rTT^rrrrrr^r^^ 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 OF THE 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA. 
 
 v 
 GIFT OF 
 
 GEORGE MOREY RICHARDSON. 
 
 
 
 Received, ^August, 1898. 
 Accession No.20J Class No. 
 
 
IN PRESS, 
 
 Uniform -with this Volume, 
 
 THE HAUNTED ADJUTANT 
 
 Slntt tfjer Stories. 
 
 BY EDMUND QUINCY. 
 
 EDITED BY HIS SON, EDMUND QUINCY, 
 One vol. 12mo. $1.50. 
 
 For sale by all booksellers. Sent postpaid, upon 
 receipt of price, by the publishers, 
 
 JAMES R. OSGOOD & CO., 
 
 BOSTON. 
 
WENSLEY 
 
 tfjer 
 
 BY EDMUND QUINCY 
 
 EDITED BY HIS SON, EDMUND QUINCY 
 
 BOSTON 
 
 JAMES R. OSGOOD AND COMPANY 
 
 1885 
 
Copyright, 1885, 
 BY EDMUND QUINCY. 
 
 All rights reserved. 
 
 f5rtss: 
 JOHN WILSON AND SON, CAMBRIDGE. 
 
EDITOR S PREFACE. 
 
 TT is not without some hesitation and misgiving, 
 that the editor ventures to withdraw some of the 
 lighter writings of the late Edmund Quincy from the 
 pages of half-forgotten magazines, and give them 
 again to the public, together with the only novel he 
 ever wrote. In the whirl of the present day, it can 
 not be expected that many will stop long enough to 
 read stories of so quiet and unexciting a nature ; still 
 there may be some to whom very accurate pictures 
 of a way of life long passed away, and tales, all of 
 which have a certain foundation in fact, may not be 
 wholly without interest. The history of the octog- 
 enary, Colonel Wyborne, for instance, is in the main 
 facts a true one ; and his nocturnal visit to Boston, 
 after an absence of fifty years, was an actual occur 
 rence. Mr. Quincy was always of opinion that his 
 essay on " Old Houses," published in 1837, might have 
 suggested to Hawthorne that great magician s won 
 derful " Tales of the Province House," published some 
 time after. 
 
IV EDITOR S PREFACE. 
 
 The best years of Mr. Quincy s life, as many of his 
 contemporaries will remember, were given to the 
 antislavery cause ; and his writings on that subject, 
 if published together, would make many volumes, 
 and might furnish a contribution not without value 
 to the history of that momentous struggle. The time 
 for such a republication is not yet come, perhaps never 
 will come. A few specimens only are given, at the 
 end of this volume, of what Mr. Quincy wrote on the 
 subject so near his heart. They were chiefly contribu 
 tions to an annual called the " Liberty Bell," edited 
 by Mrs. Chapman for the antislavery fair which was 
 held in Boston annually for many years. 
 
BANKSIDE. 1 
 
 BY JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL. 
 
 MAY 21, 1877. 
 
 T CHEISTENED you in happier days, before 
 * These gray forebodings on my brow were seen : 
 You are still lovely in your new-leaved green ; 
 The brimming river soothes his grassy shore ; 
 The bridge is there, the rock with lichens hoar, 
 And the same shadows on the water lean, 
 Outlasting us. How many graves between 
 That day and this ! How many shadows more 
 Darken my heart, their substance from these eyes 
 Hidden forever ! So our world is made 
 Of life and death commingled ; and the sighs 
 Outweigh the smiles, in equal balance laid : 
 What compensation 1 None, save that the Allwise 
 So schools us to love things that cannot fade. 
 
 Thank God, he saw you last in pomp of May, 
 Ere any leaf had felt the year s regret : 
 Your latest image in his memory set 
 
 1 The place at Dedham where Mr. Quincy resided during all the 
 latter years of his life was so named by Mr. Lowell. 
 
 The poem, which the editor takes the liberty to insert, was printed 
 in the "Nation," under the date of Mr. Quincy s funeral, and is given 
 as being a very good description of Mr. Quincy s character. 
 
Vi BANKSIDE. 
 
 Was fair as when your landscape s peaceful sway 
 
 Charmed dearer eyes with his to make delay 
 
 On Hope s long prospect, as if They forget 
 
 The happy, they, the unspeakable ones, whose debt, 
 
 Like the hawk s shadow, haunts our brightest day. 
 
 Better it is that ye should look so fair, 
 
 Slopes that he loved, and ever-murmuring pines 
 
 That make a music out of silent air, 
 
 And bloom-heaped orchard-trees in prosperous lines : 
 
 In you the heart some sweeter hints divines, 
 
 And wiser, than in winter s dull despair. 
 
 Old friend, farewell ! Your kindly door again 
 
 I enter ; but the master s hand in mine 
 
 No more clasps welcome, and the temperate wine 
 
 That cheered our long night other lips must stain. 
 
 All is unchanged ; but I expect in vain 
 
 The face alert, the manners free and fine, 
 
 The seventy years borne lightly as the pine 
 
 Wears its first down of snow in green disdain. 
 
 Much did he, and much well ; yet most of all 
 
 I prized his skill in leisure and the ease 
 
 Of a life flowing full without a plan; 
 
 For most are idly busy ; him I call 
 
 Thrice fortunate who knew himself to please, 
 
 Learned in those arts that make a gentleman. 
 
 Nor deem he lived unto himself alone ; 
 
 His was the public spirit of his sire, 
 
 And in those eyes, soft with domestic fire, 
 
 A quenchless light of fiercer temper shone 
 
 What time about the world our shame was blown 
 
BANKSIDE. Vll 
 
 On every wind ; his soul would not conspire 
 With selfish men to soothe the mob s desire, 
 Veiling with garlands Moloch s bloody stone ; 
 The high-bred instincts of a better day 
 Ruled in his blood, when to be citizen 
 Rang Roman yet, and a Free People s sway 
 Was not the exchequer of impoverished men, 
 Nor statesmanship with loaded votes to play, 
 Nor public office a tramp s boozing ken. 
 
AUTHOR S PREFACE 
 
 TO THE ORIGINAL EDITION OF WENSLEY. 
 
 A S the last sheets of this work were passing 
 through the press, my friend in Boston, who is 
 kind enough to read the proofs for me, was asked by 
 the competent authorities of the printing-office for 
 the preface. Now, it had never occurred to me to 
 write a preface ; and I do not believe I should ever 
 have thought of it, had it not been for this official 
 reminder. But, when I came to think the matter 
 over, it seemed to me quite likely that the " gentle 
 readers and still gentler purchasers" (may their 
 name be Legion ! ) might possibly marvel within 
 themselves why I should have thought it worth my 
 while and theirs to confide to them the passages of 
 my life herein recorded. So perhaps, as it has been 
 put into my head, I may as well tell just how it all 
 came to pass. 
 
 I am sure, if anybody wonders at finding himself 
 (or herself) the depositary of personal confidences on 
 my part, I am much more astonished to find myself 
 
X AUTHOR S PREFACE. 
 
 making them. It fell out on this wise. In the early 
 part of August, 1852, while the monthly bearing the 
 superscription of Mr. Putnam, 10 Park Place, New 
 York, was as yet only in supposition, a gentleman 
 now prominently connected with the management of 
 that excellent periodical chanced to be my guest for 
 a while. An accident which befell him while on a 
 pedestrian tour among the Appalachians, the particu 
 lars of which are immaterial to my present purpose, 
 though sufficiently interesting in themselves, obliged 
 him to remain for some time under my roof. The 
 many who enjoy his acquaintanceship will think it 
 a very natural consequence of this adventure that he 
 should have made me a friend ; while the few who 
 possess mine will esteem it a very odd one that he 
 should have made me an author. But so it was. 
 
 And thus it was. Confiding to me the project of 
 the intended magazine, he kindly invited me to con 
 tribute something for its pages. Now, I had always 
 wished to leave behind me some sketch, however 
 imperfect, in the lack of a more skilful limner, of 
 my revered and beloved friend Mr. Bulkley ; and here 
 seemed to be the occasion and the repository offered 
 ready to my hand. So in due time I wrote, and for 
 warded to New York, the substance of what the reader 
 will find in the first two chapters of the book before 
 him ; that is, if he have not already read the book on 
 the supposition that he had laid hold of a novel (a 
 
AUTHOR S PREFACE. XI 
 
 species of literature which I have no wish, as there is 
 certainly no occasion, to encourage), and now turned 
 back to the preface last of all, as Sir Walter Scott 
 tells us is the way with that class of students, to find 
 out what the author would be at. 
 
 The kindness with which this outline was wel 
 comed, and the friendly encouragement I received to 
 fill it up, induced me to enlarge my canvas, and to 
 paint in the other figures that seemed likely to illus 
 trate my main design. It was throughout my purpose 
 to have Mr. Bulkley the central figure of the group, 
 and to make him the chief object of observation and 
 interest. I say thus much to excuse myself to those 
 readers who object to the appearance of egotism, which 
 is inseparable from the autobiographic form which 
 my narrative naturally assumed. I say naturally, 
 because it seems to me more simple to recount any 
 passages in which one took a part one s self in the 
 first person rather than in the third ; though, to be 
 sure, there are illustrious examples to the contrary 
 as Julius Caesar of Borne, and Major-General Heath 
 of Massachusetts, in their respective Commentaries. 
 The first of these military authors says, " Caesar 
 did so and so ; " and the other, " This being the 
 opinion of our general, he did this and that." But, 
 as I was never suspected of being a hero, I prefer 
 the more plain and straightforward form of speech, 
 which, if it savor more of vanity (which I doubt) than 
 
Xll AUTHOR S PREFACE. 
 
 the other, at least smacks less of affectation, which 
 is worse yet. 
 
 Thus it was that my narration grew up to its 
 present bulk, and extended itself through all the 
 numbers of a whole volume of Putnam, instead of 
 occupying a modest corner of one. After it had run 
 its race in that arena, I supposed that there was an 
 end of the whole thing ; when, one day a while ago, 
 I received a letter from the eminent publishers, 
 Messrs. TICKNOR AND FIELDS of Boston, proposing to 
 print it in book-form. At first I could account for 
 the proposition only on the hypothesis that that 
 respectable firm had been seized with a sudden 
 paroxysm of insanity a theory rendered the more 
 probable by the accounts the Boston newspapers were 
 then giving of the untimely raging of the dogstar in 
 those latitudes, driving great numbers even of the 
 canine race out of their wits. But finding, on inquiry, 
 that no commission of lunacy had as yet been issued 
 against those worthy gentlemen, I was prevailed upon 
 to yield my opinion to theirs, and to consent to their 
 proposal, the rather that it included inducements 
 which no true-born, well-brought-up, and intelligent 
 American citizen could find it in his heart to resist. 
 
 This is the way by which Wensley has come into 
 the hands of the reader in its present shape. I can 
 hardly help laughing to see myself in such relations 
 with the public, after so many years of absolute 
 
AUTHOR S PREFACE. Xlll 
 
 retirement. But then, to be sure, it is very likely 
 that the critics, should they get hold of me, will make 
 me laugh the other side of my mouth. If my pub 
 lishers were indeed in the rabid condition above 
 suggested, when they proposed giving it this form 
 and pressure, I must hope, for their sake merely, that 
 they may succeed in biting uncounted multitudes 
 throughout the country. But if they should not, and 
 they should find that they have made a loss by the 
 operation, the responsibility as well as the loss will 
 be theirs alone. I never asked them to undertake it. 
 But should the public, which I acknowledge as the 
 tribunal of the last appeal, in passing upon my part 
 of the matter before them, pronounce judgment 
 against it, I shall bow reverently to the decree; and 
 all that I shall have to say in mitigation of sentence, 
 and extenuation of my fault, will be expressed in the 
 formulas of the ancient pleas of the nursery and the 
 schoolroom : " I did not mean to do it ; I ana sorry 
 for it ; and I will never do so again." 
 
 ST. PHILIPSBURGH, Monongahela County, 
 Perm., April 1, 1854. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 EDITOR S PREFACE m 
 
 BANKSIDE, BY JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL .... v 
 
 AUTHOR S PREFACE ix 
 
 WENSLEY 
 
 MOUNT VERNEY 279 
 
 WHO PAID FOR THE PRIMA DONNA ? 321 
 
WENSLEY. 
 

 WENSLEY: 
 
 A STORY WITHOUT A MORAL. 
 
 CHAPTEE I. 
 
 HOW I CAME TO GO TO WENSLEY. 
 
 I BELIEVE I have a natural affinity it may be 
 only an elective one for odd people. At any 
 rate, allowing for my limited opportunities, it has been 
 my hap to fall in with my share of them during the 
 time past of my pilgrimage. And I began betimes 
 too. I dare say not many of my readers ever heard 
 of the Rev. Mr. Adrian Bulkley of Wensley, in 
 Massachusetts ; and yet I will make bold to assure 
 them that they have not had many acquaintances 
 better worth knowing than he; or, if they have, 
 their luck has been more than mine. It is a thou 
 sand pities that he had not fallen in the way of 
 Charles Lamb or De Quincey. They, or Hawthorne, 
 would have delighted in making him immortal. But 
 for the lack of a sacred bard he must needs be for 
 gotten, like the heroes that lived before Agamemnon, 
 
4 WENSLEY. 
 
 and be as if he had never been. Possibly his name 
 may yet be one of the household words of the little 
 inland town over which he predominated for so many 
 years ; and perhaps the genial eccentricities of his life 
 and speech may still make the staple of a winter s 
 tale round a farmer s fireside there. But, beyond 
 these narrow bounds and the not much wider sphere 
 of his clerical exchanges, he was but little known 
 while he lived ; and even within them his memory 
 must, by the natural laws of decay, be gradually 
 mouldering away, along with his dust in the Min 
 ister s Tomb, out of men s minds. So that it will 
 not be many years before his name will survive 
 only in the homely annals of the parish records, 
 on the tablet lately erected by the Wensley Sewing 
 Circle to the deceased ministers of the town, and 
 in the triennial catalogue of Harvard College. 
 
 I well remember my first sight of him. And well 
 I may ; for it was connected with a little incident in 
 my life such as usually makes a deep impression on 
 any ingenuous youth whom it befalls. Not to mince 
 the matter, the government of the college charged 
 with my education were misled by a train of unto 
 ward circumstances to the conclusion that a residence 
 of some months in a rural district, remote from the 
 temptations incident to academic life, would be at 
 once beneficial to me, and of good example, by way 
 of warning, to the rest of the university. I need 
 hardly say to any one who knew me at that time, 
 or who enjoys that advantage now, that they were 
 
HOW I CAME TO GO TO WENS LEY. 5 
 
 entirely mistaken, and rested their conclusions upon 
 very erroneous premises. The facts were these : 
 there was at that time a sodality, or voluntary asso 
 ciation of youth for mutual improvement, the object 
 of which was to combine abstract with practical sci 
 ence. Their purpose was to imitate, at a humble dis 
 tance, the example of the divine Socrates, and to call 
 philosophy down from heaven to minister to the ne 
 cessities of man. They delighted in nicely observ 
 ing the effects of fire, for instance, on certain animal 
 and vegetable substances. They curiously watched 
 the chemical changes resulting from the mixture of 
 divers liquids one with another. And they specu 
 lated profoundly on the laws of pneumatics, whereby, 
 through the agency of fire at the one end and of a 
 gentle suction at the other, a desiccated vegetable 
 convolution could be returned to its original elements 
 of air and earth in the form of smoke and ashes, 
 pulvis et umbra, as Horace would have said touching 
 it, had he not died before the sight. 
 
 This harmless, not to say praiseworthy, fraternity 
 appropriately denominated themselves "the Deipno- 
 sophoi," or supper philosophers, a term which very 
 aptly described the practical nature of their scientific 
 pursuits. It did sometimes happen to them, as it 
 hath to the ardent followers of science in all times, 
 that they pursued their investigations a little too far, 
 and that occasionally the supper was rather too much 
 for the philosophy. It was the gloss of the rulers of 
 the university, that the night which was the imme- 
 
6 WENSLEY. 
 
 diate cause of my introduction to Mr. Bulkley was 
 one of these exceptional occasions. I neither admit 
 nor deny the imputation. It was affirmed on behalf 
 of the prosecution that songs of a lively character, 
 interspersed with laughter of a vociferous nature and 
 an occasional shout of triumph, disturbed the stillness 
 of the night. It did also happen that the windows 
 of an unpopular tutor (since a very eminent literary 
 and public man) were broken in a most emphatic 
 and unqualified manner that particular night. But 
 I defy the world to the proof that any of our party 
 had anything to do with that. But, suppose both 
 these charges could have been substantiated, I appeal 
 to every impartial and well-regulated mind whether 
 any inference could be drawn from them to the dis 
 advantage of young votaries of science, who could 
 not refrain from seizing a favorable moment for 
 testing the principles of acoustics, or were unable to 
 resist an eminently tempting opportunity to reduce 
 to practice the laws governing projectiles. These lib 
 eral views, unfortunately, did not inspire the proctors 
 when they gave hot chase to our party, who, resort 
 ing to the laws regulating muscular locomotion with 
 great energy, all made their escape, with the excep 
 tion of my unlucky self. But I, after practically 
 experiencing the law of the resistance of matter by 
 striking my foot against a stone, exemplified that of 
 gravitation by measuring my length on my mother 
 earth. 
 
 Of course there was no use of resistance or disguise 
 
HOW I CAME TO GO TO WENSLEY. 7 
 
 when the enemy had me at such a deadly advantage. 
 Wellington, Napoleon, General Taylor himself, would 
 have surrendered under such circumstances. I was 
 seized and identified, and then ordered to go to my 
 rooms. This was quite superfluous, as I had no inten 
 tion of going anywhere else. So I went thither, curs 
 ing my ill luck, and having a particularly ill opinion 
 of supper-eating combined with philosophy. - Nor did 
 this unfortunate conjunction rise in my estimation 
 when I was summoned before the college government 
 in full conclave the next morning, to answer for the 
 deeds done the night before. Honest old souls ! Not 
 one of them left ! I hated some of them then, but I 
 think tenderly and reverently of them all now. Of 
 course I admitted what could not be denied, but reso 
 lutely refused to give any information that should 
 implicate any one else. So I was thought to have 
 got off very easily when the President sent for me 
 soon after, and read to me my credentials (then 
 popularly known as my walking-ticket), stating that 
 the government, in consideration of Osborne s having 
 assisted at a festive entertainment on such a night, 
 sentenced him to be suspended for nine months, to 
 pass the same under the charge of the Eev. Adrian 
 Bulkley of Wensley. 
 
 After a little advice, given in the kindly and 
 friendly tone which has given him a place in the 
 hearts of all his academic sons, the President dis 
 missed me with " a merry twinkle in his eye, " as if 
 he did not regard me as a sinner above all others, 
 
8 WENSLEY. 
 
 enjoining it upon me to leave town within an hour. 
 Having expected this, and having escaped much bet 
 ter than I had feared, a chum of mine drove me to 
 Boston as fast as Read s best horse could carry us. 
 Here I reported my misfortune to my guardian 
 (having been an orphan since infancy) ; and after re 
 ceiving, like Don Juan, " a lecture and some money," 
 I took my place on the top of the stage-coach which 
 passed through Wensley on its way to Haverford, 
 and found myself, about five o clock on a fine after 
 noon in June, whirling up to the door of Grimes s 
 tavern, well renowned in all the region round about for 
 flip, the loggerhead whereof never grew cold. 
 
 Old Grimes I beg his pardon, I mean Major 
 Grimes squinted a welcome to me out of his one 
 eye, while his copper nose glowed with anticipated 
 hospitality as he assisted me to descend from my 
 elevation. But his hopes of immediate advantage 
 from my advent were dampened by my inquiring, as 
 soon as I had complied with the custom of the time, 
 and done my best to qualify the coachman for break 
 ing the necks of the travellers I left behind me, by a 
 stiff glass of toddy, by my inquiring, I say, for the 
 house of the Rev. Mr. Bulkley. 
 
 " Mr. Bulkley ! " repeated the Major, wiping his 
 toddy-stick as he spoke, and laying it reverently aside 
 for the next occasion, sure soon to recur ; " you are 
 a relation of his, perhaps, sir ? " 
 
 " None whatever, that I know of," was my curt 
 response. 
 
HOW I CAME TO GO TO WENSLEY. 9 
 
 "All, only an acquaintance, then?" persisted the 
 gallant toddy mixer. 
 
 " Never saw him in my life," said I. 
 
 " Only know him by reputation ? " suggested the 
 Major. 
 
 "Never heard of his existence till this morning," 
 I returned rather snappishly ; " but for all that I 
 wish to see him, and shall be obliged to you if you 
 will tell me where he lives." 
 
 " Oh, I understand," drawled out mine host, cocking 
 his eye afresh at me with an indescribably knowing 
 leer, which was also indescribably provoking, " now 
 I understand it all. When did you leave Cambridge, 
 sir ? " 
 
 " Cambridge be d d ! " said I in my haste ( I 
 
 do not justify this summary disposition of that an 
 cient seat of learning, but historical accuracy compels 
 me to record that this was the precise formula I made 
 use of ) : " is it any business of yours, I should like to 
 know, where I came from ? What I want of you is 
 to know where I m to go." 
 
 "Not the least business of mine in the world," 
 responded my interrogator with the most quiet equa 
 nimity, still regarding me out of the corner of his eye 
 with an expression in which fun and toddy seemed 
 to be mixed half and half; "but I have directed 
 several young gentlemen to Priest Bulkley s in my 
 time, though it is a good while since the last one. 
 I know how they look, sir : there s no mistaking em." 
 And he chuckled till I felt inclined to close up the one 
 
10 WENSLEY. 
 
 organ he had left for making such observations on 
 the rising generation under difficulties. But, restrain 
 ing my wrath, I contented myself with saying, 
 
 " I should like to know what the devil you have 
 to do with my affairs, sir. If you can answer my 
 question without any more impertinence, answer it ; 
 if not, I will try and find my way by myself." 
 
 " Oh, I beg your pardon, sir," replied the Yankee 
 Boniface ; " I meant no offence. I know that young 
 gentlemen will get into scrapes, sir ; though it seems 
 to me that the beauty of a scholar is to keep out of 
 the scrapes, sir. Not a bad scrape, I hope, sir ?" 
 
 " Go to the devil ! " I bounced out in a towering 
 passion, and at the same time bounced out of the 
 tavern-door to find my own way. But I soon heard 
 the inquiring Major hobbling after me ; for he was 
 damaged in one leg as well as in his visual orb. 
 
 " I say, sir," he called out after me, "I say, sir, 
 don t be mad with a fellow. I meant no harm. Why, 
 Judge Waldo, and Parson Tisdale, and General Shaw, 
 and half a dozen others I could tell you of, have been 
 sent to the old priest since I have lived here, just as 
 you are now, and nobody thinks any the worse of em 
 for it. Halloo, sir ! " he exclaimed, seeing me only 
 hurry on the faster to get out of the reach of the 
 catalogue of my illustrious predecessors, " halloo, 
 sir ! You ain t going the right way ! You 11 bring up 
 at old Dr. Fitch s, in Southfield, instead of Priest 
 Bulkley s, the way you re going. But perhaps he d 
 do just as well." 
 
HOW I CAME TO GO TO WENSLEY. 11 
 
 This brought me up standing ; and I soon put my 
 course about, and returned to the tavern-door, the 
 Major talking all the while without stopping to draw 
 breath, or even to spit. When at the door, summon 
 ing all the dignity of incensed nineteen into my face, 
 I said, 
 
 " Now, sir, I will thank you to put me in my way 
 without any more words." 
 
 " Can t be done without em, sir," replied my im 
 perturbable tormentor; "must use em, unless I go 
 along with you. Perhaps I had better." 
 
 "Tell me the way, if you can, and be hanged to 
 you ! " I exclaimed in a rage. " I want none of your 
 company. I ve had enough of it already." 
 
 " Oh, very well," replied the placable man of war 
 with perfect good-humor ; " you will just keep straight 
 on through the village till you corne to the meeting 
 house ; and the priest s house is the third beyond it, 
 on your left hand, just at the head of the road." 
 
 "And why could you not have told me this an 
 hour ago ? " said I, setting off at a round pace, the 
 Major sending his winged words after me as long as 
 I was within hearing, and I dare say a good while 
 longer. 
 
 " You 11 find the parson at home, sir. I saw him 
 ride by just before you came ; and if his old horse 
 has n t fell to pieces, he s to home by this time. I 11 
 take good care of your trunk, sir. The priest 11 send 
 black Jasp after it for you. Hope you 11 give me a 
 call, sir. Best of wine and spirits. No such flip in 
 
12 WEXSLEY. 
 
 the country, sir, nor punch, neither. Priest Bulkley 
 tries to keep his scholars away from me ; but it s of 
 no use, sir. They will come. And so will you, I 
 hope, sir," etc. 
 
 And, when I turned my head to transfix the loqua 
 cious sinner with a Parthian look of indignant con 
 tempt, I saw him laughing with all his might as he 
 halted back to his dominions. I felt very much as 
 if I should have liked to kill him just then ; but we 
 became very good friends before long. Perhaps there 
 was more danger of his killing me. 
 
 So I passed on through the main street of the vil 
 lage, which, indeed, was no street at all, but a coun 
 try road sprinkled with farm-houses, none of which 
 seemed to have been built since the old French war, 
 with fine old elms and buttonwood-trees in front of 
 most of them. Near the bridge which spanned the 
 pretty little Quasheen, which ran through the town, 
 was the grocer s shop, which also contained the post- 
 office, from which favorite retreat and the bench in 
 front of it stared forth whatever loungers the village 
 could boast ; but in sooth they were not many, and 
 were mostly made so by the potent spirits of which 
 Major Grimes had boasted himself. But in those 
 days a certain allowance of topers was thought as 
 necessary a result of the institutions of New England, 
 in every town, as a due proportion of militia officers 
 or of church-members. 
 
 Just over the bridge on the other side of the way, 
 " under a spreading chestnut-tree," stood the village 
 
HOW I CAME TO GO TO WENSLEY. 13 
 
 smithy, which was about the only other place that 
 showed signs of animation, with its glowing forge, 
 flying sparks, regular sharp strokes that made the 
 anvil quiver, and with the farmers waiting with their 
 horses and wagons for their turn of the Cyclopean 
 art. Still, so rare was the sight of a stranger that 
 for a moment even the anvil had rest, and the weary 
 lungs of the bellows ceased to fan, like the breath of 
 a mischief-maker, fires that were hot enough before 
 into tenfold fury, while they all took a good look at 
 me, and then, no doubt, discussed all the possibilities 
 of my personal identity and antecedents, substantially 
 very much as such phenomena are treated in the 
 bow-windows of English clubs or the smoking-rooms 
 of American hotels. 
 
 I soon (fame to the meeting-house, leaving which 
 on my left hand, I approached, much faster than I 
 liked, my destination. The parsonage was full in 
 sight of the meeting-house ; but though, as the Major 
 had informed me, there were but two houses between 
 them, it was a good third of a mile to it. The road 
 taking a bend just there, the ministers had apparently 
 taken it up as a good raking position, commanding 
 the church and the green about it, and thus serving 
 as a sort of outpost, or tower of observation, appurte 
 nant to the walls of their Zion. I confess that I did 
 not regard the edifice before me with any violent 
 emotions of pleasure. To be delivered up for nine 
 mortal months to the tender mercies of a Calvinistic 
 minister of the very straitest sect (for such I had as- 
 
14 WENSLEY. 
 
 certained him to be), seemed rather a severe retribu 
 tion for one night of supping philosophy. But it is 
 in vain to contend with inexorable fate. I strode on, 
 resolving to face mine with the best grace I could. 
 But, as often happens, I found the frown which I 
 had dreaded turn into a most attractive smile. For 
 this acquaintance thus forced upon me, and thus un 
 promising in anticipation, proved one of the chiefest 
 pleasures of my youth and early manhood, and ended 
 in a friendship which lasted as long as his life, and 
 which certainly was not buried with him. But I 
 am now close upon him, and will introduce him to 
 the reader as soon as I have made his acquaintance 
 myself. A new chapter, however, is the least com 
 pliment I can pay to- either party. 
 
CHAPTEE II. 
 
 THE MINISTER AND HIS MAN. 
 
 "THHE parsonage was merely a plain, unpainted 
 * farm-house some hundred and fifty years old, 
 with its roof sloping to the ground behind, and over 
 grown with moss. The grass grew green up to the broad 
 doorstone, which was divided from the high-road by 
 no fence. The house was overshadowed by a mag 
 nificent elm, which had taken root apparently before 
 Columbus had begun to dream of a western passage 
 to the India of Marco Polo and Sir John Mandeville. 
 On a rough seat which ran round this tree sat a 
 gentleman, who, I knew at the first glance, must be 
 my fate for nine months at least. As I approached 
 near enough to give him assurance that my visit was 
 meant for him, he laid aside the pipe with which he 
 was solacing himself, and rose to receive me. He 
 advanced, erect and a little formal, but with an air 
 of one that had seen the world, for which I was not 
 prepared, as I knew nothing of his history. His 
 dress, I am bound to say, bore no marks of inordi 
 nate care, and possibly might have been the better 
 for a judicious application of needle and thread in 
 some of its departments. But, for all that, he had 
 eminently the look of a gentleman of the old school. 
 
16 WENS LEY. 
 
 The hat which he raised when I approached was, I 
 regret to say, one of the profane round abominations 
 which came in with the French Revolution, and 
 which still deform the heads of the nineteenth cen 
 tury. And it was his own white hair (for he was 
 then near seventy) that it covered. 
 
 His cocked hat, not long relinquished, yet hung 
 behind the study-door ; and his wig, which had an 
 ticipated his hat by some years in its flight from 
 before the innovating spirit of the age, still stood in 
 its box on the bookcase to your right as you faced 
 the fireplace. His knee-breeches, I rejoice to say, he 
 lived in to the last and for that matter died in too. 
 Later in our acquaintance, when, in spite of the differ 
 ence in our ages, 
 
 " We talked with open heart and tongue, 
 Affectionate and true, 
 A pair of friends," 
 
 Mr. Bulkley would sometimes assume, for my edifi 
 cation, these ancient symbols of clerical dignity, and, 
 with his gold-headed cane in his hand, step as it were 
 out of the middle of the last century, every inch a 
 minister of a time when the New England clergy 
 were, indeed, what M. Kossuth wished the United 
 States to become, " a power on earth. 
 
 Upon my introducing myself, and presenting the 
 letters introductory with which my Alma Mater had 
 favored me, he courteously welcomed me to Wensley, 
 and then, glancing at the document, looked at me, 
 with a comic expression, out of the corner of his eye, 
 
THE MINISTER AND HIS MAN. 17 
 
 over his spectacles, which he had donned for the 
 nonce, and said, 
 
 " A festive entertainment, eh ? That s what they 
 call em now, is it? Bad things, festive entertain 
 ments, Mr. Osborne." 
 
 " Oh, sir ! " I interpolated, " it was quite a mistake ; 
 a very innocent affair, I assure you." 
 
 " No doubt, no doubt," responded he. " The college 
 government is subject to error, like all human bodies ; 
 and it is rather remarkable that they have happened 
 to be mistaken in the case of every young gentleman 
 that they have ever sent to me. Quite a Massacre of 
 the Innocents, I do assure you ! " and he laughed so 
 cordially and good-naturedly that I could not help 
 joining him. 
 
 " For all that, sir," I replied, " mine was a very 
 harmless business, as I believe you will allow when 
 I tell you the particulars ; if, indeed, you consent to 
 receive me." 
 
 " It is a long time," he said, " since I have afforded 
 a city of refuge to the ill-used sons of Mother Harvard, 
 if she may not be rather entitled to be called step 
 mother, an injusta noverca, you know, in such cases, 
 and I had about made up my mind to shut up my 
 sanctuary for good. But may I ask if you are the son 
 of the late Hon. Joseph Osborne of Boston ? " 
 
 " I have the honor to be Mr. Osborne s son," I an 
 swered ; " though he died before my remembrance." 
 
