be disclosed. Good-morning," 
 and he hastily retreated, leaving Walter in a state of 
 painful astonishment. 
 
 He could not hear unmoved such language applied to 
 Mr. Middleton, of whom he never thought without the 
 same inexplicable interest that he had formerly excited 
 in him so great that, at times, he could scarce restrain 
 his desire to ask him face to face, " Why he had written 
 that cruel letter?" And then this stranger, who could 
 he be ? The deadly foe of the husband, yet the friend 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 129 
 
 of his wife and son. There was no clue. He might not 
 even seek information from Oscar, lest he should violate 
 the injunction imposed on him. 
 
 A hasty step approached, and the gentleman was 
 again at his side. 
 
 "Could you," said he, in an eager, hurried manner, 
 " could you so far oblige me as to obtain for me a sight 
 of your friend without being myself observed ?" 
 
 While "Walter was revolving in his mind how this 
 might be, Oscar being absent, he knew not where nor 
 for how long, the gentleman seemed to recollect himself, 
 and added, " But no, no, tis best as it is. Excuse me ;" 
 and, with a quick step, he was soon out of sight. 
 
 In the evening, having still some last matters to at 
 tend to, Walter went out. His own business done, he 
 was on his way to the upper part of the city to deliver 
 a parcel intrusted to him by Mr. Meredith, when the 
 theatre, brilliantly lighted, attracted his attention. It 
 was a benefit night, and many were thronging the doors. 
 
 Like all young persons, Walter was fond of dramatic 
 representations, yet he had been to the theatre but once, 
 resisting both invitations and tickets from Mr. Meredith. 
 On this occasion he relented. 
 
 " If ever so much enchanted to-night," thought he, "I 
 can not be tempted again very soon. I will treat my 
 resolution. It is well, too, just now, to have some mer 
 rier company than my own thoughts." 
 
 The rage for the German drama, so great at that time 
 in England, had extended to this country. The New 
 York Theatre was struggling into existence, Cooper 
 then in the ascendant, for whom the managers of New 
 York and Philadelphia were contending, and the popu 
 lar play of "The Stranger" had saved it; and for this 
 evening another favorite drama of Kotzebue was an 
 nounced. 
 
130 WALTER THORNLEY; on, 
 
 "Walter, having found a seat in the pit, looked over 
 the bill that was handed to him. 
 
 " Lovers Vows, " he repeated. " Not for me; but 
 if I may not have the reality, perhaps I shall enjoy the 
 semblance." 
 
 The cast of the characters was favorable. Mr. Tyler 
 well supported the Baron, and Cooper was admirable in 
 Frederick. The lovely Miss E. "Westray, about whom 
 half the young men in the city were mad, crowding the 
 lobbies whenever she performed for a passing glance, 
 yet preserving a reputation as fair as her face, appeared 
 as Amelia. Her good taste and dignity gave truth and 
 purity to a part which, if allotted to another, might have 
 been pert and indelicate ; while her grace and naivete 
 imparted to it a charm all her own. 
 
 "Walter was soon absorbed in the play. At one mo 
 ment displeased with Amelia, the next fearing for the 
 virtue of Anhalt ; then a momentary pity for the Baron 
 lost in indignant compassion for Agatha ; and then for 
 getting all others in his sympathy with Frederick. All 
 he had ever suspected and feared for himself came rush 
 ing over him. He listened with the breathless attention 
 that only a personal interest could inspire, till at the 
 words, "I belong to no one I All the world disclaim 
 me !" no longer master of himself, he half rose from his 
 seat, struck his hand to his forehead, and an indistinct 
 exclamation escaped him. The action drew the atten 
 tion of the person next him, who inquired if he were ill. 
 Eecalled by this, he endeavored to listen calmly; but 
 when Frederick declares his determination to share the 
 fate of his mother, to know only the name that she shall 
 bear, to be only Friburg or "Wildenheim, as she may be 
 an avowal that called forth a burst of applause Wal 
 ter s was the loudest and longest. 
 
 Thus moved he was unconscious that he was himself 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 131 
 
 an object of attention. A gentleman, apparently at 
 tached to a party in a box on that side of the house, 
 near which Walter was seated, with a glass directed to 
 ward him, kept him constantly in sight. When the 
 curtain fell at the conclusion of the play, he rose, and, 
 after another scrutinizing survey of Walter, left the box. 
 Others also went out, as usual, while some rose and look 
 ed about them ; but Walter sat still, his mind divided 
 between the interests of the play and his own. 
 
 The signal of recall was given. People resumed their 
 seats, and among them the gentleman before mentioned. 
 If Walter had been at the moment observant of any 
 thing external, he might have seen him speaking to a 
 man in the shadow of the box near the door, to whom, 
 at the same time, with a slight movement of his hand, 
 he indicated Walter. The man retreated, and the gen 
 tleman seated himself, but it was plain that the stage in 
 terested him less than the young man in the pit. 
 
 The " entertainment" was the favorite after-piece of 
 the " Spoiled Child." The tricks and songs of little 
 Pickle received their accustomed applause, but more 
 than usual effect and importance were given to the part 
 of Tag by the performance of Jefferson. Ah ! who can 
 ever forget him, who was fortunate enough to see him 
 in those more worthy of his powers ? in Goldfinch, the 
 incomparable Scaramouch, or the 
 
 " Father-in-law 
 To a very magnificent three-tailed bashaw?" 
 
 The curtain finally fallen, and the people pouring out, 
 Walter found himself in a crowded passage, where a 
 person wrapped in a large cloak, and guarding himself 
 from the rush of night air by drawing it over his face so 
 as nearly to cover it, jostled him in the attempt to 
 pass. As Walter turned to resist the rudeness, he saw 
 him already some steps ahead, but looking at him over 
 
132 
 
 his shoulders in a manner rather inconsistent with his 
 apparent haste. 
 
 Once clear of the house, he thought no more of it. 
 Oppressed with the close atmosphere of the theatre, he 
 prolonged his walk beyond it, and soon outstripped the 
 few who were proceeding in that direction. After a 
 while there was only the echo of his own feet, when at 
 length hearing a solitary step behind, he turned, and saw 
 a person following at a short distance. At first he re 
 garded it as accidental ; but finding that when he had 
 occasion to cross the street the man did so too, and that 
 when he recrossed it by way of trial the man did the 
 same, he stopped. 
 
 Being naturally impatient of impertinence, and, more 
 over, stout-hearted, he turned upon the man, now just 
 behind him, and said, in a tone of authority, " Proceed, 
 sir ! I do not choose to be dogged." 
 
 The man passed without speaking, and, quickening 
 his pace, was soon out of sight. Walter observed that 
 he was shorter than the person who had passed him in 
 the lobby, whose manner had somewhat struck him, and 
 that he wore no cloak. He looked at his watch ; it was 
 later than he had supposed, and he retraced his steps 
 toward home. 
 
 The moon was up and bright, but soon a rack of dark 
 clouds drifted across and completely obscured her. Ev 
 ery object had thus been cast in deep shadow for a time, 
 when, suddenly emerging, she revealed the same man on 
 a line with "Walter, and but a few paces from him. 
 
 Eaising a pretty formidable cane, which he was in the 
 habit of using at night, Walter advanced a step toward 
 the man, and said, "Begone this instant, or I level you 
 to the ground!" 
 
 It was plainly no idle threat ; and he retreated hastily 
 down a street, the corner of which they were just passing. 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 133 
 
 A short walk brought "Walter to the house at which 
 he was to leave Mr. Meredith s papers. After ascending 
 a flight of steps, ringing the bell, and delivering the par 
 cel, he was about to descend when near the foot he again 
 saw the same person. At the moment a watchman ap 
 proached from the other side of the street. 
 
 Walter raised his voice. " Arrest that man," said he ; 
 " he is about no good." But, taking to his heels, the in 
 truder was gone, and Walter reached Mr. Meredith s door 
 without farther molestation. 
 
 Conceiving it a plan to rob him, which, being frus 
 trated, was of no consequence, he did not mention the 
 circumstance to his friends, but gave the little time that 
 now remained to what interested him more. 
 
 At length, with an effort delayed to the last moment, 
 he bade them farewell in anticipation of his early morn 
 ing departure. 
 
 "Walter s return brought sunshine to Ashton. But 
 while Mr. Grafton found much to repay the pain of sep 
 aration in the development the natural result of more 
 varied observation, Damie s scrutiny and approval were 
 directed to somewhat different things. 
 
 ""Well, I declare!" said she, smoothing down his 
 sleeve, " if you haven t worn this ere coat car fully ; 
 why, it s pretty nigh as new as when you went away." 
 
 " I have not had much occasion for it," said Walter. 
 
 " Why, it was your best ; you couldn t help wearin 
 it." 
 
 " Yes, Damie, till I got a better, of which, I dare say, 
 you will approve," he added, with a smile. 
 
 It was a presumptuous conclusion. She only opened 
 wide her eyes at what she deemed the superfluities of 
 his wardrobe ; for Damie, like other womankind over 
 awed by boys just fledged, knew how to wonder in si 
 lence, inly resolving, however, that " every individival 
 
134 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 stitch of York clothin should be packed away till he 
 went back ; so he needn t have no excuse to buy more." 
 
 Among others, his old friend Jed lost no time in com 
 ing to congratulate him on his return. 
 
 " I m as glad to see you, Walter, as ever I was to see 
 pay-day ! What a stout lad you re grown ! And you ll 
 not be too proud to fish and shoot with old Jed, because 
 you ve been among the quality, will you?" 
 
 Walter gave the desired assurance, amused at his ex 
 aggerated idea of the honor that had been " thrust upon" 
 him by the " quality." 
 
 Happy to be again among his early friends, he betook 
 himself to all his old ways, much to the satisfaction of 
 Damie. 
 
 "He s not a speck spiled," thought she; "just as nat- 
 ral and kind as ever. Only sometimes I kind o con- 
 sate a shade like comes over him ; but that s only cause 
 he s older, I expect ; and as to gettin new cloaths, why 
 boys will be boys all the world over I" 
 
 Walter had been at home nearly a month when a let 
 ter was sent him from the inn at the next town. It had 
 been left there by a person who passed directly on, and 
 was inscribed " with care and speed" a request enforced 
 in this instance, probably, by a " consideration," as it had 
 only been left the preceding day. Walter opened it, 
 and read as follows : 
 
 " You have disregarded my commands. Be thankful 
 that you have escaped the penalty you deserve and 
 might have incurred. 
 
 " Kemain where alone you are safe, and do not farther 
 tempt the consequences of my just displeasure by your 
 disobedience." 
 
 Without date, place, or signature, there was still no 
 difficulty in ascertaining the writer. 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 135 
 
 "Why should he not have sent it by mail?" said 
 Walter ; " it might have never reached me." 
 
 " Probably because he could not evade a post-mark. 
 He has evidently strong reasons for what he does, since 
 he avoids the most obvious course." 
 
 Walter reflected, and recalling his being dogged the 
 evening before leaving the city, he mentioned it. " It 
 might have been some creature of his, instructed to as 
 certain my place of abode, in which, however, he failed. 
 Himself it was not. Height and person were altogether 
 different. But, having discovered my disobedience, 
 as he presumes to call it, why wait a month before 
 writing ?" 
 
 " In the dark as we are, an attempt to account for his 
 actions is vain. Besides, you can neither tell when the 
 letter was written, nor at what distance." 
 
 "That is true. However, it matters little to me; I 
 shall proceed as I have begun." 
 
 " Walter," said Mr.Grafton, " you are young and fear 
 less perhaps because older, I am more timid. Do not 
 too far oppose this man. This late attempt at New York, 
 I confess, increases my anxiety abortive though it 
 proved. It indicates a pertinacity of purpose that is not 
 to be foiled ; perhaps a power to injure if not to benefit. 
 Do not be rash." 
 
 " My dear sir, I am not rash. Believe me, my reso 
 lution has been formed deliberately, I may almost say 
 religiously. If any thing in him inspired confidence I 
 could submit. It would surely be no hard matter to re 
 main with you. But, with the feeling he has excited in 
 me, to leave myself a mere puppet in his hands would 
 have the worst possible effect on me. I should become 
 useless, irritable, morbid. I dare not expose myself to 
 such a trial. No. There may, indeed, be consequences 
 I can not foresee from opposing him, but there are others 
 
136 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 not less terrible to me, which I can clearly discern in the 
 strange, the aimless existence to which he would con 
 demn me. Look at his letters; see the style in which 
 he addresses me at two-and-twenty the same as at fif 
 teen ! a mere string of threats and mysterious warnings. 
 His object, to frighten me to his purpose. That of it 
 self, aside from his violated engagements, is enough to 
 justify distrust." 
 
 " But you know, Walter," said Mr. Grafton, hesitating 
 ly, "you know you can not can not understand the 
 extent of the claim he may have upon you." 
 
 " Oh, do not, my dear sir," exclaimed Walter, start 
 ing up, and pacing the floor, " do not speak thus ! Any 
 thing else ! It is the only thing I can not bear. I must 
 forget it it drives me nearly mad to think of it." Then, 
 recovering himself, and taking affectionately Mr. Graf- 
 ton s hand, he added, " Forgive me. I ought never to 
 disturb you by such violence. Forgive me, and I will 
 not again offend you by it." 
 
 A letter from Oscar gave another direction to his 
 thoughts. It was, as usual, kind and cheerful, but, to 
 Walter s surprise, dated from Charleston, to which place 
 it was evident that he had been hurried, without return 
 ing to New York. There, he said, his parents had now 
 joined him. Their future was uncertain ; but his father 
 talked of wild explorations, that might keep them even 
 the next winter at the South. 
 
 These rather obscure intimations furnished matter of 
 reflection. Walter remembered the stranger he had 
 met in New York, and his hostility to Mr. Middleton. 
 " Could this abrupt desertion of their home be connected 
 with that person ?" 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 137 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 THERE was little occasion to impose on Eleanor a 
 more moderate participation of pleasure. Indifferent 
 now to other things, her chief enjoyment was in pursu 
 ing the course of reading that Walter had recommended 
 at parting. But the life-giving spirit was gone ; though 
 she persevered, it was not with her usual animation, and, 
 to add to the shade that was falling on her, her agree 
 able young admirer, Oscar, was gone too even sooner 
 than had been expected. She and her mother were 
 passing a quiet evening at home, the latter weaving 
 fringe, the former weaving fancies, when Mr. Meredith 
 entered with a look of having something pleasant to say. 
 
 "I have made a new acquaintance, my dear," said he, 
 addressing his wife ; " one whom I think you would like 
 as much as I do." 
 
 " That is very probable," she replied, with her usual 
 gentle conformity. "You know that, like Mrs. Smith, 
 who does not venture to commend the weather without 
 adding, * Mr. Smith thinks so too, I always agree with 
 you." 
 
 " No, not always ; I should not love you so well if 
 you did. I like, sometimes, a little of the Lawrence 
 spirit/ it keeps domestic life from stagnation." 
 
 "Well, well, but the gentleman, who is he?" 
 
 " Captain Talbot. He dined with me to-day at Mr. 
 Ogden s. He was the life of the company, intelligent, 
 full of anecdote, and fine manners. A really well-bred 
 man ; for an accomplished, traveled Englishman is the 
 best sample of gentleman to be found, the world over." 
 
 "A military man, of course?" 
 
138 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 " He lias been : but I understand he sold his commis 
 sion some years since. He has seen service, however ; 
 has a fine military air, and is about six or eight-and- 
 thirty, though he looks older the effect of his profes 
 sion, I suppose. Ogden says he is not rich, he thinks, 
 but very well connected. He is acquainted with the 
 Middletons, and has been in this country more than 
 once before." 
 
 "Shall you see him again?" 
 
 " Oh yes ; I shall call on him to-morrow, and ask him 
 to dinner, at your earliest convenience." 
 
 So said, so done ; and at the day appointed Captain 
 Talbot appeared. 
 
 Mr. Meredith had not exaggerated; he was indeed 
 little prone to do so. The guests were well selected, and 
 the captain recommended himself to all. His appear 
 ance, on which Mr. Meredith had not enlarged, assisted 
 to this effect. He certainly looked old for his years, but 
 his brilliant eyes the keenness of which was tempered 
 by a most effective smile, his fine teeth, dark hair thin, 
 but only slightly changed, his figure and air, presented 
 a whole that most persons would have pronounced still 
 handsome. 
 
 Eleanor, sufficiently grown to be regarded as a young 
 lady, retained her girlish simplicity of dress and manner. 
 Her open frock was exchanged for a gown of fine cam 
 bric; its surplice folds, so disposed as to show to ad 
 vantage her form, were confined at the waist by a girdle, 
 and its tight long sleeves fitted perfectly her well-round 
 ed arm. Her hair, still allowed to be uncontrolled, fell 
 behind, in its natural wavy lines, to her waist, and on 
 her forehead and cheek lay in small loose ringlets. Ear 
 rings, simple gold hoops of moderate size, and a brooch 
 were her only ornaments. 
 
 Captain Talbot was seated at Mrs. Meredith s right 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 139 
 
 hand, and Eleanor next him. They had thus the bene 
 fit of all his pleasantries, whether addressed to them 
 selves or to others ; while his deferential manner toward 
 the mother was nicely graduated into a shade of kind 
 ness toward the daughter, well understanding from her 
 youth and shyness that she was as yet unaccustomed to 
 take a part on such occasions. " Youth and shyness," 
 at that day, were considered properly inseparable ; for 
 there were then American girls who did not talk loud, 
 speak fast, laugh immoderately, nor pronounce confi 
 dently who did not distort their fine native language 
 by "slang," nor by misapplication. Of many things 
 now known it must be admitted they were ignorant; 
 but they did know that a volcano was not "nice," a 
 murder not " funny ;" that commonplace sensations were 
 not "intense;" that mice and kittens were not "awful;" 
 that caps and ribbons were not " loves ;" and that " glo 
 rious," "splendid," and "jolly," were not convertible 
 terms. 
 
 "But surely there are just such girls now," objects 
 some young lady reader. "I know many such; there 
 is Miss So , and So , and So ." 
 
 Granted, fair critic ! There are charming exceptions, 
 and you, undoubtedly, among the number. But they 
 only serve to illustrate the too common rule. 
 
 On this subject, however, you will not be easily con 
 vinced, so we will return to the dinner-table, where the 
 captain confirmed the agreeable impression he had al 
 ready made. 
 
 The liking expressed By Mr. Meredith appeared to be 
 mutual, as was proved by an early call from Captain 
 Talbot, longer than ceremony required. From this aus 
 picious commencement, the intercourse ripened so fast 
 that he was soon an habitue of the house. 
 
 Mr. Meredith, descended from, and by marriage con- 
 
140 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 nected with the best colonial aristocracy, had imbibed 
 with prejudices of birth strong English partialities. 
 Though early involved in measures tending to revolu 
 tion, and a consistent adherent to the interests of the 
 Colonies, he had been slow to believe in the possibility 
 or expediency of their independence. But, yielding at 
 length to the pressure of the time, he had sincerely co 
 operated toward such a result. Once obtained, however, 
 he ardently desired to maintain friendly relations with 
 the parent country. At the origin of the parties which, 
 soon after the peace, had divided the public mind, he had 
 naturally adhered to the most conservative, and fell, like 
 others, under the imputation of British influence. The 
 excesses of the French Eevolution, excused by those 
 who remembered only their ancient ally, confirmed him 
 in these opinions. France and England became the 
 watch- words of party, and a rancorous feeling was ex 
 hibited that threatened serious evils. Under " Federal" 
 and "Anti-Federal" were ranged good and wise men on 
 either side ; and, as must always be the case, the selfish 
 and unprincipled were also found in both ranks. The 
 press fomented the passions thus engendered, and per 
 sonal abuse knew no restraint ; so that even the founder 
 of the Republic was moved to say, that " every act of his 
 administration had been tortured ; and that, too, in such 
 exaggerated and indecent terms as could scarcely be ap 
 plied to a Nero, to a notorious defaulter, or even to a com 
 mon pickpocket." At this moment, however, when ac 
 cumulated injuries seemed to have reached their height, 
 when the arrogance and lawless attempts of Genet, the 
 pretensions of Fauchet and Adet, the insulting tone as- 
 sunied by the French Directory, the insolent dismissal 
 of our minister and commissioners, threatened to involve 
 us in a war with France, a better and more national 
 spirit appeared. A common feeling of injury awaken- 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 141 
 
 ed a conviction of common interest and mutual depend 
 ence. 
 
 But Mr. Meredith was little encouraged by the lull of 
 party storm. He saw in these fearful outbreaks indica 
 tions of disunion and anarchy ; and, invited by the sym 
 pathizing tone of his new friend, perhaps, alas ! who has 
 not a weak side? perhaps not insensible to the well- 
 timed regrets of Captain Talbot that such men as he 
 should not be placed where patriotism and talent could 
 have their effect, gave vent to his occasional despond 
 ency. 
 
 The captain was remarkably free from the assump 
 tion ascribed to his countrymen, nor had he any of the 
 sore feeling which so recent a conflict might well excite. 
 On the contrary, he contemplated the matter from an 
 impartial position. " He rejoiced in the independence 
 of America. It was best for both countries. He con 
 gratulated himself that he had not been compelled to 
 draw his sword in a cause of which he could not ap 
 prove." 
 
 " But, my dear sir," continued he, " why thus disturb 
 yourself? No man more rejoices in the prospects of 
 your country than myself; but look at the history of 
 republics ; where have they endured ? And where is 
 the charter which insures to America a longer duration ? 
 Be satisfied, then; she will ascend like Athens like 
 her will fall. Faction will eat into her institutions. 
 Her great men will be overstepped by Eucrates the 
 rope-seller, Cleon the leather-seller, Lysicles the sheep- 
 seller, Hyperbolus the lamp-maker, and so on ; till mis 
 rule shall subside under the strong arm of some vulgar 
 demagogue or military chief." 
 
 " And you counsel me to be satisfied with this?" ex 
 claimed Mr. Meredith. 
 
 " Yes ; because you can have nothing better. But it 
 
142 WALTER THOKNLEY; OK, 
 
 may be long before such a termination. Long before 
 your young Demos comes to his full maturity, and 
 longer still before he becomes the Old Demos of the 
 Athenian stage flattered, cajoled, and impoverished by 
 some artful idol of the day. In the mean time genera 
 tions will have passed; America will have taken her 
 place among the nations and on the page of history, 
 which will record her rise and her fall. No, no, my dear 
 sir, you and your political friends are more rational and 
 practical than your opponents, but even you can not 
 work impossibilities. You can not save mankind against 
 their will. Be wise, then; enjoy the present. Indif 
 ference is the only philosophy for the future." 
 
 "No," said Mr. Meredith, warmly; "despondent I 
 may sometimes be indifferent I can never be. My 
 prevailing trust is in the good sense of which I believe 
 the people to be capable, that they will finally work 
 themselves clear of the mists which now obscure them. 
 All I contend for is that, while being educated for lib 
 erty, they should be under competent guardians. If I 
 thought as badly of the race as you do, Captain Talbot, I 
 should not much care to remain in a world subject to it." 
 
 Mrs. Meredith and Eleanor, often present at these dis 
 cussions, were not uninterested hearers ; the former in 
 dicating by a word or a look her accordance with her 
 husband s views, and Eleanor silent, but wondering that 
 " so amiable a person as Captain Talbot should think other 
 people so bad." At another time, when the subject of 
 imported luxuries, fashions, and vices was under consid 
 eration, after rallying what he called the causeless alarm 
 of Mr. Meredith, the captain, with a careless laugh, con 
 cluded; "Well, then, the only consolation that remains 
 for you, sir, is the * Fable of the Bees. You know the 
 moral Private vices, public benefits. For my part, 
 pretending to no political science, I leave the problem 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 143 
 
 of civilization to longer heads. I can no more calculate 
 the agencies that act on this world of ours, than I can 
 apply Kepler s law to planetary motions. I am but a 
 passenger ; if the earth is wrecked I can t help it. Like 
 a soldier, I do as I am ordered, and leave consequences 
 to others. It is with you, sir, and such as you men of 
 wisdom, talents, and influence that responsibility rests." 
 
 Thus, often agreeing with Mr. Meredith, or differing 
 but to give spirit to the conversation, with just such a 
 dash of compliment as served to combine and harmonize 
 the whole, it was not surprising that Captain Talbot 
 should be an acceptable visitor, and that certain gleams 
 of a cold and selfish philosophy should be unobserved ; 
 or excused, as the effect of a profession which led him 
 to regard men as machines or slaves alike drilled, 
 whether for a battle or an election and equally led 
 blindly, whether it were by a superior, or by their pas 
 sions. 
 
 This familiar intercourse soon became intimacy. Cap 
 tain Talbot seemed by an instinct to adapt himself to all 
 to Mrs. Meredith by donations to her favorite chari 
 ties, and to Eleanor by a happy mixture of encourage 
 ment and respect, inspiring her with an ease and freedom 
 she had never felt toward any other visitor. 
 
 A money transaction of small amount, but serving to 
 exhibit the captain under another phase, confirmed his 
 good standing. Certain English remittances expected 
 by him not arriving, he requested of Mr. Meredith a loan 
 of a few hundred pounds. It was readily advanced, 
 and a promise given of early repayment. Before the 
 time, the money was returned in a draft on one of the 
 best New York houses. Mr. Meredith presented it him 
 self, not sorry to have an opportunity of thus obtaining 
 farther indirect testimony to his new friend. He was 
 not disappointed. The draft was accepted without hes- 
 
144 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 itation, and the merchant proceeded to say, "he knew 
 nothing of Captain Talbot except in the way of business, 
 but he had had frequent exchanges to negotiate for him 
 and his friends, and that every thing had been perfectly 
 satisfactory." 
 
 The time for retiring to the country arrived. This, 
 instead of interposing an obstacle to the intercourse, only 
 gave it a more familiar character, the captain often pass 
 ing an unceremonious day at " The Oaks," and not un- 
 frequently remaining the night becoming, in short, 
 " Vami de la maison." 
 
 One evening Mr. Meredith, on returning from the city, 
 had that air which experienced wives know to indicate 
 something on the minds of their lords paramount, and, 
 with the tact of the sex, without any direct inquiry, pre 
 pared the way for its disclosure, were he so disposed, by 
 an early removal of the tea obstructions, and then by 
 suggesting some employment that should take Eleanor 
 from the parlor. Then, seating herself at her work, she 
 waited till Mr. Meredith should open his budget for their 
 mutual relief. She had not long to wait. 
 
 "My dear," said he, "I have a matter to submit to 
 you. Captain Talbot has proposed for Eleanor." 
 
 With unaffected astonishment Mrs. Meredith dropped 
 her sewing and looked at her husband. " For Eleanor ! 
 Eleanor ! Well, that can not require long deliberation." 
 
 " Do you mean by that, approval or the contrary?" 
 
 " The contrary, of course. Why, Mr. Meredith, Elea 
 nor is a child ! and he is more than double her age." 
 
 "Very true; that is precisely the difficulty. Aside 
 from that, I could see advantages in the connection not 
 to be disregarded." 
 
 "Advantages!" 
 
 " Yes. To be sure he is not rich. He has dealt very 
 frankly with me. He is within one life of a large estate ; 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 145 
 
 but that life, as lie says, is as good, or better, than his 
 own. This, however, matters little. Eleanor s large leg 
 acy from your aunt, to be hers at eighteen, or earlier, if 
 she marry before, would be a reasonable independence. 
 He is well born a great consideration and well edu 
 cated; can furnish the best credentials as to character 
 and position ; is a man of sense and honor a better guar 
 antee for her happiness, and for her character yet un 
 formed, than if he were a young man as immature as 
 herself." 
 
 Mrs. Meredith listened, but, unconvinced, returned to 
 her first objection. 
 
 " But, my dear, she is a child ! a perfect child ! her ed 
 ucation not yet completed." 
 
 " True again ; but he could therefore better train her 
 to conformity, and, of course, to sympathy." 
 
 " That means that his powerful will and stronger qual 
 ities would crush every thing individual out of her. I 
 do not call that ( sympathy, and the process is any thing 
 but happiness. " 
 
 "Well, well, do not be disturbed. I have given him 
 to understand the case just as it stands; that if he were 
 ten years younger, or she as much older, I should not 
 object ; but that, as it is, I can not approve." 
 
 " Then it is settled, is it not?" 
 
 " Not quite. He still asks to be allowed to refer the 
 matter to herself; this is the point for us to decide. For 
 myself, I do not see that we can deny him so small a 
 favor as a refusal from her own lips." 
 
 Mrs. Meredith, with her direct common sense, had, 
 woman-like, jumped to a conclusion, and not far from 
 right. She saw that the captain s conversation, his man 
 ners, his flattering estimation of Mr. Meredith obvious, 
 however delicately insinuated did not permit to that 
 gentleman the free use of his usually sound judgment. 
 
 G 
 
146 WALTER THORXLEY; OR, 
 
 She saw, too, that the captain, relying on the friendly 
 feeling he had inspired in the young lady, was confident 
 of his own powers of persuasion ; nor could she tell how 
 far the silly fancy of " being her own mistress" might 
 aid him. She had not forgotten that the pretty daughter 
 of a friend of hers had married at sixteen a baronet of 
 sixty, for the bribe of going to England, and being called 
 "my lady." For her own part, "she liked the captain 
 very well liked to hear him talk to Mr. Meredith but 
 didn t care for a nearer connection." So she sat silent 
 and perplexed. 
 
 " Well, my dear," said her husband, " shall he be per 
 mitted to make his application?" 
 
 " And you you will not suggest any thing in his fa 
 vor?" 
 
 "No, certainly not ; nor you any thing to his preju 
 dice, I hope ; for I conceive it a point of honor to let the 
 captain have a fair field." 
 
 With this non-interference Mrs. Meredith felt it nec 
 essary to acquiesce, and she tried to wait patiently the 
 result. 
 
A PEEP AT THE FAST. 147 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 THE next morning the all-unconscious Eleanor, put 
 ting on her straw "scoop" a name given to a bonnet 
 more useful than comely and with basket and scissors, 
 prepared for her accustomed business of gathering flow 
 ers for the parlor decoration, descended into the garden, 
 followed by her inseparable attendant, Bruno. Her 
 basket was soon filled, but the morning was so beauti 
 ful she could not think of returning to the house ; so 
 she placed it, as she supposed, in security under a rose 
 bush, and wandered off to the trees that skirted the 
 garden. 
 
 Bruno, with the propensity of some bipeds to find 
 what is not lost, took it into his head to carry the bask 
 et after her, as he had sometimes been directed to do. 
 Her first intimation of this oinciousness was the flowers 
 scattered to right and left, and the empty basket in his 
 mouth. Catching up a twig she was about to chastise 
 him, but this only provoked him to retain his prize, and 
 a contest ensued, in which, getting the better, he made 
 off with his booty. Then, after many feints and circuits, 
 he brought it back, and laid it and himself at her feet. 
 
 At this moment the captain, having called, and being 
 told where to seek her, appeared. Exercise and frolic 
 had heightened her color and excited her spirits. She 
 was in the gayest humor : ripe for fun and sport. 
 
 " See !" she cried, " how reverently he has prostrated 
 himself before me ! The cunning fellow !" 
 
 "And who would not do so!" returned the captain, 
 warmed into an excess of admiration as he gazed at her. 
 
 Otherwise occupied, Eleanor did not observe the com- 
 
148 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 pliment conveyed; and the dog, as merry as herself, 
 keeping his paw on the basket, the instant she extended 
 her hand to recover it, caught it up, ready for another 
 chase, while she, stamping her foot, exclaimed, authori 
 tatively, "Let go, sir! Have done, sir ! this moment!" 
 
 But in vain ; he was off, and she on the point of fol 
 lowing him, when the captain, seizing her hand, de 
 tained her while he poured forth a passionate declaration 
 of love. 
 
 Eleanor stood in mute amazement. She compre 
 hended that an answer was expected, but what must it 
 be? She understood that something was to be said to 
 save the captain from "dying in despair!" something 
 " to breathe into him a hope that would render life en 
 durable;" that would hold out a prospect of "ineffable 
 felicity ;" but she could not say it. On the other hand, 
 how could she be "cruel, inexorable, inflexible," as he 
 said, to so kind a person ? 
 
 Encouraged by her silence, more and warmer protest 
 ations assailed her. 
 
 Could he have looked within the deep recess of the 
 protecting "scoop," so inclined that his eager glance 
 could not penetrate it, he might have augured different 
 ly. Surprise, perplexity, alarm, were passing over her 
 face, but no gentle yielding. Eather through all was to 
 be discovered a sense of the ridiculous, equally unfriend 
 ly to his suit. At length, finding words, she exclaimed, 
 "Oh, don t say so! pray don t!" words met by reiter 
 ated vows of devotion and deprecations of her cruelty. 
 
 Overpowered by his ardent volubility, and anxious to 
 put the readiest termination to what, distressed as she 
 was, struck her as excessively absurd, she could think 
 only of the stratagem by which young ladies hold them 
 selves at liberty to evade a partner in a less momentous 
 enterprise, and she impulsively exclaimed, "Oh, Cap- 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 149 
 
 tain Talbot, you must not talk so ! Indeed I am not 
 cruel ! But I can not I really can not lam engaged!^ 
 
 The captain dropped her hand as if he had been shot, 
 and she, delighted to be saved any farther parley, fled. 
 
 "Engaged! engaged!" repeated the discomfited lover. 
 " How can it be ! Who can have rifled this lovely young 
 creature from me !" 
 
 Then, revolving every one he had met at the house, 
 and finding none on whom his suspicion could fasten, 
 he again exclaimed, "It can not be it is impossible ! 
 But she might have met the favored individual else 
 where ; must have done so, since it was plain her family 
 was ignorant of the matter." 
 
 Pacing to and fro till conjecture was exhausted, he at 
 length turned his steps to the house to seek her parents, 
 to communicate his failure and the cause, to deplore his 
 fate, and to withdraw. Their consternation far exceed 
 ed his own. The feelings that had so lately disturbed 
 them Mr. Meredith s sympathy for his friend, Mrs. Mer 
 edith s fears for her daughter were forgotten in other 
 and stronger emotions. The father was indignant at her 
 duplicity ; the mother grieved at the want of confidence 
 in her child ; and both were terrified by the fearful ques 
 tion of " to whom had she pledged herself?" The only 
 plausible idea was young Middleton. This was far from 
 satisfactory ; he was as much too young as the captain 
 was too old. A mere boy, and, as Mr. Meredith consid 
 ered, characterless and unreliable. But it might be much 
 worse ; after such deception what might they not fear ? 
 
 The first thing to be done was to obtain a full confes 
 sion from Eleanor herself. Here a difficulty arose as to 
 which should require it of her. Mrs. Meredith, know 
 ing the awe in which she stood of her father, feared his 
 severity would overwhelm her ; while he, on his part, 
 saw that her mother s gentleness would be farther im- 
 
150 WALTER THOKNLEY; OR, 
 
 posed on by Eleanor. It was at length decided that 
 Mrs. Meredith was the more proper of the two, and she 
 was about to leave the room for the purpose, with a 
 dread of what might ensue, when the door opened and 
 Walter Thornley entered. It was the time that had 
 been appointed for his return, but, having written to ob 
 tain a longer leave of absence, he was not expected. 
 
 Sensible people sometimes do foolish things. So Mr. 
 and Mrs. Meredith, mutually distrustful, gladly caught, 
 in their perplexity, at a third person to act for them, 
 whose position and discretion seemed at the moment to 
 settle the question of his fitness. 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Thornley," they both exclaimed, " how glad 
 we are to see you ! You are the very person we want." 
 
 Walter, his face flushed with pleasure at the sight of 
 his friends, his eager eye seeking his absent pupil, re 
 sponded gratefully to a reception warmer than he ex 
 pected. 
 
 " The illness of a friend I feared would detain me," 
 said Walter; "but, happily, I could leave him, and be 
 here as I had promised. I hope Miss Eleanor is well ?" 
 
 After what seemed rather a cold reply on their part, 
 he inquired in what way his services were required. 
 This necessarily introduced the subject in hand, and, re 
 questing him to be seated, Mr. Meredith, with profes 
 sional accuracy, stated the case, beginning at the begin 
 ning, and carefully detailing the approaches of the cap 
 tain, the pros and cons of himself and Mrs. Meredith, till, 
 unable to imagine what might be coming, Walter, in 
 painful suspense, awaited the conclusion. At length 
 Mr. Meredith arrived at the final dismissal of the captain, 
 and the avowal of Eleanor, which, as might have been 
 expected, shocked her conscientious young tutor as much 
 as her parents. He said nothing, however, but his sud 
 den paleness evinced his sympathy with them, and, at- 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 151 
 
 tracting the notice of Mrs. Meredith, she reproached her 
 self for her inattention, and begged him " to take some 
 refreshment, for he looked dreadfully fatigued." But he 
 declined ; and, after a few moments, said, " You spoke 
 as if I could serve you, sir ; in what way can I do so ? 
 You can not mean in relation to Miss Eleanor." 
 
 " Yes, I do. Let me explain, however," continued Mr. 
 Meredith, his habitual formality yielding, in spite of his 
 endeavors to the contrary, to emotions of pain and dis 
 pleasure. "Let me explain. She is more confidential 
 with you than with us. The necessary restraint between 
 parents and children has sometimes a bad effect. We 
 should alarm and repress ; you will calm and encourage 
 her. And let me take this opportunity, Mr. Thornley, to 
 say, that, in giving you this proof of our confidence, we 
 only properly reward your remarkable discretion in a sit 
 uation calling for more than is xisually found. I have ob 
 served you closely, as I was bound to do, where the inter 
 est of an only child was at stake ; and I must say, that 
 while you have exacted your due respect as her teach 
 er, you have never forgotten your relative positions." 
 
 A cold bow on the part of Walter acknowledged this 
 not ambiguous compliment. He was not insensible to 
 the confidence expressed, nor to the inferiority implied. 
 
 "We are, therefore," proceeded Mr. Meredith, "glad 
 to depute you to a delicate office, for which you are, 
 perhaps, better fitted than ourselves." 
 
 " But what, sir," inquired Walter, anxious to termin 
 ate in any way this oppressive interview, " what can / 
 possibly do?" 
 
 "You must see her before we do; must obtain from 
 her a full disclosure of every thing of her real feel 
 ings for we are not without suspicion that she may 
 be entangled through mere thoughtlessness. She may 
 even be glad to be assisted in escaping from some fool- 
 
152 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 ish involvement, which she would sooner expose to you 
 than to us. You can sift this more calmly than we can. 
 If, on the contrary, her affections are really interested, 
 you are at liberty to assure her that we disregard riches ; 
 that, if the connection be not disgraceful, in other words, 
 if the person is her equal in birth and position, she shall 
 not be opposed, provided, at the same time, that his char 
 acter secures her happiness, for this is all that we desire. 
 It is best not to delay," added he, as Walter sat silent, 
 troubled and irresolute; "you will find her in the 
 study." 
 
 With an effort Walter rose to obey; a beseeching 
 look from Mrs. Meredith expressed her dependence on 
 him, and he left the room without speaking. 
 
 In the mean time, Eleanor, having escaped from her 
 lover, had taken refuge in her favorite retreat. There, 
 throwing herself on a sofa, she saw only the good joke 
 she had practiced, laughed merrily, and then burst forth 
 in a pleasant old Scotch song, which struck her as par 
 ticularly applicable to her case : 
 
 "The blude-red rose at Yule may blaw, 
 The simmer lilies bloom in snaw ; 
 The frost may freeze the deepest sea, 
 But an old man shall never daunton me." 
 
 As the song passed away into a mere murmur of the 
 melody, she ceased to think of the captain at all, and 
 turned her thoughts to a more agreeable subject. 
 
 " What a pity," thought she, " that Mr. Thornley does 
 not come ! I wonder who that sick friend is that he 
 stays to take care of. Well, it is very good of him, and 
 all right too ; but that is nothing new he always does 
 what is right. But when he does come ! he will see I 
 have not been idle. I have read all the history he di 
 rected, and made all the abstracts he advised ; and as to 
 chronology ! why, like an Arab, I have absolutely lived 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 153 
 
 on dates ! and I have really attended to all my studies 
 as well as I could in his absence; and when he finds 
 this he will be so pleased! and I shall be so happy!" 
 In proof of which she clapped her hands, the sound of 
 which still rung in her ears as the door opened and Mr. 
 Thornley entered. 
 
 With a look of joyous surprise she hastened to meet 
 him, exclaiming, " Mr. Thornley ! when did you come? 
 You are welcome back again !" 
 
 "You are very kind very good, Miss Eleanor," he 
 replied, and, unconsciously retaining the hand she had 
 extended, he led her again to the sofa, and seated him 
 self by her side. 
 
 Pouring forth question on question as to "what he 
 had been doing all this long time ? if he had been always 
 reading and studying, as usual ? or if he had been fish 
 ing, shooting, and rambling in the beautiful forests he 
 was so fond of?" to all which he answering only in 
 grave monosyllables, she suddenly stopped, and, look 
 ing earnestly and inquiringly in his face, said, "What 
 is the matter, Mr. Thornley ?" 
 
 To this he could but reply in that unmeaning " Noth 
 ing," which so often belies a full heart. 
 
 " Oh yes there is," she repeated ; " something has hap 
 pened, I am sure of your friend " 
 
 "He is well." 
 
 " Yet you don t look happy. You are disturbed, per 
 haps displeased but not displeased with me, are you, 
 Mr. Thornley ? Tell me if you are. If I have done 
 any thing wrong I will acknowledge it. You know I 
 always confess to you," added she, half playfully ; "but 
 do, do speak, and don t look at me so !" 
 
 She might well indeed deprecate the fixed and search 
 ing gaze with which, while still holding her hand, he 
 regarded her. 
 
 G2 
 
154 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 "Confess!" he at length said; "yes, Miss Eleanor, 
 that is what I have come for, but not, as I believe, to 
 hear any thing wrong; nor am I so presumptuous as 
 to call you to confession without authority. I come," 
 said he, desperately plunging into the troubled waters 
 he had been directed to sound, "by the request of your 
 parents. They speak by me." 
 
 Eleanor, regarding him in surprise, agitation, and 
 alarm, could say nothing, and he proceeded, in a tender 
 and encouraging tone : 
 
 " Your parents authorize me to say that they have no 
 wish but for your happiness. All they ask is that your 
 affections should be really interested that no transient 
 fancy should mislead you " Walter paused. 
 
 "What do you mean, Mr. Thornley ?" said Eleanor, 
 with a happier, but still a bewildered look. 
 
 " They care not," he continued, " that he whom you 
 choose should be rich, provided he be your equal and 
 worthy of your affection." 
 
 " Worthy !" repeated Eleanor, heeding only that con 
 dition, and clasping her hands with a look more ex 
 pressive than words, from which Walter easily inferred 
 a fond confidence in some one. But who was that per 
 son? 
 
 With a less-assured voice he proceeded : 
 
 " You admit, then, Eleanor, that you are not indiffer 
 ent that an impression has been made that a senti 
 ment that your heart is not insensible. Have, then, 
 no farther reserves," continued he, in the gentle tones 
 of persuasion ; "I ask it for your parents for yourself. 
 I even presume so far as to ask it for myself. Do not 
 withhold from me this assurance of your " 
 
 "Friendship" he would have said, but her embarrass 
 ment and agitation appeared contagious, and he hesita 
 ted. If her imagination supplied a more tender word, 
 
A PEEP AT THE, PAST. 155 
 
 it was not strange ; nor, unconscious as she had thus far 
 been of the sentiment so innocently entertained, was it 
 to be wondered at if it were suddenly revealed to her by 
 the touchstone now applied. 
 
 " Oh, Walter 1" exclaimed the blushing girl, misled by 
 language that she supposed could have but one mean 
 ing, " for yourself! How can I withhold any thing from 
 you ! You, whom, next to my parents, I love better than 
 any one in the whole world! Oh," continued she, cov 
 ering her face with her hands, "you must know what I 
 would say I" 
 
 It was, indeed, but too plain. Astonished and con 
 founded, yet, with one exquisite thrill of joy, he darted 
 from her side, approached the window, and, resting his 
 head on his hands, leaned against the casing without 
 having uttered a word; while Eleanor, starting as if 
 from a dream, and terrified at this strange reception of 
 what deserved a very different one, repeated, in broken 
 sentences and trembling voice, " What have I said ? 
 What have I said ? Walter Mr. Thornley, I mean 
 tell me ; what have I said?" 
 
 " Dear, innocent, unconscious Eleanor," exclaimed he, 
 in great emotion, returning to his seat, and taking both 
 her hands in his, "nothing! You have said nothing 
 into which you have not been involuntarily led by the 
 misconceptions of others, and by your own guileless, af 
 fectionate heart ! Nothing, Eleanor, that does not make 
 you dearer to me than ever ! Thus much I owe you ; 
 more I dare not, must not say. Honor, gratitude, un 
 limited confidence reposed in me, forbid it. There has 
 been some strange mistake. You alone can explain it." 
 
 It was done in few words, but often interrupted by 
 the confusion and distress of Eleanor, by her self-accu 
 sation of folly and stupidity. The explanation given, 
 a few moments of "thoughts unutterable" succeeded, 
 
156 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 Walter s eyes riveted on her face with a fondness he 
 dared not express, she almost convulsed with contend 
 ing emotions. 
 
 At length, rising with a dignity inspired in moments 
 of emergency, and often where it seems least to be ex 
 pected, Eleanor said, though with an uncertain and quiv 
 ering voice, " Mr. Thornley, I have but one request to 
 make, forget every thing I have been so foolish as to 
 say; remember only that I am, and shall always be, 
 your grateful pupil." Then, turning to the door, she 
 would have instantly passed it, but, detaining her with 
 an impulse he could not resist, and with feelings nearly 
 overpowering him, he ventured only to say, " I forget 
 every thing, Eleanor, but yourself" 
 
 The next moment she was gone ; but, having reached 
 her own room, tears, long suppressed, burst forth. Pride 
 and mortification, however mingling at first in this pas 
 sionate outpouring, were not the predominant emotions. 
 Generous herself, she confided in the generosity of oth 
 ers. She believed "Walter superior to the little vanity 
 of a triumph over her weakness. Moreover, much as he 
 had struggled to conceal it, she saw the reciprocal senti 
 ment that agitated him, and she loved and trusted him 
 the more for his forbearance. The violence of her feel 
 ings abated only to subside into grief at the reflection 
 that of one so noble she must never think. For when 
 no longer deluded by ambiguous expressions, to which 
 excitement and affection had affixed her own meaning, 
 she saw but too plainly that her parents, whatever might 
 be their opinion of Walter, would never favor such a 
 union. ISTor was it less certain thtit he himself so con 
 sidered his position that he would never seek it. She 
 could now understand and honor his hitherto reserved 
 deportment, often, as she had thought, unnecessarily cold 
 and formal ; intermingled with rare but delightful flashes 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 157 
 
 of interest in her, which, though they never found words, 
 had darted from his eyes, had beamed in his smile, or 
 had touched her heart in some unexpected tender tone ; 
 manifestations which, however guarded, had involun 
 tarily nourished a sentiment the innocent girl little com 
 prehended, and of the tendency of which she had never 
 thought. 
 
 Nothing now remained for Eleanor but the resolution 
 to render herself more deserving of the esteem of one 
 whom " she felt quite sure she must always love." This, 
 though a very natural conclusion for a girl of sixteen, is 
 not always in conformity with experience in such cases. 
 Nous verrons. 
 
158 WALTER THOBNLEY; OR, 
 
 CHAPTER XY. 
 
 WALTER, left alone in the study that place to him 
 so consecrated, where he had first known his own power 
 in the training of an ingenuous young mind, and in the 
 harder task of governing his own under influences there 
 first felt, the scene of many happy hours never again to 
 return yielded without restraint to his emotion. He 
 perfectly well understood that the confidence reposed in 
 him by Mr. and Mrs. Meredith, whatever might be his 
 personal claims, was greatly assisted by what they con 
 sidered the insuperable barriers between him and their 
 daughter, a confidence confirmed by the manner he had 
 carefully and honestly maintained toward her. He could 
 not, therefore, for an instant be deluded into an idea 
 that they would relax a single prejudice in favor of what 
 they would condemn as a mesalliance. "Besides," he re 
 flected, "even if they would overlook a humble origin, 
 how would they, how must they repel a nameless, un 
 acknowledged most probably base-born son of a fa 
 ther disgraced perhaps himself, and disgracing others! 
 No ; it was impossible ! He would stifle the fondest feel 
 ing of his heart rather than subject himself to the indig 
 nity such an aspiration would be sure to call down on 
 him!" 
 
 But this resolution cost him pangs never before known. 
 The conflict was not, indeed, new to him. From the mo 
 ment he had felt his growing interest he had striven to 
 repress it. He had avoided every thing that might be 
 tray it. He had even congratulated himself in the be 
 lief that Eleanor s open, child-like expression of regard 
 for him was proof that she had no stronger interest in 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 159 
 
 him a belief confirmed by her apparent liking for young 
 Middleton. He had even voluntarily torn himself away, 
 and had reluctantly promised to return, only in the hope 
 that absence might increase his self-control, considering 
 it permitted to do so if he endangered no one but him 
 self. But now even a harder battle was to be fought. 
 He had not to conquer vain desires for an unattainable 
 good, but to reject it when perhaps a bold hand might 
 secure it. He who had never known love from woman s 
 lips, must he now refuse it from those dearest to him ? He 
 who had never been soothed by the sympathy of moth 
 er or sister, must he now reject it from one who could 
 give more even than these? Must he turn from her 
 who had been the fresh, young, innocent Eve of his 
 imagination, 
 
 "Infusing 
 Sweetness into his heart unfelt before?" 
 
 The confession, so unlocked for, which had at once ag 
 onized and delighted him, must it be repulsed and cast 
 away? 
 
 For the first time utterly unmanned, he buried his face 
 in the cushion of the sofa, unconscious that he wept, till 
 an approaching footstep recalled him to himself. Start 
 ing up, he recollected that Mr. Meredith was still await 
 ing the explanation of what now seemed so trivial that 
 it was nearly forgotten, and he hastened to communi 
 cate it. 
 
 In the relief thus afforded, Mr. and Mrs. Meredith soon 
 forgave the pain so childishly inflicted. While they were 
 congratulating themselves, Walter was left to reflect on 
 his present position, and, with his usual promptitude, to 
 decide what was best best for himself, best for Eleanor. 
 He must go, and go immediately. His first thought was 
 to take no leave, to depart in the evening without ex 
 planation. This, as his luggage was still at the stage- 
 
160 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 house, would be easy. But this might subject him to 
 unjust inferences. It might, too, in some way compro 
 mise Eleanor. He determined, therefore, on a course 
 which, without the utterance of an untruth, would ren 
 der his departure, if unexpected, not mysterious. His 
 cogitations were interrupted by an exclamation from 
 Mr. Meredith. 
 
 "Bless me! we are entirely forgetting every thing 
 else in our own affairs. I have never asked after my 
 old friend Mr. Grafton ; tell me, is he well ? does time 
 make much impression on him?" 
 
 " So little," replied Walter, "that really I never think 
 of it. His early hours, regular habits, and quiet pur 
 suits prevent wear and tear." 
 
 "I suppose so. Yet he is nearly my age not far 
 from fifty. Poor Grafton ! he was a handsome man 
 once." 
 
 Walter thought the sigh with which this was uttered 
 uncalled for, and replied, " He is so still, sir ; and no 
 one would imagine from his manners or appearance that 
 he had been so long out of the world." 
 
 " Ah ! indeed ! But the inborn, inbred gentleman is 
 a strong plant, not to be choked by the vulgar weeds 
 that may start up around it. Well, now, to matters 
 nearer home. When shall lessons begin ? Eleanor has 
 had a long holiday, and will, I dare say, be glad to re 
 sume them." 
 
 This was the moment Walter had been nerving him 
 self to meet. 
 
 " I am grieved to say," replied he, " that I can remain 
 only long enough to say farewell." 
 
 " Farewell !" echoed both Mr. and Mrs. Meredith in 
 the same breath; "farewell! what! really leave us? 
 and why ?" 
 
 In a few words Walter informed them that he was 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 161 
 
 compelled to do so, adding, with a poor attempt at a 
 smile, " You know, sir, if we can not control circum 
 stances, they must control us." 
 
 His manner was so decided, and being, at the same 
 time, as calm as they could expect under what he did 
 not hesitate to confess was a very painful separation, 
 that happily the idea of a sudden determination did not 
 occur to them, and their good-breeding spared all inter 
 rogations as to reasons which he did not voluntarily of 
 fer. Mr. Meredith only said, with much earnestness, 
 that, if pecuniary considerations influenced him, he would 
 make any additional compensation he would name. He 
 graciously added that " Eleanor owed more to his in 
 struction than to all she had ever previously received." 
 
 This generosity, at this moment, was too much for 
 Walter, and he did not immediately reply. 
 
 " You are too kind, sir, too kind, to attach so much 
 value to my small services. Believe me, money should 
 not part us. I have always been, and am still, perfect 
 ly satisfied with what I have received." 
 
 Mrs. Meredith, too, with much cordiality, expressed 
 her regret, her sense of the benefit conferred on Elea 
 nor, and the difficulty of replacing his ability and care. 
 
 "Well, if you must leave us, Mr. Thornley," said Mr. 
 Meredith, " we will not consider it a final separation ; 
 something may bring us together again. I shall always 
 be happy to serve you in any way that I can, and to 
 testify to your faithfulness, and to your correct and be 
 coming behavior in my family during nearly an entire 
 year that you have lived with us." 
 
 At this certificate of character, much the same as 
 would have been accorded to any approved domestic, it 
 must be confessed Walter s pride rebelled. The color 
 returned to his cheek from which emotion had driven 
 it; but he forgave the unintentional insult. At that 
 
162 WALTER THOHXLEY; OK, 
 
 moment he could not do otherwise ; yet it fixed, as with 
 an iron grasp, into his soul the conviction of the scorn 
 with which his love would be repulsed ; and he blessed 
 Heaven that he had not been so weak as to expose him 
 self to it. He only by a bow returned his acknowledg 
 ments. 
 
 "But you will not leave ITS immediately?" 
 
 " To-night, sir," said Walter, with a resolution for 
 which he was probably indebted to Mr. Meredith s pro 
 posed " recommendation." " I shall walk into town in 
 the evening, for, having no luggage to transport, I shall 
 not need to put your horses into requisition." 
 
 This met with much opposition, and it was not with 
 out reiterated assurances that he really preferred it that 
 it was assented to. 
 
 " I don t know what Eleanor will say to all this," said 
 Mrs. Meredith, kindly. " She will be much disappoint 
 ed." 
 
 "Walter allowed himself no reply, except that, " with 
 the progress Miss Eleanor had made, she would require 
 little direction in future." 
 
 But, under this quiet exterior, how did his heart beat 
 at thought of the parting now so near ! The striking 
 of the clock announced the approach of dinner, and he 
 listened with a sickened feeling for her footstep on the 
 stairs. But, when assembled at table, instead of herself 
 came a whispered message to Mrs. Meredith. 
 
 "Eleanor has a bad headache, my dear, and begs to 
 be excused." 
 
 "A headache!" replied her husband, "I never knew 
 her to have one in her life. What has she been doing?" 
 
 " Oh," said Mrs. Meredith, innocently, "you know she 
 must have had rather an exciting scene with Captain 
 Talbot this morning." 
 
 "True, true," replied he, laughing, "and tis but a 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 103 
 
 fair punishment for the heartache she gave him. Be 
 sides, I dare say she is rather ashamed to appear after 
 such a silly business ; and well she may be. 
 
 "But," added he, gravely, "it is just as I have said; 
 no care, no restraint keeps young people in order in 
 these days. Now her mother, Mr. Thornley, would no 
 more have dared so to trifle with a gentleman than she 
 would have presumed to laugh in the king s face. I 
 don t know what we are coming to ! No respect to age, 
 dignity, nor condition ! Young people think they may 
 say, think, do any thing they please !" 
 
 Mrs. Meredith took advantage of the first pause in her 
 husband s outpouring on a subject that always excited 
 him, to say, "I think, Mr. Thornley, I will not tell Ele 
 anor just now that you are going. She will sleep off 
 her headache, I dare say, and be able to bid you good- 
 by." 
 
 Walter blessed the headache and the delay, devoutly 
 hoping to escape without putting her to the test of a 
 farewell. 
 
 In the afternoon, to conceal, if he could not check, the 
 feeling that increased as the final hour approached, he 
 strolled off into the woods that at a short distance screen 
 ed the house, and yielded, when thus in security, to the 
 thoughts that oppressed him. 
 
 The past, checkered as it was by conflicts, fears, and 
 doubts peculiar to his strange position, had yet had one 
 bright light thrown athwart it. One exquisite delight 
 had been granted him. He had known what it was to 
 love and to be loved ; and, short as had been the joy, 
 and compassed with obstructions, it had repaid him for 
 many sorrows. He would not part with it to secure im 
 munity from all earthly ill. But the future, what did 
 that offer? A hopeless remembrance of one by whom, 
 if true to his sense of right, he must pray to be forgotten. 
 
Forgotten ! oh, the dreadful import of that word ! Even 
 in the grave cold, insensible, dissolving we can not 
 bear it; it adds the keenest pang to death. Even in 
 heaven, we crave to be remembered on earth! What, 
 then, was it to a young heart throbbing with passions 
 newly awakened, with wants that would not be denied, 
 conscious of its power to enjoy and to create happiness, 
 of its own inherent right to it what was it to such a 
 one to set a seal on the fountain of bliss, to turn away 
 from hope, to reject love, to pray to be forgotten ? Yet 
 this "Walter felt to be his future. 
 
 Long, long he wandered; revolving every circum 
 stance since first he had known Eleanor. At one mo 
 ment rebuking his own coldness as cruel, the next re 
 joicing in it as their only safety. Now dwelling on her 
 sweet -unconsciousness, her ingenuous confession, her 
 maidenly dignity when aware that it was unsought; 
 and then turning to the present, the parting moment. 
 
 The slanting lights that streamed beneath the branch 
 es, and the long shadows warned him to return, and, 
 with indescribable dread, he bent his steps toward the 
 house. With a sad longing for one more look he en 
 tered the study by the garden-door, and cast a glance at 
 every familiar object, as if taking the superfluous trouble 
 of fixing them indelibly in his memory. At length his 
 eye fell on the study -table, where, among scattered books, 
 lay an unopened letter. He took it hastily up, the first 
 thought being that it was a farewell from Eleanor. He 
 turned to the superscription. It was directed to him 
 self, but not in her hand. He opened it, and the change 
 in his countenance sufficiently indicated the revulsion 
 in his feelings. It was as follows : 
 
 11 Eash, obstinate young man ! Again you have per 
 iled yourself and those who ought to be even dearer to 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 165 
 
 you. Return without delay to the security provided for 
 you, or involve yourself in consequences you will for 
 ever repent. Obey!" 
 
 The feelings with which Walter had been struggling 
 for hours, now taking another direction, burst forth like 
 a tempest. He threw the letter on the floor. He stamp 
 ed on it. He caught it up, and was about to tear it in 
 pieces, when a thought seemed to check him. 
 
 "No !" exclaimed he, "it shall remain till the day of 
 reckoning comes. Security provided for me ! and by 
 whom ? Not by him who cast me a beggar on the char 
 ity of strangers. Obey ! and whom ? Not him whose 
 forfeited word has no claim on me. Oh, that I could 
 stay here and brave him ! that honor did not demand 
 my departure ! I would fearlessly encounter his threats. 
 Intolerable ! that by going I shall seem to act in obedi 
 ence to commands that I scorn and reject. Oh, that I 
 could tell him to his teeth that I am not his slave and 
 puppet, to be controlled and played as he may please ! 
 I, a man, competent to be treated like a reasonable being, 
 to be thus addressed like a boy or a fool !" 
 
 Ringing the bell, he inquired of the servant who an 
 swered it who had left a letter for him ? Nobody. 
 Could no one have entered without his knowledge? 
 No, he had been occupied in or near the hall. But the 
 study? Ah! yes, there a person might have entered 
 through the garden. 
 
 The servant was too trusty to be suspected of collu 
 sion, and on farther inquiry the other domestics were 
 equally ignorant. 
 
 The tea-bell at this moment summoned him, and, com 
 pelled to leave the mystery unexplained, he obeyed it. 
 
 Mrs. Meredith, with considerate kindness, had ordered 
 an earlier tea than usual, and more abundant, in prepa- 
 
166 
 
 ration for his long walk ; and with trembling steps he 
 entered the room where she sat ready to receive him, 
 " for now surely he must meet Eleanor !" Seating him 
 self, as requested by Mrs. Meredith, he reflected that 
 some little show of natural feeling would be allowed on 
 such an occasion, and thus both he and Eleanor might 
 escape a strict construction. Mrs. Meredith proceeded 
 to dispense the good things she had ordered, though to 
 little purpose ; and, after lamenting that he ate nothing, 
 said, in her kindest tone, desirous of softening the dis 
 appointment to him, " I am so sorry, Mr. Thornley, that 
 you can not see Eleanor ; she is really quite indisposed 
 with this very inopportune headache, and begs me to 
 bid you good-by for her." 
 
 No relief could have been greater. 
 
 "She understands me," thought "Walter ; "she for 
 bears to add to my distress by either seeing me or ques 
 tioning my motives. God forever bless her." 
 
 With this prayer in his heart, and a kind farewell to 
 her on his lips, he rose to take leave, and was soon on 
 his way to the city. After a few hours of troubled sleep, 
 at three o clock he was roused by the driver s thunder 
 ing rap at his door, and a lighted candle thrust into his 
 room to assist him to make his hasty toilet. 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 167 
 
 CHAPTER XYI. 
 
 WALTER S unexpected reappearance at Ashton ex 
 cited no small sensation. Mr. Grafton met him at the 
 door with a look of alarm, exclaiming, " Walter ! Has 
 any thing happened ? Our friends! are they well?" 
 
 " Quite so," replied Walter, assuming a cheerfulness 
 he could not feel, in order to dissipate the uneasiness he 
 had caused. " Quite so, and myself too, or I shall be 
 as soon as Damie gives me one of her good country 
 teas." 
 
 While Damie s efforts were thus directed, Walter en 
 deavored still more to assure Mr. Grafton by talking 
 with unconcern of his journey, the weather, and other 
 ordinary topics, deferring till left to finish the evening 
 without interruption such explanation as he felt at lib 
 erty to give. 
 
 As soon as the fitting time occurred, "I think," said 
 he, affectionately taking his guardian s hand, "I think, 
 my dear sir, that I have never had a secret from you, 
 and, moreover, I believe you have never distrusted my 
 word?" 
 
 "Never," replied Mr. Grafton, earnestly, "never." 
 
 " Then I think you will pardon me if I have one 
 now, and that you will also continue to trust me." 
 
 " Yes, without the least question ; yes." 
 
 "I thank you, sir. So far I can satisfy you, that, 
 though I have left Mr. Meredith s family with no inten 
 tion of returning, my so doing involves no one in the 
 least blame. On the contrary, could I think it right to 
 be more explicit, I know you would approve of what I 
 have done, and be satisfied with all concerned." 
 
168 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 " This shall suffice, Walter; I ask no more." 
 
 Walter pressed his hand, and they were both silent. 
 At length, opening his pocket-book, Walter drew forth 
 a letter, which he handed to Mr. Grafton. 
 
 "That," said he, "may reconcile you to the step I 
 have taken. I know you have some apprehensions from 
 that quarter, and will be glad that, by apparent submis 
 sion, I have avoided threatened danger. I say apparent, 
 because I must in truth tell you that the letter had noth 
 ing to do with my decision. That was formed before 
 I received it." 
 
 " It is extraordinary !" said Mr. Grafton, after reading 
 and returning the letter, "most extraordinary! How 
 did this letter reach you?" 
 
 " Like every thing from the same source. I found it 
 where it had been placed for me in my absence. How 
 or by whom I could not discover." 
 
 After some reflection Mr. Grafton continued, "I do 
 not require to be * reconciled, as you say, to your re 
 turn ; but this does diminish any regret I might feel as 
 to the manner of it, for I do not deny that I am often 
 troubled by the threats that you are so willing to brave. 
 You then, for the present, will, I trust, be content to 
 remain here. Thank Heaven, we can be happy in spite 
 of the persecutions by which you are followed." 
 
 But Mr. Grafton was not long in discovering that 
 Walter was not happy. The manly cheerfulness worn 
 at first to relieve his friend soon disappeared, and, if oc 
 casionally roused to something like his natural anima 
 tion, it was plainly an effort. To such alternations he 
 had been subject, but there was now an air of dejec 
 tion, very different from the fitful moods of previous 
 years, easily explained by the irritation of his peculiar 
 condition. There was nothing to be gained by ques 
 tioning him. The matter, whatever it was, was decided. 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 169 
 
 There was no perturbation, no apparent conflict. He 
 occupied himself much as usual ; was kind to old friends, 
 and more than ever affectionate to Mr. Grafton ; but a 
 change had come over him, the light of hope and youth 
 seemed extinguished. 
 
 Mr. Grafton observed him with the tenderest solici 
 tude ; and one evening when they were alone, Walter 
 dreamingly gazing at a beautiful moon that sent a beam 
 into their room as if " to pleasure them," he approached, 
 and, laying his hand on his shoulder, said, in a gentle, 
 half-playful tone, "It is asserted that no man is the bet 
 ter for the experience of another; that each must find 
 out the secret of life for himself. Perhaps this is so ; 
 but the heart, nevertheless, often longs to impart what 
 it has learned, and I I would " 
 
 His voice failed, and, turning away, he left the 
 room. The next night Walter found, on retiring to 
 his room, a packet containing the following from his 
 guardian : 
 
 "MY DEAR WALTER, I would much prefer speech to 
 this more formal mode of communication, but I am not 
 equal to it. It is not easy, indeed, for me in any way 
 to enter into the details of my life ; to dwell on scenes 
 that years have not obliterated. I shall therefore be as 
 brief as is consistent with the purpose for which I write. 
 The afflictions and disappointments that meet us in ear 
 ly life, from their very strangeness, are apt to appear to 
 us greater in our individual experience than any one 
 else has ever known. We yield ourselves to them as 
 if spell-bound, we exaggerate them until from ministers 
 of wholesome discipline they become our tyrants, and 
 our whole lives not unfrequently are discolored by them. 
 But I will leave you to make your own reflections on 
 what I have to communicate. 
 
 H 
 
170 WALTER THOKNLEY; OK, 
 
 " You know me only as I have been associated 
 with yourself. I must, therefore, begin at the begin 
 ning. 
 
 "I am, by my mother, of English descent; but, as 
 her family came to this country soon after her birth, she 
 was regarded as American by all but herself. She, on 
 the contrary, cherished an attachment to her native 
 country, and never lost it, not even when she married 
 into a colonial family of considerable importance. For 
 my misfortune, both my parents died young, leaving 
 me, their only child, with a sufficient but not large patri 
 mony. In conformity with the wish of my mother, I vis 
 ited England after completing my education ; and, while 
 there, my home was with my only near maternal rela 
 tive, my mother s sister, who had married an English 
 man, and had thus been replanted into the native soil. 
 My life there was so happy that I can not recollect a 
 shadow, except a regret for one sweet young face, which 
 again to see was the prevailing wish of my heart. I re 
 turned, and found it even more lovely than my fancy 
 had painted it. We met as friends, for I had from a 
 youth been domesticated in her father s house. From 
 friends we became lovers, with the approval of her pa 
 rents, and with every circumstance propitious to our 
 union, which was not long to be delayed. 
 
 "But a dark cloud was to intervene. The discon 
 tents between the mother country and her colonies gath 
 ered to a head. To angry passions succeeded conflict. 
 Blood was shed, the sword drawn, and, at length, civil 
 war burst forth. 
 
 " My position was one of intense anxiety. With my 
 English ties and my mother s blood, it seemed nothing- 
 short of parricidal to take up arms with the colonists ; in 
 addition to which, I had been trained in so loyal a spir 
 it, confirmed by my happy days in England, that my 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 1 < 1 
 
 prejudices were on that side. Still I could not shut my 
 eyes to the wrongs of my countrymen, and their right 
 of redress ; and, as long as their efforts were confined to 
 remonstrance and attempts at conciliation, my sympa 
 thies were American. But independence seemed a de 
 lusion, and rebellion was abhorrent to me. 
 
 In this conflict of affections, I saw nothing but to leave 
 myself, for a time, to the current of events, continually 
 hoping that our difficulties might be adjusted ; and that, 
 if not, I might be permitted to continue neutral, as I had 
 thus far been. But alas ! the storm burst on me from a 
 quarter where I least looked for it. 
 
 "The father of Mary, the possessor of a large landed 
 property conferred on his ancestors by the crown, re 
 nounced his allegiance, at the peril of his life and estate. 
 Having taken this step he could not brook my passive 
 position. Accustomed to be obeyed, he required me, 
 young, unimportant, and divided as I was, to follow his 
 example or to relinquish his daughter. Mutual friends 
 endeavored to reduce him to a more reasonable temper, 
 but opposition only inflamed him. From condemning 
 my conduct he passed to suspecting my motives, and, 
 finally, insulted me by a charge of cowardice. My love 
 to Mary had but one measure. She was dearer to me 
 than life, but not than honor. To have yielded to his 
 requisitions even to obtain her, as at first demanded, I 
 should have felt to be a disgrace ; but when to this was 
 added insult, to comply was a degree of baseness for 
 which I had no language. Cowardice ! God knows how 
 much more courage was required to renounce my alle 
 giance to Mary than to my king ! 
 
 " Such treatment on his part provoked retort on mine. 
 His accusation was resented in terms that rendered all 
 farther application or remonstrance impossible. One al 
 ternative alone occurred to me. At this juncture I re- 
 
172 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 ceived an urgent entreaty from my aunt in England to 
 come to her. She was left a widow, with an embarrassed 
 property, and she had no friend but myself who could, 
 or who would assist her to save something from the 
 wreck for herself and daughter. I could not refuse. 
 I determined at once to go, but my heart suggested, 
 why not take Mary too? if I could overcome her re 
 pugnance to a clandestine union. This was a fearful 
 uncertainty, but I caught at the desperate idea as all 
 that remained to me. 
 
 Circumstances favored me. Her parents were at their 
 residence in the country ; but she was at a small town 
 at the distance of a day s journey from them, with some 
 friends. I hastened to her ; I urged my plan, and, to my 
 delighted surprise, she yielded at once. By nature the 
 gentlest of human beings, she was not less just. She 
 had never opposed her father in her life ; but a sense of 
 my wrongs inspired her with a courage nothing else 
 could have done. Every thing was arranged. The place 
 and the hour for the ceremony were appointed ; the car 
 riage, a few paces off, awaited her, to which I was se 
 cretly to conduct her ; and my feet almost at the thresh 
 old, when intelligence arrived of the alarming illness of 
 her mother, and directions for her immediate return 
 home. I entered the house just in time to support her, 
 as she fell nearly fainting in my arms. 
 
 " As soon as shecould speak she renounced our purpose. 
 This was to be expected ; but to my entreaty that, though 
 I could not now ask her to accompany me, she would 
 consent to a secret marriage, she was equally inflexible. 
 She was to go at an early hour the next morning, and 
 all I could obtain was permission to see her once again 
 before she went. Late in the same evening we met. 
 What a meeting I what a parting ! Again and again we 
 renewed our protestations of love, our vows of fidelity, 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 173 
 
 our determination to abide resolutely and hopefully the 
 chances that might yet favor our union. With clasped 
 hands we called on heaven to ratify these vows ; and, 
 placing on her finger the marriage-ring with which I had 
 prepared myself, in expectation of the ceremony so cru 
 elly interrupted, I called her by the sacred name of wife! 
 There was nothing wanting to the solemnity of our com 
 pact but the few prescribed forms and the presence of 
 witnesses. In place of these were the sanctions of our 
 prayers, and, as we doubted not, the approval of God. 
 "We parted she to the death-bed of her mother, I to the 
 ship which soon bore me over waters far less troubled 
 than those that passed over my soul. 
 
 " But I must not dwell on this. I had many difficulties 
 to encounter in the settlement of my aunt s affairs, but, 
 finally, the comfort of greatly aiding her. In the mean 
 time no tidings reached me from America. At length 
 they came, and hope departed. Mary arrived in time to 
 receive her mother s blessing, but so accompanied as to 
 render it a curse to me. She had been a devoted wife 
 and an affectionate mother, with one fatal mistake. Mar 
 ried to a man of strong will and vehement passions, she 
 conceived that the only way to secure domestic happi 
 ness was in an unreserved submission to him. This she 
 had perfectly practiced, and his idolizing affection had 
 rewarded the sacrifice she made. Notwithstanding, 
 therefore, her sympathy with us, she had ventured no 
 opposition to him, believing such to be the best way 
 of finally obtaining his consent; and now, as a last in 
 junction, to secure her daughter s happiness, as well as 
 the tranquillity of her husband, she required of her a 
 solemn promise never to marry me but with his appro 
 bation. How could she refuse? Her mother s life 
 seemed suspended on a breath, that at the least agitation 
 might cease forever. She promised, though with a 
 
174 
 
 dreadful foreboding of the consequences. This was the 
 purport of the first letter I received. 
 
 "I instantly wrote to a mutual friend, inclosing letters 
 to Mary and her father. To herself I asserted my claim, 
 registered in heaven ; to her father I said every thing I 
 could, consistent with honor. My letter to Mary was 
 never answered perhaps never received. That to her 
 father was returned unopened. 
 
 "In the state of mind thus induced, my health suffered 
 to such a degree that a milder climate was imperatively 
 prescribed. I obeyed, rather from utter indifference to 
 place than a wish for life. Though writing continually 
 to America, I received no letters. At length one reached 
 me at Nice, advising me to return, in order to prevent 
 the confiscation of my property, which might be averted 
 if I were actually on the spot ; but if not, I should be 
 classed among the refugee Tories. As I was not such, in 
 fact, and as my property might be of use to others, if 
 little valued by myself, I obeyed the suggestion of my 
 friend. On my arrival I made one more effort to com 
 municate with Mary. Her answer, the last letter I ever 
 received from her, was to entreat me to forget her, to 
 consider every promise that bound me to her as void, 
 and to seek in another union a compensation for the 
 suffering she had caused me. 
 
 " My property was saved to me, much more through 
 the efforts of my friends than my own. But I felt my 
 self a stranger and alone. Those I had left had formed 
 other interests, based on mutual dangers and political 
 sympathies, in which I had little part. With nothing to 
 hope or to enjoy, I fell into a morbid condition. Yet, I 
 thank God, though my social nature was disturbed, it 
 was not imbittered. I still loved my kind, and enter 
 tained vague purposes of doing them good. But, ex 
 cluded by the state of things from the practice of my 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 175 
 
 profession the law, to which I had been bred disgust 
 ed with the rivalry, political animosities, and jarring el 
 ements that war excited, I fled to the country ; the wild 
 er and more remote, the more quiet I promised myself. 
 Accident determined me to Ashton. I had been pass 
 ing a few weeks in this house, when I found that its 
 owner, much embarrassed by the times, wished to dis 
 pose of it as the only means of extrication. But pur 
 chasers were rare. Every one was poor or in debt. 
 He offered it to me, and I took it at his own price, 
 mainly to relieve him. When my own, however, it 
 began to have attractions. I put it in such order as 
 was necessary for comfort, ordered my books my only 
 friends to meet me, and established them in the ac 
 commodations I had prepared for them. Surrounded 
 by these, undisturbed by the outer world, at peace with 
 my neighbors, a sort of dull content crept over me, un 
 der which I should have stagnated but for you, or rush 
 ed in search of some more potent Lethe. But you came 
 unsought, at first unwelcome, and, with you, an object 
 and an occupation were provided for me by Him who 
 was better to me than I deserved. 
 
 "And now, my dear Walter, will you extract the 
 moral, or must I point it? "Tis best that I should do 
 so, lest your partiality obscure your perception. I have, 
 I trust, led a harmless life ; perhaps, in some instances, 
 as in your own, have done good when it was thrust 
 upon me. But I look back with contrition to my wasted 
 prime, my objectless life, my idolatrous worship of an 
 idea. I do not mean that I rebuke myself for the fidel 
 ity, the pertinacity of my affection. I was made so. I 
 could love but once and forever. And I declare to you, 
 though you will perhaps deem it the fond confession of 
 an old man, that I am unconscious at this moment of 
 any diminution of my early love. I could no more sep- 
 
176 WALTER THOBNLEY; OE, 
 
 arate Mary from my heart than my heart from my body. 
 Though I shall no more see her face on earth, the hope 
 of meeting her in the heaven to which she belongs is the 
 animating thought of my life. But this hope ought soon 
 er to have taught me submission. 
 