 " Of course he must have," Mr. Bulkley continued. 
 " But you have a trick of his face that reminds me of 
 2 
 
18 WENSLEY. 
 
 him. As the country-people say in these parts, you 
 favor him decidedly." 
 
 " You knew my father, then, sir ? " I asked. 
 
 " Knew him ? Why, my dear sir, he was my very 
 old and very good friend. He was a year before me 
 in college ; but, for all that, we were intimates of the 
 closest description. Ten thousand pipes have we 
 smoked together ; " and he sighed as his mind reverted 
 to those fleeting joys. " But our friendship did not 
 end in smoke, if it began in it," he continued, with a 
 melancholy kind of smile : " it lasted until he died, 
 too soon for his friends and his country, though he had 
 served both long and well." 
 
 My heart warmed to the old man at hearing him 
 thus speak of my father, for whose memory I cherished 
 the strongest admiration and reverence ; and I began 
 to feel a wish growing within me that he might accept 
 me as an abiding guest during my term of exile. So 
 I said, 
 
 " I hope, then, sir, you will not refuse to receive my 
 father s son under your roof. It would be a great 
 satisfaction to me to live under the care of a friend of 
 his ; and I will endeavor to give you as little trouble 
 as possible." 
 
 "It is not the trouble I am thinking of, Mr. Os- 
 borne," he replied ; "but I doubt whether I can make 
 you comfortable in my strange bachelor way of living. 
 It suits me ; but I am afraid that it may not suit a 
 young gentleman like you." 
 
 I was proceeding to assure him that he need give 
 
THE MINISTER AND HIS MAN. 19 
 
 himself no uneasiness on that score, when he inter 
 rupted me with, 
 
 " Well, sir, you will stay with me to-night at least, 
 and to-morrow we will decide as to the rest of the 
 time. Here, Jasper, Jasper ! " he called out, clapping 
 his hands, as the Orientals do for lack of bells. 
 
 And at the word, Jasper appeared, issuing from the 
 front-door. He was black as ebony, and his black 
 ness was set off by the perfect whiteness of his hair, 
 which had scarcely a perceptible wave in it, and by 
 the glitter of his teeth. He was a remarkably hand 
 some old man for all his complexion. His features 
 were more Caucasian than African, as usually seen ; 
 his nose straight, though a little thicker than the 
 Apollo s ; and his lips not larger than those of multi 
 tudes of men calling themselves white. He evidently 
 came of a comelier race, such as travellers assure us 
 exists in the interior of Africa, than that furnished by 
 the Guinea coast, the southern hive from which have 
 swarmed the involuntary emigrations of the negro 
 race. He stood two or three inches over six feet in 
 his stockings, and was not at all bent by his threescore 
 and ten years. He stood firm and erect, awaiting his 
 orders. 
 
 " Jasper," said Mr. Bulkley, " you remember Mr. 
 Osborne, who used to come here twenty years ago ? " 
 
 " Lawyer Osborne of Boston," answered Jasper, in 
 a tone of deliberate recollection, " who got off Pomp 
 Jaffrey from being hanged in the year three ? " Mr. 
 Bulkley nodded. " Yes, sir, I remember him." 
 
20 WENSLEY. 
 
 "This young gentleman," proceeded his master, 
 indicating me with the stem of his pipe, which lie 
 had resumed, " is his son, and will spend the night 
 here." 
 
 " Proud to see you here, sir," replied Jasper, still 
 remaining perfectly erect, but bringing up his hand 
 to the military salute in the most respectful manner. 
 
 " Take your wheelbarrow, Jasper, after tea, and 
 go and fetch Mr. Osborne s trunk from Grimes s. 
 You left it there, I suppose ? " turning to me. 
 
 I assented, of course; and Jasper bent his whole 
 body a few degrees in token that he understood 
 his orders. He then faced to the right about, and 
 marched back to the parsonage. We followed him 
 almost immediately, and found him rearranging the 
 tea-table to meet the rare emergency of company. 
 This was laid in the study, the room on the left as 
 you entered the front-door, and the only room occu 
 pied by the minister by day (he slept in the one op 
 posite), and which was drawing-room and dining-room 
 as well. It deserved, indeed, to be called the library ; 
 for its walls were covered with a collection of books 
 which would be thought large for a private one even 
 at this day of larger things. They were, like their 
 master, of no very modern date or dress, but of ster 
 ling and various merit, good substantial friends of 
 all ages and of many climes. Latin, Greek, Hebrew, 
 French, and Italian were there good store, and Eng 
 lish down to the end of the last century. There he 
 stopped ; for, as he said, of buying as well as of mak- 
 
THE MINISTER AND HIS MAN. 21 
 
 ing books there was no end. I remember he had 
 never heard of Lord Byron until I introduced him 
 to his acquaintance. And he would not like him 
 then, in spite of my boyish enthusiasm for the 
 Harolds, Manfreds, Laras, Conrads, and other aliases 
 under which it was his lordship s pleasure to disguise 
 himself. But down to his own time he was thor 
 oughly well read, and a discriminating and enter 
 taining critic, though something odd in his taste, as 
 it was then accounted oddity. I recollect he first 
 brought me acquainted with old Burton, and with 
 Ben Jonsoii and the earlier dramatists. 
 
 Jasper soon furnished forth an ample New Eng 
 land tea, to which I was quite prepared to do an 
 ample justice. But while I am discussing in imagi 
 nation the excellent johnny-cake and rye-and-Indian 
 bread, and while Jasper waits upon us with the 
 gravity and decorum of the butler of a duke, let me 
 pause, and dwell for a moment on the images of the 
 two men, inseparable to my mind s eye as it glances 
 back at those happy days. Don Quixote and Sancho 
 Panza, Tom Jones and Partridge. Peregrine Pickle 
 and Pipes, Eoderick Eandom and Strap, Uncle Toby 
 and Trim are not more one and indivisible in the 
 general mind of English readers than are (with all 
 reverence be it spoken) the E,ev. Mr. Adrian Bulk- 
 ley and Jasper, his man-of-all-work, in mine. Maid- 
 of-all-work he might also be denominated; for he 
 was both maid and man to the worthy minister, 
 and performed all feminine as well as virile offices 
 
22 WENSLEY. 
 
 in the household and domain of his master. I do 
 not know whether Jasper s cooking and sweep 
 ing and bed-making would have come up to the 
 highest ideal of the more fanatical of the sect of 
 the housekeepers. I am not quite sure whether 
 I myself should relish their results now as I did 
 thirty odd years ago in the undiscriminating fresh 
 ness of nineteen. But they answered Mr. Bulkley s 
 purposes; and, such being the case, I shall not stir 
 the question of details, conceiving that they are 
 none of the reader s business. 
 
 The fairer portion of my readers would have di 
 vined by this time, even if I had not inadvertently 
 let the fact slip a few paragraphs ago, that Mr. Bulk- 
 ley was a bachelor. But let them not condemn him 
 too summarily or too severely for this blemish in his 
 character; for I believe there was an excuse for it 
 the validity of which they should admit, though I 
 could never get at the precise facts, as it was a 
 subject to which he would bear no allusion. It 
 is enough to say, that, according to the unbroken 
 tradition of Wensley, he had an early and unhappy 
 passion for the beautiful Miss Julia Mansfield, who 
 was the toast of every mess table during the siege 
 of Boston. It was the old story of Crabbe s Patron 
 over again, as far as I could gather; only that Mr. 
 Bulkley was not so easily killed as poor poet John. 
 He came into Mr. Mansfield s family as tutor to his 
 youngest son, Thomas (afterwards the Colonel Mans 
 field who was killed by a shell, in his tent, before 
 
THE MINISTER AND HIS MAN. 
 
 Badajos) soon after leaving college ; and, finding 
 there the most lovely young woman in the prov 
 ince, gay, thoughtless, coquettish, and seventeen, 
 is it any wonder that he found his fate there too ? 
 He did not know that she was vain, cold-hearted, and 
 selfish (perhaps he never knew it) until the mischief 
 was done. 
 
 It was done, however ; and poor Bulkley had taken 
 leave forever of the unkind Julia and of his dream 
 of happiness, and was finding what consolation he 
 might in the pursuit of divinity (a very different 
 mistress) before the war broke out. At the evacua 
 tion, Miss Julia accompanied her father (who, all 
 the world knows, was one of Governor Hutchinson s 
 mandamus councillors) into exile ; and she married, 
 not long afterwards, Colonel Ferguson, the receiver- 
 general of Jamaica. It was not a well-assorted mar 
 riage, and its history is not one that I care to 
 record. The lovers of Old- World scandals can mouse 
 out the details from the contemporary chronicles of 
 such matters for themselves, as I did, if they must 
 know them. But the old Wensley people used to 
 say that the minister was plunged into a deeper 
 dejection by the news, in the year eighty- seven, of 
 the duel in which her husband shot Sir James Carl- 
 ton on her account, near Spanishtown, than even at 
 that of her death, which arrived soon afterwards. 
 He seemed to feel it as a personal dishonor. It 
 was a cruel iconoclasm, that shot, which broke in 
 pieces the idol he had privily worshipped in the 
 
24 WENSLEY. 
 
 secret places of his heart for so many melancholy 
 years. 
 
 After Jasper had cleared away the tea-things, Mr. 
 Bulkley and I sat by the window, and entered into a 
 long conversation, which I have not time to record, 
 though I remember a great deal of it. We began 
 with the college and the latest news therefrom, in 
 cluding, of course, my own escapade, which my new 
 Mentor did not seem to look upon as a crime of the 
 blackest dye. He laughed merrily at the details I 
 gave him of my adventure, which I did, unconsciously, 
 with as much freedom as if I were talking with one 
 of my own contemporaries. There was that about 
 this gentleman which put one at perfect ease with him 
 on the first acquaintance, and there was nothing in his 
 tone or manner which asserted his claims as a superior 
 by virtue of age and experience. Of course, as in duty 
 bound, he stood by the college government as touch 
 ing the necessity of inflicting the discipline they did, 
 having had the misfortune to make the unlucky dis 
 covery. But he evidently rather cottoned (to use 
 a Fanny Kembleism) to the Deipnosophoi, and would 
 have thought it good luck, and no great harm, if they 
 had all escaped with a whole skin, even if some of 
 them should have done it with a full one. The tem 
 perance movement had not, at that time, begun to 
 play the mischief with the old drinking usages of 
 New England ; and a slight convivial exuberance 
 occasionally was looked upon as no very heinous 
 offence even by the graver classes of society. 
 
THE MINISTER AND HIS MAN. 25 
 
 Mr. Bulkley belonged to a grave class of society, 
 certainly ; but he was no very grave member of it 
 when he unbent himself from the serious business of 
 his profession. A merrier man " within the limit of 
 becoming mirth," one does not often talk withal in 
 one s journey through this working-day world. I 
 think he had the finest voice for a story (and, like 
 most of his cloth at that time, he abounded in them) 
 that I ever heard. It was as good fun as seeing 
 Mathews to hear him tell one. And then his laugh ! 
 He did indeed " laugh the heart s laugh," before which 
 no blue devils, however resolute, could hold their 
 ground. From this latest piece of college history he 
 made a transition to his own times, and told many 
 piquant anecdotes concerning the customs of those 
 times and the adventures of men afterwards famous. 
 The hardest sort of drinking seemed to have been 
 quite the general rule of his day; and his stories 
 showed that some advances had been made in refine 
 ment, at least, between his time and mine. The 
 Deipnosophoi, I am happy to say, could furnish no 
 parallels to some of the instances he related of the 
 potatory achievements of our grandfathers. I had 
 begun a paragraph to tell of some of them ; but, on 
 the whole, I believe I will not " draw their frailties 
 from their dread abode." Let one brief specimen, by 
 no means one of the best or the most characteristic, 
 suffice. 
 
 " I remember poor Tom Frost," said he, " whom 
 you must have heard of. He turned Democrat ; and 
 
26 WENSLEY. 
 
 Jefferson sent him consul to Tripoli, where he died 
 of the plague." I intimated that I had heard him 
 mentioned; and Mr. Bulkley continued, "I remem 
 ber, one Commencement Day, he fell into the com 
 pany of a set of jolly blades, being, in general, a 
 very steady-going fellow, and got most undeniably 
 and unequivocally drunk. It was with some difficulty 
 that he was put to bed ; but at last lie was fairly 
 between the sheets, and we thought he was disposed 
 of for the night. But we had not been gone long, 
 when we heard a heavy sound in his chamber, and, 
 hastening thither, found that he had fallen out of bed. 
 After replacing him, one of his friends remonstrated 
 pretty sharply with him for giving us this new trouble. 
 Why, I 11 tell you how it was, fellows/ said poor 
 Tom with drunken gravity ; it was not my fault. I 
 held on to the cursed bed as long as it could be done. 
 For, as soon as you had gone out, it began to whirl 
 round one way, and then it spun round the other ; and 
 then the head of the bed was lifted up to the ceiling, 
 and then the foot ; and then it rocked from one side 
 to the other like a raving-distracted cradle. And I 
 held on to it like a good fellow. It could n t shake me 
 
 out, let it do its worst. But, when the d d thing 
 
 turned upside down, the devil himself could hold on 
 no longer, and no more could I ! " And the minis 
 ter laughed his musical laugh till all rang again. 
 
 " Your friend," said I, " certainly fulfilled the con 
 ditions laid down by an English Cantab in Blackwood 
 lately, who says that he thinks it most unfair and 
 
THE MINISTER AND HIS MAN. 27 
 
 ungenerous to call a man drunk as long as he can 
 hold on by the sheets. But, if he will persist in 
 tumbling out of bed as fast as you put him into 
 it, then the most candid must admit that it is no 
 abuse of language or of charity to pronounce him 
 drunk." 
 
 Mr. Bulkley laughed, and the conversation took a 
 new departure, and ranged far and wide over books 
 and politics, and Old-World family histories, until the 
 late summer evening closed in about us. After it 
 grew dark, Jasper entered, holding one of his own 
 dips in his hand, with which he made a sort of mili 
 tary salute to me, saying, " Your trunk is in your 
 chamber, sir," arid then, placing his candle on a stand 
 near the opposite window (for the study filled the 
 entire breadth of the house, having windows on the 
 two sides), and taking a large folio from a lower shelf, 
 put on his heavy iron-bound spectacles, and set him 
 self diligently to read it. It was evident, from the 
 perfect simplicity with which it was done, that it was 
 nothing out of the common course of events ; but it 
 took all my scanty stock of good breeding to conceal 
 the astonishment I felt at such a phenomenon. Had 
 the minister s old horse (which, like Yorick s, was 
 " full brother to Eozinante, as far as similitude con 
 genial could make him " ) walked in from the stable, 
 and squatted himself on his haunches, like a Hou- 
 yhnhm, beside me, I could not have been more taken 
 aback. I fully assented to the general reputation 
 which pronounced Parson Bulkley a very odd man. 
 
WENSLEY. 
 
 Poor Jasper read, with the help of his forefinger 
 and with a laborious murmur of the lips, like one 
 whose reading had not " come by nature," but by 
 hard work, after he was grown up ; and I had a sus 
 picion that this lecture was rather for my edification 
 than for his own, though, when I discovered after 
 wards that it was a volume of "Hakluyt s Voyages" 
 he was encountering, I was somewhat shaken in it. 
 There was a comical expression in Mr. Bulkley s eye, 
 too, which showed that he was not without the same 
 surmise. We talked on, without regarding Jasper s 
 presence, until nine o clock, when the minister read 
 a chapter in the Bible, and prayed, according to the 
 ancient custom of New England. After prayers, Jas 
 per put up his book, and took himself and his dip off 
 to bed, making us a military salute at the door by 
 way of good-night. 
 
 When he was gone, and Mr. Bulkley had lighted 
 the pipe, which was to wind up the labors of the day, 
 he said to me, 
 
 " I noticed that you were a little surprised at see 
 ing Jasper make himself so much at home here." 
 
 I made a dubious sort of a bow, hardly knowing 
 whether I should acknowledge such a feeljng about a 
 matter which was clearly none of my business. 
 
 " It was natural enough," he continued, " that you 
 should have wondered at it. But Jasper and I have 
 slept too many years under the same tent for me to 
 mind having him in the same room with me when he 
 has done his work." 
 
THE MINISTER AND HIS MAN. 29 
 
 " Under the same tent, sir ? " I repeated interroga 
 tively. 
 
 " Certainly," he replied. " He has never left me 
 since he came to my rescue at Brandywine, when I 
 was lying flat on the field with an ounce of lead in 
 me, which, for that matter, I carry about with me still. 
 The bayonet was raised that would have finished the 
 business, had not Jasper despatched the grenadier 
 that stood over me, and carried rne off on his back to 
 the rear." 
 
 " So you served in the Revolutionary War, sir ? " I 
 exclaimed. " Were you long in the service ? " 
 
 " Pretty well," he answered, smiling. " I began at 
 Lexington, and ended at Yorktown. I don t know 
 that any one can say more than that. You see that 
 old firelock," he continued, pointing to a fowling- 
 piece of formidable length and venerable age, which 
 was crossed over the fireplace with a silver-hilted 
 sword : " that was the gun with which I left Parson 
 Sanborne s study for Lexington on the morning of 
 the 19th of April, and the old sword is one I picked 
 up on the Boston road that day, and wore for the next 
 seven years." 
 
 " In what capacity did you serve, sir ? " I inquired, 
 a little bewildered by this new flood of ideas. 
 
 " Why, I began as chaplain," he replied. " But as 
 there was more need of the arm of flesh, and as there 
 was an especial lack of educated men for officers, I 
 took a commission from General Washington ; and I 
 ended as a captain, doing the duty of brigade-major. 
 
30 WENSLEY. 
 
 My health was not firm at that time, and I thought 
 a campaign would do me good ; and, being once in 
 for it, I found it hard to break off, and so kept on to 
 the end." 
 
 " And Jasper ? " I suggested. 
 
 " Oh, Jasper was born the slave of Colonel Cuyler 
 of New Jersey, who emancipated him on his consent 
 ing to enlist, and afterwards employed him as his ser 
 vant, a soldier being allowed to every officer, for that 
 purpose. Colonel Cuyler dying of a fever consequent 
 on the exposures of the campaign in the Jerseys, 
 Jasper remained in the ranks until he was taken by 
 me, at his request, as my servant. It was of some 
 advantage to him in the way of mounting guard and 
 the regular drills ; though he was still on the rolls, 
 and required to return to active duty whenever in 
 the neighborhood of the enemy." 
 
 "And he has been with you ever since?" I in 
 quired. 
 
 " Ever since," he replied. " And now I think it 
 would be rather hard to oblige him to mope by him 
 self in his kitchen when he has done his day s work. 
 His greatest pleasure is to sit in the corner of my 
 fireplace in winter, and watch me as I read or write. 
 He does not come so regularly in summer: but he 
 comes when he pleases, and I think I should be a 
 beast to deny so oheap a pleasure to rny old compan 
 ion-in-arms and most faithful friend. At any rate, I 
 do not intend doing so. Indeed, in my solitude, his 
 presence in the long winter evenings, though not so- 
 
THE MINISTER AND HIS MAN. 31 
 
 ciety, is human companionship, and I am confident I 
 am the better for it." 
 
 I cordially expressed my concurrence of opinion 
 on all these points ; and then Mr. Bulkley, knocking 
 out the last ashes of his pipe (he never lapsed into 
 the later heresy of cigars), laid it in its place, and 
 proposed to show me the way to my chamber. This 
 done, he shook hands with me as he bade me good 
 night; and I lay awake for some time after I had 
 gone to bed, ruminating over the revolution which 
 the last fifteen minutes had wrought in my first ideas 
 of the minister and his man. 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE TORY AND HIS DAUGHTER. 
 
 " TDRAYER-BELL rung yet, Charley?" said I, 
 -- gaping fearfully, the next morning, awakened 
 by hearing somebody putting down my shoes by my 
 bedside, and catching a glimpse of a black face 
 through my half-shut eyes. "Not the second bell, 
 I hope." 
 
 " It s me, sir ; it s Jasper," said that worthy func 
 tionary, as he moved softly towards the door. " The 
 young college gentlemen always ask me that the first 
 morning, sir. We don t ring no bell, sir ; but master 
 breakfasts at six, and has prayers afterwards. It s 
 just five, now, sir." 
 
 And the truth streamed in upon me, with the sun 
 through the uncurtained windows, that I was an exile 
 from college ; that this was Wensley, and not Cam 
 bridge ; and that the sable form which had just quiet 
 ly vanished was a revolutionary hero, and not Charley 
 Richmond, a cadet of an ancient family of color 
 which had served for several generations the wealthier 
 sort of students in the capacity of what the English 
 Cantabs call a gyp, and the Oxonians a scout ; which 
 Mr. Thackeray, when he rolled the two single univer- 
 
THE TORY AND HIS DAUGHTER. 33 
 
 sities into one as Oxbridge, also amalgamated into a 
 skip. 
 
 As I had an hour before me, there was no occasion 
 for hurrying myself : so I lay still, and revolved in my 
 mind the current chapter of my history. A quarter 
 of an hour was all that was thought necessary in 
 those good old days, before shower-baths and hair 
 gloves, for anybody s toilet: so I had time enough 
 and to spare. Bless my soul, I must have a good 
 hour and a half to get myself up for the day now ! 
 These hygienic and physiological new lights have a 
 great deal of other people s time to answer for. I 
 lay still ; and, as I lay, that mysterious homesick 
 feeling which always comes over me (I wonder 
 whether it does over other people) the first time I 
 wake in a strange place took full possession of me. 
 I had left no home ; my parents were both dead ; I 
 had neither brother nor sister; I hated college, or 
 fancied I did, and had just as much business to be 
 in Wensley as anywhere else: and yet I felt the 
 strongest disposition to cry at finding myself there. 
 And, if I did actually cry, men do more unmanly 
 things than that, and pretend they are not ashamed 
 of themselves, every day of their lives. Perhaps the 
 excitement of finding myself in a new place, quicken 
 ing the flow of my ideas, brought these facts, or the 
 emotions they naturally excite, with a fresh shock to 
 my mind ; and surely they were enough to make any 
 body cry. 
 
 But I am no metaphysician, and shall make no 
 
34 WENSLEY. 
 
 attempt to puzzle other people by trying to explain 
 what I do not understand myself. But such is the 
 psychological fact, whether it belongs to my special 
 idiosyncrasy or not. I never felt the emotion more 
 strongly than I did, years afterwards, the first morn 
 ing I opened my eyes in London, and, casting them 
 out of the window of my chamber on the roof of the 
 Adelphi, saw the great dome of St. Paul s rising, as it 
 were, out of a surging sea of fog, and heard the cease 
 less rush and roar of life chafing in the channels far 
 beneath me. It was a moment which I had been 
 looking forward to for long years, as the Christian 
 pilgrim to that of the first glimpse of the holy sepul 
 chre, or the Mussulman to the supreme instant that 
 gives him the vision of the tomb of the Prophet. I 
 had reached "the Mecca of my mind," and yet I 
 thought of everything rather than of it. I have 
 heard it said, that, when a man is drowning, the 
 whole of his past life rushes before his dying eyes in 
 an instantaneous phantasmagoria. Well, it seemed 
 as if my plunge into the boiling ocean of London 
 worked the same miracle with me. The roar of its 
 tide was in my ears ; but I heard it not. All of my 
 past life, especially every sad and tender image, 
 came streaming through my mind in a flash of 
 thought, and oppressed me wifi a bitter pang of 
 homesickness Heaven knows why. So it was, 
 though I don t pretend to expound the philosophy 
 of it. But then, as it has nothing in particular to do 
 with my story, it is of the less consequence. 
 
THE TORY AND HIS DAUGHTER. 35 
 
 But the bluest of devils cannot long withstand the 
 genial influences of early sunlight and of youth, 
 that early sunlight of life, God bless it ! though the 
 benediction is quite superfluous, for God will bless 
 it whether or no ; and mine vanished before their 
 potent exorcism by the time I was half dressed. 
 And by the time my toilet was finished I felt no 
 more longing to hear the cracked voice of the chapel- 
 bell, or the stamping to and fro over my head, and 
 the scuffling of feet backwards and forwards in the 
 entry and on the college-stairs, the familiar sounds 
 which I had yearned for when I first awoke, and 
 was well content to accept in their stead the riotous 
 vivacity of the birds and the undertoned hum of the 
 insects in the trees on both sides of my chamber. 
 For it filled the entire breadth of the house, and it 
 was not very broad, for all that, and had two windows 
 on one side, and one on the other ; the one behind 
 occupying a deep cut into the sloping roof, and look 
 ing directly into the thick boughs of a lime-tree 
 buzzing with insect life. The walls were plastered 
 and white- washed ; a thick beam, ran lengthwise 
 through the ceiling ; and so queer was the shape of 
 the room from the obliquities of the roof, that it 
 would have puzzled a better mathematician than I 
 was to calculate its contents. There was a strip of 
 carpet by the bedside, the floor (the face of whose 
 scenery was of a rather rolling character) being other 
 wise bare. A few wooden chairs and a pine table 
 made up the furniture. But what cared I for those 
 
36 WENSLEY. 
 
 things ? God made us men, before we made ourselves 
 upholsterers ; and I had not yet passed into the fac 
 titious and out of the natural state. 
 
 "Well, Mr. Osborne," said Mr. Bulkley as we sat 
 at breakfast, " do you like your quarters well enough 
 still to wish to remain in them ?" 
 
 " I like both my quarters and my company, sir," 
 I replied, " and should be very sorry should you deter 
 mine not to take me." 
 
 " And that would be a pity," he said, " would it 
 not be, Jasper ? " J^per inclined his assent. " In 
 fact," the minister went on, " Jasper has been inter 
 ceding for you ; and the prime minister, you know, 
 does what he likes at court ; and I suppose I must 
 let him have his way." 
 
 " I am greatly indebted to him for his interest," 
 said I, bowing with mock gravity towards Jasper, 
 " and shall endeavor to show myself worthy of his 
 good opinion." 
 
 The minister smiled ; but his man took it all in 
 perfectly good faith, and with serious grace acknowl 
 edged my little speech with his military salute as he 
 stood firm and erect behind his master s chair. 
 
 " Jasper having given his sanction to your remain 
 ing," Mr. Bulkley resumed, " and you continuing to 
 wish it after having a taste of our bachelor s way of 
 life, I suppose I may as well acknowledge to having 
 no particular objection to it myself : so we will con 
 sider that as arranged, if you please." And we shook 
 hands across the table to close the bargain. Though 
 
THE TORY AND HIS DAUGHTER. 37 
 
 what he said about Jasper s consent was spoken jest 
 ingly, yet I found afterwards that it was literally true 
 that he would not have received me, had Jasper dis 
 liked the plan. 
 
 " As to-day is Saturday," the minister proceeded, 
 " we will defer our plans of study until Monday. 
 Saturday is my working-day, and shall be your holi 
 day. Perhaps you would like to get a little ac 
 quainted with the Siberia to which you have been 
 banished. Or you may use my study just as if I 
 were not here ; or establish yourself in your own 
 chamber, as you like. We dine at twelve, and drink 
 tea at six ; at which hours you will report yourself, 
 if you please." 
 
 After which, Jasper brought the great Bible, and 
 we had prayers ; which done, I whiled away the time 
 as best I could with old books and cigars, and in 
 sauntering round the premises in quest of amuse 
 ment, which did not seem very easy to be found, till 
 dinner-time. After dinner, as the sun was a little 
 mitigated by clouds, I set forth upon a voyage of 
 discovery into the unknown regions round about. I 
 passed through the village, where my apparition again 
 caused a general suspension of labor, and variation of 
 idleness, as long as I was in sight. So I took myself 
 out of sight as speedily as possible, turning into 
 the road to your right just after you have crossed the 
 Quasheen, and winding along its banks. It was a 
 most charming walk, solitary, shady, with glimpses 
 of rich pastures dotted with cattle by the water-side. 
 
38 WENSLEY. 
 
 There was no discordant jar of machinery. The 
 innocent little stream had not yet been compelled by 
 the genius of the lamp or of the ring to help build 
 the palaces of our New England Aladdins ; it yet 
 ran sparkling and dimpling to the sea, without having 
 to buffet with mill-wheels, and to fling itself headlong, 
 as it fled, over injurious dams in desperate waterfalls. 
 Cows stood up to the middle in its shady little bays ; 
 ducks led out their flotilla of ducklings upon its 
 waters ; and swallows dipped in it with none to molest, 
 or make them afraid. It was a delicious walk, as I 
 said before. 
 
 Here and there along the road was a farm-house of 
 the oldest description of New England rustic archi 
 tecture, but not many of them. It seemed as if this 
 little town were a nook which the tide of improve 
 ment, as we are pleased to call it, had swept round, 
 and left it overlooked in its haste, leaving it just as it 
 was a century before. Nor was this effect diminished 
 by a glance I got at a house, having decidedly the 
 look of a gentleman s seat, off at my left ; for such 
 were always sprinkled over the face of the New 
 England landscape. It was a square wooden house, 
 having a porch in front, with seats on either side, 
 flaunting with honeysuckles, as I could see at that 
 distance, with windows in the roof, and an orna 
 mental balustrade running round it. The ground 
 sloped up to the house, and, being fine mowing-land, 
 had as lawnish a look as land can well have in our 
 climate. A few aboriginal oaks stood singly here and 
 
THE TORY AND HIS DAUGHTER. 39 
 
 there ; and there were clusters of shrubbery near the 
 house, but apparently kept low for the benefit of the 
 prospect. Beyond the house it seemed as if there 
 was an old-fashioned avenue of elms running down 
 the other side of the hill to parts unknown. I passed 
 about a mile and a half farther, pondering as to who 
 could be its inhabitants, but meeting no one of whom 
 I could make the inquiry. 
 
 But when I had gone, by my estimation, about 
 three miles from the village, the clouds, which had at 
 first invited me to go out, now more strongly urged 
 me to go back. They rolled up blacker and thicker, 
 and seemed almost to touch the tops of the trees, 
 among which the road sometimes wound. There was 
 evidently a thunder- shower altogether too near at 
 hand for my advantage : so I set my face homewards, 
 and made what speed I could, though with little hope 
 of escape. I came, however, in sight of the capital 
 mansion and messuage (as an auctioneer might say) 
 just described, before the critical moment arrived. 
 Still I hurried on, and soon found there were other 
 people in haste besides myself ; for just then I heard 
 the sound of hoofs behind me, and an elderly gentle 
 man and a young lady on horseback galloped past me. 
 As they passed, they gave a glance of surprise at me, 
 and presently reined up, and had evidently a brief 
 exchange of words ; or rather the gentleman said 
 something to his companion, and I could see that 
 the tassel of her riding-cap waved an affirmative. 
 He then turned his horse s head towards me, and, 
 
40 WENSLEY. 
 
 putting spurs to his sides, pulled up before me in an 
 instant. 
 
 " Young gentleman/ said he, touching his hat as I 
 raised mine, " there is a violent shower at hand. Let 
 me beg you to take shelter in my house there," indi 
 cating the capital mansion aforesaid with his riding- 
 whip. " Pray do not hesitate, for I feel the first drops 
 already. By striking across that field, you will be at 
 the door nearly as soon as we/ 
 
 He touched his hat again, and, wheeling round, 
 galloped off, and he and his companion were the next 
 instant hid from my sight by a turn of the road. I 
 was a bashful boy, and felt as awkwardly as such ani 
 mals are apt to do in an emergency like this. But 
 still I had a little rather not spoil my new hat ; and, 
 moreover, the thing had a spice of adventure about 
 it which could not but make it relishing : so I leaped 
 the stone wall, and then " set down my feet, and ran," 
 to such good purpose that I did actually reach the 
 house before the pair dashed up, just as the rain was 
 coming down in good earnest. As there was no time 
 for ceremony, I stepped up, blushing like the morn, 
 lifted the young lady off her horse, and set her down 
 safely under the porch. I had had some little practice 
 in this line before, having often performed this office 
 
 for ; but on the whole it is no concern of yours 
 
 who it was fur. It is enough that I had had 
 practice. The young lady hastily bowed her thanks, 
 and, after giving her habit a good shake, hurried into 
 the house. 
 