 " Learn thus much from my experience to allow no 
 passion, however right in itself, to become inordinate. 
 Be resolute for yourself; be mindful of others. We 
 may suffer much with little benefit ; but what we do is 
 ours. I would not, my dear "Walter, impertinently pry 
 into your feelings ; but I require not to be told that you 
 are unhappy, and I, in some sort, divine the cause. Be 
 true to your convictions of duty, and you will regain 
 your tranquillity. E. Gr." 
 
 Walter dropped his head on his hands as he concluded, 
 and was some moments absorbed in the feelings the nar 
 rative had excited. 
 
 "Dear, excellent Mr. Grafton !" he at length exclaim 
 ed; "how strict to himself, how forbearing to others! 
 Damie, then, was right. She, with her simple experi 
 ence, had discovered what I, in my happy ignorance, 
 could not believe. And Mary, that star of his life, has 
 set to him, to rise in heaven. Dead ! dead ! oh, what a 
 word to connect with one so lovely and beloved ! Yes, 
 I will be strong, if only to reward the effort he has made 
 to make me so. If I have been weak, I will not be 
 worse." And he tried to believe he was not selfish; 
 that, putting aside his personal interests, he desired only 
 the progress and happiness of her he loved ; that he 
 could submit to the impassable barrier that separated 
 them, if assured that one so gifted might not fail of the 
 fair ideal he had formed for her if certain that she 
 would not, as a young poet of our own time has said, 
 be 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 177 
 
 "Swept 
 Along the shallow whirl that Folly leads," 
 
 and " harden down to coarse realities." 
 
 Walter s first impulse was to open his heart to his 
 guardian, but delicacy to Eleanor forbade. His manner, 
 however, when next they met, sufficiently expressed his 
 gratitude, and the consolation of increased sympathy was 
 felt by both. 
 
 His next care was to satisfy Mr. Grafton that he was 
 not so purposeless as he had appeared. He could, though 
 not with all the advantage desired, pursue at Ashton the 
 course of legal study he had already commenced, during 
 his leisure hours, while in Mr. Meredith s family. It was 
 something, if not all he could wish, toward the end he 
 had long proposed to himself. 
 
 Mr. Grafton received the suggestion with much satis 
 faction ; and in a few days Walter was regularly enter 
 ed as a clerk in the office of Mr. Barton, a lawyer recent 
 ly established in Ashton, and occupying the place of his 
 old friend, Squire Whiting, but with a larger practice. 
 
 H2 
 
178 WALTER THOKNLEY; on. 
 
 CHAPTER XYII. 
 
 ELEANOR S indisposition had been no pretense. Even 
 in such a strait she could not have resorted to an un 
 truth. The shock, when told by her mother of Walter s 
 immediate departure, was softened to her by the convic 
 tion of his honorable motives for thus withdrawing him 
 self, and by the delicacy that spared suffering and embar 
 rassment to herself. But though she considered all right 
 that he should do, nature could not be so passive. Agi 
 tation and distress were followed by a sleepless night; 
 and the next day fever appeared sufficient to excite the 
 anxiety of her parents, though pronounced slight by her 
 physician. For eight or ten days it hung about her, re 
 ducing her color and flesh, and then gradually passed 
 away ; having brought with it, however, a compensation 
 it had saved her from observation when she could 
 least have endured it. The cause remained unsuspected. 
 Her intercourse with her mother, though affectionate, 
 was not familiar. She shrank, therefore, from the con 
 fidence which she at the same time desired, and was rec 
 onciled to the omission only by the reflection that she 
 could not make disclosures without involving Walter in 
 unjust suspicions. Fortunately, while thus denying her 
 self the advice of her best friend, she had no dangerous 
 intimacy with any girl of her own age, into whose sym 
 pathetic ear she could pour her } r oung grief, and thereby 
 strengthen an impression she felt she must resist. She 
 was left, if unaided, at least not ill-advised. 
 
 Captain Talbot was not slow in renewing his visits. 
 She would gladly have avoided him. He recalled all 
 that was most painful to her, but his tact soon relieved 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 179 
 
 her. Playfully alluding to the stratagem by which, as 
 he said, she had generously softened her rejection, he 
 next contrived so to treat the matter as to leave her 
 quite in doubt whether he, too, had not been practicing 
 on her credulity ; thus giving to the whole affair so much 
 the air of a jest, that she involuntarily fell back into her 
 former natural and unsuspecting feeling toward him; 
 and he, resuming his unrestrained intercourse with the 
 family, was able to avail himself, without alarming her, 
 of every opportunity of rendering himself acceptable, 
 hoping in time to become necessary. 
 
 Perhaps a change in herself contributed to encourage 
 him. From a thoughtless, laughing girl, little more than 
 a child, every way unsuited to him, she seemed to have 
 started into reflecting womanhood, capable, as he hoped, 
 of better understanding, perhaps of sympathizing with 
 his maturer years. 
 
 Eleanor had, indeed, grown much older in a few 
 weeks. 
 
 "Even in a single day 
 Grief hath been known to turn the young head gray." 
 
 And, in like manner, the youthful mind is sometimes 
 suddenly matured by that which stirs it deeply. Ele 
 anor had now a study that reacted immediately on her 
 self. The contemplation of Walter s character ripened 
 and confirmed her own. Instead of a girlish passion, 
 the sentiment she had conceived for him became a seri 
 ous, earnest motive his self-control, his honorable ad 
 herence to duty, rgjising her latent energies and correct 
 ing the heedless impulses by which she had heretofore 
 been influenced. 
 
 A fortunate change was at this time provided for her, 
 and renders some family details necessary. 
 
 The father of Mrs. Meredith, Mr. Lawrence, a man of 
 large fortune, with many good qualities somewhat mar- 
 
180 WALTER THOKKLEY; OR, 
 
 red by strong peculiarities, had been of late years es 
 tranged from her husband, and, as a consequence, there 
 had been a suspension of intercourse between their fam 
 ilies. The two gentlemen, very unlike, had unhappily 
 embraced different sides in the political questions that 
 agitated the country ; and this, together with some do 
 mestic matters, had engendered a coolness, amounting 
 at length to an entire rupture. Most unexpectedly, 
 therefore, a letter arrived from Mr. Lawrence, addressed 
 to his daughter, inviting a visit from Eleanor, whom he 
 had not seen for several years. As a reason for her 
 coming was urged the desire of her aunt Gertrude, a 
 younger and unmarried sister of Mrs. Meredith, who 
 lived with her father at his patrimonial residence on the 
 North Kiver, at what was then considered no small dis 
 tance from the city. 
 
 Such an invitation from Mr. Lawrence was not to be 
 slighted, even though pressed rather stiffly, more for 
 Miss Gertrude s pleasure than his own. To Mr. and 
 Mrs. Meredith it indicated a return of kindly feelings, 
 and to Eleanor it offered just what they thought most 
 likely to restore her health and cheerfulness. For the 
 present, then, all plans for tutors and teaching were laid 
 aside, and nothing thought of but the best way to effect 
 the proposed visit. As the invitation was limited to 
 Eleanor, Mr. and Mrs. Meredith were too wise to accom 
 pany her ; and it was decided to consign her to the care 
 of Mammy Jenny, a negro woman who had lived with 
 Mrs. Lawrence ever since her manage, had been the 
 guardian of her nursery, and was now a factotum resort 
 ed to on every emergency. The next thing was to as 
 certain when Captain "Van Allers, commanding one of 
 the three sloops that belonged to a small town near Mr. 
 Lawrence, would be returning. Much to the satisfac 
 tion of all parties, he was found to be actually at 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 181 
 
 ties Slip, and might, extraordinaries excepted, be expect 
 ed to sail in three or four days. Such unlooked-for fa 
 cilities augured well for the expedition ; and, the " after 
 cabin" being engaged, a huge basket of provisions was 
 made ready. Cold roast chickens, ham, pastry, eggs, 
 tea, coffee, cakes, bread, butter, etc., it being understood 
 that the captain s table in the " forward cabin" would 
 not be the thing for a young lady ; and the length of the 
 voyage was uncertain it might be a week, or even 
 more ; people had been known to be ten, even twelve 
 days between New York and Albany. 
 
 At length the sailing day came, and, intrusted to the 
 faithful Mammy Jenny, and with every assurance from 
 the long-known and reliable Captain Van Allers, she was 
 left on board the "Fair Polly" in the evening of a fine 
 day, and with every prospect of a pleasant trip. But the 
 light wind in their favor "went down with the sun," 
 and was succeeded by one so decidedly adverse that 
 they were soon compelled to " drop anchor." To sail 
 ors so inexperienced as Eleanor and her attendant, their 
 situation soon became fearful, aggravated as it was by 
 the intense darkness and the increasing gale. To the 
 uproar of the wind succeeded new and strange sounds. 
 The vessel appeared in commotion. There were feet 
 hurrying to and fro, confused voices, rattling of ropes, 
 lowering of the boat, and haste, if not alarm. No one 
 entered, and at length Mammy Jenny ventured forth to 
 inquire. 
 
 She soon returned, accompanied by the captain. "No 
 accident to themselves, but a sloop was capsized near 
 them," as he said, " owing to the folly of a raw captain 
 and an obstinate helmsman. They had been such dun 
 derheads as to tack with a wind dead ahead, and no 
 ballast ; and they were now where they ought to be, 
 on their beam-ends. " The few passengers had gone 
 
182 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 ashore, except a "lady," who had come on board the 
 " Fair Polly," and for whom the captain requested ac 
 commodation in the after cabin. 
 
 This, under the circumstances, could not be refused ; 
 and, just as Eleanor had compassionately assented, she 
 was startled by the entrance of a singularly-attired and 
 vulgar-looking woman, with her arms full of boxes and 
 parcels. Mammy Jenny cast a dubious eye on the in 
 truder, but Eleanor kindly helped to accommodate her 
 numerous packages. 
 
 She soon made herself known a New England wom 
 an, who, with the enterprise of her people, had establish 
 ed herself as a milliner at one of the " landings," and 
 who was now returning from New York with an assort 
 ment of articles in her line. 
 
 At this time the great Yankee nation was slowly in 
 sinuating itself within the boundaries of their Dutch 
 neighbors, who, with much the same enlarged policy as 
 induced their countrymen to burn their spice-groves in 
 India, regarded the interlopers with distrust and jeal 
 ousy. Even among those who ought to have known 
 better, the prejudice often had its weight, and "Yankee," 
 with many, was but another name for roguery, vulgar 
 ity, and conceit. 
 
 But, in spite of ill-will and misconstruction, they came 
 and conquered. Not, indeed, in the manner of their 
 progenitors, the sea-kings of old, in their descents on 
 the too-confiding Britons, but with arms quite as effect 
 ive their heads and hands. There was " no device nor 
 knowledge" in which they did not excel, no invention 
 nor handicraft which they did not originate or success 
 fully apply, until they "entered into the land to pos 
 sess it. " 
 
 The young woman now introduced into Eleanor s ex 
 clusive cabin was no bad specimen of the driving and 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 183 
 
 thriving ingenuity by which her people, however dis 
 liked, were making themselves known and necessary. 
 She had, like the rest, evidently inserted an "entering 
 wedge," and felt all the importance which belongs to 
 persons of her occupation in a village where, as usual, 
 women were the majority. The accident furnished a 
 theme for her accustomed loquacity, and she did not 
 long restrain the wrath and disgust it excited. 
 
 " A pretty mess they d make on t. Never heard of 
 such doings in Nantucket. Tried, be sure, to excuse it 
 putten it on the new sloop, and the stiff, onhandy 
 riggirt ! Guess they had as many new sloops at Nan- 
 tucket as at Ked Hook. Never heard afore that any 
 craft was better for bein old! Spilin people s goods 
 and disapp intin customers! Dare say this ere hat," 
 taking off, as she spoke, a remarkably inappropriate one 
 of white satin trimmed with a profusion of ribbon, 
 flowers, and feathers, " dare say it s all beat in with that 
 knock I got on my head. Yes, jest so, all poked in ; 
 but I guess I can fix it somehow. Well ! how they did 
 pull me out of them cabin windows into the boat me 
 and my things ; for I wouldn t stir without them, I tell 
 you." 
 
 Eleanor listened in mute astonishment to this entirely 
 new sample of womankind ; and Mammy Jenny, who 
 had risen respectfully on her entrance, reseated herself, 
 with an instinctive conviction that she was not entitled 
 to any such demonstration. But the new-comer pro 
 ceeded to adjust herself in her quarters as if they were 
 entirely her own ; and, after giving sundry twists and 
 turns to the misused hat, pronounced it "none the 
 worse." Then, pinning it up to a nail in the cabin, she 
 covered it with a handkerchief, and said, complacently, 
 " There ! if that isn t a first-rate bride s hat, I should like 
 to know where you d find one. I guess Catliny Van 
 
184 WALTER THORNLEY; OB, 
 
 Zandt will be pleased enough, to eat it. Sweetheart, 
 bride, minister, company, weddin -cake, and dress, all 
 ready, only waitin for me and this ere hat. I wore it, 
 you see, jest to keep it in shape rather unlucky, con 
 sidering" with a smile; "but who d ever have thought 
 of bein upset? Tis a nice pattern, too, and I sha n t 
 turn my back on any one for copy in after it." 
 
 Eleanor thought she should little relish such a han 
 selling of her wedding-hat. 
 
 About midnight a bustling movement announced a 
 change. The wind had veered so many points that 
 preparations were making for tacking, and then began 
 the horrors of the voyage. The misery of sea-sickness 
 has been too often felt to need any special notice here, 
 but if it be doubted that it could be experienced in any 
 great degree under such circumstances, let those who 
 have known our sloop navigation answer. 
 
 Eleanor could not raise her head; Mammy Jenny 
 turned despairing and helpless looks toward her " young 
 missis ;" the milliner s powers of speech were limited to 
 scarce articulate lamentations, and the wedding-hat, toss 
 ed from its moorings on the wall, fell to the floor without 
 a hand raised to its rescue. 
 
 "If it goes to Jericho," exclaimed its disconsolate 
 owner, "/can t stop it." 
 
 Toward midday the wind lulled into nearly a calm, 
 and, with relief, came thoughts of food. Mammy Jenny 
 bestirred herself to prepare it, and, companionship in 
 misery removing barriers, she suggested to Eleanor to 
 offer some to " the milliner woman," who did not appear 
 provided with any private comforts of that sort. It was 
 gladly accepted, and, as excitement naturally follows re 
 lief, she repaid their kindness in volubility. 
 
 "Hadn t she heard of Mr. Lawrence! Yes, indeed. 
 The richest man in the country round, and, by all ac- 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 185 
 
 counts, the proudest. Proud as Nebuchadnezzar, and a 
 perfect tyrant ! But then his daughter was a saint, and 
 * Master Phil, as they called him, the greatest shot in all 
 these parts. A likely young man, too, they said not 
 near so overbearin as his grandfather." And so on, to 
 the great indignation of Mammy Jenny, who wondered 
 at her " imperrence !" and not a little to the alarm of 
 Eleanor, who, accustomed to hear her grandfather spoken 
 of only with respect, was quite unprepared for this view 
 of his character. 
 
 What wind there was now favored them, but their 
 progress was slow, with the prospect of anchoring again 
 at ebb tide. Novelty, however, had its charm, and Ele 
 anor rejoiced in the opportunity thus afforded of better 
 seeing the objects presented to her. Seated on deck, or 
 walking, her faithful attendant always at hand to warn 
 her of the shifting boom or a rope that might entrap 
 her, she surrendered herself to this new experience, now 
 directing her gaze to the varying shore, now watching 
 the working of the sloop ; then leaning over the stern to 
 amuse herself with the apparent efforts of the little boat 
 behind to keep up with them, and then measuring with 
 her eye the wake of its keel. The river, clear, unruf 
 fled, majestic in its serenity as in size, widening into in 
 land seas, and then insinuating itself between the ap 
 proaching and apparently interlocking shores, mocking 
 the eye with the semblance of a lake, its bold headlands, 
 its far -stretching points, its margin now rising into 
 mountains, now descending in grassy slopes, furnished 
 her incessant variety and delight. 
 
 The captain, pleased with her inquiries, readily an 
 swered them. Dunderberg, at the entrance of High 
 land Pass, where geologists tell us the labor of Hercules 
 was repeated, and a channel, through sixteen miles of 
 solid rock, furnished to the imprisoned waters above ; 
 
186 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 West Point, saddened even to his enemies by the mem 
 ory of the unfortunate Andre ; Anthony s Nose, then 
 perfect, but since snubbed by modern improvement; 
 Sugar Loaf and Turk s Face, were pointed out to her by 
 the captain with the pride of a river skipper. So on 
 they rather floated than sailed, the day genial, the skies 
 beautiful, till they emerged from the strait at Newburgh. 
 Here, as the wind had failed altogether, and the tide 
 was against them, they cast anchor in face of the Grand 
 Sachem, the river again expanding before them, and its 
 course traceable for many miles, studded with sloops 
 and schooners, which, like themselves, had left the wind 
 caged in the Highland recesses in their rear. 
 
 Over all were beauty and tranquillity. Then were no 
 steam-boats, terrifying the ignorant Dutch negroes with 
 the belief of the coming of the Evil One in a car driven 
 on the water by a dragon vomiting smoke and flame. 
 Nor was unhappy Echo then compelled to repeat the 
 shriek of a locomotive as it rushed through rocks, leap 
 ed over creeks, dived into mountain depths, dashed 
 through the humble garden of the cottager, or rudely 
 invaded aristocratic parks. The march of improvement 
 had not begun. 
 
 Another night succeeded, with little progress; but 
 toward morning a favorable breeze sprung up, and 
 every one was astir. Eleanor, having breakfasted, re 
 sumed her station on deck. All sails were set, the 
 waves raced after them, and the little boat in the rear 
 bounded, as if endowed with life, over the foam that 
 crested its tiny prow. Eleanor caught the spirit of the 
 change, and laughed aloud from the excitement. 
 
 The Catskills, which the day before had but dimly 
 blended with the far horizon, now came forth blue and 
 distinct, but with ever- vary ing tints as their fleecy dra 
 peries waved about them. If they were, as has been 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 187 
 
 fabled, a treasure-house of storms and sunshine, they 
 now only let out the last, and appeared to Eleanor a 
 lovely cloud-land, where only good and beneficent 
 spirits dwelt. And, if legends may be believed, they 
 had vindicated their claim to be thus considered by de 
 feating all attempts to extract from the mountains com 
 mitted to their guardianship the root of all evil gold 
 and silver. 
 
 Borne along, like Psyche, by the zephyrs, Eleanor, 
 late in the afternoon of the third day a remarkably 
 short passage was requested to look at a certain " land 
 ing," near which, on a bank that overhung it, was the 
 residence of her grandfather, but so embowered in trees 
 that it was not discernible at her then distance. They 
 approached the dock, and, as Eleanor and the old nurse 
 disembarked, a troop of little colored children, evident 
 ly on the look-out for them, collected, with a courtesy 
 to "young missis," and a hearty welcome to Mammy 
 Jenny. Others, as soon as the sloop gave signs of near- 
 ing the dock, had started off on a brisk trot up a precip 
 itous ascent, tumbling each other over in their haste 
 to be the first to announce the arrival. 
 
 By the time that every thing was landed, was seen 
 descending by a winding road, through a fine wood, a 
 carriage, into which, with many bows from the gray- 
 headed colored coachman, Eleanor, her attendant, and 
 her luggage were bestowed; and, while it is pursuing 
 the long and circuitous ascent of the carriage-drive, it 
 may be well to introduce both master and mansion more 
 particularly to the reader. 
 
 The house had been built by Mr. Lawrence s father 
 for the reception of his bride. With the uxoriousness 
 that marked a family of whom a witty friend had said 
 that "if a Lawrence married a broomstick he would 
 love it," every thing had been done to honor his young 
 
188 AVALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 wife. Her family having originally come from Guel- 
 derland, he fondly called her his " Guelder Eose;" and, 
 with the same feeling, he gave to their new residence 
 the name of "Kosenberg" Anglice, u Hose-hill;" to 
 render which the more appropriate, the grounds were 
 ornamented by roses of every hue and name then known. 
 The memory of these was still preserved in their vigor 
 ous offshoots. 
 
 The house was constructed of brick brought from 
 Holland. The year of its erection, inserted in the fa- 
 gade in large iron characters, announced a respectable 
 antiquity for a colonial residence. Two crow-stepped 
 gables, one with a finial and weather-cock, presented 
 themselves as the front entrance, while every imagina 
 ble variety of outline prepared the observer for its inte 
 rior irregularities. Windows of every size, without 
 symmetry in form or relation to each other, were thrust 
 through its walls, with here and there little projections, 
 neither dormer nor oriel, adding to its grotesque yet not 
 unpicturesque architecture. On entering, a hall of mod 
 erate dimensions received the visitor, which, at its ter 
 mination, expanded into what was called in Dutch do 
 mestic parlance a portaal, a word susceptible of various 
 applications as portal, entry, or lobby. This last was 
 its signification in the present instance. It had a win 
 dow, and an outside door divided in the centre horizon 
 tally. By this was entered an af~dak, literally a "pro 
 jecting roof," but freely applied, as in this instance, to 
 the place so sheltered, and well rendered by the En 
 glish term "lean-to." Here were to be seen guns, pow 
 der-horns, fishing-tackle, fishing-boots, and weather-de 
 fying coats, the Mackintoshes of the day. A short 
 flight of steps descended from this to the ground. 
 
 In the portaal terminated a large heavy staircase, be 
 neath which a narrow one, dark as Avernus, gave an en- 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 189 
 
 trance to the regions below. Into this part of the hall 
 opened doors from two of the principal rooms on the first 
 floor, in passing through which it was especially well to 
 be heedful, for there were almost as many levels as rooms. 
 These were small, badly lighted, with deep window re 
 cesses, cushioned, and serving as seats ; ceilings wooden, 
 painted, and so low that a tall man would instinctively 
 stoop on entering ; with heavy beams, in some of the 
 rooms carved ; large, deep fireplaces, the jambs and fronts 
 ornamented with tiles of coarse blue and white pottery, 
 illustrating Scripture incidents the history of Moses, of 
 Joseph, the Prodigal Son, etc. thus, with pious intent, 
 -associating with the sacred fire of the domestic hearth 
 the teachings of Holy Writ. 
 
 The furniture was of black walnut: straight, high- 
 backed, heavy chairs, their seats covered with worsted 
 of divers colors, wrought in tent-stitch. In the dining- 
 room a slab of the same wood served as the sideboard, 
 and was laden with silver, massy, and richly-wrought. 
 The carpets were what was called " ingrain," woven in 
 one piece, with small figures on a dark ground, and sur 
 rounded by a border. These were never allowed to ex 
 tend beneath the chairs or other furniture ranged against 
 the walls, but were, in accordance with Dutch notions 
 of neatness, taken up every week, and the floor kept so 
 white and clean, that the portion of it seen was at once 
 the pride and the test of the housekeeping. 
 
 Dutch habits, indeed, pervaded the household. Like 
 many other colonists, Mr. Lawrence was of English ex 
 traction, but his ancestors, by intermarriage with Dutch 
 families, had ingrafted their tastes and customs on the 
 original stock. These he adhered to with much pef ti- 
 nacity. 
 
 Mr. Lawrence, even still handsome, and remarkably 
 well preserved, permitted himself to be called about 
 
190 WALTER THOKNLEY; OB, 
 
 seventy -three years of age. A close examination of the 
 family Bible might have added three or four years. But, 
 although nc-t generally slow to enforce his rights, he 
 magnanimously overlooked them in this instance ; and 
 if people, misled by his vigor and good looks, gave him 
 less than his due, he submitted. Yet, somewhat incon 
 sistently but who is consistent ? he persisted in a style 
 of dress at least ten or twelve years anterior to the then 
 period. Here, however, an antagonistic principle was 
 in force. "He would not be dictated to by man-milli 
 ners and upholsterers. His person and his house should 
 be clothed as he, not as they chose." Accordingly, in 
 this, as in all things, a practical exponent of the " Dec 
 laration of Independence," his furniture remained un 
 changed, and he continued to wear coats whose defi 
 ciency of collars was compensated by immense cuffs, 
 waistcoats with deep pockets, a stock, the diamond buckle 
 of which was displayed above his coat, costly knee and 
 shoe buckles, powder, and a cue. 
 
 It must be allowed that in this his good taste was as 
 conspicuous as his obstinacy. No style would have sat 
 so well upon him. He had, indeed, an eye for beauty 
 seldom at fault, often attaching to it a false value ; for 
 though, as he thought, an aristocratic distinction of right, 
 the possession gave importance in his eyes to the most 
 humble. Nature had favored the weakness. Handsome 
 himself, he had married a handsome wife, and had been 
 blessed with handsome children. Heaven knows what 
 he would have done to them had they been ugly ! 
 
 Yet he was not a vain man. Well convinced of his 
 advantages of whatever kind, and proud as "the son 
 of the morning," he wanted no assurance from others. 
 He was as little to be flattered as an English mastiff, and 
 would have received any such attempt with a growl 
 quite as distrustful. To a strong will, never disciplined, 
 
A PEEP AT THE PA* I . 
 
 at times implacable, a stern adherent to his conception 
 of honor and right, he added endearing qualities, more 
 apparent to his dependents than to his equals. He was 
 a considerate landlord, to his servants a kind master ; in 
 dulgent to their small pleasures, and, if sometimes impe 
 riously exacting, and disproportionately punishing petty 
 offenses, often overlooking greater ones ; in sickness mer 
 ciful to them, in old age caring for them. Yet the wife 
 of his bosom, the dearest object of his affection, and his 
 children, were not unfrequently sufferers from his pe 
 culiarities. 
 
 An aristocrat in taste, he was nevertheless a democrat 
 by profession. Nor was this as unaccountable as it might 
 appear. His nature was essentially humane, his temper 
 imperious. Hence, reversing the laws of optics, objects 
 seen at a distance preserved to him their true size and 
 proportions. It was only when they approached so near 
 as to affect him personally that they were exaggerated 
 and distorted. He could admit the claims of the whole 
 human family, but not the rights of his own. 
 
 The carriage, having ascended the hill, turned, and, 
 proceeding through a long avenue of trees, approached 
 the entrance. Here appeared negroes of every age, from 
 "wee toddlin things" of two or three years to an old 
 Guinea negress. The younger ones slyly peeped from 
 behind the projections of the house and kitchen an ad 
 jacent building or from the cellar rooms. The elder 
 ones approached with courtesies, and demonstrations of 
 welcome. One young fellow, evidently an aspirant to 
 gentility, elbowed the rest aside, let down the steps, and 
 with a scrape that brought his head nearly to the ground, 
 expressed his high satisfaction. 
 
 Mr. Lawrence, having been slightly indisposed, had 
 not left his room that day an unusual occurrence; 
 thither, accordingly, Pomp, the servant just mentioned, 
 
192 WALTER THOKNLEY; OR, 
 
 conducted Eleanor by his master s orders ; and having, 
 with a flourish suitable to the occasion, opened the door 
 and seen her in, closed it and retired. The first person 
 she saw on entering was one whose image, left on her 
 childhood, had never been forgotten, and which, though 
 altered by intervening years, still corresponded to the 
 original impression. Eleanor rushed into the arms that 
 opened to receive her, exclaiming, "Dear Aunt Ger 
 trude!" Her aunt s eyes were more eloquent than 
 speech. Pressing her tenderly to her heart, she whis 
 pered, "Your grandfather!" and Eleanor comprehended 
 the omission. Advancing a few steps, she saw a very 
 fine-looking old gentleman in an arm-chair, habited in a 
 light gray camlet dressing-gown, lined with silk of the 
 same color, and wearing a white cotton cap, not very 
 long since occasionally worn by elderly gentlemen be 
 fore making their dinner toilets. The inadvertence that 
 disturbed Eleanor he was too happy to notice. Taking 
 both her hands as she approached him, he kissed her on 
 her lips and forehead, and said, in a softened voice, 
 "God bless you, my child!" Then, with a polite for 
 mality, he inquired for " Mr. and Mrs. Meredith," and 
 then for particulars of her voyage. 
 
 These inquiries answered, he desired her to place her 
 chair by his side, and gazed at her with much satisfac 
 tion ; looking into her eyes as if he would read them ; 
 surveying her minutely as she sat ; then, taking her hand, 
 he directed her to rise, measured her height attentively, 
 told her to show him her feet, and, in a sort of soliloquy, 
 broke forth : 
 
 "Just such eyes as mammatje ] s /" a Dutch diminutive 
 for mamma, often fondly applied by him to his wife 
 "just such eyes! No one could ever tell their color, 
 but no one ever forgot them. Her height too ! just such 
 falling shoulders ! her round waist too ! Ah ! yes ; and 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 193 
 
 her hands too !" turning and examining them as he spoke 
 " and her feet, which one can tell by a glance are pret 
 tier without shoe and stocking I Yes, mammatje brought 
 all these into the family. Do you love to dance, child ?" 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 " To be sure you do ; your feet were made to dance, 
 as much as birds wings to fly. So did she ; and danced 
 away my heart the first time I saw her." Then, look 
 ing at her fingers one by one, he continued, "Do you 
 play on the spinet? I have just had a man from New 
 York to put your aunt s in order for you." 
 
 Eleanor replied in the affirmative. 
 
 "And sing?" 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 "Ah! yes, yes, I see you are mammatjJs child" in 
 a tender voice " more like her, even, than Gitty, who 
 was always called her image." 
 
 Then, with a deep sigh, he bade her resume her seat. 
 " I hope you will be happy here, my child ; Aunt Git 
 ty isn t very lively, but she is very good ; and I I am 
 neither lively nor good, but Lfeel that I shall love you 
 very much; and Cousin Phil, he will make up what 
 ever we lack. By the way, Gitty, where is Philip ? He 
 ought to be here." 
 
 Miss Lawrence, who had not withdrawn her admiring 
 and loving gaze from her niece since she had entered, 
 but had been silent from respect to her father, replied, 
 " You know, sir, he could not be sure that his cousin 
 would come to-day, and he is off sporting, I believe, for 
 I heard him call the dogs." 
 
 Mr. Lawrence frowned. 
 
 " He should have remained here, like a gentleman on 
 duty, to receive her whenever she might come. But he 
 is a good fellow, Eleanor, and will be a merry compan 
 ion for you. Do you remember him at all ?" 
 
 I 
 
194 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 " Very little, sir. I can only just recollect him as a 
 boy, terrifying me by pointing a gun at me." 
 
 " The rascal I the young rascal !" exclaimed Mr. Law 
 rence. " But now, in vengeance, my pretty Nelly, you 
 shall point your eyes at him much better ordnance, I 
 can tell you, than his gun." 
 
 The tea-hour, an early one, had passed, and Eleanor, 
 having declined all refreshment, withdrew with her aunt 
 to the apartment assigned her. This consisted of two 
 rooms ; one, her bedroom, commanding a view of the 
 river; the other, in its rear, and communicating with 
 it, combined the conveniences of dressing-room and li 
 brary. Here a large Icass (Anglice, wardrobe) of black 
 walnut, supported by immense balls, with its heavy cor 
 nice, extended to the low ceiling. Its two folding doors, 
 richly carved, when opened, disclosed deep recesses, af 
 fording space for skirts that 
 
 "Made a brave expansion." 
 
 Next in importance was a walnut bookcase, the lower 
 part an escritoire, on the top of which was a small plas 
 ter bust of Calvin, painted, black, probably in honor of 
 his cloth. Here, among many of graver character, were 
 a few books placed apparently for her especial benefit: 
 "Bennett s Letters to young Ladies," "Fordyce s Ser 
 mons for young "Women," "Gregory s Advice to his 
 Daughters," " Mrs. Chapone s Letters ;" and, for lighter 
 reading, "The religious Courtship," and "Sir Charles 
 Grandison," in eight volumes. 
 
 Then came a commode-table of ancient fashion, en 
 riched with marble and brass, and adapted to the in 
 tricate toilet of her grandmother s time. On this was 
 placed a little cabinet, covered with ivory, and adorned 
 with horses, trees, pagodas, men, women, and beasts, that 
 certainly did not violate the commandment. 
 
 The cavernous chimneys of both rooms were orna- 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 195 
 
 mented with tiles. One of them, open to the ceiling, in 
 stead of a mantle-piece, had a chintz valance. How fire 
 could be safely made in such a place Eleanor might well 
 wonder. The other, placed in the angle of the room, 
 was curtailed in breadth, but, as a compensation, was 
 furnished with a breastwork that ascended pyramidally 
 to the ceiling, divided into panels and other devices de 
 signed for ornament. The tiles set forth the histories of 
 Esther and Judith; and, though the Jewish heroines 
 were neither as touching or magnificent as when por 
 trayed by Guercino and Allori, they had, nevertheless, 
 met with admiration. 
 
 The heavy carved four-post bedstead, blackened by 
 time, was surrounded by curtains on which blue and 
 white shepherds and shepherdesses tended blue and 
 white sheep, wove garlands of blue and white roses, and 
 reposed under blue and white trees but little higher than 
 themselves. 
 
 But, if Art was rude, Nature, ever true to herself, was 
 beautiful ! The river, though seen through small and 
 inconveniently-constructed windows, was to be traced 
 far-stretching north and south; and the mountains, ir 
 radiated by the declining sun, burnishing, as he receded, 
 their empurpled summits, amply made up for all interior 
 deficiencies. 
 
 Having changed her dress, Eleanor proceeded to ad 
 just herself in her new quarters, and, this done, a sum 
 mons to supper recalled her to her friends. At the din 
 ing-room door she was met by her grandfather. He had 
 insisted on leaving his room on her account ; and, tak 
 ing her hand, with apologies for his dishabille, he intro 
 duced to her a handsome young man as "Mr. Philip 
 Lawrence, her cousin," who advanced to greet her with 
 much cordiality. 
 
 A pleasant recognition of each other by the young 
 
196 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 people, with a reference to the circumstance already re 
 ferred to, drew forth the old gentleman ; who, shaking 
 his cane at his grandson, and then winking at Eleanor, 
 exclaimed, with a laugh, "But she is able to avenge her 
 self now, sir, I can tell you ; and you ll do well if you 
 escape without being mortally wounded 1" 
 
 Eleanor laughed carelessly, but her cousin looked a 
 little conscious and uneasy. 
 
 Placing Eleanor on his right, and his grandson on his 
 left, Mr. Lawrence was radiant with good-humor ; while 
 Miss Lawrence, occupying the head of the table, dis 
 pensed with grace and kindness the good things that 
 covered it ; among which was to be seen the simple and 
 never-failing "suppaan" boiled Indian meal which, 
 in spite of modern refinements, Mr. Lawrence insisted 
 on retaining. 
 
 At nine o clock, as told by a large clock in a light 
 blue and gilt japanned case, standing in a corner of the 
 room, the servants a goodly number entered to family 
 prayers ; and at ten, the usual hour for retiring, Eleanor 
 was reconducted to her room by her aunt, who, kissing 
 her, said, with a smile, " It is so long since you slept in 
 this house, my love, that your dreams may be as pro 
 phetic as if it were the first time. I hope they will be 
 pleasant, at all events. I am too happy to sleep at all, I 
 fear." 
 
 "Dear aunt," thought Eleanor, as she left her, "there 
 is something in her face that says she has not often been 
 sleepless from excess of happiness! How sweet she 
 looks ! yet she must be forty, I suppose. I wonder if 
 people are not always young who are as good as Aunt 
 Gertrude." 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 197 
 
 CHAPTER XVIIL 
 
 ELEANOR S rest was so profound that, much to her 
 confusion, she found, on entering the parlor in the morn 
 ing, the family prayers over, and her grandfather cere 
 moniously waiting for her. Her humble apology was 
 graciously received, and Miss Lawrence, to relieve her 
 embarrassment, playfully called for her dream. 
 
 "Oh, I slept too soundly for that; but stay! I did 
 dream something, too. Ah ! now I recollect ; and it was 
 about Cousin Philip," said Eleanor, looking archly at 
 him, " and his gun, which he again pointed at me, when 
 suddenly it changed into a wreath like those on the 
 curtains, you know ; I had been examining them just 
 before I fell asleep and, as he wound it round me, in the 
 effort to escape I awoke ; but I was soon fast again, and 
 had forgotten it entirely." 
 
 Her grandfather chucked her under the chin, exclaim 
 ing, " Forgot it ! No, no, I don t believe that. But 
 there s no harm in a little coquetry. "Tis only an agree 
 able spice, which, I dare say, you know how to use." 
 
 Cousin Philip colored ; but Eleanor attached no sig 
 nificance to that, nor to the raillery that excited it. She 
 was no coquette. Indeed, so little was her nature adapt 
 ed to affect or to conceal, that she hardly comprehended 
 the word in its full extent, and replied to the charge 
 only by a smile. 
 
 Master Philip, thus far rather unceremoniously intro 
 duced, has claims to a more particular notice. He was 
 the orphan and only grandson of Mr. Lawrence. De 
 prived of his parents from infancy, he had passed his life 
 under his grandfather s roof; and, though the right of 
 
198 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 primogeniture had ceased to exist by law, it was general 
 ly supposed that Mr. Lawrence, in accordance with what, 
 to him, would be a "higher law" his own choice in 
 tended to leave nearly all his large estate to him. 
 
 Good looks were his by inheritance. To these he 
 added good temper, unspoiled by his position ; amiable 
 manners, kindly feelings, and good natural abilities. 
 These last, however, had received little cultivation. He 
 had, indeed, been sent to college, for which he was in 
 differently prepared; but, with no habits or tastes fit 
 ting him to derive advantage from it, his grandfather 
 wisely deemed that the exposure to his morals was great 
 er than the benefit to his mind, and recalled him before 
 the academic course was completed. Hardy and fear 
 less, his passion was country sports ; and with such per 
 severance and success did he pursue them, that they pro 
 cured for him a reputation far more to his fancy than 
 any honors a college could confer. His grandfather saw 
 his deficiencies with a lenient eye ; not so much from 
 an overweening indulgence, as from a pride that refused 
 to admit them as such. 
 
 " Phil was a gentleman, every inch of him. Brave 
 and generous; he couldn t be otherwise; twas in his 
 blood ; he would be a good master and landlord ; had no 
 vices ; what great matter if he didn t like books ? like a 
 young Persian, he could ride, shoot, and tell the truth ; 
 and that was more than some chaps could do, who were 
 men before they were boys, and grew up without either 
 childhood or manhood. Book- worms were not the most 
 useful people in the world. No ; he had found that out, 
 to his sorrow !" 
 
 These and similar reflections served to reconcile the 
 old gentleman to the inevitable. 
 
 The breakfast over, Mr. Lawrence remained in the par 
 lor till Pomp, punctual to the stroke of ten, appeared at 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 199 
 
 the door with a silver salver, on which was a silver mug 
 with warm water for shaving, and stood till his master 
 proceeded to his room, whither he followed. There 
 the business of the toilet began. The wrapper was ex 
 changed for the " powdering gown." The shaving fin 
 ished, the hair " en papillotes" was released, pomatumed, 
 frizzed, curled, and powdered, and the cue carefully en 
 twined with its black ribbon. If Mr. Lawrence intended 
 to ride, he dressed accordingly ; but if, as on the present 
 occasion, he meant to remain within, he arranged him 
 self as if for company ; and reappeared in the dining- 
 room just before one o clock, which, as the dining hour, 
 no conformity to later fashions could induce him to 
 change. 
 
 Eleanor had come like the olive-bearing dove, and, as 
 such, found access to all hearts, especially her aunt s. 
 She had suffered much from the family breach, and re 
 ceived her niece with nearly a mother s love. There 
 was a striking resemblance between them, from the 
 likeness they both bore to the same person Mrs. 
 Lawrence. They had also much of her character, but 
 different phases of it. Eleanor reproduced her, frank, 
 joyous, spirited, as when, in the words of her husband, 
 she had " danced away his heart ;" her daughter recall 
 ed her, when, after subduing his heart, her own had 
 passed under the yoke. Time had dealt kindly with 
 Miss Lawrence. In withdrawing some beauties, he had 
 added others. He had stolen the rose, but he had re 
 placed it with a lily so perfect as seemed a fitter expres 
 sion of her pure spirit; and if, on her fair brow, there 
 might be detected some slight 
 
 "Lines of his antique pen," 
 
 they were scarcely noticed in the sweet serenity that 
 ever dwelt there. Her smiles, if less gay and frequent, 
 were more tender; and 
 
200 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 Still her eyes smiled too, 
 But twas as if remembering they had wept." 
 
 Ah! how truly has it been said, "Within the most 
 beautiful eyes are yet fountains of tears!" 
 
 Notwithstanding difference of years and temperament, 
 there soon appeared a happy adaptation between the 
 aunt and niece. The inward peace which spoke in Miss 
 Lawrence s face, her gentleness, her self-forgetfulness man 
 ifested in constant thought for others, her patience, her 
 chastened cheerfulness, shed a tranquilizing influence on 
 the yet excited and sore spirit of Eleanor, who, in turn, 
 as her feelings gradually recovered, in good degree, their 
 natural tone, gave animation and movement to the still 
 waters of Miss Lawrence s life. 
 
 While her aunt attended to some domestic matters, 
 Eleanor sought her own amusement; and, wandering 
 into the drawing-room, spied the spinet that her grand 
 father had mentioned. It was an antiquated instru 
 ment, but had been costly and handsome in its time ; 
 and, when she touched it, she was surprised to find its 
 tone so good. Turning over leaves and books of music, 
 she found some which, though a little old-fashioned, 
 bore testimony to her aunt s nice taste : Handel s " Wa 
 ter music," his much-admired " minuet in Ariadne," por 
 tions from other operas; and, among the songs, some 
 in sentiment far excelling those that had superseded 
 them: Waller s beautiful lines, "Go, lovely Rose;" Ben 
 Jonson s "Drink to me only with thine eyes," which 
 has since been murdered by being made " a lesson for 
 beginners ;" " The rose had been wash d, lately wash d 
 in a shower," and others of the same character. From 
 one of the books a loose leaf fell out, on which were the 
 notes and words of a song in manuscript. Her attention 
 was attracted to it by an attempt to obliterate some writ 
 ing on the margin, of which only a date, and "sent by," 
 were visible. The song, beginning 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 201 
 
 " Whither, my love ah ! whither art thou flown? 
 
 Let not thine absence cloud this happy morn. 
 
 Say, by thy heart, can falsehood e er be known ? 
 
 Ah no ! ah no ! love, I judge it by my own," 
 
 touched a chord that vibrated in Eleanor s, then particu 
 larly sympathetic on the subject of the tender passion ; 
 and, her imagination excited by the idea of mystery, she 
 tried, girl-like, to solve it. The paper was yellow with 
 age, the ink pale, therefore both belonged to "long 
 ago." It must have been sent to Aunt Gertrude in days 
 of "Auld lang syne." " Yes; but had it any personal 
 reference to herself, or to the giver ? If not, why erase 
 so carefully the name ? Did that express displeasure, or 
 desire of concealment ?" Eleanor could not satisfy her 
 self; but she felt more than ever drawn to Aunt Gertrude 
 by the fantastic idea thus conjured up. She tried the 
 air ; it was very tender, and she readily caught it. 
 
 When she returned to the parlor, where Miss Lawrence 
 had remained, her aunt said, " You have been trying my 
 long-forsaken spinet, my dear, and have chanced on one 
 of my old songs, I perceive." 
 
 Miss Lawrence s manner was so calm and unconscious 
 that Eleanor s little castle tumbled down. 
 
 "Dear me!" thought she, much disappointed; "then 
 it was not a lover, after all I" 
 
 No sketch of the domestic Hfe of the period could well 
 omit the humbler characters in the family drama. Ne 
 groes made then, in the State of New York, a necessary 
 part of every establishment, great or small. 
 
 The gentle race is now fast disappearing from the 
 household. It is only occasionally that a courtesy or a 
 bow from a gray head recalls those who nursed our in 
 fancy and guarded our childhood; who prepared, with 
 an instinct all their own, the food for the family or hos 
 pitable board, and served it with an assiduity peculiar to 
 
 T2 
 
202 
 
 themselves ; who sat unwearied, during the night-watch 
 es, by sick-beds; ministered, fearless even of contagion, 
 to the dying, and followed the dead to their last homes, 
 with a fidelity not measured by their merits our at 
 tendants from the cradle to the grave. Surely, as such, 
 none will reject a passing tribute to them. 
 
 The " vexed question" of slavery, which even then 
 began to be discussed, did not yet agitate the public 
 mind as it has since done. Philanthropists and patriots 
 revolved schemes for solving the threatening problem, 
 but most persons satisfied their convictions of duty to 
 ward their slaves by humane treatment, to which some 
 added a care for their morals. Of these were Mr. Law 
 rence. They were a part of his inheritance, and he would 
 have felt himself disgraced as a gentleman had he been 
 a cruel or neglectful master. He enforced the marriage 
 tie, punished vice, exacted no severe labor, and was con 
 siderate to sickness and infirmity. His daughter s com 
 passion was more enlarged. Lamenting their ignorance, 
 she tried to instruct them in reading and writing ; and, 
 when baffled by their inaptitude, gave time and pa 
 tience to their oral teaching. Here, too, she had difficul 
 ties. With no bad passions, affectionate, gentle, and, ac 
 cording to their light, faithful, their moral perceptions 
 were nevertheless not very clear. The abstract beauty 
 of truth they could neither feel nor see ; and, though 
 money might be as safely exposed to them, as were the 
 bracelets hung on forest-trees in the days of righteous 
 King Alfred, edibles were less respected. Even Momma 
 Zip, with her stern fidelity, scrupled not to expound the 
 law of meum and tuum with considerable latitude, pro 
 nouncing, " What put in de pocket, dat teefy ; what put 
 in de tummack, dat no teefy." 
 
 They had much increased in numbers, having been 
 more careful to "replenish the earth" than their master 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 203 
 
 thought necessary; for, as he never would sell them, 
 they were not welcome additions to his family. Miss 
 Lawrence, on the contrary, sat like Charity with open 
 arms, ready to receive all who came, notwithstanding 
 that they added much to her cares. These began even 
 in anticipation of their approach, as various small gar 
 ments, issuing from her work-basket, would testify. On 
 such occasions, every indulgence that nature required 
 was granted: a comfortable room, a competent nurse, 
 quiet, and the usual time allotted for restoration. To 
 this succeeded thoughts for the little ones themselves, 
 who were allowed to be brought to her room, and to 
 lie on a pallet spread on her carpet, that they might 
 enjoy an hour of purer air and brighter sun than could 
 be had in their own proper quarters; and that their 
 mothers, by this notice and inspection of them, might 
 be incited to greater care. When ill, with her own 
 fair hands she ministered to the little sufferers; and 
 when, as sometimes happened, the freedom of the Celes 
 tial City was conferred on them, she sympathized with 
 their mothers, but rejoiced for them. 
 
 The saying, "Many hands make light work," was 
 verified in Mr. Lawrence s establishment, where, as he 
 was used to say, " the negroes raised the corn, the corn 
 fed the hogs, the hogs fed the negroes, and the farm- 
 circle was completed without loss or gain." Horses, 
 carriages, and stables were the charge of Uncle Mink 
 and his assistants. His wife, Aunt Flore, ranked first 
 among the house-servants, more from her individual 
 superiority than from her department. She was a tall, 
 well-formed, bright-looking mulatto, the diplomat of the 
 kitchen, whose ability was best expressed by her mas 
 ter s saying that " Flore could cheat the devil." Though 
 generally preferring to carry her point by a manoeuvre, 
 she could, when she pleased, use a freedom of speech 
 
204 
 
 that even her master did not care to encounter. In the 
 kitchen she was supreme. She had been dressing-maid 
 to the young ladies, and afterward attendant on Master 
 Phil s infancy, who had been so much her pride as to 
 encroach on the rights of her ebony offspring. When 
 no longer necessary to him, she had been promoted to 
 the ministry of the interior as assistant to Mrs. Dorothy, 
 a spinster who had known better days, and who pre 
 sided in the housekeeper s room. Here were prepared 
 all the " subtleties" of pastry, cake, and preserves in a 
 Dutch menage. Then, too, Flore was an experienced 
 nurse, and nice things for those who were well alterna 
 ted with possets, gruels, wheys, and soups for the sick. 
 There was, indeed, nothing she could not do. 
 
 Aunt Minty, the cook, a fat, simple, good-natured 
 creature, was admirable in the substantials. But she 
 would sometimes forget the time, or the fire that had 
 been unadvisedly spared to one dish had been unduly 
 bestowed on another, or a sauce or appropriate vegeta 
 ble had been omitted ; and as often her master would 
 send her peremptory orders to u quit the premises ! nev 
 er again to appear in his presence !" But Aunty Minty 
 budged not, and noticed the mandate only by saying, as 
 she quietly lighted her pipe, and took immovable pos 
 session of her usual seat, with a chuckle, "Dat on y 
 massa s way." Her son, "little Pomp," a well-grown 
 lad of eighteen, was a compound of her simplicity with 
 a dash of Aunt Flore. He had appeared to profit rather 
 more than the rest from Miss Lawrence s instructions, 
 but it proved only " the knowledge that puffeth up ;" for 
 of his reading he selected, with true negro love of orna 
 ment, the longest words in order to garnish his discourse, 
 but retained little of the subject matter. Next to Aunt 
 Flore, he was the kitchen oracle. 
 
 Besides these were " little Minty" and " little Flore"- 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 205 
 
 who, in their clean white linen "bed-aprons," moved 
 about in smiling and leisurely companionship through 
 the labors of the morning and others, like the "su 
 pernumeraries" of the theatre, of no individual import 
 ance, yet occasionally finding a part they could fill. 
 
 But unlike all was Momma Zip, an abbreviation of 
 Zilpah, by which name her first master had replaced her 
 native one. She was a Guinea woman of the blackest 
 dye, and of an age which, though only guessed to be 
 eighty, was probably not much overrated. Yet she was 
 still useful, and retained a good degree of activity. Long 
 as she had been in the country, she had but imperfectly 
 acquired the language, partly from inaptitude, but more 
 from an indisposition to talk. Unlike her race, she was 
 silent, except that she muttered much to herself, and 
 would stroll off into the wood adjoining "the bush, 7 
 as it was called or into " the hollow," in preference to 
 the chimney corner. The deep seams in her cheeks, 
 which Eleanor supposed to be wrinkles, were the marks 
 of her tribe, and, with an occasional fierceness of look 
 and gesture, indicated that she had belonged to one of 
 the more warlike ones ; yet she was a kind and patient 
 nurse to the negro children, who, with the care and pick 
 ing of the poultry, and the feeding of the dogs not few 
 in number were her charge. She was much bent, more 
 from sitting than infirmity, and walked with a stick, not 
 because she required it, but that it added to her dignity, 
 as it certainly did to her power, among the subjects 
 committed to her rule. 
 
 With different degrees of moral and mental capacity, 
 they could all love Miss Gertrude. She was to them 
 the personification of goodness; and, though they had 
 but a dim appreciation of her whole character, the very 
 vagueness of their perceptions seemed to add to their 
 veneration. She was something which they felt they did 
 
206 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 not quite understand, but wiser and better than any one 
 else. 
 
 The following day, Sunday, the large family carriage, 
 with Mr. and Miss Lawrence, Eleanor, Mr. Philip, and 
 Mrs. Dorothy always treated with this consideration 
 and attended by a wagon with all the domestics that could 
 be spared, proceeded to a church of the Dutch reformed 
 communion, where most of the neighboring gentry also 
 assembled. There Domine Van Kleeck, a portly, com 
 fortable-looking person, officiated. The services, includ 
 ing the sermon, were in Dutch, which Mr. Lawrence, 
 understanding, attended to with much reverence, but 
 which Miss Lawrence followed with more difficulty; 
 while Mr. Philip understood here and there a sentence, 
 and Eleanor not a word. Much, therefore, as the dom- 
 ine might have "edified himself" and the older mem 
 bers of the congregation, to her and to the other jun 
 iors, his unknown tongue, "giving forth an uncertain 
 sound," profited little, except that 
 
 "They got patience and the blessing." 
 
 But, though the public worship, continued through the 
 day, with the attendance of all rigorously exacted, was 
 not at all to her edification, Eleanor found an hour in 
 Aunt Gertrude s room, under her gentle ministry, fruit 
 ful of much instruction. Among her devotional books 
 were many then in favor, as Flavel, Doddridge, "Watts, 
 andHervey; the poems of the "divine Herbert" also, 
 from which last Miss Lawrence selected the "Church 
 Porch" a mine of wisdom, sacred and secular, and his 
 hymn to Providence : 
 
 "In small things great, not small in any; 
 In all things one, in each thing many ; 
 Infinite in one and all!" 
 
 Listening to her aunt s sweet voice, and moved by her 
 tender devotion, Eleanor was taught that 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 207 
 
 "A verse may finde him who a sermon flies, 
 And turn delight into a sacrifice." 
 
 At night, when going to her room, her aunt accom 
 panied her, kissed her fondly, and said, " I am glad, my 
 love, that you like some of my good old-fashioned 
 friends ; you will, I hope, like them better and better." 
 Then patting her blooming cheek, she added, with a 
 smile and a sigh, 
 
 " Time did beckon to the flowers, 
 And they by noon did steal away. 
 
 But grieve not, dear child; there are flowers that fade 
 not, and you, I trust, will gather them." 
 
208 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 CHAPTEK XIX. 
 
 ELEANOR loved to wander about the old house and 
 explore its intricacies. There was a large hall in the 
 second story, but, as her room did not communicate with 
 it, she had been some days at her grandfather s before 
 she discovered that it contained several portraits. Hav 
 ing found her way there, she was one morning endeav 
 oring to spell out the originals through the lapse of time 
 and changes of dress, when Flore crossed the hall, and, 
 as she courtesied, Eleanor detained her. 
 
 " Stay, Aunt Flore, and tell me about these pictures ; 
 and, first, who is this old lady in a black hood that cov 
 ers all but her face, and with her hands crossed on her 
 breast?" 
 
 " Oh, dat ar massa s gran moder ; dat ar cum eber so 
 far cross de water." 
 
 " Indeed ! but why is this hole in one of the fingers ?" 
 
 "Dat," said Flore, smiling, "is Massa Phil s doin s. 
 When he fuss larnt to shoot wid a bow an arrer, what 
 muss he do but take aim at de ole lady s ring, and shoot 
 it troo. Massa was drefful mad ; but, Lorry me, missis ! 
 none body could eber be mad wid Massa Phil, you know ; 
 and so, when he cried, massa guv him a crown to make 
 up." 
 
 "And then," said Eleanor, laughing, "he shot^ again, 
 I suppose ?" 
 
 "No, no; no such a ting, missis; Massa Phil neber 
 wuss for kindness always member dat, missis," contin 
 ued Flore, with more emphasis, Eleanor thought, than 
 the matter demanded; "wheneber you want a ting ob 
 Massa Phil, coaxin is de way." 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 209 
 
 " And who is this handsome lady, with a rich stom 
 acher, and jewels in her hair?" 
 
 " Lorry me, missis ! don t you know ? dat ar your own 
 gran ma." 
 
 " Is it, indeed ? Well, I don t wonder grandpapa loved 
 her so much ;" and Eleanor looked tenderly and rever 
 ently on the sweet face that seemed to respond benig- 
 nantly. " And this, though it looks so young, must be 
 his likeness, is it not?" 
 
 " Yes, missis, sure nuff ; just so, I member my mod- 
 er say, he looked when he was marr ed ; wid a brack 
 silk bag to his hair, and a brack ribbon crossed ober his 
 bosom, and his waistcoat all kivered with flowers. And 
 dis yer one, missis I s sartin you must know dis," point 
 ing to a very handsome boy, dressed in scarlet, holding 
 a hound in a leash. 
 
 " No, no ; I can only guess : perhaps tis Mr. Philip." 
 
 " Ah ! yes, I was tinkin you d find him out," replied 
 Aunt Flore, with a significant smile. 
 
 "And this beautiful girl?" asked Eleanor, unmindful 
 of the insinuation; "she seems not over fifteen; a bird 
 is resting on her wrist, and she looks at it with almost a 
 smile : what a lovely face !" 
 
 " Dar ! you juss hit it, missis," exclaimed Aunt Flore, 
 triumphantly ; " she was de lubliest young lady in de 
 whole county dat ar Miss Gertrude." 
 
 " I thought as much ; and this, I suspect, must be my 
 dear mother; for, though younger and prettier than I 
 can remember her, there is still the same look that I so 
 much love better to me than all the "beauty in the 
 world." 
 
 " Yes, missis, dat ar de trute ; dat are Miss Janet fore 
 she was marr d." 
 
 " And this pretty lady, who is she ? in what, I suppose, 
 mamma means by a sack of pink silk with white rob- 
 
210 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 ings, which I have heard her describe. She must be of 
 another family ; her eyes and hair are very dark, and, 
 though she has a fine color, she is a brunette." 
 
 "A what, missis? I dunno know dat; but I know 
 she was Massa Phil s moder." 
 
 "Poor woman!" sighed Eleanor; "she died very 
 young, did she not, Aunt Flore ?" 
 
 "O Lor! yes, missis; dat ar was horr ble time," re 
 plied Flore, looking darker than usual, and turning away 
 as if going. 
 
 "Stay! don t go yet: here is another; but why does 
 this green curtain hang over it ? ISTo, I can t reach it. 
 You are so tall, Aunt Flore, do you draw it for me." 
 
 "Bress me, missis, I dars n t; massa won t hab it 
 drawed never. He d kill me if I did sich a ting." 
 
 " But why, then, let it hang here?" 
 
 At this moment Mrs. Dorothy entered, and Flore 
 moved off, saying to herself, " If she mind to brun her 
 fingers, dat none of my bizzens." 
 
 Left by Flore, Eleanor applied to Mrs. Dorothy ; but, 
 not willing to infringe on the injunction in regard to the 
 curtain, she merely asked, pointing to the picture, who 
 the person was. 
 
 Mrs. Dorothy looked all round, as if unwilling to be 
 overheard, and then said, "I do not know certainly, miss, 
 but I believe tis Master Philip s father." 
 
 "But why, then, covered?" persisted Eleanor. 
 
 "Why, you must know, miss, some things happened 
 before I came to live here. Master Philip was then a 
 little child, and his parents were both dead. It is such 
 a sorrowful story that no one cares to talk about it, and 
 so, I suppose, they cover the picture." 
 
 "What story?" asked Eleanor, much interested; 
 "there is no objection to its being told, is there?" 
 
 "Oh no, miss! there is no secret. I wonder you 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 211 
 
 shouldn t know all about it, being in the family ; but, I 
 suppose, being disagreeable, there was no use talking of 
 it. Master Philip for his name was Philip too the 
 father of this one, and his wife, lived here with the old 
 gentleman, and he was much thought of, and his wife 
 too. He was a great sportsman, like his son, but not so 
 good-natured. He was, by all accounts, more passionate 
 than the old gentleman !" added Mrs. Dorothy, with a 
 look like a note of admiration. "Well, there lived in 
 the neighborhood a young farmer by the name of Kline. 
 Now this man and Mr. Philip were quite friends, because 
 Kline s mother had wet-nursed Mr. Philip ; so they were 
 foster-brothers, you know. 
 
 " But Mr. Philip had a proud, overbearing way, and 
 Kline, too, was high-tempered ; and it happened, unfor 
 tunately, that Mr. Philip s dogs got into Kline s corn and 
 wheat fields. Kline complained, but Mr. Philip made 
 very light of it. They did it again, and with a good 
 deal of damage ; and then Kline, instead of coming and 
 stating his loss for which he would have got compensa 
 tion, of course sent a threatening message that he would 
 take the law of him, and kill his dogs if he ever caught 
 them on his land again. Mr. Philip, at this, flew into a 
 passion and sent back a fiery answer ; and the next day 
 went in that direction, just as if on purpose to dare the 
 man. The dogs got in again, and this time attacked 
 Kline s hogs, upon which he rushed out with his gun to 
 defend his property. He then, being terribly angry, 
 met Mr. Philip coming, as was afterward supposed, to 
 call off his dogs ; but this Kline did not understand, so 
 he made straight at them and leveled his gun, when Mr. 
 Philip caught his arm, and a scuffle ensued. At this 
 moment a couple of men came up, but too late to pre 
 vent trouble, for the gun was discharged, and Mr. Philip 
 fell. Kline ran off and hid himself, and Mr. Philip was 
 
212 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 placed on a litter and brought home. The first ttie fam 
 ily knew of it was seeing him borne into the house, 
 bleeding and dying, and the first person to meet him 
 was his poor young wife, then very near her time. She 
 fainted, was seized with convulsions, and, after giving 
 birth to her son, died within a few hours of her hus 
 band." 
 
 " Dreadful !" exclaimed Eleanor ; " and what became 
 of Kline?" 
 
 _ " Oh, the country was all alive about it ! The qual 
 ity took it up because Mr. Philip was one of them, and 
 the rest because, for all fee was proud, yet he was so free 
 hearted and manly that every body liked him. But, 
 while they were searching for Kline, he came and sur 
 rendered himself. He said he might as well die as live, 
 for he should never have another happy day again ; but 
 he persisted in his innocence, and that the gun had gone 
 off by accident. But it was said that he had used threats 
 against Mr. Philip as well as the dogs ; and the men who 
 happened to be on the spot, when he was put on his tri 
 al, appeared against him ; so he was convicted of mur 
 der." 
 
 " Oh, horrible !" exclaimed Eleanor; "and executed?" 
 "No, miss; but it was all owing to your grandfather 
 that he was not." 
 
 " My grandfather ! the person most injured !" 
 " Yes, miss ; for though, as they say, when Mr. Law 
 rence s pride is up he never yields, this was a different 
 case. Here the foundation of his pride was taken from 
 under him his heart was broken ; and perhaps, too, he 
 thought that God had a controversy with him. At any 
 rate, he was not satisfied with the testimony ; said his 
 poor son had brought his death on himself; and when 
 the mother of Kline fell on her knees and begged him 
 to save one who had lain on the same bosom, had drawn 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 213 
 
 from the same breast, and slept in the same cradle with 
 Mr. Philip, the old gentleman could not stand it, but got 
 up a petition to the governor, and signed it himself, and 
 Kline was pardoned." 
 
 " And what became of him ?" 
 
 . "Your grandfather, though he had saved his life, 
 could not hear his name without a shudder, nor bear 
 the thought of ever seeing him ; so he got a friend of 
 his to advise with Kline for the best arrangement of his 
 property, and he sold out and moved off where nothing 
 more is heard of him here." 
 
 " Dear grandpapa 1" said Eleanor ; " I am so glad that 
 he was merciful." 
 
 "Oh, miss, he does many a good thing. I wish ev 
 ery one that had his means had his will. There was 
 Mrs. Dale, the little English Quaker woman at the mill 
 that was after I came, and I know all about it. She 
 was very poorly, in a sort of decline, and he had her 
 brought here, and Miss Gertrude nursed her as if she 
 had been a sister. She was confined here, and finally, 
 after being here a whole year, died. Many a time I ve 
 seen Mr. Lawrence sit by her bed, as she grew worse, 
 and hold her hand, try to comfort her, and talk to her 
 like a domine. They kept the little girl she left till 
 she was three years old, and after that she used to come 
 to Miss Gertrude to be taught." 
 
 " Where is she now ?" 
 
 " At home with her father. She has not been here 
 lately, or I should have showed her to you, for she is a 
 nice young woman ; but she does not have much time, 
 I suppose, to go out." 
 
 "Poor Aunt Gertrude!" sighed Eleanor, as she re 
 flected on what she had heard. " Poor Aunt Gertrude! 
 No wonder she looks sad sometimes." 
 
 " Yes, indeed, miss ; it was a sad business to think 
 
214 WALTER THOENLEY; OB, 
 
 of Mr. Philip, and his pretty young wife, lying both to 
 gether in the dood-Jcamer" 
 
 " Dood-Jcamer /" repeated Eleanor. 
 
 "Yes, miss; that is the death-chamber. You know 
 about that, I suppose ?" 
 
 " I have heard of such a thing, but I thought it done 
 away with long ago." 
 
 " Oh no ; it may be down in York, but it isn t here." 
 
 "Here I Do you mean to say there is still such a 
 chamber here?" 
 
 "Certainly, miss; and the best room in the whole 
 house. Haven t you seen a door on the left hand side 
 of the portaal? Tis always shut, but you may have ob 
 served it. "Well, that opens into an entry that leads to 
 the dood-Jcamer. At the end of the entry is another 
 door, through which the dead are carried to their burial. 
 They say that, in old times, in Holland, the young mar 
 ried couple used to enter their new house by such a 
 door, which they never passed again till they were taken 
 out feet foremost. My mother was Dutch, and so I have 
 heard all about their strange ways: their * dood-koeks? 
 and spiced wines sent round at their funerals, and to 
 friends who could not attend ; and the shrouds among 
 the bridal clothes." 
 
 "Oh!" exclaimed Eleanor, with almost a shriek; 
 " what do you mean, Mrs. Dorothy ?" 
 
 "Just what I say, miss. Your grandmamma, pretty 
 as she looks there, in her wedding-dress, I have heard 
 say her shroud was waiting for her at that very time, 
 and she was buried in it. And your grandfather, to 
 this day, every year orders his given to him at the same 
 time, to be washed and bleached, that it may be in readi 
 ness when wanted." 
 
 " Well, / never would be married if there were such 
 awful customs now." 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 215 
 
 Mrs. Dorothy " smiled superior." 
 
 "You think so, miss, I dare say; but young ladies 
 do get over almost every thing rather than not be 
 married." 
 
 Eleanor s thoughts again turned to the picture. 
 
 " And so they covered it, you think, to shut out pain 
 ful ideas." 
 
 " Yes, miss, I suppose so ; because I never heard any 
 reason given for it." 
 
 " But I should not think it would have that effect. I 
 am sure, with me, it would only serve to keep them for 
 ever in my mind." 
 
 " Perhaps so, miss. But people are different. Some 
 expect to shut out trouble by closing their lips and eyes, 
 while others empty their hearts of it by speaking." 
 
 " But you know," said Eleanor, involuntarily making 
 a personal application of this last remark, "there may be 
 trouble of which one can not speak;" to which Mrs. 
 Dorothy replied by an unsuspecting assent, and Eleanor 
 left the hall. 
 
216 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 THE finest days of autumn came, and Master Philip, 
 who was companionable as well as polite, was always 
 contriving new pleasures for Eleanor. A year before, 
 and he would have probably made rapid progress in her 
 favor ; but she had now a higher standard. Still, the 
 freemasonry of youth, which readily discovers points 
 of sympathy, and the absence of other society near her 
 own age, rendered him quite acceptable. 
 
 She loved music, so did he ; and with his flute, or as 
 a good second, was always ready to accompany her. 
 She loved the country too, as he did ; and, in a little 
 while, learned to take an interest in his sports, to caress 
 his dogs, and to rejoice over his full bag of game, as a 
 testimony to his skill. She even condescended to take 
 a few lessons. She could not, indeed, be induced to 
 take the life of a bird, but she consented to be instruct 
 ed in target-shooting; and, with female inconsistency, 
 though so tender toward the feathered creation, had no 
 distresses about fish; for, while she would on no ac 
 count bait the line, yet, if cousin Phil prepared and put 
 the rod into her hand, she had sufficient nerve to hold 
 it, and in time became as ambitious of a nibble as the 
 most hard-hearted angler. Then Master Philip was an 
 accomplished horseman ; for 
 
 " Skill to ride, a science seems 
 Proper to gentle blood;" 
 
 and, although inexperienced herself, yet, under his tu 
 ition, when mounted on Fairy a spirited little pony her 
 grandfather had given her she soon learned to keep 
 her seat with a courage and grace that delighted the 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 217 
 
 old gentleman ; who then, as at whatever else she did 
 that was commendable, never failed to exclaim, some 
 times with a sigh, sometimes with a smile, "Just like 
 mammatje! just like mammatje!" 
 
 The nutting season came; and the brightly-tinted 
 woods, the clear skies, and exhilarating air invited ev 
 ery one to the gathering of the autumn s fruitage, " ripe 
 down-pattering." Even. Miss Lawrence could not resist 
 it; and with Eleanor, Philip, and a troop of darkies, 
 down to Mink junior, three years old, who occasionally 
 required a lift, set forth to a beautiful grove, within 
 walking distance, of walnuts called there kriskotomas 
 nuts and chestnuts. 
 
 The trees were loaded ; and the opening shells and 
 burrs that Jack Frost had cracked for them wanted but 
 a touch to send a rattling shower to the ground. Pomp 
 was ordered up to shake the upper boughs ; the children 
 clutched at the lower ones ; and Master Philip himself, 
 always ready for any physical exertion, sprang into a 
 fine large tree, near which the ladies were standing, and 
 shook it with such effect that they were compelled to 
 retreat. Soon all hands were busy, and the fruit was 
 worth the labor; not such as people are often content 
 with nowadays, but walnuts worthy of primeval trees, 
 and chestnuts so large and plump as to give significance 
 to the saying of the little negroes, " De middle one de 
 ox, and de oders de cows" information given to " young 
 missis," but, of course, utterly unintelligible. It was, 
 indeed, a simple pleasure, but Eleanor did not, therefore, 
 like it the less. The merry, musical negro voices alter 
 nating scraps of song with shouts of rejoicing, as from 
 time to time they found more than they expected ; their 
 mutual good offices the older helping the younger, es 
 pecially little Mink, who, with an uncommon pair of 
 bandy legs, describing, in his advance, rather circles than 
 
 K 
 
218 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 straight lines, could not well compete with the rest to 
 gether with their frequent cautions to "young missis" 
 not to " cratch her fing-ers wid de buz," furnished her 
 much amusement. 
 
 It was an established privilege that, after the family 
 was furnished with nuts for the winter, the negroes were 
 to take the rest, for which they found a ready market, 
 their master s summer visitors often engaging a supply 
 of them. On this occasion Miss Lawrence directed the 
 young ones to anticipate the gleaning, and fill their 
 aprons and baskets for themselves, kindly contributing 
 all that she had gathered to their store, adding, " Tis a 
 holiday for Miss Eleanor, you know, and must be all 
 play and no work," at which there was a general cara 
 coling, heels higher than heads, and a unanimous " Hi ! 
 for young missis !" 
 
 Miss Lawrence soon wearied ; but, unwilling to cur 
 tail the pleasure of the rest, seated herself a little apart, 
 and was occupied in forming a wreath of the bright 
 autumn leaves strewn around her, which, when Eleanor 
 came in triumph to exhibit her full basket, she placed 
 on her head. 
 
 " A Koman, you know, my dear," said she, playfully, 
 "was crowned if he saved the life of a fellow-citizen. 
 Let me then crown you for infusing a new life into me." 
 
 Eleanor kissed her aunt affectionately, but she per 
 ceived that, though she smiled, it was sadly, and that 
 she averted her eyes, as if they might betray her. 
 
 Eleanor looked inquiringly, and Miss Lawrence at 
 length said, " 7 Tis nothing dear only thoughts of other 
 days. Tis long since I went a nutting I I was only 
 thinking of those who gathered with me and who, like 
 myself, have gathered many a sorrow too. But come," 
 added she, rising, and speaking more cheerfully, "let us 
 return to papa ; he will want to hear of our success ; and 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 219 
 
 wear your wreath, too, dear, for lie loves to see you look 
 pretty." 
 
 " And how could she ever look otherwise ?" said Mas 
 ter Philip, gazing at her admiringly. u But stay, Ele 
 anor, let me have the honor of adding one leaf to your 
 wreath this bright sumach." 
 
 "Oh no!" said Eleanor, shrinking. " They tell me 
 tis poison." 
 
 " No, no, not this kind," and Philip proceeded to en 
 twine it with the others. 
 
 "No, indeed, Phil, that would never do," said Miss 
 Lawrence, tapping him on the shoulder. " Heaven for 
 bid that you should bestow a fated crown on her!" 
 
 Master Philip became embarrassed, colored ; his fin 
 gers seemed to fail of their accustomed adroitness ; the 
 leaves would not lie as he wished, and his aunt, to re 
 lieve him, adjusted them. 
 
 The next morning, at breakfast, Mr. Lawrence was in 
 high good-humor. Miss Lawrence not having yet ap 
 peared, he called on Eleanor for his coffee, and cracked 
 jokes with her and Master Philip till the entrance of 
 Aunt Flore, with a tray, and a request for a cup of 
 tea for Miss Gertrude, " and," as she rather pointedly 
 added, " nuffin else." 
 
 The old gentleman s countenance changed, and he ex 
 claimed, " What s the matter now ?" 
 
 "Nuffin, massa, only missis got dreiful headache, and 
 can t come to breffass." 
 
 " "What s brought that on ?" he demanded, rather than 
 asked. 
 
 "Dunno know, massa; spose de same ting." 
 
 "What thing! " exclaimed Mr. Lawrence, with rising 
 anger. 
 
 " Spects massa knows," answered the imperturbable 
 Aunt Flore. 
 
220 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 " No, massa does not know. Speak ! what do you 
 mean ?" 
 
 " Massa knows dose narvous turns dese years. Eber 
 since massa " 
 
 " Oh, yes, I dare say," hastily interrupting her ; "nerv 
 ous turns, and massa of course to blame. Take your 
 tray, and go! But hark ye, Flore, tell your mistress 
 that, if she does not come down to dinner, I ll quit the 
 house for six months for a year forever!" continued 
 he, with voice " crescendo" 
 
 " Yes, massa," and Flore slowly retreated. 
 
 Mr. Lawrence rose, his coffee and muffin untasted, 
 and, crossing his hands behind him, walked up and down 
 the room, with a pace and countenance showing great 
 and angry disturbance. 
 
 Eleanor was mute with surprise. Thus far he had 
 been so kind, caressing, cheerful, even gay, and good- 
 humored to all, that she had begun to think the accounts 
 of his temper greatly exaggerated ; but this strange and 
 unreasonable resentment toward dear Aunt Gertrude, 
 merely for having a headache, justified all she had heard. 
 She looked at Master Philip, but he very composedly con 
 tinued to eat his breakfast, not at all moved or surprised 
 at what, to her, seemed so unaccountable. At length, 
 mustering courage, she said, in order to break the dis 
 tressing silence, " Grandpapa, your coffee is cold ; let me 
 give you another cup. Aunt Gertrude will soon be bet 
 ter, I dare say ; only a little fatigued with " 
 
 But he turned on her, and interrupted her almost 
 fiercely, saying, " You dare say a great deal, then. Don t 
 talk to me child ! You know nothing about it. I have 
 been the victim of these cursed nerves ! Never was a 
 family so full of them ! As sure as I feel a little happy, 
 and enjoy myself, they must needs break out !" 
 
 Eleanor could not but think his message to her aunt 
 not calculated to quiet them. 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 221 
 
 " Fatigued yesterday! What was there to fatigue 
 her? She had been remarkably well of late. No, it 
 was always so ; would always be so. His life had been 
 sacrificed to an eternal spirit of contradiction." 
 
 "Alas!" thought Eleanor, "perhaps too true, poor 
 grandpapa, but whose fault?" 
 
 Leaving his breakfast untouched, Mr. Lawrence re 
 tired to his room. 
 
 " Never mind, cousin," said Master Philip. " These 
 little flurries soon pass. Our sky has been remarkably 
 clear and quiet since- you came, and will be so again. 
 The best way is never to speak to grandpapa at such 
 times ; nor even to notice them. Come, shall I give you 
 a lesson in target-shooting? or will you exercise Fairy 
 in a ride ?" 
 
 But Eleanor, hoping to be admitted to her aunt s 
 room, declined both. Her gentle tap at the door was, 
 however, answered by Flore saying that Miss Gertrude 
 would see her by-and-by ; and so, putting on her bon 
 net, she resolved to forget the clouds that had gathered 
 within, by the contemplation of the serene beauty with 
 out. Strolling along the garden wall she found Momma 
 Zip seated on a stone, with her family of dogs about her, 
 giving them their morning meal, and Eleanor, for want 
 of better amusement, stopped to observe her. With her 
 uplifted cane she enforced obedience and good manners, 
 not allowing one to encroach on the rest. In the main 
 she succeeded very well ; but Ponto, a pointer of irreg 
 ular behavior, the particular aversion of the house-maids, 
 because he always contrived to insinuate himself into 
 the nicely-arranged spare beds, to their infinite trouble 
 and vexation, was, on this occasion, unruly, and, in or 
 der to secure the morsel offered to another, gave him a 
 very unfriendly grip. 
 
 Down came Momma s baton of office, with an angry 
 
222 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 expostulation, "Fie! shame! hide ye face! What, lick 
 ye feller-sarbent!" 
 