THE TORY AND HIS DAUGHTER. 41 
 
 The gentleman, having given over the horses to the 
 servant who ran up to take them, now joined me, and 
 courteously invited me to walk in. He was a man of 
 middle height, and well proportioned, though of rather 
 a slight figure. He was between sixty and seventy ; 
 but as he wore powder it was not easy to tell to which 
 extreme of the decade he inclined. Perhaps he was 
 about halfway between the two. He had a cultivated 
 and well-bred voice, as well as deportment ; and his 
 tones were more English than American in their mod 
 ulations. And yet he did not look like an English 
 man. His face must have once been very handsome ; 
 though time, and perhaps sorrow, had made their mark 
 upon it. He gave one the impression of a man that 
 had suffered, and through suffering had lived more 
 than his years. He led me into a good-sized and 
 well-furnished room on the right of the hall-door, and 
 then through a narrow, arched door, by the farther 
 side of the fireplace, into a larger back room, which 
 appeared to be his library, though his collection was 
 not much. Here I found a wood-fire burning, though 
 it was hot summer, but which, nevertheless, was ex 
 ceedingly acceptable to a damp stranger like myself. 
 Inviting me to be seated, and sitting down himself, 
 he said, pointing to the blaze, 
 
 " I trust you will find this whim of mine, as I find 
 it is thought to be hereabouts, not a bad one to-day. 
 You remember, perhaps, the Spanish proverb, that 
 nobody ever suffers from cold, except a fool or a beggar. 
 And as I hope I am not quite a fool, and as I know 
 
42 WENSLEY. 
 
 that I am not absolutely a beggar, I am resolved to 
 guard myself against the inclemency of your summers 
 as well as of your winters." 
 
 " My winters ! " thought I to myself : " I should 
 suppose they were as much yours as mine, my good 
 sir." But I said, " Many people, I believe, sir, would 
 be glad to imitate your example, if they had but the 
 strength of mind." 
 
 He smiled, and said, " Indeed, it does require some 
 resolution. I know I had to put forth a good deal 
 before I could overcome the opposition of Mrs. War 
 ner, my housekeeper. She would have put out all 
 my fires on the first of May, and not allowed me 
 another spark until the first of November, had I 
 not raised an insurrection in the house," 
 
 " Your victory seems to have been complete, sir," 
 said I. 
 
 " Oh, a perfect Waterloo, my dear sir ! " he replied ; 
 " and that, although my undutiful child was inclined 
 to side with the enemy. A diversion from my own 
 camp, by Jove ! " 
 
 " His child ! " thought I again ; " then she is his 
 daughter ! Well, it s much better than being his 
 wife." But I said, " I am sure, sir, I have reason 
 to rejoice at your courage and success. And I ima 
 gine the young lady herself would not be disposed 
 to question your wisdom, any more than your gen 
 eralship, this afternoon." 
 
 " I dare say not/ he rejoined. " I wonder she has 
 not come down yet. I think that she likes my fire, 
 
THE TORY AND HIS DAUGHTER. 43 
 
 as well as myself, in her heart ; for I often find her 
 nestling down by it in the mornings and evenings. 
 Jupiter ! what a Hash ! " 
 
 And it was a flash indeed, followed by an almost 
 simultaneous crash of long-rattling thunder. We 
 instinctively rose, and approached the window ; but 
 the darkness of the shower had settled down again 
 over the landscape, almost as black as night ; while 
 the heavy drops fell like shot on the roof, and 
 poured down on all sides in sheets, the spouts being 
 entirely unequal to the occasion. 
 
 " That flash struck not far off," observed my host. 
 " I hope it has done my trees no damage." 
 
 "Your hope comes too late, papa," said a voice 
 behind us ; " for I saw one of the oaks on the lawn 
 struck as I came down stairs." 
 
 "Not the Sachem s Oak!" exclaimed papa. "I 
 had almost as lief have had the house struck as 
 that." 
 
 " I believe not," she returned ; " but I could not 
 tell certainly, it is so thick and dark. I think it 
 was the next one to it." 
 
 " I will go and see," he said quickly, " if this 
 gentleman will excuse me." And, without waiting 
 to see whether I would or not, he hurried out of the 
 room. 
 
 I have had greater calamities befall me since then 
 than being left alone with a pretty woman. In fact, 
 I have long since ceased to regard it as a misfortune 
 at all. But, at that particular juncture of my life, 
 
44 WENSLEY. 
 
 I would a little rather that papa had remained with 
 us. I was getting on pretty well with him ; and, 
 with him to back me, I think I could have en 
 countered this new form of danger with tolerable 
 presence of mind. And I must do the enemy the 
 justice to say that she did not seem to have any 
 particularly hostile designs towards me. She seated 
 herself near the fire, but yet sidewise to it, and with 
 her face turned round, looking out of the window 
 at the driving storm with an abstracted air, as if 
 she were thinking not much of that, and still less 
 of poor me. I don t know whether her attitude 
 as I have described it will appear to have been a 
 graceful one to my readers ; but, if it do not, they 
 may be assured it is entirely their fault or mine. 
 The attitude was perfect, and the more perfect be 
 cause entirely unstudied and unconscious. 
 
 " And so she was handsome ? " you will all say. 
 Handsome ! to be sure she was. Do you suppose 
 I should be writing about her at this present if she 
 had not been ? Currer Bell may broach and preach 
 her damnable heresy of homely heroines with pug 
 noses and carroty hair, if she please. The repub 
 lic of letters has no established church; and, if she 
 can build up a sect on that foundation, she may. 
 But I belong to the good old orthodox school. 
 None of your Jane Eyres or Lucy Snowes for my 
 money ! To be sure, this is not a novel, but a vera 
 cious history; and so I have nothing to do but to 
 tell the simple truth. But I might have held my 
 
THE TORY AND HIS DAUGHTER. 45 
 
 tongue, I suppose. There is a great deal of talk 
 nowadays about woman s rights, and I am told 
 clever things are written about them on both sides. 
 And then reverend gentlemen write treatises on 
 " the true sphere of woman," and " woman s mis 
 sion," "the duty of woman," and so on. Now, I 
 am a practical philosopher, and never meddle with 
 abstract discussions ; but my private notion of the 
 sphere, the mission, and the duty of woman, is, that 
 every woman ought to be handsome. It is a duty 
 she owes to society. That s my simple moral phi 
 losophy, and, till somebody can show me a better, 
 I shall stand by it. 
 
 I think, if you could have seen my heroine, for 
 the dullest reader must have discovered before this 
 that we have found my heroine at last, you would 
 have acknowledged that she filled her sphere, ful 
 filled her mission, and performed her duty ; for she 
 was marvellously handsome. But I am not going 
 to give an inventory of her charms. It s of no 
 use ; and I do not intend making a fool of myself 
 by making the attempt. All I shall say is, that 
 her hair was of a tinge very uncommon in America, 
 and what I suppose poetical people mean when they 
 talk about " golden locks " and " sunny tresses " 
 (not red; I vow and protest it was not red; the 
 most malicious rival could not have called it so) ; 
 while her eyes and eyelashes were as near black as 
 they could be without actually being so. Her com 
 plexion was the veritable peau de lys, as smooth and 
 
46 WENSLEY. 
 
 pure as the petal of a lily, and, though with the 
 expression of perfect health, generally as colorless. 
 But, when passion or emotion did summon the 
 "blushing apparitions" into her cheek, it was a 
 sight, indeed, that Eaphael might have dreamed of. 
 And as to her mouth and her teeth, if nature or art 
 could have improved upon them, I should like to see 
 the handiwork. 
 
 " Quivi due filze son di perle elette, 
 
 Che chiude e apre un bello e dolce labro." 
 
 And I would go a good way to see a finer arm and 
 hand and foot than hers. But I won t describe her. 
 Only I will say that the effect of the contrast of her 
 dark eyes with her hair and skin was as odd as it 
 was fine. I have never seen more than two or three 
 of the kind in the course of a pretty extensive and 
 careful study of the subject. 
 
 I thought I must say something, though I dare say 
 she would not have missed it, if I had not ; and so I 
 ventured to suggest, 
 
 " I hope you are not afraid of thunder and light 
 ning." 
 
 " What, I ? " she exclaimed, starting from her revery, 
 and turning towards me. " Oh, no, indeed ! I delight 
 in them." 
 
 Delight in thunder and lightning! I must say 
 I could not sympathize with my fair friend in this 
 taste. I have not learned to like those unpleasant 
 explosions yet, and had still less fancy for them then. 
 But the horrid idea flashed into my mind that she 
 
THE TORY AND HIS DAUGHTER. 47 
 
 might suspect as much. So turning with as com 
 posed an air as I could command to a portrait which 
 hung over the fireplace, but which I could see but 
 very indistinctly in the gloom of the day and the 
 room, I said, 
 
 " A portrait of your father, I presume ? " 
 "A portrait of papa!" she replied, smiling, and 
 shaking her head. " Oh, dear, no ! Don t you recog 
 nize it as that of his late Majesty ? " 
 
 His late Majesty ! Old Farmer George, whom 
 Byron had just left practising the Hundredth Psalm 
 when his " Vision of Judgment" ended ; whose only 
 merit, according to the same infallible authority, was 
 
 " That household virtue, most uncommon, 
 Of constancy to a bad, ugly woman" 
 
 what business had he here, in the heart of his re 
 volted province ? Who could these people be ? Be 
 fore I could ponder this problem further, the master 
 of the house came in, saying, 
 
 " It was not the Sachem s Oak, my dear, but the 
 old one I have been trying to persuade myself to cut 
 down these two years. But the lightning has taken 
 it into its own hands now, and has settled the ques 
 tion forever. It is breaking away, however, and the 
 shower is passing off to the westward. I have not 
 heard such thunder since that storm among the Ber 
 nese Alps." 
 
 The Bernese Alps! Had they been there too ? I 
 looked at them with new respect; for you will re 
 member foreign travel was not as vulgar then as it 
 
 OF - 
 
 
48 WENSLEY. 
 
 has become since. It was a distinction, at that time, 
 to have been abroad : now, the distinction is to have 
 staid at home. We have become a match for the 
 English in our migratory habits. James Smith, I 
 believe it was, who said, apropos to their invasion of 
 the Continent after it was first opened, that soon 
 there would be a sight set up of an Englishman who 
 had not been to Eome. I should think it might 
 be worth Mr. Barnum s while to add to his other 
 curiosities an American who had not overrun Europe. 
 But he must make haste, though, or there will not be 
 one left to be caught. 
 
 This, however, gave us something to talk about, 
 or rather for him to talk, and for me to listen about. 
 He talked like a man of sense and education ; and I 
 should have been well content to have listened to 
 him, and to have looked at his daughter, for an in 
 definite time. She took no part in the conversation, 
 except when appealed to by her father, but sat look 
 ing abstractedly into the fire. I could not but feel 
 that she was not thinking about me. Indeed, I could 
 not flatter myself that she would ever think of me 
 again after I had passed out of her sight. I felt 
 as " young " as David Copperfield did when the 
 father of the eldest Miss Larkins asked him "how 
 his schoolfellows did." 
 
 But, as we talked, the storm, which had " scowled 
 o er the darkened landscape," passed away, and the 
 " radiant sun " extended his evening beam over it 
 with farewell sweet. I had no longer any excuse for 
 
THE TORY AND HIS DAUGHTER. 49 
 
 staying. My host rang the bell, and an elderly ma 
 tron, whom I suspected to be the housekeeper, of 
 whose leaning to the anti-Vulcanian theory I had 
 heard, entered, bringing wine. After partaking of 
 this then universal hospitality (for as yet temperance 
 societies were not), I took my leave with many 
 grateful acknowledgments. The young lady rose, and 
 graciously returned my parting bow, while her father 
 accompanied me to the door, and wished me a pleas 
 ant walk. 
 
 I passed on under the dripping trees vocal with 
 birds, and over the saturated turf which the slant 
 sun glorified into beatific diamonds and emeralds, and 
 through the clear, cool, moist air, but thinking more 
 of those whom I had left than of the sights and 
 sounds about me. Nothing had escaped them which 
 indicated who or what they were. They had shown 
 no curiosity as to my poor self, had asked no ques 
 tions as to my name, home, or business. They evi 
 dently only regarded me in the light of a lad whom 
 they had saved from a ducking, and should see no 
 more. Who could they be ? Of course I should 
 pluck out the heart of the mystery when I reached 
 the parsonage, for Mr. Bulkley must know all about 
 them. So I made what haste I could, and soon 
 found myself at the worthy minister s door. 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 IN WHICH I LEARN WHO THEY ARE. 
 
 I WAS soon at the parsonage ; and, as it was too 
 early for the minister to have relaxed from his 
 task of sermon-work, I walked round to the garden 
 at the back of the house. There I found Jasper, hoe 
 in hand, whistling merrily as he waged war against 
 the weeds, which had apparently availed themselves 
 of a temporary suspension of hostilities, and made a 
 stand against the foreign intruders upon their native 
 soil. 
 
 " Jasper," said I, " who is it that lives in the large 
 house on the river road, about two miles from here ? " 
 
 " The big house with the two rows of trees behind 
 it ? " he asked, in his turn. 
 
 " To be sure," said I. " There is but one that I can 
 mean. Who lives there ? " 
 
 " Queer man, sir ; queer man, sir ! " he replied, 
 shaking his head mysteriously, and resuming his work 
 with great gravity. 
 
 " Queer or not," I answered, " I suppose he has a 
 name, has n t he ? " 
 
 " Name ! " he responded. " Name enough, sir, for 
 the matter of that ! Bad name, too, sir." 
 
IN WHICH I LEAEN WHO THEY ARE. 51 
 
 " Well, what is it, then ? It won t hurt me, will 
 it ? Tell me : I m not afraid of it," said I. 
 
 " Mr. Miles Allerton is his name, sir. They call 
 him Colonel Allerton; but I don t think he s any 
 business to be called so here." 
 
 " Why not ? Why should n t he be called so, if he 
 be a colonel ? " I asked. 
 
 "I don t think they ought to call such sort of 
 folks so," he replied : " it ain t right. It makes me 
 mad to hear em." 
 
 " Why, what s the matter with him, Jasper ? " I 
 asked, my curiosity being a good deal aroused. 
 " He s an honest man, I suppose, is n t he ? " 
 
 "I don t know that," he replied, with an em 
 phatic stroke of the hoe into the ground. " We did n t 
 use to think such kind of folks none too honest. 
 But times is changed from what they used to be." 
 
 " He pays his debts, don t he ? He is n t a swin 
 dler, I hope ? " said I, laughing. 
 
 " Lord, yes, sir ! He pays his debts well enough. 
 Why, he s the richest man this side Boston, they 
 say ! " 
 
 " Well, then, in the devil s name, what ails him ? 
 He is n t a Democrat, is he ? " I persisted ; for I had 
 moused out that Mr. Bulkley was a stanch Federalist 
 of the extremist sort, like most of his profession in 
 New England at that time, and that Jasper was no 
 whit behind him in zeal. 
 
 " Lord, no, sir ! " he exclaimed with a sort of 
 deprecating tone, as if he had really gone too far in 
 
52 WENSLEY. 
 
 having excited such a suspicion; "not a Dimocrat ! 
 He ain t so bad as that, sir ! He s only an old 
 Tory." 
 
 I laughed heartily at Jasper s distinction ; for, like 
 Yorick, I do love a good one, in my heart. And, 
 after all, there is something respectable in a well- 
 preserved, good old prejudice, always provided that it 
 is old enough. An old gentleman in breeches and 
 hair-powder is a respectable object in all eyes ; while 
 a man in a five-year-old coat is one justly contempti 
 ble to every well-regulated mind. There was some 
 thing very comic in this conflict of prejudices in 
 Jasper s mind. But on the ethical theory of some 
 body, I forget who, of doing the duty that lay 
 nearest him, he honestly hated the Democrat of the 
 present generation more than the Tory of the last. 
 
 " What amuses you so much ? " said a voice behind 
 me. And, looking round, I saw Mr. Bulkley, who 
 had come out to take a turn before tea. " Has Jas 
 per been saying something witty ? " 
 
 " Eather wise, sir, than witty," I replied ; for I was 
 a fierce Federalist too. And I told the minister what 
 had passed between us, and the occasion. 
 
 " Ah, that s one of the few points of difference be 
 tween me and Jasper," said Mr. Bulkley, smiling. 
 "He has no charity for the Tories, and thinks it a 
 weakness in people, that they are beginning to forget 
 to hate them. But everybody has not such a mem 
 ory as you, Jasper. It doesn t last for fifty years, 
 generally." 
 
IN WHICH I LEARN WHO THEY ARE. 53 
 
 " I shall never get to like a Tory," replied Jasper 
 doggedly, " if I live fifty years more. They re too 
 mean." 
 
 " Nor a Democrat either, I suppose," said the min 
 ister, laughing. 
 
 " No, indeed, sir ! " answered Jasper, con spirito, 
 "not if I live a hundred." 
 
 Mr. Bulkley and I laughed again, and then paced 
 up and down, side by side, the centre walk of the 
 garden, which was nicely edged with box, and hard 
 with well-rolled gravel. 
 
 " So you took shelter at Colonel Allerton s," said 
 he, " during the thunder- shower. You were in luck ; 
 for it is not easy to get admission there. And did 
 you see Miss Eleanor, too ? " 
 
 I told him all the circumstances of my adventure, 
 and concluded by begging him to let me know who 
 these mysterious people were. 
 
 " All I know about them," he replied, " is soon told. 
 You must have heard of the famous Tory, John Aller- 
 ton, so notorious in colonial history before the Bevolu- 
 tion. He was attorney-general, and afterwards judge 
 of admiralty, under the crown, in Hutchinson s time, 
 and went away with the Tories. Well, this gentleman 
 is his son, who, at the time the siege was formed, was 
 in college, and, not being recalled in season, was cut 
 off from the town, and prevented from joining his 
 family. We kept him, together with other members 
 of Tory families in the same predicament, women 
 and children chiefly, in a sort of honorable captivity, 
 
54 WEXSLEY. 
 
 as hostages for the good treatment of the families of 
 the patriots who were detained in Boston. I was 
 acquainted with Judge Allerton s family, and was able 
 to make the young man more comfortable than he 
 would have been otherwise." 
 
 " Was there no communication between these pris 
 oners at large, in and out of the town, and their 
 families, all that time ? " I inquired. 
 
 " When a flag was sent in or out on other business," 
 he replied, " open letters, to be inspected by the au 
 thorities on either side, might be exchanged. That 
 was all that could be allowed. I tried to get permis 
 sion for young Allerton to go into the town when it 
 became tolerably certain that it must be evacuated ; 
 but the apprehension of the mischief that the British 
 troops might do as they retreated prevented our part 
 ing with any pledge of their good behavior. He was 
 sent to Halifax, however, in the first cartel that came 
 in for exchange of prisoners afterwards." 
 
 " And what was his history after that ? " I asked. 
 
 "I merely know its outlines," replied Mr. Bulkley. 
 " The British Government behaved well, as you know, 
 to the loyalists who had suffered in its cause. Judge 
 Allerton received a liberal compensation (though 
 necessarily not a full one) for his losses, and was 
 appointed chief justice of Barbadoes, where he died. 
 Tin s son, the only child he had, received a commission 
 in the army, and rose early to the rank of lieutenant- 
 colonel. He resigned, however, many years ago, on 
 his marriage with Esther Arbuthnot." 
 
IN WHICH I LEARN WHO THEY ARE. 55 
 
 " And who was she, sir ? " I inquired. 
 
 " She was the daughter of Peter Arbuthnot, another 
 famous Tory. He was registrar-general. I remember 
 her well, before the siege, as a pretty little girl. Her 
 father was made a commissary, and afterwards became 
 a contractor, and made a large fortune in Mr. Pitt s 
 first war against the French Eevolution. This, I pre 
 sume, all went to his daughter, Mrs. Allerton ; for his 
 only son died before him, in Jamaica, of the yellow- 
 fever. I knew him well, poor fellow ; and so did 
 your father." 
 
 "And Mrs. Allerton is dead too, I suppose," 
 said I. 
 
 " Yes, she died, ten years or more ago, in the south 
 of England, where they lived after their marriage, 
 chiefly." 
 
 " And how came they in this country again ? " I 
 inquired. " And when did they come ? " 
 
 "They came about two years ago," he replied. 
 " But the why and wherefore I do not profess to 
 know. Mr. Hayley, his man of business in Boston, 
 told me that it was to look after the landed estates of 
 his great-uncle, Ealph Clarke, who died without heirs, 
 just as Madison s war began, in 1812, and which 
 escheated to the State. He has sent in a petition 
 to the General Court, and is prosecuting it ; but the 
 estates are hardly valuable enough to account for 
 such an exertion, even if his chance for getting 
 them were better than it is like to be." 
 
 " But how carne they here ? " I asked. " What 
 
56 WENSLEY. 
 
 particular attraction drew them to "VVensley, of all 
 places in the world ? " 
 
 " Why, I believe I must do my modesty the vio 
 lence to say that I consider myself a main cause of 
 that/ responded the minister. " I was in Boston, 
 attending the convention, 1 during election week, just 
 at the time he came to town from New York, where 
 he arrived from England, and happened to meet him 
 at dinner at General Bradstreet s. He remembered 
 our old acquaintanceship, which was renewed the 
 sooner that I was almost the only one surviving of 
 his former friends. He came up to visit me ; and 
 just at that time the estate where he now lives 
 was for sale. Old Mr. Eemington, whose father 
 built it early in the last century, was just dead ; 
 and his third wife, promoted to be his widow, pre 
 ferred living in Boston, where her wisdom has 
 been justified," he went on laughing, "by her mar 
 rying, the other day, Dr. Hobart of the New East 
 Church." 
 
 "And so he bought the Eemington estate," sug 
 gested I, to bring him back from this episode. 
 
 " Yes," he replied. " Its solitariness seemed to suit 
 him ; and there was something about the lay of the 
 land and the disposition of the trees which reminded 
 him of Walford Hall, his house in Devonshire. I 
 flatter myself that my being his neighbor was no 
 objection in his eyes ; but I am quite sure that there 
 
 1 Of Congregational ministers, held that week in Boston, from 
 time immemorial. 
 
IN WHICH I LEARN WHO THEY ARE. 57 
 
 being no other within seven miles was a still greater 
 inducement." 
 
 "It must be rather dull for the young lady," 
 said I. 
 
 " One would think so," said he ; " but she seems 
 perfectly well content with their way of life. She 
 is a charming creature, although a most loyal subject, 
 like her father, to his Britannic Majesty. Still, she 
 has won all hearts in the town by her beauty and 
 graciousness. Even Jasper has surrendered to her ; 
 though he still holds out against the old Tory, her 
 father." 
 
 " And is he the only one of the "Wensleyans that 
 holds fast to the faith that their fathers delivered to 
 them, of hating the Tories ? " I inquired. 
 
 "Almost the only one," he replied. "Colonel 
 Allerton s liberality, and kindness of heart, have 
 succeeded in driving away the prejudices and sus 
 picions with which he was at first regarded. Even 
 Jasper s professions of dislike I fancy to be rather a 
 point of honor than of feeling with him. Corporal 
 Berry himself, although he has limped through life 
 cursing the Tories, ever since he was shot through the 
 leg at the time of Arnold s attack on New London, 
 could not withstand the battery of blankets, flannels, 
 meat, wine, and firewood, that was kept up on his 
 citadel at the north part of the town, when he was 
 close besieged by the rheumatism last winter. He 
 even calls his benefactor colonel ; which Jasper has 
 not made up his mouth to do yet," he added, laughing. 
 
58 WENSLEY. 
 
 " You give them a good character, sir," I said. 
 
 " No better than they deserve," he answered. " I 
 have unlimited authority to call upon him in case 
 of any distress in the town. And, what is better, he 
 and his daughter often visit in person poor people in 
 sickness or other trouble, to see for themselves what 
 they really most need. He says it is a habit they 
 formed at home by which he means England, of 
 course. And what else do you think he is going to 
 do for the town, sir?" and he rubbed his hands 
 gleefully at the thought, "a clock, sir, a clock for 
 the meeting-house ! He had old Willard up here 
 last month, and has given him an order for one of his 
 best. It will set the poor old thing quite on its legs 
 again." And he looked affectionately at the tower, 
 as if he beheld in vision its future glories. 
 
 "Deacon Holt," he went on, "objected to it as 
 unscriptural, at first ; but I put him down with the 
 dial of Ahaz, and clinched the argument by the ex 
 amples of the Old South and other sound churches of 
 Boston. So it is all settled now, sir, and the ortho 
 doxy of the clock is fully established." 
 
 And he laughed out one of his ringing, musical 
 laughs, which I still hear in my mind s ear (why 
 should not the mind have an ear as well as an 
 eye ? it certainly should be allowed the full pos 
 session of all its senses), and then led the way 
 into the house to tea. As the sabbath began at 
 Wensley on Saturday night at sundown, ceasing at 
 sundown on Sunday, I retired to my chamber after 
 
IN WHICH I LEARN WHO THEY ARE. 59 
 
 tea, and spent the evening in preparing an epistle 
 to the Deipnosophoi, describing the adventures of 
 which their enthusiasm for the vital principles of 
 their foundation had been the remote cause. This 
 finished, and directed to Tom Stacey, the worthy 
 head of the order, I went to bed with even a better 
 opinion of Wensley, as a place of academic retire 
 ment, than I had the night before. 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 MY FIRST SUNDAY IN WENSLEY. 
 
 r I " HE next morning was a truly delicious one. The 
 -* shower of the afternoon before had cleared 
 the air, and breathed a fresh life of verdure into the 
 trees and grass. White, fleecy Ruysdaelesque clouds 
 floated in the azure depths, relieved in sharp per 
 spective against the blue ; and their gigantic shadows 
 gave a fresh grace to the landscape as they glided 
 over meadow, stream, and tufted hill. I sat at my 
 window, after breakfast, and revelled in the affluence 
 of rural sights and sounds and smells which were 
 poured out around me. I had left the minister in 
 sole possession of his study, both that he might give, 
 if he chose, a finer edge and point to the spiritual 
 shafts he had been forging the day before, to be 
 aimed on this at the hearts of his flock, and also 
 because, though there was nothing in the least grim 
 about his piety, he maintained a uniformity of seri 
 ousness in his deportment on Sundays very different 
 from his working-day manner, which made it more 
 agreeable to me to sabbatize by myself in my own 
 room. 
 
 We often hear of the sabbath stillness of a day or 
 place ; and it seems to be generally taken for granted, 
 
MY FIRST SUNDAY IN WENSLEY. 61 
 
 because Sunday is a day of rest, that it is there 
 fore a day of unusual quietness. Now, it was not so 
 at Wensley. On the other six days of the week 
 the very spirit of repose seemed to be brooding 
 over the town. Sitting at my back window, which 
 commanded a lovely bend of the Quasheen, always 
 brimming to the brink, but never overflowing, with 
 rich fields sprinkled with timber sloping down green 
 and firm to its very margin, and, on the farther side, 
 with the sweetest little wooded knoll lying clasped in 
 its embrace, sitting there, I say, one might imagine 
 one s self leagues away from any habitation or haunt 
 of men. No sight or sound was there that was not 
 intensely rural. The silence was audible, and made 
 only the more palpable to the mind by the chirping 
 of birds, the hum of insects, the quiver of the leaves, 
 and the rippling of the waters. And on the street 
 side it was only now and then that an ox-cart came 
 creaking lazily along the road, or a barefooted urchin 
 loitered whistling by as he drove the cows to pasture, 
 or home again. It always seemed to me as if it were 
 an outlying dependency of the Castle of Indolence, 
 just beyond the park-palings, and that one might see 
 its dreamy turrets rising above the woods in the 
 distance, if one would but take the trouble to look for 
 them. I dare say it was not a great way off. 
 
 But on Sunday it was quite another tiling. Then 
 there were sights and sounds that gave a human in 
 terest to the scene. As long as Mr. Bulkley lived, 
 there was no schism in Wensley. Methodists, Bap- 
 
62 WENSLEY. 
 
 tists, and Universalists refused to disturb thfe quiet, 
 of his parish while it was his. But, when he slept 
 with his predecessors, the revolutionary spirit, which 
 had been controlled by the personal affection felt for 
 him, broke forth ; and its monuments are to be seen 
 in three or four ugly little wooden conventicles, which 
 perk their pert cupolas in the face of the good old 
 meeting-house, like so many irreverent Quakers or 
 Anabaptists, giving themselves airs of equality in the 
 presence of an ancient, substantial, steeple-crowned 
 Puritan magistrate. But in my time there was no 
 open dissent. The meeting-house at the Centre was 
 the only one in the town. It was a large building, 
 with two galleries, and every part of it was entirely 
 filled every Sunday. It was a sight which has not 
 been seen in New England, I suppose, for twenty 
 years at least, if, indeed, this were not the last sur 
 viving example of an absolutely unbroken parish. 
 
 After the first bell had rung, the roads leading to 
 the meeting-house, which was fully commanded by 
 my window, began to be alive with church-goers, and 
 to pour an increasing tide upon the green on which 
 the building stood. Some came on horseback, but 
 more in bellows-top chaises, or gigs with leathern 
 heads, that shut back with springs, and had a certain 
 resemblance to the follicular convenience from which 
 they derived their name. A few were conveyed in 
 vehicles which have been long numbered among the 
 extinct races, and which had come down from the 
 middle of the last century. Square-top chaises they 
 
MY FIRST SUNDAY IN WENSLEY. 63 
 
 were denominated, or gigs with immovable leathern 
 heads, and little windows at the back and sides. 
 Some of them had a seat in front for a boy to sit upon, 
 and drive. But modern Wensley (or young Wens- 
 ley, as it would be called now) turned up its nose at 
 these venerable relics of a former generation, and (to 
 anachronize a little slang) voted them " slow ; " 
 which, indeed, they were. 
 
 But the greater part of the people, young and old, 
 honestly trudged on foot. They came trooping along 
 in families, and sometimes in pairs, the latter not 
 unfrequently looking rather sheepish and conscious ; 
 though I am sure I don t know why they should. 
 They were perfectly well-behaved young men and 
 women, for all I could see. Arrived at the church, 
 the " leathern conveniences " were put in the horse- 
 sheds, which formed a sort of outwork on three sides 
 of the meeting-house. The women all entered the 
 
 O 
 
 house as they arrived, and were seen no more by me 
 for the time ; but the men remained without, stand 
 ing about the door, or dispersed in groups over the 
 green, discussing the weather, the crops, or the next 
 election. It was their weekly exchange. 
 
 As I watched this lively scene, the second bell be 
 gan to ring. Presently Jasper tapped at my door to 
 let me know that the minister was ready to proceed, 
 and I incontinently joined him. The moment the 
 door of the parsonage opened, and the minister was 
 seen to issue forth, the bell began to toll, and the men 
 about the church-door to hurry in. Mr. Bulkley, 
 
64 WENSLEY. 
 
 leaning upon my arm, walked on erect and stately ; 
 while Jasper, no less stately and erect, followed us, a 
 few paces behind, with a music-book under his arm. 
 As we advanced in this state, I saw a plain carriage 
 and pair drive up from the direction of the bridge, 
 and stop at the meeting-house door. Of course I 
 knew that it must contain my hosts of the thunder- 
 shower. The horses were spirited and restive ; and, 
 before the elderly coachman could descend from his 
 box, a white-headed old man hobbled up, and opened 
 the carriage-door, and let down the steps. The min 
 ister pressed my arm, and said, with rather a week- 
 dayish look out of the corner of his eye, in a low 
 tone, 
 
 "Corporal Berry opening Colonel Allertori s car 
 riage-door ! Toryism is triumphant in Wensley, I m 
 afraid or would be, but for Jasper." 
 