 But the " fellow-servant" retorted the grip, and, a reg 
 ular onset ensuing, Zip was compelled to rise, and, mak 
 ing good use of her cane, restored order. She then first 
 perceived "young missis," and, courtesying, was going 
 away as usual, when Eleanor addressed her. 
 
 "Good-morning, Momma; your children have been 
 naughty, I see. Are you often obliged to punish them ?" 
 
 But with a displeased look, and a shake of her head, 
 she replied, "No pickaninnies sarbents, like Zip. Pick 
 aninnies" with an appropriate gesture "far off! gone ! 
 gone !" 
 
 Then, turning away, she sung, to a native air, words 
 she had caught, probably because applying to her 
 self: 
 
 "Oh ! red was de sun on dat dark, drefful day, 
 When de Buckras dey stole poor Ora away ! 
 De pickaninnies cry, and de blud it did run : 
 Oh ! dark was dat day, and red was dat sun !" 
 
 and, still retreating toward the house, she continued to 
 sing, and Eleanor to listen, till the air died away. 
 
 "Poor Momma!" she said, kindly. "She will not 
 call the dogs her children ; that name belongs to those 
 far away. These are but fellow-servants, like herself. 
 Poor old soul ! Now there is a heart that has a history ! 
 who can tell it? not even herself. But God has writ 
 ten it in his Book." 
 
 The morning passed rather heavily without Aunt 
 Gertrude, and no summons came from her till near the 
 dinner-hour, when, to Eleanor s surprise, she found her 
 up and dressed. To her exclamation Miss Lawrence 
 quietly answered, " Poor papa would be so harassed by 
 my absence that I ought to go down. Don t say any 
 thing about it, dear, nor allude to my headache; it is 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 223 
 
 nearly gone. I shall soon be released and return to my 
 room." 
 
 The family met as usual no questions and no ex 
 planations. Aunt Gertrude, as always, was gentle and 
 kind, though an occasional contraction of her brow 
 showed her head not yet at ease, and Eleanor saw that 
 the meal was, with her, a mere form; but grandpapa 
 was restored to good-humor, and the little disturbance 
 of the morning forgotten. 
 
 " How strange !" thought Eleanor. " I do really be 
 lieve grandpapa loves Aunt Gertrude better than all the 
 world, and yet he is more unreasonable to her than to 
 any one else. If she does but look grave, or is not quite 
 well, he is worried to death, though it seems to make 
 him more angry than sorry. Any one would suppose 
 that, if she did not always smile, he thought it a re 
 proach to himself, he makes it such a personal matter." 
 
 Few as were the words which Eleanor had occa 
 sionally exchanged with Zip, they had made an impres 
 sion on her. The dullest can interpret a smile or a 
 kind look. Her youth was, too, an attraction which 
 all felt, and seemed to melt even the stern nature of the 
 old woman, who, the next day, to Eleanor s surprise, ap 
 peared in her room. She had in her hand a roll of 
 " hum-hum," a cotton cloth then in common use. 
 
 This she unfolded with much formality, and Eleanor 
 wondered what was coming. "When spread, it appear 
 ed to be a sheet; and, taking up a corner of it, she 
 made signs which she generally preferred to speech ; 
 but Eleanor, unable to comprehend, could only say, 
 "Well, Momma, what do you wish?" 
 
 She repeated the signs, and then added, " Missis, you 
 mark dis?" 
 
 " Mark it ? Yes ; for whom ? and why ?" 
 
 " For Zip, missis." 
 
224 
 
 Eleanor still looking puzzled, she had again recourse 
 to signs. Measuring a space of five or six feet in 
 length on the floor, by two or three in width, she took 
 the cloth, and, wrapping it round her, lay down on the 
 spot she had defined, and closed her eyes. 
 
 Eleanor caught a glimpse of her meaning. " A grave 
 and a winding-sheet !" exclaimed she ; " can she mean 
 that?" 
 
 "Yes, yes, missis," said Momma, quickly, and rising; 
 "for Zip for me." 
 
 " And I am to put your name in the corner?" 
 
 "Yes, missis." 
 
 "Zilpah?" 
 
 " No, no, missis," she interrupted hastily and impera 
 tively "no Zip" Pointing upward with an earnest 
 look, "Pickaninnies up dere not know Zilpah ole 
 ooman now. No, no Oral Ora!" Then, falling into 
 the burden of her favorite song, she proceeded in a mel 
 ancholy strain, 
 
 "Oh ! red was de sun, and dark was de day, 
 When de Buckras dey stole poor Ora away ! 
 
 No, no Zip : Ora, missis." 
 
 " Ah ! yes," said Eleanor, " I understand. Yes, I will 
 do it;" and, with repeated courtesies, the old woman 
 left her. 
 
 "Poor Momma!" thought Eleanor, "she has never 
 puzzled herself with the questions, * How are the dead 
 raised ? and with what body do they come ? Her mind 
 goes no farther than the restoration of her present one, 
 poor and decrepit as it is. Her only trouble is that, old 
 and altered, her children will not know her except by 
 the name she bore to them. Well, she has an idea that 
 fills her present capacities, and is satisfied more than 
 many wiser ones can say." 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 225 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 A NEW circumstance added to Mr. Lawrence s satis 
 faction in his granddaughter. For some time a weak 
 ness in one of his eyes had nearly deprived him of the 
 use of both. He had struggled against the infirmity 
 with his usual persistence ; but he was at length obliged 
 to yield, and have a reader. Master Philip did not quite 
 please him. " He rattled on so fast that it took away 
 his breath to follow him." He would not tax his daugh 
 ter s strength, and Eleanor, therefore, was appointed to 
 the office, which she discharged so as entirely to satisfy 
 him. Being thus brought into a closer intercourse, she 
 became so endeared and important to her grandfather, 
 that, when a letter from her mother hinted at her return, 
 he sent an absolute refusal ; and, moreover, a demand 
 for their surrender of her for the rest of the year, " in 
 deed, he did not know that he would ever give her up." 
 
 Unwilling to revive a resentment so lately appeased, 
 Mr. and Mrs. Meredith consented for the present, and 
 Eleanor, conscious of the happiness she bestowed, ac 
 quiesced cheerfully in their decision. Perhaps she 
 thought of her pleasant cotillon parties, but it was a 
 momentary regret; the past had deeper interests, and 
 she almost dreaded to return to scenes that would so 
 forcibly renew them. Checking feelings she must not 
 indulge, she turned again to the details of her mother s 
 letter. " And so," she reflected, " the Middletons are to 
 pass the winter at the south, and Captain Talbot has just 
 sailed for England, to return next spring. How he does 
 fly about! Well, he is a pleasant person, and when I 
 am with him I think I like him; but, somehow, I am 
 
 K2 
 
226 
 
 never the wiser or better for any thing he says. What 
 is the reason ? Heigh-ho ! Walter would say that it is 
 because he has no faith in goodness. If he praises, tis 
 ironically. More frequently he finds it only selfishness 
 well disguised." 
 
 And now came the dark November days, and out-of- 
 door pleasures yielded to the bustle which at that season 
 reigned in every Dutch establishment. All hands, young 
 and old, found employment ; and a suite of .cellar rooms 
 were devoted to the various cares of cutting up and 
 packing beef and pork, and making an incredible amount 
 of sausages, rolletjes, headcheese, souse, etc., etc. Abund 
 ance reigned throughout ; the full and generous house 
 keeping recalling the times of the old Saxons ; and large 
 baskets of provisions were distributed among less pros 
 perous neighbors. 
 
 Had it not been for certain sounds of woe that found 
 their way to Eleanor, she would have better enjoyed the 
 prevailing activity and excitement. Alas ! that we can 
 not import humanities as readily as fashions. Even at 
 this day, when animals, reposing under the shade of lilacs 
 and laburnums, within the abattoirs of Paris, are gently 
 led off to their doom, neither terrified, beaten, nor con 
 scious of their impending fate, which an instant seals, 
 we continue the barbarous customs of our ancestors; 
 and the blood of helpless animals cries from the ground 
 against us, not because we take life necessarily, but de 
 stroy it mercilessly. 
 
 This busy season over, one morning, as Eleanor sat 
 reading to her grandfather, a man drove up to the door, 
 having a young negro girl with him. They alighted; 
 and, while the girl was taken into the housekeeper s 
 room to warm herself, the man was ushered into the 
 presence of Mr. Lawrence. 
 
 His appearance was not prepossessing ; his business 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 227 
 
 less so. This was to inquire if Mr. Lawrence would pur 
 chase the girl whom he had brought with him. 
 
 Mr. Lawrence peremptorily refused. "He never 
 meant, with his own consent, to own another black." 
 He was told that she was to be sold only for seven years ; 
 but he was equally immovable. Whereupon the man 
 proceeded to say that "he did not care to part with her, 
 but that she was an obstinate wench, would be sold, and 
 would be sold to Mr. Lawrence." 
 
 Eleanor s attention, arrested at first, was now still more 
 so ; and, leaving the parlor, she went to Mrs. Dorothy s 
 room to ascertain why the girl should thus persist in 
 the desire to leave her present home and become the 
 property of a stranger. She found a gentle, pretty mu 
 latto girl, apparently fifteen years old, trembling more 
 from fear than cold. She rose as Eleanor entered, but 
 did not speak, though she cast a piteous glance into her 
 face. In reply to the often-urged inquiry, "Why she 
 wished to be sold ?" she, after looking timidly and cau 
 tiously round, at length replied, " Case, missis, he hard 
 massa. My moder is dead, and my fader is dead, and 
 Aunt Jenny is dead. I got no broders nor no sisters, 
 and massa beats me." 
 
 "Beats you!" repeated Eleanor, looking compassion 
 ately on the little, delicately -made creature, "for what?" 
 
 " Case I cry, I spects, missis ; but I can t help it ; I 
 got no comfort. Oh, do buy me, missis!" continued 
 the girl, with growing hope and earnestness, as her 
 heart warmed in the glow of Eleanor s expressive coun 
 tenance. " Do, do buy me ; I ll be your faitful slave, 
 you look so good ! and ebery one say all Massa Law 
 rence sarvents so happy !" 
 
 At this moment the parlor door opened, and Eleanor 
 turned away, in order to ascertain the final result of the 
 application ; but the frightened girl clutched her dress, 
 
228 WALTKll THORNLKY; OR, 
 
 and, with a look of agony, again exclaimed, " Oh, do 
 buy me, missis ; do buy me ! I neber ask to be free ; I 
 sarve you till my det ; don t gib me back to dat dread 
 ful massa !" 
 
 Eleanor endeavored to quiet her; and, having in 
 some measure succeeded, she went into the hall, where 
 she heard her grandfather absolutely declining the pur 
 chase, and the man gruffly calling for his property. 
 
 Perceiving that no time was to be lost, she hurried 
 into the parlor, and, throwing her arms round Mr. Law 
 rence, exclaimed, in a tone of entreaty, "Do, dear grand 
 papa, buy this poor thing !" 
 
 "Why, you foolish child, what can I do with her? 
 We have so many now, they are only in each other s 
 way. No, no, I can t think of it. It is absurd !" 
 
 " But she is unhappy ; she has no natural friends, and 
 her master is cruel to her." 
 
 "How do you know that?" 
 
 " She says so." 
 
 "It is not likely. A High Butcher would sooner 
 risk the life of his son than his negro; because the 
 one might sell for three hundred dollars, and the other 
 wouldn t sell at all. No, no ; it s nonsense ; I won t do 
 it. And, as to what she says, why, they ll all say that. 
 Flore, and Minty, and Mink, and Tobe, and Jenny, and 
 Pomp, and the devil knows how many more, would say 
 the same of me, if they wanted to be sold." 
 
 " No, grandpapa, you don t believe that ; besides, they 
 don t wish to be sold; they are all contented. This 
 poor thing wants to come here only because she hears 
 all your people are so happy." 
 
 This last appeal had some effect ; but still, the utter 
 uselessness of the girl seemed an insuperable obstacle. 
 
 "Is there any thing on earth for her to do, Gitty?" 
 asked Mr. Lawrence, in a despairing tone, of his daughter. 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 229 
 
 Miss Lawrence an attentive, but silent observer, lest 
 her interference might rouse the imp of contradiction, 
 which she hoped Eleanor would exorcise replied, quiet 
 ly, "She feared not, but she would consult Mrs. Dorothy." 
 
 " Consult Mrs. Dorothy, indeed 1" interrupted her fa 
 ther. "I d be glad to know if I can t buy a servant 
 without her permission !" 
 
 "You do not understand me, papa. I meant " 
 
 Here Eleanor exclaimed, as she looked from the win 
 dow, " Oh, quick, dear grandpapa speak. The man is 
 bringing up his sleigh. Dear grandpapa, have pity on 
 her. There ! there he is ! coming into the house ; he 
 will carry her off directly ! Oh ! I hear her sobbing 
 now. Oh, dear, good grandpapa ! for my sake !" 
 
 Mr. Lawrence, yielding before, at this gave way en 
 tirely. 
 
 " For your sake, then, Eleanor ; but remember I buy 
 her for you ; she is none of mine. You must take all 
 the responsibility; I ll have none of it. There it is 
 said. Call in the man. The girl may be right. He 
 has the name of a hard-tempered man," continued Mr. 
 Lawrence, seeking an excuse for what he considered his 
 folly. 
 
 The business was soon settled, the man off, and Ele 
 anor formally invested with the ownership of the girl 
 for the seven years next ensuing. 
 
 The joy of the poor creature can not be told. Fall 
 ing on her knees to Eleanor, she thanked her, blessed 
 her, promised everlasting fidelity, wept and laughed by 
 turns, and was at length led off to the kitchen by the 
 sympathizing negroes who had gathered round her, and 
 who all, with a fellow-feeling, rejoiced in her deliver 
 ance. "Little Pomp" giving it as his " pinion, dat 
 young missis from York was a lady to de backbone, and 
 know d how to spect niggers." 
 
230 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 Eleanor s new responsibilities were not small, but they 
 were cheerfully undertaken. Advised by her aunt 
 who feared that jealousy might be awakened, to the in 
 jury of the new-comer, if made a pet she avoided that 
 mistake. After clothing her properly to which Ele 
 anor applied herself with a feeling of importance quite 
 new to her she was anxious to prove to her grandfa 
 ther that the girl might be turned to some use. But 
 Phyllis had only lived in the family of a small farmer, 
 where all things were done coarsely, and many not at 
 all. She had, therefore, every thing to learn, and Ele 
 anor, with the good-natured housemaid, had trouble 
 enough in her training. The chief difficulty was the 
 girl s eager desire to obey ; for, under the rough teach 
 ings of Reiser s whip, she had acquired such habits of 
 running, jumping, slamming, and executing imperfectly 
 labors beyond her strength, that the nerves and temper 
 of Mr. Lawrence were tried beyond his power of endur 
 ance, and, unwilling to consign her to a worse place, he 
 wished her in " the Ked Sea" every day of his life. 
 
 Poor Eleanor saw it all, and continually feared an 
 outbreak; yet such was the girl s idolatrous gratitude 
 to herself that she could not regret what she had done. 
 Phyllis followed her like her shadow, stood behind her 
 chair at meals, watched like a dog every movement of 
 her eye in anticipation of her slightest wish, and asked 
 no other pleasure than to wait upon her. 
 
 If Eleanor missed her thimble or scissors from its ac 
 customed place, or if book, basket, or handkerchief were 
 forgotten, Phyllis seemed to divine the want ; and, fly 
 ing up stairs, tearing through entries and rooms, would 
 come with the quickness of thought not seldom head 
 before heels into the parlor with the required article. 
 She could always find. That was her "specialty;" but 
 to bring without slip or breakage was another matter. 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 231 
 
 Her unfortunate tendencies in this way brought about 
 the crisis Eleanor had so much dreaded. 
 
 Pomp meeting Phyllis, his hands full, preparing for 
 the tea-table, to relieve himself, in an evil hour intrusted 
 her with the basket of china. Always pleased to be 
 busy, she started as usual, and, gaining impetus as she 
 went, reached the parlor just in time to precipitate her 
 self, basket, and contents at Mr. Lawrence s feet ; who, 
 rudely roused from a comfortable nap in his arm-chair 
 by the crash, opened his eyes, with every nerve ajar, 
 to see the carpet strewn with fragments. 
 
 "Not master of himself when china fell," he started 
 up, and, seizing a riding-whip unhappily left out of 
 place on a table near him, he darted toward the terri 
 fied girl, bent on punishment. Just at that moment 
 Eleanor, alarmed by the noise, and fearing the truth, 
 entered the room. 
 
 Bushing behind her young mistress, who, spreading 
 her arms and skirts, presented a protecting front, Phyl 
 lis avoided the first onset. But, irritated by opposition, 
 his anger beyond control, her master continued the pur 
 suit, striking at random, with violent threats and denun 
 ciations more injurious than his ill-directed whip. 
 
 Eleanor, shocked and alarmed, besought for mercy 
 and forgiveness ; but, finding herself unheeded, she sud 
 denly exclaimed, with an energy and resolution inspired 
 by compassion, "I will not have her whipped! She is 
 mine ! she is mine, I say ! She shall not be touched !" 
 
 Her manner arrested Mr. Lawrence instantly ; and, 
 with one of those alternations to which his impulsive 
 nature was subject, he threw away the whip, burst into 
 a laugh, and, throwing himself into his chair, cried out, 
 "Why, you little jade! do you dare to brave your 
 grandfather?" 
 
 Making a signal of flight to Phyllis, who vanished, 
 
232 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 Eleanor ran to Mr. Lawrence, and, falling on her knees, 
 exclaimed, " Dear grandpapa, forgive me. I fear I have 
 said something very wrong; but I could not, indeed I 
 could not see Phyllis whipped ; and I could not bear 
 that you should do such a thing." 
 
 Stooping down, he kissed her forehead, and then, 
 raising her, said, "You were right, you were right, 
 child. I forgot myself; but do, c?o, Nelly, make that 
 huzzy more quiet and careful, or she will drive me 
 mad." 
 
 Pomp, present at the scene, forthwith reported it in 
 the kitchen, where it lost nothing at his hands, and 
 gained great applause from the rest. 
 
 " I tell you," said he, " yelly neber seed nuinn like it! 
 dat ar young missis is grandashious. I neber tink she d 
 be so pr umshius to speak in dat ar way to ole massa." 
 
 "Why, dat ar jess de right way, wid massa," said 
 Aunt Flore. "I know d it alloways. Speak up to 
 massa, and he comes right to he-self. But twon t do 
 try dat trick berry often, case he get used to it. Oh dear 
 me ! if Miss Gertrude done so long ago, she d be better 
 now." 
 
 "Don t yelly talk about Miss Gertrude," said Aunt 
 Minty, taking her pipe from her mouth; "she neber 
 can t be no better dan she is ; for she is an angel of de 
 Lord now." 
 
 The " sense of the kitchen" being clearly with Phyl 
 lis, she was consoled under her mishap. Another link 
 was added to the chain which bound her to her young 
 mistress, who availed herself of her influence to make 
 the desired impression, and, by warnings, gentle re 
 proofs, and exhortations, poor Phyllis obtained some 
 mastery over her ill-trained feet and hands. 
 
 Eleanor s efforts did not cease here. With much pa 
 tience she attempted the harder work of teaching Phyl- 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 233 
 
 lis to read. Her progress was slow, but her earnest de 
 sire to please her mistress seemed to quicken her dor 
 mant faculties, and she at least gained new ideas from 
 the greater degree of intercourse with her young lady 
 to which she was thus admitted. Encouraged by her 
 kindness, she would sometimes venture to speak of her 
 former condition, and, in particular, would dwell on 
 " Aunt Jenny," her only friend when her parents died. 
 
 "Berry good woman, missis, as eber was! teached 
 me to say my prars, and neber tell no lies. But she 
 know d notting, no more dan me, out de book, missis 
 on y in de heart. She say nobody eber teached her, 
 on y de Lord. But, for all she so good, what you tink, 
 missis? de domine wouldn t let her jine de Church!" 
 
 " Not join the Church! and why, Phyllis?" 
 
 "Case she didn t know nufF, missis, de domine say. 
 She went one, two, tree times to him, and ebery time he 
 turned her back wid de same story, * No, Jenny ; I bery 
 sorry, bat I dars n t let you come to de table till you 
 answer dem questions I put to you. " 
 
 " Poor Jenny !" said Eleanor. 
 
 "Yes, missis; but she got help at de last, for when 
 she went de next time, and he put her off jes de same, 
 she say, says she, * Well, massa, taint no use for me try- 
 in any more ; I shall die fore long, for I am ole wom 
 an ; and when de Lord say to me, " Jenny, why you no 
 go to my table dat I spread for you?" I have notting to 
 say but, " Dear Lord, de domine wouldn t let me." 7 
 Now when she said dis, it struck like to his heart, and 
 he said right off, l No, Jenny, you sha n t neber gib in 
 dat port agin me ; come to de table, and de Lord bress 
 it to your good ! " 
 
 "And she did so?" 
 
 "Yes, missis; and after dat, nuffin eber trouble her 
 any more. Poor Aunt Jenny! she used to say she, 
 
234 WALTER THORNLEY; OB, 
 
 couldn t neber larn, but she could love : love is easier 
 than larn, missis, isn t it?" 
 
 "Yes," said Eleanor, "far easier to such good, simple 
 souls as Aunt Jenny much harder for her superiors : 
 better, far better, for all," 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 235 
 
 CHAPTEK XXII. 
 
 AND now approached the great festival of the year 
 the holidays, extending from Christmas eve to New- 
 year s day inclusive which, in accordance with imme 
 morial custom, were celebrated with a fullness of all 
 good cheer and merry-making. To this the accumu 
 lated stores of the preceding month were designed to 
 minister, with the addition of those particularly conse 
 crated to the time, consisting of every variety of flesh 
 and fish in season, together with every dainty device 
 of tart, cake, jellies, and confitures, headed by the or 
 thodox mince-pie, and the rear brought up by plum- 
 pudding. Those were the days of soft waffles a myth 
 since Dutch housewives are extinct oliekocks, krullers, 
 and the true New-year cake indeed, every thing "good 
 for food." For then, without dread of dyspepsia or neu 
 ralgia, in their many horrid forms, or any of the diseases 
 which brood like spectres over our modern tables, peo 
 ple ate, rejoiced, and digested, and invited their friends 
 to do the same, instead of mixing cautions, like poisons, 
 in their food. Then, too, with a liberality not limited to 
 home, chests of cakes, rusks, and pastry were sent to 
 kindred in town, and " portions to those for whom noth 
 ing was provided." 
 
 Then, too, was the season of visits and wishes, not of 
 ceremony, but as a part of the gentle charities of life. 
 Present ties were strengthened, the embers of former 
 friendships stirred, and many a spark of kindness given 
 out by the apparently cold and unpromising mass. Then 
 the first day of the year was not so much glorified by a 
 crowd of " callers," known only since the last rout, as 
 
236 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 consecrated by the sight of dear familiar faces, and by 
 the cordial greetings of others, who, jostled aside by the 
 cares of the year, would not let another begin without an 
 assurance that friends were not forgotten. Affections 
 were kept bright, the rust of carelessness, neglect, or dis 
 trust rubbed off, and even enmities extinguished. 
 
 In no house were all the observances of the season 
 more scrupulously regarded than in Mr. Lawrence s. 
 The entire week was given up to its appropriate duties 
 and pleasures. Mr. Lawrence, more than usually ani 
 mated and interested for the sake of his granddaughter, 
 would have every day, either at home or abroad, mark 
 ed by festivity. Dinners of much state and formality, 
 but with a good degree of license in some particulars, 
 were prominent among the entertainments. At these 
 the beauty of Eleanor and the attentions of Mr. Philip 
 provided matter of prophetic gossip to the neighboring 
 gentry, while Mr. Lawrence, en grande tenue, revived the 
 glories of the olden time, and Miss Lawrence, still lovely, 
 recalled as a gentleman protested, who had long and 
 unsuccessfully worshiped at her shrine the "days of 
 her bloom," when she u was fairest of the fair." The 
 ladies retired from the table early, but the gentlemen 
 " sat long at the wine." And it must be confessed that 
 toasts, songs, and stories sometimes verified the proverb 
 which saith, " When wine is in, wit is out." 
 
 On one such occasion, the gentlemen being left to 
 themselves, and politics being exhausted, Mr. Philip was 
 exposed to a battery of raillery on the subject of his fair 
 cousin, much to the delight of his grandfather, but to his 
 own manifest annoyance. To put a stop to it, he readily 
 complied with a call on him for " The Twins of Latona;" 
 and his fine manly voice was heard in the near drawing- 
 room, where, through the frequently-opening doors, the 
 ladies were made participants of the pleasure. To this 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 237 
 
 succeeded others by different gentlemen, and, at length, 
 "Tom Bowling," sung with much taste and feeling. 
 Eleanor caught what she could ; but, as the song ceased, 
 her sense of sweet sounds was wounded by the less mu 
 sical tones, in which a point was contested by her grand 
 father and one of the company. 
 
 "I would like to know, sir," said Mr. Lawrence, "by 
 what arithmetical process you make ninety-nine to be a 
 hundred. It would be a profitable mode of notation 
 applied to some things, but one that I confess I can not 
 understand." 
 
 The gentleman resisted Mr. Lawrence s interpretation, 
 and they were both at once involved in the quiddities 
 of the " century" question, which had just begun to whet 
 the ingenuity, and sometimes to ruffle the temper of the 
 disputants, even when "grave and reverend seigniors." 
 But the argument was suddenly, and, perhaps, fortunate 
 ly interrupted by an uproarious burst of 
 
 "Here s to the maiden of bashful fifteen, 
 Here s to the widow of fifty ;" 
 
 when the singer was checked by a loud call for " Black- 
 eyed Susan." But, unaffected by it, he persisted in his 
 first choice, and proceeded 
 
 "Here s to the charmer, whose dimples we prize, 
 
 And now to her that has none, sir ; 
 Here s to the girl with a pair of blue eyes, 
 And here s to the nymph with but one, sir. 
 Let the toast pass, 
 Drink to your lass, 
 I ll warrant she ll prove an excuse for the glass." 
 
 Spirits rose with voices, as the song went on with its 
 oft-repeated burden, in which all joined, till, some one 
 wisely moving an adjournment to the ladies, the gentle 
 men left the u wine-cup" and entered the drawing-room. 
 Here Mr. Lawrence cut short in his argument, but not 
 silenced resumed it, by saying to his antagonist, 
 
238 
 
 " If I owed you 1800, sir, would you hold me ac 
 quitted if I paid you 1799?" 
 
 This, as the gentleman addressed was noted for a care 
 ful attention to small sums, was regarded as "a hit!" 
 A laugh ensued. Mr. Lawrence, thereupon, conceiving 
 himself the acknowledged victor, magnanimously per 
 mitted the subject to drop; a conclusion willingly ac 
 quiesced in by the rest, who found better entertainment 
 in the smiles that greeted their entrance. But, in some 
 instances, an undue exhilaration converted these into 
 frowns, which even muddled heads could understand; 
 or a gentle look would convey a regret quite as effective. 
 
 One gentleman, approaching Eleanor, by whom Mr. 
 Philip was seated, after looking into her face with a 
 scrutiny she neither comprehended nor liked, exclaimed, 
 " Why, Lawrence ! what right have you to sing about 
 maidens with blue eyes ? Miss Meredith s are not blue ; 
 though hang me if I can tell what is their color." 
 
 " Pardon me, Mr. Johnson," replied Philip, rather 
 gravely, "the song, if I am not mistaken, was your 
 
 own." 
 
 Without noticing the correction, the gentleman con 
 tinued, 
 
 " They may be blue to you, however, for," in an audi 
 ble whisper, u such is the color of Love, you know." 
 
 The angry glance of Eleanor seemed to recall him to 
 propriety, and he added, "But I see that frowns have 
 come over them, like clouds over the blue heaven, and I 
 must retreat." 
 
 " Silly man !" thought she, as he turned away, " to be 
 putting such ideas into cousin Phil s head !" But her 
 wrath was changed into a laugh by a euphuistic ad 
 dress to her aunt from a gentleman who did not ap 
 pear to know he was talking nonsense, and who, after 
 a string of compliments, finished by comparing her 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 239 
 
 and her niece to the goddess Diana and an attendant 
 nymph. 
 
 "Oh no, my good sir," replied Miss Lawrence, pre 
 ferring to laugh at rather than to rebuke him seriously ; 
 "pray adapt your hyperbole to the taste of country la 
 dies, and let us be only the young moon with the old 
 one in her arms. " 
 
 Coffee and whist brought the gentlemen to order, 
 after which a handsome supper completed the plentiful 
 hospitality of the day. 
 
 The eve of the new year, by universal consent, was a 
 sort of domestic saturnalia, admitting among masters 
 and servants of a general game of " Catch who can." 
 This "catching," in which license and stratagem were 
 permitted, the unlearned may require to be informed, 
 consisted in being the first to express the good wishes 
 of the season, subjecting the person caught, of course, to 
 a forfeit. But the gain was but a secondary considera 
 tion. It was the triumph of cunning and quickness that 
 chiefly excited. 
 
 At Mr. Lawrence s, each one, in no wise wearied with 
 pleasure or service, had a scheme, independent of the 
 others, for the great object of the night. Aunt Flore 
 had appropriated to her use a little dark closet under 
 the hall stairs, whence, like a spider darting from its 
 central point of observation, she could rush out on all 
 unwary comers. She felt quite sure of Master Phil and 
 Miss Eleanor, " case dey would sartin be coming down 
 de great stars to cotch ole massa." Fat Aunt Minty 
 " t ought she would smudder in dat ar little hole," so 
 she decided to take up a position in a larger closet, de 
 signed for hats, coats, etc., opening by a door into the 
 hall. Pomp had given much consideration to the per 
 fecting of his device. Watching his opportunity, when 
 the coast was clear in the evening, he took down the 
 
24:0 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 key, which hung high up by the side of the door lead 
 ing into the small private entry, through which access 
 was obtained to the " dood-karner^ and, putting it into 
 the lock, turned it. 
 
 " Now," thought Pomp, " all s ready ; only jess got to 
 turn de handle, and I inside. No racket gettin down 
 de key ; no time lost fumblin bout de lock. Nobody 
 neber spect any body in dere ! Now, Massa Phil, see 
 if I don t cotch you!" 
 
 Contrivances equally astute occupied all ; and then, 
 very innocently bidding "good-night," every one re 
 tired, apparently to rest. 
 
 A little before midnight, one by one, all stole to their 
 coverts. Pomp greatly congratulated himself on his till 
 he got fairly into it, when he began to feel rather shaky. 
 Nothing short of the excitement of catching Massa Phil 
 would ever have tempted him to put his carcass into 
 that fearful place ; and even this nearly failed him when 
 he heard a small noise in his rear. He did not dare to 
 look behind him, excusing himself by the reflection, 
 " Can t see nuffin dark as a pocket." The noise was 
 repeated, and Pomp felt much inclined to abandon his 
 project, and cut and run. But " No," thought he, brac 
 ing himself up, " tisn t nuffin; rats and mice, I s pose, 
 dey neber still, always racketin roun. One in Aunt 
 Flore s closet saw away all de worl like a carpenter ! I 
 tell Aunt Flore," continued he, trying to encourage him 
 self by a joke, " I tell her dat ar fellow get gran good 
 livin sawin wood; he! he! hark! hark! Lor ! 
 dat ar berry queer noise ! dat ar no rats !" 
 
 A low, cautious step behind him confirmed this opin 
 ion. He dared not look, his knees knocked against each 
 other, and with a desperate effort he reached out his 
 hand for the door, but, bewildered by fear and darkness, 
 could not find it. He opened his lips to cry " Lor , hab 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 241 
 
 marcy !" but his mouth was stopped by a hand laid upon 
 it, another clutched him by the collar, and Master Phil, 
 half choked with suppressed laughter, found breath 
 enough to say in an under tone, " Happy New Year, 
 Pomp ! now keep quiet, make no noise, or I ll do worse 
 to you." 
 
 "Lor bless us! Massa Phil, who could tink dat 
 yelly d be in sich a place as dis ?" 
 
 " And perhaps I shouldn t be here if I had not seen 
 you working away at the key. Twas a good trick, eh, 
 Pomp, to counter-work you. You are a cunning fellow, 
 but you hav n t eyes behind." 
 
 " No, deed, Massa Phil ; body muss be eyes all ober 
 to cotch you." 
 
 " Now do you stick by me, Pomp, and you shall catch 
 all the rest." 
 
 Aunt Flore, meanwhile, in her lair, heard a light step 
 on the great stairs, and, keeping the door on a crack, 
 thought, "Dat ar Massa Phil, for sure." The sound 
 approached, and, darting out, she exclaimed, "Happy 
 New Year!" 
 
 No voice responded ; and presently, in a tone of great 
 vexation, she was heard to say, "Only dat ar cussed 
 dog, Ponto!" and was returning to her hiding-place 
 when Master Philip and Pomp burst upon her with the 
 triumphant salutation. 
 
 Aunt Minty, thinking it time for her to appear, was 
 about to do so, when she found herself entrapped ; the 
 door of the closet in which she had unwarily secreted 
 herself fastened by a spring bolt on the outside, and was, 
 of course, immovable from within. Her situation being 
 discovered, she became a mark for the gibes and jests of 
 all the rest, till at length Pomp, yielding to her entreat 
 ies to be " let out," opened the door with one of his pro- 
 foundest scrapes, and, with an introductory flourish of 
 
 L 
 
242 
 
 his hand, said, " Ladies and gemplen, my moder ! De 
 com plents of de season to you, marm !" Poor Aunt 
 Minty, hiding her face with her apron, panting, perspir 
 ing, and ashamed, waddled off to conceal her discomfit 
 ure in the kitchen. In her confusion and haste she 
 nearly overthrew Momma Zip, who, unusually excited, 
 was coming, with Guinea song and dance, to wish hap 
 py years to all. Poor soul ! how few in her long life 
 had been hers ! and the future had none for her. 
 
 The next and greatest achievement of the night was 
 to " cotch ole massa ;" and Flore, fearlessly leading the 
 way, softly entered his room. The curtains were drawn 
 as usual, but the light was burning. There was no fear 
 of waking him. No one ever slept on that night till they 
 had seen " the old year out and the new year in." Flore, 
 therefore, in full confidence, stepped along as stealthily 
 as a cat, and, unwilling to startle him, said, in a gentle 
 voice, " Happy New Year to massa !" 
 
 But no answer was returned ; and, peeping within the 
 curtains, to her dismay she saw no one there. Turning 
 to the group behind, which now included nearly the 
 whole establishment, she was about to express her sur 
 prise and disappointment, when a screen at one corner 
 of the fire-place was thrown down, and Mr. Lawrence, 
 seated in his arm-chair, brandishing his cane, and laugh 
 ing, exclaimed, in a merry voice, "Happy New Year 
 to all ! great and small ! old and young ! white, black, 
 and yellow ! Now to bed, every one of you, and let the 
 old house be quiet." 
 
 "Happy New Year!" cried yet another voice, and 
 Eleanor, coming from behind a large cloak that hung in 
 the room, saluted her grandfather and aunt, and then 
 ran to shake hands merrily with all. 
 
 Aunt Flore, having the first and last word on all oc 
 casions, dropped a courtesy to Mr. Lawrence. " Massa 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 248 
 
 beat us all," said she; "so smart as de first New Year 
 time I member him. Many turns of de same to massa. 
 He ll always be de smartest of us all." And thus ended 
 the " Mistakes of the Night." But a generous distribu 
 tion of cakes and money the next day among the serv 
 ants, proved that massa had not desired to escape the 
 forfeits. 
 
244 WALTEB THORNLEY; OE, 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 THE holidays had passed, but not all the pleasures of 
 the winter. Master Philip was anxious to prove to Ele 
 anor that she had never known the true delight of sleigh 
 ing. Rejecting the accustomed roads, where the snow was 
 worn, he resorted to the highway provided by the river, 
 which was just in the finest condition for the purpose. 
 Here, in a commodious sleigh, with plenty of furs, and 
 and a pair of fleet horses, he was always ready to attend 
 her. Some of their neighbors lived, like Mr. Lawrence, 
 near the river ; and, either to visit these, or for more ex 
 tended drives, sometimes with Miss Lawrence and her 
 father, Eleanor profited by his courtesy. 
 
 Following the course of the noble stream, beautiful 
 even when ice-bound, with its mountain line on one side 
 and the dwellings of the gentry, the river gods, on the 
 other ; its shores dotted by " landings ;" dismantled masts 
 peeping out of its sheltering inlets and creeks suggest 
 ive of the activity that was to succeed the present re 
 pose ; now doubling a headland, now keeping clear of 
 a cove ; sometimes under a flood of sunshine, then in 
 the soft moonlight, mirrored in portions of ice not cov 
 ered by snow, Eleanor was borne along, as if by winged 
 horses, to the 
 
 "Tintabulation of the bells, bells, bells." 
 
 What was a drive through the streets of a crowded 
 city to this broad, unbroken highway jostled by some, 
 running down others, fearing to be impaled by those 
 behind, or to commit an equal violence on those in front, 
 snow half mud, and every jarring sound disturbing the 
 sense ? 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 245 
 
 Then, too, Cousin Philip instructed her in sliding. He 
 would have put her on skates, after the fashion of the 
 fair Hollanders of whom he had heard, but she was tim 
 id, and only ventured, clinging to his hand, to slide while 
 he skated. 
 
 And then, in her pleasant walks and sweet compan 
 ionship with Aunt Gertrude, she learned to love Nature 
 under its winter aspects. The clear skies of the day, 
 the gorgeous sunsets, the deep blue of the star-lit firma 
 ment, the evergreens bending under the new-fallen snow, 
 the symmetrical ramifications of the disrobed trees, now 
 cased in prismatic crystal, then in feathery frost-work, 
 shedding an indescribable softness over the landscape, 
 filled her with a delight which she could not always ex 
 press. But her heart responded as Aunt Gertrude soft 
 ly repeated from the old canticle, 
 
 " Oh, ye ice and snow ; 
 Oh, ye frost and cold, bless ye the Lord ; 
 Praise him, and magnify him forever!" 
 
 Then there were fireside pleasures for the long even 
 ings, among which Mr. Lawrence especially esteemed a 
 game of whist. In this he and Master Philip excelled ; 
 and Miss Lawrence had made herself, to please her fa 
 ther, a remarkably good lady-player. Her grandfather 
 undertook the instruction of Eleanor ; and though, with 
 all others, he insisted, like Mrs. Battle, on " the rigor of 
 the game," to her mistakes he was always indulgent. 
 She might omit to return his lead ; she might uselessly 
 sacrifice a trump on the thirteenth card, or compel him 
 to cast a king into the jaws of an ace, which she ought 
 to have remembered was lying in wait for him; she 
 might, in short, do any thing but revoke. That he con 
 sidered an " irredeemable stupidity." Once she was 
 guilty of it. and received only a gentle exhortation. 
 The second and last time she thus transgressed he threw 
 
246 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 up his cards, did not speak a marvelous self-control 
 but whistled emphatically, and played the " Cooper s 
 March" with his knuckles on the little stand, always by 
 his side, as if on purpose to afford him this relief. Mas 
 ter Philip saw the tears start into Eleanor s eyes, and 
 adroitly proposed to teach her piquet, saying, " You ll 
 soon know enough to beat me, for I am but an indiffer 
 ent player." 
 
 Mr. Lawrence smiled. The cloud passed away, and 
 Eleanor, with a grateful look at Cousin Phil, accepted 
 his offer. 
 
 From that time, for some reason Eleanor feared, her 
 own dullness her grandfather promoted piquet in pref 
 erence to whist. Seated by the table at which she and 
 Master Philip played, he seemed to find as much pleas 
 ure in the game as they did, suggesting from time to 
 time to his grandson Eleanor could not tell why, when 
 he certainly knew more than she did "to strengthen 
 his point, not to reject good cards in a presumptuous 
 hope of better, and to remember that first in hand was 
 a great advantage" admonitions that seemed to embar 
 rass Master Philip rather than to help him. 
 
 A fine fall of snow had repaired the sleighing, when, 
 one morning, Uncle Mink appeared at the parlor door, 
 and wanted " to speak to massa." 
 
 "Well, what is it, Mink?" 
 
 After shifting from leg to leg, and twirling his hat 
 round on his hand, he answered, " A drefful bad rheu- 
 matiz" in both his arms and in his right shoulder. 
 
 " Ah ! that s bad ; but Miss Gitty can cure it." 
 
 Mink looked doubtful ; said he d " tried missus s stuff, 
 and it didn t do no good." 
 
 "Well, we ll have Dr. Kelson then." 
 
 Again Mink hesitated. At length he continued, 
 " Please, massa, dere s a doctor at de Hook cures brack 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 247 
 
 folks all roun here Mr. Johnson s Jake, and Mr. Du- 
 bois s Tom, and all I d like try him*." 
 
 " Some cursed quack !" said Mr. Lawrence, with rising 
 anger. 
 
 "Yes, massa, dat s de name Doctor Quaco colored 
 man, massa." 
 
 " Yes, so I supposed. But how can you go? Not 
 on horseback with lame arms ; at least, you couldn t if 
 it were my business, I ll engage ; and it won t help your 
 rheumatism to walk there." 
 
 "No, massa; but if massa let us take de farm horses 
 dey rader gay for want of work juss now and massa 
 knows dem High Dutch horses muss keep em down, 
 or, dam em, dey will hull." 
 
 Mr. Lawrence s cane descended with an emphasis that 
 made Mink start. 
 
 " No swearing, Mink ! Nobody swears here but me /" 
 
 A low bow, and " Beg pardon, massa didn t tink," 
 acknowledged Mr. Lawrence s superior claim. 
 
 " Well, and who to drive ? You can not, of course, 
 drive wild horses." 
 
 " Pomp, massa, can drive me and Flore." 
 
 "Flore, too, what s the matter with her?" 
 
 " Nottin , massa, only she tinks de doctor help little 
 Mink s legs: de doctor drefful smart on de rickets, 
 massa." 
 
 " So little Mink must be poisoned too ! and why not 
 try Dr. Nelson for him, if not for yourself?" 
 
 Mink scratched his poll ; but, more afraid of his wife 
 than of his master, he proceeded : 
 
 " Flore tinks dat he don t care for de colored folks 
 on y for de quality, massa." 
 
 "Oh, the devil fly away with Flore! She s always 
 thinking ; and why can t you think yourself, man ?" 
 
 To this Mink had nothing to reply, never having con- 
 
248 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 sidered thought as among his inalienable rights, and, espe 
 cially, never to be exercised in opposition to his wife. 
 
 " Well, well, go your way, but take care the horses 
 don t break all your necks Doctor Quaco can t mend 
 them? 
 
 11 No, massa, I spects not ;" and Mink vanished. 
 
 Flore s diplomacy prospered. It was true, Uncle 
 Mink had the rheumatism, and perhaps little Mink the 
 rickets ; but she had a small fund, a good deal increased 
 by her New-yearings ; and this was to be invested at a 
 shop in the neighboring village, and Doctor Quaco was 
 to be taken on the way. Having had many indulgences 
 of late, she thought it advisable to put this expedition 
 on the footing of necessity, thus leaving the field open 
 for farther favors, if desired. 
 
 Pomp s appearance at the tea-hour announced their 
 return. 
 
 "Well, Pomp," inquired Mr. Lawrence, "what did 
 Quaco say ?" 
 
 " He say, massa," replied Pomp in an oracular man 
 ner, " dat Uncle Mink hab de rheumatiz, and little Mink 
 de rickets." 
 
 " Yes, that we knew before ; but what s to be done ?" 
 
 " He gib some stuff in a bottle for bote, massa ; and 
 he say Uncle Mink muss hab some sperits too," added 
 Pomp, anxious to account for a suspicious-looking jug 
 that had appeared. 
 
 "Spirits! what, inside or out?" 
 
 " Bote, massa ; to froment outside, and take inside for 
 etarnal complaints." 
 
 " I dare say ! The scoundrel I Gertrude, you must 
 look into this. Mink has been a sober fellow all his 
 life. I won t have this quack make a drunkard of 
 him." 
 
 But a glimpse into the kitchen at eleven o clock that 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 249 
 
 night would have relieved Mr. Lawrence s alarm on the 
 subject of Mink s temperance. 
 
 By the light of a roaring fire was to be seen a table 
 of large dimensions, covered with the good things hoard 
 ed from their holiday luxuries, and smoking with addi 
 tions of their own procuring. Of these, most conspicu 
 ous was an immense turkey, in regard to which Flore 
 had mystified Momma Zip, the guardian of the poultry- 
 yard; averring that Miss Hyslip at the ferry had given 
 her a turkey s egg, and that she had put it in a certain 
 nest where the process of incubation had just begun. 
 Consequently, this individual turkey was the product, 
 and the property hers, the intermediate feeding and care 
 to the contrary notwithstanding. Momma, who, how 
 ever lax her notions on the subject of food, as has been 
 said, was incorruptible in regard to any thing committed 
 to her in trust, demurred, but in vain. She could never 
 talk fast enough for Aunt Flore. 
 
 At each end of the table was a bottle of the spirits 
 prescribed for Uncle Mink, and among the guests Doc 
 tor Quaco himself and his wife, both of whom recom 
 mended his medicine by their fearless use of it. 
 
 Here they were, in a state of high enjoyment! This 
 upper kitchen being detached from the house, and with 
 but one window, which looked in another direction, they 
 had no fear of being seen or overheard, when a rap at 
 this only window produced a general start. Knives and 
 forks dropped, the glass on its way to the lips was ar 
 rested, the joke was cracked the wrong way, and laugh 
 ter died in the birth ! 
 
 Aunt Flore was the first to recover. Going to the 
 window, a face she never found unfriendly, appeared, 
 and, shoving it softly up, she said in a low voice, " Mas- 
 saPhil! dat aryelly?" 
 
 " Yes, Flore me myself; let me in. I am very cold, 
 L2 
 
250 WALTER THOKNLEY; OB, 
 
 ay, and hungry too ;" and, raising his finger in a way at 
 once confidential and admonitory, said, "Mum, Aunt 
 Flore ! no tale-telling, you know." 
 
 " No, Massa Phil ; dat s de word : mum for you, mum 
 for me." 
 
 Upon this the door was unbolted, and Philip, shiver 
 ing with cold, yet casting a merry glance at the table 
 and those around it, drew up to the fire. Insisting that 
 no one should be disturbed, he was formally introduced 
 by Pomp to " de doctor and he lady ;" after which, be 
 ing well warmed, and taking, by Flore s advice, a taste 
 of the doctor s medicine, he gladly took the supper that 
 she spread for him on a table in the wide chimney-cor 
 ner, saying, with her usual tact, " Massa Phil too cold to 
 come to de table muss keep close to de fire." 
 
 " This is a capital turkey, Aunt Flore ; where did it 
 come from ?" asked he, significantly. 
 
 " Not bery far off," she replied slyly ; then added, 
 " From Miss Hy slip s, at de ferry, Massa Phil." 
 
 "And there s more where this came from, I sup 
 pose?" 
 
 " Oh yes, wheneber Massa Phil wants a supper," said 
 she, with a smile which he well understood. 
 
 He did not long interfere with their pleasures ; but, 
 cautioning them to be quiet, and with an " aside" to 
 Aunt Flore to get her visitors away without rousing the 
 dogs, he retired, having the satisfaction of hearing him 
 self, through the closing doors, applauded as " dat ar s 
 de truest gem len as walks de ground." 
 
 That evening, to Mr. Lawrence s surprise and annoy 
 ance, Philip had not been at home. Miss Lawrence en 
 deavored to soften it to him by saying he had been un 
 usually domestic of late, and that whenever he was ab 
 sent it was always easily explained. 
 
 " Yes, oh yes," replied the old gentleman, trying, but 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 251 
 
 not very successfully, to treat it as a light matter. 
 " Come, Eleanor, let me give you a lesson in piquet ; or 
 shall we try three-handed whist, since that runaway has 
 reduced us to it?" 
 
 This was preferred as. including all, and grandpapa 
 played " dummy" to the ladies. 
 
 The next morning Philip appeared at breakfast at the 
 usual hour, but Eleanor thought he had not his accus 
 tomed cheerful face. 
 
 " Good-morning, Phil," said Mr. Lawrence ; "you de 
 serted us last evening ; where were you ?" 
 
 " I was out, sir." 
 
 The gravity and decided tone of this reply, so rare 
 with him, seemed to disconcert his grandfather. 
 
 " Out ! why why yes, I know that. I said so. Out ! 
 to be sure you were." 
 
 But he did not repeat- the inquiry, and Philip proffer 
 ed no explanation; turning the conversation by some 
 rather forced small-talk with Eleanor and his aunt, he 
 left the room as soon as the meal was over. 
 
 Mr. Lawrence sat silent, evidently brooding over some 
 thing that much displeased him; and, not inclined, as 
 usual, for society or reading, summoned Pomp, and with 
 drew to his room. On entering he found Aunt Flore 
 there. He had never condescended to any espionage 
 with servants or children ; but, thinking Flore very like 
 ly to know more in the present instance than himself, 
 and choosing the most direct mode, he dismissed Pomp, 
 and said, 
 
 "Where was Master Phil last night, Flore?" 
 
 Now Flore knew nothing; for her young master, 
 with all his reliance on her good-will, had never admit 
 ted her to his confidence. Nevertheless, she always in 
 stinctively spoke as if retained by him. 
 
 "Massa Phil ! why, in his bed, massa; so fass asleep 
 dis mornin I couldn t hardly wake him." 
 
252 WALTER THORNLEY; OK, 
 
 "Very well, that may be; but where was he in the 
 evening, I say?" 
 
 " I dunno know, massa. Sarvents ough n t neber be 
 spyin where dere massas goes. If ole massa out ebery 
 night in de week, I tink he on y at de dominie s or de 
 sist ry " 
 
 " You know very well, Flore, that Master Phil was 
 not at the dominie s nor the consistory last evening." 
 
 "No, massa, s pose not; he too young for dat ting 
 now; one of dose days, p r aps. But massa knows 
 young gen elmen don t like be ax d whar dey s agoin , 
 here nor dere, dey feel so gran to be dere own massas. 
 P r aps Massa Phil only down by Mr. Johnson s, or 
 ober de riber to wait on de young ladies at ole Madam 
 Van de Bergh s." 
 
 " That is just where I supposed he was, and where he 
 shall not go," said Mr. Lawrence, angrily. " They have 
 been trying to catch him these two years." 
 
 " Laws, massa ! dey can t hole a candle to our young 
 missis for beauty. Massa Phil neber tink of dem, I 
 sure ; den Miss Eleanor so sweet on Massa Phil, too." 
 
 " Do you think so, Flore ?" replied Mr. Lawrence, 
 much mollified. "Well, you may go now, and send 
 Pomp to me." 
 
 Pomp reappeared ; and } while assisting his master to 
 put on his dressing-gown, said, "Massa loss any ting?" 
 
 "No, Pomp, nothing but my temper, which I shall 
 find by-and-by." 
 
 Pomp, something of an " expert" in the interpretation 
 of looks, perceiving that his master was in a more com 
 placent mood than when he left the breakfast-room, ven 
 tured, as he had sometimes done with impunity, a little 
 pleasantry. 
 
 "Massa better don t lose dat so berry often, fear one 
 of dose days massa neber find it." 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 253 
 
 "That s true, Pomp, spoke like a dominie. A bad 
 habit is master at last but come the water. Did you 
 brush my coat ?" 
 
 "Yes, massa," replied Pomp, handing at the same 
 time a crown piece that had slipped within the lining of 
 the pocket; "massa neber know he loss it." 
 
 Mr. Lawrence took it and put it in his purse, giving 
 Pomp, at the same time, a half-dollar for his honesty. 
 He received it with a grin, displaying an enviable set 
 of ivory, and a low bow, saying, " Wish massa loss his 
 money ebery day." 
 
 " I am much obliged to you ; and that s your grati 
 tude, is it? Well, I suppose you are as good as you 
 know how to be, and that s more than / am, I fear." 
 
254 WALTER THOENLEY; OK, 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 THE least agreeable season had come. The snow was 
 gone, and the removal of its white drapery disclosed the 
 ragged garments of winter. The roads were nearly 
 impassable, and the ice, cracked, unsound, and in many 
 places covered with water, was no longer to be trusted. 
 Moving was out of the question, and the young people 
 were reduced to in-door occupations. In books they 
 had little companionship ; but Philip, an observer of 
 nature and a lover of animals, had pets of all kinds, un 
 derstood their habits, and could give Eleanor practical 
 hints in natural history, as well worth having as if found 
 between the boards of a book. Birds, including choice 
 species of poultry, rabbits, cats, and dogs, abounded 
 about the house and premises, and were taught to dwell 
 in most instructive harmony. In proof of which, Phil 
 delighted to point out to Eleanor a spaniel on the hearth 
 rug, with his fore-paws lovingly folded round an unre 
 sisting cat. At another time he directed her attention 
 to this same dog performing the part of dry-nurse to a 
 family of kittens, whom the mother, dissatisfied with her 
 quarters, was removing. Following her lead, he took 
 up one in his mouth and gently placed it in the new 
 bed the mother had found, to which he was seen return 
 ing at night, as if to inquire into the safety of the family. 
 Having ascertained it, he licked them and retired. On 
 another occasion Eleanor was called on to assist in the 
 care of a pet bantam hen, whose feet were nipped by the 
 frost. Too tender to be at once exposed, Philip inter 
 ceded with Mrs. Dorothy no one in the house could re 
 fuse him to admit her and her basket, for a few days, 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 255 
 
 into the housekeeper s room. The species were then 
 rare, very small, strongly marked, and cared for as a sort 
 of curiosity. The basket was capacious. Philip, having 
 furnished it with a perch, brought in her mate to con 
 sole her, and Eleanor was requested to admire the con 
 jugal devotion of the little cock, as he spread a shelter 
 ing wing over his disabled spouse. 
 
 Then Cousin Phil asked assistance in preparing his 
 fishing-tackle, and she soon learned to manage the quills 
 and corks, to twist the horse-hair lines, and to attach the 
 hooks. 
 
 "What are you so busy about, Eleanor?" inquired 
 her aunt. 
 
 "Making snares for Cousin Phil," she replied, very 
 innocently. 
 
 Miss Gertrude looked at her father, and smiled. He 
 put his finger on his lip to check farther comment, but 
 he rapped on the table a merry accompaniment, as he 
 hummed the air of " Come, haste to the wedding !" Ele 
 anor, intent on her work, neither saw nor heard. 
 
 Philip, meanwhile, in anticipation of the ducking sea 
 son, was getting things in readiness. His canoe required 
 repairing and a fresh coat of white paint ; and a suit of 
 white linen was to be put in order, that, thus disguised, 
 he might, unsuspected, invade the haunts of the water 
 fowl in the coves and creeks as soon as the ice should 
 move. This, of itself, was an event. For some time in 
 a state when crossing was perilous only attempted by 
 the daring or fool-hardy while daily false announce 
 ments of its "moving" kept expectation wide awake, at 
 length the fetters were burst, and, in grand accumulat 
 ing masses, the ice floated down. All seemed to have a 
 sense of liberation of restoration to the world without 
 as the noble river, shaking off its chains, flowed re 
 joicingly by, inviting them again to its broad and beau- 
 
256 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 tiful bosom ! And now was to be put in practice the 
 stratagems devised against the "poor ducks," as Ele 
 anor said ; but, in spite of her compassion, she laughed 
 heartily at Philip in his death-dealing dress, which want 
 ed, as she told him, " only the ( mist-cap of the dwarfs to 
 be complete 1" 
 
 Thrown thus continually and naturally together, it 
 would have been strange if a more than common mutual 
 interest had not been excited. In Eleanor this was un 
 disturbed by any question of its nature. Preoccupied 
 as she was, Philip but supplied to her, as nearly as pos 
 sible, a want she often lamented. He was a brother, 
 with just that touch of gallantry and devotion, in which, 
 however true in more important respects, brothers are 
 sometimes deficient. The only deduction from her con 
 tentment was, that he himself was less cheerful than for 
 merly often abstracted, and evidently perplexed, rest 
 less, and, she feared, even at times unhappy. 
 
 One evening it so happened that they were left alone 
 in the parlor, Mr. Lawrence having retired earlier than 
 usual; and Miss Gertrude, leaving them to finish a game 
 of piquet, soon followed him. 
 
 They continued to play for some time, only speaking 
 as the game required. At length it approached its term 
 ination, and, having compared "points," etc., Eleanor, 
 first in hand, proceeded to play, counting, as she went, 
 till, reaching "one hundred," she exclaimed, "There! I 
 have beaten you again ! Why, Cousin Phil, you are a 
 better player than I am, yet, lately, I always win ! What 
 are you thinking of?" 
 
 "Shall I tell you, Eleanor?" said he, with an expres 
 sion so strange, hurried, excited, and yet hesitating, that 
 she could only gather from it some trouble, of which, 
 indeed, since the evening when his absence had incurred 
 his grandfather s displeasure, she had been apprehensive. 
 "Shall I tell you?" he repeated. 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 257 
 
 " Do, cousin," she answered, looking compassionately ; 
 " do, I beg of you. If I can only give you comfort or 
 counsel, I shall be so happy !" 
 
 "Hear me, then, while I have courage to speak," and 
 with a sort of desperation he proceeded : 
 
 " Can you, will you, dear Eleanor ! unworthy as I am ; 
 little as I can offer in return for all your beauty, accom 
 plishments, and goodness ; little as I have done to ob 
 tain such a possession ! will you, dear Eleanor will you 
 be my wife?" 
 
 If lightning had fallen at her feet, Eleanor could hard 
 ly have been more stunned. Although, on rare occa 
 sions, some expression of her grandfather s had for a mo 
 ment suggested to her an uneasy thought of this kind, 
 still he had so rigidly forbidden, and, in the main, had so 
 carefully avoided all allusions or raillery in the presence 
 of Eleanor, and Philip himself had been so much more 
 like a friend than a lover, that she had entirely dismiss 
 ed the idea from her mind. And now to this good, 
 kind, pleasant cousin she was to give pain, which, how 
 ever short-lived she might hope it would prove, must at 
 present be the keenest she could inflict on one, too, on 
 whom she would only confer happiness ! Her heart and 
 eyes were full; she could scarcely command words to 
 convey the sentence for which he waited in silence as 
 profound as her own. At length she spoke. 
 
 " Dear cousin, I am sure you will believe me when I 
 say that this declaration overwhelms me with surprise 
 and and grief! Forget it, I entreat you, as I shall 
 do. Let me not lose my cousin and my friend because 
 I can never be any thing else to him !" 
 
 Not daring to raise her eyes to Philip, who sat voice 
 less by her side, they remained immovable, till, unable 
 longer to endure the constraint, she ventured a look to 
 ward him, and still another, for astonishment now got 
 
258 
 
 the better of every other emotion as she met his gaze, 
 expressive only of relief, of happiness !" 
 
 " Cousin Phil," exclaimed she, with animation, "what 
 does this mean?" Then, catching the contagion of his 
 smile, " This is not the first of April, surely ! What 
 game are you at?" 
 
 " A desperate one, dear Eleanor, if you were not the 
 best cousin in the world !" 
 
 She still stared in mute amazement. 
 
 " Yes, the dearest, kindest cousin that ever man had! 
 and simply for not falling in love with me !" 
 
 "In love with you! I never dreamed of such a 
 thing ! How had you the presumption to suppose it ?" 
 
 " I did not ; I only feared it." 
 
 " Feared it ! "Worse and worse ! But you may be 
 perfectly easy now, you see. Pray, however, how hap 
 pens it that, being in love with me, you feared a re 
 turn?" 
 
 "Dear Eleanor, how shall I confess it? I was not in 
 love!" 
 
 "Not in love yourself! Oh, delightful! Now we 
 are on equal terms. You do not want to marry me, 
 and, if you were the last man, I wouldn t marry you!" 
 
 "Don t be severe, dear Nelly! Let me call you so 
 now ; it is more familiar, but it is, too, more affectionate ; 
 and now there is no danger, you know." 
 
 " None in the world to me ! but who shall guarantee 
 your safety, my hitherto invulnerable cousin ? Take 
 care ! Perhaps I may be piqued into making myself ir 
 resistible yet." 
 
 " No, no," said Philip, shaking his head ; "I have 
 a stronger guarantee than you imagine. You shall 
 hear" 
 
 " Nay, if you please, pray answer me one question 
 first. Pray, sir, supposing you had * made an indelible 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 259 
 
 impression on my too susceptible heart, as the novels 
 say, what would you have done then ?" 
 
 "Married you, of course, even at the sacrifice of my 
 self." 
 
 " Sacrifice !" exclaimed Eleanor, laughing heartily. 
 "Well, there have been love-scenes, sentimental, trag 
 ical, passionate, heroic, sublime; but so ridiculous as 
 this, never !" 
 
 " Ah ! Eleanor, to you it is all sport, but to me confu 
 sion and fear still." 
 
 " What, though I have refused you 1 What else can 
 I do to make you happy ? I thought but now that you 
 were on the pinnacle of felicity, having escaped from 
 me." 
 
 " Yes, for a moment ; but have patience with me, Ele 
 anor ; I can not rest without explaining my strange con 
 duct. I do not ask your love, but I can not be denied 
 your friendship I dare not say your respect. It is not 
 very late " and, throwing more wood on the fire, plac 
 ing a chair near it for her, and drawing another toward 
 it, he seated himself by her side. " Now for my confes 
 sion: 
 
 "You have not known, Eleanor, nor I, much longer 
 than since you came here, that a darling object of our 
 grandfather was to unite us. It was natural enough 
 that he should desire it. It would draw closer the few 
 family links left, would keep his fine fortune unbroken, 
 and secure to himself in his old age the society and care 
 of those dearest to him. This desire was strengthened, 
 of course, by your presence. Oh, you have no idea of 
 the fondness and pride with which he regards you, and 
 the efforts he has made to inspire me with his own ad 
 miration!" 
 
 "Nor of your indifference I" interrupted Eleanor, 
 archly. 
 
260 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 " Oh no, not indifference, dear cousin ; I had no heart 
 to give." 
 
 Eleanor uttered an exclamation, and could not sup 
 press a sigh. 
 
 "Ah!" thought she, "poor Phil; now I do, indeed, 
 feel for you." 
 
 "Nothing," he continued, "could have preserved me 
 from an attachment which I now see would have been 
 hopeless but a pre-engagement of my honor and affec 
 tion. And now, how shall I venture to say to whom ? 
 how ask your sympathy for one so far below you?" 
 
 Eleanor started. She began to fear the confidence to 
 which she had so readily assented. 
 
 " Neither fortune nor family " 
 
 "Oh," said Eleanor, much relieved, "if that be all! 
 But tell me, tell me who she is." 
 
 "Let me go back to the beginning. She is the child 
 of humble parents, was born in my grandfather s house, 
 and remained there the first three years of her life." 
 
 "What! PriscillaDale?" 
 
 " The same. Are you mortified for me, Eleanor?" 
 
 "Not mortified, but but surprised," said she, too 
 honest to conceal her feelings, and Philip proceeded : 
 
 "Both motherless children, we seemed instinctively 
 drawn toward each other -just difference enough in our 
 ages to make her my plaything, and me her protector. 
 A sister of her father came from England to live with 
 him, and the child left us. But my aunt s interest in 
 her continued ; and, from time to time, she came to her 
 for better instruction than she could get elsewhere. If 
 she was industrious, her reward was to remain for an 
 hour s play with me ; and when I was in especial favor, 
 my reward was to pass a day at the Mill Farm. So the 
 time passed till I was sent to school, and then to college 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 261 
 
 my holidays always the more welcome, because I 
 should again see Priscilla," 
 
 " And my grandfather and aunt had they no fears, 
 no suspicions ?" 
 
 "My grandfather, at that time an active man of busi 
 ness and a warm politician, was too much occupied to 
 observe attentively what a mere boy was doing. Be 
 sides which, as I grew older, I became more cautious, 
 and confined my intercourse with her to such times and 
 places as would excite no remark. As to my aunt, she 
 was an invalid, and had few opportunities of observation. 
 Thus it went on till my final return home; and then, 
 though with continually-increasing affection, I formed 
 no purpose, had no plan for the future. I thought only 
 of seeing her ; of the pleasure of being with her. I had 
 never even mentioned love to her, though I could not 
 but feel that there was but one heart between us. At 
 length I was roused from this dreamy happiness by the 
 rumor of a lover urged on her by her father, and I re 
 solved to secure her. My grandfather s consent to our 
 marriage was impossible. The very suggestion would 
 be an offense scarcely pardonable. A clandestine one, 
 sure to be discovered, would be only an aggravated 
 crime. In this situation a madman and a fool !" con 
 tinued he, with startling violence " bent to make her 
 my own on any terms, I tried I proposed, in a moment 
 when her yielding tenderness gave me courage, a solemn 
 written contract, to be fulfilled when I should be my 
 own master. But," added he, hesitating, and covering 
 his face with his hands, "but, though my wife in fact, 
 for the present no no marriage." 
 
 Eleanor turned faint ; she had heard enough and too 
 much. The guilty embarrassment of Philip left no doubt 
 of his meaning. He was in her presence a self-convict 
 ed betrayer of an innocent, confiding girl. "Without at- 
 
262 WALTEK THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 tempting to speak she endeavored to rise and leave the 
 room, but he caught her hand and almost forced her to 
 be seated. 
 
 "Stay, Eleanor! you have not heard all. Heaven 
 and Priscilla saved me from the wicked folly I was 
 ready to commit." 
 
 Eleanor breathed more freely ; raised her eyes with a 
 look expressive of thankfulness, but could not speak. 
 
 " Yes ; she, hitherto the gentlest and most loving 
 creature, spurned not only my proposal, but myself! 
 Yes, spurned me ! Oh, you can not know, even if you 
 had seen her, the spirit that kindles those dark eyes 
 when roused ! I was banished. No entreaties, no pray 
 ers could obtain my pardon, nor even a glimpse of her. 
 At length, after repeated attempts to see her, I was in 
 formed that she had gone with her aunt to Pennsylvania, 
 where a brother of her father resided. Gone ostensibly 
 to attend a yearly meeting of their sect, but, as I well 
 knew, to avoid me. Her aunt returned without her. 
 Their friends had pressed Priscilla to remain, and she 
 did so, till not long since." 
 
 "And then? were you allowed to see her?" 
 
 " To see her ! yes, but to no purpose. You recollect, 
 perhaps, the evening when my absence from home caused 
 some uneasiness ?" 
 
 " Yes, perfectly ; what then?" 
 
 11 That evening she consented to see me. Up to that 
 time, notwithstanding my grandfather s desires almost 
 his commands and my own growing affection for you, 
 my dear cousin, I never wavered in my fidelity to Pris 
 cilla. The object of this interview was to implore her 
 to consent to an immediate private union, trusting, by 
 thus hazarding every thing, to atone for my offense, and 
 to secure her." 
 
 "And her answer?" 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 263 
 
 " Decided and inexorable ; and we parted. Despair, 
 together with resentment, now stimulated me, and I re 
 solved to conform to my grandfather s wishes. You 
 know what a wretched business I made of it, and will 
 now understand why I could not even desire success. I 
 gain, indeed, nothing by my failure but time time, yet 
 to make peace with Priscilla; perhaps to obtain her con 
 sent ; and, on the part of my grandfather, his relinquish- 
 ment of a purpose he will now see to be impracticable." 
 Eleanor had listened with the deepest interest. Ex 
 tending her hand to Philip, restored to her confidence 
 by the sacrifice at which he was willing to atone for his 
 fault, she said, " I am so glad, my cousin, that I can love 
 you still. Yet I have a thought that will burn out my 
 heart if I do not speak it. It is not for me to decide be 
 tween your duty to grandpapa and what is due to Pris 
 cilla. I can but admire your courage and generosity. 
 But I have somewhat against you, for all that. What 
 right had you to consider that my whole heart, without 
 which I would marry no man, was fairly obtained by the 
 mere offer of an unwilling hand ? Had you gained my 
 affections, what had you to give me in exchange ? Noth 
 ing ! which I was, of course, to find out to my sorrow. 
 No, no, Cousin Phil, it is bad, it is wicked, thus to trifle 
 with love. Burn no false fire on that altar." 
 
 He felt the rebuke. " Dear Eleanor, it was base, it was 
 unmanly ; I see it now as never before ; but be merciful, 
 and forgive me." 
 
 "I have already done so. There is nothing so ener 
 vating, so treacherous, so cruel, as fear. Alas ! that 
 grandpapa, with all his affection for you, should have 
 held you in subjection to this bondage. But let the past 
 be past. My sympathy is yours, and my respect for 
 Priscilla you can not doubt. How far she is fitted for 
 the position you would give her, of course, I can not 
 judge." 
 
264 
 
 "Ah!" said Philip, with a smile, "you can not, my 
 sweet cousin, from your height, see far enough into my 
 lowly little Quaker girl to do her justice. But you will, 
 by-and-by, I am sure, or you are not so good as I believe 
 you to be. It is unreasonable, though, to detain you 
 longer. It is time you should retire. Oh, you can not 
 know how much good you have done me! No, no," 
 added he, interpreting rightly her arch smile, "not by 
 your rejection, but by your sympathy. Good -night, 
 dear Eleanor." 
 
 They parted Philip to ponder on his grandfather s 
 reception of his failure, Eleanor to "moralize the spec 
 tacle" in her own way. 
 
 With her associations and education she could not but 
 be somewhat shocked by so incongruous a union. But, 
 though trained in habits of filial respect and obedience, 
 hers had been "a reasonable service" not under the 
 iron rule of the preceding generation, nor yet lowered 
 to the modern familiarity, by which a perfect equality is 
 established between parent and child. She could, there 
 fore, see the conflict of duties in the present case, and 
 the enfeebling effect on a naturally generous and manly 
 temper of a system that inspired no confidence. 
 
 " Ah !" thought she, " how differently would one that 
 I know have acted under such circumstances. If op 
 posed in a virtuous attachment, how bravely would he 
 have avowed his love! how would gold have melted 
 away before it ! how would rank have burst like a bub 
 ble ! No crooked path would he have trod no timid 
 course pursued! But, after all, Cousin Phil is to be 
 pitied, perhaps, more than blamed; and if this little 
 maid of the mill is really what he fancies, I do hope he 
 will have the courage to marry her like a man." 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 265 
 
 CHAPTER XXY. 
 
 THE next morning the breakfast passed cheerfully. 
 No cloud rose even "as big as a man s hand." Mr. 
 Lawrence, understanding that the young people had had 
 a long tete-d-tete evening, concluded that, if Phil were not 
 a booby, he had opened the business ; and, if so, their 
 present amicable relations justified a hope of the happi 
 est result. In this belief, he directed his grandson to at 
 tend his toilet. 
 
 A few words served to demolish the castle that years 
 had built. At first it was difficult to say where the bolt 
 of his anger would fall on Eleanor for refusing, or on 
 Philip for being refused. When, however, the family 
 met at dinner, a more discriminating justice than was to 
 be expected directed it entirely against Eleanor, who, 
 though aware that her decision would pain her grand 
 father, had no apprehension of the manner in which it 
 would be evinced. This was not long doubtful. Mr. 
 Lawrence, having had a slight touch of Eleanor s spirit 
 in her defense of Phyllis, rather shrunk from a fair fight 
 with her ; but this he made up for by a series of small 
 attacks, the more vexatious as they could be neither re 
 pelled nor noticed. Instead of the greeting, at once kind 
 and playful, with which he usually seated her at table, 
 she took a place unheeded. No nice morsel solicitously 
 selected, and sent to her unasked, she remained unat 
 tended to, till Phyllis, having stood some time, plate in 
 hand, purposely unseen, at length was carelessly asked, 
 "For whom?" as if he were unconscious whose little 
 serving-maid she was. Instead of the accustomed glass 
 
 M 
 
266 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 of wine with her grandfather, not a word was addressed 
 to her. She was, in short, made to feel as ranch as pos 
 sible, by negations of every kind, how entirely the sun 
 of her favor was set. Not that this was really so. Mr. 
 Lawrence could not so easily abandon a cherished proj 
 ect. He flattered himself Eleanor s refusal was a mere 
 girlish freak to prove her power ; or that Philip had been 
 precipitate, and that a little more time and intercourse 
 would excite the corresponding feeling on her part. Of 
 Phil s indifference he had not the least suspicion. He 
 thought him, indeed, not so passionate a wooer as he 
 himself would be in the like case ; but this he imputed 
 to the change -of manners the execrable decay of all 
 true gallantry and devotion ; all owing to the French 
 Eevolution, with which, Democrat as he was, he had be 
 come thoroughly disgusted. Oh! had he known the 
 fact ! Still hoping for success, he thought that, in the 
 mean time, it would not be amiss to show Eleanor, by 
 the temporary withdrawal of his favor, how much it was 
 really worth. 
 
 It would be difficult to say who suffered most by the 
 experiment, Eleanor or his grandson. She, grieved and 
 oppressed, the tears ready to fall from eyes that she did 
 not dare to turn toward Mr. Lawrence, her dinner near 
 ly untouched, yet not presuming to leave the table, sat 
 like a culprit; while Philip, unprepared for this dis 
 pleasure, felt self-condemned that he did not share it 
 with her. 
 
 The cloth was removed, but no cordiality nor pleas 
 antry succeeded. No remembrance of u absent friends" 
 to draw the nearer those who were present. No repeti 
 tion of his jocose and favorite toast, 
 
 " Here s to our friends ! but as to our foes, 
 Short shoes, and corns on their toes !" 
 
 Only a joyless formality, unbroken except by an occa- 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 267 
 
 sional remark addressed to his daughter or to Philip 
 never to Eleanor. 
 
 Unable longer to endure this, she left the table as soon 
 as was admissible, taking refuge in the drawing-room, 
 whence a view of the river suggested to her an escape, 
 on which she was reflecting, when Philip, with a dis 
 tressed countenance, entered. 
 
 " Eleanor," said he, " I can not bear this. I will con 
 fess every thing. It is base to let you suffer when I am 
 the only one in fault. I will at least share your dis 
 grace." 
 
 " No, no, on no account. To involve you would not 
 help me. I suffer, tis true, unjustly, but still for my own 
 act, which nothing that you could have done would have 
 prevented. Be easy ; you are guiltless in regard to me. 
 Nay, I insist on your silence. In a few days I shall be 
 at home, and shall forget these troubles. By-and-by, 
 when the storm has passed, I ll come again, if grand 
 papa will let me. In the mean time, you must come to 
 us, and I will introduce you to some right pleasant young 
 persons, and we will have merry times again." 
 
 But her amiable efforts to console him only increased 
 his concern. The idea of her leaving them was intoler 
 able. She had "made it sunshine in a shady place." 
 He had known a pleasure in her companionship he could 
 not now do without, especially in the involvement of his 
 present anxiety; but, declaring her departure impera 
 tive, Eleanor retired to her room to write to her mother. 
 Here she had hardly seated herself before a gentle tap 
 announced her aunt. 
 
 "My dear child," said she, "I am so grieved! Papa 
 has told me all. Poor Phil 1 I know not which is most 
 to be pitied, he or myself." 
 
 Eleanor could not suppress a smile. "Dear aunt, 
 trust me that Cousin Philip will not die of a broken 
 
268 WALTER THOKNLEY; OB, 
 
 heart on my account ; and you, I hope, will find conso 
 lation in some one much better than your insensible 
 niece." 
 
 " Oh no, Eleanor, never. You can not comprehend 
 the happiness you have shed on my solitary life. The 
 hope of keeping you here has been to me like the fabu 
 lous elixir. But you were about to write not to your 
 mother?" 
 
 " Yes ; to inform her of my return." 
 
 " That is just what I am sent to prevent. Papa de 
 sires she may not know what has passed, and that you 
 will not think of leaving Eosenberg at present." 
 
 "Oh, I must go I" 
 
 li But, my dear ! The wishes of papa are commands, 
 you know." 
 
 "Commands!" repeated Eleanor ; "commands that I 
 shall not go, nor write to my own mother!" 
 
 " Yes, even so ; here his word is law." 
 
 " Oh, dear aunt ! perhaps tis disrespectful to say so, 
 but I can not help it. You ve all made grandpapa a 
 tyrant by your slavish fears. He would be just and 
 reasonable, I am sure, had he not been spoiled by this 
 irrational submission. Do, dearest aunt, be a little more 
 resolute for his sake." 
 
 Miss Lawrence did not answer, and Eleanor saw, by 
 her closed eyes and contracted brow, that some painful 
 thought occupied her. 
 