 A guttural ejaculation, rather emphatic than dis 
 tinct, and which, we will charitably hope, had no 
 element of profanity in it, was heard behind us, ex 
 pressive of the patriotic consistency of that veteran s 
 opinions. There was a slight symptom of incipient 
 rebellion in the region round about the minister s 
 mouth ; but he resolutely quelled the insurrectionary 
 tendency, and arrived at the church-door the very 
 personification of gravity. 
 
 Mr. Bulkley strode up the broad aisle with majes 
 tic self-possession, the whole congregation remaining 
 standing to receive him. I, who was not accustomed 
 to be the target at which such volleys of eyeshot 
 
MY FIRST SUNDAY IN WENSLEY. 65 
 
 were directed as were now aimed at me, followed him 
 with less ease and a good deal more self-conscious 
 ness. Arrived at the pulpit-end of the aisle, he 
 opened the door of his pew, the front one on the left- 
 hand side, and, waving me into it, ascended the pul 
 pit-stairs as a king might mount to his ancestral 
 throne. As soon as he had disappeared in its vast 
 recesses, a noise not unlike an irregular volley of 
 musketry was heard over the house, being that of the 
 seats slamming down, which had been turned back 
 on their hinges, for room s sake. It was a fortunate 
 hearing for me ; for, not being acquainted with this 
 fact in the natural history of the old parish churches 
 in the country, I should have infallibly seated myself 
 on the floor, but for the warning sound. This same 
 salute was repeated every time that the congrega 
 tion resumed their seats after rising for any of the 
 services, and was generally executed with a fervor 
 commensurate, as I suppose, with the warmth of their 
 devotion. 
 
 Jasper I had missed as soon as we entered the 
 house ; and I was pleased to discern him belaboring a 
 huge bass-viol in the choir (for that innovation had 
 reached even the seclusion of Wensley) when we 
 stood up at singing-time. I also discerned that the 
 Allerton pew was on the opposite side of the aisle, 
 answering to the minister s. But devout church-goers 
 need not to be told that this is one of the most un 
 favorable situations for personal observations of an 
 edifying nature, that the economy of an ecclesiastical 
 5 
 
66 WENSLEY. 
 
 interior affords. A place in the deacon s seat where 
 Deacon Holt and Deacon Williams, the one burly and 
 red-faced, and the other lank, lean, and squinting in 
 every direction, sat with their backs to the pulpit, over 
 looking the audience would have been a much more 
 eligible position for enjoying some of the incidental 
 advantages of public worship. As it was, I could only 
 observe that Miss Allerton was quietly attentive to 
 what was going on ; while her father, like an old sol 
 dier as he was, fairly dropped asleep with a cannonade 
 of the heaviest sort thundering over his head, aimed 
 at the errors of the Church of England, of which com 
 munion he and his daughter were the only two mem 
 bers within a dozen miles. But the serene height, 
 away up under the sounding-board, from which he 
 manoeuvred his ecclesiastical artillery, saved the good 
 parson from the mortification of seeing how his hot 
 shot passed over the head of the enemy. 
 
 Dear old man ! he never held back his hand from 
 smiting the heretical Philistines that infested the 
 region round about. His were good old-fashioned po 
 lemical sermons, well fortified with texts of Scripture, 
 and garnished with quotations in the original tongues, 
 which were none the less relished by the congre 
 gation because they did not understand them. It 
 confirmed them in the faith, which was only second 
 to that they entertained for Holy Writ, that lie was 
 the most learned man in the world. To be sure, there 
 must have been all this time an undercurrent of 
 heresy loosening the hold of some of his people upon 
 
MY FIRST SUNDAY IN WENSLEY. 67 
 
 their old anchorage, as we know from its breaking 
 openly forth as soon as his restraining power was 
 removed, and scattering abroad the barks which had 
 remained peacefully in the old harbor as long as he 
 had command of the fleet. But, during that period, 
 no piratical Universalist, nor buccaneering Methodist, 
 ventured to hoist a flag in the calm waters of Wens- 
 ley. But he kept his batteries pounding away at 
 them, and at all dissentients from the strictest rule 
 of the ancient faith of New England, all the same as 
 if they were within point-blank range of his guns. I 
 have often thought whether this persistent warfare 
 upon his theological enemies, and the constant state 
 ment of their arguments, which was necessary to give 
 force to his refutations, might not have had some 
 thing to do in bringing about that dispersion which 
 followed so soon after his death. 
 
 Mr. Bulkley was, as I have said, a Calvinist of the 
 very straitest sect ; and he was none the less earnest 
 a one for having become such, as the Quakers say, 
 "by way of convincement." He was born and bred 
 in the Arminian, or Latitudinarian, school of the last 
 century ; and when that form of faith lapsed into 
 Unitarianism, at the beginning of this, he was at first 
 carried by the tide into those waters. The investi 
 gation, however, which the Unitarian controversy 
 induced, led him ere long to cut away from his old 
 moorings, and to drop his anchor where he thought 
 it would take a firmer hold. But, surely, never did a 
 more genial and affectionate spirit qualify the severe 
 
68 WEXSLEY. 
 
 necessities of religious logic. A milder and kinder 
 soul never looked forward to the ultimate damnation 
 of the vast majority of mankind, including all hea 
 thendom, ancient and modern, and all uuregenerate 
 infancy ; for he was not a man to shrink from the 
 logical consequences of his premises. He pitied the 
 Unitarians ; but he cordially despised those divines, 
 claiming to hold the good old Orthodox faith, who 
 devised ways of escape from the stern results of the 
 doctrines of election and reprobation, of original sin, 
 and redemption by grace. He used to call them 
 
 ; but, on the whole, it s no matter what he used 
 
 to call them. It was not a complimentary epithet. 
 
 But not only did he keep at bay during his time 
 all avowed adversaries of the faith that was in him, 
 but he kept at a distance, also, all irregular practi 
 tioners even of the regular school. " How many years 
 have you preached here, sir ? " I asked him one day. 
 " I have reigned here," he replied, nodding his head 
 cornerwise at me, with an indescribable look of fun 
 out of his gray eyes, "I have reigned here forty 
 years save one." And it was very much so. It was 
 his business to take care of the souls of his parish ; 
 and he would have no assistance but such as he chose 
 to call in on his own responsibility. No strolling 
 revivalist, or starveling evangelist, ever ventured to 
 set foot on the remotest corner of his territories as 
 long as his sway lasted. Had he heard of such an 
 incursion, I will not say that he would have taken 
 down the firelock of Lexington, or drawn the sword 
 
MY FIRST SUNDAY IN WENSLEY. 69 
 
 of Yorktown, from their honorable retirement over his 
 fireplace, to vindicate the integrity of his soil ; but I 
 do think he would have charged the invader, at the 
 head of Jasper, gold-headed cane in hand, and driven 
 him over the border, an example to all such intruders 
 for the time to come. And the whole parish would 
 have stood by him. 
 
 For my own part, I had many a sermon launched 
 at my head during the time I lived with him, as I 
 sat defenceless under the shadow of his pulpit. For 
 I was (to use another Quakerism) a " birthright " 
 Unitarian ; and he doubtless felt it to be his duty 
 to set in order before me the errors of my hereditary 
 faith. But it was all in vain. I knew nothing of 
 the arguments on my side of the question : indeed, 
 I could not well see that there was any such thing as 
 standing up before the battalions of texts, and squa 
 drons of syllogisms, with which he bore down upon 
 me, and rode furiously over me. But, though he could 
 overrun me, he could not keep possession of me. All 
 I knew was that my father and mother had been 
 Unitarians ; and I regarded it as a point of honor, 
 binding upon me as a gentleman, not to forsake the 
 faith in which they had lived and died. I was by no 
 means clear that my Mentor was not right, and that 
 the doom which he so fervidly described as that of 
 all such misbelievers did not impend over my head. 
 But that made no difference. It merely gave me a 
 kind of exhilaration of spirits (I neither account for 
 the phenomenon, nor defend it : I merely describe 
 
70 WENSLEY. 
 
 the sensation), such as a suspicion of danger, or the 
 knowledge that he is considered as exposed to it, is 
 apt to inspire in a lad of spirit. And I rather think 
 I was quite as well fitted to die for my faith, in a 
 war of religion, or at the stake, as a good many heroes 
 and saints who have won for themselves the crown 
 of martyrdom. But all Mr. Bulkley s prelections for 
 my benefit were confined to Sunday and the pulpit. 
 He never labored for my conversion in private. Either 
 he saw that I had a good share of that virtue which 
 we call firmness in another when it answers our pur 
 poses, and obstinacy when it thwarts them, and so 
 knew it would be of no use, or else he thought that 
 his Sunday labors would be more likelv to act favor 
 ably on my mind if he left them to their natural in 
 fluences during the week, without disgusting me with 
 his zeal by making it a perpetual annoyance. What 
 ever his motive might have been, I was very happy 
 to compound for the result. 
 
 When the services were at last over (and it was 
 an at last, for Mr. Bulkley was none of your twenty- 
 minute men), and the benediction was pronounced, 
 I hastily gathered together my hat and gloves, and 
 was for joining in the precipitate retreat I had always 
 seen expected from all the churches I had ever at 
 tended before. But I had no sooner thrown open 
 the pew-door, and put one foot out of it, than I saw 
 that all the rest of the congregation remained standing, 
 with their faces turned towards the broad aisle. I 
 drew back, and, raising my eyes, encountered those 
 
MY FIQST SUNDAY IN WENSLEY. 71 
 
 of Colonel Allerton, who stood facing me. He smiled 
 at me, as if understanding my case (very likely it 
 had been his own once), and bowed, as if recalling our 
 interview of the day before. I returned his bow, not 
 a little abashed at finding myself again the centre of 
 all the eyes Wensley had in its head, and, abiding 
 the result, presently perceived that it was the custom 
 of the town (once universal throughout New England) 
 to wait, and let the minister go out first. Presently 
 Mr. Bulkley descended the pulpit-stairs, not having 
 apparently hurried himself at all, and passed slowly 
 down the aisle, bowing royally from side to side in 
 acknowledgment of the rustic salutations which he 
 received. As soon as he approached me, he made 
 me a sign to follow him, and then shook hands with 
 Colonel Allerton, who joined him in his progress 
 through the capital of his dominions. 
 
 It was a necessary consequence of this order of 
 procession, that Miss Allerton and I came out face to 
 face into the aisle. She graciously returned my bow ; 
 and we walked after the elders, side by side, kindling 
 yet more speculation in all the eyes of Wensley, eager 
 to spy out what I could be. As we came out into 
 the porch, the two gentlemen remained a little on one 
 side, in conversation, and I proceeded to put the young 
 lady into the carriage, which stood ready drawn up at 
 the door. I hoped that she had experienced no harm 
 from the shower yesterday afternoon ; which hope, she 
 was able to inform me, had become fruition. I then 
 informed her that it was an uncommonly fine day, 
 
72 WKNSLEY. 
 
 and on this point I am happy to say our views cor 
 dially coincided. What I should have stated next, I 
 can hardly imagine ; for the congregation were now 
 swarming out, and many were lingering within ear 
 shot to discover what sweet influences this " bright 
 particular star " of theirs was shedding upon me ; and 
 the consciousness of this fact did not help to con 
 centrate my ideas. But, fortunately, just at that 
 moment her father approached, and, as he stood with 
 one foot on the carriage-step, he offered me his hand, 
 saying, 
 
 " Mr. Osborne, I am happy to know your father s 
 son. I met him often, and knew him well, at Paris, 
 when I was there during the peace of Amiens." 
 
 I bowed, and blushed my acknowledgments for his 
 goodness. 
 
 "I hope," he continued, "that I shall have the 
 pleasure of seeing you at Woodside at some time 
 when you can have a less stormy reception than that 
 you had yesterday." 
 
 "I could not have a kinder one, I am sure, sir," 
 I replied, " nor one that I should be more happy to 
 experience again, if you will allow me to pay my 
 respects to you and to Miss Allerton." 
 
 " With all my heart," said he, smiling ; " only 
 without the thunder and lightning, if you please. 
 We three may meet again, I hope, but not, I trust, in 
 thunder, lightning, and in rain. So good-morning." 
 
 And they drove away, leaving me upon the steps. 
 And now, I suppose, the sagacious reader will 
 
MY FIRST SUNDAY IN WENSLEY 73 
 
 an account of my sensations ; for of course he (or 
 she) takes it for granted that I fell fearfully in love 
 with the fair Eleanor at first sight. But they must 
 wait a while. I am not quite ready to go into the 
 confessional just yet, with his (or her) ear glued to 
 the grating. Perhaps I scarcely knew how I felt 
 myself; for I have more than once acknowledged 
 my inaptitude for the dissections and demonstrations 
 of metaphysical anatomy. And perhaps it is hardly 
 fair to require a man to conduct his own autopsy. 
 But, whatever may have been my own state of mind, 
 one fact, mortifying as it may be, I must needs con 
 fess. It must be admitted that the beautiful Eleanor 
 did not fall in love with me either at first or second 
 sight. Perhaps it was no proof of her taste or dis 
 cernment ; but the fact cannot be denied. Her 
 deportment towards me was perfectly kind and well- 
 bred ; but I could not help feeling that my image 
 might never again occur to her, if not recalled by my 
 bodily presence. Of course, such a conviction was 
 not flattering to my vanity (if, indeed, I or any man 
 was ever subject to such a weakness) ; but did it go 
 near breaking my heart ? It is altogether too near 
 the end of a chapter to enter into an inquiry of this 
 intricacy, and. so it must be adjourned to a day 
 future. I am none of your epic writers, who dive 
 at once into the middle of things, and then plunge 
 and splash about until they have somehow or 
 another brought the beginning and end together. I 
 am a plain narrator of a simple passage of biography, 
 
74 WENSLEY. 
 
 and tell things just as they happened, and must be 
 allowed to take my own way, or I shall be sure to 
 make a botch of the whole thing. 
 
 When they were gone, Mr. Bulkley put his arm 
 in mine, and we walked off towards the parsonage 
 together. He told me, what I had surmised before, 
 that I was what they were talking about, he having 
 asked Colonel Allerton if he had not known my 
 father during his public life in Europe. He had 
 then told the Colonel who I was, and, as I surmised, 
 the occasion of my residence in Wensley ; but he did 
 not say so, nor did I ask, as the day, if not the sub 
 ject, was too serious for a joke, and it would have 
 been too much for his human nature or mine to have 
 suppressed one under such favorable circumstances. 
 The order of our return home was the reverse of that 
 which had distinguished our march to the meeting 
 house ; for Jasper, instead of bringing up our rear, 
 was discerned far in our van, and, in fact, just enter 
 ing the parsonage. This apparent breach of subordi 
 nation, however, would have been pardoned by a 
 stricter martinet than I, on beholding the excellent 
 cold dinner which he had set out in the study, ready 
 for us on our arrival : at least it would have been, if 
 the martinet in supposition had been as hungry as 
 the worthy parson s diatribe against bishops had 
 made me. 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 AN INVITATION AND A DINNER AT WENSLEY. 
 
 THE Allerton pew was empty in the afternoon. 
 I was not sure that it was not the morning s 
 onslaught upon the Anglican Church that had driven 
 away its inhabitants, until Jasper assured me that 
 they never went to meeting in the afternoon. This 
 he resented as a slight to his master, and as one of 
 the many mischiefs of the Church of England, for 
 which the worthy Afrite had much the same myste 
 rious horror that many excellent people feel for the 
 Church of Rome, and probably with about the same 
 degree of knowledge. I discovered afterwards, that 
 it was the belief of Wensley that there was a chapel 
 fitted up at Woodside, where the Colonel read the ser 
 vice of the church to his daughter and her maid, Ann 
 Petchell, the only other member of that communion 
 in Wensley. This was some explanation of the phe 
 nomenon to its curious inhabitants, and perhaps made 
 them easier under it, on Priest Bulkley s account, of 
 whose honor they were as jealous as Jasper himself. 
 I am bound to say, however, that a tolerably intimate 
 acquaintance with the house in after- times never re 
 vealed to me any such secret place of worship ; and 
 
76 WENSLEY. 
 
 Colonel Allerton, with all his various excellences, 
 seemed to me as little likely to become an amateur 
 chaplain as any possible man, when I came to know 
 him better. 
 
 These facts, or myths, I learned that evening from 
 the conversation of Deacon Williams and Major 
 Grimes, and one or two of the parish besides, who 
 called in to see the parson, and possibly to take a look 
 at me also. When the sun went down on the day 
 which bears his name, all the sabbatical shade of se 
 riousness which rested upon it passed away with him. 
 By this time, Mr. Bulkley s spirits seemed to rebound 
 from the pressure of unwonted solemnity, and to be 
 elastic and joyous as usual. His stories were more 
 and better , he fought his old battles over again with 
 new vigor; and his jest was more frequent, and his 
 laugh more resonant, than ever. Sunday evening 
 was the time when his parishioners usually came to 
 call on him. Then they were mutually at each 
 other s service. They had nothing to do ; and he 
 was well content to do nothing in their company 
 after the labors of the day. 
 
 He was a student of men as well as of books ; and 
 I have never known any one better versed in the 
 niceties of Yankee character and dialect than he. 
 He could draw them out with marvellous skill, of 
 which the subjects were perfectly unsuspicious, and 
 all with no shadow of ill-nature, or purpose of satire. 
 It was simply the study of man, in which he de 
 lighted, and for which he must use such materials as 
 
AN INVITATION AND A DINNER AT WENSLEY. 77 
 
 came in his way. As we sat round the wall in sum 
 mer, waging internecine war with the mosquitoes or 
 round the fire in cold weather, discussing all manner 
 of public and parish politics, with the apples and cider, 
 which formed the staple entertainment, there were 
 odd traits of character, and curiosities of expression, 
 enough to have made the fortunes of a score of 
 Yankee Hills or Hali burtons. I wonder whether 
 there are any such people left anywhere in New 
 England now. I am afraid that they have had all 
 their sharpnesses ground down by the mill-wheels, 
 and that they are all reduced to undistinguishable 
 particles ; or that their originality has been all crushed 
 out of them by the locomotives that fly, screaming 
 like so many devils, all over the country. 
 
 Major Grimes, I must do him the justice to say, 
 had changed his mode. of address towards me since 
 he had put me in the right way two days before. He 
 was perfectly respectful and deferential, now that he 
 found that the old priest had actually received me 
 under his roof, and had discovered, furthermore, who 
 I was. 
 
 " You find Priest Bulkley a fine man, sir," said he, 
 when he had an opportunity for an aside, " don t you ? " 
 using the epithet " fine," as almost all Americans do, 
 to denote mental and moral qualities, and not, as an 
 Englishman uniformly does, to express fine presence 
 and personal beauty. You may hear an Englishman 
 say, " He is a very fine man : what a pity that he is 
 such a fool ! " and an American, " She is a very fine 
 
78 WENSLEY. 
 
 woman : what a pity she should be so homely ! " But 
 this is parenthetical. 
 
 " From what little I have seen of him, I judge him 
 to be a very fine man," I answered coolly. 
 
 "You will think more and more of him, sir, the 
 more you see of him," replied the Major. " I did n t 
 tli ink he meant to take in any more young college 
 gentlemen ; but when I heard who you were, from 
 Jasper, when he came after your things, I knew he 
 would." 
 
 " Indeed ! " said I. " You knew more of my influ 
 ence over him than I did, then." 
 
 " Oh, but your father and he used to be so thick 
 together ! " rejoined the martial dispenser of toddy. 
 " They were the greatest cronies you ever saw. And 
 the old priest is n t a man to forget his friends, alive 
 or dead, I can tell you. That s why he took you, sir." 
 
 " I m very glad of it, whatever brought it about," 
 said I. 
 
 " Your father used always to put up his horses at 
 my place when he came to Wensley. He used to 
 drive a phaeton and pair ; and good horses they were, 
 I can tell you, sir. Are you fond of horses, sir ? " 
 he went on. 
 
 "I like them well enough when I have occasion 
 for them. I am no judge of them, and have nothing 
 of the fancy for them that some men have." 
 
 " Because, if you ever want a saddle-horse, I don t 
 believe you can fiod a better in Boston than my 
 Turk; and, for a chaise (videlicet, gig), you won t 
 
AN INVITATION AND A DINNER AT WENSLEY. 79 
 
 often sit behind a better beast than my mare Black 
 Sally. Colonel Allerton wanted to buy her ; but it 
 was of no use. I would n t part with her." 
 
 " The Colonel is a judge of horses, then, I suppose," 
 said I. 
 
 " A judge ! I believe you ! " he replied briskly. 
 " There is n t a man in New England that knows 
 horse-flesh better. Why, he keeps five himself here ; 
 and I have heard say that he had near twenty in 
 England." 
 
 " It s no wonder, then," I said, " that he fell in 
 love with Black Sally. I should have thought he 
 would have had her at any rate." 
 
 "Well," returned her fortunate possessor, rather 
 drawlingly, " you see he was n t willing to give me 
 quite as much as I thought he ought to for her. At 
 the same time that I offered her (reasonable, too) to 
 the Colonel, I told him he might have Turk for three 
 hundred. But he didn t want a saddle-horse just 
 then, he said. And I m glad of it, for I should have 
 missed him training-days. He 11 stand cannon, mus 
 ketry, music, anything. General Srnithett would give 
 me five dollars a day for him any muster, if I did n t 
 want him myself." 
 
 I was just telling my military friend that I would 
 certainly try the quality of his stud on my first oc 
 casion, when a quick double knock was heard at the 
 door, and in another moment the personage whose 
 name was the last word in our mouths was ushered 
 into the presence by Jasper. Colonel Allerton en- 
 
80 WENSLEY. 
 
 tered nimbly, and shook hands cordially with the 
 minister, and afterwards with me ; and then, bowing 
 kindly to the other guests, all of whom rose on his 
 entrance, he sat down by me. 
 
 " The Parson gave us a capital sermon this morn 
 ing, Deacon," said he, addressing that functionary, 
 whose eyes seemed to be more than ever in all places 
 at the same time. " Eather hard upon me and my 
 daughter, perhaps. But it is a positive pleasure to 
 be flogged by some people, it is so cleverly done." 
 
 I thought the Deacon might have said that it was 
 well for some other people, that, like tops, the more 
 they were whipped, the better they slept. But he 
 did not. Perhaps the dispersion of his vision over the 
 remoter regions of the meeting-house prevented his 
 seeing what was so directly under his nose. What 
 he said was, 
 
 " I m glad you liked it, sir." 
 
 " Liked it ! To be sure I did," rejoined the Colo 
 nel. " And, egad, Parson ! I should be sorry to be 
 required to answer you. But I m not converted, for 
 all that, you know. You can t suppose me such a 
 pitiful fellow as to be driven from my religion merely 
 because I can t defend it against a militant minister, 
 armed to the teeth, like you. No, no ! You must 
 make another breach before you 11 carry me by storm, 
 much less Eleanor." 
 
 "I shall try for it, you may be sure," said Mr. 
 Bulkley, smiling ; " for I am sure, that, if you are 
 hard to carry, you will be easy to hold. There 11 
 
AN INVITATION AND A DINNER AT WENSLEY. 81 
 
 be no backsliding in your case, or Miss Eleanor s, 
 either." 
 
 " I think you re right, by Jove ! " returned the Colo 
 nel, " and, that we may keep your good opinion the 
 better, I think we 11 not backslide from where we 
 stand now. But do all you can to unsettle us, pray. 
 You are perfectly welcome to do so, if you can, I do 
 assure you." 
 
 I felt that if he always had the invention blessed 
 by Sancho about him, to wrap himself in, and to 
 serve as 
 
 " Feather-bed twixt castle- wall 
 And heavy brunt of cannon-ball," 
 
 he was really in no great danger from the good par 
 son s theological gunnery. 
 
 After a little more talk between them, in which no 
 one else joined, unless appealed to, the Deacon and 
 the Major, followed by the other village visitors, rose, 
 and took their leave. As soon as they were gone, the 
 Colonel said to the minister, 
 
 " Well, Parson, to show that I bear no malice, I 
 have walked down this fine night to ask you and Mr. 
 Osborne to come and dine with me as soon as you can. 
 When shall it be ? To-morrow ? " 
 
 " To-morrow is rather soon," Mr. Bulkley replied, 
 "as Mr. Osborne and I have not yet reduced our 
 selves into our order of studies. We had fixed upon 
 to-morrow to begin." 
 
 " Very well. If not to-morrow, fix a day for your 
 self. Only let it be some day this week." 
 
 6 
 
82 WENSLEY. 
 
 " Shall it be Thursday ? " inquired Mr. Bulkley, 
 looking over to me. 
 
 I intimated that all days were alike to me, and 
 that Thursday suited me perfectly well. So the din 
 ner was fixed for Thursday. 
 
 "I wish to have you come this week," said the 
 Colonel, rising to depart, " because I shall have to 
 go to Boston next week, and may not be able to 
 return until the very end of it, or the beginning of 
 the week after. On Thursday, then, I shall expect 
 you." 
 
 And he was taking his leave, when the Parson and 
 I thought that we would walk with him, the night 
 being extremely fine, as far as the bridge. Our so 
 ciety was gladly accepted, and we walked merrily 
 along the road, accompanied by many a story and 
 jest, and followed by many a laugh. No doubt, as 
 we passed by the scattered houses of the village, peo 
 ple said, " That s Priest Bulkley s voice ! I should 
 know it among a thousand. I wonder if anybody s 
 been took sick. It can t be, though, or he would n t 
 laugh so." 
 
 At the bridge we parted ; the Colonel pursuing his 
 way by the river road, and the Parson and I going 
 back over our steps. 
 
 " It was so like him ! " said Mr. Bulkley, as soon 
 as we were fairly out of hearing. 
 
 " What do you mean, sir ? " I asked. " What was 
 so like him ? " 
 
 " His coming so instantly to invite you," said he. 
 
AN INVITATION AND A DINNER AT WENSLEY. 83 
 
 " He never hangs fire the Colonel. He always goes 
 off at half-cock." 
 
 " Well, sir," I replied, " provided he hits as well as 
 he has to-night, it s not a bad way of going off." 
 
 " Not at all, not at all," he returned : " a short aim 
 is generally the best. But he s a queer man, sir, as 
 Jasper told you an odd compound of openness and 
 reserve. He seems so transparent, that you would 
 think you could see straight through him at a glance. 
 But you will find yourself mistaken. You may look 
 your eyes blind, without really making him out." 
 
 " Do you suppose, sir," I asked, " that he has any 
 thing really to conceal, or that he does not choose to 
 make talk of his private affairs, merely because they 
 are private ? " 
 
 " I can t tell," he replied. " I can only say, that 
 intimate as I have been with him, and the only 
 person he really associates with for the greatest part 
 of his time, he has never let a word drop as to any of 
 them ; not even as to his motive for coming to this 
 country, or the probable length of his stay. It must 
 be systematic to be so uniform." 
 
 " Is he as close as to his life in Europe ? " I asked. 
 
 " Very nearly," he replied ; " that is, as to the 
 more recent part of it. He talks fast enough about 
 old times, and very well too. However, it s none of 
 my business ; and I suppose he is of the same opin 
 ion. But you will find him a charming companion, 
 as well as Miss Eleanor ;. and I am glad you have got 
 admission to the house." 
 
84 WENSLEY. 
 
 " Is she as sly as her father ? " I inquired. " She 
 does not seem to have as much to say, at any rate, 
 judging by the little I saw of her." 
 
 " I hardly see enough of her by herself to judge," 
 he answered. " And, besides, I am afraid I am 
 hardly the confidant she would be likely to choose 
 if she had anything to tell. But it would not 
 have been strange if her father had sometimes, by 
 chance, let fall to me something of his history or 
 plans that might not be proclaimed in Grimes s bar 
 room. But no such chance has ever happened. 
 You know as much of them as I do; and what I 
 have told you I obtained from other sources than 
 themselves." 
 
 We were now at home, and I bade him good-night, 
 smiling a little, privily, at the good man s curiosity 
 (of which he did not seem at all suspicious) to know 
 of his neighbor s affairs; which, however, I am given 
 to understand, was no idiosyncrasy of his particular 
 constitution, nor even one confined to small rural 
 parishes like Wensley. There was a shade, how 
 ever, of wounded feeling in his expression, as if he 
 had not received quite a just return for the fulness 
 of confidence he was ready to pour into the bosom 
 of his friend, at which I had no disposition to smile. 
 But is there any of us that has not some Bluebeard s 
 chamber in his heart, which he keeps close shut, even 
 to his nearest and dearest ? I do not pretend to know 
 more than my neighbors ; but, from what I have seen 
 and heard, I surmise that there are married men even, 
 
AN INVITATION AND A DINNER AT WENSLEY. 85 
 
 who would be ready to play Bluebeard in good ear 
 nest, if they should find that the very wives of their 
 bosoms had found a cranny through which to peer 
 into those prohibited recesses. I wonder what they 
 would see there. And Mr. Bulkley himself would 
 he have exposed to the eye of his dearest friend 
 the sacred though dishonored image of his fatal 
 Julia, and the troop of recollections, emotions, and 
 agonies, that waited upon it ? I think not, even to 
 have the veil lifted from the most secret places of 
 any other life. 
 
 Thursday arrived, as it usually does, as nearly in 
 the middle of the week as possible. And, moreover, 
 it was a very fine day ; so that Mr. Bulkley and I 
 chose to go to Woodside on foot, rather than disturb 
 the bones of Smiler, the minister s cross old horse, 
 from their repose in the stable. Jasper had brushed 
 up his master s buckles, and made him as smart as 
 his best coat and breeches (it would hardly be his 
 torically correct to call them his new ones) could make 
 him ; and, as he was a vigorous walker, we were soon 
 at the hospitable door, which stood open to welcome 
 us. On the threshold stood the master of the house, 
 ready to give us a most cordial reception, and to usher 
 us into the presence of his daughter. She looked 
 handsomer than ever ; and as she sat in the window 
 (which she had had cut down to the ground, an as 
 tonishment to all Wensley) opening into her flower- 
 garden, in the light of that lovely day, she did look 
 as lovely as the day itself. 
 
86 WENSLEY. 
 
 The dinner was excellent, such as wealthy gentle 
 men of that day used to set before their guests. The 
 table furniture was handsome but plain, and all dis 
 play of wealth was evidently repressed. The table 
 linen was of the finest of damask, and the service of 
 Nankin china. The silver forks were the first that 
 had penetrated to Wensley, and were a marvel, and a 
 mystery to its oldest inhabitants, who had never heard 
 of the like. At that time this luxury, which has now 
 become almost a necessity, was confined, even in the 
 cities, to the very rich, and, indeed, not always in 
 daily use with them. So that it is no wonder that 
 their advent caused a sensation in Wensley, nor that 
 Jonathan Snell, the Colonel s coachman, should have 
 condescended one day to take a specimen in his 
 pocket to show to the astonished inhabitants, at their 
 special instance, after custom had bred familiarity 
 with that great man. Mr. Bulkley would never give 
 in to this new fanglement, as he called it. So he was 
 always supplied with a good old-fashioned three- 
 pronged steel fork, with which " scevitque tridenti " 
 he did manful execution. 
 