 " Tis too late! too lateF said she, at length, rather 
 reflecting than speaking to another; "Life has passed 
 me by ; I can not now arrest the stream. If I have 
 made a mistake, it has not been wholly from the weak 
 ness you ascribe it to. But let us speak of yourself, 
 Eleanor. By complying with papa s request you will 
 soothe his present irritation ; by refusing, you will re 
 open the breach with your parents so lately closed. 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 269 
 
 This, I think, will reconcile you to the surrender of your 
 own wishes. As to Philip, he will not be deceived into 
 a vain hope by your remaining ; he will understand that 
 it is compulsory." 
 
 " Oh," said Eleanor, with an irrepressible laugh, " I 
 am not deterred by fear of any such consequence. Phil 
 and I perfectly comprehend each other." 
 
 Miss Lawrence cast a glance on her, half-reproachful, 
 and, rising, said, "Well, my dear, you will, at least, allow 
 me to tell papa that you consent." 
 
 " Yes ; with one reserve. I will not write. I will re 
 main, but not to be treated as I was to-day. I wish 
 never to fail in respect and obedience to grandpapa; and, 
 therefore, I dare not subject myself to what I know I 
 could not patiently bear." 
 
 To complicate matters, the gout appeared the result 
 of nervous agitation and Mr. Lawrence was confined to 
 his chamber. 
 
 Eleanor sent to beg she might be admitted to read, as 
 usual, but the offer was declined, and in such a manner 
 that it was plain she would not soon be permitted to 
 have the privilege. 
 
 Several days passed, during which it was by no means 
 easy to preserve the peace in Mr. Lawrence s sick-room. 
 The attack was not violent, and at intervals he might, 
 if he would, have found a solace in an agreeable book ; 
 but neither the offers of his daughter nor of Philip were 
 accepted. Mrs. Dorothy very humbly proffered her serv 
 ices, but only to be rejected. At length, after ponder 
 ing and hesitating, she ventured to say, 
 
 " I do believe I have thought of what may suit you, 
 sir. Suppose you try Priscilla Dale, sir." 
 
 " Priscilla Dale ! Pshaw ! nonsense ! She d drive me 
 mad!" 
 
 " Why, sir, she s an excellent reader ! Miss Lawrence 
 
270 WALTER THORNLEY; OK, 
 
 took ever so much pains with her, and she came every 
 day to read to her when she used to be so poorly. Dear 
 me ! I m sure nobody d a thought then that she d live 
 to see this day ! You haven t forgot that time, sir, I m 
 sure." 
 
 " No, woman !" exclaimed Mr. Lawrence, violently ; 
 " and, if I had, you would never cease to remind me. 
 No; I won t have Priscilla Dale!" 
 
 Her habitual fear overcome by her real desire to re 
 lieve him, Mrs. Dorothy ventured a little farther, and 
 suggested that Mr. Philip might ask her to come "just 
 on trial." 
 
 But Phil, alarmed at the idea of such an embassy, cer 
 tain, too, to fail in his hands, answered, hastily, 
 
 " No, no, Mrs. Dorothy, that will never do ; she won t 
 come !" 
 
 These few words settled the matter. 
 
 "Won t come! won t come!" repeated Mr. Lawrence, 
 " when /send ! a girl who owes every thing to us 1 I d 
 like to see her refuse ! Go to her this instant, Phil, and 
 tell her to come to me. I ll try her, if only to punish 
 her pride." 
 
 . There was nothing to be done but to appear to obey ; 
 when, to his great relief, Miss Lawrence undertook to 
 dispatch a note, which, she doubted not, would bring 
 her; and, while this is on its way, it may not be amiss to 
 peep into the neat little domicil whither it is traveling. 
 
 About two miles from Eosenberg was the "Mill 
 Farm." The mill, whence it derived its name, turned 
 by a never-failing stream, together with the good char 
 acter of the miller and his meal, had secured the custom 
 of the country round for many miles. 
 
 Joseph Dale, the occupant, a Quaker, who had many 
 years before left England a poor man, had, by industry 
 and thrift, arrived at what to him was competence a 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 271 
 
 respectable living, with, something "laid by for a rainy 
 day." He had at first a hard struggle ; but Mr. Law 
 rence, of whom he had taken a long lease on easy terms, 
 had been not only an indulgent landlord, but a good 
 friend. With improving circumstances Mr. Dale had 
 carried out his English and Quaker tastes. The rude, 
 ill-constructed, weather-beaten house had been repaired, 
 painted, and bettered in many ways. The little walk 
 which conducted from it to the mill had been shaded by 
 a row of trees ; and a garden, at the foot of which his 
 Pactolus the mill-stream glided along, was always the 
 best and the earliest in the neighborhood. Fences, out 
 houses, and land, all showed his intelligent care; and, 
 when driving his sister and daughter in his capacious 
 chaise, drawn by a sleek, well-fed horse, in a suit of gray 
 not unlike their own, they presented altogether an im 
 age of comfort and respectability that some of their rich 
 er neighbors might have envied. 
 
 Within, the dwelling was the very temple of neat 
 ness, of which Esther Dale and Priscilla were the priest 
 esses ; and Martha, an orphan girl, at first taken for char 
 ity, now their only help, was a faithful ministrant. 
 
 Esther Dale, a woman of sense and feeling, with a 
 good plain education, had been, though not a preacher, 
 an occasional exhorter, when so " moved." This gave 
 to her manner and language an increased precision, to 
 which was added an attachment to her sect that narrow 
 ed her views of the " world s people." By this last her 
 niece was unaffected, though she had naturally caught 
 something of the former. Her brother, not less honest, 
 was more liberal. He had seen sufficient cause to be 
 lieve that goodness was not found only under a broad 
 brim and a drab coat ; and, while an attentive observer 
 of the forms of a people who profess to discard form, he 
 did not believe in their essential importance. 
 
272 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 On the afternoon alluded to, Priscilla and her aunt 
 the day s work over were in their quiet little " sitting- 
 room," the windows of which, opening to the poet s cor 
 ner, the sweet southwest, disclosed a small flower-garden 
 spread beneath them. Here, as if that instinct of beauty 
 implanted in the human breast would vindicate itself, 
 were to be seen the gayest combinations of colors ; and 
 sober eyes, that turned from all the glories of earth, 
 could not shut out the gorgeous hues and the brilliant 
 lights of the evening sky. 
 
 On the hearth 
 
 "The kettle whisp ring its faint under-song" 
 
 gave note of preparation for their early tea. The floor, 
 white and scantily carpeted, and the polished pine ta 
 bles, attested the patient labors of Martha. At every 
 door little mats of list home manufactory mounted 
 guard to defend the sacred precincts from gravel and 
 soil. Chairs of the prevailing straight, high - backed 
 form, but of inexpensive bilested wood, well oiled, were 
 a good substitute for mahogany. There was literally no 
 article of ornament in the room. On one side hung a 
 map of Great Britain left, but not forgotten ! on the 
 other was a small bilsted press, the upper part a book 
 case, containing their literary staple, with drawers be 
 low, whose brass handles shone resplendent. 
 
 Among the books were " A History of the People 
 called Quakers, by William Sewall;" "Journal of the 
 Life and Travels of George Fox ;" " The History of the 
 Life of Thomas Ell wood;" Barclay s "Apology for the 
 true Christian Divinity, as the same is held forth and 
 preached by the people called in scorn Quakers; " 
 "Life of William Penn;" "No Cross, no Crown;" Wil 
 liam Penn s " Eules for the Regulation of his Family, or 
 Christian Discipline; or, Good and Wholesome Orders 
 for the well-governing of the same ;" Biographies and 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 273 
 
 Experiences of several eminent Quakers; "Guthrie s 
 Gazetteer," and " Entick s Dictionary." 
 
 From a volume in Esther s hand, she was reading 
 aloud to Priscilla, seated by her side, sewing " fine linen" 
 for her father, who, despising " embroidery and vain ap 
 parel," moderately indulged in this luxury. The pas 
 sage selected was a portion of the beautiful letter ad 
 dressed by Penn to his wife and children previous to his 
 first embarkation for this country. 
 
 "Hearken, Priscilla," said her aunt, "to this godly 
 and wise man. Agriculture I especially commend. 
 Let my children be husbandmen and housewives ; it is 
 industrious, healthy, honest, and of good example. Like 
 Abraham and the holy ancients, who pleased God and 
 obtained a good report. " 
 
 "Yes," said Priscilla; "he was, I doubt not, a wise 
 man, and as full of love as of wisdom ; for in the con 
 clusion of this same letter those tender words meet us, 
 that have always dwelt in my memory. Yours, he 
 saith to his wife, yours in that which no waters can 
 quench, no time forget, nor distance wear away, but re- 
 maineth forever! " 
 
 "But thou must remember, Priscilla," said Esther, 
 with a scrutinizing look, " that the love of which he thus 
 speaketh was bred of a godly mind ; and observe, far 
 ther, how he enforceth this. For, advising of his children, 
 he saith, "When marriageable, see that they have worthy 
 persons in their eye; of good life, and good fame for 
 piety and understanding. Now, by understanding, it 
 is manifest that he meant not carnal gifts ; for what doth 
 Scripture say? A good understanding have all they 
 that love thy law. " 
 
 Priscilla, not inclined to a conversation the tendency 
 whereof she was well aware, was glad to be relieved by 
 the entrance of Pomp, with a note from Miss Lawrence. 
 
 M2 
 
274 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 Esther observed her closely. She marked her vary 
 ing color and startled look. But Priscilla, taught to con 
 trol her emotions, soon recovered her usual calm exte 
 rior, and, having dismissed Pomp to await her answer, 
 she handed the note to her aunt. She read it, and re 
 turned it without comment, saying, " Is the young man 
 Philip at home?" 
 
 " Not often, I think. He spendeth much time in the 
 woods, and on the river." 
 
 " Verily, a gainful occupation !" replied Esther, coldly. 
 " Slaughtering God s harmless creatures for his amuse 
 ment." 
 
 Now it is not to be inferred that she disliked Philip. 
 On the contrary, she was no exception to the general fa 
 vor he found : 
 
 "With eye so merry, and a foot so light, 
 That none could chide his gamesomeness." 
 
 She had, indeed, often rebuked his taste for what she 
 considered murderous sports, held in abhorrence by her 
 sect; yet once, when her brother had been left by a 
 wasting fever with a sickly appetite, she gladly received 
 the frequent bag of game, nor scrupulously counted the 
 little lives that went to fill it. Nor would any one so 
 surely raise a smile on her habitually grave face as " the 
 young man Philip." 
 
 But those days were past. A woman s instinct, surer 
 than "Suspicion s hundred eyes," had alarmed her for her 
 niece ; and, together with her desire to promote her mar 
 riage with a thriving young Quaker suitor, led her to 
 discourage an intimacy which she feared could only pro 
 duce unhappiness. For this reason she had favored the 
 long sojourn among their distant friends; and, perceiv 
 ing that Philip s visits were not renewed, she hoped the 
 danger was passed. The request of Miss Lawrence was 
 therefore as unpleasant as unexpected. 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 275 
 
 Priscilla did not reply to her aunt s unfavorable ob 
 servation, but looked perplexed and uneasy. 
 
 " I see," said Esther, " that thy spirit is troubled with 
 in thee. Thou hast a divided mind between duty to 
 thy friend Gertrude and to thyself." 
 
 Priscilla did not confirm, though she could not deny, 
 her aunt s assertion. 
 
 " My child," continued Esther, earnestly, "spread her 
 letter, like Eabshakeh s, before the Lord, and verily 
 thou shalt be heard. Be not disheartened ; thou know- 
 est, l No cross, no crown. " 
 
 " I will do as my father shall advise," replied Priscil 
 la, hearing his approaching footstep ; and, as he entered, 
 she put the note into his hand, saying, " I wish to do in 
 this matter, father, as seemeth best unto thee." 
 
 Now Joseph Dale was too busy with mill and farm, 
 and the cares, large and small, of his industrious life, to 
 have time for close in-door observation. It had proba 
 bly never crossed his mind to question what the visits of 
 Philip might tend to, continued, as they had been, from 
 his childhood. " He was," he thought, " a sensible lad, 
 and a good one ; and, moreover, his laughter was pleas 
 ant to the hearer ;" for, from under the restraint of Quak 
 er manners, there often wells forth a spring of mirth 
 that mingles readily with its like. Nor was his scrutiny 
 quickened by the religious zeal of his sister. He was 
 well aware that as yet Priscilla s conformity consisted 
 only in "dress and address." He could wish it other 
 wise, but this " was not for him to bring to pass." Had 
 he feared that she was in danger of violating her own 
 convictions, he would have been much disturbed. But 
 habits, the result of education merely, must, he knew, 
 be liable to change ; and he held that she could yet be 
 a Christian woman, even though her speech and apparel 
 were altered. 
 
276 WALTER THOKNLEY; OK, 
 
 Having read the note, he replied, " I marvel what thee 
 means? Friend Lawrence and his daughter have never 
 failed to us ; and, if they desire this small favor at thy 
 hands, I should be loth to deny them. Go, therefore, of 
 a certainty." 
 
 Esther, by look rather than word, expressed a demur 
 rer, which Joseph perceiving said, " That is, if thy aunt 
 can spare thee. I would not have her cumbered by too 
 much serving, yet, rather than thee should say nay in this 
 matter, I advise thee to seek some one to assist her in 
 thy stead." 
 
 Esther knew her brother well enough to understand 
 that, once having decided, he was little likely to change 
 his opinion ; and, as in such a case words would be use 
 less, she, with her usual dislike to superfluous expendi 
 ture, spared them, and Priscilla dismissed Pomp with 
 the desired answer. 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 277 
 
 CHAPTEK XXYI. 
 
 THE next day, as Eleanor was alone in the parlor, ab 
 sorbed in a book, the door opened, but so noiselessly 
 that she was not aware of the entrance of any one till a 
 near step drew her attention; and, turning, she found 
 herself confronted by a young girl whom she had never 
 before seen. She was apparently not much older than 
 herself, lower in stature, but of such fair proportions, 
 and so erect a carriage, that height was not necessary to 
 confer dignity. Nor had her natural flexibility of limb 
 and movement been repressed by the primness of her 
 dress. This was a gown of gray chambray a silk and 
 cotton material, then much used with the long, tight 
 Quaker waist, unrelieved by any garniture ; a muslin 
 handkerchief crossed over her breast, sleeves tight to be 
 low the elbow, and there met by long gray kid mitts. 
 Her gown was just short enough to show that she wore 
 the low "spring-heels," not in order to affect height, but 
 for greater neatness. She had a shawl of the same color, 
 and a bonnet of the Quaker fashion ; but from under it 
 looked out a pair of eyes in strange contrast with this 
 sad-colored attire. They were of that form and color 
 described as "Italian," soft as the dove s, but in their 
 rich depths a fire burned. Her brow was strongly mark 
 ed, and, in keeping with her mouth, gave more of char 
 acter and firmness to her face than beauty. But a clear 
 and smooth complexion the usual accompaniment of 
 her dark auburn hair atoned for any irregularities; 
 rendering the whole, though not faultless, at once strik 
 ing and pleasing a face which, if it could not defy crit 
 icism, was sure of admiration. 
 
278 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 Eleanor was not long in doubt as to who she was. 
 
 "Well," thought she, " if Cousin Philip could afford 
 to be silent about her external charms, she must have a 
 great deal besides." 
 
 "Miss Dale, is it not?" said she, offering her hand. 
 
 "Not so," replied the young girl; "Priscilla Dale 
 better pleaseth me. And thou art " 
 
 " Eleanor Meredith." 
 
 " So I did suppose." 
 
 Having placed a chair for her, Eleanor assisted in re 
 moving her hat, and saw, admiringly, the little white 
 cypress gauze cap that shaded, but could not conceal her 
 rich hair. 
 
 The few commonplaces exchanged about weather, 
 walking, etc., both were silent. Eleanor thought she 
 perceived the impress of Miss Lawrence in the refine 
 ment of her voice and manner, and in the accuracy of 
 her speech free from the usual Quaker offenses against 
 grammar; but, fearing to embarrass, restrained her de 
 sire to look at her; while Priscilla fixed her eyes on 
 Eleanor, not with the gaze of ill-bred curiosity, but a sad 
 intentness that betrayed a more than common interest. 
 
 To a person curious in the effect of modes of thought 
 on manners, they might have been a profitable study. 
 The one, unspoiled by the world, but not ignorant of its 
 prescriptions neither selfish nor arrogant, yet not indif 
 ferent to her advantages of wealth and position was con 
 strained, from the fear of doing either too little or too 
 much. The other, undisturbed by a question for her 
 already settled, not by propriety or expediency, but on 
 grounds far higher, was calm and self-possessed. Taught 
 to honor no man for external distinctions, she was un 
 moved in their presence, and was absorbed in far dif 
 ferent reflections as she continued her observations of 
 Eleanor. 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 279 
 
 " She is surely comely to behold," she thought. " It 
 is no marvel that she should find favor in his eyes ; but, 
 unless her face belie her, she has that also which is 
 better." 
 
 The entrance of Miss Lawrence gave a new direction 
 to their thoughts. Priscilla warmed into animation, 
 and approaching her, took her extended hand between 
 hers, and, in reply to her friend s kind greeting, replied, 
 "It rejoiceth me to see thee." Then, gazing on her 
 lovingly, she added, " and thou art well too, and strong, 
 and young almost as young and fair as this thy 
 niece." 
 
 " Ah ! Priscilla," said Miss Lawrence, tapping her cheek, 
 " how have you, under the safeguard of a Quaker cap, 
 learned to flatter?" 
 
 " Flatter !" repeated Priscilla, with a smile ; " nay, not 
 so. I have heard a man, learned in the law, tell my fa 
 ther that evil words, if not false, were no libel. Then 
 fair words, if true, are no flattery. Are we allowed to 
 utter truth only when it giveth pain?" 
 
 " The truth that is just the question. I own, how 
 ever, I am. in health at least, much improved. My niece 
 has been my best physician. But," added Miss Law 
 rence, with a look of kind scrutiny, "you are a little 
 thinner, and rather paler. What have those strict Penn 
 sylvania friends been doing with you? I am glad to 
 see, however, that my favorite hair has not turned Quaker 
 yet." 
 
 "No," said Priscilla, with a smile, smoothing away 
 some refractory curls that had escaped from her cap, 
 "no, though I do try to make it better conform." 
 
 "And how happens it that you have been so long re 
 turned without coming to see me till I sent for you ? 
 That is not like you, Priscilla." 
 
 Priscilla, dropping her eyelids and folding her hands, 
 
280 WALTEK THOKNLEY; OK, 
 
 for an instant offered no excuse, while Eleanor, moved 
 by pity and curiosity, listened for her answer. 
 
 "It hath not been my fault, but it hath been a sore 
 grief to me. I know thou wilt pardon me if I can not 
 farther satisfy thee." 
 
 Miss Lawrence, supposing it to be some restrictions on 
 the part of her aunt, who feared any influence at vari 
 ance with Quakerism, set the matter at rest by saying, 
 " You deserve my confidence, Priscilla, because you nev 
 er doubt it. And now let us go to papa, who expects 
 you in his room, because not well enough to leave it." 
 
 She led the way, and Priscilla prepared to follow her, 
 but Eleanor could not part with her thus. 
 
 " Let us," said she, "be better acquainted. When you 
 have the time, will you come to see me too, and allow 
 me to visit you ?" 
 
 "It is kindly spoken of thee, Eleanor, but it is, never 
 theless, not best for thee, nor for me, thus to do. Do 
 not think me unthankful ; I feel that I should love thee 
 well, were it permitted. Farewell !" and she was gone. 
 
 "So," thought Eleanor, "my overtures rejected by 
 the little maid of the mill ! but what a majesty there is 
 in truth and simplicity ! Now I, in the same circum 
 stances, would have gone beating about for excuses, in 
 order not to compromise myself by an allusion to the 
 real fact. She comes directly to the point. * It is not 
 best for thee nor for me, in which, too, she would be 
 perfectly right were matters as she probably believes ; 
 that is, if I were indeed her rival. I shall make another 
 attempt, however." 
 
 For this there was no opportunity. Priscilla came 
 daily at the appointed hour, but was immediately con 
 ducted to Mr. Lawrence s room, whence, when dismiss 
 ed, she left the house as noiselessly as she came. And 
 when, in the course of a week, he was so far better that 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 281 
 
 he received her in the parlor, it was evidently expected 
 that Eleanor should withdraw ; for, though his displeas 
 ure was now only manifested by a punctilious politeness, 
 it was not abated. 
 
 Pained by this seclusion, and the strange position as 
 signed her, still Eleanor could not but admit the happy 
 effect of the present arrangement on her grandfather. 
 Whether that he had a secret satisfaction in the infliction 
 of condign punishment on her, or the tranquilizing ways 
 of the little Quaker her gentle tones, the sedative effect 
 of her phraseology, her good reading, her immovable 
 placidity, which seemed to act like oil on ruffled waters 
 or her beauty, which, he having seen little of her of late, 
 appeared to take him by surprise or all together, could 
 not be said. Certain it was, however, that, like " the lit 
 tle maid carried away captive out of the land of Israel," 
 she had brought healing to the house. The gout disap 
 peared, and an unusual calm succeeded. 
 
 One day, as Eleanor had just made her compulsory 
 exit from the parlor, she was me by Philip in the hall, 
 who stealthily giving her a signal, she followed him into 
 the drawing-room. 
 
 " Eleanor," said he, "I must speak to you! Do you 
 know that Mrs. Dorothy says that grandpapa is quite 
 taken with Priscilla, who, as she tells me, has bewitch 
 ed the old gentleman. This has put new hope into me : 
 what if she should so gain his favor as to overcome his 
 objections?" 
 
 "Well, but, my good cousin," replied Eleanor, mis 
 chievously, " how could that help you ? You say that 
 Priscilla is herself inexorable." 
 
 " Oh, she would not be so you know she could not 
 if every obstacle were removed." 
 
 "But another thing, Philip how can you be sure 
 that Priscilla may not play The Irish Widow in earn- 
 
282 
 
 est, and, finding she has captivated the grandfather, sac 
 rifice the grandson ?" 
 
 "Why why you don t what do you mean, Ele 
 anor?" exclaimed he, gasping with alarm and astonish 
 ment ; " what can you mean ?" 
 
 u Only just what I say : I, of course, am ignorant of 
 all such things ; but mamma, who knows the world, oft 
 en declares that no marriage would ever surprise her 
 that the wisest and the silliest, the oldest and the young 
 est, are equally unreliable in this matter." 
 
 " Well, but, Eleanor, you distress me ; don t talk so ; 
 tis absurd: do be serious." 
 
 "I am serious, and, moreover, quite reasonable. Pris- 
 cilla has rejected you. She is, therefore, as you must 
 admit, perfectly at liberty. Grandpapa is a handsome, 
 hale old gentleman, and, when he chooses, can be cap 
 tivating. More than this, she considers you engaged to 
 me, which, of course, you ought to be, if people ever did 
 in matrimony what they ought to do. It is not my 
 place to undeceive hor, and you can not, because she 
 has sent you to Coventry. Now, before we can all 
 stand in our proper places, grandpapa, who thinks that 
 every thing, like murder, * if it were done, it is well it 
 were done quickly, will have the banns published, and 
 you and I will be invited to walk as * chief mourners. " 
 
 " If I thought such a thing possible," exclaimed Phil 
 ip, " I would 
 
 " Fall down and worship me ! I suppose," interrupted 
 Eleanor, with mock gravity ; " but I warn you, my god- 
 desship would be immovable." 
 
 "!Nb, no!" replied he, passionately; "I would tear 
 her from my heart, and never more have faith in wom 
 an ! But I won t think of it. Tis an absurdity 1 You 
 don t believe it ; you can not." 
 
 "I believe nothing, because I have nothing on which 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 283 
 
 to found belief. You ought to know how far you can 
 trust her. But no, dear Philip, do not look so distress 
 ed; I am only taking my revenge on you and grand 
 papa. Priscilla s face can not deceive. She may be 
 firm even to obstinacy, but never mercenary or heart 
 less." 
 
 Philip, though rejecting what his better sense assured 
 him did not deserve a thought, could not be quite easy 
 under these suggestions, even when retracted. He re 
 flected on all the extraordinary marriages of which he 
 had ever heard, till he almost persuaded himself that 
 this one was possible. His situation, tantalizing before 
 daily under the same roof with Priscilla, yet not dar 
 ing to speak to her became now intolerable, and he re 
 solved, at all hazards, to see her. 
 
 Accordingly, the next morning, when, having per 
 formed her usual duty, she was on her return, and pro 
 ceeding through the wood which separated her from her 
 home, she heard steps behind, and feared that she was 
 followed. She would not betray it, however, even by a 
 look, but pursued her way, as if unconscious. They 
 gained on her they were at her side still, she neither 
 turned her head nor raised her eyes. 
 
 In the days of their childhood, Philip had playfully 
 imitated her mode of speech. Affection had adopted 
 what sport began. 
 
 "Priscilla!" at length, he said, in a hesitating voice; 
 " Priscilla ! may I not speak to thee !" 
 
 She was silent, and again he entreated. 
 
 Without slackening her pace or raising her eyes, she 
 at length replied, " I have neither might nor right to 
 prevent thy speaking ; but let it be what befits thee to 
 say, and me to hear." 
 
 " Oh, Priscilla ! thou knowest that there is but one 
 thing I can say forgive me! Be again to me what 
 
284 WALTER THOBNLEY; OB, 
 
 thou hast so long been I Thou, whom only I have loved, 
 or can ever love!" 
 
 She stopped suddenly, and, turning toward him a face 
 pale but unmoved, said deliberately and coldly, " Thy 
 grandfather is pleased to require at my hand certain 
 small services, the which I gladly render ; but I will not 
 again cross his threshold unless thou leave me." 
 
 u Say, then, only that thou dost not hate me; nay, hate 
 me, if thou wilt : any thing but this deadly coldness." 
 
 " I may not vex myself at thy bidding," she replied. 
 
 "Priscilla, I can not bear this. Accuse me! scorn 
 me ! any thing that shows human feeling !" 
 
 But no word was returned ; she only walked faster, 
 as if anxious to escape him. 
 
 Stung by her manner past endurance, and, for the 
 moment, yielding to the suspicions that had been in 
 fused into him, he placed himself in her path, and ex 
 claimed, with violence, " It is so ! I understand you at 
 last ; do not think to blind me ; I am sacrificed, not to 
 a just resentment, but to your ambition ! Poor and de 
 pendent as I am, you do well to cast me off for one 
 who, if more than three times your age, can make you 
 mistress of Eosenberg 1" 
 
 The words were hardly uttered before they were re 
 pented. The lightning that shot from those dark eyes 
 brought quick conviction of her indignant innocence, 
 and of his own folly. 
 
 " I thank thee, Philip Lawrence," she said ; " thou hast 
 done me thy last and best favor ; thou hast extinguished 
 the small spark of kindness that yet warmed my heart 
 toward thee." 
 
 Humbled and alarmed, he implored her pardon, and 
 attempted to take her hand ; but, disengaging it, she ex 
 claimed, "Let me pass! thy path and mine here part for 
 ever ! Let me pass." 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 285 
 
 "Oh, Priscilla! canst thou leave me thus, without a 
 word, or hope of forgiveness ? I am wretched ! Pity, 
 if thou wilt not love me. Tell me what I can do to 
 show thee my repentance." 
 
 A slight tremor of her voice betrayed the effect of 
 this appeal, but her manner was unchanged. 
 
 " All that I ask at thy hands is that thou hinder me 
 not in my duty to thy grandfather." 
 
 Philip no longer ventured to oppose her. Retreating 
 from before her, he permitted her to proceed, while he 
 turned homeward with a heavy heart. 
 
 Meanwhile, Priscilla, having got beyond sight and 
 sound, seated herself under a tree, not to rest, but to 
 weep unseen. Here she gave way to a gush of feeling, 
 the more violent because long suppressed. Tears, and 
 even groans, attested her sorrow. Suddenly she check 
 ed herself. 
 
 " Foolish and wicked that I am," thought she ; " why 
 am I thus disquieted ? Surely no new trial has come 
 upon me. What if he, indeed, love me still; what 
 though report of him and his cousin be untrue ; what 
 if I forgive all that is past ? it mattereth not my duty 
 remaineth. It can not be shunned but by returning 
 evil for good. * Thy friend and thy father s friend for 
 get not. Then how may I, in return for all the kind 
 ness rendered to me and mine, steal away the hope of 
 their house ? No, I will not do it, even though my heart 
 should burst. Tis well that I turn on him a cold coun 
 tenance, even that he thinketh me unfeeling and cruel. 
 Be it so." 
 
 Then, adjusting her cap and hat in her agitation, 
 nearly fallen off smoothing her hair, and wiping away 
 the traces of her tears, she rose, and, slowly proceeding, 
 was so far tranquilized, on reaching home, as to escape 
 question or observation. 
 
286 WALTEK TI1ORNLEY; OK, 
 
 JHAPTER XXyil. 
 
 ELEANOR S sympathy for Philip had reconciled her to 
 what she believed could only be a temporary loss of fa 
 vor ; but, when she found she was thereby restricted in 
 her kindly efforts for others, it was harder to bear. Of 
 this she soon had an instance. 
 
 Pomp had been sent to the village on the opposite 
 side of the river, charged with various household er 
 rands, but, above all, to call for a pair of knee-buckles 
 which Mr. Lawrence had sent to be repaired. He re 
 turned just at nightfall, but his memory had proved 
 treacherous, and his master s errand had been forgotten. 
 
 Finding Eleanor alone in the parlor, he confided to 
 her his trouble, and begged her to "speak a good word 
 for him to massa." She had just given the promise of 
 her best services when her grandfather entered, and the 
 luckless omission had to be confessed. 
 
 Pomp s fears had not exaggerated the probable conse 
 quences. Not that Mr. Lawrence cared more for his 
 knee-buckles than an old gentleman should be allowed 
 to do ; but, various similar offenses on the part of Pomp 
 having of late occurred, and punishment having been 
 threatened, it was hardly to be expected that he should 
 now escape. 
 
 "Go instantly back and get them!" was the penalty 
 denounced. 
 
 At this moment it was no small one. The wind had 
 risen as the night came on, and the darkness, deepening 
 at every moment, was becoming fearful. Courage was 
 no virtue of Pomp s ; add to which, his mother s frequent 
 injunctions to avoid the fate of his father, who had been 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 287 
 
 drowned, had impressed on him a superstitious dread of 
 the water. 
 
 "Massa," said he, with a quaver in his voice, "de 
 white caps is risin drefful fast. "Won t massa please let 
 me go ober in de mornin ?" 
 
 Mr. Lawrence had no sympathy with cowardice in 
 any form, and a peremptory negative cut short the en 
 treaty. Pomp ventured only an imploring glance at 
 Eleanor, which, being observed by his master, she saw 
 only aggravated the matter. Still her promise was not 
 to be broken ; and, though hoping little from her inter 
 ference, she commenced with "Dear grandpapa, do " 
 when another command, issued with even more violence, 
 like an explosion, blew poor Pomp out of the room. 
 
 A lull in the wind for a short time furnished an 
 excuse for the harsh mandate; but, as the night ad 
 vanced, it again rose, justifying all Pomp s fears and 
 the prognostics of the kitchen. To the gale was add 
 ed Egyptian darkness. Eleanor, too anxious to sleep, 
 remained up, looking from every window in hope of 
 some abatement of the storm. At length, recollecting 
 the probable terrors of Pomp s mother, she went to the 
 kitchen, in the wish to afford her such comfort as could 
 be suggested. She found that her aunt had anticipated 
 her. The other servants had gone to bed, but poor 
 Minty, in her desperate grief, had thrown herself before 
 the hearth, and was venting her feelings in tears and 
 moans. Miss Lawrence bent over her, trying to dispel 
 the fears to which, like a child, she gave way. 
 
 "Yelly s bery good, missis," at length she sobbed 
 forth, "but jess so Tom went, missis; jess so! and I 
 neber seed his face agin I I allus t ought Pomp would 
 be drowned, case he jess like his fader ! Oh, missis ! 
 missis ! and only jess for dose drefful knee-buckles ! 
 Oh, massa! massa! I wouldn t sarve vou so!" and a sad 
 
288 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 wail accompanied these few reproachful words, which 
 her mother s heart could not repress. 
 
 Miss Lawrence would not reprove what she could not, 
 in truth, condemn. At length, with some difficulty, in 
 ducing her to take a composing draught into which she 
 had insinuated an opiate, she and Eleanor got her to bed, 
 and remained with her till it had soothed her to silence 
 and sleep. 
 
 In returning to her own room Eleanor perceived the 
 drawing-room door ajar, and a light within. This being 
 unusual at so late an hour, she gently pressed it open, 
 and saw her grandfather standing by the front window, 
 evidently endeavoring to peer into the darkness of the 
 wild night, which was now terrific. Going from window 
 to window, apparently in a vain hope to see what was 
 not to be seen, he then turned round and walked, in an 
 anxious, troubled manner, about the room, looked at his 
 watch, and said to himself, " One o clock ! where can the 
 boy be!" then again went to the window. 
 
 Unwilling to leave him alone in this uneasy mood, 
 Eleanor entered, and, without an offer to bear him com 
 pany, which would of course be rejected, seated herself 
 by a table and took up a book that lay on it. But Mr. 
 Lawrence did not choose to be observed, and, turning 
 on her abruptly, he said, sharply, "What are you up 
 for? The wind disturbed me; but young folks should 
 not mind such trifles. Go to bed, child ; go to bed." 
 
 " I can not sleep," said Eleanor; " and if you will let 
 me stay with you, sir, I shall not care for the storm." 
 
 "No, no; nonsense! it is no storm. You city people 
 call every whistle of the wind a storm. Always fright 
 ened to death about your chimneys and your roofs. My 
 old gables have stood many a worse blast than this. If 
 you will build high, your pride may have a fall. We 
 are safe enough here. Go to bed, go to bed." 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 289 
 
 His manner admitted of no appeal or hesitation, and 
 she unwillingly obeyed. 
 
 "Poor grandpapa!" she thought, "he is paying the 
 price of his proud will!" 
 
 In the mean time Pomp, having executed his master s 
 command, returned to the ferry, near which a rough 
 shanty afforded a shelter to the ferryman, whose lantern 
 was the only light visible. 
 
 Pomp entered with fear and trembling. 
 
 "So, you ve come at last," said the gruff voice of Hans 
 Van Slyke, stretching and yawning, and well disposed 
 to sport with the terrors of his companion. "We may 
 as well be off at once, for we have but narrow quarters 
 here. Davy s locker, if ever so wet and cold, will be 
 wider, at any rate ; and the white caps will be soft pil 
 lows, eh, Pomp!" 
 
 " Lors a marcy, Massa Hans, don t talk dat ar way ! 
 Telly s not afear d?" 
 
 " Afear d ! who dares say that? But I never crossed 
 in such weather a fore, I can tell you. I say, Pomp, you 
 did nt think, did you, when you was a catching fish yes 
 terday, that they d grab you to-night, eh?" 
 
 " Oh, don t ! don t ! Massa Hans !" 
 
 "Why, Pomp," continued the immovable Hans, hold 
 ing his lantern to his face, "you re as white as I am. 
 When they hook you up to-morrow they ll think they ve 
 fished a gentleman, and they ll give you a grand funeral. 
 But come, let s be off," and, gathering himself up, he 
 prepared to face the night, Pomp following with falter 
 ing steps. Opening the door, he looked and listened ; 
 shook his head, and enlarged on the darkness and dan 
 ger, but manfully issued forth; when, having played out 
 his game, he turned suddenly round, saying, " Pomp, if 
 you re such a cursed fool as to go, I am not ; I shall not 
 budge to-night" 
 
 N 
 
290 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 This was music to the ears to which it was addressed, 
 but Pomp had now his own game to play. 
 
 " Not go, Massa Yan Slyke ! not go 1 Is dis de way 
 you sarve de public ? I se agwine on bizens. I don t 
 quire wedder danger here, or danger dere ; I make no 
 comparishments, but go whar I sent." 
 
 "You do, do you? But I ain t a nigger. I m not 
 going to risk my life for no man. Here I stay," putting 
 down his lantern, closing the door, and shaking up a 
 straw pallet for himself. 
 
 Pomp s courage growing as the call for it became less, 
 he straightened himself with a characteristic pomposity. 
 
 "Massa Yan Slyke," said he, "I spec you know de 
 law. If a man s structed in his lawful bizens, ob course 
 dere s damage to pay. Now who s structed here ? Not 
 you, but me. Who s to pay den ? Ob course not me, 
 but you." 
 
 " Your lawful business," said Hans, scornfully ; " I d 
 like to know what great matter you are trusted with ?" 
 
 " And I d hab you know, Massa Hans, dat I se not 
 gwine to blab. I knows when to speak and when to 
 hold my tongue. And dis yer s a ting berry near to 
 massa," with a chuckle at his own wit, "berry near; 
 moss a part of hisself. I se not gwine to quire wedder 
 you tink it of portance or not / know and I tell you 
 once for all dat you take de whole sponsability ob my 
 stayin here." 
 
 " Shut up, you black rascal !" exclaimed the regard 
 less Hans, "and let me go to sleep, will you!" 
 
 "And whar am I to sleep?" asked Pomp, with the 
 feeling of a misused official. " Is dis de only place you 
 perwide for a gen elman stopped on his lawful bizens?" 
 
 " If it s good enough for me, it s good enough for you ; 
 so hold your gab, I say." 
 
 This curt reply appeared final. Pomp nestled into 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 291 
 
 the straw with entire satisfaction ; slept profoundly in 
 spite of roaring winds and dashing waters, and, with the 
 early dawn, his cheery whistle was heard at Rosenberg, 
 as he wound round the house, to the comfort of those 
 who were fearing never to hear it again. 
 
 At breakfast, standing behind his master s chair, he 
 was permitted to relate his experience. The horrors and 
 dangers of the night, of course, were not slighted, nor his 
 own courage in being ready to brave them. Mr. Law 
 rence, as might be expected, ridiculed all; but, when 
 Pomp gave his statement of the case as put to Hans, he 
 said, putting some money in his hand, " Spoken like a 
 lawyer, Pomp, and there s your fee," better pleased, per 
 haps, than any one, that no calamity had happened. 
 
292 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 A REALLY poetic May had come and nearly gone. 
 The fresh grass, the trees in their young, feathery foliage, 
 the flowers the first-born of the year the "charm of 
 earliest birds," the soft and fragrant air, the mountains 
 in their cerulean blue, and their white, fleecy draperies, 
 the warm sky, flecked with the light clouds which the 
 yet moist earth sent up as incense, " nature all bloom 
 ing and beneficent," combined to cheer Eleanor, and to 
 charm away the little vexations that of late had crossed 
 her. She was, indeed, made to 
 
 " Count her hours 
 By the opening buds and closing flowers." 
 
 But there was one thought she could not always ex 
 clude, to which the season and its associations gave re 
 newed strength and freshness, proving that her earnest 
 efforts to conquer it had not been effectual. Eleanor, 
 
 " A child, 
 Smitten amid its playthings;" 
 
 one who 
 
 "Knew not life, 
 
 Save as the sportive breath of happiness, 
 Now felt her minutes teeming as they rose 
 With grave experiences." 
 
 She had, with a wisdom suddenly and painfully ac 
 quired, or, rather, a natural good sense and courage un 
 expectedly called forth, seen and determined, however 
 hard, to do her duty. In this she had been aided by a 
 removal to new scenes and new interests, where the gen 
 tle influence of her aunt had enforced her purpose, and 
 the happiness she conferred had been reflected on her- 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 293 
 
 self. Without any nice mental analysis, she had found 
 that " the best and only way of abstracting the mind 
 from one object was to fix it on another ;" and, in yield 
 ing herself amiably to those around her, had discovered 
 the best restorative. The first disturbing force had been 
 the unjust displeasure of her grandfather. It had turn 
 ed the current of her thoughts, which she had sedulous 
 ly directed to others, back upon herself, not only by 
 rendering her less happy, but by suggesting comparisons 
 with the standard which she had adopted. Severity, in 
 justice, weakness, only rendered more conspicuous mild 
 ness, truth, and strength, embodied in one she could not 
 forget, yet might not love. 
 
 The day had been unusually warm for the season 
 even sultry; and, after the early tea, to drive away 
 thought, she snatched up her hat and shawl, and stroll 
 ed off to her favorite retreat. This was at some distance 
 from the house, and was gained by a path through a 
 wood so thick that a stranger, in following it, unexpect 
 edly would find himself standing on a little rocky prom 
 ontory, so shaded and secluded that no habitation was 
 visible, and no sound heard but the rush of the mill- 
 stream that on one side hurried to the river, and the al 
 ternating tides that murmured at his feet. A fantastic 
 tree afforded seat and shade ; and here, with an agreea 
 ble book, a pleasanter nook could scarcely have been 
 found. 
 
 But now, instead of sitting or reading, Eleanor leaned 
 on a projection of the rock that rose like a battlement 
 before her, and, bending over it, thought of home, fa 
 ther, mother, and Walter ; of her dear study ; of the 
 lessons first disliked and then loved; of absence 
 return avowal separation. All, all came back with 
 the greater power because so long repressed, and tears, 
 unbidden and unthought of, fell on the hand which sup- 
 
294 WALTEE THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 ported her cheek. She saw nothing not river, nor 
 mountain, nor setting sun ; nor a sloop, whose idle sails 
 were flapping in the lazy air; nor yet another, which, 
 at low tide, was stranded on a bar near the opposite 
 shore. No, nor a little boat, which, having put off from 
 its side, had, after a few moments, changed its oblique 
 course, and was steering toward the spot she occupied. 
 Neither did she see that a spy -glass, handed from one to 
 another, was directed to herself; nor, until the boat s 
 prow disturbed the monotonous murmur on the beach, 
 was she roused to see that a young man, returning the 
 glass to some one near him, had leaped ashore, at the 
 same moment answering the question, u At what hour, 
 sir?" by another 
 
 " When does the tide serve?" 
 
 " At nine o clock." 
 
 " Very well ; you ll find me here." 
 
 That voice awoke an echo in her heart. Starting from 
 her reverie, she saw, struggling up the rock, and in a 
 few seconds by her side, with glowing, animated face 
 and extended hand, the very spirit of her waking 
 dream. 
 
 " Mr. Thornley !" she exclaimed. 
 
 " Eleanor I" he replied, excited out of his habitual cau 
 tious address. Their hands met; their "mutual eyes" 
 were eloquent, but their words were few. Their last 
 sad parting was present to them. 
 
 " Do not stand," said Walter, first recovering himself. 
 " Eest here, where the Dryads seem to have prepared a 
 seat for you" leading her to the old tree, whose dis 
 torted trunk afforded a resting-place " and I will find a 
 fitting one here," throwing himself on the grass at her 
 feet. 
 
 Eleanor, in a bewilderment of joy and surprise, could 
 say nothing. She passively complied with his sugges- 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 295 
 
 tion, while lie sat gazing into her face, to which the year 
 since they had parted had added both strength and 
 beauty. The freedom, the pure air, the healthful exer 
 cise, the early hours of her quiet, inartificial country 
 life, had increased her bloom, and matured her figure to 
 its full and perfect proportions. She had ceased to be 
 a child without losing a single grace of childhood. She 
 had grown into the dignity of a woman without any con 
 sciousness of greater importance. 
 
 "Now, tell me," said she, at length, "where have you 
 come from? the earth beneath, or the sky above? for I 
 have not the faintest idea." 
 
 " My progress has been neither subterranean nor ethe 
 real entirely prosaic, and like that of other mortals. 
 But, in order to be understood, I must enter into particu 
 lars. You, perhaps, remember my legal aspirations, and 
 the facilities afforded by your father. Well, I have 
 obeyed the impulse thus encouraged, and am in the out 
 er court of the temple I so much desire to enter a law 
 yer s clerk ; with so much of his confidence that I am 
 now absent on his business. Is not that well ?" 
 
 " That sounds well, at least," said Eleanor, returning 
 his smile, "but do you like it? Now, for once, descend 
 to my level, and admit that a thing may be very wise, 
 and yet very disagreeable. Those dry books, those in 
 terminable papers, are they not horridly tiresome?" 
 
 " Tiresome ! have a care lest I send you back to the 
 study, and, putting on my schoolmaster s frown, tell you, 
 in the words of your old friend Plutarch, that Law is 
 the king of mortals and immortals of nature, man, 
 angels, and even the highest intelligences! that law 
 is " 
 
 " Oh, no more ! I ll believe all, any thing ; only speak 
 yourself, and let Plutarch be silent." 
 
 "Well, then, having awed you into a proper state of 
 
296 
 
 mind, I will admit that, as yet, I do not find it very ex 
 citing ; nevertheless, it is occupation for the present, hope 
 for the future. Hope ! hope !" added he, with animation, 
 "that mysterious essence of life! about which physiolo 
 gists dispute. But to explain why I am here. My bus 
 iness took me to Albany; where, having failed to obtain 
 the desired information, I am now seeking it in New York. 
 We grounded on the Overslaugh, and again here on the 
 opposite bar. A boat was to be sent ashore for a fresh 
 supply of milk and bread; and, to beguile the time, I 
 jumped in. Your little promontory caught my eye, 
 with a figure like Hope resting on her anchor, and, with 
 eyes directed to the distant main, inviting the wandering 
 sailor home. An instinct that could not fail told me it 
 was you. I seized a glass to assure myself, and found I 
 was not deceived. Now tell me, in return, of yourself. 
 Where are you? and why? and how does that busy 
 young mind occupy itself?" 
 
 Eleanor gave a brief sketch of her visit. She longed 
 to tell every thing, but she reflected that Philip s inter 
 ests, and her grandfather s infirmities might not be re 
 vealed to a stranger. On her aunt she could fearlessly 
 dilate ; and the more earnestly from the pleasure with 
 which Walter listened, as he perceived how much so 
 lovely a character had touched her. 
 
 "And society?" he asked; "are there no Oscars to 
 bewitch ? no hearts to bless or to break ?" 
 
 "Oh dear, no! The only one I might have been 
 tempted to experiment upon is pre-engaged, so I have 
 had no opportunity of losing my own, nor of winning 
 another s." 
 
 To this succeeded inquiries as to reading, study, and 
 so on all put very properly, and answered categorically, 
 but with that "double consciousness" when the lips 
 speak of what the heart is not thinking which those 
 will readily understand who have been similarly affected. 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 297 
 
 And now, as Walter reclines at her feet, with eyes up 
 raised, that seem to say 
 
 " How like a winter hath my absence been 
 From thee !" 
 
 it is well if every resolution be not forgotten. It is well 
 if she do not 
 
 "Bead what silent love hath writ." 
 
 Beware, Walter! You have been wise, you have been 
 strong. But you have now, in a fond self-reliance, ven 
 tured into temptation. Ah ! you are beginning to know 
 it yourself. Your heart nearly bursts the restraints 
 you have imposed on it, as you read in those sweet 
 eyes innocently bent down on you, in those kind 
 smiles, whose light shines into your very soul, the 
 answer you might find ! But no, you are still master 
 of yourself. 
 
 How long he would have remained so is not to be told. 
 Ah ! how often is human wisdom the result of some 
 beneficent arrangement for us ; or some lucky accident, 
 as we falsely and unbelievingly term it ! 
 
 At this moment a rumble of distant thunder recalled 
 them from the inner to the outer world ; and they per 
 ceived, for the first time, that, while they had been sport 
 ing in rainbows, the night had gathered blackness. 
 Heavy clouds were rolling toward them ; the sultry air 
 was stirred by a wind, the forerunner of a gust; lightnings 
 flashed along the horizon, attended at shorter intervals 
 by thunder nearer and louder, and every thing indicated 
 an approaching storm. 
 
 Eleanor started from her seat, wrapping her shawl 
 around her, and Walter, alarmed at so slight a protec 
 tion, entreated her to lose no time in returning. 
 
 " And you ?" said she ; " what is to shelter you ?" 
 
 "Oh, this thick wood would be sufficient, so well 
 used as I am to such exposures ; but I shall go with you, 
 
 N2 
 
298 WALTER THORNLEY; OK, 
 
 and shall still be in time to keep my appointment with 
 the boat." 
 
 There was no time for farther parley, and they turned 
 homeward. 
 
 Luckily, though threatening every instant, the rain 
 did not actually fall; but the darkness increased fear 
 fully, and the lightning, more and more vivid and fre 
 quent, was their only guide. The long, deep wood, 
 through which they must pass by merely a narrow foot 
 path, often obstructed by fallen brushwood, and which, 
 in the cheerful day, was only wild and romantic, now be 
 came intense in gloom, and almost a place of danger. 
 At every moment Eleanor feared to strike her head 
 against a tree, or to be prostrated by some unseen ob 
 stacle. Walter s anxiety for her gave importance to 
 what, if alone, he would have disregarded. In moment 
 ary expectation of a pelting rain, he would, had the path 
 permitted, with merely an arm around her, have borne 
 her along scarce aided by herself; but this was here im 
 possible. 
 
 While thus groping their way, Walter preceding and 
 leading her by the hand, they both, at the same time, ex 
 claimed, " What is that ? Hark ! Who is there ?" 
 
 They stopped and listened. 
 
 " Tis nothing," said Walter ; " nothing but the rustle 
 of the leaves under our feet." 
 
 "Do you think so? It sounded exactly like a foot 
 step. There ! There it is again !" 
 
 " Tis only the echo of our own. Do not be alarmed ; 
 there can be no cause ; for, even if it be a footstep, tis 
 only some unlucky wanderer like ourselves. Do not 
 think of it. Haste, haste, Eleanor ! I feel the rain this 
 moment." 
 
 But, though Walter endeavored to divert her appre 
 hensions, he often looked round into the darkness, which 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 299 
 
 his eye could not penetrate, and only spoke to urge her 
 onward. 
 
 At length they emerged from the wood, and crossed 
 an open space, under a dim light, by which an object 
 might have been discerned. It was, however, only to 
 enter another scarce less impervious, through which an 
 avenue led to the house. Here, proceeding with less 
 difficulty, and with a feeling of security, Eleanor revert 
 ed to the sounds that had disturbed her. 
 
 "Why," she asked, "should no answer be returned? 
 One would think that, at such a time, mere companion 
 ship would be a motive to speak*" 
 
 "Kecollect, Eleanor, it is only your assumption that 
 there was a person. In such a confusion of sounds, one 
 is easily mistaken. But think no more of it. Have we 
 yet far to go?" 
 
 " No, not far ; that is, measuring distance by my steps, 
 for I see nothing. Ah ! there s a light ! Yes, we are 
 approaching the house at the front. The parlor windows 
 are behind ; we can not see them here. Now you must 
 leave me." 
 
 " Leave you ! here, unsheltered, alone ! Never." 
 
 " Nay, I know best," said Eleanor, fearful of the ef 
 fect of his entrance on her grandfather. " I am within 
 a few paces of the house ; there is nothing to fear for 
 me." 
 
 "But let me see you within the door at least." 
 
 " I can not, I must not : let me judge." 
 
 Constrained by her earnestness as no real danger 
 could be apprehended he yielded; but said, with an 
 emotion that, fortunately for both, could not be per 
 ceived, " You drive me from you, Eleanor, and I go. 
 What else, indeed, can I do?" Then, with an attempt 
 at cheerfulness, he added, " But, in like manner as we 
 have now met, we may meet again. To insure this, were 
 
300 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 I a heathen, I would erect an altar to the goddess of the 
 Unforeseen ! " and raising to his lips the hand he still 
 held, "Farewell, Eleanor I" he said, and was gone, while 
 her half-uttered parting words were unheard. 
 
 Approaching, as she supposed, the front door, which, 
 however, she did not wish to enter, she passed farther 
 on ; but the rain, so long threatened, now came with a 
 violence that, added to the darkness, perplexed her. 
 She turned a corner, where a gust met and nearly pros 
 trated her ; and, struggling with it, she became bewil 
 dered as to the direction she was taking. Dimly dis 
 cerning the mass of building, and seeking a private en 
 trance somewhere, in order to avoid embarrassing ques 
 tions, she was pressing on, uncertain if right or wrong, 
 when the sounds that had lately disturbed her fell on 
 her ear again, and so close as to startle her. At the 
 same instant a flash of lightning, broad and vivid, re 
 vealed a dark figure within a few feet of her. It was 
 tall, but so wrapped that only a general outline was 
 seen, relieved against a glass window, from which was 
 reflected a strong light. The next moment all was total 
 darkness. 
 
 "The dood-Jcamer /" she exclaimed, "what fate has 
 brought me here?" and, her imagination excited by the 
 vague terrors she associated with that part of the house, 
 and, in an agony of fear, attempting to escape the phan 
 tom at her side, she darted forward, her foot slipped, she 
 fell, and her senses fled. 
 
 She was roused, by a wailing voice and a lantern 
 flashing in her face, to find her faithful Phyllis, who 
 had been in quest of her, bending over her. The vio 
 lence of the rain had ceased ; but, thoroughly wetted 
 and chilled, she readily comprehended the necessity 
 urged by Phyllis, of getting into the house as soon 
 as possible. Covering her mistress with the cloak she 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 301 
 
 had provided, and supporting her trembling limbs with 
 an arm strongly clasped around her, she guided her, 
 as Eleanor requested, to the steps leading to the af- 
 dak, by which, through the portaal, she might gain her 
 own room unobserved. Having reached it, and guard 
 ing against any alarm, by directing that her aunt should 
 be merely told that she had come home tired, and re 
 quested not to be disturbed, she resigned herself to 
 the care of Phyllis, who laid her, like an unresisting 
 child, on her bed. The energies and affections of the 
 little maid were all alive. She flew out of the room, 
 was back again like a flash ; held a glass of wine to her 
 lips, which Eleanor could not refuse; felt her feet 
 found them cold ; rushed out, and in again with a bottle 
 of hot water for them ; tucked every thing about her, 
 and then seated herself in a corner to be ready if any 
 thing more were wanted. 
 
 The next morning, however, the fact could not be 
 concealed. A restless night, during which Phyllis had 
 never left her, was succeeded by all the indications of a 
 violent cold, confining her not only to her room but to 
 the bed. Her aunt attended her with anxious affection. 
 But Mr. Lawrence, though putting aside his air of offend 
 ed majesty, and unable to disguise his interest, would 
 not admit that she was ill. " It was a bad cold noth 
 ing more ; she would be well directly." At the request 
 of Miss Lawrence the doctor came: "Saw no danger at 
 present; but, if fever and delirium should supervene, 
 couldn t say," only shook his head ominously. These 
 suggestions enraged Mr. Lawrence, who, resolved she 
 should not be ill, was only more persistent in his first 
 opinion ; would not allow her parents to be sent for ; 
 would not permit her aunt to remain with her at night, 
 but commanded More to do so. 
 
 Thus passed two days and nights. As was feared, de- 
 
302 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 lirium and fever did appear, but Mr. Lawence changed 
 not. The third morning a bulletin announced to him 
 a better night, no fever, soft skin, cough abated, head 
 clear. " I fold you so !" said he, triumphantly, and his 
 imperious will found still another confirmation. 
 
 As her indisposition yielded, Eleanor s mind recurred 
 to the circumstances immediately preceding. " That si 
 lent figure ! seen so distinctly, though but for a moment. 
 That strange light on the window of that fearful cham 
 ber ! Was it indeed a reflection from without ? Did it 
 not come from ivithin? And, if so, what might it not 
 portend? Why had she been led to that place she so 
 sedulously shunned? Why had she fallen near its fa 
 tal door, to which that dark phantom appeared to con 
 duct her ? Might not some fatality impending over her 
 involve Walter also ?" 
 
 Again and again she asked these questions, and as 
 often her reason suggested plausible, but not satisfactory 
 explanations. "A man-servant might have been re 
 turning home he would be silent, of course ; why not ? 
 A reflection of the lightning from the glass was an easy 
 solution of the strange light ! Why, in the dark, might 
 she not miss her way ? and, being terrified and faint, 
 why should she not fall?" 
 
 Let not poor Eleanor be condemned for superstitious 
 terrors in her time not uncommon; especially not by 
 those of the nineteenth century, of whom some believe 
 nothing, and others every thing. 
 
 Eleanor was passing the twilight-hour alone with these 
 reflections, to which was now added the question of 
 "How would grandpapa receive her when she should 
 rejoin the family ?" when Aunt More asked permission 
 to enter. 
 
 "All alone, missis ?" said she ; " in de dark too ! Well, 
 I drefful grad yelly s gwine down sta rs to-morrow. I 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 303 
 
 neber pruve sick folks stay by deresels. And now, 
 missis, may I speak jess one word?" 
 
 Flore had been so devoted to her, that Eleanor was 
 pleased to have a favor to grant her. 
 
 " Well den, missis, sarbents hab n t no bizens to quire 
 bout dere massas and misseses ; but den brack folks has 
 eyes, and so dey muss see. Now I see, misses, dat derc 
 is somet ing wrong twixt yelly and ole massa, and I jess 
 want to say, dat yelly neber mind dat. Don t missis be 
 frettin case of dat ar ; its only jess outside. / know," 
 she said, with a look of intelligence which engaged the 
 earnest attention of Eleanor, "/ know," she repeated; 
 "dem ar nights when, massa wouldn t let Miss Gitty 
 stay here he neber went to bed hisself, but was up and 
 down here all de night long, feelin yelly s hands and 
 head, and walkin bout de house sighin and groanin 
 like as he was out of hisself." 
 
 "Dear grandpapa!" softly said Eleanor, "then he does 
 love me, after all." 
 
 " And den, ebery little while he would say but he 
 would moss a-killed anybody else for sayin it Flore, 
 bery sick chile ! eh, Flore, don t you t ink so ? Flore, 
 you ve seed a great deal of sickness, what do you t ink 
 now? Love yelly ! dat he do, missis ; but massa very 
 queer massa dat ar de trute always de wuss to dem 
 he loves best. Jess so in my ole missis time ready to 
 die for her, but neber gib up his own way for her ; and 
 Miss Gitty, too; oh, de trouble in this yere drefful ole 
 house in dose days! Now you mussn t be mad case 
 what I says," added Flore, in a deprecating tone. 
 
 " Oh no, indeed, Flore ; I know you mean it all 
 well." 
 
 " So I does, missis. I seed dere was trouble on yer 
 mind when I was watchin dose nights, case you talked 
 bout ebery t ing." 
 
304 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 "Every thing!" repeated Eleanor, alarmed; "what 
 did I say, AuntFlore?" 
 
 " Oh, netting partic lar, cept ole massa, and de dood- 
 kamer, and nudder name I couldn t make out ; so I tar- 
 mined to speak. And now, missis, when you go down 
 sta rs, neber mind if massa look big an gran ; dat ar his 
 way wheneber he mad ; but jess you smile, like ole mis 
 sis. Oh, yelly is de pictur ob her! So massa said 
 toder night. Flore, says he, ezacly like her grand- 
 moder ! and den up and down t rou de room agin. Oh, 
 Lorry, what a night it was ! Den massa come stan by 
 me when I counted de drops for yelly. * Are you sartin, 
 Flore ? he say. Take care, my chile ! Yes, missis, he 
 loves you better dan any t ing cept Miss Gitty. Massa 
 treat her ezacly so, only wuss." 
 
 In Eleanor s present nervous condition these assur 
 ances were neither unwelcome nor useless. 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 805 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 Miss LAWRENCE had perceived in Eleanor a nutter 
 of spirits, an unequal manner, an occasional anxiety and 
 abstraction, so unlike herself as to excite, not only ob 
 servation, but solicitude. It was, therefore, with as much 
 pleasure as surprise that, as they sat together in the par 
 lor the day after Eleanor s return to it, she saw her, on 
 Pomp s ushering in a gentleman, dart forward to meet 
 him, exclaiming, with much animation, " Captain Tal- 
 bot ! how glad I am to see you." 
 
 The sentiment was more than responded to ; so much 
 so that Eleanor was not sorry to check his almost rap 
 turous delight by an introduction to her aunt, of whose 
 presence he had seemed unconscious. 
 
 The captain was not a man to let his feelings run 
 away with him ; but Eleanor s excitement at seeing him, 
 her improved beauty, and her more-confirmed manner, 
 bringing with it the hope of a better capacity to esti 
 mate himself, threw him off his guard. Soon recover 
 ing, however, with his usual presence of mind, he ad 
 dressed himself to Miss Lawrence. Of course, there were 
 many inquiries on the part of Eleanor to answer. Hav 
 ing satisfied these, he next ventured to hope that she 
 might care to hear something of himself; and proceeded 
 to say that " he had only lately arrived from England ; 
 that he was now on a visit to their neighbor, Mr. Johnson ; 
 and, finding that he was near Rosenberg, he had taken 
 the liberty to call on his young friend, Miss Eleanor, and 
 also to inquire after the health of Mr. Lawrence, of whom 
 he had heard so much as to inspire him with a profound 
 respect." 
 
306 WALTER THORNLEY ; OR, 
 
 Mr. Lawrence, being informed of the attention design 
 ed for him, made his appearance. The captain was gra 
 ciously received ; and, having produced an agreeable im 
 pression, took his leave, with an invitation to dinner the 
 following day. 
 
 Even before the appointed hour, though an early one, 
 Captain Talbot rode up the avenue. Philip had just re 
 turned from a morning in the woods, and, having sent 
 Pomp in with his sporting equipments, and his game- 
 bag to Aunt Minty, he loitered near the entrance to see 
 who this stranger might be. The captain alighted from 
 his horse ; and, deceived by the " questionable shape" in 
 which Master Philip appeared, disguised in his careless 
 sportsman s dress, threw the bridle toward him, saying, 
 "He is warm see him well cared for," walked, with a 
 superior air, into the house. Though willing to believe 
 it a mistake, Phil was piqued; and, after making his 
 toilet with more than usual attention, descended to the 
 drawing-room, fully intending to overwhelm their un- 
 discriminating guest with deserved confusion. 
 
 Meanwhile the captain was invited to the guest-cham 
 ber to relieve himself of the effects of a dusty ride. Ele 
 anor, not aware of his arrival, left her room in order to 
 be ready to receive him when he should come ; but, in 
 passing through the upper entry, she caught a glimpse 
 of a gentleman in the " picture hall," as it was called 
 into which the room allotted to visitors opened. This 
 hall was cut off from the entry by a glass door, now 
 ajar, through which she could see and hear, herself be 
 ing screened by a projection of the wall. 
 
 "Captain Talbot!" thought she "here so soon! and, 
 as I live, standing before the forbidden picture, unveil 
 ed ! He alone has dared to expose it !" 
 
 She drew a little nearer the desire to see the face so 
 long denied was irresistible nearer still. " Yes ; now 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 307 
 
 I see it ! It is not at all like Cousin Phil, though," con 
 tinued she, disappointed. " Can it indeed be his father ? 
 What an intellectual forehead! Eyes full of thought 
 and feeling! What sweetness in the mouth! Tis a 
 shame to hide such a face ! hist, the captain is speak- 
 ing!" 
 
 " Tis very strange," said he, unaware of any one near 
 him, " very strange !" as, varying his position, looking 
 now in front, "now obliquely, now closer, then farther off, 
 he tried to catch the face under different aspects. " If 
 not the man, certainly a marvelous resemblance ! but, if 
 he in fact, how should it be here? Stranger still this 
 fantastic device to conceal it. And why ?" 
 
 At this moment a* door opened, and Momma Zip 
 crossed the hall. He beckoned to her and addressed a 
 few words to her, which not understanding, she remain 
 ed silent. Inferring from this that if there were a secret 
 it was to be obtained only in one way, he put a piece 
 of money into her hand. Dropping a courtesy, she re 
 ceived it apparently with proper gratitude, but was still 
 silent ; upon which, concluding her to be dull of appre 
 hension, he enforced his inquiry by signs, and, pointing 
 to the picture, said, with emphasis, " Who is that that, 
 I say? Speak!" 
 
 Zip shook her head, but not to express ignorance. 
 On the contrary, taking the money from her pocket, she 
 placed it on a table near which they were standing with 
 a force that gave the effect of rejection ; and walked off 
 with an air that said, "I know, but I am not to be 
 bribed." 
 
 The captain, for a moment, was confounded. The key 
 which he had found a passe-partout had failed. There 
 were in the heart of a poor old negress wards that it 
 would not fit. 
 
 "Why! what an African Princess!" he exclaimed. 
 
308 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 But this only increased the wonder. "It must be ex 
 plained." 
 
 Eleanor, having the clue, was amused, and still more 
 charmed, with Momma s fidelity. Hurrying away, lest 
 she might encounter him, she entered the drawing-room, 
 where Master Philip, in full-blown dress and offended 
 dignity, awaited the moment when he should enjoy the 
 captain s embarrassment. This, however, was not to be. 
 The captain did not perceive his mistake ; or, rather, was 
 too much a man of the world to give it importance by 
 referring to it. 
 
 The dinner passed off well. Though not loving the 
 English any too much, Mr. Lawrence understood the 
 duties of a host ; besides which tlie captain was full of 
 information on all subjects, and it was a rare chance to 
 catch such a visitor in the country. 
 
 Eecommending himself by social anecdote and amus 
 ing details of city life, he contrived, notwithstanding 
 that the gentle gravity of Miss Lawrence occasionally 
 rebuked a caustic sally, the wit of which did not to her 
 atone for the insinuation it conveyed, to make himself 
 acceptable to the ladies. Master Philip, though rather 
 in a bad humor, was considerably mollified. As to Ele 
 anor, she was actually gay ; and the captain, who could 
 not understand that it was a nervous reaction the nat 
 ural consequence of the depressing influences under 
 which she had recently suffered saw it only as the 
 effect of his presence, and a daring hope again possess 
 ed him. 
 
 In the evening other visitors joined them. Whist 
 was introduced ; and here the captain, as in every thing, 
 was au fait; and Mr. Lawrence, animated by finding 
 a competitor worthy of his "best play," acquiesced 
 reluctantly, when he politely resigned his seat to an 
 other. Having done so, he joined Philip in a corner, at 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 309 
 
 a distance from others ; and Eleanor heard him, in a gen 
 tle under- voice, refer to the mystery of the picture, and 
 inquire the name of the original ; to which Phil replied, 
 coldly, 
 
 " Tis a family matter, sir, of which we do not speak." 
 
 " I beg pardon," said the unabashed captain ; "I ought 
 to have understood as much, from the very circumstance 
 that provoked my inquiry. Excuse me." And he took 
 a seat by the side of Eleanor. In a little time, letting 
 fall, rather abruptly, the thread of conversation he had 
 been pursuing, he said, in a low, confidential tone, "Have 
 you a haunted chamber in this house ?" 
 
 Eleanor turned pale. All her terrors of a certain 
 room, all her late strange sick fancies returned, and she 
 faltered out, " ISTo ! no ! "What how came you to think 
 of such a thing?" 
 
 His penetrating eye rested on her face an instant. 
 He then carelessly added, " Because one mystery is apt 
 to suggest others. Who is the original of that veiled 
 picture ? Was he not a hero of some romance of real 
 life, in true novel style treacherously murdered? and 
 does not his spirit walk this labyrinthine dwelling?" 
 
 "Oh, horrible 1" exclaimed Eleanor, with a shudder, 
 as she thought of the tragical fate of her uncle. 
 
 "But tell me, who was he?" 
 
 Surprised, and rather amused at his persistency, she 
 replied, "I thought that ladies only were accused of cu 
 riosity." 
 
 " Oh no! I confess I am as curious as a woman ; be 
 sides, tis a traveler s privilege to ask questions. Why 
 else should he travel at all? Well; and his name 
 
 was " 
 
 Eleanor put her finger to her lip. 
 
 "Do you know?" 
 
 The same sign repeated. 
 
310 
 
 " Will you answer, if I guess ?" 
 
 She shook her head. 
 
 " One of the family?" 
 
 The finger to the lip again. 
 
 " What a nice little Trappiste you would make I" 
 
 " And what a poor inquisitor would you be 1" said 
 she, laughing. 
 
 " I am merciful ; I have not yet applied the torture." 
 
 " The torture !" 
 
 "Ay; I could do so," said he, with a look quite in 
 comprehensible. Then, as if to remove the impression 
 he had made, " Don t you deserve to be tortured ; you, 
 who inflict torture on others ?" 
 
 "What a strange man!" she thought. "He abso 
 lutely frightens me sometimes." 
 
 The whist-players having finished their rubber, music 
 was called for. Eleanor, glad to escape, rose to obey ; 
 and, seating herself at the spinet, summoned Cousin Phil 
 to her assistance. They sang together with much ap 
 proval the captain s eye more intent than his ear and 
 were leaving the instrument, when Eleanor stopped, re 
 sumed the seat, and, looking up into Philip s face with 
 a mischievous expression, sang, from the " Gentle Shep 
 herd," 
 
 "The lass of Patie s Mill, 
 
 So bonny, blithe, and gay, 
 Hath won my right good will, 
 Hath stawn my heart away !" 
 
 The looks of intelligence exchanged by herself and 
 Philip, and the consciousness of the latter, showed an un 
 derstanding not agreeable to the captain. But supper 
 was announced, and song and sentiment ceased. 
 
 The next day brought the captain again, who, assidu 
 ous to please Mr. Lawrence, by a ready instinct adapted 
 himself to his tastes admired the country, Eosenberg 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 311 
 
 especially even the quaint architecture of the old Dutch 
 house, rural life, and manners; wondered not that he 
 had abjured the city, etc. 
 
 Presently, Pomp entered, to say that "Hans Van 
 Slyke come to speak to massa." 
 
 Hans was admitted. The amount of his communica 
 tion was that " He had seen two men slyly ascending 
 the hill, in the direction of the garden ; that, on his hal 
 looing to them, they had fled, and he had lost sight of 
 them; but that, soon after, a boat had pushed off, and 
 that they must have returned in it to a sloop lying just 
 off the point ; that, as she might be there some hours, 
 he thought Mr. Lawrence ought to know." 
 
 Now Mr. Lawrence s fruit was almost as dear to him 
 as his honor. Indeed, it might be said to make part of 
 it, inasmuch as it was his pride to produce the finest in 
 the county. In consequence of its exposed situation, 
 and within only a low stone fence that a boy could leap, 
 he *had often suffered from such river marauders. He 
 had set on his dogs, and had talked loudly of doing 
 worse; but, as no one believed he would ever enforce 
 his threats, they became a dead letter, much to the com 
 fort of Miss Lawrence, on whose disinclination to strong 
 measures though not, in fact, greater than his own 
 he always threw the blame. " A little gunpowder," he 
 said, " would soon settle it ;" but Gitty wouldn t hear 
 of it, and so he must submit, as he always did. 
 
 "The rascals!" he exclaimed, as Hans concluded; 
 "they were after my early Annes. - Here, Pomp, do 
 you be on the watch, and if you see any thing more of 
 them call out the dogs." 
 
 And here the matter would probably have rested but 
 for an observation of the captain. 
 
 " Ah ! my dear sir," said he, " we manage this business 
 better. Brick walls, spring guns, and man-traps are the 
 
312 WALTER THORNLEY; OK, 
 
 only protection. But," with a shrug, "free people, free 
 game, and free fruit, of course." 
 
 Rather nettled by the superior air with which this 
 was said, Mr. Lawrence was about to reply, when Hans, 
 enraged against the supposed thieves, whom, like a true 
 Dutchman, he pronounced to be "Yankees," and en 
 couraged by the remark of the captain, went on to say 
 that " They got worse and worser. That it was not 
 much over a week since a boat set a man ashore, just 
 under the hill, and left him to get the fruit against they 
 came back that they did so, late in the evening that 
 he heard their voices and their oars," 
 
 "My May Dukes!" exclaimed Mr. Lawrence, "the 
 scoundrels were after them, too, and have broken my 
 trees besides." Thoroughly roused, first by the implied 
 want of law and order in the new republic tempora^ 
 mores, what might be said now ! and then by vis 
 ions of mangled cherry-trees, he called on his henchman) 
 Pomp. 
 
 " Has any mischief been done to the trees?" 
 
 " No, massa, b liebe not. Dere was a boat com d here 
 t oder night from a skipper out in the riber, jess as Hans 
 say. It com d afore dark, and den agin when de tide 
 was up. But lors, massa ! dat ar was de night storm d 
 so; so dark neber couldn t pick nottin . Same night 
 young missis was cotch d out. Young missis" turning 
 to Eleanor " members dat ar, and pYaps she seed de 
 boat too." 
 
 This personal application did not diminish the uncom 
 fortable consciousness under which Eleanor had been 
 growing hot and cold ever since the discussion began. 
 She did not accuse herself for an accidental meeting with 
 "Walter, but the circumstances, she was aware, might ex 
 cite suspicions undeserved both by him and herself. In 
 extremity one thinks rapidly. This was no time to de- 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 318 
 
 cide if she had acted wisely or not. She was, at least, 
 confident of her right intention, and she must abide by 
 what she had done. If concealment at first were proper, 
 it was certainly still more so in the presence of Captain 
 Talbot. "With her usual directness, therefore, she stated 
 the sirnple fact for which she was referred to the com 
 ing of a boat ; and, amused in spite of her secret disqui 
 etude at the design imputed to Walter, she added, with 
 a smile, " I rather think, however, grandpapa, that your 
 May Dukes are safe." But he was not now in a mood 
 to be easily satisfied. 
 
 "Safe!" he exclaimed, angrily. "Yes, till the next 
 sloop stops within reach of them. There is but one 
 way," continued he, with a look at poor Miss Gertrude 
 as reproachful as if she were an accomplice; "but one 
 way ;" and down came the cane in confirmation. " Pomp, 
 tell master Philip to leave a loaded gun a loaded gun, 
 you understand in the af-dak. I ll see if I can t, for 
 once in my life, do as I please :" another look at Miss 
 Lawrence. "But, Pomp, do you hear? don t you dare, 
 you puppy, to meddle with it. If you must be shot, I ll 
 do it myself properly. I ll have none of your blunder 
 ing work." 
 
 "Yes, massa," replied Pomp, with a grin ; and vanish 
 ed, greatly magnified in his own eyes by a commission 
 of such importance. 
 
 "Massa gib it to em!" exclaimed he, as he started off 
 on a skip and a jump. "Neber nobody like ole massa 
 yet. Hip! ho! hi! fire away! bang! and down dey 
 comes. Hey, massa, gi me you yet!" 
 
 
 
314 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 CAPTAIN TALBOT, availing himself of a general invita 
 tion, was now a daily visitor. Mr. Johnson lived with 
 in walking distance ; and, either on foot or on horseback, 
 morning or evening, he was sure to make his appear 
 ance. For a time this passed smoothly. Miss Lawrence 
 was amused, her father entertained, and Eleanor more 
 excited and interested than by any thing else a fact 
 which her aunt innocently revealed by greeting him on 
 one occasion with the welcome words, " I am glad you ve 
 come, Captain Talbot. You will put Eleanor in spirits, 
 I hope. She has been so dull to-day ! No one but you 
 can animate her." 
 
 Even Philip had given in his adhesion : but the lik 
 ing, somehow, did not ripen into cordiality ; so far from 
 it that Miss Lawrence, though polite as ever, grew tired 
 of being always amused ; Mr. Lawrence became suspi 
 cious of the captain s views ; and Master Philip resent 
 ed the eagle glance that seemed to watch every whisper 
 or look that might chance, between him and his cousin. 
 She alone remained as usual, and this was enough for 
 the captain. His manner to her always that of a kind 
 friend, interested in her health, her pursuits, her improve 
 ment with whom she had a larger range of subjects than 
 with Cousin Phil, and who, consequently, could better 
 withdraw her from unpleasant thoughts when such would 
 intrude rendered him always acceptable. This he saw, 
 and, knowing well how to turn such an intercourse to 
 his advantage, was not to be deterred by any obstacle. 
 
 Mr. Lawrence, whatever might be his personal or na 
 tional aversions, was as yet sufficiently self-controlled not 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST, 315 
 
 to betray them in his own house; and he continued 
 to receive Captain Talbot, if not with the same pleas 
 ure, yet with a ceremonious politeness that left him 
 nothing to complain of. There was no interruption, 
 therefore, of his daily calls, often, by design or accident, 
 protracted into the evening. 
 
 "Bless me!" he exclaimed one day, looking at his 
 watch, after a long morning visit, " I have, I fear, Miss 
 Lawrence, exceeded even your kindness. It is actual 
 ly the dinner-hour ! Pardon me ; it is surely as little 
 my fault as my misfortune that you are all so charming 
 as to render me oblivious of time and propriety ;" and he 
 rose to depart ; but a gently -uttered suggestion that he 
 would remain was readily acceded to. 
 
 The addition was not agreeable to Mr. Lawrence ; but 
 the guest had eminently the power of overcoming all 
 barriers that coldness or dislike might interpose. The 
 dinner over, while the ladies indulged with Cousin Phil 
 in a by-talk of their own, the captain, in his most concil 
 iating tone, addressed Mr. Lawrence. 
 
 " I do not think, sir, that I have seen an individual in 
 America that, were I so disposed, I should be so tempt 
 ed to envy as yourself." 
 
 Mr. Lawrence turned on him a look of inquiry. 
 
 "After having so nobly periled life and fortune, to live 
 to see your reward in the present success of the cause on 
 which you staked them, and to foresee the glorious des 
 tiny you have contributed to secure! How many un 
 happy patriots have failed in similar attempts !" 
 
 " I have done no more than my duty," said Mr. Law 
 rence, coolly, " and no more than many others of my 
 countrymen. As to the future, if the English and French 
 will give us fair play, we shall do very well." 
 
 "I am not surprised that you should entertain some 
 doubts of us" replied the captain; "but of your tried 
 
316 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 friends, the French, you can, I should say, have no 
 fear." 
 
 "Fear!" repeated the old gentleman, emphatically, "I 
 have not of either country. It is of their governments 
 I speak. Yours chiefly, because its conduct is cold 
 blooded and systematic. As to the mushroom Kevolu- 
 tionary Directory of France, they have insulted, irritated, 
 and inflamed us; but their day is nearly over. The 
 French people I feel toward as every American should ; 
 but I do not desire to hear again fa ird 1 and l La Car 
 magnole* sung in our streets, nor any other glorification 
 of their infernal Jacobinism, drunk with blood ! It de 
 ceived us once, but never again. As to our fitness for 
 liberty, glorious destiny, and all that, it remains to be 
 proved. I and my political friends are willing to trust 
 the people as the only way of arriving at the fact. Our 
 opponents are too fearful that is their mistake." 
 
 "I have no doubt you are right, sir. Tis Montes 
 quieu," continued the captain, in a deferential tone, " is 
 it not, sir? who says that when the common people 
 adopt good maxims, they adhere to them with more 
 steadiness than those we call gentlemen. " 
 
 Mr. Lawrence, who had a great contempt for what he 
 called "borrowing other people s thoughts for want of 
 your own" "standing on other men s legs" etc. an 
 swered impatiently, " I don t know nor don t care what 
 he says, but I do know that, gentle or simple, though 
 we may wrangle over our favorite systems, yet we are 
 true to our country ; and that the charge of French in 
 fluence, and British gold, and such stuff, is all d d 
 
 nonsense ! No, sir ! there is not a man in either party, 
 who dare call his soul his own, that the Directory or 
 King George could buy." 
 
 " Damns had not then had their day ;" and, though the 
 gentle admonitions of his daughter and Mr. Lawrence s 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 317 
 
 own convictions somewhat restrained his anathemas, 
 there were occasions like the present when he could 
 in no other way find relief, albeit the same may not here 
 in be reported. 
 
 "I believe you, sir, I believe you," replied the cap 
 tain, with an acquiescent inclination of the head. " Those 
 must take a narrow view of the capacities of men, who 
 can not see that they require only a favorable position to 
 realize all that philosophers have dreamed of human per 
 fectibility." 
 
 "No, not perfectibility I hate that slang! Our 
 people are no fools. They know their own interests. 
 Give them a chance, and they ll work them out. There s 
 no necessity to turn their heads with blarney about their 
 perfectibility. " 
 
 "I beg your pardon, sir, if the phrase offend you. I 
 meant only to express my confidence, as felt by your* 
 self, in human progress, when the obstacles that now ob 
 struct it shall be removed." 
 
 These last words caught Eleanor s attention, who in 
 voluntarily exclaimed, "Captain Talbot! why, that is 
 entirely different from what you used to say to papa 
 that people were so bad! so very bad! They could 
 never govern themselves ! " 
 
 Mr. Lawrence turned a hasty and inquisitorial glance 
 at the captain, who, not at all disconcerted by this charge 
 of inconsistency, replied with a smile, " My dear Miss 
 Eleanor, we are always learning, you know ; and, much 
 as I have been in your country, I am but just beginning 
 to understand it." 
 
 " If your opinions are so liable to change," said Mr. 
 Lawrence, dryly, "you will probably see occasion to re 
 verse them again ;" and, with the air of one who thought 
 them of very little consequence, be they what they 
 might, he rose and retreated to his arm-chair, indisposed 
 
318 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 for farther conversation. It was the signal for leaving 
 the table. Eleanor, at the same moment, withdrew to 
 her room, Master Philip had an engagement, and the 
 captain, declaring the day too fine to stay in the house, 
 took his hat and sauntered off to the neighboring 
 wood. 
 
 " Gitty," said the old gentleman, after some prepara 
 tory impatient movements " Gitty, does the captain 
 come to see youf 
 
 " Me ! Bless me, papa !" replied she, coloring, and al 
 ways startled at such a suggestion, " what put such an 
 idea into your head ? No gentleman comes to see me, 
 papa, you know." 
 
 " I know you won t let them do so ; tis your own 
 fault if they don t; you are young enough and hand 
 some enough yet, if you d believe it; but never mind 
 that. The captain does not come to see you, you say. 
 He does not come to see me, that s certain. He is not in 
 love with we, for all his fine speeches; no, nor with 
 Phil. Then who the devil does he come to see?" 
 
 "Why, really, papa, no one, in the way you appear 
 to think. He is an idle man in the country, finds your 
 house agreeable, and therefore comes." 
 
 "He won t find it so much longer, I can tell him." 
 
 "But, papa, you know you gave him a general invita 
 tion to come, without ceremony, whenever he pleased." 
 
 " Yes, but I did not tell him to come morning, noon, 
 and night. He might as well come and sleep with me. 
 Neither did I tell him to fix those infernal eyes of his 
 on Eleanor all the time." 
 
 "Eleanor, papa!" 
 
 " Yes, Eleanor, papa ! Do you think, because I am 
 old, I am a fool? I can see more with my one eye 
 than you with both of yours, handsome as they are." 
 
 " Well, but even if he has so absurd a purpose, as 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 319 
 
 you seem to think, you know, papa, he never could ef 
 fect it," 
 
 " I don t know any such thing. You women are such 
 cursed fools, if only a man pretend to be dying in love 
 with you ! Besides, don t you see how he has bejuggled 
 her already ? She is not, as she used to be, like a bird 
 in the house ; no dull and moping, except when he is 
 here, confound him ! I tell you I won t have it. I ll 
 break it up I will;" and a tremendous stamp of the 
 cane enforced the declaration. 
 
 After a few moments, during which Miss Lawrence 
 revolved how to divert his violence, he returned to the 
 charge. 
 
 " Gritty," exclaimed, he, "I don t believe in that man ! 
 Who the devil is he? Nobody knows. He has been 
 here, off and on, for years, yet he has no visible business. 
 I tell you, he is a sharper, a swindler, an escaped con 
 vict, or some blasted thing or another you ll see !" 
 
 Miss Lawrence interposed by the mention of his good 
 standing with several persons whom they knew, and es 
 pecially Mr. and Mrs. Meredith. 
 
 " Oh, that s nothing ! Meredith swallows any hook 
 baited with an Englishman ; and Janet is, by this time, 
 I ll engage, only a reflection of him, though she was a 
 sensible young woman when she lived at home, and 
 was allowed to have an opinion of her own, poor thing ! 
 As to the other persons you speak of, there s nothing 
 easier than to impose on people who are always running 
 after foreigners. Have you forgotten that marriage, pre 
 vented almost at the last moment?" 
 
 "Marriage prevented!" repeated Miss Lawrence, with 
 a strange, bewildered look. 
 
 " Why, yes, child ; what are you thinking about ? I 
 did it myself. The girl, very rich, very handsome, was 
 crazy to marry a German soi-disant count or baron. 
 
320 
 
 Some cautious friend suggested better security than his 
 word. After time allowed to obtain credentials from 
 home, they were produced, pronounced satisfactory, and 
 the wedding was to take place immediately, when I traced 
 the precious document to the very scrivener s in New 
 York where the parchment was obtained. Yes, actual 
 ly fitted into the sheet from which it was cut every 
 identical notch and scallop ! The marriage was broken 
 off, but the girl never forgave me for saving her. Now 
 haven t I a right to call you women fools ?" 
 
 Miss Lawrence answered only by a faint smile, and, 
 glad to perceive that the recollections of the past had di 
 verted his anger, was careful not to revive it by an ex 
 postulation, but, having adjusted his chair, left him to his 
 afternoon s nap. This so far refreshed and composed 
 him that, when the captain reappeared at tea, he was 
 able to behave decently. 
 
 A beautiful full moon withdrew Eleanor from the par 
 lor, and then into a little path that wound its way through 
 the shrubbery. It was not long before the captain was 
 by her side, rather to her regret, for she would have pre 
 ferred to be alone. He saw it for what did he not 
 see? and he addressed her thought, though not ex 
 pressed. 
 
 "My dear young lady, you seek solitude; and why? 
 because you are out of place here. Wherefore then re- 
 
 o i > 
 
 mam t 
 
 " No, indeed, not out of place, I hope, with some of my 
 best friends ; yet, to tell the truth, I should like now to 
 return home." 
 
 " And why not ? Will you not trust me to take you 
 there?" 
 
 " No, no," said she, shrinking from such a proposal ; 
 " I can not go now ; I am not permitted to do so." 
 
 "Not permitted! and why, in Heaven s name?" 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 321 
 
 "Reasons family reasons. I must stay as long as 
 grandpapa wishes it." 
 
 " Family reasons !" reflected the captain, doubting not 
 that he divined them. 
 
 "But," continued Eleanor, laughing, "if some good 
 fairy would fly away with me, and I could wake to 
 morrow in mamma s arms, I should be delighted !" 
 
 " Well, although I can not transport you through the 
 air in a car drawn by dragons, nor yet borrow, as more 
 appropriate, the doves of Venus, I could find ways and 
 means quite as effectual." 
 
 " No, no ; I must stay for a short time, at least ; so 
 don t talk of it." 
 
 "I won t talk of it," said the captain, emphatically; 
 "you are not to be compromised; I understand that; 
 but but we shall see." 
 
 Eleanor returned, carelessly, the smile with which this 
 was said; then, after a few moments, added, "We make 
 very free with spirits, black, white, and gray, and yet 
 I doubt if even you would not rather face any thing of 
 1 mortal mould than little Queen Mab, or a " 
 
 "Haunted chamber," interrupted the captain. 
 
 Her countenance changed, and, perceiving it, he fell 
 into her mood. 
 
 "To be serious," said he, " I do not know but that a 
 Highland nurse may have disposed me to treat such 
 things reverently." 
 
 "What! really to believe in them?" asked she, anx 
 iously ; " in warnings and forebodings?" 
 
 The captain turned on her an inquiring look. After 
 a pause that gave effect to his words, he said, "It is not 
 for us to say how far a weak or sinful purpose may be 
 defeated, or a good one confirmed, by what you call 
 * warnings. 7 As to their reality in any given case, the 
 individual conscience might furnish the test. For in- 
 
 02 
 
322 WALTER THORNLEY; OB, 
 
 stance, if pursuing a course of passion or disobedience, 
 an admonition of danger might be given " 
 
 " You think so ?" said she, more struck by his manner 
 than by the personal application that was perhaps in 
 tended, and which her innocence rejected. 
 
 "But, in saying this," continued he, "I do but repeat 
 what has been better said by a quaint old English writer 
 that the highest spirits may be constantly attendant 
 on the service of man, not on account of his great im 
 portance, but because he is the only poor creature that 
 wants their assistance. But surely, my dear Miss Ele 
 anor, these inquiries have no foundation in your own ex 
 perience ?" 
 
 If this were said to draw from her any admissions, it 
 failed of its object. There was something in his tone 
 and look that did not invite confidence ; and she felt re 
 lieved when Pomp appeared in search of her, with a 
 message from massa for " young missis to come in de 
 house right away, or she cotch cold." 
 
 She obeyed, though a little wondering at this unusual 
 timidity on her account, but found the temperature with 
 in much lower than without. Her grandfather was at 
 zero, Phil at the freezing-point, and her aunt shivering 
 but little above, only prevented the same rapid descent 
 by her habitual politeness. The captain, entirely un- 
 chilled, appeared not to perceive the change. Thus 
 passed a weary half-hour, during which neither conver 
 sation, cards, music, nor kind looks relieved the dead 
 weight which had fallen on all but the one for whom it 
 was intended. 
 
 Unabashed by what he, nevertheless, perfectly under 
 stood, Captain Talbot took his own way to meet it. 
 
 Kising to depart, and approaching Mr. Lawrence with 
 great respect, he expressed his sense of his generous 
 hospitality, his unvarying kindness- strongly empha- 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 323 
 
 sized the pleasure lie had enjoyed under his roof, and 
 his concern at being compelled to leave them. Turning 
 to Miss Lawrence, he proffered much the same in less 
 formal terms ; then thanked Master Philip for his very 
 agreeable companionship and many polite attentions; 
 assuring them all that nothing had been omitted on 
 their part that could conduce to his high gratification ; 
 and, addressing Eleanor particularly, he begged for her 
 commands to her parents, as he should return to the 
 city the following day. She, as much surprised, but 
 less disturbed than the rest who, in their honesty, felt 
 as if the captain had read their thoughts, and had con 
 victed them of the meanest behavior gave him her 
 hand frankly, accompanied by regret for his sudden de 
 parture. Then, with a parting glance to all, in which 
 might have been detected his satisfaction at the recoil 
 of the enemy s projectile, he bowed himself out. 
 
 Mr. Lawrence was the first to break the silence that 
 ensued. 
 
 "With a long expiration, to allow his suppressed breath 
 to escape, he exclaimed, "Now, I should be glad to 
 know what the devil that means ? Haven t I been civil ? 
 Haven t I been polite ? Haven t I been hospitable ?" in 
 the way in which persons conscious of a failure seek to 
 be justified. 
 
 "Haven t I too?" gently inquired Miss Gertrude. 
 
 " And haven t I?" asked Philip, uneasily. 
 
 "And haven t I?" exclaimed Eleanor, with a mis 
 chievous smile at the absurdity of the scene. 
 
 " Oh, you, indeed !" said Phil, reproachfully. " That s 
 well for you to ask the cause of all the trouble 1" 
 
 " Me, Phil? why I am the only innocent one." 
 
 Mr. Lawrence, recovering from his first feeling of an 
 noyance, took another view of the matter, that turned 
 the scale in his own favor. " A stranger had presumed 
 
324 WALTER THORNLEY; OK, 
 
 to teach him manners ! and in his own house ! Intol 
 erable!" 
 
 " I have never been so insulted in my life. An inso 
 lent, ungrateful puppy ! Comes here with no other in 
 troduction than his own impudence; presumes on my 
 hospitality to billet himself upon me day after day; 
 nauseates me with his fulsome compliments ; makes love 
 to my granddaughter before my face ; and then takes 
 himself off with the air of a great man, whom he dares 
 to insinuate we had treated like ignorant boors ! Never 
 let me hear his name again!" A prohibition no one 
 was likely to disregard. 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 325 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 A FEW days after, the quiet morning of Miss Lawrence 
 and Eleanor was broken in upon by Phyllis, who rush 
 ed up-stairs to inform them that a peddler was below. 
 
 At that time, when the country shops were few and 
 very indifferent, these itinerant traders were generally 
 acceptable, especially in the female world. Miss Ger 
 trude, therefore, having recollected various small wants, 
 prepared to go down, followed by Eleanor chiefly for 
 the novelty. 
 
 The man had been directed to come into the portaal, 
 and there, surrounded by the servants, old and young, 
 big and little, he opened his pack and displayed his 
 wares. He was a sturdy, hale-looking man, not young, 
 but with such a merry eye and mirthful face no one 
 could be old. These, a slight limp, and certain Yankee 
 peculiarities proclaimed our friend Jed, whose profes 
 sional wanderings had led him hither. 
 
 He cast a look of more than usual inquiry at the la 
 dies as they approached, in answer to which Aunt Flore 
 said, " Dese yere is my young misseses" Flore always 
 persisting in thus styling Miss Gertrude, distinguishing 
 Eleanor, when necessary, as " t oder young missis," or 
 " de young missis from York." 
 
 Jed kept his eye on them. 
 
 " One looks older than t other," thought he, " she s 
 pretty -lookin , though ; but she can t be the one, though 
 she s more suitable." 
 
 Having thus communed with himself, he said, "Well, 
 ladies, here s my shop I call it my * univarsal ! Mus 
 lins, silks, shawls, stockin s, gloves, pins, needles, scis- 
 
326 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 sors, knives, tapes, ribbons; every thing that women 
 folks can want except sweethearts, and these ere will 
 bring them too. No offense, I hope ?" 
 
 The servants giggled. 
 
 "If ole massa was here," said Pomp aside to Phyllis, 
 " guess he d send him to a wuss place, if he talk dat ar 
 way to young missis. Jess right for you, Phyllis." 
 
 " Yelly be still !" replied she, with a reproving nudge. 
 
 Jed s quick eye detected a joke, and he turned it to 
 his own account. Holding up a bright plaid cotton 
 handkerchief an imitation of those called Madras 
 " Here," said he to Phyllis, " is the very article for your 
 head ! and only four shillings, lawful." 
 
 She looked admiringly, but hesitated. 
 
 " If you can t make it out, that ere young fellow will 
 give it to you ; I see it in his eye." 
 
 " Cock s pottie up for her den !" retorted Pomp. " She 
 better get it, put roun my t roat stead ob her calabash !" 
 
 Phyllis pouted; but good-natured, fat Aunt Minty 
 brought back the smile, saying, " Neber you mine him, 
 Phylly impurent nigger !" 
 
 While she folded and refolded the tempting handker 
 chief, Jed assailed Aunt More with a cotton shawl over 
 spread with flowers of the largest size and brightest col 
 ors, but of no particular genera or order. 
 
 " There !" said he, throwing it over her shoulders adroit 
 ly as a Broadway shopman of the present day, and with 
 much the same recommendation, " there s a splendid ar 
 ticle ! If that don t suit you, why, you can t be suited 
 that s all." 
 
 "Oh, Hughey ! carry me out, and berry me decent!" 
 exclaimed Pomp ; " why, Aunt Flore, Uncle Mink neb- 
 er know he own wife." 
 
 " Get long, you eberlastin nigger, you !" replied she, 
 enforcing her words with a push that sent him against 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 327 
 
 the wall ; " you always t ink de boat neber can t cross 
 widout your oar !" 
 
 The rebuke would probably have failed to check the 
 flow of Pomp s wit, had not the attention of Miss Law 
 rence, hitherto occupied in her own selection from among 
 the divers small packages spread before her, been now 
 attracted to what was going on ; and, desirous to pre 
 vent imposition on the servants, she approached. "While 
 she watched over and advised their purchases, Momma 
 Zip entered, and, making her courtesy to Jed, endeav 
 ored to explain her wants. 
 
 " Poor old cre ter !" said he, " I can t make nothin out 
 of her." 
 
 Diving into her pocket, she produced a tobacco-box, 
 and this symbol was intelligible. 
 
 Jed shook his head. 
 
 " No, no ; I only trade in ladies notions. They nev 
 er want that, unless," with a wink, "a little ladies 7 
 twist, you know. But stop ; let me see," and he drew 
 from his pocket a paper of the kind desired ; " there ; 
 I always keep that ere sort for my own use," at the 
 same time putting a pinch in his mouth ; " this will sup 
 port natur till I can get more ; and now, old woman, 
 you shall have the rest; and stay! here s a nice new 
 pipe for you. I keep pipes cause sometimes mothers 
 want em for their children to blow bubbles." Then, 
 turning to Eleanor, who stood near him : " For that mat 
 ter, we all blow bubbles, miss, don t we, all our days? 
 I hope your n won t burst too soon. Now, Goody, 
 you re fixed, I guess. No, no; I don t want any of 
 your pennies. I mistrust you never got your own yet 
 in this world. / won t take nothin from you no 
 rate." 
 
 Momma s gratitude found expression in repeated 
 courtesies, and she drew on one side, thus giving Jed 
 an opportunity of addressing Eleanor. 
 
328 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 " And what shall I sell you, my pretty lady ?" said he. 
 
 Pleased with his kindness to Momma, Eleanor endeav 
 ored to think of something. 
 
 "Have you pocket-handkerchiefs?" she asked. 
 
 "Sartin plenty on em; just made for your little 
 lily hand too ;" bringing forth some, to which, without 
 vanity, Eleanor might have assigned a less distinguished 
 destination. She looked rather dubious, but bought 
 some. 
 
 "Perhaps you d like picter ones too?" 
 
 "Picture ones?" 
 
 " Yes, miss, very musical and instruct too. Here s 
 one;" and he displayed one on which was stamped a 
 chronological arrangement of the kings and queens of 
 England. The names, surmounted with a crown, were 
 placed within circles, sometimes attended also by em 
 blematical allusions to circumstances or events connect 
 ed with them ; as, for instance, seven smaller crowns en 
 circling the name of Egbert ; William Eufus accompa 
 nied by an arrow ; a lamprey coiled around the name of 
 Henry I. ; the garter twined round Edward III. ; and two 
 circles, one inscribed Henry VII., the other Elizabeth, 
 were connected by a knot of ribbons, the ends of which 
 formed a scroll, on which was written a couplet more 
 convenient as stating a fact than admirable as poetry : 
 
 " York and Lancaster united were 
 By Henry s marriage with Eliza fair." 
 
 This was, in Jed s estimation, a production of high art. 
 
 " There I" said he, triumphantly. " buy that, and you ll 
 have it all at your fingers ends, as a body may say. If 
 that isn t bein lamed at small expense, I should like to 
 know ! Or, if you like picters, you can frame it, and 
 hang it up in your keepin -room, always handy." 
 
 Perceiving that it did not take, much to his surprise, 
 he proceeded to another. 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 829 
 
 " Well, then, here s one ;" exhibiting Tippo Saib sur 
 rendering his two sons as hostages to Lord Cornwallis. 
 " Now did you ever see any thing more affectin ? I m 
 sure such a tender-hearted young lady must have feel- 
 in s at such a sight ! And then to think that jest so we 
 should have had to take it, if it hadn t been for the old 
 Continentals, and the rest. Every thing gin up our 
 fortins to the crown and our necks to the halter ! Awful ! 
 miss, eh and only jest two shillin s, lawful " 
 
 But Eleanor s "feelin s" were only excited to laughter. 
 
 " Ah ! I see you don t understand these things like 
 those that has sarved. Well, I can t blame you ; that s 
 nat ral. But here is somethin that ll come nearer home." 
 And he spread out one on which was printed the old 
 Scotch song " Whistle and I ll come to you, my lad;" 
 and, in illustration, a young girl was represented at a 
 cottage door, with eyes directed to a distant stile, on 
 which leaned a youth, who, with lover-like expression, 
 seemed watching her approach. 
 
 "Now that," said Jed, closely observing Eleanor, 
 "that I call a speakin thing. Don t you see her eyes 
 meltin like, and her lips movin ? Don t you seem to 
 hear his whistle, clear as a sky -lark ? Lord bless rny old 
 body ! it makes me young agin jest to look at it. I feel 
 e en a most as if it was I myself." 
 
 Eleanor s laugh encouraged him. "And so do you 
 too ; I see you do ; jest as if you was a settin by your 
 charmber window, a knowin that somebody was a wait- 
 in for you down yonder at the eend of the road, or the 
 1 awenoo as the quality calls it." 
 
 To check applications so familiar and personal, she re 
 plied coldly, " No, I don t fancy any of these. Have you 
 any lead-pencils ?" 
 
 "Sartinly, Jed Cooley never fails;" and he handed 
 them. They were poor enough, but she took them. 
 
330 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 " And here s sometliin tliat goes with them," said he, 
 handing a small tablet for memoranda. " Here s days, 
 weeks, months, the whole year ; and see, here s the place 
 for the pencil too, all quite nat ral and convenient. Now 
 jest look ; this ll sarve to make you remember all you ve 
 done, and all you ve got to do. As to all that folks has 
 done, that isn t jest always what they like to remember, 
 I know. Not meanin you, miss, by no means ; but me. 
 For when a man has been a soldierin seven long years, 
 tearin round like mad, in heat and cold, wet and dry, 
 sometimes full and sometimes empty ; fightin , swearin , 
 settin fire to houses, makin widders and orphans, it 
 don t make a feller speret al, I can tell you; and such 
 memorandums isn t very pleasant readin , specially when 
 he thinks of that big memorandum book up there !" cast 
 ing a grave look upward ; " but as to what one has got to 
 do in the way of business, you know, and the like, no 
 one can t object." 
 
 Eleanor examined the tablet, admitted its usefulness, 
 and kept it. 
 
 " Perhaps you don t quite see into it yet ; let me show 
 you, miss. Jest, for instance, to-day s Tuesday, to-mor 
 row Wednesday. Now, let s suppose" lowering his 
 voice, speaking deliberately and emphatically, and af 
 fecting to write in the tablet as he spoke "that you d 
 got to meet him at nine o clock to-morrow evening, at 
 the eend of the road, a little beyond the gate. Bein put 
 down here you can t forget, you know ; and so" taking 
 a slip of paper from his pocket "I ll jest put that in 
 to mark the place, and to show you that I am under or 
 ders from the right one." Then, in a still lower tone, he 
 added, " If you won t come, rniss, you have nothin to 
 do but to shake your head." 
 
 Putting the pencil in its place, and folding the tablet 
 up quickly, he looked sharply and inquiringly at her as 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 831 
 
 he put it into her hand ; while she, amazed, bewildered, 
 and not as yet clearly comprehending, received it pas 
 sively, and made no sign. 
 
 Satisfied with this, he proceeded to bundle up his 
 wares with all dispatch, and Eleanor, trying to collect 
 her thoughts, was devising how best to reprove his im 
 pertinence, when Mr. Lawrence entered, and she saw 
 that she must remain quiet if she would avoid a violent 
 scene. 
 
 With a frown directed against the unwelcome peddler, 
 he exclaimed, in an angry tone, " Another of these ver 
 min! I wonder, Gertrude, you will encourage them. 
 They bring nothing but trash, and cheat the poor devils 
 out of the little money they have." 
 
 His daughter assured him that this man was an ex 
 ception that he brought good and reasonable things, 
 such as the neighborhood did not furnish. 
 
 Encouraged by this, Jed reopened his pack, and of 
 fered to Mr. Lawrence s inspection a snuff-box of glitter 
 ing material, gaudily ornamented, with a smile of the 
 most imperturbable good-humor. 
 
 " There, sir, is not that ike thing ? Look at it and ex 
 amine it car fully as you please, sir; inside and out. 
 Why, twould pass for gold, sir!" 
 
 To ask Mr. Lawrence s approval of a sham of any 
 kind was to insult him past bearing, and the manner 
 rendered it even more offensive. 
 
 " You infernal Yankee knave !" he exclaimed, " do you 
 offer me a pinchbeck snuff-box ? Pass for gold ! yes, as 
 you pass for an honest man ! with a fair outside. March ! 
 begone with your Yankee shams ! If ever you darken 
 my doors again I ll have you tossed in a blanket. I ll 
 set the dogs on you I" 
 
 Jed was not a man to be frightened by a few hard 
 words. With no haste, and perfect composure, he re- 
 
332 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 placed the box, strapped his pack, threw it over his 
 shoulder, then, standing erect, and planting his staff 
 firmly on the floor, he said, "Good-day to you, sir! 
 May the doors of your house never be darkened by 
 nothin worse than an old Continental, who has shed 
 his blood to prop its foundation, and to keep your head 
 in its own place. As to the blanket, if you d a been so 
 gin rous as to send it to Valley Forge, when I lay there 
 a freezin for you, twou d been about right ; at present 
 I have no occasion." Then, making a military salute to 
 the ladies, and nodding pleasantly to the servants, he 
 marched off, in his own view, "with colors flying," 
 leaving Mr. Lawrence in that agreeable perplexity when 
 a person knows not if he has had the best or the worst 
 in a contest he has himself needlessly provoked. 
 Jed s clear whistle, succeeded by 
 
 "Old King Cole was a jolly old soul, 
 And a jolly old soul was he !" 
 
 was heard as he struck into the avenue, along which he 
 presently perceived himself to be followed by the house 
 dog, Brag, whose suspicions were awakened by the loud 
 tones attending his exit from the house, but who satisfied 
 himself with the intention of seeing him off the premises. 
 This was, however, delayed by Jed s choosing a shady 
 spot near the gate, and seating himself, at the same time 
 opening a wallet suspended at his side. From this he 
 drew forth the remains of his dinner ; and, having pur 
 posely put the wind "between his nobility" and Brag s 
 nose, the latter soon caught the perfume of a mutton- 
 bone, which certified so satisfactorily to the character 
 of the stranger that he drew nearer to cultivate his ac 
 quaintance. 
 
 " Ay, I thought so," soliloquized Jed ; " I thought so. 
 But it isn t nothin agin him ; he s no worse, nor half so 
 bad, as human cre ters who are bribed every day. Some 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 
 
 for honor, some for profit, some for pleasure ; for hun 
 ger, rale hunger, like him, least of all. There, sir," said 
 he, throwing a bone to Brag, whose teeth snapped it in 
 a second, "I may have a call to these ere parts agin, 
 spite of that fractious old gentleman. It s always well 
 to have a friend at court they say, and so I gin rally 
 make a p int of standin well with the dogs. I don t 
 care for his blanket ; twou d take more than all his nig 
 gers to get Jed Cooley into that consarn. But dog s 
 teeth a n t favorable. So here you, what s your name ? 
 there s another bone ; remember me if ever you see me 
 agin ;" and, patting him on the head, a familiarity Brag 
 authorized by a condescending wag of his tail, " now 
 we re friends," a conclusion that the dog seemed to ad 
 mit by stretching himself on the grass at his side. 
 
 " Now," said Jed, reposing in like manner, "let me 
 consider. It s always well to look all round when one s 
 standin on slippery ground, as the psalm-book says, 
 and I feel kind o skittish about this business. Let me 
 go it over to myself. Well, as I come along this morn- 
 in , a skirtin that ere wood yonder, a man that is, a 
 gentleman meets me. At first, he was shy, all kiver d 
 up in his cloak, for all twas hot enough to melt a body, 
 and his hat draw d over his eyes. Presently he seemed 
 to bethink himself, and turned toward me. So, as I al 
 ways like to be friendly and to give the time o day, if 
 no thin else, I tips him a salute. With that, says he, 
 Where be you a goin ? Sir, says I, 1 1 am a goin to 
 sell you so thin out of my pack, if so be I can suit you 
 knives, pipes, neckerchief, stockin s and so forth, un- 
 strappin at the same time. But he looked kind o sharp 
 and uneasy, and would not hear me. I mean, says he, 
 what place are you goin to? Oh, says I, to that 
 ere big house mong the trees. Ay, says he, all right. 
 What s your name ? says he, next. 
 
334 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 " Jedediah Jed, for shortness Cooley, sir, says I, 
 taking off my hat, cause I always lay out to be civil. 
 I larn d that at school. Well, then he stopped to con 
 sider, looking at me as if he expected to see clean to my 
 backbone, but I never dodged a bit. Then says he, 
 Can you be trusted? flinging me a piece of money at 
 the same time, jest as I threw a mutton-bone to this ere 
 dog. Hope I can, sir, says I. Well, then, says he, 
 you ll see a pretty young lady at that big house just 
 ask her to meet a friend here to-morrow evening at nine 
 o clock you understand, says he, puttin his finger to 
 his nose, so. I expect I do, sir, says I, but I s pose I 
 laughed, for he looked desp rate angry, and said, What 
 do you mean, sir ? Oh, nothin , says I, but you said 
 "young" lady, didn t you? Be sure, says he, what 
 if I did ? Oh, nothin , sir, only there s no disputin 
 tastes, sir, that s all. And what name shall I tell her? 
 No matter for that, says he, only do as I bid you. 
 
 " Now, thinks I, when a feller is shy of tellin his 
 name he s ugly specially when I d gin him mine so 
 freely. However, I ll fix him for that yet. Then says 
 I, I m an. old soldier. I m used, on secret sarvice, to 
 give a watch- word. No matter for that, says he, very 
 sharp. But presently, considering, he says, Stay, you re 
 right ; and, taking out a slip of paper, he writes some- 
 thin on t with a pencil. There, says he, give her 
 that ; then meet me here with her answer, and, if favor 
 able, you shall have as much more as I gave you just 
 now. 
 
 "Well, such was my arrant, and I think I ve done it 
 pretty cute; but, somehow, I don t feel comfortable. 
 She is pretty as a picter, and looks as good as she is 
 pretty. I can t bear to think of her havin any consarn 
 with that fellar. I ll keep a look out for her yet. But 
 he s a prowlin about in that ere wood, a waitin for 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 335 
 
 me, I s pose, so I must march agin" resuming his pack 
 and staff, and giving Brag a farewell pat, he issued from 
 the gate, and, after proceeding a short distance in the 
 neighboring wood, encountered a gentleman evidently 
 on the watch for him. His slouched hat and large cloak 
 concealed much of his face and person, and in a voice 
 subdued to harshness, he said, "What success?" 
 
 " Your arrant s did, sir," said Jed, " straight as an ar 
 row." 
 
 " And she will come?" 
 
 "Sartin, sir; she understood the signals; all cor 
 rect." 
 
 Putting a piece of money into Jed s hand, according 
 to contract, he was silent for some minutes, during which 
 Jed tossed up the crown with a careless, satisfied air, 
 and the stranger surveyed him with a scrutinizing gaze. 
 
 " An intelligent fellow," said he, thinking aloud. 
 
 "Yes, sir," said Jed, "just so," still playing with the 
 money. 
 
 " Pray what has been your business heretofore ? You 
 called yourself a soldier, though your drilling seems 
 rather rusty at present." 
 
 " I started, sir, at the plow-tail ; did all kind of farm- 
 work. Then the war broke out, and I was drafted into 
 the militia. Then I sarved in the reg lars right old 
 Continental, I tell you. There I got this ere," rapping 
 his leg with his stick. " When the war was over I drove 
 a stage near on to a year ; but goin all weathers, night 
 and day, didn t suit this ere pesky leg, so I gave in, and 
 took to peddlin at your sarvice, sir," with a touch of 
 his hat. 
 
 " Ah! you have driven four-in-hand for a year," said 
 the gentleman, approvingly ; " and you call yourself a 
 good and safe driver?" 
 
 Jed, with a look of rather indignant surprise, answer 
 ed, " I guess Ido !" 
 
336 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 Again the gentleman paused, and again communed 
 with himself. "I must trust some one;" then said 
 aloud, "Is your business finished here?" 
 
 " Yes, sir, for the present, about done." 
 
 "Have you any acquaintances in these parts?" 
 
 "No, sir; Dutch people and Yankees don t step well 
 together : one s too slow, t other too quick." 
 " Then you will proceed from here to your home?" 
 
 " Sartin ; only stoppin to accommodate folks on the 
 way." 
 
 Again the gentleman looked and hesitated ; then, as 
 if suddenly deciding, said, "Be here at nine to-morrow 
 evening no, a quarter before. A carriage and pair of 
 horses will be secured at the edge of the wood, on that 
 farther side. Having reported yourself to me here, I 
 will give you farther orders. When the lady comes, 
 you must be ready to assist her. She may be a little 
 overcome by fear of pursuit, I mean and unable to 
 walk to the carriage. You understand? Ladies have 
 not always the courage to do the very thing they most 
 desire, and are grateful for a little gentle force. You 
 understand ?" 
 
 Jed s face wore an expression of entire and approving 
 comprehension. 
 
 "Just so, sir. Land! I haven t seen the world for 
 nothin . I m up to a thing ! women folks mongst the 
 rest. They are the charmin est cre ters in the world, 
 sir, but they don t never know their own minds. "Well, 
 sir, and how long will you want me ?" 
 
 Without replying directly, the gentleman said, " Tis 
 thirteen miles to the lower landing; do you know the 
 road?" 
 
 "Yes, sir, parfectly ; have tramped it more than once." 
 
 "It is in good order; I came over it to-day. Two 
 hours and a half will take us there." 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 337 
 
 "Less time too, sir." 
 
 "It will be night, you recollect?" 
 
 " Yes, but the moon will be up." 
 
 "When there, you will be dismissed. The carriage 
 belongs there. You can then take your quickest route 
 home." 
 
 "And the driver who brings it here?" asked Jed, 
 " what comes of him ?" 
 
 " That driver will be myself. I shall have something 
 else to do when I go back. You understand ?" 
 
 " Oh, sartin, sartin ! all right ! I guess I m up to trap 
 never trust two when one will do." 
 
 " Yes, I see you take me. Obey orders, and your pay 
 shall be such as shall satisfy you, of which I give you 
 this as earnest-money." 
 
 " Thank you, sir," said Jed, rejecting it ; " I ll be paid 
 when the job s done, if you please." 
 
 " Well, that s honest. I feel sure of you. A quarter 
 before nine to-morrow evening;" and he disappeared 
 into the wood, leaving Jed in a musing posture, nibbling 
 the head of his staff. After some moments he struck it 
 to the ground, and exclaimed, " Well, it s a risky busi 
 ness, but I ll do it!" 
 
 P 
 
338 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 As Jed departed, his customers, gathering their pur 
 chases, scattered, congratulating themselves that their 
 traffic had not been sooner interrupted. 
 
 Eleanor had a subject of more serious thought. De 
 feated in her purpose of returning the tablet to the ped 
 dler, with a proper rebuke for his conduct, she sought a 
 retired seat in the garden, to review the matter calmly. 
 In doing so, she recollected his having written in the 
 tablet, and she referred to it in the expectation of farther 
 light. She found nothing intelligible; but on the slip 
 of paper he had inserted as a mark was the following : 
 
 "The keel to the wave, the hand to the oar, 
 And the boat to the maiden that sits on the shore." 
 
 The dim, vague hope suggested by the first address of 
 the peddler, but rejected by her better sense, and then 
 frowned down by her displeasure, at these words re 
 vived irrepressibly. Eead and re-read, at every instant 
 it gained confirmation. " What could they be but a to 
 ken, an assurance, from the only person who knew of 
 their interview, and the real significance of this allusion 
 to the boat ? And who could that person be but "Wal 
 ter? Who but he could furnish such a credential?" 
 But again: " Could he, would he, ask her thus to meet 
 him ? Her heart beat the response. Her earnest pro 
 hibition against entering the house would naturally pre 
 vent his now attempting it. If he asked a meeting un 
 der such circumstances, it must be for reasons that would 
 justify it. It was the last thing he would do, unless 
 compelled." 
 
 Her own dislike to a violation of decorum rose in op- 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. ,339 
 
 position. " How could she, alone, in the shade of even 
 ing, unauthorized by the permission or even knowledge 
 of the friends who had the right to direct her, go at the 
 call of one who she could not deny it might prove a 
 person unworthy of the confidence ? What would her 
 father, the stern advocate of female propriety; what 
 would her mother, whose gentle dignity repressed all 
 thoughtless compromise of delicacy, say to such a pro 
 ceeding?" She became faint and cold. "But then, if 
 it should be Walter. He could only come on angels er 
 rands ! Ought I not to trust him ? Can I bear to dis 
 appoint him ? to make it apparent that I have not faith 
 in him ? What shall I do ? what shall I do ?" 
 
 A summons to tea found the question unanswered. 
 As she entered the house she met Philip, attended by 
 his dogs, jumping and barking around him with noisy 
 delight at his sporting preparations, in which they un 
 derstood their co-partnership. 
 
 " Ah ! Eleanor, well met. I have been looking the 
 house over for you, to say good-by. Not, however," in 
 answer to her look of inquiry, " not for very long. I 
 am going down to young Morton s to-night. We start 
 early in the morning for a shooting ramble of a day or 
 two. I take my dogs, for I can not trust his." 
 
 " You don t take Brag, I hope." 
 
 " No, of course not," said he, laughing ; " he would be 
 rather more plague than profit. But why do you ask ? 
 Not from fear?" 
 
 "Oh no, there s nothing to be afraid of. But of late 
 I m not so profound a sleeper as usual; and I like to 
 hear the old fellow going his rounds at night, talking to 
 the moon, or challenging the neighbor dogs. It is com 
 panionship, and, when wakeful, tis quite agreeable." 
 
 " Pshaw !" said Phil, with an impatient gesture, "here s 
 that confounded pistol. I have been showing it to Mor- 
 
340 
 
 ton and forgot to put it away. I must run up stairs 
 with it at once. Excuse me; I have not a minute to 
 spare. I dare not leave it here ; that fellow, Pomp, will 
 be trying experiments with it." 
 
 " Give it to me ; I ll take care of it for you." 
 
 "Will you? that s very kind. I would not trouble 
 you, but Morton s waiting for me. But take care ; the 
 charge is not drawn. You re not afraid ?" 
 
 " No, indeed ! thanks to your instruction." 
 
 " Well, good-night." But, holding her hand, he lin 
 gered a moment. 
 
 " Give me credit, Eleanor. Only once have I spoken 
 to her ! and that once," with a sort of shudder, " what 
 was it?" 
 
 "I don t know about the pleasure of speaking," said 
 Eleanor laughing, "if that is its effect." 
 
 "Ah! you do not know how much harder silence is 
 than all things else how should you ? But one of these 
 days, my fair insensible cousin ! Good-night !" 
 
 " One of these days !" thought Eleanor, and she went 
 to her room, where relieving herself of hat, shawl, and 
 pistol, she descended to the parlor. 
 
 Much to her satisfaction, her grandfather showed no 
 trace of the irritation the peddler had excited. On the 
 contrary, he was kinder than usual of late. 
 
 " Come, Leentje" a Dutch diminutive for Eleanor he 
 sometimes used when in a petting mood "come, Leentje," 
 said he, "this evening we ll have cards, and you shall 
 choose. Dummy, or piquet, or cribbage ;" and the even 
 ing passed off pleasantly. 
 
 There are all kinds of ill-temper in the world capri 
 cious, irritable, passionate, sulky, malignant. No one of 
 these would express that which nature or circumstance 
 had conferred on Mr. Lawrence. He was not capricious, 
 because he always believed himself acting from sufficient 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 341 
 
 cau se if irritable and passionate, yet, when least looked 
 for, gentle and forbearing roused to fury by the small 
 est opposition, yet capable of the most generous volun 
 tary surrender sympathizing with truth, courage, and 
 liberty, yet habitually a despot ; and, if not thus making 
 hypocrites of others, it was either that their fine natures 
 were impassible to evil, or that his own better impulses 
 operated as a corrective. Sulky or malignant he could 
 never be. Of all epithets, one of uncertain etymology, 
 and, like himself, difficult to define, was most applicable 
 he was a queer man. 
 
 Eleanor retired, but not to sleep. Leaving her candle 
 in the little back room she sometimes dignified as her 
 "study," she passed into the other, in the front of the 
 house, and, seating herself by the window, she looked out 
 into the quiet night, 
 
 * So quiet, that even the motion of an angel s wing 
 Would interrupt the intense tranquillity 
 Of silent hills, and more than silent sky. " 
 
 The moon, high in the clear blue heaven, offered to 
 the upcast eye an image of unruffled majesty, while, re 
 flected from the ever-moving waters below, though still 
 beautiful, she trembled. 
 
 "So it is!" thought Eleanor. "Even the loveliest 
 things are often dimmed and distorted here. Tis only 
 in heaven that they are perfect. So even with our af 
 fections." And again her troubled mind debated with 
 itself, "What should she do ?" 
 
 She regretted now that she had not consulted with 
 Philip. She knew she could trust him, that he would 
 have remained at home if she desired it, would have 
 watched over her safety if necessary. " But, then, how 
 make partial disclosures to him ? and, still more difficult, 
 how tell all ? No, it could not be." 
 
 " Then," naturally courageous except when assailed 
 
342 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 by fears of things unreal, she thought, " what could harm 
 me here, within our own bounds?" 
 
 In this conflict with herself, at one moment renounc 
 ing the idea, at another incapable of so doing, she sud 
 denly reflected, " He has just returned from the city ; he 
 has seen mamma ; he said he should. He brings me a 
 message from her ! Oh yes, it must be so ! and then I 
 must, I ought to see him !" 
 
 Truth to tell, she was but too ready to say, with St. 
 Francis, " I do not know how that poor virtue prudence 
 hath offended me, but I can not cordially like it." So 
 lately regretting even what seemed a necessary conceal 
 ment, she was now about to commit deliberately that of 
 which she had feared merely the appearance. Doubt 
 yielded to conviction, enforced by inclination "Yes, 
 she would go." 
 
 Poor Eleanor was not, indeed, infallible ! But she was 
 little more than "sweet seventeen," and she was in love 
 when imagination silences reason, and ingenuity puz 
 zles prudence. Ye pretty ones ! pity, bat do not imitate 
 her. 
 
 Having decided, she nerved herself against farther 
 scruples. The clock struck eleven, and, rising, she went 
 for the light left in the adjoining room. As she ap 
 proached the table a strange creaking noise arrested her 
 attention. Surprised, but not frightened, she listened 
 with a quickened sense. It was repeated ; it was near ; 
 it was in the room in which she stood. The window- 
 sashes were closed. One opened on the af-dak, and she 
 directed her eye to it with a startling suspicion of an at 
 tempt to raise it ; but it did not move. Again a sound 
 as of a heavy door cautiously turned on its hinges ! She 
 looked at the door of the room, but it remained shut. 
 Again the same mysterious sound ! Her fear now awak 
 ened, she looked anxiously around, not knowing from 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 343 
 
 what quarter to expect its confirmation, when, her eye 
 resting on the large dark kass, she perceived, with in 
 creasing alarm, one of its ponderous doors ajar. Not 
 daring to approach, she bent on it a look of suspicion. 
 It moved, attended by the same sound, now fearfully 
 explained. For, as it continued slowly opening, inch 
 by inch, while she stirred not, and scarcely breathed, a 
 man s head and body were protruded. She did not 
 shriek. The instinct of self-preservation was stronger 
 than fear ; but, putting her hand on the pistol which lay 
 on the table by her side, she raised it and directed it 
 against the intruder. 
 
 " For the Lord s sake, miss !" exclaimed the voice of 
 the peddler, " don t fire ! I won t hurt a hair of your 
 head. It s only me only Jed Cooley !" 
 
 This information did not convey the same assurance 
 to Eleanor that it might to others. His strange reap 
 pearance oversetting all the conclusions she had just ar 
 rived at, while he might be supposed the accredited 
 agent of Walter, the thought instantly occurred to her 
 that his visit by day had only been a stratagem to ascer 
 tain how best to make a felonious attempt at night. 
 
 She lowered her weapon, however, but looked at him 
 with all the sternness of which her face was capable, say 
 ing, resolutely, " How dare you to conceal yourself here? 
 Begone instantly, or I shall alarm the family." 
 
 "Why, what a hero^e you be!" said he; "but it s 
 not quite rulable though, to shoot a man before you 
 challenge him. Not so much as Who goes there ? and 
 pop ! I d like to have been a dead man in no time." 
 
 "Silence!" said Eleanor, imperatively, "and begone!" 
 
 "I can t go yet," said Jed, shaking himself very com 
 posedly, and speaking rather low ; " that consarned place 
 has made me so stiff, all crumpled up for two hours, that 
 I can t move jest at present. But don t be afeard. I 
 
344: WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 see you are, though you do behave like Judith and 
 Holofernes. I want you to know that I come only as a 
 friend; do jest believe this, and be easy, and let me tell 
 you so thin for your own good. So, no offense, I ll set 
 down, but jest as far off as you please ; my lame leg 
 is so cramped, bein crammed like a bundle of rags in 
 that ere what y call it, that I can t stand." 
 
 Without permission granted, he seated himself at a 
 respectful distance. Eleanor, upon this, retreating still 
 farther, he ventured a nearer move ; when, mistaking his 
 meaning, she again raised the pistol. 
 
 " Hold, miss ! not so fast ! Unless you put down that 
 ere popgun of your n, I sha n t speak at all, and that 
 would be your loss, not mine. I only want to come 
 near enough to speak without raisin the ruff. Now, I 
 tell you, on the honor of an old Continental, and, if that 
 don t suit you, on the faith of a Christian, that I come 
 for your good, and you ll rue the day if you don t 
 hear me. I ll swear it, if you choose, on that ere Bible. 
 It consarns that message I brought you this very 
 morninV 
 
 The unmistakable earnestness and frankness of the 
 man, together with this last intimation, inspired her with 
 confidence. 
 
 "I will hear you," said she; "be quick; but remain 
 where you are." 
 
 Then, taking a chair herself, at what she deemed a 
 safe distance, but still retaining the weapon, she waited 
 for his communication. 
 
 Jed cast a comical glance from his oblique eye at the 
 pistol. 
 
 "I guess, miss, you better not play much with that 
 ere artillery of your n. It s loaded, you know; and, 
 bein pinted this way, it rayther chokes me. It s like 
 speakin with a knife at one s throat." 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 345 
 
 Eleanor did not condescend to reply, but, looking 
 grand, waved her hand for him to proceed. 
 
 " Well, you see, miss, I m a little giv n to do what the 
 sailors call spinnin a long yarn. Can t, therefor , be so 
 very quick, as you say, but ll try to accommodate. Now, 
 it a n t that I would stand about helpin a young lady 
 out of a window, or into a coach, if so be that her sperrit 
 was up t it, and if twas the right man. But this ere, 
 maybe puttin 7 the saddle on the wrong horse, I can t 
 no way agree to." 
 
 Eleanor looked in wonder and indignation. 
 
 "What do you mean?" said she, angrily. "What 
 has this impertinence to do with your message to 
 me?" 
 
 "Considerable," replied he, with a significant nod; 
 " con-sid-er-able, I tell you !" Then, speaking earnestly, 
 "Now, do, do, my pretty young miss, let me go on in my 
 own way. If I m mindin my manners all the time, 
 you ll never get to the eend. And, to begin, I must 
 make bold to ax you one question. What kind of a 
 person might you be expectin to meet at that ere place 
 to-morrow night? Any partic lar one?" he added, with 
 a smile. 
 
 The delicacy of Eleanor shrunk from confidence on 
 such a subject with such a person ; yet, conscience con 
 victing her of the very purpose hinted at, however of 
 fensive it sounded when thus stated, she could not 
 speak, but sat troubled and confused. 
 
 "Well, if so be you re backward to tell, I ll describe 
 my gentleman, and you ll see if he s your n or not." 
 
 Eleanor still remaining silent, he proceeded. 
 
 " He s tall ; a fine figure of a man ; some folks might 
 call him handsome, but I don t ; he s hard-favored." 
 
 "Oh no !" exclaimed Eleanor, off her guard. " He 
 is, very handsome !" 
 
 P2 
 
346 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 Jed smiled ; and, as ruthlessly as he would have de 
 scribed a deserter, proceeded : 
 
 " Has a mop of darkish hair." 
 
 " Full, curling, brown hair," said Eleanor, correcting 
 him. 
 
 " Teeth, white as a dog s." 
 
 " As ivory," interposed Eleanor. 
 
 " Dark eyes, sharp as a razor." 
 
 " Yes, when necessary ; at other times soft and kind 
 as those of a child." 
 
 " Didn t look partic lar soft or kind on me" said Jed, 
 turning his quid. "Voice strong and harsh ; and then, 
 ag in, a kind of a low growl." 
 
 "Oh no, no ; his voice is music itself! You ve no ear !" 
 
 " No ear 1" This was touching Jed on a tender point. 
 " No ear ! that s good ! Why, there a n t no tune I can t 
 whistle and sing a ter once hearin on t. No ear! I 
 guess ! Well, no matter for that ; does this picter suit 
 you, miss ? Is this the right one ?" 
 
 Jed s rensdgnemens had been so general, and so quali 
 fied by Eleanor s involuntary amendments and construc 
 tions, that they could not be said directly to oppose the 
 image in her mind, if they did not perfectly conform to it. 
 But she hesitated ; she could not yet bring herself to an 
 open admission of the expectation insinuated by Jed. 
 
 "One thing I forgot," continued Jed "his age. 
 When he makes himself up to please a young lady, I 
 won t undertake to say what he may pass for. But, 
 havin no partic lar reason to tickle my eye, he jest look 
 ed his rale man ; and if he s a day, he is fifty." 
 
 " Fifty ! Oh, dreadful !" exclaimed Eleanor. " Nev 
 er, never; you re dreaming." 
 
 " No, Pin not a dreamin ; I won t say but other folks 
 may be. Pray, then, miss, how old do you ralely ex 
 pect your gentleman to be?" 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 347 
 
 "The person," said Eleanor, hesitating "the person 
 I thought I supposed you might mean, is not more 
 than three or four and twenty." 
 
 Jed opened his eyes and gave a long, low whistle. 
 
 " Con-star-na-tion !" he exclaimed; "well, we ve miss 
 ed a figure, but there s time to set it right yet. Now, an 
 other thing : you didn t hear nothin about a carriage at 
 a sartin place, did you? and, to speak right out, you 
 didn t agree to be run away with, did you?" 
 
 "Good Heaven!" cried Eleanor, scarcely repressing 
 a scream. "What do you mean? What is all this? 
 Who are you? and what horrible man are you speak 
 ing of ?" 
 
 "Then you hadn t no notion of this?" asked Jed. 
 
 " No, no, no ! how dare you think it ? I would rather 
 die. Leave me this moment! You are a bad man, 
 leagued with some one still worse to entrap me. Go, 
 go, I command you !" 
 
 "Don t be so hasty, my dear young lady; though I 
 can t blame you, for all. Jest hear me. I see into it. 
 Jest as I partly expected afore. Tis all a plot of that 
 villain. I mistrusted him soon as I see him the second 
 time. Now jest be quiet and hear me, and I ll make it 
 clear as print to you." 
 
 Yielding to his hearty manner, and her own earnest 
 desire to fathom the matter, if possible, Eleanor consent 
 ed. His account satisfied her of his honesty, and that, 
 but for him, her imprudent confidence would have be 
 trayed her into a very unpleasant, if not dangerous ad 
 venture. But the question still returned, who was this 
 daring and impertinent man ? Captain Talbot occurred 
 to her, but only because, at the moment, she could think 
 of no one else. The idea was rejected almost as soon as 
 conceived ; for, besides that he was gone, and that he 
 was in manners and conduct above suspicion, he was far 
 
348 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 too worldly-wise thus to commit himself. After revolv 
 ing in her mind every other acquaintance, a certain ec 
 centric, rich old bachelor Baltus Quitman by name 
 a visitor at Rosenberg, who had furnished merriment to 
 herself and the family by his violent admiration of her, 
 appeared the least improbable. Jed s description was 
 not inapplicable, except that he had exaggerated his age. 
 She recollected, too, her grandfather s saying, "Take 
 care, Nelly ! Baltus has been a wild dog in his day. 
 He ll run off with you, if he can get you in no other 
 way ; for our Dutch blood, when it does stir, stops for 
 nothing. It makes pirates, buccaneers, patriots, or lov 
 ers, as the case may be." The suspicion gained con 
 firmation as she dwelt on it. "Yes, it must be so! 
 that wild, half-crazy Quitman must be the man. He 
 must have seen the boat land, remained on the watch, 
 and followed in the obscurity of the night and the 
 storm. Those mysterious footsteps! that spectral fig 
 ure ! were all traceable to the same person ;" and she al 
 most forgave his nefarious purpose when thus relieved 
 of her superstitious fears. 
 
 "Well, miss," said Jed, watching her anxious face, 
 "have you thought it out?" 
 
 Unwilling to compromise any one without absolute 
 certainty, she replied, " I only know that a base design 
 has been formed against me, and that you have prevent 
 ed it." 
 
 She drew her purse from her pocket as she spoke, 
 and, extending it to him, added, "This is a small re 
 quital, but I shall find a way to increase it if you will 
 give me your address." 
 
 But Jed, putting it aside with a proud, but good-na 
 tured smile, said, "Why, now, you don t suppose I m a 
 goin to be paid for not bein a rascal you don t! 
 When I was a youngster, my granny used to say, Jed, 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 349 
 
 your money always burns in your pocket ; but, land! 
 I guess if I took your n, twould burn blue as brimstone. 
 No, miss ; if I ve done you a sarvice, I hope it may wipe 
 out some of my shortcoming to other folks. And now 
 I must be a goin ." 
 
 Eleanor would not mortify him by farther pressing 
 her bounty, but, with a smile that Jed thought brighter 
 than gold, she said, " You are a good, generous fellow ! 
 You must come and see my parents that they may 
 thank you too. But how can you get down ? and you 
 lame too I and the dog ?" 
 
 "Oh! that ain t nothin . I ve scaled worse things 
 than that ere outwork under your window; and if I 
 got up, why, I can get down, you know. As to the 
 dog, he and I s friends, and, if he don t remember it, I ve 
 a bone here to put him in mind. But, dogs or no dogs, 
 you see I set myself to do the job the minute he spoke 
 of that ere carriage ; I smelt a rat then, I tell you." 
 
 Turning the same comical squint at the pistol, as he 
 saw her putting it cautiously on the table, he said, " You 
 needn t be so dreadful car ful about that ere. It can t 
 do nothin ." 
 
 " Nothing ! when it is loaded ! What do you mean ? 
 You were " 
 
 "Yes, yes," said he, interrupting her quickly, "I 
 know what you re goin to say. I did seem afeard on t 
 myself; but that was only jest to keep up your sperrits. 
 You see, when I got in here, and found all dark, I did 
 what I always do, struck a light I always keep a box 
 by me. Whenever I pass the enemies lines I look out, 
 I tell you ! So the first thing I see here was this ere 
 pistol, ready for action. I hadn t forgot the angry old 
 gentleman I see in the a ternoon, nor how he warned me 
 off the place. And, thinks I, better keep fire-arms out 
 of the way of a wrathy man. So I drawed its teeth. 
 
350 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 But seein what a comfort twas to you, and how beauti 
 ful you looked a p intin it at me, thinkin to shoot me 
 any minute you d a mind to, I hadn t the heart to disap- 
 p int you." 
 
 Approaching the window, he again stopped. 
 
 " I must make bold, miss, to give you a bit of advice. 
 Don t you be goin outside your bounds here, at no time, 
 day nor night ; that is, not alone. I wouldn t trust that 
 ere man more than the Evil One ; jest you keep close, I 
 say. Well, I believe all s settled now, so good-by, my 
 pretty miss. If ever you ll think of Jed Cooley, the old 
 Continental, that s the best reward he ll ax; and one 
 thing more no offense, by no means but I should like 
 to know how to call you." 
 
 Eleanor smiled and gave him her name. 
 
 "It s a kind of a new one to me, would you be so 
 good as to write it in this here pocket-book for me ?" 
 
 She did so, with the address of her parents, saying, as 
 she returned it, "You are a great traveler, and your 
 next expedition must be to that place. I am sure," 
 continued she with warmth, "that you are an honest 
 man ; I shall never forget you ; and in some better way 
 I hope to show my gratitude." 
 
 With a profound bow, and "I thank you heartily, 
 miss," Jed made his exit, and, slipping down from the 
 corner of the af-dcik, his stealthy tread was heard by 
 Eleanor as he wound round the house. Brag approach 
 ed to challenge, but a hand and a mutton-bone met him. 
 He inquired no farther, and Jed pursued his way un 
 molested. 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 351 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 THE next evening, at the appointed time, Jed took up 
 his line of march to the place of rendezvous with his 
 unknown employer. It may be questioned why, having 
 broken his engagement in the spirit, he should keep it to 
 the letter, exposing himself to a collision with an angry 
 man. But fear was not in Jed s vocabulary,- and he had 
 two motives for keeping his appointment. First, to as- 
 certain if, perchance, he might discover the farther plans 
 of the gentleman, and, next, to enjoy his present dis 
 comfiture. 
 
 Striking along the fence which inclosed the grounds 
 of Rosenberg, he crossed a road, and struck into a dense 
 wood, where he soon encountered the person he expect 
 ed to find, wrapped, as usual, and his face sheltered un 
 der a deeply-impending hat. 
 
 " You are just in time," said he, approvingly. 
 
 " Yes; I always calculate to be about right." 
 
 " Have you seen any one?" he asked. 
 
 " Not a livin cre ter ; and it s so light outside of this 
 ere wood, that you might pick up pins, so I couldn t 
 miss seein on em. Pleasant night, isn t it?" 
 
 The gentleman did not respond. It seemed that his 
 own thoughts were sufficient for him, and he walked to 
 and fro, without encouraging conversation. But this did 
 not suit Jed s taste, and he was resolved, if he could not 
 draw him out, he would talk at him. 
 
 " A rale pretty night it is ! I do believe I could read 
 printin as well as by daylight; but that s not sayin 
 much, for I ve rayther neglected my edication. Some- 
 
352 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 how, though, such nights make me feel queer super- 
 stitious-like ; don t you feel shaky ?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Well, folks is different. Now, it seems to me, when 
 all creation is so still and clear, as if nothin couldn t be 
 hid. As if every wicked thing men was a doin must 
 sartin be seen. So, if I was a goin to rob, or murder, or 
 do any thing unlawful, I couldn t never do it such a 
 night as this. I should want a thund rin noise about 
 me, winds blowin like mad, trees a crackin , and clouds 
 a driftin , as if witches was ridin on em. No beautiful 
 shinin moonlight like this ere !" 
 
 "I thought you had been a soldier," said the gentle 
 man, coolly. 
 
 "Guess I have! Seen hot sarvice too; but there s 
 harder things than cannon balls, I tell you! A man 
 can face them, when a little trip-hammer inside of him 
 will knock him flat." 
 
 " My friend," said the gentleman, with a dash of sar 
 casm in his manner, " you have been a Methodist preach 
 er, I perceive, and probably much greater at a field- 
 preaching than in any other field ; but I ll dispense with 
 your exhortations at present. By the way, you told me 
 your name, but not your residence. Where do you 
 live?" 
 
 Jed, nettled at the insinuation of Methodism, and not 
 forgetting how close the gentleman had been of his own 
 name, answered, dryly, " Why, all about. At this pres 
 ent time I live here" 
 
 "Yes; but when you are at home, where do you 
 live?" 
 
 " Oh, then I live there." 
 
 The stranger hesitated a moment, as if uncertain 
 whether it were best to resent or to be amused at the 
 evasion ; he chose the latter. 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 353 
 
 "You are a queer fellow," said he, and resumed his 
 walk of observation, while Jed seated himself on the 
 trunk of a large tree that had been felled hard by. A 
 flood of moonlight poured in through the opening, 
 thus throwing the wood and the stranger into a deeper 
 gloom. 
 
 " Ay," thought Jed, " there he tramps back and forth, 
 for all the world like a wicked sperrit. Darkness suits 
 him better than light. The villainous old wolf! to 
 think of his devourin that pretty lamb ! There he goes, 
 a prowlin round, like Satan tryin to coax Eve out of 
 the garding." 
 
 While Jed thus communed with himself, his com 
 panion kept up his walk. At length he stopped, and, 
 in a voice indicative of growing impatience, said, " Tis 
 long past the time; what can detain her?" 
 
 " Perhaps she s forgot," suggested Jed, with provok 
 ing indifference, and rapping a careless tattoo with his 
 staff on the log on which he sat. 
 
 The gentleman, either disdaining, or unable to reply, 
 suffered the offensive suggestion to pass. 
 
 At this moment approaching steps were heard. 
 
 " She comes !" said he, in a whisper; Jed only whistled. 
 
 The sounds passed away. 
 
 "Might a know d," said Jed, " that wa n t her; only 
 folks on the road goin 7 to the ferry. When she does 
 come 1 I guess we sha n t hear nothin ." 
 
 "Not hear! Why not?" 
 
 " Oh, I d n know," replied Jed, again rapping on the 
 log ; " only her steps fall like a feather." 
 
 " Don t keep up that infernal rapping ; of course we 
 can t hear while you do." 
 
 Jed ceased. 
 
 u Always willin to accommodate;" then, appearing to 
 listen, added, "If she does not come " 
 
354 WALTER THORNLEY; OK, 
 
 11 Not come!" interrupted the gentleman, angrily; 
 " why should she not come?" 
 
 " How can I tell ? Maybe she will, maybe she won t : 
 women ain t never to be depended on that s my expe- 
 r ence. But I was goin to say, if she does not come, 
 why then what next?" 
 
 But Jed was disappointed ; the gentleman was in no 
 mood to form or to disclose farther plans. On the con 
 trary, he said, impatient of Jed s nonchalance, " You 
 are much at your ease, I think." 
 
 " Sartin why not? I m not doin nothin I m ashamed 
 of; be you?" 
 
 The gentleman was perplexed ; he did not quite com 
 prehend his coadjutor ; but he had trusted too far to re 
 cede, and he suppressed an angry reply. Taking out 
 his watch, and coming still more into the light, his face 
 was clearly discernible with its dark and stormy expres 
 sion. 
 
 " Tis nearly ten," he said, fixing his eyes on Jed, 
 who returned the glance without flinching, but, at the 
 same time, rose and faced him with rather an air of de 
 fiance. 
 
 " Tis nearly ten," he again said, after some deliber 
 ation, "and yet she does not come." 
 
 "No, that s pretty sartin; and I ve an idee that she 
 won t." 
 
 The manner, more than the words, brought things to 
 an issue. In a voice that trembled with passion, the 
 stranger burst forth : 
 
 " I trusted to your word, but more to my money. I 
 suspect you have broken the one, though you pocketed 
 the other." 
 
 "You do!" said Jed, with a mocking, leisurely em 
 phasis that, while it confirmed his suspicions, roused the 
 gentleman to fury. 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 355 
 
 Regardless of consequences, he elevated his cane and 
 aimed a blow which, had it fallen as intended, would 
 have told on Jed s pate ; but he, perfectly cool, with a 
 twirl of his stout bludgeon twisted the cane out of the 
 hand of his antagonist, and, catching it in its descent a 
 few paces from him, stood master of both weapons, while 
 the stranger, in impotent rage, shook his fist, and vent 
 ed in imprecations what he had no means to enforce 
 more effectually. When he paused, as if for breath, Jed 
 spoke : 
 
 " Now, I guess, you ve done, and I ll have a word. 
 First, you ll please to larn that no man lays a cane on 
 Jed Cooley ; and, next, I have to tell you that, if I sarved 
 you right, I d fling your money in your face. But I 
 won t, though. I arned it honestly, doin your arr nd ; 
 I can t afford to work for nothin and find myself. But 
 you ll please to remember that, as soon as I see your 
 cloven foot, I didn t touch no more of your silver. So 
 much for myself; and " 
 
 The gentleman was about to speak, but Jed cut in im 
 periously : 
 
 " Stop ! I a n t done yet. And now, sir, you ll take 
 notice, she is not a comirf ; not to-night nor never! 
 She s found you out, and so you d best strike your tents 
 and march away, and I ll furnish the music." So say 
 ing, he broke, with a clear whistle, into the "Rogue s 
 March." 
 
 The rage of the disappointed and insulted man may 
 be imagined. In sentences incoherent from passion, he 
 applied to Jed epithets which, perhaps, relieved himself, 
 but no way ruffled his imperturbable foe, who, well sat 
 isfied to have a clear understanding with him, felt, as he 
 would have said, "very fine." 
 
 Raising the cane he had secured, and giving it an im 
 pulse that carried it into the depths of the wood, he said, 
 
356 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 " There ! /don t want it, and, jest at this partic lar time, 
 you can do without it. You won t have nothin to do 
 to-morrow ; no young ladies to smuggle into carriages 
 and carry off agin their will ; and then you can look 
 for t. So good-night to you, sir ;" and with a snatch of 
 Eevolutionary doggerel 
 
 " Says General Lee to General Howe, 
 What do you think of the Yankees now T 
 
 he passed into the road, and was soon out of sight. 
 
 Meanwhile, Eleanor, at this juncture, in which her 
 own fate might have been involved, reflected, in the se 
 curity of her room, on her escape. 
 
 Of the actual world she knew little. She had seen it 
 chiefly as reflected in the mirror of fiction, and natural 
 ly reasoned from this to her own case. While she had 
 no alarm for the future, believing herself safe in observ 
 ing the caution given her, she dwelt upon the danger to 
 which she had been exposed. 
 
 " Yes," thought she, " who can tell what might have 
 befallen me ? In the power of a wicked man, who, by 
 working on my fears or my compassion, or by alarms 
 for my reputation, might have frightened or forced me 
 into a marriage ! Just so did that insinuating Sir Clem 
 ent attempt to carry off Evelina ; and just so, and worse, 
 did that hateful Bellamy compel poor Eugenia to marry 
 him." But in proportion as imagination pictured her 
 danger, her better sense and her conscience represented 
 her own folly, the sole cause of it. This once admitted, 
 she was too honest to deceive herself. Keverting to the 
 meeting with Walter, she recalled, with confusion, her 
 undisguised pleasure an excitement that inevitably had 
 betrayed a sentiment she was bound to repress, and her 
 consequent failure of filial duty. She reflected that 
 Walter must himself have condemned the weakness, 
 pardonable in a child, but reprehensible at her present 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 357 
 
 age. Then how had she yielded to, how had she en 
 couraged, feelings thus strongly revived ! Alas ! alas ! 
 how nearly had she been the dupe of her own foolish 
 presumption ! "Oh !" thought she, "if we ever meet 
 again, he shall respect me, though he must not love me!" 
 
 Going to her open window, where the ripple of the 
 rising tide sent up through the still air a faint murmur, 
 as it coquetted with the shore, advancing, receding, yet 
 always gaining, she impatiently wished that affections 
 could be governed by laws as irresistible. But wiser 
 thoughts prevailed, and her mind turned to that " high 
 er law," that beautiful chain of dependences by which 
 God unites his rational creatures, making the least often 
 the benefactors of the greatest. "Ah!" thought she, 
 "but for that poor lame peddler, where might I have 
 been at this moment?" 
 
 She closed the window, then fell on her knees con 
 trite, grateful, and submissive, and rose with new pur 
 poses of duty. Thus tranquilized, she sought her pil 
 low, and a night succeeded not like those of late, 
 
 "From which the silken sleep was fretted out;" 
 
 but as if 
 
 "Angels made 
 A place beside her." 
 
 From such sweet rest she was roused in the morning by 
 the gentle voice of her aunt, who entered with letters 
 one to Eleanor from her mother, authorizing and urging 
 her return home. The year exacted by her grandfather 
 had expired, and her parents could no longer live with 
 out her. This was just what she would have asked, and 
 the delicacy which feared to wound her aunt by a pleas 
 ure too manifest, was relieved by Miss Lawrence saying, 
 as she held up an open letter she had just read, "Now, 
 Eleanor, hear mine." 
 
 It was also from Mrs. Meredith an earnest request 
 
358 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 that her father and sister would accompany Eleanor, and 
 without delay. The reason for this dispatch was, that 
 Mr. Lawrence should consult an eminent English ocu 
 list, lately arrived, and soon to leave the city. There 
 was, therefore, no time to lose. The case of her father 
 had been mentioned to him, and, considering his vigor 
 and constitution, he had little doubt of a cure. 
 
 Eleanor clapped her hands, and Miss Gertrude evi 
 dently favored the proposition; but the decision, of 
 course, rested with her father. For this the ladies must 
 wait till after breakfast, no one ever venturing to bring 
 any matter before him till that meal had prepared the 
 way. 
 
 The morning was beautiful, the breakfast excellent. 
 He heard, he smiled, he assented, and straightway the 
 house was astir. First Pomp was sent in hot haste to 
 ascertain when Captain Ostrander would sail ; Mr. Law 
 rence would go with no other ; then with orders to se 
 cure the entire after-cabin. Then a council was call 
 ed with Mrs. Dorothy and Aunt Flore as to certain 
 household arrangements. Then Pomp s wardrobe was 
 to be put in proper order to attend his master, to his 
 unspeakable pride and delight. As to Mr. Lawrence 
 himself, when asked for his commands, he only answer 
 ed, " A gentleman is always ready. If my clothes are 
 good enough for myself, they are good enough for my 
 company." 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 359 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 PKISCILLA S attendance on Mr. Lawrence had contin 
 ued with few intermissions since it was first required; 
 for, though his displeasure against Eleanor had nearly 
 worn itself out, and was no longer manifested, he evi 
 dently found a satisfaction in the quiet little Quaker, and 
 a pleasure in the free appropriation of her time, which 
 he did not choose to relinquish. She came, therefore, 
 as usual, and with the same persistency saw only Mr. 
 Lawrence. Eleanor, at first really wishing to establish 
 a friendly relation with her, had made frequent attempts 
 to meet and to detain her, but in vain. A quiet "fare 
 well" was all she could obtain ; till, half vexed at what 
 she considered an ungracious return to her advances, she 
 gave the matter up. 
 
 The morning after the decision in favor of the New 
 York visit, Mr. Lawrence returned from a ride to inspect 
 some work he had in hand with a ruffled look, that in 
 dicated either that it had not prospered, or that some 
 thing else was wrong. Going to his own room, he gave 
 orders that when Priscilla came no one should disturb 
 him. 
 
 On entering, he found Philip awaiting his return for 
 directions in regard to improvements to be made in his 
 grandfather s absence. The business settled, he stood 
 looking from a window commanding the walk by which 
 Priscilla would approach. It was not long before she 
 appeared. 
 
 " Your reader is coming, sir," said he. 
 
 u Yery well ; then you may go." 
 
 There was nothing in the words, but they were accom- 
 
360 
 
 panied by a look and emphasis that gave them signifi 
 cance, and Philip was seized with a temptation that had 
 more than once beset him a desire to hear what passed 
 on these occasions. 
 
 At this moment it was stronger than ever, and the fa 
 cility with which it might be accomplished rendered it 
 unconquerable. The head of the high, old-fashioned 
 bedstead, surrounded by fall heavy curtains, was near 
 the door by which the room was entered, and, to guard 
 against a draught, there was a large folding screen reach 
 ing nearly to the ceiling. This was so placed between 
 the bed and the door as to admit of a person being con 
 cealed by it from any one entering the room, while the 
 curtains furnished an equal protection from those with 
 in it. 
 
 Apparently obeying his grandfather, Philip passed 
 round the screen, opened the door, and, closing it again, 
 slipped noiselessly between the screen and the bed 
 awaiting, with breathless interest, the interview. The 
 approaching footsteps of Priscilla in the hall would have 
 prevented Mr. Lawrence detecting that none had passed 
 from his door, had a suspicion been awakened. But it 
 was not, and the entrance of Priscilla led to their usual 
 occupation. 
 
 Motioning to a chair near him, " Here is the paper, 
 child," said he ; " we will take that first." 
 
 This being "read and marked," though perhaps not 
 as " inwardly digested" as usual, Priscilla was laying it 
 aside, when a paragraph unnoticed before caught her 
 eye, and she read aloud the heading "A Domestic 
 Tragedy." " Shall I read it ?" she asked. 
 
 " Certainly. Go on." 
 
 It recorded the death of a young girl in New York, 
 under circumstances of peculiar interest. She had been 
 addressed by a youth of superior fortune and condition, 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 361 
 
 who had secured her affection ; but his father had for 
 bidden the marriage in terms so offensive and injurious 
 to her, that self-respect had silenced love, and she had 
 broken off all intercourse with his son. He, in despair, 
 had fallen into intemperate habits, and had met a violent 
 death in a street brawl; at which she, struck to the 
 heart, and reproaching herself as the cause, lost her 
 senses and died miserably. 
 
 Priscilla s voice faltered as she read, and Mr. Law 
 rence, as she concluded, said, " Poor girl ! I think I know 
 that man; not personally, but by name and character. 
 He was a hard man. Tis all true, I am afraid." 
 
 Priscilla, having often been encouraged by Mr. Law 
 rence to express her opinion of what was read, ventured 
 to say, " It seemeth to me that of the three she hath the 
 least need of pity ; the father the most, for he was the 
 oppressor. She, and he whom she loved, have gone to 
 a more merciful parent. He remaineth alone with his 
 remorse." 
 
 The solemnity of her voice and words, instead of rous 
 ing a spirit of contradiction, affected him. 
 
 " Yery true, child ; very true. But don t you think 
 she, too, had some cause for remorse ?" 
 
 " Nay, not remorse ; perhaps for regret, on account of 
 human weakness, inasmuch as it may be that she had 
 spoken unadvisedly with her lips, and had given place 
 to wrath. If so, it was the word, not the deed, of which 
 she had need to repent, for is it not manifest there re 
 mained nothing else for her to do ?" 
 
 Mr. Lawrence was silent, but after a long look into 
 her face, which was calmly and fearlessly turned toward 
 him, he replied, by asking, emphatically, " What would 
 you have done? You do not speak. I will tell you. 
 You, a cool, discreet, wise little Quaker as you are, would 
 have taken the bit between your teeth if you had been 
 
 Q 
 
362 
 
 thus used, and would have married the son in spite of 
 his father ; and, as it turned out, I must say, have done 
 rightly." 
 