 Mr. Bulkley, of course, took Miss Allerton in to 
 dinner, which ceremony he performed by bearing 
 her hand aloft, with an Old- World grace, like a sep 
 tuagenarian Sir Charles Grandison. He would have 
 scorned the custom, had he been cognizant of it, of 
 clapping a lady s hand under his arm like a brown 
 paper parcel from the grocer s. The Colonel and I 
 followed after them ; and though he made no sign of 
 
AN INVITATION AND A DINNER AT WENSLEY. 87 
 
 remarking the good man s gallantry, lie could not 
 control a little twitching of the muscles about the 
 corners of the mouth. During dinner I had but 
 little to say to Miss Allerton beyond taking wine 
 with her, and assisting her in the dispensation of the 
 dishes at her end of the table. With two elders at 
 table who talked so much and so well as her father 
 and Mr. Bulkley, there was little occasion or oppor 
 tunity for us to display any conversational gifts we 
 might possess, except that greatest one of listening 
 well, that " grand talent pour le silence " which 
 Talleyrand (or whoever it was) showed more wit 
 than sense in laughing at. What would he have 
 done, I should like to know, if there were not some 
 people willing to hold their tongues ? 
 
 It was entertainment enough to sit and hear the 
 two men talk, and to look at the lovely mistress of 
 the house. Colonel Allerton had seen all the public 
 and literary men of the end of the last century and 
 the beginning of this, and had known many of them 
 personally. It was something to hear a man talk 
 who had seen Garrick during his last season, and had 
 had the vision of Dr. Johnson rolling along Fleet 
 Street, though he had never met him face to face as 
 an acquaintance. He had breakfasted in company 
 with Gibbon, and had dined at the same table with 
 Sheridan ; and, of all the orators and authors and 
 beauties of that period, he had had opportunities of 
 personal observation, and could make report of them 
 from what his own eyes had seen. Whatever secret 
 
88 WENSLEY. 
 
 reserve he might have to his best friends, of which 
 Mr. Bulkley had complained, there was no sign of it 
 in his conversation. Nothing could be more free and 
 flowing than his stream of talk. It seemed as if you 
 had only to give it a direction, and it would waft 
 directly to your feet all the facts of his experience. 
 But he was not in the least an overpowering talker. 
 He did not compel you, as Carlyle says Coleridge did, 
 " to sit as a passive bucket, and be pumped into, 
 whether you consent or not ; " which, he goes on 
 to say justly, " can, in the long-run, be exhilarating to 
 no creature." On the contrary, he carefully drew 
 out Mr. Bulkley, and made him appear to his best 
 advantage, and was very far from neglecting me. 
 
 Mr. Bulkley, indeed, was not a man to be easily 
 put down. Just to others, he was just also to him 
 self, and it would have been a clever man that 
 could rob him of his fair share of what talk was 
 going on. But nobody who had ever heard him 
 talk (your oppressive talkers never hear anybody 
 but themselves) would ever wish that he should talk 
 any less. Though he had lived in retirement so long, 
 still his seven-years apprenticeship to the world, 
 during the war, had made him a master of that craft, 
 and had furnished him with inexhaustible stores of 
 personal recollections, all connected with the most 
 interesting times and people. Then the very quaint- 
 ness of manner and speech which his solitary life 
 had bred, set off by his extensive though odd reading, 
 gave a rare raciness to his talk. His intimate ac- 
 
AN INVITATION AND A DINNER AT WENSLEY. 89 
 
 quaintance, too, with the peculiarities of character 
 and dialect of the country-people whom he had made 
 his study for so long, and his uncommon powers of 
 mimicry, which he would exert in safe societies, 
 made him, I think, the most entertaining companion 
 I ever met in the course of a pretty long acquaint 
 ance with the world. 
 
 " The choir sung very well last Sunday, Parson," 
 said Colonel Allerton, with the slightest possible 
 glance at his daughter and me. But, if there were 
 any irony in the tone, the Parson did not notice it. 
 
 " Yes, I think they improve," he said. " I m sure 
 I take pains enough with them." 
 
 " Do you know," returned the Colonel, " that I was 
 rather disappointed, on coming here, at finding the 
 noses of good old Sternhold and Hopkins put out of 
 joint by Dr. Watts ? I was in hopes of hearing once 
 more sung, line by line, by the whole congregation, 
 as of old, The Lord will come, and he will not ; and 
 then, as a distinct proposition, puzzling to my infancy, 
 Keep silence, but speak out ! " 
 
 " If you had come only five years sooner, you would 
 have had your wish," replied Mr. Bulkley. " I be 
 lieve Wensley was the last town that yielded to the 
 innovation. I withstood it as long as I could ; but 
 the Association l would give me no rest till I fell in 
 with it. But I found it hard work, I assure you." 
 
 1 In New England, from the earliest times, the Congregational 
 ministers within a convenient distance of each other form associa 
 tions, which meet at regular intervals. 
 
90 WENSLEY. 
 
 "What! were the people unwilling to make the 
 change ? " exclaimed the Colonel " I respect them 
 for it." 
 
 "Loath enough at first," responded the Parson. 
 " Most of the old women actually believed that those 
 were the very strains which King David sang to his 
 harp, and looked on the change proposed as little 
 short of blasphemy." 
 
 "And how did you manage it?" asked Miss 
 Allerton. 
 
 "Why, to tell you the truth, my dear young 
 lady," returned the minister, " I found the young 
 people my best allies. The allurement of a singing- 
 school for the winter nights, and the glories of the 
 singing gallery on the sabbath, were more than they 
 could resist : so, by playing off the vanities of the 
 young against the prejudices of the old, I gradually 
 brought all round, except Deacon Holt. The Deacon 
 maintained the faith long after all the rest had 
 given in." 
 
 " And how did you overcome him ? " inquired the 
 Colonel. 
 
 " I 11 tell you," pursued the Parson. " I knew 
 that he was as self-willed as one of his own bullocks ; 
 and so I left him until the very last of the opponents 
 had submitted. Then, supposing he must have 
 been somewhat mollified by the change of opinion 
 in the parish, I moved up to the attack myself. I 
 found the Deacon sitting at his front-door one fine 
 sabbath evening about sundown. The delicious 
 
AN INVITATION AND A DINNER AT WENSLEY. 91 
 
 west wind did, to be sure, bring with it an occa 
 sional whiff from his slaughter-house hard by ; but 
 the Deacon liked it none the worse for that. So, by 
 way of making my approaches regularly, I said, 
 An uncommonly fine evening, Deacon. Ya-as, 
 Parson, he replied : the weather is dreadful fine, as 
 you say. It somehow makes a fellow feel kind o 
 nohow. I was just a-saying to Miss (Nov-Anglice for 
 Mrs.) Holt, it was such-a-most-a-beautiful arternoon, 
 if it was n t that it s Sa-a-ba-a-day, I feel just as if 
 I should like to sla-a-ter sutlvin* (slaughter some 
 thing)." 
 
 The Colonel and I roared at this, of which no print 
 can give any idea of the perfection of the Parson s 
 twang. Miss Allerton laughed too, but with some 
 exclamation of horror at the Deacon s association of 
 ideas. 
 
 " But, my dear Miss Eleanor," expostulated Mr. 
 Bulkley, " you should allow for an artist s enthu 
 siasm. / did, and, waiting sympathizingly until it 
 had exhaled, I thought that now was my time ; and 
 so I broached the subject at once. Deacon, said I, 
 I am surprised to find that a man of your piety and 
 discretion should oppose the substitution of Watts s 
 for the old version, and then proceeded to give the 
 reasons in favor of the one over the other. He 
 shook his head. Parson Bulkley, said he, 1 11 
 tell you what : I ve two good reasons why I won t 
 never agree to it. May I ask, said I, what they 
 are ? My first objection is/ said he, that Watts 
 
92 WENSLEY. 
 
 isn t an expired man/ "Watts not an expired 
 man ! I exclaimed. My dear sir, I am astonished 
 to hear a man of your intelligence say such a 
 thing. I do assure you that there is nothing more 
 certain than that he is an expired man. Be you 
 sartain? the astonished Deacon asked, somewhat 
 shaken by my confidence. I am not more certain 
 of my own existence/ 1 replied. It is a perfectly 
 well-established fact. Well/ said he slowly, if you 
 be sartain sure, I s pose I must give up that pint " 
 
 We all laughed merrily at this ; and the Colonel 
 said, " And what was the other point, Parson ? " 
 
 "That s just what I asked the Deacon," he re 
 plied ; " and the Deacon said, * My second pint is, 
 that there s a word in it that is n t in Scriptur In 
 deed ! said I : that is vital. Pray, what is the word V 
 * PAUSE ! said the Deacon. * There s the word pause, 
 in it ; and it ain t nowhere in the Bible ! and he 
 looked triumphantly at me, as if he had cornered me 
 now. 1 My good friend/ I replied, I am more 
 astonished at this objection than at the other. Pause 
 not in the Bible ! Please just reach it to me. Look 
 here, now (1 Sam. xvii. 37), " The Lord hath de 
 livered me out of the paw of the lion, and out of the 
 paw of the bear." The paw of the lion and the 
 paw of the bear, taken together, make "paws" don t 
 
 1 The non-evangelical reader, if, unfortunately, there are any such, 
 may need to be informed that Dr. Watts hath divided his longer 
 psalms and hymns into two or more portions by the interposition of 
 the word "PAUSE." 
 
AN INVITATION AND A DINNER AT WENSLEY. 93 
 
 they ? How can you say, then, and you so well read 
 in the Bible, that the word paws is n t in it ? 
 
 We all shouted with laughter at this new exegesis ; 
 and Miss Eleanor fairly clapped her hands, saying, 
 " And was the Deacon silenced ? " 
 
 " Completely," replied Mr. Bulkley. " He has 
 never been heard to say a word against Dr. Watts 
 or his psalms from that day to this. My victory was 
 complete. But this is the first time I ever told the 
 particulars, and you will see that I have put myself 
 in your power. It is a secret of the confessional. 
 But I am not afraid to trust you." 
 
 The cloth being removed, Colonel Allerton said, 
 that, out of regard to Mr. Bulkley s feelings, he 
 would give the President s health first ; but it was 
 on condition that the King s should be duly hon 
 ored afterwards. As the wine was excellent, of 
 course the minister made no objection to this ; only, 
 when the toast was given, he slyly improved it, as he 
 drank it, thus : " The King s health and amend 
 ment ! " And even these his loyal subjects, in view of 
 the recent developments consequent on the Queen s 
 trial, could hardly say that his Majesty was absolutely 
 beyond the reach of such an aspiration. 
 
 Miss Allerton soon withdrew, and as the two gen 
 tlemen began to talk politics earnestly, about which I 
 cared nothing, I overcame the opposition of my natural 
 bashfulness, and yielded to the influence of the more 
 attractive rnetal in the drawing-room, or parlor, as 
 it was called in those days, and soon joined her. 
 
94 WENSLEY. 
 
 She made room for me by her window, and, the ex 
 cellences and oddities of Mr. Bulkley giving us a 
 beginning, we soon went off into a brisk conversation. 
 Perhaps she found that I was not quite such a booby 
 boy as she might have taken it for granted I was. I 
 did not waste much of my time at the university, to 
 be sure, upon the stupid routine laid down by the 
 authorities ; but then I was extremely well read in 
 many authors not contained in the college course. 
 The respective merits of Lord Byron and Walter 
 Scott, the mystery hanging over the Waverley novels, 
 the relative rank to be assigned to those delightful 
 fictions, the comparison of our opinions as to our 
 favorite characters, gave us plenty to say. 
 
 We did not always agree, by any means. For 
 instance, she was a warm admirer of Wordsworth ; 
 whereas I was entirely too bigoted a devotee of the 
 Byrouic school to allow him more than a very small 
 modicum of merit. I remember that I made her lift 
 up her hands and eyes by denying that he was the 
 founder of any school at all, only a duller sort of 
 Cowper, with Cowper s knack at landscape-painting, 
 but without his wit. She retorted, however, by as 
 serting that Byron plagiarized from Wordsworth in 
 the third canto of " Chilcle Harold," which I stoutly 
 denied ; declaring, however, that, if he had, Words 
 worth should be forever obliged to him for the honor 
 done him. This was all said playfully and banteriugly 
 on both sides ; and, when the two gentlemen came in 
 to coffee, we were on the easiest terms imaginable. 
 
AN INVITATION AND A DINNER AT WENSLEY. 95 
 
 After coffee, Miss Allerton gave us some music. 
 In those days, people had not grown too fine to like 
 Tom Moore ; and she sung " Oft in the Stilly Night " 
 and the " Last Eose " with a roundness of voice, and 
 pathos of tone, which made the tears roll down Par 
 son Bulkley s withered cheeks. Moore was as fresh 
 to him as Byron, and he could not deny his lyric 
 power. He was never tired of hearing his Melodies 
 sung even by me, much less by the fair Eleanor. 
 But as there must be an end of all things, however 
 pleasant, so the time came in due course when we 
 had to take our leave. Mr. Bulkley made the move 
 about eight o clock. Miss Allerton cordially offered 
 me her hand at parting, and joined in her father s 
 hearty and repeated invitation to visit Woodside as 
 often as I could. 
 
 Mr. Bulkley said, as we went along, that I was a 
 lucky dog to find such a solace to my exile in that 
 out-of-the-way place, and, indeed, I was very much 
 inclined to think that my reverend friend was not 
 far wrong in his opinion. We talked the day over 
 merrily as we walked home, where we found Jasper 
 waiting for us in the study. I went to bed early, and 
 fell asleep in a confused whirl of ideas and images. 
 I remember that I could hardly believe that it was 
 only a week since the scientific session of the Deip- 
 nosophoi had resulted in my finding myself where I 
 was. It seemed an age since then. I don t see why 
 it should. Why should my making the acquaintance 
 of two old gentlemen and one young lady (for I don t 
 
 tJN] 
 
96 WENSLEY. 
 
 believe Jasper had anything to do with it) make that 
 week seem so long ? I am sure it had been a pleasant 
 one enough. But, as I have said formerly, I am no 
 metaphysician, and only state facts in psychology, 
 without pretending to explain them. 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 BEING ONE OF ACCIDENTS. 
 
 acquaintance with Miss Allerton went on 
 prosperously from that time forward. The 
 next Sunday evening, I walked over to Woodside to 
 call upon its inhabitants after their hospitality, and 
 was invited to join their riding-party the next after 
 noon. This enabled me to redeem my promise to 
 Major Grimes, that I would improve the first oppor 
 tunity that offered of putting the virtues of Turk to 
 the test of experience. Perhaps I did not feel as 
 much surprise, after this taste of his quality, at 
 Colonel Allerton s refusal to come up to the worthy 
 Major s terms at the time the treaty for the possession 
 of that valuable animal was pending, as his gallant 
 proprietor expressed when he gave me the history of 
 the negotiation. But I forbear to dilate on his per 
 sonal qualities. Such a digression would be foreign 
 to the purpose of this work. If his performance did 
 not absolutely come up to the promise of the Major, 
 still I imagine that officer was not the first military 
 commander whose bulletin was more brilliant than 
 his campaign. If he did not excel all other steeds in 
 swiftness, he might be pardoned as a comfortable 
 7 
 
98 WENSLEY. 
 
 exception to the celerities of the fast age in which he 
 lived ; though indeed, at that time, it was but just 
 getting its speed up. If he did stumble a little now 
 and then, let the biped that hath never done the same 
 thing, and with less provocation and on a smoother 
 road, throw the first stone at poor Turk. I remember 
 him with emotions of tenderness ; for he is associated 
 with the beginning of a memorable acquaintanceship, 
 and of a succession of charming rides, that lovely 
 summer, through a country as lovely, in my eyes, as 
 the summer itself. 
 
 Philosophers differ as to the very most advanta 
 geous position in which one can be placed in relation 
 to a charming young lady on whom one has no spe 
 cific objection to making an agreeable impression. 
 Some think that a walk " by moon or glittering star 
 light " is the very best invention that the wit of man 
 hath ever hit upon ; other some, that the corner of 
 a blazing wood-fire on a winter s evening is indeed 
 "a coigne of vantage," if rightly improved by a ju 
 dicious mind. There are who hold that a sleigh-ride 
 in a clear, cold, crackling winter s night, is not inca 
 pable of being turned to a good account, with all its 
 manifold exhilarations and excitations. And there 
 are not wanting who maintain that a ball-room, with 
 all its heat and crush and bustle, 
 
 "When music softens, and when dancing fires, "- 
 
 furnishes that exact combination of proximity and 
 isolation, which constitutes the most congenial atmos- 
 
BEING ONE OF ACCIDENTS. 99 
 
 phere for civilized love to grow in, from the first incipi- 
 ency of flirtation to the final desperation of proposal. 
 There was much to be said in behalf of this theory in 
 the days before the incursions of barbarian dances had 
 shaken the institutions of civilized ball-rooms to their 
 foundations. The country-dances of our ancestors, and 
 the quadrilles of our own times, were not unfavorable 
 to the gentle flutterings of the hovering Loves. But 
 it must be a stout Cupid indeed, of a robust constitu 
 tion and a hardy disposition, that can stand up before 
 the frantic rush of a polka or redowa, and not be 
 swept away into utter annihilation by the very tem 
 pest and whirlwind of those whisking petticoats. 
 
 But it is my notion that a tete-d-tete ride on horse 
 back, through lonely lanes and solitary wood-paths, 
 is not the worst way of being brought into confi 
 dential communications with a lovely young woman. 
 Sometimes, you know, one cannot avoid guiding her 
 bridle-hand in some emergent difficulty ; and cases 
 have corne to my knowledge in which an enlightened 
 philanthropy could not be satisfied without support 
 ing her jimp waist with a sustaining arm in narrow 
 and perilous passes. A painful and dangerous posi 
 tion, indeed ; but then, you must allow, one could not 
 suffer her to run the risk of falling from her horse. 
 I wonder the Humane Society does not reward such 
 heroic risks by the awarding of gold medals to the vir 
 tuous adventurers. Merely plunging into the water 
 to pull out a stupid boy or blundering man were a 
 safe and easy feat in the comparison. 
 
100 WENSLEY. 
 
 My Monday s ride with Colonel Allerton and his 
 daughter was blessed to me in this very form and 
 manner. Finding that I was a tolerable horseman, 
 and withal a very modest and discreet youth, the Colo 
 nel proposed to me that I should accompany the 
 young lady in her rides during the rest of the week, 
 which, as he had previously informed me, he should 
 be obliged to pass in Boston. 
 
 " And, by the by," said he in reply to my blushing 
 acceptance of his proposition, " by the by, I think 
 you had better make use of my Prince here. I fancy 
 he will carry you better than the beast you have under 
 you. Is n t that the horse Grimes wanted me to buy ?" 
 
 "The horse you wanted to buy of him, rather," I 
 replied, laughing ; " for that was the statement the 
 Major made to me of the case." 
 
 " Was it, indeed ! " he answered, laughing in his 
 turn. "I certainly ought to have wanted to buy him 
 if he had had half the virtues vouched for him by 
 the Major, and he would have been cheap at twice 
 the money. But it was he proposed the trade, and 
 he had the impudence to ask three hundred dollars 
 for him." 
 
 " So I inferred, from what dropped from him after 
 wards," said I. " But your refusal, sir, raised you 
 many degrees in his estimation. He thinks you a 
 doctor in the science he esteems the highest of all, 
 the science of horse-flesh." 
 
 " I could hardly help picking up the elements," he 
 replied, " considering I was for more than twenty 
 
BEING ONE OF ACCIDENTS. 101 
 
 years in a cavalry regiment. I do not profess to be 
 a doctor, or even a master, in the art ; but I know 
 enough to know that such a brute as that is not 
 worth the half of three hundred dollars." 
 
 The next day, Colonel Allerton departed for Boston, 
 and in the afternoon I walked over to Woodside, 
 and found Miss Eleanor all ready, waiting for me ; her 
 Fairy and her father s Prince pawing the gravel be 
 fore the hall-door. We were soon in the saddle, and, 
 as she was perfectly well acquainted with the coun 
 try for ten miles round, we were not long in reaching 
 as sweet a winding and wooded by-road as any coun 
 try could furnish. The mania for improvement, so 
 deeply seated in the character of New England, which, 
 at the beginning of this century, found its relief in 
 cutting infinitely extended straight lines of turnpike 
 roads in every direction over the country, had spared 
 this remote corner of its domain. Even the road to 
 Haverford, by which I had journeyed to Wensley, 
 was the old road, which, avoiding the turnpike (as 
 the road itself is invariably called in New England), 
 meandered about from village to village, according as 
 the early settlers had arranged the division of the 
 soil when they first helped themselves to it. And so 
 the by-roads through which our course lay wound 
 themselves around the homesteads and outlying fields 
 of the farmers, or swept by the skirts of their wood 
 lands ( wood-lots they call them there), like Schiller s 
 river, 
 
 "Honoring the holy bounds of property." 
 
102 WENSLEY. 
 
 "Is this ride anything like those you had in 
 Devonshire, Miss Allerton ? " I inquired of my fair 
 companion, as the road plunged into a depth of wood 
 thick with brushwood, the branches of the pines 
 almost making it impassable for two riding abreast, so 
 broad and long did they stretch themselves. " You 
 are too civilized there, I take it, to permit such im 
 pediments as these to cross your path." 
 
 " Yes," she replied. " England has been inhabited 
 rather too long to have left many such primitive 
 scenes as this at least in the south, where I have 
 mostly lived. I never saw that, for instance," she 
 said, pointing with her riding-whip to the tangled 
 undergrowth which choked up the passages between 
 the trunks of the trees, "I never saw anything like 
 that till I came here." 
 
 " And you wish it away, as a deformity, I suppose," 
 said I. 
 
 " No, not as a deformity," she replied. " It is char 
 acteristic of an aboriginal wood, as I suppose this 
 really is ; for, though the ancestors of these trees may 
 have been cut away once or twice, I fancy it has never 
 been anything but a forest ; and it is picturesque and 
 beautiful in itself. But I own I long for an opening 
 now and then under the trees, by which one might 
 escape from the beaten road, like a damsel or knight 
 of fairy in quest of adventures." 
 
 " We must first find a well-disposed magician, or 
 benevolent enchantress, to clear our way for us," I an 
 swered; " for I fear that we shall never find the under- 
 
BEING ONE OF ACCIDENTS. 103 
 
 growth cleared away by any Yankee, until the caitiff is 
 ready to hew down the trees too, as, indeed, he is but 
 too well inclined to do. We are but beginning to out 
 grow the antipathy which our fathers instilled into us 
 against trees and Indians. As they grow scarce, we 
 may grow merciful to the aborigines of both kinds." 
 
 Talking thus, we rode along ; and my companion 
 entertained me with descriptions of the neighborhood 
 of Walford Hall, and the differences between those 
 scenes of ancient civilization and exact culture, and 
 the rough and half-reclaimed country around us. 
 Presently she drew rein at a narrow opening into the 
 forest which the woodcutters might be supposed to 
 have made for their own occasions. 
 
 " Come," said she, " what say you to trying our luck 
 down that path ? Who knows but it may lead us to 
 some adventure ? I know all these roads by heart ; 
 and, if you will back me, I will try and find out a 
 new one." 
 
 " I imagine you will find it a passage, like those in 
 the Long Story, that leads to nothing," I answered. 
 " But still, if you are for the trial, I 11 not fail you. 
 Only let me have the honor of leading the van, and 
 facing the perils of the enterprise first, as becomes a 
 good knight." 
 
 I turned my horse s head for the purpose of preced 
 ing her, and, in the first place, of removing two or 
 three bars which crossed the entrance; but she was 
 too quick for me. Giving her mare a smart blow 
 with her riding-whip, like another Di Yernon she 
 
104 WEXSLEY. 
 
 made her leap the low fence, and so secured the lead ; 
 for the pathway was too narrow to admit of my pass 
 ing her. Now, though I was a tolerable horseman, as 
 I have already said, I had had no particular experience 
 in leaping fences, that being a freedom in which we 
 are not much indulged in this land of liberty. But 
 still, like Frank Osbaldistone, I was piqued to show 
 my horsemanship by such an example, and accordingly 
 pressed my steed to the point, not without a secret 
 misgiving that I might find myself performing a 
 mathematical curve of some unknown description 
 over his head. It was lucky for me that I was back 
 ing Prince at this critical moment ; for I should have 
 been sorry to put Turk up to such a trial of his met 
 tle. But Prince took the fence as if he were used to 
 much greater feats than this, and thought but little of 
 it. So I followed my fair leader, who shook her golden 
 curls, which had escaped from under the control of 
 her riding- cap, and shot me through and through with 
 her laughing glances as she looked back at me. 
 
 She was in the highest spirits, and talked and 
 laughed in a most bewitching manner. We could not 
 proceed very rapidly ; and, as I followed in her track, 
 I had an excellent opportunity of admiring her firm, 
 erect figure, and the admirable manner in which she 
 sat her horse. Still she often turned her face half 
 round to me, and chatted away in the liveliest way 
 possible. The absence of mind which I had observed 
 at my first interview, and of which there had been an 
 occasional trace at the few times I had seen her since, 
 
BEING ONE OF ACCIDENTS. 105 
 
 was entirely gone. The exhilaration of the fine, clear 
 sky ; the delicious air, fragrant with the spicy smell of 
 the pines, and growing cool as the sun dipped lower 
 and lower ; the excitement of the exercise, joined to 
 the sense of pleasure which must always, I suppose, 
 attend an exploring expedition on however minute a 
 scale, all united to make her seem a totally different 
 creature from what I had imagined her from my pre 
 vious observations. 
 
 And possibly it might have been that the compan 
 ionship of the only young creature she had seen for 
 so many months helped to unlock her spirits by the 
 secret magic of youthful sympathy. She must have 
 discerned that I was a harmless as well as a sheepish 
 youth, without the least mixture of the lady-killer 
 in my composition. She could not but know that I 
 admired her extremely ; and, in that desert, even the 
 admiration of a college lad like me was something. 
 Moreover, I had made no demonstrations of a love- 
 making nature. I was by far too modest for that, 
 had I had any constitutional tendency to that com 
 plaint, or rather vice. Making love, indeed ! A vile 
 phrase as bad as that of " falling in love," which 
 Yorick justly reprobates as implying that "love is 
 something beneath a man." No, no ! Love is none 
 of your confounded manufactures. It is an indige 
 nous growth. You cannot make it. You may tend 
 and cherish and foster it, and sit in its shadow, and 
 crown yourself with its blossoms, and feast upon its 
 fruits unto everlasting life ; but you can no more 
 
106 WENSLEY. 
 
 make it than you can make a rosebush or a grape 
 vine. 
 
 And now I suppose my readers would like to know 
 whether this magic growth had sprung up in my 
 heart, and taken possession of me. A very natural 
 curiosity, I admit, but one which I hardly think it 
 time yet to satisfy. I fully concede the reciprocal 
 rights and duties of this confessional, of which these 
 lines, at which the reader looks and listens to me, may 
 represent the bars, or lattice ; and I shall be ready to 
 make a clean breast of it in due time. Perhaps I am 
 not, at this point of my narrative, in a sufficiently 
 penitential frame of mind. Possibly I am not clear 
 in my own mind how it was with me at that precise 
 point of time. You know that my acquaintance with 
 her was very young. " Ah, yes ! " you will reply ; 
 " and so is Dan Cupid very young too. We all know 
 from authentic story, if not from our own experience, 
 we all know that he springs to life, all armed, at a 
 single glance of an eye." I admit the general prop 
 osition ; but then, I have already assured you that she 
 had not shown the faintest symptom of falling in love 
 with me. But here you shake your heads with one 
 consent, and agree that that is nothing to the purpose. 
 Why, what would become of the whole tribe of novel- 
 writers and story-tellers, if the course of true love ran 
 smooth all the time ? Are they not obliged to cast 
 about, every mother s son of them, for sticks and 
 stones to throw into the stream, so as to make it chafe 
 and murmur the more musically rough in its passage 
 
BEING ONE OF ACCIDENTS. 107 
 
 to the tranquil lake of matrimony, which they have 
 spread out to receive it at last ? 
 
 This, again, I cannot gainsay. But, then, I have 
 not told you yet the fatal truth, that I had formed 
 the decided opinion that she was at least a year, if not 
 two years, older than I. I positively looked upon her 
 with a certain sensation of respect for her advanced 
 years, and, whatever sentiment I entertained for her, 
 it was qualified by a feeling of reverence for her age. 
 I thought she must be at least as much as twenty. 
 And here, once more, you all look arch and knowing, 
 and ask me if I don t know that a man always falls 
 in love, for the first time, with a woman older than 
 himself. You are right again, my friends. Your 
 observation is founded in the nature of things, and is 
 just as well as original. But, then, how do you know 
 that it was the first time ? Have I opened to you the 
 seals of all the books of my whole past history . Did 
 I tell you who it was that I used to lift off her horse, 
 when it was on the very tip of my tongue, in narrat 
 ing one of the most surprising adventures of this true 
 history ? If you only patiently bide your times, you 
 will be told all things that are fit and edifying for you 
 to know. 
 
 In this manner we fared onwards, finding it very 
 often hard enough to keep our saddles, so difficult was 
 it in places to make our way good through the boughs 
 interlacing across our pathway. Presently, however, 
 she called cheerily to me to make haste after her, for 
 she had come within sight of land. I was soon by 
 
108 WENSLEY. 
 
 her side, and found that our narrow way emptied, so 
 to speak, into a wide clearing, which showed signs of 
 having been cultivated at some former time, though 
 then in a sluggardly condition. Here and there 
 charred stumps raised themselves above the level of 
 the field ; but they looked as if the rains of many 
 summers, and the snows of many winters, had been 
 blanching their grim skeletons since they were first 
 submitted to the ordeal of fire. But the greater part 
 of the plain was perfectly cleared, and furnished a 
 sufficiently hard surface for riding purposes. It was 
 nearly surrounded by wooded hills ; the pine-trees 
 sloping upwards to the hill-tops, and looking like spec 
 tators in some vast amphitheatre, peering over one 
 another s heads at the arena in which we were the 
 sole actors. 
 
 " A race, a race ! " she exclaimed ; and, suiting the 
 action to the word, she put her mare to her speed, and 
 I was not slow to do the same good office by Prince. 
 The horses sprang forward over the turf in the direc 
 tion of the only opening in the amphitheatre of hills, 
 which appeared to be about a quarter of a mile 
 distant. 
 
 My horse was much stronger and heavier than 
 hers, and in a long run he would, undoubtedly, have 
 had the advantage. But for a short distance Fairy 
 was more than a match for him ; and, besides, her 
 mistress was perfectly well acquainted with her ways, 
 and could command her best speed, as I could not well 
 do the first time I had ever been upon Prince s back. 
 
BEING ONE OF ACCIDENTS. 109 
 
 So my companion had fairly the start of me, and was 
 entering the gap in the hills, which was the goal at 
 which we aimed, when I had not cleared much more 
 than two-thirds of the distance. She was hid from 
 me for an instant by the shape of the ground ; and 
 the next moment I was horror-stricken to hear a sud 
 den splash and scream from the direction where she 
 had disappeared. I struck my spurs " up to the rowel- 
 head " into the sides of my horse, who leaped forward 
 as if intelligent of the distress, and in an instant I 
 was on the spot from which the cry came. The first 
 glance showed the nature and occasion of the accident. 
 The Quasheen, which washed the wood on that side, 
 was so near the opening at which I had lost sight of 
 my companion, that, before she could check her speed, 
 her horse carried her into the middle of the stream, 
 where, by the suddenness of the shock, she lost her 
 seat, and was plunged into the river. 
 
 The stream, though not wide, was deep, and quite 
 sufficient to drown a stouter person than Miss Aller- 
 ton. But, though she had lost her seat, she had not 
 lost her presence of mind ; and she held fast by Fairy s 
 mane, being well assured that she would bring her 
 through her peril. I threw myself from my horse, 
 and was already in the water, when my hopes of 
 being the preserver of my fair charge were unex 
 pectedly disappointed. A man suddenly stepped 
 into the river opposite where she was (for Fairy 
 had swum a little way down the stream), and, 
 seizing Miss Allerton by her floating riding-habit, 
 
110 WENSLEY. 
 
 drew her towards him, and then carried her in his 
 arms to the landing-place whence she had made her 
 plunge. 
 