 Priscilla s color rose, her lips moved, as if to speak, 
 but she was silent. After a moment s pause, she shook 
 her head, and repeated, "Kightly! Men often judge 
 righteous judgment in the case of others. But right or 
 not, so I would not have done." 
 
 Then proceeding, with a kindling eye but a firm tone, 
 she said, " I am one in humble condition, without any 
 of this world s riches. I could bring no dowry but an 
 honest name. But, though I render not worship to 
 titles, nor to rank, nor to great estate, I would enter no 
 man s family unbidden and unwelcome. I ought not 
 to esteem him higher for the things that perish; nei 
 ther may I, by a mean action, sink lower than heaven 
 hath placed me. I have not been taught to take the 
 height of others as the rule -by which to measure myself 
 or my duty." 
 
 Her manner seemed to have a magnetic influence on 
 Mr. Lawrence. Accustomed, as he had been, to implicit 
 obedience unfortunate for himself as for others impa 
 tient of the least contrariety, even in opinion, yet when 
 she presumed to utter a displeasing truth, she acted on 
 him as a sedative. He could as soon have directed a 
 burst of anger against a statue, as against her impassive 
 calmness. 
 
 He looked at her fixedly, as if endeavoring to read 
 her thoughts. 
 
 " Priscilla," said he, at length, " you know a person by 
 the name of Joel Parkinson." 
 
 "I do." 
 
 "He has been a lover of yours." 
 
 " He has sought me in marriage." 
 
 " And you have refused him, though he appears an 
 eligible connection." 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 363 
 
 " My heart did not incline to him." 
 
 " He is an industrious, respectable young man ; well- 
 looking, and well-behaved." 
 
 " I do not deny it." 
 
 " He will, to be sure, have to work pretty hard a few 
 years, and you would be obliged to make exertions 
 greater than in your father s house ; but, he will be a 
 prosperous man; he has all the necessary qualifications." 
 
 " I doubt it not." 
 
 "Priscilla, you have been much in my family; were 
 born under my roof; your mother was an excellent 
 woman ; you have conducted yourself well, and have 
 rendered me kind and willing service, so that I feel in 
 terested in your welfare. If you will consent to marry 
 this young man, who seems truly attached to you, I will 
 befriend him in the way of business, and your marriage 
 portion shall be five hundred dollars." 
 
 Priscilla s face betrayed that she was moved. She 
 did not attempt to speak for a moment, then, in a clear 
 voice, but not without effort, she said, " Thou art too 
 generous ! I thank thee. May God be good unto thee, 
 as thou hast been to me and mine! But I may not 
 profit by thine offer. I do not love the man." 
 
 "Love begets love," persisted Mr. Lawrence. "Be 
 sides, prudence as well as affection is to be considered 
 in these things. It is safer for you, Priscilla," continued 
 he, with an earnest look, "far safer to have the protec 
 tion of a husband. You are young and handsome. 
 Some one may regard you with a love not as honest as 
 poor Joel s. Be wise in time." 
 
 Her blushing cheek showed that she felt, as well as 
 understood the insinuation ; but she 
 
 " Answer d nothing, save with her brown eyes." 
 
 Her evident distress affected Mr. Lawrence, and, in a 
 tone grave, but not stern, he proceeded : 
 
364 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 " Priscilla ! Joel tells me that lie fears you love anoth 
 er that you are ambitious. If this be so, hear me. 
 He to whom you have raised your hopes can not marry 
 you. He may love you our affections are often not 
 in our own keeping ; but sorrow, if nothing worse, can 
 only attend such an attachment. I wish to shield you 
 from all harm, and see you the happy and respectable 
 wife of an honest man." 
 
 Like all strong natures, which, when they do yield, 
 pour themselves forth without reserve, Priscilla s burst 
 through its accustomed restraint. She sat, for a mo 
 ment, with hands clasped, with an upcast look, as if ask 
 ing direction, and then, suddenly turning to Mr. Law 
 rence, she exclaimed, " Thou shalt know all ! Thou art 
 merciful and just. I have loved thy grandson! but, 
 were he now to offer me marriage, I should reject it. 
 I do not ask thy forgiveness. I have never, even in 
 thought, sinned against thee ; but I do entreat that thou 
 wilt trust me, for thine own peace, as well as for my 
 honor." 
 
 Her face beaming with expression, her hands pressed 
 convulsively to her breast, her voice full of power, her 
 earnest words, altogether so touched Mr. Lawrence, that 
 he could only gaze on her with pity and admiration ! 
 When, as if dropped from the clouds or sprung from the 
 earth so noiseless and sudden his appearance Philip 
 was kneeling before him ! 
 
 " Hear me, sir !" he exclaimed. " She has not told you 
 all. Oh, let me do her the justice she has not rendered 
 to herself!" 
 
 But the anger that Priscilla had disarmed now found 
 an object. The fluid, innoxious to her, burst upon Phil 
 ip s devoted head. 
 
 " Eise, sir," said Mr. Lawrence. " Do not farther dis 
 grace yourself by adding to the deceptions already prac- 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 365 
 
 ticed upon me. I am not the blind, easy man, under 
 whose very roof you have hoped to carry out your de 
 signs. I do not blame this unfortunate girl ; her affec 
 tion has made her a mere instrument in your hands." 
 
 Eising from his suppliant attitude, his face flushed, 
 and trembling with emotion, Philip exclaimed, "I should 
 be unworthy of your blood if I could hear such language 
 unmoved. Listen to me, sir ; I do not now ask it as a 
 favor ; I claim it as a right. I do not deserve the im 
 putation you cast on me. I did not practice on you, as 
 you suppose, by the introduction of Priscilla into your 
 house. It was your own act. So far from being done 
 to further our intercourse, we have never met till this 
 moment under this roof since the day she came at your 
 own request." 
 
 Mr. Lawrence looked at Priscilla, who, at Philip s ap 
 pearance, had retreated, and now sat, pale as marble, 
 like one stunned, in the first chair into which she could 
 drop. 
 
 "Is this true?" asked Mr. Lawrence. 
 
 She bowed her head, and scarcely articulated, " It is." 
 
 "I must and will speak farther," continued Philip, 
 with passionate earnestness, " We were allowed to grow 
 up together from children without counsel or check 
 with no guard but the angel who has watched over her 
 innocence. Look at her, sir ! Is it strange that I should 
 love her ? I solemnly declare that, if I have been pre 
 served from the vices and follies of other young men, 
 you owe it to that girl to her image in my heart, and 
 her influence on my mind. Yet was I coward and base 
 enough to dread your displeasure more than her injury 
 to seek to obtain unworthily what I dared not ask 
 honorably. But she cast me from her, as I deserved; 
 and, when I offered reparation for the insult, she would 
 not hear me ; she would condescend to no clandestine 
 
366 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 proceeding. I was denied even the privilege of seeing 
 or speaking to her. Then it was that, in a moment of 
 desperation, I tried to carry out your wishes in regard to 
 my cousin. You know the result. This moment de 
 cides my future. I conceal nothing. I regret to disap 
 point and displease you, sir : you have a right to every 
 thing but my honor. By that, as strongly as by my 
 love, I am bound to Priscilla. I shall seek to be restored 
 to her affection. If I succeed, disinherited and beggar 
 ed, I shall marry her." 
 
 Mr. Lawrence listened without an attempt to inter 
 rupt him, his strong, expressive face betraying the va 
 rious emotions by which he was agitated ; but, as Philip 
 ceased, he broke forth, 
 
 " By Heaven, you shall do no such thing ! No I As 
 the heir of my name and fortune, you shall bestow both 
 on a girl who has earned them so nobly. Come hither, 
 Priscilla!" 
 
 Philip, animated with newly-awakened hopes, darted 
 forward and led her to his grandfather, who, seating her 
 by his side, and laying his hand gently on her head, 
 said, " I see it all, my child your temptations and your 
 resistance, your trials and your strength. If there is 
 blame, it attaches to those older than yourself, who 
 should have foreseen consequences. You have suffered 
 enough for their folly. You will forgive Phil? Yes, 
 yes ; you know," continued he, with a smile, to encour 
 age her "you know you are a Christian maiden, and 
 must act consistently, when I, not half so good as you 
 are, set you the example. There !" said he, joining their 
 hands, while his voice changed. " Now go ; you can 
 not speak freely here, and I am better alone at pres 
 ent." 
 
 Philip grasped his grandfather s hand, and could just 
 say, "God forever bless you, sir!" and, as Mr. Lawrence 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 367 
 
 extended it to Priscilla, she pressed it to her lips and 
 heart, but utterance she had none ; then, yielding to Phil 
 ip, who tenderly drew her arm within his own, they left 
 the room. 
 
 Mr. Lawrence sat a few moments, his head resting on 
 his hand; then, rising and walking to the window, he 
 said, "Yes I there they go; thank Heaven, I have at 
 least made them happy ! My pride and passion have for 
 once yielded. Would that they had oftener done so !" 
 Then, pacing his room for some time, he said, " Well, 
 we are strange creatures ! My fondest and, apparently, 
 wisest plans for that boy have been thwarted; my 
 pride, in the tenderest point, wounded; my hopes of a 
 posterity, of blood as good and honorable as my own, 
 disappointed. Instead of a race as gentle as that from 
 which I descend, there will be an infusion of little 
 * broad-brims/ and the Lawrence will quarter with 
 1 the Dale. And yet I am happier than I have been 
 these twenty years 1" 
 
 As may be inferred, Priscilla was not inexorable ; and 
 Philip returned to dinner so radiant, that Eleanor, who 
 met him at the hall-door, looked at him suspiciously ; 
 and, shading her eyes with her hand, said, "The light 
 of your face blinds me ; I might as well gaze at the 
 sun ! What has happened, Cousin Phil ?" 
 
 Without answering, except by a smile, he drew her 
 aside, and, leading her into the garden, unfolded his fe 
 licity. He could not have found a more sympathizing 
 auditor. So pleased and excited was she, that, when 
 Mr. Lawrence entered the dining-room, his face grave, 
 but kind, recovering all her former familiarity with him, 
 she rushed up to him, and, putting her arms round his 
 neck, exclaimed, " Dear grandpapa, I must kiss you, for 
 you are the very best grandfather in the world!" 
 
 He was evidently pleased with this spontaneous testi- 
 
368 WALTER THORNLEY ; OR, 
 
 mony of approval, and said, affectionately, " Now I have 
 only you to care for." 
 
 " Oh, never mind me ! I ll" 
 
 " Take care of yourself, I dare say, as Phil has done. 
 Well, it must be confessed that the present generation 
 spare their friends a deal of trouble, by so readily under 
 taking the charge of themselves. But here s the din 
 ner. We ll talk farther by-and-by." 
 
 Mr. Lawrence having desired that no one but those 
 immediately interested should be informed of the occur 
 rence of the morning till his return, it was understood 
 that he reserved to himself the making it public in his 
 own way. 
 
 The next morning, at the usual hour, Priscilla appear 
 ed ; but, instead of being conducted to Mr. Lawrence, 
 was taken to Miss Gertrude s room, where an affection 
 ate greeting awaited her. 
 
 Eleanor gazed on her with surprise and admiration. 
 "What a resurrection!" she thought. "That face is 
 now really alive, which, if I had not heard of Pygma 
 lion and his statue, I should have doubted that it could 
 inspire love. A real, live tear trembles in those beauti 
 ful eyes, and that mantling color betrays that she is ac 
 tually flesh and blood I She speaks 1 she smiles ! And 
 Aunt Gertrude too! I have never seen her so moved. 
 Can it be only sympathy? while she kisses her, she 
 turns away and weeps ! Dear me ! I am sure I could 
 do so too 1" 
 
 "My dear child!" said Miss Lawrence, "how happy 
 I am to secure you ! I now understand what has ap 
 peared estrangement, and I admire you all the more for 
 it. I shall never again distrust your love." 
 
 "Distrust!" replied Priscilla; "why, I love the very 
 ground thou walkest on !" 
 
 " And me," said Eleanor ; " have you no love for me, 
 too, Priscilla?" 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 369 
 
 " Thee ! oh, doubt it not. Yesterday 1 felt as if my 
 heart were dead ; to-day I love every body !" 
 
 "And you will never be jealous of me again?" 
 
 "Nay, Eleanor, not so. I was not jealous of thee; I 
 did not sin against thee by an evil thought ; I was only 
 jealous of myself. There was a narrow path before me, 
 and I was inwardly admonished to walk therein. I did 
 not dare to see any one who would call up thoughts for 
 bidden." 
 
 "Well, a wider and a pleasanter path is opening to 
 you now, dear Priscilla." 
 
 "Yes, truly, my borders are enlarged," she replied, 
 but in a manner which, though grave, was so simple and 
 childlike, that Eleanor could not suppress a smile ; and 
 Priscilla, now in a mood to respond to every pleasurable 
 emotion, involuntarily returned it ; at the same time say 
 ing, " Thou laughest, Eleanor, and, perhaps, at me, for I 
 know that my l dress and address are often strange unto 
 thee. But, now that I am happy, I will prove to thee 
 that there is a real girl s heart under these ; and that, if 
 I can not be acceptable to thee by what godly William 
 Penn calleth the i trims and d la modeness of dress, I will 
 try to be so by a cheerful spirit." 
 
 "I believe you," said Eleanor; "henceforth we are 
 friends." 
 
 The time of the New York visit was now close at 
 hand, the sailing-day appointed, and every thing in 
 readiness except the vessel, which was detained two days 
 longer, her cargo being not all in. 
 
 This term expired; then at eight o clock on the fol 
 lowing morning she would certainly be under way, and 
 a troop of little darkies were on the look-out to see her 
 emerge from the cove which formed her harbor. The 
 horses were harnessed, ready to be attached to the car 
 riage ; the baskets with provisions for the voyage, the 
 
 Q2 
 
370 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 presents of various nice articles of domestic manufac 
 ture hams, tongues, sweetmeats, cakes, etc., designed 
 for Mrs. Meredith and the luggage, were all collected 
 in front of the house, to be transported, at a moment s 
 notice, to the dock at the bottom of the hill ; but still 
 no sloop appeared. After two hours of tedious expecta 
 tion, they ascertained that the vessel could not get over 
 the bar before the tide rose, at the close of the day. 
 There was nothing but resignation to discomforts, which 
 then were the common accompaniments of traveling; 
 and people who had never known the advantage of 
 starting at a prescribed time, and of being able to say, to 
 a minute, when they should or ought to arrive at a given 
 place, submitted with a grace that now can hardly be 
 conceived of. Even Mr. Lawrence, who certainly had 
 not the virtue of patience, never imagined he had the 
 right to complain because Captain Ostrander did not 
 better calculate the time necessary to take in his lad 
 ing, the water his vessel would draw, or the time the tide 
 would serve. On the contrary, when the sloop actually 
 appeared, bending toward the shore, and they were really 
 in the carriage, followed by a baggage- wagon, and every 
 living creature on the premises, black and white, he even 
 congratulated himself on his good fortune in getting off, 
 after three appointments made and broken ! 
 
 Yet there were in those days enjoyments such as no 
 steam-boats nor railroads can supply. Traveling was 
 then something more than the " transmutation of a man 
 into a living parcel" one u who, for the time, has part 
 ed with the nobler characteristics of his humanity for 
 the sake of a planetary power of locomotion." He 
 "sees nothing he admires nothing." He would not 
 were he passing " by rail" through the Yale of Cash 
 mere ! " All he asks is, * carry him safely, dismiss him 
 soon." He can not be deceived by a promise of pleas- 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 371 
 
 wre." No, that is past, together with much that we can 
 not regret. 
 
 But still, does not a cherished recollection cling to the 
 old time, when forty miles in a private carriage, with 
 sleek, well-fed horses, was a full day s journey ; varied 
 and beautified by hill and dale, the road winding by 
 pleasant streams, through long-drawn vistas of shady 
 trees, through cooling brooks, refreshing the warm and 
 thirsty animals, regarded much as fellow-travelers ? Its 
 termination, too, had a pleasure of its own ; the expect 
 ant inn, and at the door the well-known landlord, who 
 had grown old beneath the shadow of his sign. Per 
 haps he was a justice of the peace, or a militia colonel, 
 or a substantial Dutch burgher; for in those days, in 
 New England at least, such was the responsibility of 
 an "innholder," that a man was seldom licensed whose 
 character was npt a guarantee to the public. And 
 then, too, "didn t he know the carriage as far as he could 
 see it ?" and didn t he, with alacrity, hasten to open the 
 door, and to let down the steps for Mr. A., or Mr. B., or 
 Mrs. C., ushering them, not into rooms glittering with 
 mirrors, and filled with dirty damask no one knowing 
 and no one caring who they might be but into a cozy 
 little room, plain but comfortable, where a quiet meal, 
 not eaten against time, was served to them, instead of a 
 seat at a long, desolate table, permanently arranged for 
 the throng who at certain hours assemble at it. Then 
 at night, not a canopy bedstead, resplendent with gilding 
 and mirrors, and curtained with silk, suggestive of the 
 pleasant reflection that, though numbers have reposed 
 beneath it, soap and water come not near it but a bed 
 which, if inelegant, was, at least, not too fine to be clean. 
 No; this is past. Now roads are rails, horses are iron 
 dragons " mad elephants," as the Hindoos call them ; 
 carriages are mere containers, and men, women, and chil- 
 
372 WALTER THOBNLEY; OK, 
 
 dren, deprived of individuality, only portions of matter, 
 to be left, like merchandise, at certain stations ; while 
 snake-heads, broken axles, collisions, and fractured limbs, 
 are too often the wayside diversities of the route. 
 
 But what is to be done ? The march of civilization 
 hurries us on with railroad speed. As we are borne 
 swiftly past we detect imperfections, but we can not stop 
 to rectify them. We submit. But let not those be 
 blamed who, in the distance that stretches far behind, 
 recall images of an earlier, poorer, and simpler age, still 
 dear to them. 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 373 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 LEAVING Eleanor at home, it is time to follow Walter 
 to Ashton, where, having accomplished the business in 
 trusted to him, he sought again to lose himself in the in 
 tricacies of the law, but not with the same success. The 
 sentiment which he had flattered himself the convictions 
 of his reason had controlled, if not subdued, asserted it 
 self with even greater power. The lovely confiding 
 girl, little more than a child, who had supplied the stron 
 gest craving of his nature, had grown into the grace and 
 dignity of womanhood, inspiring not alone a tenderness 
 that melted his heart, but claiming a homage he could 
 not withhold. He felt himself powerless. He might be 
 silent he might conceal, but he could not forget. What 
 remained for him but to repeat in substance what the 
 poet has sung : 
 
 "Why should I indiscreetly tell 
 The name my heart has kept so well ? 
 No ; let it, shrined within my breast, 
 A little saint forever rest ; 
 Forever loved and worship d there, 
 But never mention d save in prayer !" 
 
 It has been said that " every one can do what he 
 should do." While Walter struggled to prove the truth 
 of this, his mind was averted in some degree from per 
 sonal interests by a long and pleasant letter from Os 
 car. His previous ones had mentioned his improving 
 health and southern winter. All breathed the same ge 
 nial spirit, the same generous admiration of his friend. 
 In this he spoke of their homeward course. They had 
 arrived at Pittsburg, and should soon be at the Lodge. 
 
374 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 Much of it was occupied with his mother. He dwelt on 
 her delight in untamed nature. The deep solitudes of 
 the primeval forests through which their " keel-bottom 
 ed boat," impelled only by the poles of the boatmen, had 
 breasted the strong currents of the Ohio ; the picturesque 
 lights and shadows ; their nightly encampments in woods 
 strewn with a paradisiacal profusion of flowers, had en 
 chanted her ! The simple preparations for their evening 
 meal, their beds of skins spread on the grass, the watch- 
 fires during the night all was in keeping. "It was," 
 she said, " the very poetry of life !" " Even my father," 
 continued Oscar, " caught the infection of her German 
 enthusiasm. I never saw him so happy as when, with 
 her arm in his, her hand in his grasp, they wandered 
 into the forest while the men were pitching our tents. 
 1 This, he exclaimed, l is indeed to be free ! Here only 
 one may escape from those who presume to legislate for 
 the heart. Here I could be happy, no one to question 
 my motives or to control my actions. But you, There 
 sa? Any where with you, was her reply. For my 
 self, I must confess I am not so romantic. No, that is 
 not the word ; it is that I have not yet quarreled with 
 the world ; that I believe it might bestow a felicity which 
 the whole Northwest could not furnish." 
 
 This letter was followed by one of a very different de 
 scription. Their journey had terminated most sadly! 
 At Shippensburg, in Pennsylvania, one of the last towns 
 on this side of the Tuscarora Mountains, Mrs. Middleton 
 had been seized with an inflammatory disease, which had 
 terminated her life in a week. Walter was deeply 
 touched. He had seen her at the most impressible age. 
 A lovely and gentle woman, she had first made him 
 sensible of that sweet influence of sex which animates 
 the pure sentiment of the son to his mother, of the 
 brother to his sister, long before the heart believes in a 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 375 
 
 stronger passion. His subsequent intercourse with Os 
 car had deepened this first impression, for he was the 
 reflection of herself. To him his ready sympathy was 
 offered. "But who," thought he, " can speak comfort 
 to Mr. Middleton? alike unapproachable as inconsol 
 able." 
 
 Some days afterward, having returned rather early 
 from the office, he followed the hum of Damie s little 
 wheel to the outside of the door, where, for greater cool 
 ness, she had placed it on the clean-swept gravel-path, 
 and, having found a seat on the step, he fell into a kind 
 ly chat with her. This gradually ceasing, he mechan 
 ically followed her movements with his eye, as in the 
 days of his childhood, while his thoughts, perhaps, were 
 far away. 
 
 At length he said, " Damie, you look like one of the 
 Fates." 
 
 " Who be they, Walter?" 
 
 " Three old ladies, who watch when we are born, spin 
 the thread of our lives, and then cut them short." 
 
 " Marcy on me ! Why, now, you don t mean for to 
 say, Walter, that I would be so wicked as to kill any 
 body, do you ?" 
 
 " No, no," replied he, laughing, and endeavoring to 
 adapt the fable, but not very successfully, to her prosaic 
 mind. 
 
 " Well," said she, " I don t call that very profitable 
 spinmV, any how always a cuttin off the thread into 
 all sorts of lengths. Just a waste ! couldn t make warp 
 nor fillin on t." 
 
 Walter smiled, and she went on. "I spose I don t 
 quite see into it. Never mind, I ll turn my labor to bet 
 ter account. But hark !" 
 
 Here a military air, in a clear whistle, attracted their 
 attention. 
 
376 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 " Tis Jed come home ag in. The cre ter has been gone 
 on one of his long tramps. Yes, there he is jest turnin 
 the corner." 
 
 In a few minutes Jed was with them, and, having re 
 ceived a hearty shake of the hand from each, and taken 
 the chair that Walter brought for him, he began, as usu 
 al, with his experiences. 
 
 "Well, if I m not tired to-day, nobody never was, 
 that s sartin." 
 
 " When did you get home ?" asked Damie. 
 
 " About noon, I guess ; and, you see, Damie, I can t no 
 how live without you." 
 
 A laugh, the only return that Jed s gallantry ever 
 asked or received, was accorded. 
 
 " Well, now, I know you re burnin for news, and I ll 
 not disapp int you this time. I guess I ve larn d so thin 7 
 now, if I never did afore." 
 
 Jed s air of self-importance was no small provocative 
 of Damie s curiosity, and, while Walter, in complaisance, 
 seemed to listen, she suspended the motion of her wheel, 
 and gave him her undivided attention. 
 
 "Well, to begin, for you know I love to do things 
 reg lar I larnt that in the army I thought I d strike 
 across the country, and go clear to the river, this time. 
 I hadn t been there lately, and I was a thinkin that the 
 quality out there must want fixin up. Well, I did so, 
 and, after tradin pretty successful, I come to a great old 
 place I d often heard tell of, but somehow I hadn t never 
 been to, and, thinkin it wasn t obleegin not to accom 
 modate them too, I thought I d stop now. But, Damie," 
 continued he, with a look meant to concentrate all her 
 capacity for wonder and curiosity, " you hav n t no idee 
 of what all come out of this ! You re as far from it as 
 one of them ere chickens, peckin round there. Oh, the 
 queer things in this world ! Kascals lyin in wait, old 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 377 
 
 gentlemen a stormin , niggers a yellin , dogs a barkin , 
 blankets a shakin , young ladies a faintin , pistols a p int- 
 in , and Old Jed to bear all !" he concluded, with much 
 the same self-glorification as that with which "Old 
 Jack" lamented the oblivion of " Manhood, good man 
 hood!" 
 
 "But, Damie," he resumed, "to see her pretty face! 
 to hear her say she wouldn t never forget me ! why, I 
 tell you, I d a faced a battery ; I d a stormed a redoubt, 
 if I kno d there was a mine under it ; I d a blowed my 
 self to atoms afore I d a desarted her ; I d " 
 
 "What under the canopy are you runnin on so 
 about, Jed?" exclaimed the astonished Damie; "who 
 are you talkin about?" 
 
 " Why, who should it be but that pretty cre ter, Miss 
 Ellenny Ellenny ; I can t jest hit the name, but she 
 writ it here in my pocket-book.," producing it as he 
 spoke. 
 
 Walter, who had but imperfectly attended to Jed s 
 narration, suspecting that he would sometimes, perhaps 
 unconsciously, " embroider" a little, caught that name, 
 which, however marred, his heart could not but trans 
 late; and, seizing the extended pocket-book, read on 
 the coarse and soiled leaf what he considered should 
 only be inscribed on an imperishable tablet. 
 
 An involuntary exclamation escaped him, to which 
 Jed responded by a look of acute and eager inquiry, 
 saying, "Why, sartin, you can t know nothin about 
 her?" 
 
 Walter attempted an explanation that should avert 
 the curiosity excited ; but he could better have parried 
 eyes and ears polite than Jed s or Damie s, who both, 
 full of real interest, and unrestrained by forms and pro 
 prieties, pressed the when, and where, and how, till they 
 had extracted the fact that she was the individual young 
 
378 WALTER THOKNLEY; OB, 
 
 lady, the " one scholar that Walter had been sent for 
 to teach." What inference they farther drew they pru 
 dently withheld from Walter, who now, in his turn, de 
 manded an account of the circumstances to which Jed 
 had alluded. 
 
 In silence he listened, but the strong emotions which 
 the detail excited surprise, alarm, indignation were 
 sufficiently intelligible. At length, starting up with un 
 controllable agitation, he gave vent to his feelings in 
 such vehement language that Damie laid her hand im 
 ploringly on his shoulder. It recalled him sufficiently 
 for a rigid cross-examination of Jed. 
 
 "And what security is there for the future?" he con 
 tinued ; " why may he not renew the attempt?" 
 
 " Didn t I see to that ?" replied Jed, with a knowing 
 wink. "Didn t I stay hangin about for days? No 
 body mistrusted me; peddlers work s like women s 
 never done ; and then, you know, my leg got desper t 
 bad" another wink "and I couldn t travel no how. 
 And the women, they d give me a meal or a night s 
 lodging for some little notion out of my pack. All this 
 time, you know, I was spyin round a ter that ere sar- 
 pent, but couldn t see hide nor hoof of him. Well, a ter 
 I had pretty much gi n him up, I goes, one day, by the 
 old place rayther shy, though, cause I didn t care to 
 have another time on t with the old gentleman; and 
 what should I see but the grand family-coach, tip-top, I 
 can tell you, going down the road ! I followed on to the 
 dock, and there I see that same young lady go aboard 
 of a sloop jest setting sail for New York ; so all s safe 
 new." 
 
 This was a relief Eleanor was with her parents. As 
 sured on this point, he expressed his earnest gratitude to 
 Jed, and left him and Damie to compare their own views 
 of the matter. 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 379 
 
 As lie retreated Jed turned his quid and said, " Da- 
 mie!" 
 
 " Jed!" replied she in the same tone. 
 
 " I say, Damie, can t you see as far into a mill-stone as 
 lean?" 
 
 " I guess I can, Jed." 
 
 "Didn t you mark how he acted when I repeated 
 them ere varses?" 
 
 " Be sure !" 
 
 " And when she was a describin the man she was ex- 
 pectin ?" 
 
 "Sartin." 
 
 " And didn t you notice what a flustration he was in ? 
 Now you know that, nat rally, he s rayther still." 
 
 " Oh yes! I see." 
 
 " And then how he thanked me, as if I had done him 
 the greatest sarvice of the two." 
 
 " Be sure!" 
 
 Here Jed gave his long, low whistle, which always, 
 with him, signified unspeakable things. Then, with a 
 comprehensive "WellP he rose, adding, "I must go 
 now, Damie ; but if Walter wants any message carried, 
 or any sarvice done you understand ? I m ready, if it s 
 a hundred miles off; jest tell him so, will you?" 
 
 Walter had strayed off to recover himself unobserved. 
 He was vexed to have betrayed so much feeling. It 
 was exposing Eleanor to vulgar gossip ; it was laying 
 open a corner of his heart never yet disclosed but to 
 Heaven. This feeling yielded to the still stronger one 
 excited by the danger of Eleanor ; to the desire to dis 
 cover and punish the contriver. But he was here more 
 at fault than she had been ; for, though he had no diffi 
 culty in believing that an artful and desperate man 
 might have been tempted to the outrage by such a prize, 
 and that it was obvious that the villain, having seen 
 
380 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 him set on shore, had used the circumstance as a de 
 coy, yet he knew no one to whom her residence at 
 Eosenberg had introduced her. Conjecture, therefore, 
 was vain ; and he turned from the irritating thought to 
 the consolatory conviction of her safety. 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 381 
 
 CHAPTEE XXXYI. 
 
 IN the morning, Walter went to his usual labors: 
 but the pages that he had heretofore patiently explored, 
 because that, however dry or obscure, he believed them, 
 like the books of the magician, to contain the secret of 
 life and fortune, now failed to interest him. The hours 
 wore away wearily, and he was glad that the business 
 of the office permitted him to leave it earlier than usual. 
 
 But he could not go home. He longed not for the 
 human voice, but for the murmur of waters, the whis 
 pers of the breeze, the hum of insects, and the sweet, 
 tranquilizing sounds of summer. 
 
 Taking a course over the hills, after a long walk, he 
 found himself at his favorite spot the height that over 
 looked the fall ; and, throwing himself on the sward, 
 he reclined on a little grassy mound that had pillowed 
 his head when a boy. There had been a heavy rain for 
 many hours, and, though it had ceased, and 
 
 "The great sun 
 
 Look d with an eye of love through the golden 
 Vapors around him," 
 
 the weather was not settled. It had cleared, but the 
 wind had, in country phrase, "gone round the wrong 
 way." Still, every object was dipped in beauty. Ex 
 halations, 
 
 "Their fleecy skirts painted with gold," 
 
 hung, like a gorgeous drapery, round the setting sun. 
 The passing zephyr shook from the leaves a shower of 
 diamond sparks. The fairy-draught still waited, in the 
 chalice of the wild flowers, which, 
 
382 WALTER THORNLEY; OK, 
 
 "With rich inlay, 
 
 Broider d the ground ; 
 
 and the river, with a fuller current, sent forth a deeper 
 tone, as it fell and rushed along. 
 
 "Walter did not want to think. He had no pleasant 
 subject of reflection. He asked only to repose on "the 
 lap of earth," as unconscious as the weed that sprung 
 from it. 
 
 For some time he thus lay, calmed by the quiet influ 
 ences of the place into an unmindfulness of any distinct 
 thing, and reckless of the damp earth on which he cast 
 himself. A rustling in the branches near him caused 
 him to turn, and he beheld a face, the impression of 
 which time only deepened on his tenacious memory. 
 
 Starting up, and rejecting the hand extended to him, 
 he met the eyes of the stranger with a fixed and indig 
 nant gaze. 
 
 " Do you not know me?" he asked, in a gentle tone. 
 
 " Too well," was Walter s quick reply. 
 
 " Then why refuse the salutation, which, as your best 
 friend, I have a right to claim ?" 
 
 Walter smiled contemptuously. 
 
 " I know you only as one who insists on rights, but 
 performs no duties ; who makes promises only to break 
 them ; who, having left me to dependence, would frus 
 trate my honest efforts to support myself; who shrouds 
 himself in mystery to escape me, and, like an assassin, 
 stabs in the dark." 
 
 The smile that had dressed the face of the stranger re 
 mained unchanged, as if listening to the idle reproaches 
 of a child. 
 
 "I have neither time nor disposition to discuss these 
 charges," said he ; "we have weightier matters to speak 
 of. Come, Walter," he added, with an insinuating tone, 
 " tis time that you really know me. I forgive every 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 383 
 
 harsh word, every injurious suspicion, however much 
 they have wronged me, in the conviction that I have a 
 perfect justification in my power. But let us find a rest 
 ing-place, for I have much to say, and every mystery of 
 which you complain shall be cleared up." 
 
 He had never been so fortunate as to inspire Walter 
 with confidence, nor was he more successful now ; but 
 the conviction that at least he could no longer deceive 
 him, induced him to listen. Without replying, he ap 
 proached a little gravelly knoll, and, having seated them 
 selves, the stranger abruptly asked, 
 
 "Would you like to go to England?" 
 
 At a proposition of such import, Walter paused, and 
 then said, " It would depend on the motive assigned for 
 my going." 
 
 " Suppose it the strongest that could be offered. The 
 restoration to your natural friends ; the removal of all 
 concealment in regard to your birth, your past, and your 
 future. Would this induce you?" 
 
 " Certainly ; but I should require the most unques 
 tionable proof that such would be the result." 
 
 * Undoubtedly. This I will furnish ; nay, more, I will 
 myself accompany you." 
 
 The idea against which Walter had struggled and re- 
 volted that this person had claims he should find it im 
 possible to evade came over him. Yet he felt that this 
 might be the crisis of his fate, that it must not be trifled 
 with. He hesitated, and then said, "Is that necessary? 
 With the proper testimonials, can I not proceed alone ?" 
 
 A smile, almost contemptuous, was the immediate 
 reply. 
 
 " You little understand in what these credentials con 
 sist, nor how important I, personally, am to your success. 
 But you must confide in me ; you must be advised, nay, 
 governed by me ; you will tread unknown ground, and 
 
384 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 may encounter obstacles you little think of. Without 
 me, your attempt would be futile." 
 
 Walter shuddered at the close connection that was in 
 timated ; and even were it not such as he feared, to be 
 advised, even controlled by this person, his distrust of 
 whom was nearly invincible, was so repugnant to him 
 that he could not bring himself to utter the required as 
 sent. At length he said, 
 
 " I owe every thing to Mr. Grafton. I will take no 
 step without his concurrence. If I am not at liberty to 
 consult him, I decline your proposition entirely." 
 
 " You are right," replied the stranger, with a readi 
 ness that looked like truth. " No one can more highly 
 estimate your obligations to Mr. Grafton than I do. You 
 only anticipate what I meant to say. Consult him by 
 all means. I will not ask of you any thing that he shall 
 not approve. I will see him myself; I ought to do so. 
 I have much, very much, for which to thank him." 
 
 This answer, prompt and unqualified, and therefore 
 unexpected, had its effect on Walter. 
 
 "And when is it proposed that I should go?" he 
 asked. 
 
 " By the first vessel that sails. I think I can rely on 
 one within a week. The precise day I can not now 
 name." 
 
 "And the testimonials?" 
 
 " They shall be yours to-morrow. Communicate with 
 Mr. Grafton this evening. Meet me alone at this place 
 to-morrow morning, say at nine o clock, and all that is 
 necessary to satisfy you shall be placed in your hands." 
 
 Walter looked as if he would speak farther. He did, 
 indeed, long to put one question, " Did his parents live ? 
 Had he no cause to blush for his birth?" But, as if di 
 vining his thought, or perhaps to test his submission, the 
 stranger said, with significance, " Ask me nothing now. 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 885 
 
 Tis best you should not know in part. The whole will 
 bring explanations that will palliate, if not justify, what 
 ever is painful. To-morrow you will know all." 
 
 " All !" thought Walter, with a sinking of the heart 
 at these ambiguous words, that made him almost desire 
 to remain in the ignorance which he had hitherto found 
 so hard to bear. 
 
 "And now," continued the stranger, "I leave you. 
 Give me your hand at parting. You will never refuse 
 it again," he added, with a cordial pressure, and a smile 
 so persuasive that Walter felt his aversion and doubt 
 melting away. 
 
 The stranger s quick eye perceived it. 
 
 " Ah !" said he, " you are naturally too generous to 
 question so narrowly and harshly the actions of men. 
 Appearances have misled you. You will learn to be 
 more discriminating and more confiding; to pity, in 
 stead of blaming, those who are condemned to a conduct 
 as foreign to their natures as to yours. Do not deny to 
 yourself the happy privilege of youth the faculty of 
 believing. The world will disabuse you soon enough. 
 Better the fate of him on whose tomb was inscribed 
 * The Deceived, than never to trust." 
 
 What was it that so affected Walter a tone, a look, 
 a will that, by a sort of mesmerism, subdued him ? or 
 the bringing back the recollections of a period when this 
 man seemed his only friend ? 
 
 " Ah ! I see," continued he, as if again penetrating the 
 thoughts of Walter ; " I see ! Think you that I do not 
 remember, too, when you clung to my hand, followed 
 my steps, sunk to sleep on my bosom! Forgive me, 
 Walter, if I have ever appeared to forget it. And now 
 I must leave you." 
 
 Walter, with an irrepressible desire to be satisfied, at 
 least on one point, before they parted, said, 
 
 E 
 
38(5 WALTER THOENLEY; OK, 
 
 " Will you not, as an earnest of farther communica 
 tions, give me one more assurance your name? Ke- 
 member, that for twenty years I have been denied it." 
 
 With a smile, much as a mother would repress the 
 importunity of her child, he replied, " To-morrow! to 
 morrow!" and, retreating into the thicket whence he 
 had emerged, was next seen crossing the bridge ; and, 
 having gained the opposite side, with a farewell wave 
 of his hand he disappeared. 
 
 "What a puppet," thought Walter, "I am in that 
 man s hands ! At one moment wrought to fury, and the 
 next held as if in leading-strings I" 
 
 The night was closing darkly around as he reached 
 home, and a rising wind in a threatening quarter por 
 tended a storm. Mr. Grafton congratulated him on 
 finding a shelter before the rain should come, and Da- 
 mie looked inquiringly at his damp clothes and wet 
 feet. " "Tis ridic lous, Walter," said she, with the priv 
 ilege of affection, " to be sittin on the ground a ter such 
 a rainy spell. Why, the airth is a parfect ma sh, spe 
 cially in the woods, where you are always a goin . You 
 want to be looked a ter just as if you was a boy. You 
 must take some bone-set when you go to bed, or you ll 
 be stiff as a stake in the mornin ." 
 
 But Mr. Grafton perceived that Damie s fears and pre 
 scriptions were lost on Walter ; that something occupied 
 him to the entire oblivion of any consideration of com 
 fort or health ; and, getting rid of her as soon as he could, 
 he awaited the communication which he saw was trem 
 bling on his lip. He had not long to expect it, but, hav 
 ing heard, he was not so quick to reply. 
 
 The idea of parting with Walter for a purpose that 
 might separate them forever, pained him inexpressibly. 
 But this might be borne under different circumstances. 
 Whatever should promote his happiness would bring its 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 387 
 
 own consolation to himself. But to place him in the 
 power of that hard man ; to surrender his yearly parent 
 al rig^s to one who had inspired him only with aver 
 sion ; to place his pure mind, his unspotted character, 
 under an influence which, if it could not corrupt, would 
 render him miserable ; to have him compromised, per 
 haps, by the companionship of a man whom he had 
 every right to distrust, embarrassed his decision. He 
 could only say, while his countenance expressed much 
 more, " Let us see the promised testimonials, "Walter, be 
 fore we farther discuss this matter. Without them it is 
 impossible to form an opinion. I shall also see the man 
 himself. I choose to read his face as well as his papers." 
 
 Walter pressed the subject no farther, but the conflict 
 in his mind was but too visible ; and, unable to talk of 
 any thing else, he retired, followed by Damie, with her 
 favorite medicament against the effects of cold, the last 
 thing, in his present state of excitement, to be appre 
 hended. But, though he patiently bore with her re 
 proofs and directions, he retained no distinct impression 
 of either. The door closed after her, leaving him no 
 other consciousness than that of being alone and quiet ; 
 and the draught remained untouched. 
 
 But to this sleep did not succeed. The wind, which 
 had risen toward night, with loud threatenings of an ap 
 proaching storm, was now accompanied by a rain that de 
 scended in torrents. The trees creaked to the blast that 
 whistled through their branches, and the darkness was in 
 tense. The outer world but too well imaged the tumult 
 and obscurity in his own breast. At one moment, with 
 a passionate eagerness, he longed for the morning, and 
 trembled with a strange delight at the disclosure it was 
 to bring. An indescribable feeling possessed him, as 
 of an entrance into a new being a revelation of himself 
 to himself a sort of bewildering loss of present identity, 
 
388 
 
 in the expectation of a new personality. Then he ask 
 ed, in terror, "What unknown ties were to be formed? 
 what old ones to be ruptured ?" With this cam^dsions 
 of Mr. Grafton and Eleanor ; of the past ; of childhood, 
 youth, and love. "Oh, heaven! were all these hence 
 forth to be to him as dreams? and, if so, what was to 
 take their place ?" That face, so impenetrable, was the 
 only answer, and a fearful gulf seemed to open before 
 him. 
 
 Thus tossed and agitated, the first hours of the night 
 brought him no refreshment. At length he sank into a 
 sleep so heavy as for a time to overpower thought, but 
 from which he started, as people do when under the im 
 pression of a strong necessity, at an earlier hour than 
 usual. 
 
 The night had brought as little rest to Mr. Grafton as 
 to himself, and the breakfast was a sad one. When 
 finished, Walter rose, stood as if about to speak, looked 
 irresolute, suddenly seized his guardian s hand, pressed 
 it earnestly, and, rushing from the house, hastened to 
 the place of meeting. 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 389 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII. 
 
 THE rain was over ; but, though the wind had abated, 
 it still returned in fitful and complaining bursts, driving 
 before it dark, broken clouds that saddened the heavens. 
 
 As Walter approached the ravine he was struck with 
 the ravages of the night. The old sycamore, long since 
 reduced to a fragment of its original size, had been reft 
 of most of its remaining branches, which, together with 
 young saplings uprooted from their slender hold on the 
 light soil, and portions of rock loosened by the rain, 
 were strewn at the bottom of the fall. The river seem 
 ed nearly to have doubled its volume, and, as if with a 
 conscious power, tumbled impetuously over every ob 
 struction, with a deafening noise. A mass of rock, at 
 other times above the surface, was still partially exposed 
 near the base of the fall, though around it innumerable 
 little cascades had been formed by the swelling waters. 
 
 "How beautiful!" exclaimed Walter, almost forget 
 ting for a moment his purpose. " If the sun would but 
 shine ! I have never seen it so fine." 
 
 The next moment his attention was diverted to a per 
 son approaching the opposite bank. It was the stran 
 ger, who, with long and hasty strides, bent his course to 
 the bridge. Walter s eyes followed his steps, and as they 
 did so he perceived, with a startling shock, that the abut 
 ment on the opposite side consisting of portions of rock 
 imbedded in the bank, and bound together by the roots 
 of a tree that had insinuated themselves had yielded to 
 the pressure of the stream. The most important frag 
 ment had disappeared entirely, the others looked dis 
 turbed and loose ; and the tree, whose roots had served 
 
390 WALTER THORNLEY; OB, 
 
 as binders, hung down, evidently disengaged from the 
 soil, and only slightly adhering among the stones. 
 
 To raise his hat as a signal, to wave his hand as a 
 warning, to elevate his voice in admonition of the threat 
 ened danger, was the instinct and work of the moment. 
 But in vain. The noise of winds and waters drowned 
 his voice, and his gestures were not understood. The 
 unconscious man continued to advance, and, as he did 
 so, held something in his hand which he elevated as 
 if in triumph. Walter, terrified, repeated his warn 
 ing, with every gesture suggested by the necessity; the 
 stranger, blinded by Fate, regarded them only as to 
 kens of recognition. Pressing onward, his feet touched 
 the bridge; in an instant his weight was upon it, and 
 the next, a loud crash confirmed Walter s fears. Then, 
 for the first time, comprehending the danger, he strove 
 to recover the bank. But no he only made sure his 
 destruction, lost his balance, and was precipitated on the 
 rocks below, even before the entire fall of the bridge; 
 which, wrenching itself by its weight from the opposite 
 abutment, descended with a tremendous force so near its 
 victim as to appear to crush him. 
 
 A shriek of horror burst from Walter. Casting a 
 frantic look around, he imploringly called for help, but 
 no voice responded. 
 
 The stranger lay motionless. Fearless and agile, 
 Walter prepared to descend the bank ; and though he 
 felt the stones and trees of which he had heretofore often 
 made a ladder yield under him, he reached the bottom 
 in safety, and made his way, though with difficulty and 
 clanger, to the rocky bed on which the unfortunate man 
 lay. He saw, to his unspeakable distress, that a frag 
 ment of the bridge had fallen across his limbs. There 
 could be no doubt of the effect. What other injuries he 
 had received he endeavored to ascertain by such efforts as 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 391 
 
 he was, unassisted, capable of. He could only discover 
 that, though life was not extinct, consciousness seemed 
 gone ; a faint moan was the only sound uttered. 
 
 To leave him thus was dreadful ! but how otherwise 
 could he obtain the requisite aid? Again he shouted, 
 ".Help! help!" and cast a despairing glance down the 
 ravine. A loud " Halloo 1" answered him, and in a sec 
 ond he caught a glimpse of a man at the entrance. Ke- 
 peating his cries, accompanied by wavings of hat and 
 handkerchief, he succeeded in attracting his attention to 
 himself, and soon, to his inexpressible relief, he discern 
 ed him to be his friend Jed. 
 
 The usual path along the river s margin was covered 
 with water, and one less fearless than Jed might have 
 hesitated to adventure up the ravine ; but he was not 
 to be deterred, though it was impossible to advance with 
 the rapidity that was required. 
 
 As he slowly picked his way through water and over 
 rocks, sometimes obliged to ascend a considerable dis 
 tance up the shelving bank, Walter watched his ap 
 proach with feelings more easy to imagine than de 
 scribe. At his feet lay a human being, a few instants 
 before full of life, thought, projects, power one toward 
 whom the returning tide of early affection had brought 
 back kinder feelings than he had supposed he could ever 
 again entertain for him now a mangled, perhaps a life 
 less mass ! and on this man depended his dearest inter 
 ests. He held the key of his destiny. He alone could 
 raise a veil now, perhaps, never to be withdrawn, and 
 the future would settle over him as darkly as the past. 
 Nay, more, with a shudder that chilled his very soul, he 
 exclaimed, "And this man was, perhaps, my father! 
 Oh, heaven! am I never to be relieved from this op 
 pressive mystery ?" 
 
 With eyes bent on the wretched being before him, 
 
392 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 arms crossed on his breast, and emotions that nearly 
 mastered him, he remained, till Jed, with a last leap to 
 the rock, stood beside him. 
 
 A glance at the wreck of the bridge, a few words from 
 Walter, and he comprehended the whole. Then, stoop 
 ing down, he examined the face that was turned from 
 him ; but, starting back, with a look of amazement and 
 awe, he exclaimed, "The Lord is just ! This is the very 
 indiwidival I told you of! I should know him among a 
 thousand !" 
 
 At this assertion, confirmed by still farther examina 
 tion, the revoltings of Walter returned with increased 
 violence at the very moment, too, when he desired 
 only to indulge in the new-born confidence inspired 
 by the stranger ! The revulsion nearly overcame him. 
 The claims of a common humanity alone enabled him to 
 exert the necessary self-control. 
 
 Fortunately, several persons from the lower village 
 some curious to see the wrecks of the storm, others to 
 ascertain the cause of the loud report on the falling of 
 the bridge now appeared on the heights above, or wad 
 ing up the ravine. 
 
 As soon as the catastrophe was understood, there was 
 no lack of assistance ; and Jed, having ingeniously con 
 trived a hurdle from the branches of trees, suggested the 
 difficult, but only expedient of thus carrying the injured 
 man to the nearest house, or other resting-place, where a 
 physician should be in readiness to attend him. 
 
 With all dispatch this idea was put in practice ; and, 
 carefully and tenderly, the rough men contrived to re 
 move the timbers, and to raise and place upon this rude 
 litter the poor remains of a body which still gave evi 
 dence of life by obstructed breathing and loud moans. 
 To bear this burden, by a path difficult for a single per 
 son, was no easy matter ; but what will not human sym- 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 393 
 
 pathy effect? At last it was accomplished. Having 
 reached a dwelling, near the extremity of the ravine, 
 they there deposited their charge in the hands of a phy 
 sician, for whom a messenger had been sent. 
 
 The examination was not long. A short time was 
 sufficient to decide, from the nature of the injuries, that 
 life could not be preserved. The only relief the case 
 admitted of was that there was no consciousness of suf 
 fering, and that, even if there were, the conflict must be 
 short. This opinion was soon confirmed. While a few 
 lingered round from compassion, which, however fruit 
 less, was not to be repressed, the physician remained to 
 watch the failing pulse ; and Walter, possessed with 
 the feeling that to him belonged the sacred offices 
 due by the kindred of the dead, reverently waited to 
 receive the last breath, and to lay his hand on the clos 
 ing eyes. 
 
 Jed, who, after his fashion, "puttin things together," 
 as he said, had come to the conclusion that " somehow 
 this person was not unbeknown to Walter," and who 
 perceived, moreover, that this knowledge was attended 
 by a painful interest, was one of the number who re 
 mained. 
 
 The final moment that comes to all was at hand. The 
 physician removed the finger which pressed, in vain, for 
 the answering pulse ; listened for the breath that no lon 
 ger came ; felt, inquiringly, for the heart that no longer 
 throbbed ; and, in that low tone which all instinctively 
 use in the presence of Death, said, "It is over!" 
 
 Notwithstanding his distrust, his indignant sense of 
 wrong, the last charge just brought against him, and the 
 repugnance with which, until very lately, he had shrunk 
 from this strange man, Walter could not hear these words 
 without a pang. 
 
 "Yes," thought he, "it is over! The last, the only 
 R2 
 
394 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 clue to my name and kindred, the only being to whom, 
 for weal or for woe, I seemed to belong, is gone !" 
 
 Every angry feeling was still. His eyes filled with 
 tears as he contemplated that pale and ghastly face, and 
 repeated the last words of the stranger, " To-morrow! 
 to-morrow!" "how unconscious," continued he, "of 
 their prophetic import!" 
 
 He was reminded that he was not alone, by Jed s 
 saying, as he approached and stood by his side, " Well, 
 he has done what we must all do ; he has gi n in his ac 
 count!" 
 
 This solemn truth, though announced in homely 
 phrase, struck to the heart of Walter, and turned his 
 thoughts from his personal interests to the dread con 
 cerns of the man who lay before him ; in comparison 
 with which, all earthly hopes and disappointments faded 
 into insignificance, and he involuntarily uttered a prayer 
 for mercy ! 
 
 Having given the necessary directions, he hastened 
 home to apprise Mr. Grafton of the events of the morn 
 ing ; but the rumor had reached him, and, hurrying to 
 the place, he met Walter at the door, whose countenance 
 confirmed it. 
 
 While occupied by the considerations now naturally 
 presented, they were interrupted by the entrance of Jed. 
 He would, perhaps, have dilated on an occurrence so 
 startling, but he saw that, contrary to his usual practice, 
 the fewest words were best. He, therefore, proceeded 
 promptly to say that, in removing the body, a packet 
 had been found lying under it, from which circumstance 
 it had remained dry and uninjured ; that, not knowing 
 what it might contain, or into what hands it might fall, 
 he had put it immediately into his own pocket, whence 
 he now took it. 
 
 " I expect," continued he, " that it had ought to be 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 
 
 sent to his kin, but as I don t know nothin where to find 
 them, it can t do no harm to give it to Walter." 
 
 With an eager hand it was grasped, but, unwilling to 
 expose the intense interest it excited, he laid it on the 
 table. He had just done so when the landlord of the 
 inn at the lower village entered, bringing a valise, which 
 he said belonged to the gentleman. 
 
 Here was farther matter for investigation perhaps 
 more evidence. But, though, in addition to the right ex 
 ercised on such occasions, in order to ascertain the name 
 and friends of the individual, they felt that they had 
 peculiar claims to the fullest inquiry, this, for obvious rea 
 sons, could only be made without witnesses. Mr. Graf- 
 ton was therefore compelled to disappoint the evident 
 curiosity by saying that he would make the necessary 
 investigations in proper season ; and he then quietly re 
 moved the articles to a place of safety. The prevailing 
 idea that the stranger had been in some way connected 
 with himself or Walter, and the character of Mr. Graf- 
 ton, prevented all complaint. 
 
 That Mr. Grafton did make such investigation, and 
 that he did find matter of the deepest interest to Walter, 
 is all that is, at present, needful to communicate to the 
 reader. To the village public it was proper to be ex 
 plicit on one point the name and condition of the de 
 ceased. Mr. Grafton, therefore, lost no time in making 
 known that the unfortunate person was proved to be 
 Captain Talbot, an Englishman, having friends in New 
 York, to which place, immediately after the funeral, he 
 should himself proceed, in order to convey the articles 
 in his possession, and to communicate the intelligence 
 of his death. 
 
396 WALTEK THOKNLEY; OK, 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII. 
 
 THE oculist had not disappointed the expectation of 
 Mr. Lawrence and his family. His fine constitution, 
 little impaired except by occasional attacks of gout, 
 and his hopeful temperament, coming in aid of a real 
 ly skillful operator, the ultimate restoration of the eye 
 was soon pronounced certain, and a short time put 
 it in a condition to be used under some restrictions. 
 This, together with the assiduities of his children, and 
 the effect of agreeable change, seemed to rejuvenate 
 him. He was pleased with every thing and every body. 
 He forbore to discuss politics with Mr. Meredith, with 
 whom he never agreed ; or, if sometimes betrayed into 
 a collision, dropped it voluntarily when it grew too 
 warm ; was not vexed when his daughter sympathized 
 more with her husband s views than with his own ; did 
 not consider it a personal injury if Miss Lawrence had 
 a headache, and, to Eleanor s especial satisfaction, re 
 instated her entirely in his favor. He could even see, 
 without offense, that Oscar Middleton excited in her a 
 very different interest from that which Master Philip 
 had done, though, in his private opinion, the ruddy, 
 handsome face, vigorous frame, and manly air of the lat 
 ter " were worth a hundred such pale-visaged slips ; but 
 if girls would be fools he couldn t help it." 
 
 Oscar, indeed, did interest Eleanor more than he had 
 done heretofore. His tender sadness came nearer her 
 heart than his thoughtless, happy g&yQty. Formerly 
 she laughed with him, but could forget him ; now, with 
 all the sensibility of her own nature awakened, she was 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 397 
 
 the more strongly drawn toward him. If he were silent, 
 she became so ; if he smiled, she rejoiced ; if he were 
 sad, she was only the more thoughtful for him. Her 
 young friends had greeted her return with welcomes and 
 invitations, but she resisted whatever interfered with 
 kind considerations for Oscar. To cheer him when pres 
 ent, to pity him when absent, became a habit, the more 
 confirmed by his reliance on her. 
 
 The improvement in Miss Lawrence, if not as great as 
 in her father, was more striking, because that, on her first 
 arrival, a more than usual languor and dejection were vis 
 ible. Years had elapsed since her last visit to her sis 
 ter. Many changes had taken place. Past scenes, of 
 which every heart bears indelible impressions, were re 
 vived, and she had often cause to reprove herself for not 
 being happier now that the family harmony, the loss of 
 which she had so much deplored, was restored. But the 
 cloud passed, and she, too, was cheerful grateful for the 
 love bestowed, and especially for the sweet attentions of 
 Eleanor, who, like a ministering spirit, dispensed good 
 to each and to all. Ah ! had she found out thus early 
 that the true secret of quieting our own hearts is to 
 cheer others ; that secret which some never learn ? 
 
 A fine afternoon and the solicitations of Eleanor had 
 tempted her aunt beyond the limit of her usual walk, 
 and, on their entering the study by the garden door, she 
 perceived that she looked pale and wearied. 
 
 " I have been a foolish girl," said Eleanor, " but, when 
 I get among those trees, they always cheat me into go 
 ing too far. Dear aunt, let me arrange a couch for you 
 here. You are too tired to take another step. See! 
 there is the settee on the piazza, and here," said she, fill 
 ing her arms as she spoke, " are these sofa-cushions ; 
 they will make a nice resting-place for you. I ll carry 
 them out, and have it ready in a minute." 
 
398 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 "No, no, my love; I ll go to my room. Some one 
 may come, and I should not fancy to be thus caught." 
 
 "Nobody will come; nobody ever does come here 
 now," replied Eleanor, with a sigh. " There will only 
 be the sun to look at you, and he is about taking his 
 rest too ; he is so low he can only peep at you through 
 the branches." 
 
 Miss Lawrence was not one of the resisting order; 
 and, telling Eleanor she always made her do as she 
 pleased, she yielded to the arrangement. 
 
 The cushions being so placed as to support her, she 
 permitted herself to be disposed of, sitting or reclining, 
 as Eleanor fancied, who, hovering about her, delighted 
 herself by contriving, like a playful child, the most be 
 coming adjustment. The simple white veil, taken from 
 her hat, was so thrown as to shade, and yet add another 
 grace to her face. A shawl of many dyes was cast as a 
 drapery over her ; one hand supported her cheek, and 
 the other reposed, as Eleanor said, "beautifully negli 
 gent" among the flowers they had gathered in their 
 walk, and which appeared to have fallen from its grasp 
 into her lap. 
 
 She contemplated her work admiringly. Her aunt 
 laughed. 
 
 " You have placed me like a lay figure. Now what 
 do you propose to do with me? You see I can resist 
 none of your vagaries." 
 
 " Oh, if I could sketch you just as you now are ! but 
 I can not. Therefore I shall put you to sleep. Now 
 not another word ! but shut your eyes like a good child." 
 
 As if under the spell gf her irresistible attendant, Miss 
 Lawrence obeyed; and Eleanor, in a little while, satis 
 fied that she really slept, stole quietly into the study, 
 and thence into the hall, to prevent any intrusion from 
 that quarter. 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 399 
 
 The sweet air, the perfect quiet, the soft light, 
 
 "Prolonged the balmy rest." 
 
 At length a foot crossed the threshold of the garden 
 door, and a gentleman cast an inquiring look within, as if 
 in quest of some one. He entered ; but, finding nobody, 
 ventured to approach the glass door communicating with 
 the piazza. His step was light, like that of one who 
 fears to intrude, and yet who is impelled to advance. 
 As he does so, he passes the door and sees a sleeping- 
 lady 1 Instinctively he retreats ; another look, and he 
 advances. A thought seems to kindle up his face. He 
 proceeds, regardless of proprieties ; his lips move, but no 
 sound escapes. His countenance and manner evince 
 surprise, eager interest, and yet timidity. He moves 
 nearer, and still nearer. He pauses ; and then, with a 
 noiseless step, he is by the side of the unconscious sleep 
 er. He gazes ; his soul seems looking from his eyes ! 
 One instant, and they have detected the fair hand among 
 the flowers ; the next he is on his knee, the hand is in 
 his, and his lip is pressed on a simple gold ring ! The 
 action has roused the lady ; she wakes to hear " Mary !" 
 uttered in a voice which, though silent to her outward 
 ear, has never, through long, long years, ceased to speak 
 to her heart. Speech fails her. Does she still sleep ? 
 Does she dream ? That face, changed, yet still the same, 
 is it a reality ? Those eyes, 
 
 "Once so dear, 
 Long, long ago long ago!" 
 
 are they, indeed, bent on her ? 
 
 Another pressure of her hand, that name, now dis 
 used, perhaps forgotten by all but himself, again utter 
 ed, assure her of the living presence of one whom she 
 had never thought to see again this side of Heaven, and 
 she ventures to say, in a low and timid voice, " Graf- 
 ton?" 
 
400 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 "Yes, Mary," he exclaimed; "I should doubt my 
 own identity if you did not admit it. Could we ever 
 fail to recognize each other?" 
 
 Still she looked at him, immovable, wondering tears 
 filling her asking eyes. 
 
 "I know what you would say," said he, rising; and, 
 assisting her attempt to do the same, he placed himself 
 by her side. " You would ask why I am here ? Here 
 of all places? There is much to tell you, dear Mary, 
 but at another time. Now, I will only say that urgent 
 business brought me to New York. I could not be 
 there, and not see your sister and Mr. Meredith, always 
 my friends. Failing to find him at his office, I came 
 hither; of your being here I had not the remotest 
 thought. In my ignorance of the house I blundered in 
 at the wrong entrance, and was led, not by chance, but 
 by Heaven, to you never, so help me God, to be again 
 parted from you !" 
 
 A cloud overspread her fair brow. A deprecating 
 look a deep sigh, were the only answer. 
 
 " I understand you. You would say the same obsta 
 cles exist. They may, but they shall no longer prevail. 
 Mary," continued he, with solemnity, "you love me 
 still. If time, as I sometimes feared, had worn me out 
 of your affection, I would be silent. But your look, 
 your manner, this sacred symbol never laid aside, attest 
 your fidelity." 
 
 She attempted to speak, but he continued earnestly : 
 
 " Oh, hear me farther. The happiness of our lives 
 has been sacrificed by a weak submission to a false prin 
 ciple. It shall be so no longer. I will claim you as my 
 wife. I ought to have done so when you were first torn 
 from me." 
 
 A loving but weeping face, eyes upturned as if im 
 ploring strength from above, betrayed the conflict his 
 words had excited. 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 401 
 
 " Oh, that is not all !" she at length said. " If no op 
 position there are other considerations. How can I 
 impose a wreck upon you? upon you, still capable of 
 happiness? How can I burden you with the poor re 
 mains of what, even in its best estate, was not worth the 
 love you lavished on it ? No, no, no ; it is wrong, un 
 generous ; I should be humbled to the dust were I to 
 do so." 
 
 " Mary ! Mary !" said Mr. Grafton, in a tender but re 
 proachful tone, "is this the language you should hold to 
 me? Were you, indeed, the wreck you fear, should I 
 not love the ruin I perhaps had caused? And has not 
 time done its work on me too ? But I will not so wrong 
 true love as to rest it on the outward creature. I could, 
 indeed, dear Mary, still address to you the words of mere 
 human affection ; could tell you that I love you in that 
 sense that satisfies most women ; that I had not outlived 
 my youthful passion ; that no conceivable happiness could 
 equal the possession of you ; that " 
 
 " Do not do not speak so ! You deceive yourself. 
 I am nothing nothing." 
 
 "No, I will not; but rather of that union of heart, 
 mind, and soul, that time has only strengthened. To 
 this union I claim the right of setting that seal which 
 God has Himself appointed, not alone for present hap 
 piness, but as an earnest of that still better union for 
 which it is a preparation. Do not, then, disturb your 
 own mind and distress me by considerations unworthy 
 of us both." 
 
 Her tears flowed faster. She could only say, "You 
 are too good too good ; I do not deserve it." 
 
 He looked at her in silence ; then in a tender and ad 
 miring tone, rather as if thinking aloud, said, "Still 
 the same ! humble, gentle, self-distrusting ; still, as in 
 the language of my youth, My lovely Mary ! " 
 
402 
 
 What could woman true, believing woman say? 
 Her heart was on her lips, ready to pour forth all he 
 could ask, but a cruel fear restrained her, and a look 
 of agony overspread her face, as she said, "My father! 
 my promise !" 
 
 "Bless you, Mary, that you insist on no other obstacle ! 
 Your father s objections shall be met with all respect; 
 but, if still immovable I say it deliberately I will dis 
 regard them." 
 
 "But my promise," she repeated. 
 
 "I am the last person to make light of it; but we 
 must not let reverence exaggerate itself into superstition. 
 That promise was made under circumstances which de 
 prived you of free agency. Only a tender, conscientious 
 spirit, like your own, would have held it obligatory to 
 the extent that you have done. We have both been 
 sacrificed to it. Your mother, could she have foreseen 
 its consequences, would never have exacted it; and, if 
 now comprehending what passes here, will rejoice in the 
 breach of it." 
 
 His calmness restored her own. 
 
 "Hear me," said she, "for a moment, and then you 
 must leave me. You are not aware that my father is 
 now in this house. I can not permit you to meet him 
 at present. I must have time to reflect. Let me decide 
 as I may, I have need of a strength that now I do not 
 feel. Leave me ; you shall hear from me to-morrow." 
 
 " Do with me as you please. I shall go, but in the 
 confident trust, not alone of hearing from you, but of 
 seeing you, to-morrow." 
 
 " Go ! go !" said she, earnestly, the dread of her father 
 taking possession of her. 
 
 He comprehended her fear, passed from the piazza 
 through the garden, and retreated, unseen, as he had en 
 tered. 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 403 
 
 Left to herself, Miss Lawrence s first care was to escape 
 to the privacy of her own room, which she reached un- 
 perceived, even by Eleanor, who, occupied by visitors 
 during the tete-a-tete on the piazza, had relaxed her care 
 of her aunt, and was now otherwise engaged. 
 
404: WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX. 
 
 MR. Lawrence, in a happy unconsciousness of what 
 was going on elsewhere, reclined in his chair in the din 
 ing-room, and near him, at the tea-table, was Mrs. Mere 
 dith. 
 
 After an interval of silence, Mr. Lawrence asked the 
 hour " Tea-time, is it not?" 
 
 " Yes, sir. Will you take it now, or shall we wait 
 for Mr. Meredith? He will be here in a few mo 
 ments." 
 
 Now, usually, Mr. Lawrence abhorred waiting for any 
 body, but he was not in a mood to be easily ruffled. 
 
 " Oh no ; wait by all means." 
 
 Another pause. 
 
 " Where is Eleanor?" he asked. 
 
 " Gone to pass the evening with some of her young 
 friends." 
 
 Mr. Lawrence particularly disliked the absence of any 
 of the family at meals, but now he only said he was glad 
 of it. 
 
 A servant entered with a note from Mr. Meredith. 
 He was detained in the city ; should not be at home till 
 the next day. 
 
 Mr. Lawrence could bear this too ; for, though he en 
 tirely respected Mr. Meredith, they were, as the Italians 
 say, not sympatici ; and the presence of neither added 
 much to the happiness of the other. 
 
 " Well, then, we ll have tea, Janet, if you please," said 
 he, and, Mrs. Meredith ringing the bell, Phyllis was di 
 rected to tell Miss Lawrence it was ready. 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. -i05 
 
 She returned in a few moments, and, dropping a 
 courtesy to the old gentleman, as if deprecating the ef 
 fect of the answer she brought, said, " Missis not well, 
 massa, and can t come down, she say." 
 
 This was a sound seldom heard patiently by Mr. 
 Lawrence. 
 
 " Not well ! "What s the matter now ? She was well 
 enough at dinner." 
 
 " Dun know, massa. Missis looks berry sick ; neber 
 seed missis look so afore." 
 
 " Do, Janet, go up and see what it is. These creatures 
 always make every thing as bad as they can." 
 
 Mrs. Meredith did not need the injunction. Hurrying 
 to her sister s room, she found her in a state that, as 
 Phyllis had said, was unusual, and which, knowing no 
 cause for it, she naturally referred to physical indisposi 
 tion. Miss Lawrence was in bed, with a quickened and 
 irregular pulse, a feverish cheek, and a strange, excited 
 look quite unlike herself. But she spoke calmly, and, 
 not daring then to attempt an explanation, only begged 
 to be alone and quiet, and doubted not that she should 
 be well in the morning. 
 
 Mrs. Meredith left her, as she requested, but not much 
 assured by what she had said ; and Mr. Lawrence, on 
 hearing it, put down his scarce tasted tea, pushed his 
 chair from the table, and, leaning back in it, sighed 
 heavily. 
 
 His daughter, to relieve him, repeated her sister s 
 words, " She will be better in the morning, sir." 
 
 "No, she won t," he replied, quickly, "nor the next 
 day, nor the next, nor never ; never, I tell you !" 
 
 " Dear papa, even if she should be indisposed for a 
 few days, there can be no cause for uneasiness. We 
 will send for Doctor Bayley in the morning." 
 
 " Doctor Fiddlestick 1 Do you suppose I m an ass, 
 
406 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 Janet ? All the drugs in the Materia Medica can t help 
 her!" 
 
 " Why, papa !" expostulated Mrs. Meredith. " There 
 is surely nothing in Gertrude s indisposition to excite 
 alarm." 
 
 " Pshaw, child! I don t suppose she s going to die; 
 perhaps it would be better that she should. She would 
 go to heaven, and I might be made more fit for it. But 
 she won t die ; she will live, and she will suffer ; and so 
 it always is. I never see a little sunshine, I never feel 
 happy and cheery, but some cursed thing turns up to 
 contradict me. I am a miserable man I am." 
 
 "Dear papa, don t say so." 
 
 " I will say so. Here she has been so well and cheer 
 ful that, old fool as I am, I thought she would continue 
 so ; that, at last, she was happy ; and my heart was light 
 er than it has been for years ; and now now it s all 
 over ! the same dark cloud again !" 
 
 " Oh no, sir; this is some accidental thing some lit 
 tle nervous derangement." 
 
 " Ay, yes ; there it is, those infernal nerves ! Don t I 
 know what that means ?" 
 
 " Nothing mysterious, papa ; every body knows what 
 nerves mean." 
 
 "The devil they do! I wish I did; I only know 
 that they mean misery. Oh Lord ! I wish I was dead." 
 
 "My dear father," interposed Mrs. Meredith; but, re 
 sisting her sympathy, he suddenly exclaimed, "Where 
 is that fellow?" 
 
 Mrs. Meredith, perhaps not comprehending, did not 
 speak. 
 
 " Is he in this country?" 
 
 Still she was silent. 
 
 "Is he alive?" 
 
 Mrs. Meredith, as if like the jester and the sultan in 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 407 
 
 the Oriental tale, she were resolved to compel her father 
 first to pronounce the prohibited name, sat speechless. 
 
 " Where does he hide himself?" continued Mr. Law 
 rence. 
 
 "Whom do you mean, papa?" at length she asked. 
 
 "You know, very well," he replied, impatiently. 
 " Whom should I mean, but the man who has caused 
 all this trouble Grafton ! I say, where is he ?" 
 
 " He is living, sir, and in this country in New En 
 gland." 
 
 "Why, then, have I never been able to hear of him? 
 Why have not you, or your husband, by any chance 
 ever spoken of him ? Why have I been kept in igno- 
 "rance?" His rising displeasure forced Mrs. Meredith 
 on her defense. 
 
 " You must recollect, papa, that his name has been 
 interdicted for years ; that every trace of him has been 
 purposely obliterated ; even his portrait saved from de 
 struction only on the condition of being never seen " 
 she might have added, that the family breach, mainly 
 occasioned by the sympathy of her husband and herself 
 with Mr. Grafton, had prevented all communication ; but 
 he checked farther remonstrance by saying, "Well, well, 
 if it was so then, now I want to hear of him nay, to 
 see him, if it be possible to get any comfort out of him. 
 Can he not be written to?" 
 
 "Certainly; but to what purpose, sir?" 
 
 "Janet, don t drive me mad! To what purpose? 
 Why to bring him here, and marry him to Gertrude." 
 
 Mrs. Meredith was dumb with astonishment. 
 
 After some hesitation she replied, 
 
 "My sister would not approve of such a step, I am 
 sure, and might not consent if he were to come." 
 
 " Oh, I dare say ! As soon as I propose any thing, 
 though it has been sighed for through a lifetime, it is 
 
408 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 enough to prevent it. Just like my family! Never 
 was a man so contradicted ! But I say it shall be done. 
 I won t live so any more. And pray why should she 
 object?" 
 
 " You must allow, papa, for the feelings of a delicate 
 woman. Even if her own are the same toward him, she 
 may naturally fear a change in his sentiments." 
 
 11 Sentiments ! Oh, he has nerves too, eh ! Of course, 
 sentiments and nerves they always go together." 
 
 "Or, perhaps," continued Mrs. Meredith, "she may 
 fear the effect of time on her appearance." 
 
 "Appearance!" interrupted he, angrily, "why, there 
 isn t a prettier woman this day in the United States of 
 her age no, nor even younger. She s only a hundred 
 times too handsome for him ! Object to Gertrude, in 
 deed!" 
 
 " Oh no, sir, I did not say that! I merely suggested 
 a natural apprehension on her part. You know, sir," 
 added she, with a smile, "we women have our weak 
 points, and that is one of them. But besides, sir, Mr. 
 Grafton has been ill treated at least, so he thinks and 
 we can not be surprised if that should render the con 
 nection undesirable. In short, sir, I must beg you will 
 not insist on my writing as you propose." 
 
 But Mr. Lawrence, having taken the first great step, 
 le pas qui coute having sacrificed his pride, his will, 
 his personal resentment was not a man now to stop. 
 Opposition and doubt only stimulated his determina 
 tion. 
 
 "Yery well; if you won t write, Meredith will; and 
 if he won t, Eleanor shall. I will have it done, and that 
 before another day passes. I am old I must soon die 
 I will not any longer have this man s face forever 
 thrusting itself between me and heaven, nor Gertrude s 
 complaints turning aside my prayers." 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 409 
 
 "Complaints, sir! Surely, my sister never com 
 plains?" 
 
 " No, not in words. But do you think that to be obey 
 ed, cherished, honored, as if I had never given her a mo 
 ment s pain ; to be waited on year after year, as if it 
 were not a duty, but a delight ; to be borne with, how 
 ever unreasonable ; to be watched when ill, as if her 
 life hung on mine ; and to look like an angel with a 
 broken heart ! do you think there are, or can be, com 
 plaints louder than these ?" 
 
 Alarmed by her father s vehemence and agitation, she 
 directed all her efforts to calm him, and in some degree 
 succeeded. He consented to talk over the matter cool 
 ly with Mr. Meredith, and above all not to touch on it 
 to his daughter at present. 
 
 This done, and having induced him to retire at an 
 early hour, with her habitual deference to her husband s 
 opinion, she suspended her final judgment till he should 
 return. 
 
 The breakfast was cheered by a favorable report from 
 Miss Lawrence, and, while still seated at the table, an 
 other note was brought to Mrs. Meredith from her hus 
 band. It was, as may be conjectured, to inform her of 
 his meeting with his old friend, Mr. Grafton. Her ex 
 clamation of pleasure and surprise attracted the attention 
 of her father. The explanation was no sooner given 
 than followed by his earnest direction that the gentle 
 man should be invited to the house without delay. 
 
 It is enough to say that Mr. Grafton came; that a 
 conference with him and Mr. Lawrence ensued, concili 
 atory and conclusive ; that he was indulged in a long 
 interview with Miss Lawrence, the result of which was 
 eloquently inscribed on their happy and serene faces, 
 when they afterward joined the family circle. 
 
 Oh, Love, when art thou worthiest of our homage ? 
 S 
 
410 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 In our morn of youth like the coming of day, joyous 
 and beautiful, yet often capricious, and failing of thy 
 rich promise? In our noon fervid, full of mastery, 
 maddening and destroying some, though leading others 
 by flowery paths and beside still waters ? Ah ! rather 
 when, long tried, thy mellowed lights stream through our 
 lengthening shadows, soft as at the evening hour, when 
 from the blue depths of heaven to the golden horizon no 
 cloud is seen, and no rude sound disturbs the harmonies 
 of nature ! 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 411 
 
 CHAPTER XL. 
 
 ELEANOR S sympathy with her aunt was, as might be 
 expected, full and demonstrative. She could speak of 
 nothing but the happiness that was at last to reward her 
 sweet and patient life, and loved to dwell on every thing 
 that could add to it interest or romance. 
 
 "Ah! that ring," said she, one day, to her; "how 
 often I have wondered why you preferred it to every 
 other ornament ; and another thing, too," turning to Mr. 
 Grafton, "Why is it that you call my aunt Mary? I 
 suppose there is some secret about that also." 
 
 " No, Eleanor ; none at all. The names of Mary and 
 Gertrude were both given to her the last more gener 
 ally used. For this reason I preferred the first. It was, 
 perhaps," added he, with a smile, " a lover s fancy of 
 which you now, I dare say, wonder that I could ever 
 have been capable but it seemed to make her more my 
 own to address her as few others did. After her moth 
 er s death, I now understand that your grandfather di 
 rected that Gertrude, her name, should be exclusively 
 used, and Mary lived only in my memory." 
 