 Oh, should n t I have liked to have killed him at that 
 moment ! And then to be obliged to thank him for 
 having robbed me of my unquestionable prerogative ! 
 But any such emotions as these were soon put to 
 flight by the effect which the sight of her rescuer 
 produced upon Miss Allerton when she had fairly re 
 covered herself enough to look at him, which was as 
 soon as he had set her down, dripping like a Naiad, 
 upon her feet. Clearly, all recollection of her recent 
 danger and of her obligation to the man before her 
 was lost in stronger emotions. She seemed struck 
 mute with amazement, and to be pale with some yet 
 stronger passion. It seemed to me that it looked 
 like fear. The man was obviously a gentleman ; 
 thougli he was roughly dressed for trout-fishing, in 
 a coarse sailor s jacket, boots which came up above 
 his knees, and a weather-beaten, broad-brimmed hat. 
 His face was as pale as hers, but calm with a calm 
 ness that concealed deep feelings of some sort. In 
 the surprise and suddenness of the whole thing, I 
 could not read his features very accurately ; but, as 
 I remembered them afterwards, it seemed to me 
 that they conveyed a strange expression of exulta 
 tion and defiance, with some deeper passion under 
 all; but I could not make out whether it were love 
 or hate. I remember I thought it could hardly be 
 the first. He must have long since survived that 
 
BEING ONE OF ACCIDENTS. Ill 
 
 passion at the age he had reached. He was, proba 
 bly, about five or six and thirty. 
 
 As soon as Miss Allerton could command her voice, 
 she said to him, with a tone in which was mingled 
 no gratitude for the service he had done her, but only 
 coldness and aversion, and, as it still seemed to me, 
 some dash of terror, "And so you have followed us 
 hither, too ? " 
 
 " You I have followed hither, and will follow far 
 ther than this, as you might have guessed. But " 
 He paused, and, turning to me, said, " Perhaps this 
 young gentleman will be good enough to catch your 
 horse for you, or it may get out of reach down the 
 stream." 
 
 I understood the drift of his suggestion, and looked 
 at Miss Allerton for instructions. 
 
 " Do," said she, inclining her head to me. So I 
 had nothing left for it but to go and leave them 
 together, to my most cruel disappointment; for the 
 adventure seemed to be fast reaching its climax. I 
 hurried along the bank of the river, sometimes hav 
 ing to wade in it up to my middle, as the trees often 
 grew so close to the water s edge that there was no 
 room to stand on. I had toiled on in this way for 
 about a quarter of a mile, before T came to poor Fairy, 
 who had not yet found rest for the sole of her foot. 
 She was just trying to scramble up a steep bank on 
 the opposite side of the river when I came upon her : 
 so I had fairly to plunge in, accoutred as I was, to 
 reach her, and thus was as thoroughly drenched in 
 
112 WENSLEY. 
 
 her service as I had been most desirous of being in 
 that of her mistress. My only comfort was, that her 
 mistress seemed as little pleased with the way of her 
 escape as I could be myself. So, contenting myself 
 as well as I could with these reflections, I took 
 Fairy s bridle over my arm, and made the best of 
 my way, like an active personage whose name it 
 would be improper to name in this presence, 
 
 " O er bog or steep, through strait, rough, dense, or rare," 
 
 until I found myself at the point from which I had 
 started. 
 
 If I had happened to be in love with the fair 
 Eleanor, I certainly had no occasion for jealousy in 
 the relations she seemed to hold with the stranger. 
 They were so absorbed in what they were saying, 
 that they did not notice my approach at first; so 
 that I could not help hearing Miss Allerton say, 
 
 " I owe you no thanks for that. I could have saved 
 myself without your help ; and, if not, God knows 
 I had rather have died than owe my life to you." 
 
 " You are an ungrateful girl," he replied, with a 
 smile which made me hate him more than ever. " But 
 you will behave better by and by, and know that I 
 am, if you will let me be so, your best friend." 
 Eleanor made a gesture of impatience. "At least 
 you know," he resumed, as if provoked, but still 
 calmly, "you know that it is not the first time 
 I have saved you. It may be," he added signifi 
 cantly, " it may be, that the time may come when 
 
BEING ONE OF ACCIDENTS. 113 
 
 I will not. But here comes your horse," perceiving 
 me for the first time. " Let me put you on him, and 
 entreat you to lose no time in getting home." 
 
 He advanced towards her ; but she turned from 
 him, and, beckoning to me, invited my assistance to 
 place her in her soaking saddle. She turned her 
 horse s head away from him, and took no notice of 
 the parting salutation he made her. I mounted 
 Prince, whom the stranger had secured to a tree 
 after I had gone in search of Fairy, and followed 
 her, touching my hat to my unknown acquaintance, 
 which he did not return, not, however, from inci 
 vility, as I judged, but because he was looking so 
 earnestly after the lady, that he did not see me. 
 Miss Allerton disappeared first in the wood ; and, as 
 I took a parting look behind, I saw him slowly turn 
 away, and walk towards the bank of the river. But 
 I imagine his fishing was over for that clay. 
 
 Miss Allerton and I pursued our way in silence. 
 As I followed her, I could perceive that she was 
 deeply agitated, and that she was indebted more to 
 Fairy s instinct than her own care for getting safely 
 over the narrow and uneven pathway. In one place 
 it was just wide enough for two persons to ride 
 abreast. She drew on one side, and walked her 
 horse, as an invitation to me to join her. 
 
 "Mr. Osborne," she presently said in an agitated 
 voice, " I have a favor to ask of you. It is, that you 
 will not mention what you have seen to-day to any 
 one." 
 
 8 
 
114 WENSLEY. 
 
 I readily gave her the assurance she asked for. 
 
 "I cannot tell at this moment," she went on, 
 " how far I may explain to you what you must have 
 thought so strange not stranger, I am sure, than 
 it has seemed to me. But you shall know all about 
 it some time or other." 
 
 " If I can be of any service to you, my dear Miss 
 Allerton," said I, "tell me what you think best. 
 But I do not desire to pry into any of your affairs, as 
 a mere busybody in other men s matters." 
 
 I lied there ; for I was dying to know all about 
 them. 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Osborne," she resumed, in a voice 
 scarcely audible from agitation, " I am an unhappy 
 girl, no mother, no sister, no friend, and yet need 
 ing so much the sympathy and help of the wisest 
 and tenderest friendship." 
 
 She could contain herself no longer, but fairly 
 burst into tears on Fairy s neck on Fairy s, who 
 seemed perfectly callous to the blessing. Launce s 
 dog could not have been more insensible to the afflic 
 tion of his respectable family. Was there never 
 another neck near that would serve her turn ? 
 
 1 was a tender-hearted youth at that time, and 
 the sight of a woman crying was too much for me. 
 Perhaps I ought to be ashamed to confess that it was 
 all I could do to keep from bearing her company ; 
 but I am not. I was deeply moved at her distress, 
 and would have given the world (or as much of it as 
 usually falls to the share of any one person) to com 
 fort her. 
 
BEING ONE OF ACCIDENTS. 115 
 
 " But my dear Miss Allerton," I ejaculated, think 
 ing, like a fool, that I must say something, " there is 
 your father." 
 
 " Oh, yes ! " she exclaimed, with a fresh burst of 
 weeping, " yes, dear papa ! But, then, he " she 
 interrupted herself, and presently added, " I hardly 
 know what I say, my spirits are so confused by the 
 surprise of this afternoon. Pardon me if I say noth 
 ing ; for I may say what I ought not." 
 
 As we were now approaching the high-road, she 
 evidently made a strong effort to command herself. 
 She dried her eyes, and, pulling down her veil, pro 
 posed that we should get over the ground as fast as 
 possible, that we might avoid at once observation and 
 the ill consequences of our exposures. Though she 
 said this, I believe she was thinking as little as I of 
 the watery plight which we were both in. I believed 
 the strong excitement she was under would prove an 
 effectual antidote to the wetting she had got ; and, as 
 for mine, I cared nothing for it. I would repeat the 
 treatment every day for a month in her good company. 
 We fortunately arrived at Woodside without meeting 
 any of the Wensleyans, but were received by Jona 
 than Snell, when he came to take our horses, with the 
 most unequivocal marks of astonishment and concern. 
 And no wonder ; for a pair of more thoroughly ducked 
 fellow-creatures could have seldom come within the 
 range of his philosophy. 
 
 "Mr. Osborne," said Miss Allerton to me when 
 we alighted, " I insist upon your coming in until 
 
116 WENSLEY. 
 
 Jonathan can put the horse into the gig to take 
 you home." 
 
 I remonstrated ; but she persisted. " You need 
 not fear giving extraordinary trouble; for I must 
 send him to the village directly, and he can take you 
 round perfectly well." 
 
 This being the case, I yielded to her kindness, 
 and not the less willingly from the consciousness of 
 what a figure I should cut in passing the strait by 
 the bridge, between the post-office and the black 
 smith s shop, as well as of the gossip of which I 
 would be the theme for the next week. So I went 
 into Colonel Allerton s own room, where his fire was 
 still kept trimmed and burning, notwithstanding his 
 absence from home, and gyrated before it like an 
 animated joint of meat primitively suspended by a 
 string, with a penchant for roasting. Miss Allerton 
 retired up stairs, and I saw her no more that day. 
 When the master of the horse was ready, I joined 
 him, and we set forward for the village. That emi 
 nent officer of the household, of course, was curious 
 to know the particulars of our adventure ; which I 
 gave him, with no more of the suppress-to veri than 
 the case required. He was not a man of many words, 
 and he made use of very few on this occasion ; but 
 it was quite clear to my mind, that he thought me a 
 very incompetent person to have charge of his young 
 lady. And perhaps he was not far wrong. 
 
 When we came to the post-office, instead of 
 driving by, as I had hoped, he drew up at the door, 
 
BEING ONE OF ACCIDENTS. 117 
 
 which was watched, as it seemed to me, by a double 
 corps of observation, which made ample use of its 
 opportunities as I sat holding the reins. Jonathan, 
 as he resigned them to my deputed care, took a 
 letter from his pocket, which I saw at a glance was 
 carelessly folded, and hurriedly written, and directed 
 to Colonel Allerton. He said Miss Eleanor was 
 earnest that it should not miss the mail-coach which 
 would pass through from Pentland on the edge of 
 the evening of that day. 
 
 So she had written to her father an account of 
 the adventure she had encountered. It was, then, 
 nothing peculiarly and especially her own. That 
 was some consolation in my ignorance. What could 
 be the rights or the wrongs of the matter ? I had 
 no time for protracted speculation, however; for I 
 was soon deposited at the minister s door, who was 
 at first alarmed by my appearance, and then diverted 
 by my story, told, as it had been to Snell, according 
 to Captain Absolute s directions, with " no more 
 lies than were absolutely necessary." I thought he 
 would never be done rallying me on iny misadven 
 tures as a Squire of Dames. But I was too full of 
 what I could not tell him to mind much his comic 
 commentary on what I could. My boyish sensitive 
 ness was somehow hardened over since the morning. 
 I did not mind his fun half so much as I should 
 have done the day before. Indeed, it was rather a 
 relief to me. 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 
 IN WHICH ANOTHER CHARACTER APPEARS. 
 
 said Mr. Bulkley to me the next 
 morning, as we sat at breakfast, " do you recol 
 lect who your grandmother was ? " 
 
 "My grandmother?" I repeated. "I suppose I 
 must have had the usual allowance ; but really, sir, 
 upon my word, I " And I shook my head. " But 
 what is my grandmother, supposing I had one, apropos 
 to to loots ? " 
 
 "No, no ! " returned he " to something much more 
 to the purpose than boots. I mean your father s 
 mother was she not a Shuldham?" 
 
 " That was the name, I am quite sure ; though I 
 am afraid I should not have been able to recall it of 
 myself. But what of her, sir ? " I asked. 
 
 " Much, and to the purpose," he replied. " Your 
 grandmother Shuldham 8 mother was a Tindall, daugh 
 ter of Lieutenant-Governor Tindall, who died in of 
 fice in the year 1717, or thereabouts ; and his son 
 Matthew, who was for so many years speaker of the 
 House, had an only daughter. Do you understand ? " 
 
 " Well, sir," I answered, " I cannot deny it, if I 
 wished to. But how does it concern me ?" 
 
IN WHICH ANOTHER CHARACTER APPEARS. 119 
 
 " Thus," he replied. " That daughter married Judge 
 John Allerton, and was, consequently, the mother of 
 the Colonel. D ye see now, young man ?" 
 
 " Why, yes," I answered. " I see that the Aller- 
 tons and I are far-away cousins, and " 
 
 " Far-away cousins ! " he interrupted. " Only four 
 degrees removed ! Do you call that far away ? 
 When I was a young man, sir, I should have called 
 cousins with a pretty girl like Miss Eleanor, if it were 
 twice as many." 
 
 I laughed, and assured him that I was infinitely 
 obliged to him for bestowing upon me so charming a 
 relation, and that I would claim all my cousinly privi 
 leges, even though the claim were as many removes 
 farther off. And this I subsequently did ; and it 
 gained me one great advantage when my cousinship 
 was allowed, as it was, with much merriment, as soon 
 as I communicated to them this result of the good 
 parson s genealogical studies, in which, indeed, he was 
 a great proficient. Miss Allerton and I became 
 Cousin Eleanor and Cousin Frank from that time 
 forward ; an advantage, which if the reader doth not 
 appreciate, he is unworthy of ever having a pretty 
 cousin, an institution the blessings of which should 
 be confined to those who can properly value them. 
 But this was not immediately acquired, as it was some 
 time before I felt that I was intimate enough, or that 
 Miss Allerton would relish a jocose interlude of this 
 sort, after the tragic, or at least melodramatic, adven 
 ture of the forest and the river. Indeed, I did not 
 
120 WENSLEY. 
 
 see her for the rest of that week. That plaguy fel 
 low in the jack-boots, whoever he might be, had 
 effectually put an end to our rides together for the 
 time being. I could not tell what influence he might 
 have upon the fair Eleanor s fortunes ; but I was 
 sure I cursed him by my gods for his sinister inter 
 ference with mine. 
 
 Colonel Allerton returned before the end of the 
 week, recalled, doubtless, by his daughter s letter. 
 I had called, of course, the day after our adventure, 
 on Miss Allerton, to " humbly hope she caught no 
 cold" from her accident; but Petchell, her maid, 
 brought me a very kind message, saying that she 
 should not leave her chamber for a day or two, in 
 consequence of it; after which time she should be 
 glad to see me. So I had perforce to wait until her 
 father came back. After his return, I visited at Wood- 
 side as usual, and was even more cordially and kindly 
 treated than before. Eleanor looked a little paler 
 than usual, though her roses were usually rather York 
 ist than Lancastrian, but all the more charming from 
 the new and mysterious interest I felt in her. Noth 
 ing could be kinder than her reception of me when we 
 first met ; and after that meeting, at which her man 
 ner was necessarily a little tinged by a consciousness 
 of what had passed when we were last together, she 
 fell back into very much her former way of life and 
 conversation. 
 
 Perhaps a shade more of sadness clouded her serene 
 beauty, and perhaps her thoughts wandered oftener 
 
IN WHICH ANOTHER CHARACTER APPEARS. 121 
 
 from the things around her. Perhaps, however, this 
 was only my imagination ; and, at any rate, I had 
 now no difficulty in accounting for and excusing those 
 untimely flights from the ignorant present to the past 
 or the future. What would I not have given to have 
 been able to look down through those lustrous eyes, 
 at the soul that looked out of them, and see what was 
 hidden from my sight, and to have known why it was 
 disquieted within her! What were the phantoms, 
 the spectres, that passed before her eyes when they 
 looked into vacancy ? 
 
 "Ah, fixed on empty space, why burn 
 
 Her eyes with momentary wildness ? 
 And wherefore do they then return 
 To more than woman s mildness ? " 
 
 How I longed to protect her, to cherish her, to 
 drive far away whatever it was that molested and 
 made her afraid ! But I feared that this adventure 
 was not reserved for me. 
 
 After the Colonel s return, our rides were resumed, 
 and Turk once more had the honor of keeping com 
 pany, by their grace and favor, with Prince and Fairy. 
 Occasionally, when her father was occupied, I was 
 again allowed the privilege of escorting her alone. 
 But we had no more adventures of the wood and the 
 stream. Eleanor s passion for exploring seemed sat 
 isfied ; and we kept to the highway in as humdrum a 
 fashion as the most rabid stickler for the proprieties 
 of life could require. She saw no more, when I was 
 in company, of the intrusive benefactor of the Qua- 
 
122 WENSLEY. 
 
 sheen, and she never made any allusion to him or his 
 works. So I was obliged to solace myself with the 
 recollection of her promise, that one day I should 
 know all about him. Indeed, I cannot deny, though 
 Eleanor proposed no new voyages of discovery, that 
 I may not have attempted one or two on my own ac 
 count. I whipped the Quasheen for trout more than 
 one Saturday, for miles (though neither the Quasheen 
 nor the trout suffered much from the flagellation), in 
 hopes of coming upon that anomalous angler yet 
 once again. But I saw him not. He -was as shy as 
 the trout themselves. 
 
 Afterwards I visited the taverns of the neighbor 
 ing towns, and made many a libation of punch and 
 toddy on the altar of my curiosity ; and not wholly 
 in vain. Captain Pettingell, who kept the Rising 
 Sun in Bradfield, the next town, thus invoked, told 
 me, from the oracular recesses of his bar, that a per 
 son answering my description had staid at his place 
 for a week or ten days ; that his name was Smith ; 
 and that he was gone all day with his fishing-tackle 
 and sometimes, he added, came back with fish enough 
 for a week s consumption, and sometimes without 
 having had a bite. The captain believed him to have 
 been a Britisher ; but as he paid his way well, and 
 was a good friend to the house, he overlooked that 
 error, as well as a way he had of profanely cursing 
 and swearing (the captain was a professor, and a pillar 
 of Dr. Babson s church) when anything happened to 
 go against the grain. And, by the captain s account, 
 
IN WHICH ANOTHER CHARACTER APPEARS. 123 
 
 he had given his vocabulary in this kind an airing 
 extraordinary, one night when he came home dripping 
 wet from having missed his footing, and fallen into 
 the river. He seemed to have taken this accident, 
 one surely ordinarily incidental to the gentle craft, 
 so much to heart, that he had retired from the neigh 
 borhood in disgust, and taken the Pentland coach the 
 next morning for Boston. This was all I got in re 
 payment of much time and some liquor which I 
 wasted in this research ; and it was not much more 
 than I had known before. 
 
 Matters went on thus for a few weeks, when my 
 frequent complaints of the inadequacy of Turk to the 
 exigencies of my case induced Mr. Bulkely to suggest 
 whether it would not be better for me to have a horse 
 of my own. This proposition met with my cordial 
 approbation; and Jasper was forthwith called into 
 council as to the possibility of carrying it out. As I 
 had already established myself in his good graces 
 by my admiration of his master, and my eager atten 
 tion to his own personal narrative, which I de 
 lighted in extracting from him, and which, to do him 
 justice, he was ready enough to communicate, he 
 was not long in consenting to advise what he saw 
 we both wished to be done. He loved a good horse, 
 he said, arid should like to take care of one of Mr. 
 Frank s, if he only had time. This objection Mr. 
 Bulkley made light of, and I made away with by 
 offering to pay for the hire of as much outdoor labor 
 as would make good his outlay in my behalf. This 
 
124 WENSLEY. 
 
 having been made all easy, the next thing was to 
 obtain the consent of Mr. Moulton, my guardian, to 
 this investment in horse-flesh. As my application 
 was backed by the recommendation of Mr. Bulkley, 
 and supported on the ground of my valuable health, 
 Mr. Moulton interposed no more opposition than was 
 essential to vindicate his authority in a matter of this 
 moment. And his letter containing his assent in 
 cluded, also, a proposition by no means repugnant to 
 my own ideas of the fitness of things. He suggested, 
 as this was a purchase of some importance, and which 
 it was as well should be entirely to my own mind, that 
 I should come down to Boston for a week, and assist 
 at the researches preliminary to its final adjustment. 
 To this suggestion Mr. Bulkley was pleased to lend a 
 friendly ear; and with his full consent I intercepted 
 the Haverford coach the next morning (having, I trust 
 it is needless to say, walked over to Woodside, where 
 the transaction excited the interest its importance 
 deserved, to give notice of my intended absence), 
 which, in due time, deposited me at Mr. Moulton s 
 door in Autumn Street. 
 
 This gentleman was no ill specimen of his class, 
 with specific idiosyncrasies of his own. He was de 
 scended of an old New England family, which, how 
 ever, had gone to decay for one or two generations. 
 He found himself, on attaining to man s, or rather 
 youth s, estate, in a remote country-town, with no 
 advantages of education but such as the town-school 
 had afforded him ; with no capital but what he carried 
 
IN WHICH ANOTHER CHARACTER APPEARS. 125 
 
 in his head, and what he had invested in an excellent 
 character. After various struggles to rise above his 
 hereditary position in the country, he changed the 
 scene of action for the city (or rather the metropolis, 
 for Boston was a town only, for years after that), 
 where he buffeted and battled with fortune, with 
 alternations of failure and success (which, well told, 
 would be a curious picture of life), until he at length 
 achieved a place among the foremost merchants of 
 the nation. It is unnecessary to say that he was a 
 man of eminent ability ; for such is almost necessarily 
 implied in great success of any kind. The talent 
 that could build up a great fortune from nothing by 
 commerce, if it had received another direction, would, 
 in all likelihood, have achieved eminence on the bench, 
 or in the Senate, or, perhaps, even in literature. 
 
 Mr. Moulton might, possibly, sometimes be caught 
 tripping in his speech, and his verbs and nominative 
 cases might not always bear that precise relation to 
 each other that the more bigoted disciples of Priscian 
 choose to exact ; but the substance of what he said 
 was good sense, according to the sense of his times, 
 and most unequivocally to the point. He was not 
 without his provincialisms and his prejudices. He 
 verily believed that, as Massachusetts politics went, so 
 would go the country, and, as the country, the world. 
 He really thought that all the hope of liberal princi 
 ples throughout Christendom depended on the frag 
 ment of the New England mind that had accepted for 
 truth the Unitarian idea. He was benevolent and 
 
126 WENSLEY. 
 
 open-handed to the poor, and would found charities, 
 and endow professorships ; but he would take the 
 bread out of the mouth of every Democratic lawyer, 
 minister, doctor, or artisan, if he could, and count it to 
 himself for righteousness. He gloried in his liberality 
 of opinion ; but he hated and despised a Calvinist in 
 about equal proportions, and was firmly of the faith 
 that no good thing could come out of that Nazareth. 
 His multifarious affairs, and complicated commercial 
 connections, made him intellectually aware of the fact 
 that a considerable portion of the civilized world lay 
 beyond the purlieus of State Street. And probably 
 arithmetic would have convinced him, had he applied 
 it to the subject, that a good deal of the mind of 
 Christendom lay beyond the domain of the Unitarian 
 denomination ; but practically, as far as his walk and 
 conversation were concerned,^ the one constituted the 
 true State, and the other the true Church Universal. 
 But, where his prejudices did not interpose between 
 his natural goodness of heart and any person or class 
 that he could benefit, he was liberal, even generous, of 
 his money, his time, and his influence with others. 
 
 I am sure that I have good reason to speak well of 
 him ; for he took excellent care of my estate, and let 
 me do very much as I liked. And yet he was not 
 negligent of me, either. He had a cordial detestation 
 of vice in all its shapes, and, without preaching, made 
 me feel that he looked upon me as incapable of auy- 
 thiug so low and ungentlemanlike. This confidence 
 was, no doubt, as well judged as it was well inten- 
 
IN WHICH ANOTHER CHARACTER APPEARS. 127 
 
 tioned, and, I trust, was not misplaced or unrewarded. 
 But perhaps the kindest and wisest thing he did for 
 me was his introducing me to the excellent society 
 which at that time, as much as any other before or 
 since, distinguished Boston. To be sure, my connec 
 tions with the prominent members of that society 
 entitled me to be free of it ; but it was to the kind 
 encouragement and good offices of my guardian that 
 I owed an earlier initiation than my years demanded. 
 His own children were grown up and married off, 
 excepting one bachelor son at home; so that he 
 seemed to feel, and certainly expressed in his con 
 duct, the sort of partial yet discreet indulgence a 
 sensible man often shows to his youngest child. All 
 this, however, is not particularly to the purpose of my 
 narrative, of which I am by no means the hero ; and 
 I do not know why I should suppose that the public 
 will care about my own private concerns. But the 
 image of this worthy gentleman rising up before me 
 as I looked back at that particular portion of my life, 
 I felt impelled to jot down the slight pen-and-ink 
 sketch you see above. And, as I hate rewriting any 
 thing, we will let it stand. 
 
 " I am glad you came to-day, Frank," said Mr- 
 Moulton, after the first cordial greetings were passed; 
 " for I expect a youngster to dine with me not long 
 from college." 
 
 " Indeed, sir ! " I replied. " And who may he be ? " 
 
 " Oh ! none of your acquaintances," he answered ; 
 
 "none of your Yankee collegians, let me tell you. 
 
128 WENSLEY. 
 
 He is from Oxford or Cambridge, one or both ; and 
 I want you to be civil to him." 
 
 "An Englishman, then, I take it for granted," 
 said I. 
 
 " Why, yes he is, after a fashion," Mr. Moulton 
 replied. " That is, he was born in England ; but his 
 father was a refugee Tory, James Markham, who 
 raised and commanded a company of riflemen during 
 the Eevolution." 
 
 " And what is his business here, sir ? " I inquired. 
 
 " His business is his pleasure, I guess," returned 
 Mr. Moulton. " The Bellinghams and Mildmays are 
 a sort of cousins of his, and he has been renewing 
 the connection. Anne Shippen [one of his married 
 daughters] thinks that he is sweet upon Esther 
 Mildmay." 
 
 " Indeed ! " I rejoined. " And has he been long 
 enough here for that? I never heard of him be 
 fore." 
 
 " Why, as to that," he answered, " how long, think 
 ye, does it take a young fellow to get up a flirtation ? 
 and how long do you suppose it takes for the report 
 of it to get wind ? " looking at me with a quizzical 
 kind of significance, which made me feel as if a sud 
 den growth of nettles were springing under favorable 
 circumstances from the entire surface of my body. 
 " And as to your not having heard of him before, why, 
 if a young gentleman s health requires his going into 
 the country, he mustn t expect to be posted up to the 
 very last minute. However, he has been here about 
 
IN WHICH ANOTHER CHARACTER APPEARS. 129 
 
 a fortnight. But much may be done in a fortnight, 
 Master Frank, I would have you know." 
 
 I could not reasonably have denied this proposi 
 tion if I had felt disposed to be argumentative, 
 which I did not. I was wondering whether any 
 rumor of my frequent visits at Woodside had reached 
 my guardian s ears ; and, if so, whether he had drawn 
 any inferences from them to the effect that I was in 
 love with the charming Eleanor. Like most shy 
 people, I was as proud as Lucifer, and scorned the 
 idea of being supposed sighing at any lady s feet, 
 seriously, until it was known that she had consented 
 to extend her royal hand to place me by her side. 
 Of course I was never without some princess or 
 other, whom I served most faithfully till she was 
 dethroned by some fresher usurper ; but nobody ever 
 regarded these transitory submissions as even looking 
 towards a permanent allegiance. So I was resolved 
 to take up my very last flirtation just where I had 
 left it off two months before, and to prosecute it 
 with redoubled zeal by way of blinding my Argus. 
 Whether or not it was the most effectual way, ex 
 perts in the art of love must decide according to 
 their own experience. But I must defer these pas 
 sages of mine with Matilda Eobinson until I have 
 more space than I have to spare here. I have in 
 contemplation the preparation of a work to be enti 
 tled " The Philosophy of Flirtation ; its Origin, Uses, 
 and Tendencies : with Illustrations from the Life." 
 Should this plan be carried into effect, the reader 
 9 
 
130 WENSLEY. 
 
 will there find everything made clear which the stern 
 necessities of this particular case compel me to leave 
 under a cloud. 
 
 Dinner-time came, and brought Harry Markham 
 with it. He was three or four years older than I, 
 and therefore I was the more disposed to like him 
 when he showed an inclination to be friends with me. 
 He had taken his bachelor s degree at Oxford a year 
 or two before with good reputation, and was there 
 fore a personage of great dignity and high interest 
 in my sight. I was never tired of cross-examining 
 him as to the details of university life and discipline 
 in England ; and he had not been so long delivered 
 from them as not to like to recount them. During 
 the fortnight of my stay in town (for my week grew 
 by degrees to that size), we were constant compan 
 ions. By day we scoured the country round in 
 search of points of view (for he was an excellent 
 draughtsman) and of historical interest. In the 
 evenings we resorted to the pleasant societies still to 
 be found even in many town houses, although it was 
 early in August, for the dispersion of the summer 
 was not then as universal as it has since become, 
 or else we drew rein at some of the villas within ten 
 miles of the city, where we were sure of a hospitable 
 entertainment. Pleasant, cheerful, happy hours they 
 were. And why not ? It were hard, indeed, if the 
 hours between nineteen and three and twenty were 
 not pleasant, cheerful, and happy, and those, too, 
 the hours of a fine August flitting over the face of a 
 
IN WHICH ANOTHER CHARACTER APPEARS. 131 
 
 lovely country, fit residence of as lovely inhabitants ; 
 at least, some of them. 
 
 I have forgotten to mention, what was not unim 
 portant to the prosecution of these adventures, that I 
 had succeeded admirably in accomplishing the object 
 of my visit to Boston. I had mounted myself to my 
 entire satisfaction, and in this had derived material 
 assistance from the skill of my new friend in horse 
 flesh. He had not wasted the whole of his time at 
 the university over Latin and Greek. He had im 
 proved a portion of his hours in more practical 
 pursuits, among which might be reckoned the occa 
 sional pursuit of foxes and hares ; and one result of 
 these studies was a more than common knowledge 
 of the noblest of the servants of man. Having thus 
 secured what I had come down for, soon after my 
 arrival, I thought it advisable to give my new pur 
 chase a full and fair trial before taking him to the 
 distant solitudes of Wensley : hence these rides of 
 which I have spoken, and hence the agreeable epi 
 sodes I have hinted at in the course of the last para 
 graph. So Whitefoot for such was the Homeric 
 designation we bestowed upon him, from the color of 
 his off forefoot Whitefoot and I formed the friend 
 ship which lasted for the rest of his life, under these 
 pleasant circumstances and in this good company. 
 To be sure, it took some time to satisfy all my scru 
 ples as to his sufficiency ; and we had to make a good 
 many afternoon and evening excursions, not always 
 unaccompanied by side-saddles and riding-habits, 
 
132 WENSLEY. 
 
 before he had vindicated to himself his claim to my 
 entire confidence. But it was erring, if erring it 
 were, on the side of prudence and discretion, virtues 
 which were early developed in my character, and 
 which I still regard as its chiefest jewels. 
 
 I do not know what inference my readers may draw 
 from this voluntary prolongation of my leave of ab 
 sence. Perhaps I ought not to have told of it. It may 
 not be creditable to me, that I was willing to exchange 
 the society of Miss Allerton for that of any number 
 of other beauties. I certainly saw none other so hand 
 some ; but then, you know, safety may lie in other 
 multitudes than those of counsellors. In fact, al 
 though I do hate inconstancy as much as my Lord 
 Byron did, and, like him, " loathe, detest, the mortal 
 made of such quicksilver clay that on his breast no 
 permanent impression can be made " (I do not remem 
 ber the quotation accurately enough to reduce it to 
 verses), still even the most constant swain will occa 
 sionally make an excursion to gaze on other shepherd 
 esses than his own, if it were only to glory in her 
 supremacy over all others. 
 