 Entering thus into her aunt s interests, Eleanor con 
 ceived the greatest liking for Mr. Grafton. His good 
 ness, his dignified yet simple manners, his refined yet 
 playful ways, were her constant theme. It is but fair 
 to say that, like every thing in Eleanor, the sentiment 
 was genuine. It had nothing to do with Walter, of 
 whose intimate relations with Mr. Grafton she was still 
 ignorant, that gentleman having reasons to be no farther 
 communicative on that subject than he had formerly 
 
412 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 been. On the contrary, his manner, when speaking of 
 him, was the only thing she did not like in Mr. Graf- 
 ton. 
 
 " That was a respectable young man," said Mr. Mere 
 dith, one day, " whom you were so good as to send to 
 us Mr. Thornley, I mean. We were quite sorry to part 
 with him. I hope he is likely to do well." 
 
 "Yes, I think so," said Mr. Grafton, coldly. 
 
 Eleanor colored and bit her lips. 
 
 " He was a well-mannered young man too," continued 
 Mr. Meredith; " rather remarkably so, in his condition. 
 Not at all presuming appeared to understand his place 
 as well as his business, which is not common in these 
 days. I shall always be happy to see him, and to be of 
 use to him." 
 
 " I am glad he gave you satisfaction," was all the re 
 ply vouchsafed ; and Eleanor, feeling her anger rising 
 against them both, fled out of the room. 
 
 Walter s sudden and never-explained removal from 
 Mr. Meredith s family, together with its obvious effect 
 on him, had been a cause of painful conjecture to Mr. 
 Grafton. When he saw Eleanor, he was confirmed in 
 his suspicion that it was connected with her. It was 
 not easy to believe that he could have remained indif 
 ferent when placed in such relations to such a girl. He 
 only wondered that her parents had permitted her to be 
 exposed to a similar danger, and if the interest were, in 
 deed, wholly on his side. She became, therefore, a study 
 to him. 
 
 In the evening, as he sat by her side, he said, " I have 
 not heard your opinion of the teacher I sent you. Did 
 you like him ? I mean, of course, only as an instruct 
 or." 
 
 Yexed to have her estimate so restricted, she replied, 
 coldly, " Oh yes, very well." 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 413 
 
 " Did you take your lessons quite alone, or was a class 
 formed for him?" 
 
 " A class ! What an idea I Share those precious les 
 sons ! What a suggestion !" 
 
 She repeated, with an affronted air, "A class! No, 
 indeed!" 
 
 " It is a good plan, however," said Mr. Grafton. " It 
 furnishes a stimulus and an excitement to what might 
 otherwise be dull." 
 
 "What a mind it must be," thought she, "that lie 
 could not stimulate ! What a spirit that could be dull 
 in his presence! Tis plain he knows very little of 
 Walter." 
 
 " But, perhaps," resumed Mr. Grafton, " he did not 
 wish it I mean, did not think it best for you. You 
 might not have required it; his undivided attention 
 would advance you more rapidly." 
 
 Still Eleanor did not speak ; she dared not She was 
 irritated. She feared to betray it ; and, deceived by her 
 manner, he reflected, "Ah, poor Walter! I see the 
 young lady is not pleased ; and why ? There is but one 
 solution she has detected, and resents his presump 
 tion." 
 
 Her conduct to Oscar Middleton confirmed his suspi 
 cion. Yet, if she were, indeed, unfriendly to his favor 
 ite, he could not be unjust to her; and, seeing daily 
 more and more of her attractive qualities, he became 
 still more regretful of the hard fate of Walter. 
 
 Nearly a fortnight had elapsed since the arrival of Mr. 
 Grafton, when divers family tetes-d-tetes might have been 
 observed ; Mr. Meredith and Mr. Grafton closeted in the 
 library ; Mrs. Meredith with her sister, in her room. 
 Mr. Lawrence and Eleanor the oldest and the youngest 
 most approximating whispered, laughed, and took 
 counsel together he in his arm-chair, she on a low seat 
 at his feet. 
 
OB, 
 
 " I will have it so," said he. It was uttered impera 
 tively, but pleasantly. 
 
 " Tis all nonsense to put it off! What are they wait 
 ing for? They are old enough ; eh, Eleanor? Come to 
 years of discretion ! Don t you think so, little Nelly ? 
 Well enough acquainted, eh?" 
 
 " Oh yes, dear grandpapa, you are quite right. Why 
 should people ever wait to be happy ? If mamma can 
 only persuade Aunt Gertrude : 
 
 " We ll do it first, and persuade her afterward," said 
 Mr. Lawrence, with his usual impatience. " I will not 
 hear of any silly delay. Why, I may die in a week 
 in a day and I will see it first." 
 
 Then followed half-whispered suggestions, smiles of 
 intelligence, and exclamations of "All right! that s a 
 good girl ! a very good girl ! You shall be married, too, 
 one of these days." 
 
 Then, drawing out a well-filled purse, he put it into 
 Eleanor s hand, adding, "Just as you please, Leentje; 
 as much more if you want it." Upon which, kissing 
 him gratefully, she hurried away. Meeting her mother, 
 her eager inquiry was answered by a smile and nod of 
 assent, accompanied by "The very thing! she would 
 never have given a thought to it." Upon which, Elea 
 nor rang the bell, ordered the carriage, flew down stairs, 
 and, in a few minutes, was on her way to the city. 
 
 A few days interval, and paper boxes of various sizes 
 were smuggled into the house, and into Eleanor s room, 
 where Mrs. Meredith was called on to admire. Many 
 articles were presented for the approval they without ex 
 ception received. The most important was reserved for 
 the last a silk dress, white, and yet not white, for, in 
 certain lights, it gave out a faint shade of exquisite blue, 
 and, over all, was a lustrous silvery hue. 
 
 " Now is not that just what it should be ?" exclaim- 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 
 
 ed Eleanor, delighted. "The very color of an angel s 
 wing!" 
 
 " Ah ! my dear child, I fear my acquaintance with an 
 gels is not so intimate as yours. But it is certainly the 
 very thing for your aunt." 
 
 One day more, and, in the evening, the drawing-room 
 lustres are lighted. Though there is no bustle, there is 
 arrangement and an air of expectation. In one of the 
 arm-chairs Mr. Lawrence reclines ; in the other, a ven 
 erable-looking person, whose black gown and white 
 bands indicate his office ; and, on a table near him, be 
 tween massive silver candlesticks, lies a richly-clasped 
 book. The two gentlemen converse in a subdued tone, 
 and Mr. Meredith, who walks up and down the room, 
 with his hands, as usual, crossed behind his back, occa* 
 sionally looks at his watch. 
 
 At length the hall clock is heard to strike eight, and, 
 the door opening, Miss Lawrence, led by Mr. Grafton, 
 enters, attended by Mrs. Meredith and Eleanor, and fol 
 lowed, at a respectful distance, by the domestics. The 
 clergyman and Mr. Lawrence rise, and the proper dispo 
 sition of all parties made, the book is opened, and those 
 portentous words, " We are gathered together here, in 
 the sight of God, and in the face of this company, to join 
 together this man and this woman in holy matrimony" 
 those words so fraught with happiness or misery usher 
 in the solemn rite. Circumstances, peculiar to this oc 
 casion, give it a more than common interest, yet a sweet 
 composure rests on every face. A slight irregularity at 
 the moment of betrothal threatens to disturb it. In 
 stead of putting on the ring in the usual manner, Mr. 
 Grafton is observed to draw one off, press it to his lips, 
 and then replace it. Some hearts beat quicker, but no 
 agitation interrupts the holy benediction, which now sets 
 its seal to the ceremony. 
 
416 WALTER THORNLEY ; OR, 
 
 Miss Lawrence s first impulse is to seek her father 
 she finds herself already in his arms, his eyes full of love, 
 his lips filled with blessings. Eleanor s heart is so full 
 she can not comprehend how others are so quiet ! Her 
 aunt presses her tenderly to her breast, but she smiles. 
 Her father, her mother, Mr. Graf ton, all are softened, but 
 all are calm. She turns to her grandfather. He has 
 retreated to his chair ; his handkerchief covers his face. 
 This she can understand. She runs to him, throws her 
 arms round his neck, and they weep together. 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 417 
 
 CHAPTER XLI. 
 
 MR. GKAFTON had kept "Walter informed of whatever 
 related to the business that had taken him to the city, 
 together with that which most nearly touched himself. 
 A letter now received announced his marriage, intelli 
 gence welcome to "Walter, but astonishing to Damie, en 
 tirely unprepared for it. 
 
 "Married 1" she exclaimed ; " well, of all things ! Aft 
 er stayin here till he fairly grow d into the airth, to go 
 off and get married ! Taken in by some artful slip of a 
 thing, jest fit to be his darter! There s no trustin a 
 man ! They re all alike !" 
 
 The letter farther directed Walter to join Mr. Grafton 
 without delay, and this, recalling Damie from her pre 
 visions of the domination of a young wife, and the over 
 throw of her own safer rule, she gave her attention to 
 the necessary preparations. But there was something in 
 Walter s manner that she could not explain, which, to 
 gether with certain other things she had remarked of 
 late, disturbed her. At an early hour on the following 
 morning he was off, and, while she and Jed watched the 
 receding wagon, she said, " Jed, I feel uneasy." 
 
 "I dare say," said he; " women most gin rally do." 
 
 "No, no; but about Walter." 
 
 " I don t see no occasion to buy trouble. He looks 
 well enough." 
 
 " Oh, tisn t that ; but he s different. He isn t like oth 
 er folks." 
 
 " No, he never was ; that s why I always liked him. 
 He is Walter, and he ain t nothin else. Tisn t every 
 one that understands him." 
 
 S2 
 
418 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 This was touching a weak point. 
 
 "I think I d ought to understand him by this time, 
 if any one does. He s nat rally quick, has considerable 
 pride, and strong feelin s ; but he s larned to keep em 
 under, to l rule his sperrit, as the Bible says, and to be 
 always jest about so. But lately he s in a parfect whirl ; 
 never remembers nothin , don t answer no more n a post, 
 don t read his books, don t do nothin . I tell you, Jed," 
 she added, in a confidential tone, " I am afraid he s shat 
 tered! I ve obsarved it ever since that awful consarn 
 at the old bridge." 
 
 Jed laughed outright. 
 
 "No, no," said he; "that was, be sure, an ugly busi 
 ness, and bein some kind of acquaintance made it worse. 
 But Walter s all right here," tapping his head as he spoke. 
 
 " And then," continued Damie, little affected by Jed s 
 assurance, " to go off and get married ! tis jest like put- 
 tin a step-mother over the poor lad. That ll jest finish 
 him." 
 
 "Damie," said Jed, with one of his comical looks, "I 
 respect you, and that s rayther more than I can say for 
 all women folks ; but you re human natur , Damie, a ter 
 all. Now don t you go for to make out a despe rt case 
 on t, cause a new mistress is a comin . I tell you Wal 
 ter ain t a goin to lose his wits, nor you to lose your 
 home. Mr. Grafton can t live without you no more n 
 without a head; and, as to his young wife, she don t 
 know nothin , and you ll rule her jest as you do him. 
 So keep quiet, and if you ll get breakfast ready, perhaps 
 I ll take some with you, jest to keep up your sperrits." 
 
 Walter, alighting at the stage-house in New York, 
 was met by Mr. Grafton, who immediately transferred 
 him to the carriage of Mr. Middleton, in waiting for him, 
 when they proceeded to the residence of that gentleman, 
 where he was informed he was expected to stay. 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 419 
 
 It was late in the evening when they arrived. Oscar 
 received him with open arms, and saw, in the unusual 
 emotion with which Walter met him, only the natural 
 expression of his sympathy. His father, he said, was 
 not at home, and might be absent a week longer a cir 
 cumstance that Walter heard with a sense of relief. 
 
 Mr. Grafton having left the young men to themselves, 
 they had much of mutual interest to occupy them. 
 
 A late hour found them still together. Walter took 
 up his candle to retire, but Oscar resisted. 
 
 " Why go so soon ?" he asked ; " let us make a night of 
 it. You once, I know, were a slave of the lamp over 
 your books. Come, be as regardless of sleep for the sake 
 of a friend." 
 
 Walter replaced his light, and Oscar said, "I have a 
 great deal yet to say. I have not spoken of Mrs. Graf- 
 ton. You will like her, I am sure, and not wonder at 
 the constancy of your guardian. We young fellows, 
 Walter, are fond of talking of undying love, and all that, 
 but I never expected to see such a living proof of it. I 
 wonder if you or I could be capable of it." 
 
 " It would depend, I imagine, on the object." 
 
 " Ah ! yes, indeed ; and such an object, I can tell you, 
 is not often given, to test a man s fidelity. Why, Wal 
 ter, she must have been handsomer than even Eleanor 
 Meredith ! There is still a strong family likeness, but I 
 doubt if the niece be equal to what the aunt was. Such 
 regular features ; and, then, that angelic look ! which I 
 never saw on any face but one." 
 
 Oscar s changing voice explained the allusion. At 
 another time Walter would have replied to it ; but now 
 the words would not come, and both were silent. 
 
 At length, with an expression of regret at the absence 
 of his father, Oscar added, " He was called away by the 
 affairs of that wretched man, Talbot, who was a connec 
 tion of his." 
 
420 WALTEK THOKNLEY; OK, 
 
 "Walter started, but did not speak, and Oscar pro 
 ceeded : 
 
 " The catastrophe happened, I think, in your neigh 
 borhood." 
 
 " Yes ; you knew him personally ?" 
 
 " Oh yes ; I ve seen him occasionally from a boy, but 
 I never liked him. Perhaps it was a mere prejudice 
 founded on the fancy of a child. I remember taking it 
 into my head that his visits always made my father ill, 
 and I conceived a dread of the mere sight him. Later," 
 continued Oscar, laughing, "I gave him the sobriquet 
 of the Wandering Jew, because he was forever roam 
 ing about, got money nobody knew how, and never 
 seemed to grow older." 
 
 This was a subject "Walter could not talk of, and both 
 again were silent. 
 
 Suddenly Oscar exclaimed, "You have no idea how 
 Eleanor has improved since you saw her, in face, per 
 son, manner, mind. Then she was a charming girl 
 now she is a bewitching woman ! With all your phi 
 losophy about her, Walter, which even then I wondered 
 at you must admire her now !" 
 
 Walter did not feel called upon to say how recently 
 he had seen her, nor how entirely he agreed with his 
 friend. 
 
 "You mistake me," he replied, quietly; "I always 
 did her justice, I think." 
 
 " Justice ! Pshaw ! What a word to apply to Ele 
 anor Meredith ! So you really brought her up before 
 the inexorable bench of your discriminating mind, tried 
 and found her worthy of approval ! You second Dan 
 iel come to judgment IV Why, Walter, like the knights 
 of old that you and I used to rant about, I shall be com 
 pelled to defy you to mortal combat if you do not ac 
 knowledge her peerless charms in warmer terms." 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 421 
 
 "And by the same right?" inquired Walter, smiling. 
 
 Oscar s heightened color betrayed more than his 
 words. 
 
 "No," he replied; "no, not her avowed champion 
 and adorer." 
 
 " Her silent one ?" asked Walter, rather uneasily. It 
 was a topic on which he could not well banter. 
 
 Oscar hesitated, became embarrassed, and then ex 
 claimed, with vehemence, "Why should I deny it? 
 With you, at least, I need have no concealments. Yes, 
 Walter, I do love her truly, ardently. She charmed 
 me while still a boy ; you will, perhaps, say I am little 
 more now. But, Walter, I have grown old fast. My 
 late experience has matured me. I see her now with 
 the eyes of a man of one who knows his own wants 
 and find in her gentle sympathy, her ready comprehen 
 sion of me, her sweet unselfish cares for my happiness, 
 the evidence of a character even more beautiful than the 
 outward form in which it is presented. I love, not like 
 a boy, dazzled and intoxicated, but with an appreciation 
 of her so founded that it will last forever!" 
 
 He might have proceeded till wearied of his own 
 voice. Walter was incapable of speech. The utmost 
 he had ever imagined on the part of Oscar was a boyish 
 excitement, perhaps already forgotten in the new scenes 
 and the larger circle to which he had been introduced. 
 It may be comprehended, then, with what feelings he 
 herard this avowal. But the words her "sympathy," 
 her "cares for his happiness," while they struck still 
 deeper, were inexplicable ! " What," he asked himself, 
 " what did they mean ? Have I been blinded by a mis 
 erable self-love ? I will know the worst." 
 
 "And she?" he at length ventured to inquire. 
 
 " I see, Walter," replied Oscar, " that, with your cool 
 way of looking at things, you regard me only as an ex- 
 
422 
 
 citable youth whose feelings are unreliable. I do not 
 resent this. Time shall justify me. For the same rea 
 son you will distrust my impressions of her. I will only 
 say, therefore, that if Eleanor Meredith is no coquette, 
 which you must know it is not in her nature to be, I 
 have no reason to despair. Not that I am such a puppy 
 as to insinuate a single word or look that could compro 
 mise her delicacy. My hope is founded solely on the 
 conviction that, though I have not spoken, she must un 
 derstand me, and that, so doing, she continues the same." 
 
 "And why not speak?" faltered out Walter, feel 
 ing that any certainty were better than this suspense. 
 
 " Ah ! Walter, there is my trouble ! From my father 
 I apprehend no opposition; but to you I will admit 
 what I do not allow to others what I try to conceal 
 from myself." 
 
 Oscar paused was moved then, recovering himself, 
 he said, "Do you believe in presentiments?" 
 
 Walter was not exactly in that frame of mind best fit 
 ted to answer such a question. 
 
 He only replied, " No one, I believe, is always proof 
 against them." 
 
 "I, at least," continued Oscar, " am not. I believe, 
 I should rather say, I fear, I shall die early perhaps 
 soon. I thought myself well. I have had some int? 
 mations of late that suggest the contrary, and confirm 
 an impression I have long had, but which never till now 
 afflicted me. At present, therefore, I deliberately avoid 
 an explanation that might only commit her to greater 
 suffering. Will you not now believe in me, Walter, 
 when you see I am not incapable of self-control?" 
 
 " But do you equally avoid," asked Walter, evading 
 the question, " do you equally avoid securing an inter 
 est that must lead to the same consequences ?" 
 
 " I am not sure. It is so difficult when with her to 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 423 
 
 resist the sweetness that seems to draw the very heart 
 out of me. But if I err, it is at least not designedly. 
 You will, of course, go there to-morrow. We will go 
 together, and you shall see yourself how wise and reso 
 lute I can be." 
 
 Walter could not trust himself with more than a si 
 lent assent, and Oscar paused for some moments ; then, 
 with much feeling, but with his usual manly frankness, 
 said, " I am disappointed, Walter. I expected from you 
 a sympathy more demonstrative. For this reason I 
 longed to see you to speak to you of what I could speak 
 to no one else my hopes ! my fears ! But I see how it 
 is. I am in your eyes still a boy ; and this my first essay 
 in the tender passion, to which many others will succeed 
 before I am really caught ! I thought you would better 
 understand me. Well, well, time will show." 
 
 Walter s distress was intolerable. What could he 
 say? How so speak as neither to wound nor deceive 
 Oscar? Neither to compromise Eleanor nor himself? 
 The instinct of truth saved him. 
 
 " Oscar," said he, in a tone so earnest and affectionate, 
 that it could not but bring conviction, " never has my 
 interest in you been so strong as at this moment. I be 
 lieve in your love; I respect your self-control, and I 
 pray Heaven that your impressions of your health may 
 be mistaken. But let us talk no farther at present. It 
 is not best. Good-night. We will do to-morrow what 
 ever you choose." 
 
 He retired, but it was only to give vent to feelings he 
 had with such difficulty suppressed. What they were, 
 may be supposed easily divined by one as much in his 
 confidence as the reader presumes himself to be. 
 
 But there were complications of which even he is yet 
 ignorant. 
 
 Out of a chaos of fear and perplexity there came ques- 
 
424 
 
 tionings which Walter sought to resolve. " Was she, 
 but lately so kind, so confiding, was she capricious and 
 unstable ? Could she have so little depth ?" To one 
 who, like himself, might say that he " could not forget," 
 this would be less pardonable than much that was posi 
 tively wrong. " If such were the case, he could bear to 
 lose her. It would be a stern effort, but a short one." 
 
 "But let him be just. She was perhaps more con 
 sistent than himself. Had he not pronounced his own 
 doom when he first tore himself from her ? And, if she 
 still met him kindly, had she not wisely and resolutely 
 forbidden him to cross her threshold? Was not this 
 sufficiently significant ? If compassion had subsequent 
 ly pleaded for Oscar if the wishes of her friends had rec 
 ommended, perhaps urged his suit of what had he to 
 complain ? On the other hand, if this impression were 
 so feeble that a previous preference might yet be revived, 
 in that case were not her own feelings entitled to consid 
 eration ? Ah ! let me not," he thought, " be tempted by 
 this insidious suggestion." 
 
 No ; he dealt boldly and truly with his own soul, and 
 he came resolved to his conclusion. He would see them 
 together. He would observe her calmly, and, if he de 
 tected even a leaning in favor of Oscar, he would crush 
 unrelentingly the hope that had recently dawned on 
 himself. 
 
 The next day they drove to the Oaks. They were 
 shown into the dining-room, where Walter was present 
 ed to Mrs. Grafton and her father, and received very 
 civilly by Mr. and Mrs. Meredith. 
 
 A servant was sent to inform Miss Eleanor, but she 
 already knew whom she was to see. Her quick eye had 
 caught a glimpse of Walter as he alighted from the car 
 riage. She was as quickly reminded of the self-con 
 demnation their last interview had caused her, and of 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 425 
 
 the resolutions she had then formed. To these was add 
 ed the reflection that she was now to meet him in the 
 presence of others ; and she was seized with a nervous 
 tremor lest she might betray what her present nicer 
 sense of propriety taught her should never have escaped 
 her own breast. 
 
 Under this apprehension she entered the room. The 
 consciousness of constraint increased it. For relief she 
 addressed Oscar, and the warmth she had not dared to 
 manifest to Walter spent itself on him. Denying a 
 healthful draught to the one, she unwittingly gave poison 
 to the other. 
 
 Mr. Grafton observed the difference. 
 
 "Poor Walter!" thought he, as he turned an inquir 
 ing look at Eleanor. 
 
 She perceived it. The fear of being watched took 
 possession of hen She became more conscious, and, of 
 course, more cold. 
 
 Walter could not but feel it ; but, though perplexed, 
 he was still incredulous as to a real change. He endeav 
 ored, by his own behavior, to relieve her. He talked of 
 indifferent things, and she gradually regained more self- 
 possession, but she was not natural. An increasing 
 dread of some mistake on her part of unkindness, in 
 consistencygave to her countenance an uncertain ex 
 pression. Her manner became ambiguous. " It might 
 indicate an interest in Oscar; it might conceal an en 
 during but repressed sentiment toward himself." A 
 lover s instinct inclined to the last. He felt as if one 
 word, one look, would be an * open sesame to that heart 
 never closed to him before. But there was that, even 
 stronger than love, which forbade that word, that look. 
 
 Ketreating from Eleanor, he advanced toward Mrs. 
 Grafton ; and they were mutually so well pleased, that 
 Eleanor, having no farther opportunity to address him, 
 permitted herself to be engrossed by Oscar. 
 
426 
 
 Endurance, however perfect, has, like all things, its 
 limits ; and, on the entrance of other company, Walter 
 succeeded in drawing Oscar, reluctantly, away. 
 
 Thus passed a week. Walter, compelled when at 
 home to listen to the raptures, plans, and hopes of Os 
 car, was glad to escape them even by visits to the Oaks, 
 though the same tmpropitious circumstances prevented 
 any clearer comprehension of Eleanor ; the same circle 
 always present, the same obstacles to any conversation 
 with her. He was satisfied with no inferences that could 
 be drawn from the small opportunities afforded him. 
 Eleanor, once open as the day, became an enigma to 
 him. A few weeks since, animated, confiding, natural ; 
 now, restless, disturbed, and with a mind evidently ill at 
 ease. At one moment he would compassionate what 
 might be painful vacillation on the subject of Oscar, the 
 next reproach her inconsistency to himself. -" But why?" 
 he would ask. "Did I not counsel her to forget me? 
 Did I not abjure the language of love to her very face? 
 Was she to be faithful to a phantom ? No ; I ought to 
 be the sufferer. I would not, if I could, turn the trem 
 bling scale that vibrates in favor of Oscar." 
 
 One evening, the weather proving unfit for Oscar to 
 go, as he had purposed, to the Oaks, in the hope of at 
 least hearing from there, he persuaded Walter to do so. 
 He found the family, as usual, together, Mrs. Meredith 
 and Eleanor at work. The conversation for a while was 
 general ; and, though Eleanor took little part in it, she 
 seemed more at ease than usual. At length Walter ap 
 proached the table at which she sat. 
 
 "As industrious as ever!" said he. 
 
 She looked up; the light fell full on her face, but a 
 smile even brighter overspread it. 
 
 " Oh no ! I accomplish nothing. I am a lazy girl now." 
 
 " Can that mean," thought Walter, " that the heart is 
 too busy to let head or hands work?" 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 427 
 
 " Some people can afford to be idle," said he. " The 
 bee is so in winter, you know." 
 
 " Yes ; but I have gathered no honey, I fear." 
 
 "None, perhaps, that you will exhibit; for, like the 
 bees, you do not fancy a glass hive." 
 
 A pleasant reply was on her lip, but her father ap 
 proached, and it was checked. 
 
 " What is this I hear ?" asked he. " Is young Middle- 
 ton going to Bermuda this autumn ?" 
 
 "He thinks of it, sir," replied Walter. 
 
 " But not for his health, surely : he looks better than 
 he did." 
 
 " Tis, I hope, rather a measure of precaution than ne 
 cessity. His father has always had a dread of our win 
 ters for him." 
 
 "Does his father go with him?" 
 
 "No, sir; I shall do so." 
 
 "Indeed! That may be for your advantage. I am 
 glad to hear it. When do you go ?" 
 
 " We shall leave here as soon as Mr. Middleton returns, 
 on a preliminary excursion, which will occupy some 
 weeks ; after which we shall proceed to Bermuda." 
 
 Eleanor had not spoken, and Walter had avoided to 
 look at her. Now a movement of her chair compelled 
 him to do so. Her smile was gone. A troubled ex 
 pression replaced it, and, in a flurried manner, she gath 
 ered her work as if to change her seat. 
 
 " Can I assist you?" he asked. 
 
 Without answering, she hastened toward the door, left 
 the room, and did not return. 
 
 Mr. Meredith took the seat she had left, and Walter 
 was condemned, while thinking of any thing else, to list 
 en to details and questions as to the climate and condi 
 tion of Bermuda, the opportunities he might find there 
 of advancing his own interests, how he would like such 
 
428 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 a residence, and the offer of letters to two or three ac 
 quaintances Mr. Meredith happened to have there ; all 
 of which, however well meant, were at this moment as 
 unwelcome as unnecessary; and, as soon as he could es 
 cape, he took his leave. 
 
 Arrived at home, another trial awaited him. Oscar 
 insisted on knowing how Eleanor looked, how she was 
 dressed, how occupied ; if she were in spirits ; if she 
 spoke of him ? 
 
 Walter submitted to "the question" manfully. He 
 even did more. He magnanimously and unflinchingly 
 related the effect produced on her by the announcement 
 of his approaching departure. He did well. It was not 
 more delightful to Oscar than a wholesome, because in 
 durating process to himself. 
 
 Faint not, Walter I 
 
 * And thou shalt know, ere long 1 
 
 know how sublime a thing it is 
 
 To suffer, and be strong!" 
 
 Eleanor, meanwhile, was little to be envied. She had 
 acted impulsively, and, as was often her experience, now 
 regretted it, 
 
 Walter, occupied with studying her, had been unaware 
 of the change in his own manner, scarcely to be avoided 
 under the circumstances. Each had thus unconsciously 
 distressed and repelled the other, and were equally seek 
 ing an explanation of what was only in themselves. 
 
 " And now he is going!" exclaimed Eleanor, as she 
 sat leaning her throbbing head on her hands; "to be 
 gone for months, and then, of course, not to return here* 
 I may not see him, heaven only knows when ! He goes, 
 too, without a single word of interest in me since we 
 met ! Not love ; that I know he would not speak, even 
 if he felt it. But, surely, we may be friends, if no more*. 
 No, even this is past, I see it, I can not explain it, but 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 429 
 
 I feel it. Perhaps I ought to have staid; he might 
 have had something now to say to me. He may have 
 come on purpose ! foolish girl ! and yet, at this moment, 
 I ran away ! I will go down ; I will sit by him ; will 
 talk to him as I used to do ; will even say, What is this 
 dreadful blank that has come between us? " and, starting 
 up, she rushed to the parlor. She was too late. Walter 
 had gone. 
 
430 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 CHAPTER XLIL 
 
 THE next morning Walter had business in the city, 
 but Oscar declined accompanying him, reserving him 
 self for a drive to the Oaks in the afternoon. Taking a 
 book from the library, he retired to his own room com 
 municating with it, and threw himself on a couch, not 
 so much to read as to muse. 
 
 And now his ardent spirit, refined, but not tamed, by 
 its companionship with a delicate frame, indulged in the 
 fond fancies of sanguine, unsuspecting youth. u He 
 must, indeed, absent himself for a short time. He was 
 aware that he was less well than he had been, but it was 
 the natural consequence of sorrow and depressing cir 
 cumstances. He was not in the best condition, therefore, 
 to encounter a northern winter. But he should return 
 well ! He had always improved by a change of climate. 
 And then he should be justified in a full avowal to Elea 
 nor. But could he be sure of the answer he desired? 
 Sure! no! he was not so presumptuous. Yet neither 
 could he despair when he reflected on her almost tender 
 interest in his happiness. The feeling, too, betrayed at 
 the intelligence of his departure ! Dear, kind Walter ; 
 how true his sympathy ! manly and self-restrained as he 
 always was, yet how moved had he been while telling 
 him. And even if she now feels only friendship, might 
 not his faithful love in time secure its reward? Oh 
 yes ! he would not doubt it I" 
 
 Hope gilded his future in her brightest dyes. His 
 book lay unopened by his side, while his own face pre 
 sented a page that would have repaid the perusal. His 
 kindling eye, his excited color, alas ! too high, and the 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 431 
 
 smile that played about liis mouth betrayed the promise 
 that his heart whispered ! 
 
 The door into the library was open. A footstep was 
 heard in the hall, and a voice he did not know inquired 
 of the servant in attendance if Mr. Middleton were at 
 home. 
 
 " No, sir." 
 
 "Is he in the city?" 
 
 "No, sir. He has been absent some time." 
 
 "When will he return?" 
 
 " Perhaps not for several days, sir." 
 
 There was a pause, apparently hesitation and disap 
 pointment, which the servant perceiving, said, 
 
 " His son is at home, sir." 
 
 " His son! indeed ! I will see him, then." 
 
 Oscar rose and went into the room, where he saw a 
 middle-aged gentleman, of a grave, rather cold, business 
 like appearance, who announced himself as Mr. Bolton. 
 
 Oscar bowed, and begged him to be seated. The name 
 was new to him. 
 
 " Mr. Middleton s son, I presume." 
 
 Oscar returned an affirmative bow. 
 
 " His only son?" 
 
 Again Oscar bowed. 
 
 " There were others, I think." 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "But none of them are living?" 
 
 " No, sir," said Oscar, rather annoyed by such inqui 
 ries from a stranger. 
 
 " I am sorry not to see your father at once," continued 
 Mr. Bolton, " as I wished without delay to put into his 
 own hand this packet, containing papers of importance. 
 But the next best thing is *to place it in your custody, 
 whose interest in them is not less than his own," and he 
 laid it on the library table, by his side. 
 
432 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 "I will see that my father has it as soon as he ar 
 rives." 
 
 The gentleman then rose to depart. Oscar repeated 
 his invitation to rest himself, but he declined. 
 
 "Before I go, however," said he, "I may, I hope, be 
 permitted to express my satisfaction at seeing you here, 
 young gentleman, in your proper place." 
 
 " Here !" thought Oscar ; " where else could I be?" 
 
 " A fact," continued Mr. Bolton, " that I shall have 
 great pleasure in communicating to my respected client, 
 to whom I shall write to-day." 
 
 Oscar stared. " The man is under some gross mis 
 take!" thought he. 
 
 " You look surprised," said the gentleman, and well 
 may be, that a stranger should be aware of what, I pre 
 sume, has been but lately made known to yourself. But 
 the confidential relation in which my respected client 
 your honored mother, sir, as you must understand has 
 thought proper to place me, has necessarily put me in 
 possession of many private and family matters." 
 
 "The man is mad!" thought Oscar, listening in silence, 
 and with a. look of extreme perplexity, which induced 
 Mr. Bolton to repeat his inquiries. 
 
 " You are Mr. Middleton s only son ? I think you 
 said so." 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 " The others are dead? I understood you so to say." 
 
 Oscar again assented. 
 
 " Not that, if living, it would be material," he con 
 tinued, with the same cross-examining air, " but it would 
 be disagreeable, of course " 
 
 " Sir !" interrupted Oscar, indignantly. 
 
 But, not heeding, the gentleman proceeded. 
 
 " Yes ; I am right. His only son, heretofore known 
 as Walter Thornley his only child by his only wedded 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 433 
 
 wife residing in England, she being a subject of his 
 British majesty; the rights of which child I am sent over 
 to make known, and, if necessary, to enforce ; but which 
 rights, I am happy to observe, have been acknowledged 
 without my interference." 
 
 This, like what had preceded, would have been re 
 garded as some unaccountable mistake, or the ravings 
 of a disordered mind ; but that, as Oscar had grown old 
 er, his father s peculiarities had occasioned him much 
 painful perplexity his strange paroxysms of unexplain 
 ed distress, and the mystery that rested on his early life. 
 Habitual respect for him had rejected the idea of crime 
 or disgrace, but a vague fear had haunted him of some 
 youthful wrong-doing, the remembrance of which had, 
 perhaps by a morbid exaggeration, been a spectre in his 
 path through life. These words, therefore, fearful and 
 incomprehensible, were received as a revelation, and 
 struck on a chord the vibrations of which were too much 
 for his sensitive nature. 
 
 Turning deadly pale, his hand pressed to his breast as 
 if in acute pain, he staggered, and would have fallen, had 
 not Mr. Bolton, extending his arms, caught him. His 
 cry of alarm brought in a servant from the hall, and to 
 gether they succeeded in laying him on the couch in his 
 own room. 
 
 Supposing him to be faint, the servant hastened for a 
 restorative, and Mr. Bolton looked with consternation 
 on the mischief which, he knew not why, he seemed to 
 have caused. A moment passed, and a glass was offer 
 ed to Oscar. Without opening his eyes, with a feeble 
 motion of the hand he repulsed it ; and they saw with 
 dismay that blood was issuing from his mouth. 
 
 " A physician !" exclaimed Mr. Bolton ; " lose no 
 time!" 
 
 The man, in obeying the injunction, encountered Wai- 
 T 
 
434 
 
 ter entering. One glance revealed the condition of his 
 friend. Ordering the servant to remain, he rushed from 
 the house. The chaise of the family physician stood at 
 a door in the neighborhood. He flew rather than ran ; 
 entered and found him just departing. Few words were 
 necessary, and they were at Mr. Middleton s with the 
 speed which, unhappily, the case required. 
 
 Whatever skill and experience suggested to a judi 
 cious man, well understanding the constitution of his 
 patient, was at once resorted to, with an injunction to 
 silence and tranquillity, and no attendance but that 
 strictly necessary. Oscar spoke not. His eyes remain 
 ed closed, and only by an occasional movement of his 
 hand he indicated a want or rejected an offer. 
 
 " He is very right," whispered Doctor Barton. " The 
 less he hears, sees, or speaks, the better. His pulse be 
 trays much disturbance of the system." 
 
 Alas 1 They did not understand that in the miserable 
 conflict within, he instinctively excluded every sight and 
 sound. 
 
 Meanwhile, Mr. Bolton, still under his original mistake, 
 with many expressions of regret, the more hearty as he 
 believed that the calamity nearly touched his " honored 
 client," took his leave ; and the doctor, having at length 
 succeeded in checking the hemorrhage, left Oscar in the 
 care of Walter and the faithful Wilson. 
 
 After dispatching a note to Mr. Grafton, Walter seat 
 ed himself sufficiently near to watch, without disturbing, 
 Oscar. The day was now declining, and the darkened 
 room, the perfect quiet, and an anodyne, would, he trust 
 ed, induce sleep. He was not yet aware that a thought 
 had been rudely thrust into that gentle breast that " man- 
 dragora nor all the drowsy sirups of the world" could 
 effectually still ! 
 
 But at length, for a brief space, the " sweet restorer" 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 435 
 
 came. The restless muscles were quiet; the nerves 
 ceased their agitation ; a more regular pulsation return 
 ed ; the face was calm. He slept. 
 
 The night had fallen, and so profound was the still 
 ness that the faintest sound might have been detected. 
 Walter heard only the ticking of his watch, and the 
 breathing from the sick-bed, at first quick, but by de 
 grees indicating the better rest of the sleeper. 
 
 " Thank heaven 1" he ejaculated, with a sense of in 
 finite relief. 
 
 An hour or more passed, and carriage-wheels were 
 heard. They approached the house. They stopped at 
 the door ; it opened. Some one entered, met by others 
 cautiously approaching from within. Then suppressed 
 voices were heard. Then low sounds of distress came 
 from the library. 
 
 Walter, afraid to stir, did not attempt to close the 
 door of Oscar s room, till the sounds becoming more 
 audible, he ventured to move toward it. In doing so 
 he was shocked to perceive Mr. Middleton extended on 
 the sofa, his face covered with his hands. Mr. Grafton 
 stood near him. Walter remained immovable. Mr. 
 Grafton turned, saw, and beckoned to him. Walter ad 
 vanced. "Speak!" said Mr. Grafton, in a low but de 
 cided tone. " Tis the best moment. One strong emo 
 tion will control another." 
 
 Walter obeyed. Approaching the sofa, he knelt, and 
 in a tender voice uttered one word : 
 
 "Father!" 
 
 It was enough. Mr. Middleton turned on Walter a 
 startled and agitated look, but unattended by any vio 
 lent demonstration. On the contrary, putting his arm 
 gently round him, he said, with an emphasis that went 
 to his heart, but in a low and broken voice, " My noble 
 son!" 
 
436 WALTER THOKNLEY; OR, 
 
 Walter took his hand, pressed it to his lips, and meet 
 ing those eyes that seemed to seek his secret thoughts, 
 answered their scrutiny with an expression of such man 
 ly confidence, such compassionate tenderness, that Mr. 
 Middleton could neither distrust nor fear him. He suf 
 fered Walter to retain his hand, and gazed on him in 
 silence, till, by a sign, Mr. Grafton called him to his 
 side. 
 
 " The worst is over," he whispered. " Eeturn to your 
 charge. Mr. Middleton is mine." 
 
 Oscar still slept. The night was far advanced, but 
 Walter was too deeply moved to sleep. While he re 
 flected with thankfulness that the dreaded interview 
 for which he had in some degree been prepared was 
 past, he knew there was much yet to suffer. He had, 
 indeed, found that for which he had been so long impor 
 tunate for which he had wept and prayed. He had a 
 name, a place among the kindreds of men. He was no 
 longer a waif, a stray on the great common of the world, 
 to be picked up and claimed by he could not tell whom 
 liable at any moment to be dissevered from all he held 
 dear, and united, perhaps indissolubly, to all most ab 
 horrent. 
 
 But there was another side darker, perhaps, than he 
 feared full of wrong and wretchedness ! There was an 
 innocent sufferer, from whom all was wrenched that he 
 himself had gained ! What new duties were involved 
 in these strange developments ? Was it for him, who, 
 when cast away, had been gathered in ; when desert 
 ed, had been sheltered ; when unknown, had been cared 
 for, instructed, and protected, and to whom rights de 
 spaired of had now been restored w r as it for him to 
 ask more? "No," thought he, the same self-denying 
 purpose animating him by which he had already been 
 actuated, "No; her love, too pure to be affected by ex- 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 437 
 
 ternal changes, shall compensate him for all he has lost ! 
 If I yet have influence it shall be used for him." 
 
 While Walter kept his unbroken vigil, Mr. Grafton 
 devoted himself to Mr. Middle ton. 
 
 He had hurried to the Lodge on receiving Walter s 
 note. The packet on the table had caught his attention. 
 
 "It was left," Wilson said, "by the gentleman whose 
 conversation had brought on all the trouble." 
 
 The truth flashed on Mr. Grafton already prepared 
 for it. The communication, so carefully, for the present, 
 averted, had been made by a stranger ; ignorant, too, of 
 the nature with which he was dealing. The result did 
 not surprise him. 
 
 Mr. Middleton being induced to withdraw to his own 
 room, a fearful scene ensued. A new terror seized him. 
 " Oscar was not prostrated by an inevitable disease. No ; 
 the blow might never have fallen. He himself was his 
 murderer ! The avenging judgment of God was upon 
 him ! The victim demanded was his own child slain 
 by his own hand ! The fruit of his body for the sin of 
 his soul !" 
 
 Though no two men could be more different, Mr. 
 Grafton was the person who at this moment could most 
 influence him. His sympathy ever responding to the 
 cry of the afflicted, from whatever cause like the oil 
 and wine in the wounds of him who fell among thieves, 
 shed its balm on the sore and remorseful spirit that now 
 poured forth its agony into his heart. His efforts were 
 at length so far successful that he left Mr. Middleton in 
 some degree composed. His next care was to see Mr. 
 Bolton, to inform him of the actual state of things, and 
 to secure his silence, for the reason that publicity at 
 present could only aggravate the feelings of all. 
 
 The morning found Oscar more refreshed and calm 
 than they had dared to hope. But a deep seriousness 
 
438 
 
 was on his countenance. He watched every one who 
 approached; he listened to every sound. He did not 
 attempt to speak, or even to move. He seemed reserv 
 ing his strength for some definite purpose. 
 
 The physician came. He pronounced every thing as 
 favorable as he had expected. This was ambiguous, but 
 no one dared to ask any thing more explicit. 
 
 Oscar made a sign for a pencil, and, with a slight ef 
 fort, wrote, " My father is returned ; I must see him." 
 
 The physician hesitated. Oscar perceived it. An im 
 patient frown obscured for an instant the almost deathly 
 calm of his face. " I must" he wrote, " for one word." 
 
 It was no longer opposed, and Mr. Grafton went to 
 inform Mr. Middleton. They returned together. Mr. 
 Grafton and the physician withdrew to the library. 
 Walter rose to follow them, but a sign from Oscar de 
 tained him. 
 
 Mr. Middleton, with feelings that no words could ade 
 quately convey, approached and leaned over his son. 
 Oscar s calmness seemed something supernatural. Fix 
 ing his eye intently on his father s agitated face, his own 
 colorless and quiet almost to sternness, occupied with 
 one idea, he yet uttered no sound. At length his lips 
 moved, and one word passed them u My mother?" 
 
 " I know what you would ask !" exclaimed his father. 
 " She was as unconscious of wrong to others as to her 
 self. She was pure as the angels to whom she has gone 1" 
 A smile, sweet as that of infancy, a glance upcast, ex 
 pressed the joy and gratitude these words inspired. 
 Looking to Walter, he said, speaking very low, but with 
 much significance, u You hear; I thought so. I shall die 
 happy." Then, closing his eyes, he seemed to decline all 
 farther communication. Mr. Middleton was equally unfit 
 for it, and, on the entrance of the physician, who imposed 
 the most rigorous restrictions, he left the room. 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 439 
 
 During many succeeding days judicious care and treat 
 ment had their proper effect, and the physician s opinion 
 was decidedly favorable. The stony look was gone ; his 
 natural sweetness returned. As his father sat by his 
 bed, he would often extend his hand, as with a desire to 
 comfort him ; and Walter, his unwearied attendant, his 
 loving eyes were always seeking. Every day now 
 brought some improvement. He was allowed to change 
 his position more freely, to talk, with certain restrictions, 
 and to sit up. All things promked well, and his physi 
 cian authorized the confident hope thus inspired. 
 
440 WALTER THORNLEY; OB, 
 
 CHAPTER XLIII. 
 
 WALTER had not been to the Oaks since the illness 
 of Oscar ; but he was now so much better as not to re 
 quire his presence, even preferring to be alone ; he drove 
 over, therefore, to see Mr. Grafton, with whom he had 
 business. 
 
 As he approached the house, he hoped that he should 
 not see Eleanor. He asked, accordingly, only for Mr. 
 Grafton, but a light step on the staircase made him aware 
 that his wish was not granted. Looking up, he perceiv 
 ed her descending. She had not yet seen him. As she 
 came nearer her cheek flushed, her eye brightened, and, 
 with a spring, she was by his side. 
 
 " Ah ! Mr. Thornley," she exclaimed, forgetting the 
 caution which his own reserve and absence rendered un 
 necessary, " indeed ! tis long since you were here." 
 
 " She has heard," he thought, " that he is doing well. 
 I wish he could see how happy it has made her ! it would 
 be his best medicine." 
 
 "Yes," he said, "it is, indeed, a long time to be so 
 near, and yet so " "far apart," he would have said, but 
 he corrected himself " and yet unable to see my friends. 
 But we are, as you know, so much relieved about Oscar, 
 that I can not regret any thing." 
 
 " Oh yes ! I have heard ; tis delightful ! Yes, yes, he 
 will recover ; you may be certain of it ;" and, in the 
 hopeful temper natural to her, and to encourage "Walter, 
 she continued; "the attack, I understand, was quite ac 
 cidental; one that might happen to any body not at 
 all likely to return again ; and then, you know, Nature 
 is always on the side of youth." 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 441 
 
 He was a little surprised, almost pained, at her man 
 ner. "It was," he though^ "something too easy;" but 
 he repelled the harsh imputation. "Love is stronger 
 than fear," he reflected. "Poor girl! has she never 
 heard that the young die ?" 
 
 " The doctor, I understand," continued Eleanor, "gives 
 every assurance." 
 
 " Oh yes; he justifies all you say. But where is Mr. 
 Grafton ? I came to see him." 
 
 " Only to see him? Mamma will not let you go be 
 fore dinner, I am sure." 
 
 But, pleading the necessity of his return, he hurried 
 away. 
 
 Having seen Mr. Grafton, he drove rapidly home. Os 
 car was not quite so well as he had left him. A little 
 excited, feverish, and exhausted. 
 
 "Walter s anxious look called for an explanation, and 
 Oscar, with a smile, pointed to a sheet of paper near him. 
 He had been writing. 
 
 " Oh, Oscar ! how could you ?" said he, reproachfully. 
 
 He waved his hand to ward off reproof. " Tis done," 
 said he, and Walter was silent. 
 
 After a few moments, pointing to the paper, it was 
 handed to him. He folded it, put it into Walter s hand, 
 and said, with earnestness, "For you ; read it alone." 
 
 The restlessness gradually subsided, and he fell into a 
 sleep that it was hoped would entirely remove the effects 
 of his ill-timed exertion. But, though he slept, his face 
 was not calm. Slight contractions of the brow and 
 mouth disturbed it. Sad thoughts seemed flitting over 
 it, and, occasionally, a faint sigh struggled forth. 
 
 Walter remained motionless near him, and, when he 
 awoke, a kind smile acknowledged his care ; but it yield 
 ed to the same deep seriousness, so marked in the first 
 days of his illness. His eyes were fixed in thought. He 
 
 T2 
 
442 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 seemed unconscious of the presence of any one. Medi 
 cine was brought him; he took it without a question. 
 Food was offered, garnished with savory remarks from 
 Wilson ; he received it mechanically. His father enter 
 ed, and his mounting color and quivering lip showed 
 him unequal to the visit. He retired, and Oscar became 
 calm. 
 
 At night "Walter retired to the library, where he had 
 slept since Oscar had been so well as to dispense with a 
 nearer attendance. Waiting till all was quiet, he drew 
 the manuscript from his pocket which Oscar had given 
 him, and read as follows : 
 
 " Though my heart and brain are full, I must be brief. 
 
 "I have at last had a communication with my father. 
 I could weep tears of blood ! Oh, how gladly would 
 I die to expiate the wrong he has inflicted, to remove 
 the suffering he endures. Alas ! my death can only 
 aggravate his misery. That this can not be long de 
 layed I have the fullest conviction ; no hopes nor assu 
 rances deceive me. I am dying even now. Keceive, 
 then, these, my parting words ; I may have strength for 
 no other. Walter! long the brother of my heart, no 
 natural ties can make you dearer ; and, thank Heaven, 
 nothing can render you less so ! Do not, for an instant, 
 wrong me by such a suspicion. Comfort my father! 
 and one other care I leave with you. See Eleanor. It 
 can not be that I have mistaken the nature of her sym 
 pathy ! But, if I have done so, offended delicacy will be 
 appeased by the grave. Explain to her my silence, if 
 she does not already understand it. I would not be re 
 membered as trifling and inconsistent. Convey to her 
 the assurance of my undying love. Say to her that at 
 this moment I am conscious of no earthly interest stron 
 ger than my desire for her happiness. That I pray she 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 443 
 
 may find it in a union with one who, though he can not 
 love her more, may better deserve her than myself. 
 
 "Oh, how many thoughts struggle for utterance as 
 I think of her! The happy past returns to me, the 
 blessed future that I hoped for beams upon me ! But 
 of these I must not speak. Time is closing its gates. 
 The opening portals of another world demand my 
 thoughts. 
 
 " Do not grieve for me ; I go to my mother ! Tis well 
 it is so. Earth has no place for her, nor for me. Death 
 has no terror ! I deserve nothing, I claim nothing, but 
 throw myself, with the faith of a child, on Him who 
 never rejected any that came to Him. To my kind 
 friends all I can not specify my last love and thanks. 
 And now, my dear and faithful friend and brother, be 
 heaven s choicest blessings yours ! My parting soul will 
 rely upon you. Let me feel the pressure of your hand 
 when I can not return it, and whisper peace and love to 
 me, even when you believe " the dull, cold ear of death" 
 is insensible. The spirit may perceive, though the bodi 
 ly organism is dissolving. Have we not heard of strange 
 suspensions of the physical powers, mistaken for death 
 itself, when yet the mind was conscious ? Farewell, my 
 brother!" 
 
 
 
 11 My brother !" echoed the throbbing heart of Walter. 
 "Dear, generous, magnanimous Oscar! Can it be that 
 I must part with you ?" 
 
 Overcome by emotion, he threw himself back in his 
 chair, and yielded to the recollections that came rushing 
 over him to the fearful forebodings that cast their 
 shadows before the loving instinct with which Oscar 
 had clung to him from the first moment they met ; his 
 confiding, child-like temper, still the same, however 
 modified by the growth of his character; the brave, 
 
444 
 
 yet humble spirit in which he now prepared for "the 
 supreme hour," that, perhaps, he too surely predicted! 
 
 " Ah ! my brother !" exclaimed he ; " loved but to be 
 lamented ! found but to be lost ! How in this hard world 
 am I reserved, perhaps repulsive, distrustful how am 
 I ever to replace the love you voluntarily gave me ?" 
 
 Absorbed in these reflections, Walter was unconscious 
 of time, till a moan from Oscar arrested his attention. 
 Starting up, he went noiselessly into his room and ap 
 proached the bed, where he trusted to find nothing worse 
 than disturbed sleep. He beheld, with horror, the life- 
 stream again issuing from his mouth; His face was 
 deadly pale, but perfectly calm. He exerted himself to 
 extend a hand to Walter, then directed it upward. It 
 fell heavily, and a fresh gush of blood betrayed the ef 
 fort it had cost him. 
 
 His father and the physician were summoned. The 
 face of the latter confirmed the terrors of Mr. Middleton 
 and Walter. Oscar alone was serene. In the words of 
 the Oriental poet, 
 
 "He alone could smile 
 While all around him wept." 
 
 The usual remedies had some effect, but the extreme 
 exhaustion was fearful, and the doctor felt himself com 
 pelled to admit to Mr. Middleton his alarm, though with 
 some qualifications. 
 
 Oscar more accurately interpreted his condition. He 
 looked first at his father, then at Walter, and, with an 
 expression evidently intended to remind him of his re 
 quest, he motioned for his hand. When given, he feebly 
 clasped it, and Walter, comprehending his wish, seated 
 himself by his side. A gentle inclination of his head 
 signified his satisfaction. His eyes, full of tenderness, 
 were directed alternately to his father and his friend. 
 At length they closed, and he seemed to sleep. 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 445 
 
 The physician left them for half an hour, at which 
 time he returned. He immediately detected a change. 
 He placed his hand on the pulse ; it was weak and flut 
 tering. The eyes were partially open, but there was 
 "no speculation" in them! Their sense, now shut to 
 earth, was turned 
 
 "To the luminous side 
 Of Death" 
 
 and a sweet peace had descended on the countenance, 
 that seemed to say " the welcome was heard in the heav 
 enly world ere the farewell was hushed in this !" 
 
 In speechless sorrow they watched the gentle parting, 
 which no suffering aggravated. Mr. Middleton, with 
 eyes fixed, stood motionless, as if stricken by a hand in 
 visible to all but him ; while Walter, with head inclined, 
 whispered words of love that could only be answered 
 from the spirit-land! The feeble, intermitting pulse 
 failed, the low, scarce audible breathing, ceased Oscar 
 was gone ! 
 
446 WALTER THOKNLEY; OK, 
 
 CHAPTEE XLIY. 
 
 ON the appointed day, at the soft twilight hour, the 
 last sad offices were performed ; and Walter, seeking, 
 when all was done, " a place where to weep, entered into 
 his chamber and wept there." Feelings restrained in 
 consideration of Mr. Middleton were no longer to be 
 controlled. Leaning his head on his arms, crossed on 
 the table before him, sorrow subdued him as nothing 
 had ever done. That chill of loneliness, which death 
 only can bring, came over him. As yet, he knew not 
 what relations might exist between Mr. Middleton and 
 himself. Engrossed by the same object of intense con 
 cern, their peculiar interests were so merged in a com 
 mon sorrow that, except the first few words of recogni 
 tion, no communication strictly personal had passed be 
 tween them. He had lost a brother ; he knew not yet 
 if he had found a father. That brother, too, the truth 
 ful friend on whom he had relied, as an unfailing fount 
 ain of affection ; and he had so few to love him ! That 
 friend, whose unselfish nature a trial most unusual had 
 only more perfectly revealed ! " Why were such things ?" 
 
 The great mystery of death met him with a power 
 such as he had never before felt. The strange, the in 
 conceivable change oppressed him. He, who so lately 
 withheld not a thought from him, had now passed into 
 conditions that permitted no intercommunion ! Again 
 and again his heart asked the question, so often, so un- 
 availingly asked, " How" and "where" does he exist? 
 1 Is it under the same lineaments as heretofore? Or, 
 as some believe, has his pure nature formed for itself a 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 447 
 
 celestial body, only recognized by those who, in like 
 manner, are clothed upon by indestructible qualities? 
 Does the emancipated spirit move among those bright 
 orbs above us, listening to melodies 
 
 Which, 
 
 While this muddy vesture of decay 
 Doth grossly close us in, we can not hear? 
 
 Is he expanding under the teachings of those higher in 
 telligences whose sphere is Progress ? Or, conforming to 
 eternal harmonies, has he found his fittest place among 
 those spirits like himself, whose ministration is love?" 
 
 Lost in these shadowy imaginings of a better world, 
 he was recalled to the present by a tap at his door, and 
 a servant handed him a letter. It was from Mr. Mid- 
 dleton, and the contents were as follows : 
 
 " I choose this mode of communication because unfit, 
 at present, for any other. 
 
 "I am too sensible of the delicate forbearance with 
 which you have refrained from all inquiries, to delay the 
 information to which you are entitled. The confidence 
 with which I shall treat you will be the best assurance 
 of my affection, and my sense of your wrongs. Bear 
 with me, then, while I enter into details of my life, with 
 out which my conduct can not be explained. 
 
 "I was the only child of parents who, seeing in me 
 the representative of an ancient and opulent family, un 
 fortunately proportioned their indulgence to their esti 
 mate of my importance. This might not of itself have 
 been fatal, had I not been exposed to a companionship 
 that poisoned my mind and perverted my affections. 
 
 " In the event of my death without issue, the inherit 
 ance was to pass to a cousin, about two years my senior. 
 This youth, an orphan, poor and dependent, and, having 
 this reversionary claim, interested my parents. Instead 
 
448 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 of looking with a jealous eye on one whose position 
 might be supposed to engender an unfriendly feeling 
 toward me, they generously resolved to educate him in 
 such a manner as should fit him for the condition which 
 Providence might possibly assign to him. Acting on 
 this principle, he was invited to our house, and the same 
 care and expense were bestowed on him as on myself. 
 With a good appearance, a natural facility of manner, 
 and more than ordinary intelligence, Warren Talbot 
 soon made himself so acceptable to my parents, that a 
 limited invitation was extended to a permanent arrange 
 ment, and he became a member of our family. By 
 a ready adaptation to my tastes or whims, he soon 
 rendered himself indispensable to me. This was the 
 beginning of an evil which parents more guarded 
 would have seen ; but I was happy, and they were sat 
 isfied. 
 
 "Thus passed our boyhood, Talbot maintaining favor 
 with his patrons by the most entire subserviency and 
 plausibility, and obtaining over me a control of which I 
 was unconscious. 
 
 " With years and increasing temptations his influence 
 became greater and more dangerous. Every youthful 
 folly he fostered ; not by direct advice ; he was much 
 too cunning for so false a step. By feeble opposition he 
 provoked my will and stimulated the desire. The act 
 committed, he reminded me of his better counsel, and, 
 at the same time, contrived to shelter me from the ef 
 fect of my imprudence. 
 
 1 My father, in compliance with his own wish, pur 
 chased an ensign s commission for him. Not that he 
 had any genuine military taste, but he had still less for 
 the laborious study requisite for a learned profession. 
 Subsequently, by favor and good luck, he rose to the 
 rank of captain, when he sold out, having secured for 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 449 
 
 himself a convenient traveling title, and a certain social 
 position, which answered his purpose. 
 
 " My father s death left me master of a fortune, but, 
 unhappily, not of myself. I was still the slave of Tal- 
 bot ; my time, my occupations, my resources, were under 
 his control. Yet so admirably did his instinct of in 
 tense selfishness direct him, that, instead of resisting his 
 power, I was flattered by the idea of my generous pro 
 tection of an unfortunate relative. 
 
 " At length a marriage was negotiated for me. It was 
 merely a union of two fine estates. The lady was hand 
 some, well-educated, and intelligent, and I had no con 
 flicting preference. My mother urged it, because it 
 would "increase my influence;" and, in an evil hour 
 for both, two young persons were led to an altar on 
 which happiness and integrity were sacrificed. My 
 poor mother did not survive to see the ruin she had pre 
 pared. 
 
 " Still, this marriage, unblest as it proved, might have 
 saved me. My wife was truthful and high-minded, and, 
 brief as had been our acquaintance, was really interested 
 in me. It was not long before she learned to distrust 
 Talbot, and to dread his power over me. She ventured 
 to caution me. My pride took the alarm, and he was 
 too acute, and had too much at stake, not to discover 
 the uneasiness between us, and the cause. But, with his 
 usual adroitness, he turned it to his own account. He 
 affected the most candid construction of her motives, 
 and generously withdrew. He absented himself long 
 enough to make his presence indispensable. He was 
 recalled, and more firmly established than ever ; and so 
 magnanimous was his deportment, that, but for that in 
 stinct by which the truly good penetrate the glosses of 
 the wicked and designing, my wife would herself have 
 believed in him. As it was, she suppressed all remon- 
 
450 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 strance; confidence was apparently restored, but he 
 never forgave her. 
 
 " I ought to say that, in my delineation of Talbot, I 
 give him and his motives as I now understand them, 
 from my own experience, assisted by the communica 
 tions of Mr. Grafton, and by papers that have come into 
 my possession. At the period to which I refer, his spell 
 was still upon me. It is now broken. Would to heaven 
 I had sooner seen him in his true colors ! I should then 
 have comprehended and loved your mother; who, too 
 proud to solicit my affection, veiled her own under a 
 coldness that repelled me. Thus we lived till your 
 birth. Disappointed in her husband, she turned to her 
 child, with such absorption as, at Talbot s suggestion, 
 appeared an injury to myself; and an event that ought 
 to have drawn us together, only widened the breach. 
 Availing himself of the alienation, he proposed a Conti 
 nental tour, which your mother, hopeless of resisting his 
 influence, did not oppose, and I left her in the conviction 
 of her entire indifference. 
 
 " Arrived in France, a whim took me to travel under 
 a feigned name. Talbot, as usual, approved, and, enlarg 
 ing on my original idea, which was merely to escape the 
 responsibilities that might attend on my real one an 
 annoyance to my constitutional reserve he represented 
 me as unmarried. I, simply amused at his improvement, 
 attached no importance to it, and we proceeded on our 
 proposed route. After some time passed in the south 
 of France, Spain, and Italy, we went to Germany. My 
 letters from home were few and brief little more than 
 assurances of my child s health, and details of such af 
 fairs as had been intrusted to my wife. No laments for 
 my absence ! no longings for my return ! Why, indeed, 
 should such have been ? Even were they felt, as I have 
 now reason to believe, how could a proud and neglected 
 wife utter them ? 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 451 
 
 " At a German watering-place we met a family whose 
 manners and accomplishments attracted my attention, and 
 we soon ascertained that their rank was in keeping with 
 their appearance. I can not dwell on this event the 
 origin at once of my greatest happiness ! my bitterest 
 woe ! Let it suffice that, in that family I met with the 
 woman who first and forever fixed my love my la 
 mented Theresa! Even to you, son of a much-injured 
 woman, I can not but hold this language, for you have 
 seen her, and, from what she then was, can well im 
 agine her in the flower of youth! still more beautiful in 
 mind and heart than in person. 
 
 "At such places acquaintance soon ripens into inti 
 macy. We met daily, hourly ; our intercourse of that 
 unceremonious, cordial character, which German simplic 
 ity and kindliness on her part, and the secret security of 
 a married man on mine, encouraged. Week after week 
 I prolonged my stay ; yet it was not till the day of sep 
 aration drew nigh that I was aware of the suffering it 
 would cost me. To meet this, however, I called up ev 
 ery thing of manly and upright in my nature. Whatev 
 er might be my indifference to my wife, or the fascina 
 tions of Theresa, I was resolved not to violate duty to 
 the one, nor attempt to secure, even were it possible, the 
 sympathy of the other. 
 
 " It would have been strange if Talbot, to whose anal 
 ysis I had so long been subjected, had not discovered 
 the cause of my disturbance ; and equally so had he 
 not turned it to his own ends. Dreading the influence 
 my wife might yet obtain over me, supported by her 
 child, his part- was to make himself essential to me. 
 In no way could this be so effectually done as by the 
 unprincipled course he at once devised. Affecting the 
 deepest sympathy with me, lamenting my unfortunate 
 position, he then, with the utmost adroitness, insinuated 
 
452 WALTER THORNLEY ; OR, 
 
 the coldness of my wife, her ample fortune independent 
 of myself, the honorable position which my name and 
 connections afforded her ; that, by what the world called 
 " desertion" I took nothing from her but that which she 
 valued least my person. The only consideration, there 
 fore, was what I myself would sacrifice or gain by fol 
 lowing the dictates of my heart. This was for me to 
 decide. 
 
 "But his sophistry did not blind me. I resisted; I 
 did more, I despised it, and quarreled with him outright. 
 In reply to my reproaches of his perfidious counsels he 
 humbled himself, pleaded his devotion to my happiness, 
 and made his peace. 
 
 " We were about to depart. My trunks were packed j 
 every preparation made. I went to take leave, and, 
 while I waited the entrance of Theresa, most unhappily 
 overheard a conversation in an adjoining room, between 
 her mother and sister, which left me no doubt that the 
 sentiment I entertained for her was reciprocated. At 
 this moment, when my brain and heart were on fire with 
 the discovery, she appeared. The effort she made to 
 seem calm only confirmed what I had just heard. Pru 
 dence, duty, honor, were forgotten ! and, instead of the 
 leave-taking for which I had gone, we parted after a mu 
 tual avowal of affection, and a solemn promise to meet 
 again, and forever ! 
 
 " The die was cast. Intoxicated by my passion, I per 
 suaded myself that nothing now remained but to carry 
 out that which destiny had cast upon me. I no longer 
 resisted Talbot. I invited his false and treacherous ad 
 vice ; and, stifling every emotion but love, triumphant 
 love! I surrendered myself into his hands and the 
 woman I adored, whose purity and unconscious in 
 nocence I worshiped, I basely betrayed by an illegal 
 marriage ! Animated by a sentiment as strong, and far 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 453 
 
 more holy than my own, she hesitated at no sacrifice, 
 but consented to go with me immediately to America, 
 reasons for which were easily manufactured by Talbot 
 the principal, a family rupture, which accounted not 
 only for present separation, but for the perpetual es 
 trangement to follow. 
 
 " We came. It would be a treason to Yirtue that I 
 will not perpetrate to say that I was happy. There 
 were, indeed, moments of delirious felicity, when I for 
 got every thing. But even then I paid her an involun 
 tary homage, by rejoicing in the angelic innocence which 
 continually reproached me. 
 
 "My assumed name, and the precautions taken by 
 Talbot, sufficiently concealed the place of my retreat. 
 
 " He returned to England, and contrived to elude sus 
 picion of his participation in my guilt. He was prob 
 ably believed by all but my wife. Her conduct was 
 marked by the same dignified forbearance. She did not 
 attempt to penetrate my disguise, nor to follow me with 
 reproaches. I was as much lost to her as if the grave 
 had closed over me. But her child remained, and filled 
 the heart my baseness would have made a desert. 
 
 The devices of Talbot were not yet exhausted. There 
 was still to be perpetrated another villainy, by which to 
 bind me to him. I am willing to believe that the orig 
 inal impulse to the unprincipled act was to relieve me, 
 though, when committed, he quickly saw how available 
 it might be to himself. He knew that, though I did not 
 regret my wife ; that, though I had steeled myself against 
 all considerations of country and the duties of my posi 
 tion, there were yet moments when the loss of my son, 
 of my only legitimate offspring, and the contempt and 
 abhorrence in which he would be trained to regard me, 
 weighed on my spirit when I felt that the ruin I had 
 wrought was to descend on me in the shape I could least 
 
454 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 well bear when paroxysms of remorse rendered me al 
 most a maniac. 
 
 "It was in such a moment that he overwhelmed me by 
 telling me that my child was in this country ! Under 
 the same sky with myself! 
 
 " The conflict into which I was thrown by this com 
 munication is not to be described. The outrage to my 
 wife absorbed every other feeling. Every personal con 
 sideration vainly struggled against the irreparable, the 
 aggravated injury inflicted on her. But here again the 
 tempter, in the shape of Talbot, was at hand : She be 
 lieved him dead. A careless nurse had left him at play 
 on the border of a stream that watered the grounds 
 the opportunity had been seized the child carried off, 
 and his hat cast in the river to suggest that he had fallen 
 in. Meanwhile, Talbot, not known by her to have been 
 in England at the time, with that facility which some 
 times attends the wicked, as if to damn them by suc 
 cess, was bearing the child across the ocean while his 
 mother bewailed him as drowned. 
 
 " But the injury, he argued, to her was temporary. 
 The death of a young child was an ordinary calamity. 
 " Time, the consoler," was already having its effect. The 
 relief to myself was permanent, and the benefit to the 
 child greater than could be estimated. Instead of un 
 limited indulgence, the victim of a desolate wife s dot 
 ing fondness, and then of his own vices, he might here 
 be trained in a wholesome simplicity, and under proper 
 restraint. When these had done their work, he could, 
 if I so chose, be restored to his mother grateful to the 
 father who had rescued him from the seductions her 
 love would have spread around him. He, Talbot, had, 
 however, he must own, been moved to do what he had 
 done mainly by regard for my happiness. 
 
 "The considerations affecting my son s character had 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 455 
 
 their influence. I shuddered at a repetition of the weak 
 indulgence that had wrecked my fame and peace, and I 
 submitted to what seemed inevitable. The best arrange 
 ment to be made for him was next to be decided. To 
 introduce him into my family was impossible. I must, 
 then, seek elsewhere for the protection and guidance 
 that could not be extended to him under my own roof; 
 for which, in my perplexity and agitation, I declared 
 that I was ready to make any amount of compensation 
 of course, as I could not encounter the risk of dis 
 covery, to pass through Talbot s hands. Here, undoubt 
 edly, the temptation to his subsequent villainy insinu 
 ated itself. This I infer from the fact that measures 
 were taken from the first to prevent all direct communi 
 cation, however secret, between my child and myself. 
 I was deceived as to the name he bore, that of the per 
 son to whom he was intrusted, and even the place where 
 he lived. How Talbot had heard of Mr. Grafton I have 
 no means of knowing amid all this mystification. But 
 I can well believe that, to a man like him, the slightest 
 allusion to a person whose character and seclusion were 
 just what he wanted, would not be lost; and, as he 
 never failed in effrontery, his application does not sur 
 prise me. 
 
 "Talbot kept up his relations with England; I, of 
 course, had none, but such as were necessary to secure 
 and receive my revenues, for which he was my agent. 
 He wandered about, leading, as he said, a bachelor s 
 life ; while I, in retirement, knew only of his movements 
 and pursuits what he chose to reveal. From time to 
 time he gave me satisfactory intelligence of my son, and 
 rendered such accounts as were convenient to himself 
 of the disbursements for his benefit. 
 
 "To my lamented Oscar succeeded other children 
 more vigorous ; but all were taken. These losses touch- 
 
456 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 ed us deeply, though, differently. To the mother sor 
 row brought airs from heaven, that breathed into her 
 soul intimations of a better world, where she should re 
 join them. To me it was a blast from hell, burning 
 into my spirit a sentence of condemnation and eternal 
 separation. 
 
 " At length occurred our visit to Lebanon, where I 
 was to behold my unknown first-born. I remember 
 well the moment of meeting, because the name of 
 * Walter struck me. It was that of my son, and I saw 
 with some interest the boy who bore it. Talbot had 
 probably permitted you to retain it in order to secure 
 your childish confidence. But so effectual had been his 
 precautions that no suspicion crossed my mind. Yet, 
 though not bearing a marked resemblance to any one 
 of my family, you were sufficiently of that type to recall 
 it, and I sometimes wondered * who it was of whom you 
 reminded me ! Other things, however, inspired me with 
 a regard for you, which I would gladly have proved. 
 An opportunity offered, but, like every good purpose 
 of mine, my evil genius was at hand to prevent it. An 
 application on your behalf came from Mr. Grafton. I 
 was ill in bed, and Talbot by my side. I was unable to 
 use my eyes, and he read the letter for me ; and on my 
 regretting my inability to reply immediately, he offered 
 to write at my dictation. He appeared to do so. I re 
 quested you to make my house your home, while I 
 should use my best endeavors for you. For this he 
 substituted what he pleased. I am not surprised at the 
 reception you gave his letter. 
 
 "In addition to the usual remittances designed for 
 you, but as I now know never received, he contrived 
 to obtain money on your account under various pre 
 texts. On one occasion, the excellent man with whom 
 he stated you to be living, a country clergyman with a 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 457 
 
 small salary, had met with what to him was a heavy pe 
 cuniary loss; and he urged so forcibly the making you 
 the medium of relief to him, that I gave him a draft for 
 the amount required. At another time you had un 
 wittingly fallen among sharpers, and had been cheated 
 out of nearly a year s allowance. You were a minor, 
 and might thus evade the payment, but the effect on 
 your own mind would be bad : it was, after all, a youth 
 ful indiscretion, etc. Without waiting farther argu 
 ment I advanced the money. 
 
 " By similar devices, and the representations of your 
 naturally increasing wants, you will perceive how im 
 portant to the vampire was his hold on me. At the 
 same time, you will wonder at a fatuity so gross as hard 
 ly to be believed at such confidence in a man whose 
 loose morality must have been apparent. But you must 
 recollect that, besides an original fatal facility on my part, 
 which these disclosures sufficiently betray, I could not 
 afford to distrust him. He had my dearest secret in his 
 keeping. A word or look that suggested a doubt to 
 Theresa would destroy us both ! Never, therefore, did 
 man more earnestly desire to believe in the faith of his 
 wife than did I in that of Talbot. Another considera 
 tion held me in his power with a sort of fascination. 
 He was the only being to whom I could be true ! To 
 the angel who lay in my bosom I was habitually a hyp 
 ocrite ; to this man, the incarnation of falsehood, I could 
 speak the truth ! t 
 
 " It may naturally be asked, as time passed on, what 
 plans I had formed for you? None. With an imbe 
 cile indecision the result of the labyrinth in which I 
 had involved myself I made no provision for a future 
 I dared not think of, quieting my perplexities by the 
 reflection that, in the event of my death, you must suc- 
 
 U 
 
4:58 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 ceed to a large entailed estate, your claim to which Tal- 
 bot would establish. 
 
 " From Mr. Grafton I learned his design against Miss 
 Meredith. It was in keeping with his whole life. 
 Though incapable of love, he was not insensible to beau 
 ty, and he wanted money. He would not, therefore, hes 
 itate to secure her by fraud, confident of powers that had 
 never yet failed him to make his peace afterward. He 
 had the same reliance on these that some men have on 
 their star. This is observable in his conduct toward 
 you, the particulars of which I have obtained from Mr. 
 Grafton. He never doubted his ability to delude you ; 
 to keep you in check, as by an unseen hand ; to coun 
 teract you in the dark; to mystify and to intimidate; 
 and thus to maintain his strange hold upon you. His 
 apparent success justified his presumption. Your first 
 attempt at emancipation he defeated, as he believed, by 
 the substituted letter. He then left New York for a 
 time ; and though, on his return, he found you there, 
 the threat that followed you to Ashton seemed to have 
 its effect, for you did not reappear in the city. When 
 he discovered your relations with Mr. Meredith, and you 
 were met by a still sterner mandate, you instantly de 
 parted. Again, as Mr. Grafton believes, he crossed your 
 path in the woods of Kosenberg, and again, to all ap 
 pearance, you retreated, as if conscious of your inability 
 to struggle against him. Thus confirmed in his self-con 
 fidence, and always on his guard, 1 doubt if, by word or 
 look, he ever permitted it to appear to the Merediths 
 that he was conscious such a person as "Walter Thornley 
 existed. 
 
 " But, triumphant as had been his artifices, they reached 
 their limit. A transaction, not connected with you, ex 
 cited my suspicion. I asked for an explanation, which 
 was not satisfactory, and we parted, on bad terms. This 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 459 
 
 was immediately after the death of Theresa. Had she 
 still lived it would not have happened ; for, strange to 
 say, she, his victim not less than mine, was a link be 
 tween us. I would have submitted to be cheated and 
 trampled on forever, rather than rouse him to disturb 
 her repose. I ought, too, in justice, to say that, such 
 was his reverence for her the only pure sentiment in 
 his breast that he would unwillingly have inflicted 
 misery on her. 
 
 " This restraint removed, his tactics were now changed ; 
 and, perceiving my growing distrust, he resolved to leave 
 me to my fate, and propitiate you and your mother. To 
 this course he was the more impelled by a letter from 
 England, threatening him with disgraceful disclosures, 
 unless a certain sum, long due, were paid by a given 
 time. This letter, found in his port-folio, had no signa 
 ture except initials, to me unintelligible. I mention this 
 fact, apparently unimportant, from its bearing on what 
 afterward occurred. He resolved on an immediate re 
 turn to England, there to restore you to your mother, as 
 having been cared for and saved by himself, out of which 
 he was, of course, to make his profit ; charging me, no 
 doubt, with your abduction, and the neglect in which 
 you were subsequently left. I, meanwhile, ignorant of 
 these allegations, and, if suspecting his previous frauds, 
 unable to prove them, could neither defend myself nor 
 inculpate him. This move had plainly been his strong 
 card, to be resorted to on any emergency. 
 
 " It may, perhaps, be wondered why a man so unscru 
 pulous had not played a deeper game you only being 
 between him and my estate, and you in his power. To 
 me this is easily explained. His course had been shaped 
 by circumstances, not an originally concerted plan ; and, 
 while continually entangling himself more and more in 
 falsehood and depredation, it is evident that he expect- 
 
460 WALTEK THOKNLEY; OK, 
 
 ed, not only by his never-failing ingenuity to escape de 
 tection, but to dupe the son as successfully as he had the 
 father. But, more than this, Talbot was a coward. 
 There is no trickery of which he was not capable. He 
 was a manoeuvrer en amateur. As in art to an artist, 
 so, to him, in morals, the curved line was the line of 
 beauty. But he had not the courage for great crime. 
 His was the temper of a subtle scoundrel, not the nerve 
 of a relentless villain. 
 