 And perhaps I may have had a lurking idea that 
 my cousin Eleanor might value her newly-found 
 relative none the less for a brief interval of absence. 
 All this on the supposition that she was more to me 
 than any other pretty woman, which, you are aware, 
 I have not yet admitted. But story-readers, as well 
 as story-tellers, are a gossiping generation, and can 
 seldom see a young man and woman in company to- 
 
IN WHICH ANOTHER CHARACTER APPEARS. 133 
 
 gether, without putting constructions on what they say 
 and do, which perhaps it had never entered into their 
 hearts to conceive. But as my course is a perfectly 
 straightforward one, with no traps and pitfalls set to 
 catch the interest of the reader, it is my duty to remove 
 out of the way all objections that arise as they come 
 along. 
 
 But still, as my fortnight s fast was drawing to an 
 end, I began to feel a good wholesome appetite for 
 Wensley again. Not only did I feel the wish grow 
 ing strong within me to renew my cousinly relations 
 with Woodside, but I longed to see the good Parson 
 once more, and the worthy Jasper, whose sable image 
 formed, as it were, the shadow of that of his master. 
 In my talks with Markharn, I told him all that I have 
 told you about these characters in my rural drama, and 
 he expressed a strong wish to be brought face to face 
 with them. Of course I was not slow in asking him 
 to come and pay me a visit. Major Grimes s doors, 
 both of his house and his stable, ever stood open for 
 the welcome of man and beast, and I could warrant 
 him a friendly reception from all the rest. He 
 thanked me, and promised to come at some conven 
 ient season before he left New England on his tour 
 through the country. 
 
 I was a little surprised at his not being more in 
 a hurry, when I made an accidental discovery in the 
 course of one of our rides. We were discussing the 
 comparative claims of two rival beauties, both of whom 
 we had visited in the course of the afternoon. I do 
 
134 WENSLEY. 
 
 not remember how it came about; but I illustrated 
 some criticism of mine by a reference to Miss Aller- 
 ton, whose superiority over both the ladies in question 
 I maintained. I averred, that, beautiful as they both 
 were, they had nothing so striking as the effect of 
 Miss Allerton s upward glance, from the contrast 
 between her dark flashing eyes and her " fairly fair " 
 complexion and golden hair. 
 
 " It is perfectly unique," I said, " as far as my ob 
 servation goes. I have seen nothing like it." 
 
 "Not so remarkably so," he replied quickly, "as 
 her downward look. Her eyelashes are perfectly 
 preternatural." 
 
 " What ! " I exclaimed. "Then you have seen her ? 
 I had not an idea of that ! " 
 
 " Why, yes," he answered, a good deal disconcerted, 
 for he had evidently committed himself, very much 
 to his own vexation, " why, yes. Have I never 
 mentioned it to you before ? " 
 
 " Mentioned it ! " I responded. " To be sure you 
 have not ! But where did you meet her ? and what 
 do you think of her ? and why have you not been up 
 to see her ? " 
 
 " Why, as to that," he replied, still somewhat con 
 fused, "I hardly feel myself sufficiently well ac 
 quainted with her to visit her at this distance of time 
 and place. I met her once or twice in Devonshire, 
 when reading there during the long vacation, about 
 three years ago. It was not long before they came to 
 America, I believe." 
 
IN WHICH ANOTHER CHARACTER APPEARS. 135 
 
 "But did you not think her splendidly handsome ? " 
 I inquired. " You don t mean to say that you have 
 many such women in England, do you ? Was not she 
 as uncommon there as here ? " 
 
 " She was very handsome, certainly," said he with 
 more coolness than suited my own ideas. "But her 
 style is not so rare in England as it is here. Yes," 
 he continued, with an air of deliberation, " I think 
 I may say that I have seen as handsome women as 
 she." 
 
 I did not believe him, and put down his affirma 
 tion to the credit of his John Bullism, which would 
 not suffer him to admit that anything could be better 
 in this country than he had left at home. 
 
 Having talked over the daughter a little more, I 
 tried to get him upon the father, and endeavored to 
 extract from him some further particulars of his his 
 tory than I had been able to gather from Mr. Bulkley. 
 But, if he knew anything about him, he kept his own 
 counsel ; for I got nothing by my cross-examination. 
 He lived like a gentleman, he said, with nothing 
 observable or distinguishing about him. He had 
 himself been brought into contact with him from the 
 circumstance of his being employed by the British 
 Government in the dispensation of the bounties of the 
 Crown to the families of the loyalists. He was the 
 accredited agent through whom the funds of many of 
 those that had suffered in the Eevolution reached the 
 beneficiaries, especially those of them who had re 
 turned to America, or settled in the Provinces. He 
 
136 WENSLEY. 
 
 possessed the confidence of the ministers, and was 
 eminently fitted for this business by his personal 
 knowledge of almost all those unfortunate exiles, 
 reaching back, in many cases, to the very time of the 
 emigration. Markham s own father having belonged 
 to this same category, he had had some intercourse 
 with him at the agency in London on his part, and 
 in consequence of this had received friendly atten 
 tions from him when he came into the neighborhood 
 of Watford Hall on the occasion above recited. All 
 this was natural enough, and I could not gainsay a 
 word of it. Indeed, I believed it was all literally 
 true ; but I was by no means so sure that it was quite 
 the whole truth. Markham, too, seemed to be enter 
 ing into the conspiracy to mystify me about these 
 people, whose affairs were certainly no business of 
 mine. But, then, if people attended only to their own 
 affairs, a stupid world we should have of it. 
 
 Nor was this the only share he had in my mystifi 
 cation. Not long afterwards we were just returning 
 from a ride, and were proceeding towards the livery 
 stable which was connected with the Exchange Coffee 
 House, at that time the chief hostelry that Boston 
 boasted, just as the New York stage-coach drove 
 up to the door of the hotel. Everybody who visited 
 Boston at that time will remember that the passage 
 way in front of that house of entertainment was very 
 disproportionately small when compared with its size 
 and pretensions ; so much so, that we were interrupt 
 ed in our career by the sweeping round of the four 
 
IN WHICH ANOTHER CHARACTER APPEARS. 137 
 
 horses, and had to pull up for a moment. But that 
 moment was sufficient; for just before my eyes, sitting 
 on the coach-box, was the identical interloper whom 
 I had last seen emerging like a water god from the 
 waves of the Quasheen. There could not be a doubt 
 of it. Though I had seen him but for a moment, the 
 circumstances of that sight sufficed to stereotype his 
 looks upon my memory forever. I should have known 
 him if I had met him on the top of Mount Hecla. He 
 looked at me from under his shaggy eyebrows (which, 
 however, did not hinder his being a very well-looking 
 fellow) as if he had seen me somewhere before. But 
 I do not think he recognized me, as he probably took 
 much less notice of me than I did of him. 
 
 His scrutiny of my countenance, however, was over, 
 the moment his eyes glanced at my companion. He 
 evidently enough recognized him, and derived no 
 particular satisfaction from the recognition. He was 
 very clearly a man not to be easily taken aback, and 
 one that had a tolerable command of his countenance; 
 but he could not control the expression of surprise 
 and displeasure that was extorted from him by the 
 suddenness of the encounter. Markham s face showed 
 less equivocal marks of dislike, if not of surprise, as 
 became his younger years and less disciplined facial 
 muscles. He muttered an indistinct comment on the 
 occasion, which did not reach farther than my ears ; 
 which being the case, and as it involved an adjective 
 or two which might justly grieve godly ears, I shall 
 forbear to put it upon permanent record. He on the 
 
138 WENSLEY. 
 
 coach-box made a kind of a motion, of the nature of a 
 salutation, in the direction of the brim of his hat, 
 which Markham acknowledged by the faintest per 
 ceptible swaying of his head, and then, turning away, 
 rode on through the arch that led to the stables. 
 
 " That gentleman does n t seem to be fond of you, 
 Markham," said I as naturally as I could. " Who may 
 he be?" 
 
 " Oh, he s a countryman of mine," he replied ; 
 " that is, he is my countryman and yours too. He s 
 a half Yankee, as well as myself. We are not over 
 fond of one another, as you suspect." 
 
 "And his name is Smith, is it not?" I put inter 
 rogatively. 
 
 " Smith ! " he answered. " What do you mean by 
 that ? Do you suppose every Englishman is named 
 Smith?" 
 
 " Why, it is a tolerably generic name," I answered. 
 " But I had a more specific reason for supposing it to 
 belong to him, for I have been told so by a landlord 
 of his." 
 
 " For God s sake, what do you mean, Osborne ? " 
 he demanded in strong surprise. " Where have you 
 ever seen him ? He surely does n t pass here by that 
 name ! " 
 
 I then stated that I had met this personage, who 
 ever he might be, in the neighborhood of Wensley, 
 when fishing, not long before, and that I had acci 
 dentally learned, from the landlord where he lodged, 
 that he rejoiced in the general appellation I had ap- 
 
IN WHICH ANOTHER CHARACTER APPEARS. 139 
 
 plied to him. Of course I made no mention of my 
 cousin Eleanor s name in the business, and seemed to 
 know no more of him than I have just related. Why 
 should n t I have my little mystery too ? And I 
 rather imagined that he would have given all I 
 wanted to know in exchange for what I had to tell. 
 But my lips were sealed, of course, as to all that had 
 passed between them in my presence. And Markham 
 had to spell out the mystery, as well as he could, 
 without my assistance. 
 
 " This is very strange I " said Markham, half to 
 himself. "What could he have been lurking about 
 there for, under a nom de guerre 1 " And then, ad 
 dressing himself to me, he went on, " The man s 
 name is Ferguson ; and I am almost as much at a loss 
 as you to account for his changing it without royal 
 license. But Englishmen have a charter to be odd, 
 and possibly this is the form which Mr. Ferguson s 
 oddity takes unto itself. At any rate," he went on, 
 as if talking to himself again, " we will hope there 
 are not many Englishmen like him. He s a black 
 sheep." 
 
 He then changed the conversation; and, it being 
 plain he wished to avoid the subject, I could get no 
 more satisfaction from him about it. And, as this 
 was the last time we were to be together previous to 
 my return to Wensley, I had no further opportunity 
 of recurring to it. At parting, however, he promised 
 me, of his own accord, that he would certainly beat up 
 
140 WENSLEY. 
 
 my quarters before very long ; until which time I 
 was perforce compelled to adjourn my curiosity. We 
 parted that night ; and the next day Whitefoot car 
 ried me safely to Parson Bulkley s door, at which 
 we were both of us joyfully received both by master 
 and man. 
 
CHAPTEE IX. 
 
 WHICH IS EPISODICAL, BUT PROGRESSIVE. 
 
 ~"*HE attentive reader will not, perhaps, be sur- 
 -*- prised to hear that the very first event in the 
 "Wensley life of Whitefoot was a visit to Woodside, 
 which occurred on the afternoon of the very day suc 
 ceeding that of his arrival. He was fortunate enough 
 to meet with the approbation of my cousin Eleanor, 
 and also, which was perhaps a more important testi 
 mony to his character, with that of my much respected 
 and more experienced cousin, the Colonel. That gal 
 lant officer made a close and scientific inspection of 
 his various points with the eye at once of an amateur 
 and of a connoisseur, and was pleased to pronounce 
 him very well indeed for a horse bred and broken in 
 America. This, I was well aware, was as high praise 
 as an Englishman (for such Colonel Allerton persist 
 ed in considering himself, notwithstanding his New 
 England birth and parentage) could be expected to 
 bestow on Bucephalus, or Pegasus himself, were one 
 or both of those celebrated animals trotted out for his 
 opinion. So I accepted it as the seal of my bargain, 
 and felt entitled to brag according to knowledge of 
 his merits whenever Major Grimes and his party saw 
 fit to disparage him as an interloping rival of Turk. 
 
142 WENSLEY. 
 
 This interested opposition, however, was confined ex 
 clusively to the Grimes faction (a pretty large one, by 
 the way) ; for the Wensleyaus in general, outside of 
 the charmed circle described by the Major s toddy 
 stick, were unanimous in giving Whitefoot the pre 
 eminence over his Moslem competitor. 
 
 And the feeling of triumph was very universal; 
 for I flatter myself I had become by this time rather 
 a favorite in the town, though neither my modesty 
 nor the necessities of my story will allow of my re 
 counting the whereby and wherefore. I say it caused 
 a widespread feeling of satisfaction when the last 
 convincing proof of his excellence was given by Major- 
 General Boardman, an eminent house-carpenter 
 (builder he would be called in these euphuistic days) 
 of Haverford, the capital town of the county, who 
 did "Whitefoot the honor to borrow him for the fall 
 muster, selecting hirn out of all the steeds of the shire 
 as the most worthy to bound beneath his weight 
 (which was considerable) along the arms -presenting 
 line, and to share with him the dangers and glories of 
 that important field day. To be sure, Major Grimes 
 was heard to suggest to some of his faction, that " it 
 was n t likely Mr. Frank Osborne was going to take 
 any hire for his beast ; " which, indeed, it was not ; 
 nor yet, I should hope, that an officer of such distinc 
 tion should have been influenced by so sordid a 
 consideration. 
 
 It was also unfortunately true that the gallant Gen 
 eral gave occasion for disrespectful language on the 
 
WHICH IS EPISODICAL, BUT PROGRESSIVE. 143 
 
 part of his subordinate officer, by returning his bor 
 rowed charger with a piece of the skin (technically 
 called the bark) taken off his near hind-leg, occa 
 sioned by backing him against the wheel of a gun- 
 carriage. This gave the enemy great cause for 
 triumph ; and I was not over well pleased with the 
 circumstance myself. As for Colonel Allerton, who 
 had the natural antipathy of a regular for a citizen 
 soldier, when I told him of the mishap, he was 
 louder and deeper in the expression of his sense of 
 the General s stupidity than even I had been. In 
 deed, he spoke of it in terms, which, as they might 
 be neither acceptable nor edifying to the serious 
 reader, I shall considerately pretermit. Suffice it to 
 say that they were of a nature, which, had the Colo 
 nel been under the General s command, would have 
 justly subjected him to be court-martialled for " un 
 becoming and disrespectful language towards his 
 superior officer." I, however, regarding the accident 
 as the fortune of war, to which I was myself in some 
 good measure accessory by consenting to expose my 
 white-footed friend to its casualties, possessed my soul 
 in such patience as I could muster, inly resolving that 
 he should be exempt from military duty from that 
 time forward. 
 
 I have thrown these particulars together in this 
 place, although thereby I run before the regular 
 course of my history, to which I am in general care 
 ful scrupulously to confine myself, in order that the 
 reader might take in at a glance all the bearings of 
 
144 WEXSLEY. 
 
 this important affair, and also that it may be cleared 
 out of the way, so as not to interfere with those 
 scenes of intense interest, which, like the rain in the 
 almanac, may be looked for about this time. We will 
 now return to the afternoon when I first submitted 
 my horse to the cousinly inspection above mentioned. 
 The examination over, and Whitefoot consigned to 
 the care of Mr. Jonathan Snell (who was also pleased 
 to vouchsafe his gracious approval of the same), the 
 Colonel retired to his own room, the same described 
 in my third chapter as enjoying the brevet rank of 
 the library; and my cousin Eleanor and I strolled out 
 to enjoy the exquisite summer afternoon just melting 
 into evening. 
 
 We took our way towards the avenue of elms 
 which I have already said descended the other side 
 of the little hill on which the house stood. It was 
 as sweet a walk as a pair of lovers (had we only 
 happened to have been such) could have desired. 
 The avenue led nowhere, to be sure, excepting to a 
 rough field, not long cleared, which was skirted by 
 the old wood which gave its name to the place ; but 
 the turf was elastic and velvety, from being kept 
 closely mown and well rolled, in the English fashion ; 
 and the branches, thick with leaves, and alive with 
 birds, stretched themselves long and wide until they 
 clasped each other over our head. And after de 
 scending the first sharp though short descent, as 
 sisted by steps cut in the turf, you were hid by a 
 screen of shrubbery from the house, and might have 
 
WHICH IS EPISODICAL, BUT PROGRESSIVE. 145 
 
 imagined yourself in Arden or the Black Forest, for 
 any signs of human neighborhood that forced them 
 selves on your notice. 
 
 As we paced up and down this "dry, smooth- 
 shaven green," my lovely cousin magnetizing me 
 with the gentle weight of her hand on my arm, we 
 launched at once into the animated discourse of 
 friends to the current of whose talk the interposition 
 of a short absence has given at once a greater fulness 
 and a swifter flow. She gave me such bits of gossip 
 as the village had afforded during the two weeks of 
 my absence, of which Petchell, her maid, who had 
 established relations with certain of the inhabitants, 
 was the voucher. Perhaps it was peculiar to this 
 young lady, that she did not dislike to hear tell of the 
 loves and the bickerings, of the history (private and 
 public, civil and ecclesiastical) of the little neighbor 
 hood at her door. And why not ? Human beings 
 are human still in such an out-of-the-way nook as 
 Wensley ; and they are no more in the throngs of 
 Hyde Park or the Boulevards, of St James s or the 
 Tuileries. And one who sympathizes with the joys 
 and sorrows of men and women, and not with the 
 cost or fashion of their clothes or carriages, who 
 finds interest in their characters and fates rather 
 than in their houses and furniture, will find food 
 enough for sadness and for mirth in more unlikely 
 spots than the one which my gentle heroine glad 
 dened by the genial influences of her sweet and 
 kindly presence. 
 10 
 
146 WENSLEY. 
 
 But I was, in virtue of my absence, expected to 
 be the chief talker ; and, accordingly, I retailed 
 whatever store of news I had collected in Boston, 
 for her amusement In those days, the connection 
 of an inland town, like Wensley, with the capital 
 of the State, was hardly so intimate as the connec 
 tion of that city with the capital of the world is 
 now, so effectually has steam accomplished that 
 annihilation of time and space for which the lovers 
 celebrated in the Bathos prayed. "The Columbian 
 Centiuel" afforded the only loophole through which 
 the curious inhabitants peeped, twice a week, at the 
 busy world ; and I believe Mr. Bulkley and Colonel 
 Allerton were the only regular subscribers its hearty 
 old editor, Major Ben. Russell, had in the town. 
 The Colonel, to be sure, had the English papers ; 
 but they came at long intervals, and with no great 
 regularity. 
 
 I told Miss Eleanor all the private history I had 
 learned, the engagements, the marriages, the deaths, 
 the feuds, and the reconciliations, which made up 
 then, as they do now and ever will, the staple of 
 our communications about our acquaintances and 
 friends. Having emptied my budget of everything 
 I had to tell, excepting the things I was thinking 
 most about, we sat down on a rustic bench placed 
 near the head of the avenue, at a point from which 
 the sunset could be commanded, and remained for a 
 while silently gazing at the gorgeous clouds, which 
 the touch of celestial light had transformed from 
 
WHICH IS EPISODICAL, BUT PROGRESSIVE. 147 
 
 cold masses of vapor into cliffs and billows of gold 
 and violet, as the eye of genius looks on the com 
 monest things of earth, and they glow as with hues 
 caught fresh from heaven. 
 
 As we sat watching these glorious apparitions to 
 gether, Eleanor, I am afraid,. thinking more of them 
 than of me, and I, I am sure, thinking more of her 
 than of them, she said presently, rather to herself 
 than to me, 
 
 " It is a strange thing that a sight like this, which 
 happens every day, should never look twice alike 
 either to the eyes or to the mind. The feelings it 
 creates, or recalls to the heart, are as varied, though 
 not always as bright, as the hues it leaves on the 
 clouds there." 
 
 "True, Cousin Eleanor," Lreplied. "But all sun 
 sets are not brilliant and bright like this. Some 
 suns go down in clouds and storms, you know, and 
 darkness conies upon us with no glorious prologue 
 like that before our eyes." 
 
 " Yes, indeed," she answered, " more than of such 
 as these. The analogy holds good, which poets and 
 moralists have discerned, and which no one can 
 help feeling, between the closing scenes of life and 
 of day. There are few men, as well as few suns, 
 you remember, 
 
 whom scenes like these await, 
 Who sink unclouded in the gulfs of fate. " 
 
 " That is true again," I returned ; " but then it 
 is the very clouds that seek to oppress the sinking 
 
148 WENSLEY. 
 
 sun that make his ending so splendid, when he has 
 the power to overcome them, and make them contri 
 bute to his glory." 
 
 " And even where clouds and darkness rest upon 
 him when he goes to his rest/ she resumed, " we 
 know that he is still the same bright and blessed 
 orb as when he shone at noonday, and that he will 
 be sure to return a<jain as beautiful and beneficent 
 
 o 
 
 as ever." 
 
 " We know that of the sun," I replied ; " for we 
 have the experience of hundreds of generations to 
 the fact. But there, I imagine, the analogy ends. 
 The dead never return again, be their setting bright 
 or dark." 
 
 Eleanor turned her eyes from the fading sunset, 
 and looked into mine. . " Cousin Frank," said she, 
 "you have thought seriously for so young a man" 
 (she, you will recollect, I judged to be a matter of 
 a twelvemonth or so older than I, and, as such, en 
 titled to talk wisdom to me). " I should think that 
 your day was bright enough to keep the thought of 
 its ending out of your mind." 
 
 " You forget, Eleanor," I replied, dropping the 
 usual consanguineous epithet for the first time, 
 "you forget, that, though my day may be young, 
 it has not been without its morning clouds, neither. 
 It is not altogether a cheerful thing, cousin, to have 
 neither father nor mother, nor brother nor sister. 
 Mine have all sunk into the gulfs of Fate you just 
 spoke of, and left me to live out my clay by myself 
 
WHICH IS EPISODICAL, BUT PROGRESSIVE. 149 
 
 as I may. I was not old enough then to know or to 
 feel my loss ; but I am now to do both." 
 
 " I had forgotten, dear Cousin Frank," said Eleanor 
 kindly, in reply ; " I confess I had, just then. But 
 I should not have done so, for I am too nearly in 
 your condition myself. My father indeed lives ; but 
 he is my only blood relation. And my estate is in 
 one thing sadder than yours, for / do remember my 
 mother ; and the agony her death caused is still fresh 
 in my mind. Perhaps, however," she said with a 
 sigh, as it were to herself again, "perhaps, how 
 ever, it saved her from a yet deeper agony, had 
 she" And she stopped, as if recollecting herself. 
 
 " I do not understand your allusion, of course, 
 cousin," I replied. " But I do not accept your phi 
 losophy. It is no consolation to me to think my 
 father and mother are spared from possible or certain 
 evils. I wish them to be alive, and live out their 
 days, as Nature meant they should. She never meant 
 that they should leave me, a wailing infant in the 
 cradle, a burden to friends, or a task to hirelings. 
 It was my part to have laid their heads in the grave 
 long years hence, after they had reared, guided, 
 and taught me in my way of life, which I must 
 now enter upon alone. No, no, my cousin : life is 
 a better thing than death, let its circumstances be 
 what they may ; unless, indeed," I added quite cas 
 ually, by way of an exceptive demonstration of a 
 general proposition, "unless, indeed, it be infamy. 
 Dishonor, indeed " 
 
150 WENSLEY. 
 
 1 stopped short ; for looking at Eleanor, who was 
 earnestly listening to me as I spoke, I saw that some 
 thing touched her. A sort of spasm seemed to con 
 tract her features ; her eyes closed ; and she bit her 
 under lip so suddenly that the blood actually trickled 
 down her beautiful chin. At the same time she 
 violently but unconsciously clutched my arm. I was 
 greatly alarmed, and exclaimed, 
 
 " Dearest Eleanor, you are very ill. Let me call 
 Petchell. Let me help you into the house, for God s 
 sake I " 
 
 " No, no," said she, recovering herself as I spoke. 
 " I am well again. It was a transient pain ; but it is 
 gone now," opening her eyes, which looked preter- 
 naturally bright, and, contrasting with her pale face 
 and the trickling crimson from her lip, gave her an 
 expression which almost frightened me, it was so 
 unnatural and wild. 
 
 " Come," she said presently, " come, let us take 
 a turn or two. It will make me better." 
 
 We rose and walked slowly down the path under 
 the trees. She leaned heavily on my arm ; and after 
 a single turn, in which she rather tottered than 
 walked, she said that she must go in ; and we ap 
 proached the turf steps, which, as I have said before, 
 assisted the ascent to the house. Eleanor paused for 
 a moment at the foot ; and I, merely to assist her in 
 mounting them, passed my arm round her waist for 
 her more effectual support. We were kinsfolk you 
 know, at least after a sort, and common humanity, 
 
WHICH IS EPISODICAL, BUT PROGRESSIVE. 151 
 
 as well as cousinly affection, made it imperative upon 
 rne to see that she received no detriment while under 
 my charge. At any rate, as she found no fault with 
 the arrangement (I am afraid that she never noticed 
 it), I apprehend that it can be no manner of concern 
 of yours. Perhaps there was no absolute necessity 
 of continuing it after the steps had been scaled, but 
 something must be forgiven to the force of habit (and 
 some habits do not take long to. form) ; and then it 
 must be remembered that the ground still sloped 
 gently upward as you skirted the screen of shrubbery 
 which divided the avenue from the house. 
 
 As we labored rather slowly along this " verdurous 
 wall," some one suddenly turned the corner, and ad 
 vanced towards us. At first I supposed that it must 
 be her father, and was glad he was coming to my 
 help. But, when I raised my eyes to his face, to my 
 great surprise I saw before me Henry Markham, 
 whom I had parted from at the Exchange Coffee House 
 only two or three days before. I don t know how it 
 was ; but I was not as glad to see him at that moment 
 as I would have sworn I should have been to meet 
 him in Wensley, when we arranged his visiting me 
 at some time future. It was quite a new revelation 
 to me that he was on such terms with Eleanor as to 
 come to see her without some greater show of cere 
 mony. And, to do him justice, he did not seem to 
 be much better pleased with the particular grouping 
 of the figures before him. Perhaps he thought it too 
 particular. I am sure it was not unpicturesque, and, 
 
152 WEXSLEY. 
 
 if he did not like it, why, it was the worse for him. 
 As for Miss Eleanor, she seemed to be surprised out 
 of all her late agitation, and stood quite firmly again 
 in the face of this apparition. The blood rushed into 
 her cheeks with the pretty effect I have celebrated 
 when I first introduced her to the reader s acquaint 
 ance ; and she had a look out of her eyes at this 
 young man, which was not altogether well pleasing in 
 mine. I spoke first. 
 
 " Markham," I exclaimed, " you are better than 
 your word ! You are upon me before I have had 
 time to tell Miss Allerton that you were coming to 
 Wensley. But you are welcome all the same, arid 
 I am right glad to see you." 
 
 I am afraid this assurance must be reduced into 
 the category of that description of embroidery about 
 which Mrs. Amelia Opie wrote a story, which was 
 much in vogue about that time (though, as I remember 
 them, her white lies, if they were not black ones, well 
 deserved to be such), as well as the assertion that I 
 had not had time to tell Eleanor that he was coming. 
 I think that I might have found time, if I had been 
 economical of it, to have told her as much as that. 
 But, for some reason or other, I did not like to tell her 
 of the approaching advent of so handsome and taking 
 an Old- World acquaintance of hers. She cast a look, 
 in which there was a good deal of surprise mingled 
 witli a little displeasure, as I thought, at my reticence, 
 and then, bowing to Markham, said, 
 
 I had heard from papa that Mr. Markham was in 
 
WHICH IS EPISODICAL, BUT PROGRESSIVE. 153 
 
 the country, but did not expect the pleasure of a visit 
 from him at Wensley." 
 
 " I had no intention of intruding myself upon Miss 
 Allerton," said Harry, a little discomposed, but a good 
 deal miffed ; " but, missing of my friend Osborne at 
 the parsonage (with rather a savage look at my right 
 arm, which was now relieved from its recent duty, and 
 was supporting hers), I took the liberty of walking 
 over here to find him, and at the same time to pay 
 my respects to Colonel and Miss Allerton." 
 
 "Papa and I will be always happy to see the 
 friends of Mr. Osborne," Eleanor returned rather 
 stiffly ; " and, if you please, we will return into the 
 house, and I will send for him." 
 
 It is barely possible that Markham would have dis 
 pensed with this last attention ; but he could not well 
 refuse it, and so he turned and walked along with us. 
 
 " Are you quite well, Miss Allerton ? " he presently 
 inquired. "I am afraid you have met with some 
 accident just now," looking at the scarlet stain on her 
 ivory skin. " Have you fallen ? " 
 
 " A slight accident," she replied, putting her hand 
 to her lip. " Of no consequence at all A little cold 
 water will put it all to rights again." 
 
 There was no time for further speech, for we were 
 now in the parlor. Eleanor, after ringing the bell, 
 and ordering her father to be called, went up stairs 
 to her dressing-room to wash away the bloody wit 
 ness from her face. My curiosity was well aroused, 
 as may be well supposed, to learn the relations of my 
 
154 WENSLEY. 
 
 new friend and my cousins ; but I had no time for 
 inquiry, as the alert step of the Colonel was heard 
 approaching at the same time almost that her light 
 foot was over the other threshold. He entered with 
 his usual open and cordial face of hospitality that 
 ever beamed upon the stranger within his gates. As 
 the shades of evening were beginning to prevail, he 
 had actually grasped the hand of Markham before 
 he saw who he was. When he discerned his visitor s 
 face, the expression of his own changed as suddenly 
 as did that of the landscape under the thunder-cloud 
 to whose good offices I had owed my first introduc 
 tion to Woodside. The pressure of his hand was 
 checked in mid-grasp, and that of his visitor dropped, 
 after no prolonged salutation. His air was pervaded 
 with a perfectly courteous but thoroughly frigid tone, 
 enough, I am sure, to have turned me into an icicle, 
 had I been the object of it. 
 
 I really pitied poor Markham, though I was not 
 regarding him just then with absolute complacency. 
 I saw that more had passed between him and the 
 Allertons in England than he had chosen to intimate 
 to me ; and I would have given Whitefoot, and boot 
 besides, to anybody that could tell me how it all was. 
 But there was no apparent danger of my being led 
 into such a rashness. There was no one who could 
 enlighten me on this side the Atlantic. But stop 
 was there no one ? There was Petchell. She must 
 know all about it. But it would be base and ungen- 
 tleinanlike to pry into the secrets of my hospitable 
 
WHICH IS EPISODICAL, BUT PROGRESSIVE. 155 
 
 cousins in that kind of way. So it would. But, on 
 the whole, I am rather glad that I had no opportu 
 nity for a tete-a-tete interview with " Machiavel the 
 waiting-maid," about that time. 
 
 The salutations over, as above described, Colonel 
 Allerton waved us to seats, and then took a chair him 
 self. He first made civil inquiries after Markham s 
 family ; which being satisfied, he then proceeded, 
 
 " I did not expect the pleasure of seeing you in 
 America when we parted in London." 
 
 " I did not then anticipate visiting this country," 
 said Markham. "But circumstances have made it 
 seem important to me to come hither, though I 
 may have over-estimated their urgency." 
 
 " Indeed ! " replied the Colonel rather dryly, though 
 very politely. " I had no idea that Mr. Henry Mark- 
 ham s affairs were of such pressing moment. I hope 
 they will arrange themselves to his satisfaction." 
 
 " I hope, sir," he returned, " that I shall accom 
 plish the purpose of my journe}^ ; though it was not 
 undertaken for my own benefit, and I do not expect 
 either gratitude or reward for what I came to at 
 tempt." 
 
 "That would be a pity," answered Colonel Aller 
 ton a little sub-acidulously. " And perhaps it would 
 have been well to have considered how your services 
 were likely to be regarded by your clients before you 
 volunteered them in their cause. Working for others 
 for nothing, and without their desire, is not the way 
 to become lord-chancellor, Mr. Markham. But, then, 
 
156 WENSLEY. 
 
 I know nothing of the nature of your affairs," he 
 added in a courteous tone. 
 
 " I do not defend the wisdom of my conduct," said 
 Markham, in a tone of deeply- mortified feeling ; 
 " but I am sure of its motive ; and, as I hope for no 
 recompense, I hope I may be forgiven if I have been 
 fool enough to throw away my own time and pains, 
 looking not for my own again." 
 