 " And now comes the crisis of our fate. The judg 
 ment of God overtook him when he felt most confident 
 of success ! and Mr. Grafton came to lay before me doc 
 uments which implicated me, without clearly defining to 
 what extent. Of our interview you have heard what 
 was necessary at the time. I can not go over moments 
 of such humiliation. I admitted, without hesitation, the 
 parentage of a son, of whom any father might be proud, 
 but I entreated to be spared details, and an open ac 
 knowledgment, till Oscar was in a condition to bear it. 
 All I asked was time. Meanwhile, I wished you to be 
 with him, to strengthen the attachment he already felt, 
 and thus to reconcile him, in some degree, to the disclo 
 sure that must come. I little thought the match was 
 even then applied to a train that must explode to his de 
 struction ! 
 
 " Among Talbot s papers a sealed letter was found, 
 addressed to a person in England, whose name was un 
 known to me. Not conceiving myself to have a right 
 to read or withhold what did not appear to have any 
 connection with myself, without suspicion or reflection I 
 sent it to its destination. Thus my own hand discharged 
 the engine leveled at my peace I The letter proved to 
 be to the very person whose threat had precipitated Tal 
 bot s decision. He had so often foiled the man by prom 
 ises, that he saw it necessary, in order to obtain delay, 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 461 
 
 to give him an assurance that would satisfy him. Not 
 doubting your acquiescence in his plan, and sure that 
 he should follow his letter immediately, he ventured on 
 the bold step of confiding to him your existence, and your 
 supposed name, with his own pretended claims upon you 
 -just what, without committing himself, would secure 
 the forbearance of his creditor. The same ship that car 
 ried the letter conveyed the news of Talbot s death, and 
 the man, deprived of farther reliance on him, immediate 
 ly communicated its contents to your mother. 
 
 " The appearance of Mr. Bolton is now explained. I 
 have only to add to these details all, in some sort, nec 
 essary that your delicacy to myself, and your devotion 
 to your unfortunate brother, have touched me beyond 
 the power of words to express. All that I can do for 
 your happiness shall be done. Personally, I can not add 
 to it. Leave me, therefore, if you would be happy. I 
 am but a weight to drag you down to misery ! Even 
 while I write, I am taught that avenging Heaven turns 
 aside every blessing that might fall on me ! A letter 
 just put into my hands informs me that, on the intelli 
 gence of my poor Theresa s death, her only brother, 
 Baron von Ehrenfelt, has proposed to adopt her son. 
 He has no child, and his name and fortune are offered to 
 Oscar! thus, generously shielding from disgrace, and 
 loss of position, my innocent boy ! Nor is this the first 
 strong expression of the love he bore his sister. A mere 
 child at the time she left Germany, he did not forget 
 her. About eighteen months since, being in England, 
 a rumor reached him of her actual position. The vil 
 lainous fact was made sufficiently clear to his farther in 
 vestigations, and he instantly took passage for this coun 
 try, in order to find and rescue her. Here, again, Tal- 
 bot interposed, but this time to save me. He was a fel 
 low-passenger. He soon discovered Ehrenfelt, and in- 
 
462 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 sinuated himself into liis confidence, his own share in 
 the transaction, of course, unsuspected. He was only 
 known as my connection, and, from long intimacy with 
 me, well fitted to be an adviser ; and such were his rep 
 resentations of his sister s happiness, of our mutual de 
 votion, of her unconsciousness, and consequent inno 
 cence, of the wretchedness and wide-spread disgrace 
 that must follow, should he interfere, that Ehrenfelt, 
 overcome by his specious arguments, yielded to expedi 
 ency, and even forebore an attempt to see her. At the 
 same time, Talbot warned me of my danger. I fled 
 with my treasures to the south, and Ehrenfelt returned 
 to Europe. 
 
 " Oscar is beyond the reach of reproach. But can I 
 fail to see in this aggravation of my loss, this unavailing 
 provision to soften the blow I had prepared for him, the 
 sentence that has gone forth against me ? I am the ac 
 cursed thing touch me not lest you die ! I am the 
 deadly tree, under whose shade happiness can not live ; 
 whose bitter fruit has been guilt and woe ; whose wounds 
 distill poison ; and from which even the blessed dews 
 of heaven, descending, are converted into drops that 
 scald as they fall. Be warned, and leave me ! 
 
 "Do not, Walter, regard this as a burst of passion, 
 wrung from me in the exasperation of the moment. It 
 is the conviction of my reason. My conduct must be so 
 repellent to a nature truthful as yours, as to create a 
 barrier which even duty can not surmount; and I am 
 still too proud to owe to compassion what I can not 
 command from respect. I feel that the conflict of my 
 life has made its impression on my health. What of 
 time remains to me I would make, in some small degree, 
 an atonement for the past. You need not be told that 
 your first duty is to your mother. My wish, so far as 
 I have a right to express one, is that you hasten to her. 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 463 
 
 She and you must decide your future plans. She will, 
 of course, retain you in England, and form for you such 
 connections as will, I trust, promote your happiness. 
 My resources are at your command in any way that you 
 shall suggest. GODFREY CECIL." 
 
 The humble, broken, yet proud spirit that spoke in 
 this letter, affected Walter with a contrariety of emo 
 tions: condemnation that he could not but feel; pity 
 that he did not attempt to repress; indignation and 
 wonder at such a tissue of folly, selfishness, rashness, 
 and crime ! Yet he could not be unmindful of the con 
 stant, though fruitless efforts of his father for his benefit. 
 One thought, however, absorbed all others. "If sym 
 pathy were ever called for, it was," he reflected, " when 
 the soul, conscious of wrong, sought the right when, 
 sore in the war of passion, remorse, and pride, it required 
 healing when, in its utter self-abasement, its faith in 
 the reality of virtue needed to be quickened. But he 
 would not, could not write!" Starting from his chair, 
 he hastened from the room, and ventured to appear un 
 called in his father s presence. 
 
 There it is scarcely well to follow him. A parent 
 humbling himself before his child entreaties for for 
 giveness mingling with self-denunciations his whole 
 heart exposed and prostrate is too painful and too sa 
 cred to be trifled with by inadequate description. It is 
 enough to say that the generous purpose of Walter pre 
 vailed ; that so tenderly, yet so uprightly, did he deal 
 with his father, and so entirely did he convince him of 
 his filial sentiment, that confidence was established be 
 tween them. 
 
 "It was his own desire," he assured him, "to be 
 guided by him in all things." To this he added a re 
 quest to defer the recognition of their relationship, till 
 his return from England. 
 
464 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 " There has been," he said, u enough of agitation. Let 
 us be spared at present from curious eyes and tongues. 
 It is sufficient that we have no reserves that we under 
 stand each other. So far as the world has any concern 
 with the matter, let it make itself known with as little 
 circumstance as may be. Six months, or a year hence, 
 when Walter Cecil shall appear, the unknown, obscure 
 Walter Thornley will have been forgotten ; or the two 
 will only be identical to those who have an interest in 
 the individual." 
 
 A pressure of the hand, and a grateful look from his 
 father, expressed his acquiescence. 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 465 
 
 CHAPTER XLY. 
 
 A FORTNIGHT had elapsed since Walter s last visit to 
 the Oaks. In the mean time, through Mr. Grafton, he 
 had learned of Eleanor s grief and dejection, which that 
 gentleman, imputing entirely to a cause which only in 
 part explained it, and misunderstanding the relations 
 that had subsisted between him and Eleanor, conceived 
 it well to represent in as strong language as truth would 
 permit. "It would," he reflected, "effectually damp 
 any lingering hope, if such still existed, and better nerve 
 him for the new career on which he was to enter ; leav 
 ing his mind free to gratify the wishes that his mother 
 might form for him, and thus enable him to promote the 
 happiness of a parent to whose wrongs so much was 
 due." 
 
 On the occasion of Walter s last hasty call, he had 
 made it so evident to Eleanor that his only wish was to 
 see Mr. Grafton, as to pain and surprise her. Pride, 
 however, came to her relief. 
 
 "Well," thought she, "if he prefers, for some unex 
 plained reason, to withdraw even his friendship, so be it. 
 He shall see that I regret it as little as himself." 
 
 But the sorrow called forth by the death of Oscar 
 natural, unconscious, and therefore freely manifested 
 unnerved her. It was the first breach made in the 
 youthful circle her first view of the Destroyer! and 
 her susceptible nature fainted and shivered under the 
 revelation. "Ah! who does not remember the time 
 when the stern fact of mortality broke in upon the gay 
 fancies of youth!" It was not strange that emotions so 
 strong should have been misinterpreted, nor that the 
 
 U2 
 
466 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 sadness that succeeded, however compounded with oth 
 er feelings, should be referred to the same cause. 
 
 Walter, on whose heart lay the trust that Oscar had 
 imposed in regard to Eleanor, had delayed to discharge 
 it in the desire to obtain the calmness and self-posses 
 sion required. But circumstances pressed upon him. 
 The voyage to England was decided ; his preparations 
 were nearly completed ; and, having no longer time nor 
 excuse for procrastination, he ordered his horse, and, 
 mounting him with somewhat the feeling of going into 
 mortal conflict, turned his course to the Oaks. 
 
 Eleanor had been passing the morning with her aunt, 
 when Mr. Grafton entered with a note from Mr. Middle- 
 ton. Drawing his wife a little apart, they conversed a 
 few moments in a suppressed tone, Eleanor unheeding 
 till the name of Thornley fell on her ear, followed by 
 the words, " Sails for England in a few days." The 
 matter of the conversation was evidently private ; nor 
 could she, if permitted, then have asked a question. 
 Her only resource was to fly ; and, shutting herself in 
 her own room, tears that pride could not restrain burst 
 forth. 
 
 " Yes," she exclaimed, " he is going, perhaps, forever ! 
 and not a line, not a word of regret, nor even of informa 
 tion. How is he estranged ! To England ! What can 
 take him there? Business of Mr. Middleton s? But 
 no matter. We, his first friends, are now nothing ; this 
 strange, disagreeable Mr. Middleton every thing," added 
 she, petulantly. Then, her frank and generous nature 
 more grieved than offended, she continued, " /could not 
 so treat a friend. Where I had once given my confi 
 dence I could not withdraw it without cause." 
 
 Phyllis tapped at the door, and was reluctantly ad 
 mitted. 
 
 " I see a gen elman ridin up trou de trees, missis. I 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 467 
 
 t ink dat ar same gen elman com d here while ago Mr. 
 Torn y t ink dey call im." 
 
 " Oh," cried Eleanor, "I can not I will not see him 
 now. Tis impossible," she continued, catching a view 
 of her face in an opposite mirror " impossible !" 
 
 Never waiting for second thoughts, Phyllis, as usual, 
 rushed down stairs, and met Walter alighting at the door 
 with an inquiry for Miss Meredith. 
 
 A country-bred girl, untrained as yet to the polite 
 qualifications by which those better taught know how 
 to soften the refusal of city dames to shine upon their 
 worshipers, Phyllis dropped a courtesy, and answered 
 without circumlocution. 
 
 " My missis say, sar, she won t come down." 
 
 "Walter, with a look of surprise, inquired if she were ill. 
 
 "No, sar," replied she, with much composure; "she 
 bery well on y she say she don t want to see you, sar." 
 
 "Did she say so?" 
 
 " Sartin, sar," replied the affronted little femme de 
 chambre. " I neber tell no lies." 
 
 "Does she see any body?" 
 
 "Yes, sar; be sure. All de gen elnien and ladies 
 what come." 
 
 "/only, then, am excluded," thought he, and but for 
 the errand on which he came, he would have immediate 
 ly departed. 
 
 Not choosing to trust the accuracy of Phyllis with a 
 verbal message, he wrote on a card, "My visit is one of 
 necessity ; be so good as to see me for a few moments;" 
 and, committing this to her, waited in no very patient 
 mood an answer. 
 
 In a moment she returned, and was leading him to 
 the parlor ; but, hearing voices, and his interview requir 
 ing to be private, he entered the open door of the study, 
 saying he would await her mistress there. 
 
468 WALTER THOKNXEY; OR, 
 
 Eleanor, scarce conscious of the words that had es 
 caped her, and little imagining them to be reported to 
 "Walter, saw only in the line addressed to her the same 
 pertinacious avoidance of any personal attention. Dis 
 pleasure at this lack of common courtesy overcame oth 
 er feelings, and she felt at once quite strong enough to 
 meet him. 
 
 She descended, and, at the foot of the stairs, met 
 Phyllis with an apology, "De gen elman would go in 
 de wrong room," pointing to the study; "no fault of 
 mine, missis." 
 
 "Kather any where else," thought Eleanor; "but if 
 he can bear it so will I." And she entered, so calm 
 and cold that, but for the traces of recent tears, she 
 might have seemed incapable of feeling. 
 
 Under this exterior, however, Walter, though mis 
 taking the cause, saw and felt the sorrow, and the mo 
 mentary pique was gone. Approaching her with a soft 
 ened though still a constrained manner, he extended his 
 hand ; hers trembled, but she permitted him to lead her 
 to a chair, and he took one by her side. 
 
 " Forgive me," said he, " if I appear importunate. I 
 would not obtrude myself on you, but that a sacred duty 
 requires it." 
 
 Eleanor looked in silence and surprise, inwardly re 
 peating, "Importunate! obtrude! What language to 
 me!" 
 
 "And, now that I am permitted to see and speak to 
 you, I scarcely know how to introduce a subject so pain 
 ful to us both. Strange that we should feel such reluct 
 ance to name those most dear to us, when death has 
 come between us !" 
 
 No word from Eleanor smoothed the way, and he 
 continued, after a pause, in which his troubled look 
 only added to her perplexity. 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 469 
 
 " Oscar," at length he said, " may I not say our Os 
 car ?" and again he paused, with a fixed, inquiring glance, 
 till, feeling herself called on to reply, she said, in a sad 
 but quiet voice, " Certainly ; why should you doubt it?" 
 
 Her calmness reassured him ; and, taking Oscar s let 
 ter from his pocket, he read that portion which related 
 to herself. 
 
 She listened without a word ; but the varying expres 
 sion of her truthful face, in which astonishment, pain, 
 and wounded delicacy were reflected, was more eloquent 
 than words. 
 
 " This can not be new to you," said Walter, in his 
 turn surprised and perplexed. " Your own feelings must 
 have prepared you, in some degree, for a communication 
 so natural under the circumstances. Perhaps there may 
 be somewhat left unsaid at a moment of great bodily 
 weakness allow me to be more explicit." And he pro 
 ceeded to explain the silence of Oscar ; to enlarge on 
 the love that had rendered it so difficult ; the honor 
 that could alone have enabled him to maintain it. He 
 would have said even more, but Eleanor, having recov 
 ered from the first effect of a revelation so little expect 
 ed, interrupted him. 
 
 " You have discharged your trust. That is enough, so 
 far as you are concerned. For myself I must be allow 
 ed a few words. I can not tell to what extent you may 
 impute inconsistency to me, but my own conscience ac 
 quits me. I have never felt, nor intentionally manifest 
 ed, any thing for your friend that a sister might not feel 
 for a brother, whose peculiarly delicate nature called 
 for more than common sympathy. My first feeling at 
 this communication, I will own, was displeasure at being 
 thus mistaken and addressed but it is passed. If the 
 delusion were a happy one to him whose fate I truly 
 lament I do not complain. To him it matters not now 
 
470 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 and as little to me ; for, if the living condemn me, my 
 own heart does not." 
 
 Walter did not attempt a reply. Never had he more 
 deeply felt her truth, dignity, and generosity ; but the 
 sentiment could find no expression. No longer restrain 
 ed by consideration for another friendship and love no 
 longer in conflict the charge of fickleness and levity 
 which his heart had secretly brought against her now 
 withdrawn the hope of earlier days would not be de 
 nied. Yet the uninviting manner of Eleanor repressed 
 all utterance. He tried to speak, but his words were 
 indistinct. And she, little propitiated by his earnest rep 
 resentation of the love of another, rose, and said, coldly, 
 "From the short conference you requested, your time 
 must be much occupied ; pray, do not let me longer de 
 tain you." 
 
 All the pride of Walter would, at any other time, have 
 risen at this speech ; but now, gentler feelings were in 
 the ascendant. 
 
 With increasing agitation, and in a voice tremulous 
 with emotion, while his eye sought the depths of hers, 
 he exclaimed, "You must not leave me thus misap 
 prehension shall not part us ! Dearest Eleanor, may I, 
 dare I open to you a heart that has never ceased to be 
 yours?" 
 
 Pride, wounded affection, displeasure, at these few 
 words, fled as by magic. She started, the blood rushed 
 to her cheek ; a doubtful look for a moment seemed to 
 repel him ; she half-resisted the movement that sought 
 again to reseat her ; a word of rebuke was ready to fall 
 from her lips ; but they melted into a smile that gave 
 the permission he asked. 
 
 As he proceeded, however, it was apparent to her up 
 right mind that he was transgressing the limit they 
 ought to observe, and, rising hastily, she said, "I can 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 471 
 
 hear no more. I did, indeed, desire to be assured of 
 your friendship. You have satisfied me ; I shall never 
 again distrust it. Let us part for the present; it is best." 
 
 Walter, it is hoped, will be forgiven, if he, after the 
 manner of men, seeking to be loved for his own sake, 
 maintained, even at this moment, his incognito. 
 
 "Eleanor," said he, "you once believed in me, when 
 honor compelled me to be silent ; believe me now, when 
 I dare to speak. Your parents, as I know from their 
 own declaration, desire chiefly your happiness; and, if 
 assured that I shall bring you neither poverty nor dis 
 grace, they will not reject me. My present condition war 
 rants this assertion. Others might offer you a more dis 
 tinguished position, and wealth beyond the dream of 
 avarice ; but, if love is better than riches and honor, 
 where is the treasure larger than that which my heart 
 has * garnered up for you ? Will you cast it from you ?" 
 
 Her beaming eyes, full of things unutterable, answer 
 ed for her. Her extended hand grasped in his, pressed 
 to his lips and heart, sealed the compact, while a sweet, 
 low voice was heard to say, " Your love, and the sanc 
 tion of my parents, is all I ask." 
 
 Ah ! Walter, did not your conscience smite you that 
 you had dared to apply a touch-stone to that true young 
 heart? Or, rather, did not a thrill of joy, exquisite, if 
 selfish, acknowledge this frank avowal that you, with 
 out fortune or distinction, unknown and obscure, that 
 you, simply Walter Thornley, were the " star of her des 
 tiny?" 
 
 What followed in that tete-a-tete, or, to use the more 
 beautiful expression of the Italians, quattfocchi, may be 
 easily divined the same review of the past, the same 
 tracing to its first spring in their hearts of that stream 
 which " never did run smooth," the same lingering on 
 moments of bliss, the same explanations of doubts and 
 
472 WALTER THOENLEY; OK, 
 
 fears, of circumstances so incomprehensible at the time, 
 yet so easily understood in the light of out-spoken af 
 fection ; those little mysteries which serve to draw still 
 closer the meshes of love all, in short, that so many 
 have felt, and which, therefore, need not be told. 
 
 At length they parted, with many delays, and much 
 " sweet sorrow." 
 
 Phyllis, ever on the alert when her young mistress 
 was concerned, had taken up her position in the hall, in 
 order to open the door to the " gen elman," whose visit, 
 judging from his reception, she decided would not be 
 very long. It was so protracted, however, that curiosi 
 ty, more than propriety, held her to her post; nor did 
 she fail to make her own inferences. "Well," thought 
 she, as she finally closed the door after him, " dey don t 
 look, comin out dat ar room, as dey did gwine in, dat s 
 for sart in." 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 473 
 
 CHAPTEK XLVI. 
 
 As Eleanor retired to lier room at night, Phyllis pre 
 sented herself, with a large packet, brought, as she said, 
 by Mr. Middleton s "sarvent, and on y for young missis 
 own hands." 
 
 Her happiness too great for any addition, Eleanor s 
 first sensation was alarm, and she received it with some 
 trepidation. A letter from Walter relieved her. It in 
 closed one from Mr. Middleton to himself, which ran as 
 follows: 
 
 "MY DEAR WALTER, I thank you for the confi 
 dence reposed in me, frank and manly as yourself. 
 Nothing could, at this moment, give me such satisfaction 
 as the information in regard to Miss Meredith. 
 
 "You urge, in so far as she and her family are concern 
 ed, the necessity of departing from the reserve you had 
 proposed. This is obvious. And I must, in justice to 
 myself, say that I had already determined not to avail 
 myself of your delicate consideration, though, at the mo 
 ment of its suggestion, I was too much touched to dis 
 cuss, or to resist it. I prefer that the truth be known at 
 once. When the lives and happiness of those dearest 
 to me were at stake, I was a coward. Alone, I can bear 
 all that I deserve. The contumely of the world, much 
 as at one time it would have stung me, will now fall 
 on a heart so wrung with sorrow, so penetrated by re 
 morse, as to be nearly insensible to what man can say. 
 Make what use you please of my written communication 
 to you. G. C." 
 
474 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 "With this preface Eleanor opened the packet the 
 " communication" alluded to of which "Walter s letter 
 authorized the perusal. 
 
 With what feelings it was read with what mingled 
 indignation and compassion on the one hand, and rejoic 
 ing, free from all selfish considerations, on the other, may 
 be imagined. 
 
 An early hour the next morning brought Walter, 
 who, after an interview with Mr. Grafton, was introduced 
 by him to Mr. and Mrs. Meredith as bearing a name, 
 having a position, and, moreover, preferring a suit, which 
 altogether astonished them. The courtesy with which 
 he was heard and accepted can not be doubted. Yet it 
 is but justice to say that the estimate they had formed 
 of him, under circumstances so different, entered largely 
 into the feeling with which their assent was accorded. 
 
 Mr. Grafton, of course, was delighted ; his wife scarce 
 ly less so ; it only remained to be assured of the appro 
 bation of Mr. Lawrence, and Mrs. Meredith forthwith 
 asked admittance to his room. 
 
 She found him in a favorable mood. He listened 
 with complacency to the picture she drew of youthful 
 love, honorable forbearance, constancy, etc. ; but when 
 she proceeded to the strange turn of fortune by which 
 they had met their reward, enlarging on the wealth and 
 social position that had so unexpectedly been disclosed, 
 and then to the startling facts connected therewith, ac 
 companied by ill-advised though well-intended exple 
 tives, of "poor Mr. Middleton !" his "trials," "unfortu 
 nate temptations," "peculiar circumstances," etc., Mr. 
 Lawrence s countenance darkened. 
 
 Striking his cane violently on the ground, he exclaim 
 ed, "Janet, I m ashamed of you! You have a right to 
 marry your daughter as you please, and, should I ap 
 prove or not, of course you ll do so. I love the girl, 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 475 
 
 and shall love her, let her marry whom she may. I ve 
 had enough of crossing hearts. If you had given her to 
 young Thornley, as you called him, an obscure country 
 lad, however surprised, I should have said nothing ; nay, 
 shouldn t have been as much surprised as you may 
 think. I liked him from the first ; he is a manly, hand 
 some fellow ; has so much the air of a gentleman that I 
 wondered where the devil he got it from ! But don t 
 come pow-wowing over me about his father. He is a 
 rascal an infernal rascal !" 
 
 "Dear, dear papa," interposed Mrs. Meredith. 
 
 "I tell you he is, and you ought to be ashamed to 
 have any mercy on such a fellow I What ! desert his 
 wife and child ! impose on a very angel, as you call her, 
 by a false marriage ! carry her off from her friends ! and 
 then you to pity him ! to contrive excuses for him ! nay, 
 even rejoice in a connection with him ! I tell you, Ja 
 net, a woman s feeling ought to teach you better. Let 
 Eleanor marry his son ; he has not had the bringing of 
 him up, and therefore he may deserve her ; but don t 
 expect me to be proud of such a marriage if his pedigree 
 counted back to Japhet, and he could cover the State 
 of New York with gold pieces! No, nor to clap palms 
 with him, and to insult truth and honor by a pretended 
 cordiality with such a man ! Let him keep out of my 
 way that s best for both of us." 
 
 Mrs. Middleton was so taken aback that she could 
 frame no reply ; and while she hesitated, her father con 
 tinued : 
 
 "I tell you, Janet, you women have much to answer 
 for. There would be fewer broken hearts if you frown 
 ed such villains down. All laws, civil and religious, 
 can not do as much for your sex as you can do for your 
 selves." 
 
 His daughter, in despair of a more patient hearing, re- 
 
476 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 tired to seek Eleanor. " Mr. Middleton was that day to 
 be introduced to his future daughter-in-law, and to such 
 of her family as he had not yet seen. The absence of 
 Mr. Lawrence at such a time could not fail to be re 
 marked. What was to be done ?" 
 
 "I will speak to him," said Eleanor ; and, with a fear 
 less step, she ventured where no one else would have 
 gone just at that moment. 
 
 On entering she threw her arm round his neck, and 
 then, sinking on her knee before him, said, in a low, rev 
 erential voice, "Your blessing, dear grandpapa!" 
 
 Kaising her up, and pressing her to him, she caught a 
 few words, partly in his mother tongue, always to him 
 the most tender ; and kindsdogter ! het vaderlik dak ! told 
 how affectionately he commended to Heaven his " grand 
 daughter," the joy of " the paternal roof." 
 
 "You will forgive me now, dear grandpapa won t 
 you for crossing your wishes? You see I couldn t 
 help it," she added, with a deprecating smile. 
 
 " No, no, my lammetje (little lamb), you could not, to 
 be sure. I have long forgiven all that, and love you 
 better than ever." 
 
 "And won t you love Walter, too, a little, by de 
 grees ?" 
 
 " To be sure to be sure ; I do already, but don t ask 
 me to like his father, Nelly." 
 
 " I shall not, sir. With your character you can take 
 but one view of his conduct. But you know, grand 
 papa, that from my relation to him it will be my duty 
 to suppress feelings that would be painful to his son; 
 and even to try, by obtaining some hold on his affec 
 tions, to influence him favorably. You know, dear 
 grandpapa, the mercy we hope for we must practice." 
 
 " Yes, yes ; I can not deny that ; and if any body can 
 make him a better man, tis you, Leentje ; and Gertrude, 
 
A PEEP AT THE PA3T. 477 
 
 I suppose she, of course, will think, the greater the sin 
 ner, the louder the call to give him a lift. But don t, I 
 command you, disgrace yourselves and dishonor virtue 
 by pitying and cosseting such a fellow ! Tell him plain, 
 wholesome truths. If he s worth saving, that ll do him 
 most good. Such a patient as that must not be fed upon 
 sugar-plums, nor handled with gloves. He requires 
 thorough treatment. If there s any reaction in the sys 
 tem, it will bear it ; and if not, let him die and be " 
 
 Eleanor cut short the forthcoming malediction by say 
 ing, " You remember Captain Talbot, sir?" 
 
 " To be sure I do the puppy ! But they tell me he s 
 dead, so I shall not waste breath on him." 
 
 " He was a great deal more wicked than you supposed, 
 sir. I have a sketch of him here a curious specimen 
 of human nature ! May I read it to you ? He and Mr. 
 Middleton were relatives." 
 
 "I dare say; a brace of rascals! A pleasant family 
 to marry you into 1" growled the old gentleman, in great 
 disgust. " But read on ; let s have it." 
 
 Eleanor obeyed. A change of feeling was soon ap 
 parent in Mr. Lawrence s countenance. Contempt was 
 overpowered by indignation, but mingled, nevertheless, 
 with interest; while his contracting brow, his heightened 
 color, his cane the unerring exponent of his emotions 
 expressed the effect of the narrative. Occasionally an 
 interjection or an anathema broke from him. He would 
 rise from his chair and instantly reseat himself, as if 
 bodily motion were necessary to relieve the intense wrath 
 that boiled within. The vices of Talbot were just those 
 most abhorrent to him. The conduct of Mr. Middleton 
 lost its pre-eminence in evil. A new emotion succeed 
 ed. He was more weak than wicked himself a victim 
 as well as a destroyer. Some compassionate throbs were 
 felt. Then, as the tale, darkened by death and sorrow, 
 
478 WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 drew to a conclusion when remorse and self-abasement 
 alone were expressed, with no vain attempt at excuse or 
 justification he could stand it no longer. 
 
 Throwing himself back in his chair, he exclaimed, 
 " Oh, good Lord, what poor creatures we are ! Lead us 
 not into temptation, for who can stand ? There, there, 
 child ! go away. I have need to thank Heaven, on my 
 knees, that I have not been left to myself. Lie and 
 cheat, I never could ; they were*not my besetting sins. 
 But my anger has been fierce, and my wrath has been 
 cruel, and injustice and suffering have clung to my 
 skirts. With such passions, what might I not have been 
 left to do ? If a saving hand has been held out to me, 
 should I not do the like to another? Show mercy, ye 
 that hope to be forgiven ! Go. go, child ! leave me a 
 while to myself." 
 
 Eleanor kissed his hand and withdrew in silence. 
 
 "When Mr. Middleton called, Mr. Lawrence, unasked, 
 requested an introduction to him. 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 479 
 
 CHAPTER XLVIL 
 
 THE visit to England was imperative not more urged 
 by Mrs. Cecil than desired by Walter himself. The im 
 age of his mother impressed on his infancy had never 
 been effaced ; and he earnestly wished to testify his rev 
 erence for her, and to make such arrangements for the 
 future as should satisfy the various claims now to be 
 considered. But to tear himself from Eleanor, at the 
 very moment she had given herself to him, was more 
 than he could bear. 
 
 An immediate marriage was the only way to recon 
 cile these conflicting interests. Accordingly, on one of 
 the finest of October mornings, at about eleven o clock, 
 carriages were observed to stop in Broadway, in front of 
 Trinity Church. As all notice had been guarded against, 
 there was little danger of intrusion ; and if any curious 
 loungers did follow those who alighted and passed with 
 in, their presence was unobserved. If such there were, 
 they would have seen, fronting the officiating clergyman, 
 a youthful pair with tender and reverent mien ; a gen 
 tleman in mourning garments, not so sad as his pale 
 face; happy parents, though giving away their daugh 
 ter ; friends scarce less loving than parents ; and, as the 
 head and crowning honor of the group, an old gentle 
 man in the elaborate costume of a by-gone time, but 
 whose hale, handsome face gave no indication of infirm 
 ity ; his hands crossed on his gold-headed cane, his fig 
 ure slightly inclining, his eyes occasionally cast upward, 
 as if in prayer and benediction. The service was soon 
 over ; the party left the church and re-entered their car- 
 
480 WALTER THOKNLEY; OK, 
 
 riages. Walter and Eleanor Cecil were one and indi 
 visible. 
 
 Those were not the days of bridal tours a fashion 
 originating in a foreign country, in a class by which es 
 cape from conventionality was felt as a privilege glad 
 to find in elegant retirement, or some rustic retreat, free 
 dom to be natural and happy. Such fashion had not 
 then been imported and caricatured here, where it was 
 not wanted. Those who might be as private and undis 
 turbed as they pleased at home, did not then rush to 
 steam-boats, rail-roads, and public places; and delicate 
 young women did not run away from the "sheltering 
 grove of their own kindred," to make themselves a mark 
 for impertinence and curiosity. The hymeneal torch 
 was not then extinguished as soon as lighted, but people 
 staid at home and kept it burning. 
 
 There were, to be sure, customs and ceremonies some 
 times rather tiresome, and a routine that wealth and sta 
 tion were expected to observe. In some places, among 
 those of Dutch descent, on the wedding-night, the doors 
 of the house were besieged by a mob of children, who ex 
 pected that their good wishes for the vrolijk bruid (merry 
 bride) should be responded to in a shower of cakes, which 
 she, in a Dutch doggerel, was requested to " throw out." 
 Beversing the present order, the wedding gifts, few and 
 simple, were conferred by the bride on her special attend 
 ants. There was no bridal table spread with costly offer- 
 ings, requiring the presence of a police-officer to guard it ; 
 and, above all, there were no articles, hired for the occasion, 
 inscribed as the gifts of " affectionate friends," but design 
 ed only to swell the glittering bubble of the moment, 
 and then to be returned to the shops and show-cases 
 whence they had been taken pro tern, For three morn 
 ings or more, the happy bridegroom, in exchange for 
 the congratulations of his friends, gave wine and punch ; 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 461 
 
 and, for as many evenings, the bride, supported by her 
 nymphs, received a succession of admiring guests. But 
 in all this there was enough that was hearty and person 
 al to compensate for a little effort. 
 
 In the case of our young friends, these usages were, 
 for obvious reasons, dispensed with, much, however, to 
 the regret of the old gentleman. 
 
 The counsel, " whenever you have nothing to say, say 
 nothing," is never more worthy of observance than in 
 the winding up of a story, which, perhaps, to some, may 
 have little worth the telling. The reader, if such there 
 be, shall not much longer be detained. 
 
 A week has elapsed since the Church bestowed its 
 sanction. A gallant ship is spreading her sails; the wind 
 is fair, farewells are exchanged, and Mr. and Mrs. Cecil, 
 from the deck of the " Lovely Nan," are making parting 
 signals to those on shore, who linger to catch the last 
 wave of his hat, and the last flutter of her scarf. And 
 now, if any one would know in what their friends found 
 consolation, it will appear in the following letter from 
 Mrs. Grafton : 
 
 "Rosenberg, January 10, 18 . 
 
 "DEAREST ELEANOR, Your letter, just received, an 
 nouncing your safe arrival, excited feelings you can well 
 understand. "We had been cautioned not to expect ti 
 dings under three months ; you may imagine, therefore, 
 how welcome they were, a week earlier than the time 
 prescribed. 
 
 "Your touching account of your reception and of 
 your admirable new mother delights us. But, amid all 
 the love lavished on you and the novelties that meet 
 > you, I see that you sigh for accounts of home, which I 
 hasten, therefore, to give. I have written once a dol 
 orous letter ; how could it be otherwise, with our hearts 
 
 X 
 
482 WALTER THORNLEY; OK, 
 
 thrown into shadow by the withdrawal of our sun ? In 
 that I informed you of our return here. 
 
 " I do not know what papa would have done after all 
 our recent excitement, had it not been that another wed 
 ding was to be cared for. Accordingly, preparations 
 were immediately made, and on the largest scale, for that 
 of dear Phil and Priscilla. This time, he said, he 
 was resolved to have it in his own way ; he would have 
 no more " hugger-mugger" marriages; nothing done in a 
 corner, as if people were ashamed of it. Not only all 
 the neighboring gentry were invited, but every one who, 
 as friends of the bride or her family, could expect or de 
 sire to be included. Dear papa ! he was, as usual, trans 
 parent; his humility a pretty sure gauge of his pride, im 
 plying, plainer than by words, * Let no man dare to say 
 I am not satisfied. 
 
 " Of course, you know, the service had to be perform 
 ed by our dominie, a prelude to Priscilla being cut off 
 from her people. But for this she was prepared ; and, 
 having been only * born in the meeting, as they say, 
 there was no sacrifice of principle. She begged, how 
 ever, to retain her dress, and in this Phil concurred. 
 1 He should not, as he said, know her as his own, if she 
 were attired as one of the world s people; besides, it be* 
 came her better than any other. How they may settle 
 it hereafter I can not say, but at present she retains 
 dress and address; and, for my own part, I like both. 
 They are so in keeping with her character I should re 
 gret to see them renounced. But papa was resolved 
 that she should be as well arrayed as could be made to 
 comport with her style ; so your mother was directed by 
 him to send the prettiest Quaker dress that could be de 
 vised, and, certainly, Priscilla did look lovely in it ! 
 
 " I was, however, more concerned for herself than her 
 dress, fearing lest a circle more numerous and distin- 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 483 
 
 guished than she was ever before in, should overpower 
 her. I might have spared my anxiety. It was curious 
 to see how extremes meet. How the renunciation of 
 1 man- worship, and all the vanities of life, produced the 
 effect at which artificial training aims for no high-bred 
 lady could have been more calm. Her pale cheek, and 
 an occasional tremor of her lip, betrayed the emotion 
 natural to the occasion, but there was no disturbing 
 sense of inferiority. 
 
 " The prettiest thing, however, I have not told you. 
 The day before the wedding we were sent for into papa s 
 room, where it appeared that Priscilla had been desired 
 to meet us. Addressing himself to her, he said, You 
 may remember, my child, I once promised you a mar 
 riage portion, provided you conformed to the condition 
 I proposed. Do you recollect it? 
 
 " I do, 7 she replied. 
 
 " If I have substituted other conditions, he contin 
 ued, with a smile, I am virtually bound by the same 
 promise, if you accept them. Here is the fulfillment. 
 
 " It was a deed of the Mill Farm to her and her heirs 
 forever ! Now, was not this like papa ? It was remov 
 ing her parents from a condition of more or less depend 
 ence on him, and placing their comfort and happiness in 
 her hands. But this was not the end. 
 
 " Her heart seemed too full for speech, but, when able 
 to reply, she said, ; This may not be. 
 
 " * Why not, you foolish girl? said he, impatiently; 
 1 why not ? 
 
 " For the reason that it is taking thy inheritance 
 from thine own blood to give it to strangers. Nay, hear 
 me. I may prove faithless or weak, and bestow it on 
 my kindred, which is not thy intention. Put not tempt 
 ation in my way. And, furthermore, it hath a show 
 of distrust of thy grandson s good-will to my parents, 
 
484: WALTER THORNLEY; OR, 
 
 which I know of a certainty will never fail Give it, 
 therefore, to him, as is fitting, and, with an appealing 
 look, she turned to us. 
 
 "I trembled for her, knowing how much it displeases 
 papa to have his generosity thrown back on his hands. 
 But her plain truth always finds an entrance into his 
 heart ; and, when Mr. Grafton said, I think, sir, Pris- 
 cilla is right, he only laid his hand caressingly on her 
 head, and replied, "Well, well, be it so. So thus runs 
 the deed. 
 
 "Another thing, which, though small, will interest you. 
 I had felt a little apprehensive lest the proper feeling 
 should not be manifested on the part of the servants. 
 But as in the Shandy family nothing ever seemed to 
 work in the ordinary way, so it proves wherever Pris- 
 cilla is concerned. Instead of betraying any thing of 
 the negro preference for the quality, they were all true 
 to Philip Aunt Flore, of course, giving the key-note. 
 
 " Massa Phil, she said, a rale gen elman ! Didn t 
 bring no strange lady to be missus ober dem, but one 
 mose like one ob de fam ly; grow d up dere; teached 
 by Miss Gitty, wid all her ways. 
 
 How much her tendency to the rising sun had to do 
 with this, I do not care to inquire ; but, I doubt not, much 
 more her real affection. To this Pomp replied with a 
 wave of his hand and an air of superior information. 
 
 " Ezacly so, Aunt Flore ; an I would furder obsarve 
 on dis markable casion, as de dominie says fusly, for 
 de sake ob myse f, and, secon ly, for de sake ob yelly, 
 dat my own pinion is, dat Quakers is allers friends to 
 de colored people. 
 
 " Our own affairs are advancing to a satisfactory con 
 clusion. Our nice little cottage will be completed by 
 your return. You remember the pretty shaded walk at 
 the bottom of the garden at Eosenberg : through that 
 
A PEEP AT THE PAST. 485 
 
 we shall communicate with the old mansion. On the 
 farther side papa has given us ground enough to carry 
 out all our small purposes of arbor and horticulture. 
 The little gray hermitage, as Mr. Grafton calls it, that 
 sheltered him and Walter so many years, and to which 
 both are much attached, is to be loaned rent-free to the 
 joint occupancy of their friends Damie and Jed, who 
 are to set up housekeeping together, but on the platonic 
 platform. At first, I understand that she objected to 
 the copartnership, on the ground that < folks would talk; 
 but Mr. Grafton quieted her scruples by reminding her 
 that she and he had lived much on the same terms for 
 a long while, and that he had never heard that the rep 
 utation of either had suffered. All that is required of 
 them is to keep the place in decent order, which, as. 
 ideas differ on this point, I see will never be done with 
 out douceurs from the gentlemen, and occasional visits 
 from you and me. 
 
 "Your parents are well and cheerful. Mr. Grafton 
 has just returned from a visit to Mr. Middleton, whom 
 he found more calm than he expected. Wilson said he 
 was greatly altered no more -of those dreadful parox 
 ysms kind and patient ; but, though very quiet, always 
 sad. He sees no one; goes nowhere but to your fa 
 ther s; and Wilson, with the superstition of his class, con 
 fidentially intimated that the change portended a great 
 er one. But the explanation is easy. The blow so long 
 impending has fallen. There is nothing more to fear 
 nor to conceal the heavy burden of untruth is removed. 
 But, though life is still merely endurance, the influence 
 of Walter and yourself may impart an interest to it. If 
 not, and if weary years of a strange sorrow are to call 
 for sacrifice and forbearance on your part, and that your 
 otherwise full cup of happiness must have this infusion 
 of bitter, it is but another form of the common lot. It 
 
486 WALTER THORNLEY, ETC. 
 
 has been well said that the truest symbol of human life 
 will ever be a cross encircled with roses. 
 
 " Keceive the first, my Eleanor, with a meek and quiet 
 spirit, and the fragrance and beauty of the last shall be 
 shed over your life and memory ! Ever yours, 
 
 "M. G. GBAFTON." 
 
 THE END. 
 
HARPKB & BROTHERS will send the following work by Mail, postage paid (for 
 any distance in the United States under 3000 miles), on receipt of $1 25. 
 
 TENT LIFE 
 
 THE HOLY LAND 
 
 BY WILLIAM C. PRIME, 
 
 Author of "The Old House by the River, 11 "Later Years," &c. 
 Illustrations. 12tno, Muslin, $1 25. 
 
 A thoroughly enjoyable work ; the free, unembarassed expression of real feel 
 ing. Now the tones are musical with the echoes of a happy home, now deep and 
 olemn with a heaven-born thought. Now we have a pleasant memory, now a 
 bounding hope, and now a mingled strain, half joyous and half sorrowful. 
 Quaint and unhackneyed, at one moment almost merry, at another, sad even to 
 tears; genuine, earnest, heartfelt is this Tent Life in" the Holy Land. Boston 
 Journal. 
 
 He need not fear to stand comparison with the Eothen of Kinglake. Baltimore 
 Patriot. 
 
 What we especially admire in Mr. Prime ie, that when he feels, he is not 
 ashamed to show his emotion. He invests every thing he describes with a new 
 interest. The reader sees what he sees, and, as it were, through his eyes, and he 
 transfers with equal facility his own emotions and feelings to the hearts of his 
 readers. Knickerbocker. 
 
 The pleasantest book of Eastern travel we have ever read. Concord Patriot. 
 
 The realms of fiction give hardly any thing more fascinating. Universalist 
 Quarterly Review. 
 
 Remarkable books, which every one will wish to read. N. Y. Observer. 
 
 Worthy to rank with any book of travel of the age. Leader. 
 
 Mr. Prime was born a poet and a traveler. Country Gentleman. 
 
 The Tent Life is a gem. N. O. Christian Advocate. 
 
 A mere vivid and life-like impression of Holy Land than any other we have 
 ever read. Detroit Tribune. 
 
 Fascinating and interesting. Albany Knickerbocker. 
 
 Unusually spirited and captivating. $. O. Crescent. 
 He writes glowingly. A". Y. Commercial Advertiser. 
 
 Full of enthusiasm, vigor, and unaffected sentiment. Russell s Magazine 
 (Charleston, S. C.) 
 
 Mr. Prime is a man of genius by God s gift, a gentleman by birth and in 
 stincts, and an accomplished scholar by education. * * * In one respect these 
 volumes are invaluable. They are a complete guide for all Eastern travelers, 
 and ought to be the vade mecum of those who travel that route. Vindicator. 
 
 A freshness of language and a vividness of imagery that charm while they in 
 struct the reader. Christian Intelligencer. 
 
 Mr. Prime controverts many of Dr. Robinson s positions in reference to locali 
 ties in Palestine, and his work is valuable for this, and not only for its sketches 
 of customs, scenery, and personal adventure. Peterson s Magazine. 
 
 This volume would be of great use and interest in Sabbath School libraries, 
 and its lively style would not fail to interest children. Mr. Prime has a most 
 happy talent of enlivening his readers. Journal and Messenger. 
 
 All classes of readers will find something to interest them in these charming 
 volumes. No previous tourist has returned with richer spoils. Homestead. 
 
 Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, 
 
 Franklin Square, New York. 
 
HAKPEB & BBO HIKES will send the following Work by Mail, postage paid (for 
 any distance in the United States under 3000 miles), on receipt of $1 25. 
 
 BOAT LIFE 
 
 EGYPT AND NUBIA. 
 
 BY WILLIAM 0. PKIME, 
 
 Author of " The Old House by the River" and "Later Years." 
 Illustrations. 12mo, Muslin, $1 25. 
 
 This is a book of travels worth reading. The author is a man of education, 
 imagination, mental and physical health, elevation, and fun. We speak strong 
 ly but advisedly. Boat Life in Egypt is so different from most of the travel- 
 books that we have lately seen. Boston Post. 
 
 It was not to womanly grace alone that he devoted his veneration. He loves 
 elaborate vases, aerial architecture, enamels, cameos, and legends, and found 
 luxury in the starlight of the Nile. On the river he dreams of Cleopatra and 
 the keel of her golden barge grating the golden sands. Athenceum (London.) 
 
 We never read any work of Eastern Life and Travel which has given us so 
 much pleasure as this. New Hampshire State Gazette. 
 
 Since the publication of Stephens s record nothing has appeared so satisfactory. 
 Charleston Courier. 
 
 One of its most striking qualities is its decided vein of dry humor and spicy 
 incident. Hartford Press. 
 
 Its vivid sketches are from the hands of a master. Christian Observer. 
 
 The ripe, classical mind of Mr. Prime has enriched these pages with gems. 
 Day Book. 
 
 Endued with that same charm which encircles every thing his pen dwells 
 upon. Providence Post. 
 
 Full of illustrations of classic and sacred writers. Journal and Messenger. 
 
 We give this book an honored place in our home library. Christian Freeman. 
 
 It shows the hand of a ripe scholar, the perseverance of a genuine antiquary. 
 Washington States. 
 
 A most welcome book, from the graphic and graceful pen of William C. Prime. 
 There is no mistake and no doubt about this book of travels. Springfield Re 
 publican. 
 
 Mr. Prime is one of the best travelers and writers of travel of the present cen 
 tury. Philadelphia Bulletin. 
 
 Clergymen and scholars will find the book worth all other modern travels as 
 a compendium of Egyptian learning, and all who love to travel with a spirited, 
 lively, adventurous traveler will enjoy reading it. N. Y. Observer. 
 
 He writes vigorously ; he loves 1m subject ; he is an artist and a scholar ; and, 
 next to making the journey itself, is the pleasure of looking at the grand and 
 beautiful things of the land of the Ptolemies and the Pharaohs through the 
 mind s eye of so clever and critical, yet genial an observer. Boston Traveler. 
 
 This is a charming book * * a portraiture of life as it exists at the present 
 time in the Orient. * * The advice to travelers visiting Egypt alone will be 
 found to be worth fourfold what is charged for the volume to any one about to 
 undertake the journey. We fully agree with the Journal of Commerce that 
 those who have followed Mr. Prime in former daya through the forest and be 
 side the stream, will not be less delighted with his wanderings in the lands of 
 Patriarchs and Pharaohs. Boston Transcript, 
 
 Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, 
 
 Franklin Square, New York. 
 
M. LIVINGSTONE S TRAVELS. 
 
 Missionary Travels and Researches in South Africa; including a 
 Sketch of Sixteen Years Residence in the Interior of Africa, and 
 a Journey from the Cape of Good Hope to Loando on the West 
 Coast ; thence across the Continent, down the River Zambesi, to 
 the Eastern Ocean. By DAVID LIVINGSTONE, LL.D., D.C.L. 
 Two Maps by AUROWSMITII, a Portrait on Steel, and numerous 
 Illustrations. New Edition, with Copious Index. One Volume, 
 Svo, Price $3 00. 
 
 NOTICE. 
 
 Messrs. HARPER & BROTHERS take this opportunity of cautioning the public 
 against several spurious publications, which, by artful advertisements, are made 
 to appear as though emanating from Dr. Livingstone. They are authorised to 
 .say that Dr. Livingstone repudiates them entirely, and wishes it to be generally 
 known that the present work is the only autlientic narrative of his Adventures 
 and,Travels in Africa. 
 
 A book which, before it has been ten days in the hands of the public, will 
 have been perused by perhaps 30,000 readers a book second only to Lord Mac- 
 aulay s History of England in the inordinate extent of its circulation. No won 
 der it addresses itself to large and numerous classes the great religious world, 
 the commercial world, the scientific. Literary Gazette. 
 
 The book is one of the most captivating description ; in style simple, clear, and 
 graphic, and in matter such as no other living traveler s experience could afford. 
 From the beginning to the end of the volume there is not a page that does not 
 compel the attention, not a page that does not offer something novel. It is a 
 wonder-book all through. N. Y. Courier and Enquirer. 
 
 This remarkable narrative, distinguished throughout by the modesty charac 
 teristic of true merit. Clear, concise, unaffected, and fluent, it charms the read 
 er, and bears him along irresistibly, securing his attention from first to last. . 
 N. Y. Commercial Advertiser. 
 
 At once scientific, literary, and religious, it deserves to be read and studied by 
 all classes. Boston Post. 
 
 A new chapter in the history of the world. Boston Leader. 
 
 Since the days of Mandeville, Marco Polo, and Captain Cooke, no one person 
 uas traversed a more extended theatre of travel, or added more to the great dis 
 coveries of the world than Dr. Livingstone. The work combines the dignity of 
 scientific research with thrilling narratives of personal adventure. Richmond 
 Enquirer. 
 
 The African Columbus has broken the egg, and let the world into his secret. 
 What he has achieved, and endured, and conquered; the witchcraft which, for 
 fiixteen years, he has used against a vertical sun and a malign climate how he 
 has run the gauntlet of carnivores and pachyderms, and ophidia how he has 
 lived on roots, ahd locusts, and frogs, and moistened his mouth only with rain 
 or river water how he has striven with thirst and fever, with the loss of letters 
 and the absence of intelligent companionship how he has sounded unknown 
 lakes, broken through thorny jungles, navigated unknown rivers, opened to light 
 a world teeming with floral, animal, and mineral wonders obtaining ingress for 
 science, for commerce, for religion and leading after him, as the special spoils 
 of his expedition, a throng of colored indigeni, drawn along by no other fetters 
 eave of love and admiration. So runs flie story of his book a book not so much 
 of travel and adventure as, in its purport and spacious relation, a veritable poem, 
 A thenceum. 
 
 The book will be sought for and read with more eagerness than a romance. 
 N. Y. Observer. 
 
 Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, 
 
 Franklin Square, New York. 
 
 * HARPER & BROTHERS will send the above Work by Mail, postage paid (for any 
 distance in the United States under 3000 miles), on receipt of Three Dollars. 
 
" The most magnificent contribution of Ihe present cen 
 tury to the cause of geographical knowledge." 
 
 DR. EARTH S 
 NORTH AND CENTRAL AFRICA. 
 
 Travels and Discoveries in North and Central Africa. Being a 
 
 Journal of an Expedition undertaken under the Auspices of 
 
 H.B.M s Government in the Years 1849-1855. By HENRY 
 
 BARTH, Ph.D., D.C.L., Fellow of the Royal Geographical and 
 
 Asiatic Societies, &c., &c. Profusely and elegantly illustrated. 
 
 Complete in 3 vols. 8vo, Muslin, $2 50 a Volume"; Half Calf, 
 
 $10 50 a set. 
 
 Dr. Earth s wonderful travels approach the Equator from the North as nearly 
 as Dr. Livingstone s from the South, and thus show to future travelers the field 
 which still remains open for exploration and research. Vol. III., completing 
 the work, is in the press, and will be published shortly. 
 
 The researches of Dr. Barth are of the highest interest. Few men have ex 
 isted so qualified, both by intellectual ability and a vigorous bodily constitution, 
 for the perilous part of an African discoverer as Dr. Barth. London Times, 
 Sept. 8, 1S57. 
 
 It richly merits all the commendation bestowed upon it by "the leading jour, 
 nal of Europe." Corr. National Intelligencer. 
 
 Every chapter presents matter of more original interest than an ordinary vol. 
 ume of travels. London Leader. 
 
 For extent and variety of subjects, the volumes before us greatly surpass every 
 other work on African travel with which it has been our fortune to meet Lon= 
 don Athenceum. 
 
 Dr. Barth is the model of an explorer patient, persevering, and resolute. 
 London Spectator. 
 
 No one who wishes to know Africa can afford to dispense with this work. Bos 
 ton Traveler. 
 
 A most wonderful record. Poughkeepsie Democrat. 
 
 It is the most magnificent contribution of the present century to the cause of 
 geographical knowledge. N. Y. Evangelist. 
 
 The most important contribution to Geographical Science that has been mado 
 in our time. Thousands of readers in our country will be anxious to get poses- 
 sion of this treasure of knowledge, JV". Y. Observer. 
 
 One of the most important works of the kind which has appeared for an age. 
 Lutheran Observer. 
 
 It can not fail to find its way into the libraries of most scholars. Lyncliburg 
 Virginian, 
 
 The personal details give the work .great interest. Philadelphia Press. 
 
 Dr. Earth s work is a magnificent contribution to geographical and ethno 
 graphical science.^V. Y, Independent. 
 
 Your curiosity is awakened, step by step, as with diminished resources he 
 works his way through fanatical and rapacious tribes, ready in resources and 
 never desponding, and buoyed up by the unconquerable desire to surpass his 
 predecessors in the thoroughness and in tbe range of his discoveries. Albion. 
 
 Among the most wonderful achievements of modern times Western Christian 
 
 Advocate. 
 
 A most valuable contribution to the standard literature of the world. Troy 
 Times. 
 
 Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, 
 
 Franklin Square, New York. 
 
 ** HAPKR & BROTHERS will send tho nbove Work by Mail, postage paid (for 
 any distance in the United States under i) : K.O miles), on receipt of the Money. 
 
LA PLATA: 
 
 THE ARGENTINE CONFEDERATION, 
 
 AND 
 
 PARAGUAY. 
 
 Being a Narrative of the Exploration of the Tributaries of the River 
 La Plata and Adjacent Countries, during the Years 1853, 54, 55, 
 and 56, under the orders of the -United States Government. 
 
 BY THOMAS J. PAGE, U.S.K, 
 
 Commander of the Expedition. 
 
 One Volume Large Octavo, with Map and numerous Illustrations. 
 Muslin, Three Dollars. 
 
 This Volume contains the Official Narrative of one of the most important ex 
 peditions ever sent out by our Government. Early in 1853 the steamer Water 
 Witch was placed under the command of Lieutenant PAGE, with instructions to 
 explore the Rivers of La Plata, and report upon their navigability and adapta 
 tion to commerce. Lieutenant PAGE executed his commission with rare fidelity 
 and intelligence, and has embodied the results in this volume. The explora 
 tions described in the Narrative embrace an extent of 3600 miles of river naviga 
 tion, and 4400 miles of journey by land in Paraguay and the Argentine Confed 
 eration. The River Paraguay alone was found to be navigable, at low water, by 
 a steamer drawing nine feet, for more than two thousand miles from the ocean. 
 The basin of La Plata is almost equal in extent to that of the Mississippi, and 
 not inferior in salubrity of climate and fertility of soil, while the head waters of 
 its rivers penetrate the richest mineral provinces of Brazil and Bolivia. The 
 products of this region must find their outlet through the River La Plata. The 
 population numbers scarcely one person to a square mile, but great inducements 
 to emigration are now offered by the Argentine Confederation. The commerce 
 of the country, already considerable, is capable of immediate and almost indef 
 inite increase. 
 
 Lieutenant PAGE S Narrative contains ample information respecting the soil, 
 climate, and productions of the country, and the manners, habits, and customs of 
 the people. A full account is given of the unfortunate rupture with Paraguay, 
 showing conclusively that the attack upon the Water Witch was altogether un 
 warranted, and the allegations by which President Lopez attempted to justify it 
 entirely destitute of truth. An interesting and valuable account of the Jesuit 
 Missions in La Plata is. appended to the Narrative. 
 
 The Illustrations comprise the accurate Map of the Country prepared by the 
 rrders of our Government, Portraits of Ilrquiza, Lopez, Francia, and Loyola, 
 i hd numerous Engravings of Scenery, Character, and Incident, 
 
 Published ly HARPER & BROTHERS, 
 
 Franklin Square, New York. 
 
 HABPEB & BROTHERS will send the above Work by Mail, postage paid, to any 
 part of the United States, on receiot of $3 00. 
 
" They do honor to American Literature, and would do 
 honor to the Literature of any Country in the World." 
 
 THE RISE OF 
 THE DUTCH REPUBLIC. 
 
 & ^istorn. 
 BY JOHN LOTHKOP MOTLEY. 
 
 New Edition. With a Portrait of WILLIAM OF ORANGE. 3 vols. 
 Svo, Muslin, $6 00; Sheep, $6 75; Half Calf antique. $9 00; 
 Half Calf, extra gilt, $10 50. 
 
 Wo recrard this work as the best contribution to modem history that has yet 
 Iwon made by an American. Methodist. Quarterly Reticle. 
 
 The "History of the Dutch Republic" is a great gift to us; but the heart and 
 earnestness that beat through all its pages are greater, for they give us most 
 timely inspiration to vindicate the true ideas of our country, and to compose an 
 able history of our own. Christian Examiner (Boston). 
 
 This work bears on its face the evidences of scholarship and research. The 
 arrangement is clear and effective ; the style energetic, lively, and often brilliant. 
 * * * Mr. Motley s instructive volumes will, we trust, have a circulation commen 
 surate with their interest and value. Protestant Episcopal Quarterly Review. 
 
 To the illustration of this most interesting period Mr. Motley has brought the 
 matured powers of a vigorous and brilliant mind, and the abundant fruits of pa- 
 ient and judicious study and deep reflection. The result is, one of the most 
 important contributions to historical literature that have been made in this coun 
 try. Sorth American JRerieic. 
 
 We would conclude this notice by earnestly recommending our readers to pro 
 cure for themselves this truly great and admirable work, by the production of 
 which the auther has conferred no less honor upon his country than he has won 
 praise and fame for himself, and than which, we can assure them, thev can find 
 nothing more attractive or interesting within the compass of modern literature. 
 Evangelical Review. 
 
 It is not often that we have the pleasure of commending to the attention of the 
 1-iver of books a work of such extraordinary aud unexceptionable excellence aa 
 lias one. Universalist Quarterly Review. 
 
 There are an elevation and a classic polish in these volumes, and a felicity of 
 grouping and of portraiture, which invest the subject with the attractions "of a 
 living and stirring episode in the grand historic drama. Southern Methodist 
 Quarterly Review. 
 
 The author writes with a genial glow and love of his subject. Presbyterian 
 Quarterly Revicic. 
 
 Mr. Motley is a sturdy Republican and n hearty Protestant His style is live 
 ly and picturesque, and his work is an honor and an important accession to our 
 national literature. Church Review. 
 
 Mr. Motley s work is an important one. the result of profound research, sincere 
 convictions, sound principles, and manly sentiments; and even those who are 
 most familiar with the history of the period will find in it a fresh and vivid ad 
 dition to their previous knowledge. It does honor to American literature, and 
 would do honor to the literature of any country in the world. Edinburgh Re 
 view. 
 
 A serious chasm in English historical literature has been (by this book) very 
 remarkably filled. * * * A history as complete as industry and genius can make 
 it now Hes before us, of the first twenty years of the revolt of the United Prov 
 inces. * All the essentials of a great writer Mr. Motley eminently possesses. 
 His mind is broad, his industry unwearied. In power of dramatic description 
 ?:o modern historian, except, perhaps, Mr. Carl vie, surpasses him, and in analy 
 sis of character he is elaborate and distinct Westminster Rfvieic. 
 
MOTLEY S RISE OF THE DUTCH KEi UliLIC. 
 
 It is a work of real historical value, the result of accurate criticism, written 
 in a liberal spirit, and from first to last deeply interesting. Athenaeum. 
 
 The style is excellent, clear, vivid, eloquent ; and the industry with which 
 original sources have been investigated, and through which new light has been 
 Bhcd over perplexed incidents and characters, entitles Mr. Motley to a high rank 
 in the literature of an age peculiarly rich in history. North British Iteview. 
 
 It abounds in new information, and, as a first work, commands a very cordial 
 recognition, not merely of the promise it gives, but of the extent and importance 
 of the labor actually performed on it. London Examiner. 
 
 Mr. Motley s " History" is a work of which any country might be proud. 
 Press (London). 
 
 Mr. Motley s History will be a standard book of reference in historical litera 
 ture. London Literary Gazette. 
 
 Mr. Motley has searched the whole range of historical documents necessary to 
 the composition of his work. London Leader. 
 
 This is really a great work. It belongs to the class of books in which we 
 range our Grotes, Milmans, Merivales, and Macaulays, as the glories of English 
 literature in the department of history. * * * Mr. Motley s gifts as a historical 
 writer are among the highest and rarest. Nonconformist (London). 
 
 Mr. Motley s volumes will well repay perusal. * * * For his learning, his liberal 
 tone, and his generous enthusiasm, we heartily commend him, and bid him good 
 speed for the remainer of his interesting and heroic narrative. Saturday Review. 
 
 The story is a noble one, and is worthily treated. * * * Mr. Motley has had the 
 patience to unravel, with unfailing perseverance, the thousand intricate plot? of 
 the adversaries of the Prince of Orange; but the details and the literal extracts 
 which he has derived from original documents, and transferred to his pages, 
 give a truthful color and a picturesque effect, which are especially charming. 
 London Daily News. 
 
 M. Lothrop Motley dans son magnifique tableau de la formation de notre R6- 
 publique. G. GEOEN VAN PBISSTEEEE. 
 
 Our accomplished countryman, Mr. ,T. Lothrop Motley, who, during the last 
 five years, for the. better prosecution of his labors, has established his residence 
 in the neighborhood of the scenes of his narrative. No one acquainted with the 
 fine powers of mind possessed by this scholar, and the earnestness with which he 
 has devoted himself to the task, can doubt that he will do full justice to his im 
 portant but difficult subject W. H. PBESCOIT. 
 
 The production of such a work as this astonishes, while it gratifies the pride 
 of the American reader. N. Y. Observer. 
 
 The "Rise of the Dutch Republic" at once, and by acclamation, takes its 
 place by the " Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire," as a work which, wheth 
 er for research, substance, or style, will never - be superseded. N. Y. Albion. 
 
 A work upon which all who read the English language may congratulate 
 themselves. New Yorker Handels Zeitung. 
 
 Mr. Motley s place is now (alluding to this book) with Hallam and Lord Ma- 
 ton, Alison and Macaulay in the Old Country, and with Washington Irving, 
 Prescott, and Bancroft in this. N. Y. Times. 
 
 THE authority, in the English tongue, for the history of the period and people 
 to which it refers. N. Y. Courier and Enquirer. 
 
 This work at once places the author on the list, of American historians which 
 has been so signally illustrated by the names of Irving, Prescott, Bancroft, and 
 Hildreth. Boston Times. 
 
 The work is a noble one, and a most desirable acquisition to our historical lit 
 erature. Mobile Advertiser. 
 
 Such a work is an honor to its author, to his country, and to the age in which 
 it was written. Ohio Farmer. 
 
 Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, 
 
 Franklin Square, New York. 
 
 HABPEK & BBOTHEBS will send the above Work by Mail (postage paid (for any 
 distance in the United States under 3000 miles), on receipt of the Money. 
 
HISTORY 
 
 OF HIE 
 
 UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 
 
 BY EICHABD HILDKETH. 
 
 FIRST SERIES. From the First Settlement of the Country to the 
 Adoption of the Federal Constitution. 3 vols. Svo, Muslin, 
 $6 00; Sheep, $6 75; Half Calf, $7 50. 
 
 SECOND SERIES. From the Adoption of the Federal Constitution 
 to the End of the Sixteenth Congress. 3 vols. Svo, Muslin, 
 $6 00; Sheep, $6 75; Half Calf, $7 50. 
 
 The first attempt at a complete history of the United States. The reader who 
 desires to inform himself in all the particulars, military or political, of the 
 American Revolution, will find that they have been scrupulously collected for 
 him by Mr. Hildreth. London Athcnceum. 
 
 It has condensed into consecutive narrative the substance of hundreds of 
 volumes. London Literary Gazette. 
 
 The history of the Revolution is clearly and succinctly told. A". A. Rcriac. 
 
 Mr. Hildreth s sources of information have evidently been ample and various, 
 and intelligently examined, his materials arranged with a just idea of their im 
 portance in the story, while his judgments are well considered, unbiassed, and 
 reliable. His style is clear, forcible, and sententious. Christian Register. 
 
 Mr. Hildreth is a very concise, vigorous, and impartial writer. His entire 
 history is very accurate and interesting, and well worthy a place in every Amer 
 ican library. Louisville Journal. 
 
 He is laborious, conscientious, and accurate. As a methodical and very full 
 narrative, its value is undoubted. Xeic Orleans Bee. 
 
 The calmness and ability with which he has presented his narrative will give 
 his work rank among the standard histories of the country. Watchman an i 
 Observer. 
 
 * * We have, therefore, read his book with distrust. But we are bound in 
 candor to say that it seems to us valuable and very fair. Mr. Hildreth has con 
 fined himself to, as far as possible, a dispassionate collection of facts from the 
 documents he has consulted and copied, and his work fills a void that has pensi- 
 bly been felt in private libraries. As a documentary history of the United 
 States, we are free to commend it. A". Y. Freeman s Journal. 
 
 Mr. Hildreth has rendered an essential and permanent service. Providence 
 Daily Journal. 
 
 The volumes will be regarded as indispensable it will take its place as a 
 standard work. The author s style is dignified, perspicuous, and vivacious. 
 Church Review. 
 
 The work is very complete. The marginal dates, the two indexes, and run 
 ning heads at the tops of the pages, render it very convenient for reference, 
 points which scholars will find all important for utility, Xcicark Sentinel of 
 Freedom. 
 
HILDKETH S HISTORY OF THE UNITED STATES. 
 
 Written with candor, brevity, fidelity to facts, and simplicity of style and man- 
 ner,aud forms a welcome addition to the library of the nation. Prot. Churchman 
 
 Mr. Hildreth is a bold and copious writer. His work is valuable for the im 
 mense amount of material it embodies. De Bow s Review of the Southern and 
 Western States. 
 
 We may safely commend Mr. Hildreth s work as written in an excellent style 
 and containing a vast amount of valuable information. Albany Argus. 
 
 His style is vigorously simple. It has the virtue of perspicuity Zion s 
 
 Herald. 
 
 We value it on account of its impartiality. We have found nothing to indi 
 cate the least desire on the part of the author to exalt or debase any man or any 
 party. His very patriotism, though high-principled and sincere is sober and 
 discriminate, and appears to be held in strong check by the controlling recollec 
 tion that he is writing for posterity, and that if the facts which he publishes 
 will not honor his country and his countrymen, fulsome adulation will not add 
 to their glory. N. Y. Commercial Advertiser. 
 
 We are confident that when the merits of this history come to be known and 
 appreciated, it will be extensively regarded as decidedly superior to any thing 
 that before existed on American history, and as a valuable contribution to 
 American authorship. These stately volumes will be an ornament to any libra 
 ry, and no intelligent American can afford to be without the work. We have 
 nobly patronized the great English history of the age, let us not fail to appre 
 ciate and patronize an American history so respectable and valuable as this cer 
 tainly is. Biblical Repository (Bibliotheca Sacra). 
 
 This work professes only to deal in facts; it is a book of records; it puts to 
 gether clearly, conf-ecutively, and, we believe, with strict impartiality, the events 
 of American history. The work indicates patient, honest, and careful research, 
 systematic arrangement, and lucid exposition. Home Journal. 
 
 To exhibit the progress of the country from infancy to maturity; to show 
 the actual state of the people, the real character of their laws and institutions, 
 and the true designs of their leading men, at different periods, and to relate a 
 sound, unvarnished tale of our early history, has been his design ; and we are 
 free to acknowledge that it has been executed with marked ability and triumph 
 ant success. Every lover of impartial history will accord to Mr. Hildreth his 
 due meed of praise for the able and honest manner in which he has given the 
 true history of the United States. Pennsylvanian. 
 
 This work is full of detail, bears marks of care and research, and is written 
 under the guidance of clear sight and good judgment rather than of theory, 
 philosophical or historical, or of prejudice of any sort whatever. We trust that 
 it will be widely read. N. Y. Courier and Enquirer. 
 
 We pronounce it unsurpassed as a full, clear, and truthful history of our 
 country so far. We rejoice that a work so important to our nation has been so 
 ably performed. Literary American. 
 
 Interesting, valuable, and very attractive. It is written in a style eminently 
 clear and attractive, and presents the remarkable history which it records in a 
 form of great simplicity and with graphic force. There is in it no attempt to 
 palliate what is wrong, or to conceal what is true. It is a life-like and reliable 
 history of the most remarkable series of events in the annals of the world. K. 
 Y. Journal of Commerce. 
 
 It is a valuable acquisition to American literature. Baltimore American. 
 
 The history of our country with a scrupulous regard to truth. Buffalo Courier. 
 
 We believe this to be a truthful, judicious, and valuable history, worthy of 
 general acceptation. Philadelphia North American. 
 
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 Published ly HARPER & BROTHERS, 
 
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CURTIS S HISTORY 
 
 OF THE 
 
 CONSTITUTION. 
 
 HISTORY OF THE ORIGIN, FORMATION, AND ADOP 
 TION OF THE CONSTITUTION OF THE UNITED 
 STATES. By GEORGE TICKNOB CURTIS. Complete in 2 vols. 
 8vo, Muslin, $4 00 ; Law Sheep, $5 00 ; Half Calf, $6 00. 
 
 A book so thorough as this in the comprehension of its subject, go impartial 
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 truthful in its matter, may safely challenge the most exhaustive criticism. The 
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 special treatise. We may congratulate ourselves that an author has been found 
 BO capable to do full justice to it ; for that the work will take its rank among the 
 received text-books of our political literature will be questioned by no one who 
 has given it a careful perusal. National Intelligencer. 
 
 We know of no person who is better qualified (now that the late Daniel Web 
 ster is no more), to undertake this important history. Boston Journal. 
 
 It will take its place among the classics of American literature. Boston Cour 
 ier. 
 
 The author has given years to the preliminary studies, and nothing has es 
 caped him in the patient and conscientious researches to which he has devoted 
 so ample a portion of time. Indeed, the work has been so thoroughly performed 
 that it will never need to be done over again ; for the sources have been exhaust 
 ed, and the materials put together with so much judgment and artistic skill that 
 taste and the sense of completeness are entirely satisfied. N. Y. Daily Times. 
 
 A most important and valuable contribution to the historical and political lit 
 erature of the United States. All publicists and students of public law will be 
 grateful to Mr. Curtis for the diligence and assiduity with which he has wrought 
 out the great mine of diplomatic lore in which the foundations of the American 
 Constitution are laid, and for the light he has thrown on his wide and arduous 
 subject. London Morning Chronicle. 
 
 To trace the history of the formation of the Constitution, and explain the cir 
 cumstances of the time and country out of which its various provisions grew, is a. 
 task worthy of the highest talent. To have performed that task in a satisfacto 
 ry manner is an achievement with which an honorable ambition may well Lc 
 gratified. We can honestly say that in our opinion Mr. Curtis has fairly won 
 this distinction. N. Y. Courier and Enquirer. 
 
 We have seen no history which surpasses it in the essential qualities of a 
 standard work destined to hold a permanent place in the impartial judgment of 
 future generations. Boston Traveler. 
 
 Should the second volume sustain the character of the first, we hazard nothing 
 in claiming for the entire publication the character of a standard work. It will 
 furnish the only sure guide to the interpretation of the Constitution, by unfolding 
 historically the wants it was intended to supply, and the evils which it was in 
 tended to remedy. Boston Daily Advertiser. 
 
 This volume is an important contribution to our constitutional and historical 
 literature. * * * Every true friend of the Constitution will gladly welcome it. 
 The author has presented a narrative clear and interesting. It evinces careful 
 research, skillful handling of material, lucid statement, and a desire to write in 
 a tone and manner worthy of the great theme. Boston Post. 
 
 Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, 
 
 Franklin Square, New York. 
 
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COMPLETIOJI OF QUOTE S HISTORY OF GREECE. 
 
 A HISTORY OF GREECE, 
 
 FROM THE EARLIEST PERIOD TO THE CLOSE OF THE GENERA 
 TION CONTEMPORARY WITH ALEXANDER THE GREAT- 
 
 BY GEORGE GROTE, ESQ. 
 
 Vol. XII. contains Portrait, Maps, and Index. Complete in 12 vols. 12mo, 
 Muslin, $9 00 ; Sheep, $12 00 ; Half Calf, $15 00. 
 
 It is not often that a work of such magnitude is undertaken ; more seldom still 
 is such a work so perseveringly carried on, and so soon and yet so worthily ac 
 complished. Mr. Grote has illustrated and invested with an entirely new signifi 
 cance a portion of the past history of humanity, which he, perhaps, thinks the most 
 splendid that has been, and which all allow to have been very splendid. He has made 
 great Greeks live again before us, and has enabled us to realize Greek modes of think 
 ing. He has added a great historical work to the language, taking its place with 
 other great histories, and yet not like any of them in the special combination of 
 merits which it exhibits : scholarship and learning such as we have been ac 
 customed to demand only in Germans ; an art of grouping and narration different 
 from that of Hume, different from that of Gibbon, arid yet producing the effect of 
 sustained charm and pleasure ; a peculiarly keen interest in events of the political 
 order, and a wide knowledge of the business of politics ; and, finally, harmonizing 
 all, a spirit of sober philosophical generalization always tending to view facts 
 collectively in their speculative bearing as well as to record them individually. 
 It is at once an ample and detailed narrative of the history of Greece, and a lucid 
 philosophy of Grecian history. London Athenaeum, March 8, 1856. 
 
 Mr. Grote will be emphatically the historian of the people of Greece. Dublin 
 University Magazine. 
 
 The acute intelligence, the discipline, faculty of intellect, and the excellent eru 
 dition every one would look for from Mr. Grote ; but they will here also find the 
 element which harmonizes these, and without which, on such a theme, an orderly 
 and solid work could not have been written. Examiner. 
 
 A work second to that of Gibbon alone in English historical literature. Mr. 
 Grote gives the philosophy as well as the facts ot history, and it would be difficult 
 to find an author combining in the same degree the accurate learning of the schol 
 ar with the experience of a practical statesman. The completion of this great 
 work may well be hailed with some degree of national pride and satisfaction. 
 Literary Gazette, March 8, 1856. 
 
 The better acquainted any one is with Grecian history, and with the manner in 
 which that history has heretofore been written, the higher will be his estimation 
 of this work. Mr. Grote s familiarity both with the great highways and the ob 
 scurest by-paths of Grecian literature and antiquity has seldom been equaled, and 
 not often approached, in unlearned England ; while those Germans who have ri 
 valed it have seldom possessed the quality which eminently characterizes Mr. 
 Grote, of keeping historical imagination severely under the restraints of evidence. 
 The great charm of Mr. Grote s history has been throughout the cordial admira 
 tion he feels for the people whose acts and fortunes he has to relate. * * We bid 
 Mr. Grote farewell ; heartily congratulating him on the conclusion of a work which 
 is a monument of English learning, of English clear-sightedness, and of English 
 love of freedom and the characters it produces. Spectator. 
 
 Endeavor to become acquainted with Mr. Grote, who is engaged on a Greek 
 History. I expect a great deal from this production. NIEBUHR, the Historian, 
 to Professor LIEBER. 
 
 Ths author has now incontestably won for himself the title, not merely of a 
 historian, but of the historian of Greece. Quarterly Review. 
 
 Mr. Grote is, beyond all question, the historian of Greece, unrivaled, so far as 
 we know, in the erudition and genius with which he has revived the picture of a 
 distant past, and brnught home every part and feature of its history to our intcl- 
 Lc^ ami our hearts. Lond m Times. 
 
 For becoming dignity of style, unforced adaptation of results to principles, care 
 ful verification of theory by fact, and impregnation of fact by theory for extensive 
 and well-weighed learning, employed with intelligence and taste, we have seen no 
 historical work of modern times which we would place above Mr. Grote s histo 
 ry. Morning Chronicle. 
 
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