 "That, sir," replied the Colonel with cool polite 
 ness, " is a question which you alone can decide, as 
 you alone know what your plans are. But you will 
 pardon me, if, as an old man, I advise you, a very 
 young one, to direct your chief attention in affairs to 
 those with which you are thoroughly acquainted, and 
 in which you have a legitimate call to assist." 
 
 Markham was evidently much hurt by the words 
 and manner of his host, though I could see no reason 
 why. Of course I knew that more was meant than 
 met my ear ; but that was small comfort to me. He 
 made no reply except a bow, by no means as easy 
 and degagd as those I had seen him make in the 
 drawing-rooms about Boston. But just then Miss 
 Allerton re-appeared, calm and composed as ever, and 
 forthwith rang for lights and tea. The conversation 
 was not very well sustained after this event ; the 
 three others being, apparently, thinking of something 
 besides what they were saying, and I as busily en 
 gaged in thinking what that something could be. I 
 
 o o o o 
 
 was rather too fast in saying that Eleanor s manner 
 was as calm and composed as ever. It was plain to 
 
WHICH IS EPISODICAL, BUT PROGRESSIVE. 157 
 
 me, on the close though guarded observation to which 
 I subjected her, that she was making a strong effort 
 to appear as if it were. But there was a little tre 
 mor in the hands as she took her cup of tea, and a 
 careful avoidance of Markham s eye, which soon re 
 covered courage enough to go in search of hers, which 
 I saw plainly enough, and which, though it was none 
 of my business, I did not like at all. 
 
 For the first time since I had visited at the Aller- 
 tous , and often as I had partaken of the fragrant 
 decoction of Cathay in their company, the elements of 
 that most social of meals (some people prefer break 
 fast ; but I am apt to be sulky then) were dispensed 
 from a circumambulatory tray, instead of resting on 
 a solid, steadfast tea-table. It was, in short, what 
 some opprobriously, but justly, style a lap tea, an 
 institution which I detest and execrate. I must con 
 fess to a secret sense of exultation when I have seen 
 a clumsy boy upset a cup of tea over the glossy silk 
 of the lady of the house, or drop a slice of bread and 
 butter " and always on the buttered side " upon 
 the puffy pile of her Wilton or Axminster carpet. It 
 must have been a "lap tea" at which Belinda as 
 sisted on the fatal day of the Kape of the Lock ; only 
 it was before dinner, and was coffee, and not tea. For 
 what did the sylphs think it necessary to do ? 
 
 " Straight hover round the fair her airy band : 
 Some, as she sipped, the fuming liquor fanned ; 
 Some o er her lap their careful plumes displayed, 
 Trembling, and conscious of the rich brocade." 
 
158 WENSLEY. 
 
 Now, there would have been no such need of this 
 anxiety if her (I beg pardon, " la reine dEspagne 
 ria point des jambcs ") if her lap had been safely 
 ensconced under the mahogany. What wonder, then, 
 that, while thus engaged, the relentless baron should 
 have reft the envied tress 
 
 " From the fair head forever and forever." 
 
 I am the more zealous to maintain the integrity of 
 the tea-table, as an occasional slight fit of the gout 
 (entirely hereditary) compels me, though so young a 
 man, to forego prolonged sessions after dinner. But 
 this is aside from the stately march of my narrative. 
 
 I drew one inference from this innovation on the 
 customs of Woodside, which was, that, though its 
 character for hospitality was to be maintained, it did 
 not think it necessary to be cordial. So, after the 
 tray had made its third and last round, I ordered 
 my horse, and took my leave. Markham, though he 
 had come on foot, departed with me, and with no en 
 treaties to the contrary to resist. The Colonel and 
 Eleanor bade him good-night very civilly ; but they 
 threw even more than their usual cordiality into their 
 manners towards me. I was not flattered by it this 
 time, nor yet was poor Markham ; for we both under 
 stood it well enough. He walked alongside me, with 
 his hand on the saddle (Whitefoot walked remarkably 
 fast and well), and I accompanied him to Grirnes s 
 door. 
 
 He said but little, and I not much more, as it was 
 impossible to say what I wanted to. He showed 
 
WHICH IS EPISODICAL, BUT PROGRESSIVE. 159 
 
 no disposition to make me his confidant ; and I was 
 none the nearer plucking out the heart of this 
 mystery, supposing it had one, than when I first 
 suspected its existence. Arrived at the Major s, I 
 resolutely declined Markham s invitation to go in, 
 and the more earnest if less disinterested urgency 
 of the host himself to partake of a mug of Hip or a 
 rummer of punch, as a safeguard against the night 
 air. Facing this enemy without either infallible 
 spell against its perils, I put my horse up to his 
 speed, his hoofs marking their course by a con 
 tinuous line of sparkles, and the bridge returning a 
 hollow roar, heard far through the village, as he gal 
 loped over it. A very brief time sufficed to bring us 
 to the parsonage and to Jasper. 
 
 The next morning at breakfast, as I was telling 
 Mr. Bulkley the particulars of Markham s visit to 
 Woodside, only suppressing, as is usually the case 
 with most human communications, what was most 
 characteristically essential to them, and he was listen 
 ing eagerly to my narration, Jasper entered with a 
 more important countenance than usual, looking as 
 if he had something to say too. When I had done 
 my story, the Parson turned to Jasper and said, 
 
 " Who was that in the wagon I saw you talking 
 with just now ? Anybody to see me ? " 
 
 " No, sir," replied Jasper ; " it was only Jehiel 
 Abbot, from Jericho (meaning, not the ancient city 
 of that name, at which unscrupulous moderns why, 
 I know not are apt to wish troublesome things and 
 
160 WENSLEY. 
 
 persons, but a remote school district so christened 
 by common consent). He says there s a scrape up 
 there, sir." 
 
 " Scrape ! What scrape ? What d ye mean ? " in 
 terrogated the divine. 
 
 "Why, he says, sir," answered Jasper, "that old 
 Captain Hunt swears that his daughter Sukey Ann 
 sha n t marry Jeremiah Adarns nohow. And she s 
 taking on dreadful, he says, sir." 
 
 " Not marry Jeremiah ! " exclaimed the minister. 
 " What s the meaning of that ? Were not the banns 
 stuck up in the meeting-house porch last Sabbath? " 
 
 " Yes, sir," responded Jasper. " I saw the folks 
 reading em ; and I looked over Pete Spicer s shoul 
 der, and they was there, sir." 
 
 "Well, then, what s the matter with the Cap 
 tain?" inquired his master. "What has Jeremiah 
 done ? " 
 
 " Nothing, sir, has n t Jeremiah," replied the man. 
 " It s Squire Enoch, his father, that the Captain s mad 
 with. It s something about the right to drive his 
 cattle over Hog s Neck down to Rocky Valley to 
 pasture. The Captain fenced in Hog s Neck into his 
 nineteen-acre lot; and the Squire broke the fence 
 down, and said he d as much right to go over the 
 Neck as the Captain had to go over the road to 
 meeting." 
 
 " Oho," said the Parson ; " it s the old quarrel 
 about the right of way over Hog s Neck, is it ? The 
 land on Hog s Neck," he proceeded, addressing him- 
 
WHICH IS EPISODICAL, BUT PROGRESSIVE. 161 
 
 self to me, and laughing as he spoke, "is worth about 
 three cents an acre, and that of Eocky Valley is worth 
 full three cents less. I thought I had patched up 
 that trouble a long while ago. So it s broken out 
 afresh, you say, Jasper ? " 
 
 " Worse than ever, sir," Jasper said. " The Captain 
 said he d shoot the Squire if he touched the fence 
 again ; and the Squire told him to fire away, and 
 pulled it down the next morning. Then the Captain 
 swore he d sue him ; and the Squire told him to sue 
 and be" 
 
 "Never mind that part of it," interrupted the 
 minister, laughing. " And the upshot of the matter 
 is, that the match is off between pretty Susey Hunt 
 and Jerry Adams, is it ? " 
 
 " So the Captain says, and the Squire too ; but 
 Jehiel says Jerry says he won t stand it, and he 11 
 marry her whether or no," said Jasper. 
 
 " There s a fine fellow ! " rejoined the minister, 
 rubbing his hands complacently ; for he took the 
 interest of a girl in all the marrying and giving in 
 marriage in Wensley. " He ought to be kicked, 
 though, if he did n t say so. But I must try and 
 hinder any breach of discipline, if I can. Things had 
 better be done decently and in order. So the Captain 
 says he 11 sue, does he ? " 
 
 " He swears he will," replied Jasper ; " and Jehiel 
 was to stop at Grimes s and tell the stage to call 
 round this afternoon, as he s going to Lawyer Pratt, 
 at Haverford, about it." 
 11 
 
162 WENSLEY. 
 
 " Merciful goodness ! " exclaimed the minister, 
 half in jest, but a full half in earnest. " If he has 
 gone that length, it is time for me to step in, to be 
 sure. Lawyer Pratt in Wensley ! That must be 
 hindered at any rate. I can have no such wolf as 
 that among my lambs. Jasper, get my horse ready, 
 and 1 11 see after it at once." 
 
 " Had n t you better take mine, sir ? " said I. " He 
 will carry you to the field of action the sooner." 
 
 "No, no, I thank you," he replied, shaking his 
 head. " I 11 stick to my old friend as long as he 
 lasts ; for I m afraid I should not stick to your new 
 one. I served in the infantry, you know, and was 
 brigade major for only two campaigns. And, by the 
 way, as you will want to see your friend to-day, I 11 
 grant you a furlough from actual service for that 
 time. Bring him to dinner with you, if he will 
 come. 
 
 And as soon as he was brought round, the brisk 
 old man mounted his old horse, as if he had been a 
 charger smelling the battle afar off (and perhaps he 
 did), and shambled away upon him in the direction 
 of Jericho. His taking the field thus promptly 
 against the threatened invasion of Lawyer Pratt was, 
 as I had already learned, only a part of the estab 
 lished policy of his realm. He seemed to have 
 erected himself into a high court of justice within 
 its limits, and for many years had judged without 
 appeal in the controversies which would sometimes 
 arise in his parish. Such a thing as a suit at law 
 
WHICH IS EPISODICAL, BUT PROGRESSIVE. 163 
 
 was unheard of within the memory of the middle- 
 aged section of the Wensleyans. 
 
 It is needless to say that such a state of things 
 was unpropitious to the prospects of the noble pro 
 fession of the law. It was many years since the last 
 suckling practitioner who had ventured to occupy the 
 little square office between the grocer s shop and the 
 meeting-house (built by Mr. Remington, the prede 
 cessor of the Allertons at Woodside, away back in the 
 last century, literally before the year one) it was 
 many years, I say, since Eliphalet W. Peabody, now 
 member of Congress for the twenty-ninth district of 
 Ohio, fled to the western wilderness, as it was then, 
 from before the face of fate, of starvation, and of 
 Parson Bulkley. The office had been for more than 
 a quarter of a century converted (or perverted) into 
 the primary-school-house of the first district, presided 
 over in my time by Miss Lucinda Jane Sparhawk 
 (now Mrs. Judge Wilkinson, of Bytown), who was 
 not a bad-looking girl either. 
 
 But I may as well mention, a propos to the tender 
 griefs of Jeremiah and Sukey as recounted by Jasper, 
 that there was another troubler of the peace than law, 
 about which the good Parson took an active interest 
 whenever it applied to any of his parishioners ; and 
 that was love. Though a bachelor past hope for 
 many years, he was a great promoter of matrimony. 
 He had a sharp eye for a love affair ; and, when he 
 approved of the connection, he was an invaluable 
 auxiliary. Many was the match to which he had 
 
164 WENSLEY. 
 
 smoothed the way, and many was the course of true 
 love of which he had cleared away the impediments 
 that hindered it from running smooth. To look at, 
 he did not seem to be a much properer person to 
 trust a love tale to than Cato himself. But there 
 was nothing stoical about him ; and this was so well 
 understood that the young people of the town were 
 as ready to confide their difficulties in this sort to 
 him as to any of their contemporaries. They were 
 sure of a tender and active. interest in their affairs 
 which scarcely ever failed to bring them to a happy 
 conclusion, if they deserved such an ending. 
 
 In short, he was in himself a parliament of love, 
 as well as a high court of justice, for the domain of 
 Wensley. And he bore his faculties meekly, as well 
 as absolutely, so that no one complained of him, 
 the very Trajan or Antouine of village despots. I 
 thought I could observe that he had composed a little 
 sort of romance in his own mind, of which Eleanor 
 Allerton and 1 were chief characters. But I rather 
 felt than saw it, as he abstained from any demonstra 
 tive interference or intimation of it with the most 
 scrupulous delicacy. So scrupulous was he, indeed, 
 that I should have found it hard to get an oppor 
 tunity to tell him what our relations to each other 
 really were. But, if I could, I wonder whether I 
 should have done it. It is odd what satisfaction we 
 find in this world of ours, not only in our own delu 
 sions (what should we be without them ?), but also 
 in the delusions of others about us. 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 IN WHICH THE CALDRON BEGINS TO SIMMER. 
 
 I SPENT the morning with Markham, as the min 
 ister had supposed I should ; and we made such 
 a reconnaissance of the country as the good grace of 
 Black Sally accorded to us. She performed her part 
 of the contract safely and surely, if not with inordinate 
 velocity, and enabled us to respond to the almost 
 parental pride with which the Major seemed to boast 
 of his horses, without more than a simple fracture of 
 the truth. The Major was, of course, a new study to 
 Markham, who had only known the obsequious and 
 deferential landlords of merry England ; but he was 
 of a temperament to adapt himself to any concatena 
 tion of circumstances which might involve him, and 
 was by no means slack in accepting the platform of 
 social equality which placed the old-fashioned New 
 England host on a level with his guest. Markham 
 was singularly free from the John-Bullism which 
 makes so many of the progeny of that respectable 
 sire appear so very much like calves when they find 
 themselves in a new pasture. 
 
 To be sure, he was a parcel Yankee ; and his 
 mother s milk might yet qualify the elements of 
 which he was kindly mixed. But, as a general thing, 
 
166 WENSLEY. 
 
 your half-breed Englishman is more unpleasantly na 
 tional than the full-blooded animals themselves, 
 Anglis ipsis Anglior, and appears to take more than 
 an Englishman s delight in making himself disagree 
 able. But Markham was none of this sort. He was 
 a cosmopolitan gentleman, and carried with him all 
 over the world that sweetness of temper and sincere 
 wish to make those with whom he found himself hap 
 py and on good terms with themselves, which was 
 sure to extract what good there was from whatever 
 men or manners he lighted on, and at the same time 
 to make friends and well-wishers everywhere. 
 
 Being such as he was, what could have been the 
 reason of the cold and severely civil treatment he had 
 met with at Woodside, from persons whose characters 
 and manners seemed to be so eminently like his own ? 
 I could not make it out at all to my satisfaction. 
 Nor could I well seek satisfaction from Markham 
 himself, unless he led to the subject and volunteered 
 the explanation I desiderated; neither of which things 
 he did during this morning s drive. He was not 
 quite as chatty as he used to be in our rides round 
 Boston ; and there was a little shade over his features 
 at first, such as even a passing grief leaves behind it 
 for a season ; but it gradually rose from his counte 
 nance and dispersed itself, as the shadow of a cloud 
 passes away from the landscape, and he became 
 cheerful, if not mercurial, as usual, long before we 
 betook ourselves to the parsonage in accordance with 
 Mr. Bulkley s invitation. 
 
IN WHICH THE CALDRON BEGINS TO SIMMER. 167 
 
 My account of that excellent man had made Mark- 
 ham intelligently curious to see him ; and they came 
 at once into friendly relations with each other. Their 
 points of resemblance and of difference equally fitted 
 them for a close adaptation to one another. Mr. 
 Bulkley was an old man, and Markham a young one. 
 The former had lived for near forty years in the 
 almost eremitic seclusion of Wensley ; the latter had 
 spent in the crowds and turmoil of London all the 
 years of his life that had not been passed in the dif 
 fering but not diverse excitation of a great university. 
 Both were lovers of learning (Markhain had gradua 
 ted with high honors) and of queer books. Markham 
 was vastly more exact in his knowledge of the 
 mechanism of the ancient languages, and more critical 
 in all their ornamentation of metres and quantities, 
 than the imperfect instruction of Mr. Bulkley s youth 
 had made him. But the latter was quite as fully 
 master of the spirit of the greater classics as my 
 younger friend ; and he was familiar with a much 
 wider range of authors more talked of than read, in 
 cluding the later Platonists and the mediaeval Latin- 
 ists. Markham, however, was much better versed in 
 contemporary literature than Mr. Bulkley pretended 
 or cared to be, much better, indeed, than English 
 university men, wranglers, and medallists, who take 
 high honors at Oxford or Cambridge, are apt to be 
 even at this day. Neither of them was a man of sur 
 passing abilities ; but they had both of them made 
 the most of what they had, and had them always in 
 
168 WEXSLEY. 
 
 order for use. And for " human nature s daily food," 
 I preferred them to most of the great geniuses I have 
 encountered in my walk through Vanity Fair ; and I 
 have stumbled, at one time or another, on almost all 
 of special note within the last quarter of a century. 
 
 When we were fairly seated at the table, which 
 Jasper had done his best to set out in honor of the 
 occasion, though he cast rather an evil eye at Mark- 
 ham at first, as " the spawn of an old Tory," as he 
 phrased it, with more of emphasis than elegance, 
 I asked Mr. Bulkley as to the success of his cam 
 paign against Jericho. 
 
 "Why, I found it shut up almost as strait as 
 Jericho of old," said he ; " but I think the walls 
 will fall down by the time I have compassed it once 
 or twice more, and blown a blast or two on rny 
 ram s horn." 
 
 " Well, sir," I put in, " and Jasper and I will 
 shout in your cause ; for we are all the people you 
 have to help you, I suppose." 
 
 " Pray, make me free of your tribe," said Mark- 
 ham, whom I had possessed of the facts of the 
 case. 
 
 " With all my heart," answered the Parson ; " but 
 I hope you will only have to shout for my vic 
 tory, and not in my help. I think I have nearly 
 arranged it." 
 
 "And how does it stand, sir ?" I inquired. 
 
 " I 11 tell you," he replied. " I found it all as 
 Jasper told us. Squire Adams and Captain Hunt 
 
IN WHICH THE CALDRON BEGINS TO SIMMER. 169 
 
 were in high feud, and poor Sue in great affliction, 
 and Jeremiah in a towering passion, and all about a 
 right of way over nothing to nowhere ; for that is 
 about the exact value of the matters in dispute." 
 
 " Did you tell them so, sir ? " I asked. 
 
 " Bless you, no, indeed ! " he answered. " I made 
 much of it, you may be sure. To make short work 
 of the story, I at last prevailed on Hunt to postpone 
 his visit to Lawyer Pratt, agreeing to get the opinion 
 of Boston counsel as to the right of way over Hog s 
 Neck. And I afterwards got Adams to agree that, 
 if the opinion were against himself, he would give 
 the Kocky Valley pastures to Jeremiah on his mar 
 riage to Sukey, if Hunt would concede the right of 
 way to him. So I imagine I shall settle the quarrel 
 without promoting a lawsuit and without damag 
 ing a lovesuit. And I am now quite ready for my 
 dinner." 
 
 " I am sure you have deserved it, sir," said Mark- 
 ham ; " but, if there were many such clergymen as 
 you, I am afraid it would go hard with us lawyers." 
 
 "Fear nothing, my young friend," returned the 
 Parson ; " there is little danger of the gospel prevail 
 ing against the law in your day. The juice of Mother 
 Eve s apple is not worked out of the veins of her 
 children quite yet. And that puts me in mind, 
 Jasper, that you have not brought up the bottled 
 cider." 
 
 This oversight was speedily remedied; and froth 
 ing cups, such as Phillips, the bard of cider, might 
 
170 WENSLEY. 
 
 have sung, crowned the board. This beverage, of 
 which both the Parson and Jasper were justly proud, 
 as the production of their own orchard and mill, was 
 made from a receipt given to Lieutenant Bulkley by 
 Major Sir John Knatchbull, a baronet of the cider 
 county of Gloucestershire, when he was a prisoner on 
 parole after Burgoyne s surrender. It was produced 
 only on rare occasions, such as a visit from an 
 Oxonian, who wa.s also the son of an old-world friend 
 from whom he had been separated for such long years 
 by politics and the ocean. A moderate glass of very 
 excellent Madeira, the gift of Lieutenant-Governor 
 Bromfield years ago, concluded the repast. The Par 
 son then lighted his pipe, and Markham and I our 
 cigars ; and a fine afternoon of talk we had of it. 
 But that must be passed by in silence ; as there is 
 a limit at which a story, like patience, ceases to be a 
 virtue. Before we separated, which was not till 
 after tea and well into the evening, Mr. Bulkley 
 informed us that he should go to Boston the next 
 morning. 
 
 " I meant to go the next day," said he, " to see 
 about Dr. Felch s council of dismission ; but I prefer 
 putting myself out of my way a little to break this 
 Hog s Neck, inasmuch as they both are a trifle 
 ashamed of giving me the trouble I am to have ; and 
 I am confident it will clinch the matter. I think 
 Mr. Hayley must give an opinion which will answer 
 my purpose ; and, which is better, he 11 ask nothing 
 for it." 
 
IN WHICH THE CALDRON BEGINS TO SIMMER. 171 
 
 Markham, hearing this, declared that he would 
 avail himself of the chance of his company back to 
 town, as he had accomplished his visit to me. f I re 
 monstrated against this determination, in which the 
 minister joined me ; though, as he said, he w r as argu 
 ing against himself. Markham was firm, however ; 
 and the next morning, accordingly, he was in the 
 coach when it came round to the parsonage ; and it 
 whirled them "both off together, after brief time for 
 leave-taking, Parson Bulkley declaring that if the 
 proverb were true, that " good company was as good 
 as a coach," certainly good company and a coach too 
 were better still. 
 
 Left thus alone, with only the company of Tacitus 
 and Euripides (I do not mention Jasper, as he was 
 engaged in composing some practical Bucolic or 
 Georgic in the fields) to console me, the judicious 
 reader will not be surprised to hear that, after wres 
 tling for a season with these ancient worthies, I closed 
 their " ponderous and marble (covered) jaws," which 
 they had expanded for my torment, and thought that 
 a walk to Woodside would be no more than a proper 
 reward of my diligence. As I passed directly by the 
 post-office in my way thither, I of course looked in to 
 see what was the state of my correspondence. The 
 cross old postmaster, who had held the office since its 
 erection, under Washington, handed me a thick letter, 
 telling me gruffly that there was only a cent to pay, 
 as it was a drop letter, or one put into the office at 
 the town, the only one, he went on to say, in a 
 
172 WENSLEY. 
 
 tone of injured innocence, that had been put in for 
 more than a year. He guessed it was a love-letter. 
 
 As I had no reason, that I knew of, for sharing in 
 this conjecture, I opened the envelope as I went 
 along, and, to my surprise, found that it contained a 
 letter addressed to Ann Petchell, my cousin Eleanor s 
 femme de chambre. A few lines were written inside 
 the envelope, asking me to do the writer the favor to 
 deliver the enclosure to Ann Petchell herself, as it 
 was a matter of importance to her ; but without signa 
 ture, and in a hand that I did not know. I could not 
 imagine what it meant ; and concluded at last that old 
 Kimball, the postmaster, was probably not far wrong, 
 and that the document must be neither more nor less 
 than a love-letter. I was not over well pleased with 
 being made thus the go-between of a waiting maid, 
 and marvelled at the impudence of her correspondent. 
 And it occurred to me further, that if Miss Petchell 
 were involved in an amorous correspondence, such as 
 I supposed this to be, she was not altogether what 
 Eleanor took her for, and perhaps not precisely the 
 person she would choose to have about her if she 
 knew the fact. So I determined that I would let 
 her or her father know the circumstance, before I 
 performed my part of Mercury to Petchell. 
 
 I had an opportunity speedily afforded me ; for, as 
 I was approaching the gate, which admitted you 
 into the grounds from the high road, I met Colonel 
 Allerton, who was coining down the road from the 
 opposite direction. We turned into the sweep 
 
IN WHICH THE CALDRON BEGINS TO SIMMER. 173 
 
 together, and, as we walked along the hard gravel, he 
 said to me, 
 
 " I see you have an unopened letter in your hand. 
 Do not refrain from reading it on my account. You 
 are at the happy age when a letter is a pleasure. 
 Don t delay yours." 
 
 " I am much obliged to you, sir," I answered, 
 laughing ; " and I should like particularly well to 
 read this particular letter. But, unluckily, it does 
 not belong to me." 
 
 " Indeed ! " he replied. " Is it for me, or Eleanor ? " 
 holding out his hand for it. 
 
 " It is for one of your family, sir," said I ; " but 
 for neither you nor my cousin Eleanor. It is for 
 Miss Ann Petchell." And I told him the odd way 
 in which it came into my possession. 
 
 " Let me see it, if you please," said he. " I see no 
 reason why you should be troubled with her letters. 
 This is odd," he went on to himself, closely scru 
 tinizing the handwriting ; " this is very odd indeed. 
 What can it mean ? " 
 
 We were now at the door ; and we forthwith pro 
 ceeded to his library, where we found Eleanor seated 
 by her father s fire, which a little chilliness and damp 
 ness, incident to our hottest summers, made by no 
 means unsatisfactory. While we were exchanging sal 
 utations and inquiries the Colonel rang the bell, which 
 was answered by Mrs. Warner, the housekeeper. 
 
 " Send Petchell here directly," said he. " I wish to 
 see her." 
 
174 WEXSLEY. 
 
 " Petchell ! " said Eleanor, looking at him and then 
 at me in surprise, " Petchell ! " 
 
 But there was no time for explanation ; for the 
 door opened, and that handmaiden entered, courtesy- 
 ingly and simperingly ; but still with a look of some 
 alarm on her features at being so suddenly sent for 
 by the Colonel, who, though a kind and considerate 
 master, was a strict martinet in his family, and the 
 whole corps domestigue held him in reverential awe. 
 
 " Petchell, here s a letter for you/ said he, abruptly, 
 holding it out to her. 
 
 She courtesied, as she took it, with a glance first at 
 the letter, and then at her young lady, and was about 
 to leave the room. 
 
 " Stop, if you please," said the Colonel, in an au 
 thoritative tone ; " if you have no objection, I wish 
 you to open and read the letter here. I wish to 
 know, if it be not a secret, how you come to be re 
 ceiving letters from Mr. Ferguson, and why they 
 should come under cover to Mr. Osborne." 
 
 Eleanor, on hearing this, gave me a half-reproach 
 ful glance, which made me fear that I had made some 
 terrible blunder, though I could not divine what ; and 
 Petchell looked as if she should like to tear iny eyes 
 out. However, there was no help for her ; so she 
 hastened to open the letter, with what show of in 
 difference she could muster. Her fingers trembled, 
 however, in the agitation she obviously felt; and, 
 before she could prevent it, a letter dropped out of 
 her enclosure, and fell on the floor. Colonel Allerton, 
 
IN WHICH THE CALDRON BEGINS TO SIMMER. 175 
 
 with the activity of six-and-twenty, instantly picked 
 it up, and, after glancing at the direction, said to 
 Petchell, 
 
 "This is enough. It is all I want of you at 
 present. You may go now." 
 
 And she went, apparently nothing loath. 
 
 Turning then to Eleanor, he said, handing her the 
 letter, " I did not expect to find you in correspond 
 ence with Ferguson, I must confess. And I am still 
 more at a loss to conceive why it should be carried 
 on clandestinely. You did not use to be on such 
 terms with him." 
 
 " It is all on his side, papa, now," said Eleanor, 
 paler than ever, but evidently in strong perturbation ; 
 " I assure you it is. I have no wish to be on any 
 terms at all with him. Whatever communications 
 he has had with me he has intruded upon me against 
 my will." 
 
 " I am sorry," he replied, " that you will still per 
 sist in thinking so ill of him. But I cannot imagine 
 why he should annoy you, after what has passed, as 
 you say he has, and still less why he should take this 
 indirect way of doing it. It is not like him." 
 
 " Not like him ! papa ! " exclaimed Eleanor, 
 lifting up her hands with an expression of impatience 
 and vexation. 
 
 "Certainly not," replied her father. "He was 
 always open and candid in his intercourse with us 
 at home ; and we are certainly under great obliga 
 tions to him." 
 
176 WENSLEY. 
 
 Eleanor made a deprecating gesture of dissent. 
 
 " Why," he went on, " you know he told us of 
 the blundering -folly of" he stopped, with a 
 glance at me, and then went on without mentioning 
 any name " and did his best to counteract it." 
 
 I thought that it was about time for me to make a 
 move to retire ; as this seemed to be a scene, how 
 ever interesting, which had better have only the 
 actors for audience. But Eleanor went on without 
 minding me. 
 
 "Perhaps we were too hasty in believing him. 
 I thought better, or not so ill, of him at that time; 
 but I would not have believed his story then, had 
 it not been made likely by the circumstances he 
 brought to our knowledge." 
 
 " Perhaps, my dear," said the Colonel, very polite 
 ly, but a trifle provokingly, " you would have been 
 less incredulous had the offender been any one 
 besides Mr. Markham." 
 
 If blood was ever eloquent, as we are told it 
 sometimes is, that in Eleanor s cheeks made a very 
 fine speech on this occasion, and one that gave me 
 an odd sensation, which I had never felt before, nor 
 have I since, at least in the same degree. She paused 
 a 1 moment, and then said, very quietly, 
 
 " I think, papa, it would have made no difference. 
 You certainly know that it did not, as it was." 
 
 " I beg your pardon, my love," replied her father, 
 caressing her head with his hand. " I was wrong in 
 saying what I did. But you know it provokes me to 
 
IN WHICH THE CALDRON BEGINS TO SIMMER. 177 
 
 have you so unjust to Ferguson. He could have 
 none but friendly motives in coming to this country 
 at this time ; for his own affairs might have waited a 
 year or two. But he came now that he might be of 
 service possibly to us. And this after what had 
 passed between you." 
 
 Eleanor shook her head, as if she received none 
 of this doctrine. The Colonel went on : 
 
 " But how long have you known that he was in 
 America ? Knowing your feelings towards him, I 
 did not think it necessary to say anything about 
 it to you." 
 
 " I imagine," she replied, " that I knew of it 
 nearly as soon as you, if not sooner. I have known 
 it these six months." 
 
 " These six months ! " exclaimed her father ; " and 
 never mentioned it to me ! That is strange. But 
 have you ever seen him ? " 
 
 " Only once," she answered, looking at me. " It 
 was the day that I sent you word of my getting 
 into the river. I meant that it should bring you 
 home ; and I did intend to tell you that it w r as he 
 that helped me out. But I changed my mind, and 
 Cousin Frank here had to bear all the credit of it." 
 
 "I cannot conceive why you should have con 
 cealed this from me," he replied, in a tone of some 
 displeasure. "I am not too proud to be grateful 
 for a good office, if you are." 
 
 " I could w T ell have dispensed with the service," 
 she replied ; " for Cousin Frank here can tell you 
 12 
 
178 WENSLEY. 
 
 that the danger was nothing, and that, if it had been 
 anything, he was sufficient to the emergency." 
 
 I cordially confirmed her statement in its entirety ; 
 for I well remembered wishing the fishing-boots at a 
 considerable distance, and in a much warmer place 
 than the Quasheen, though that was not very cold 
 that afternoon. 
 
 " You see, sir," she proceeded, " that there was no 
 great call for gratitude in the case ; and I certainly 
 felt none whatever." 
 
 " Eleanor, Eleanor," he repeated, " I do not under 
 stand you. You are a changed creature. I cannot 
 make you out this morning." 
 
 He rose from the sofa where he was sitting and 
 took a turn or two up and down the room. Then, 
 stopping short before her chair, he said, somewhat 
 sternly, 
 
 " And perhaps you intend to keep me equally in 
 the dark as to the nature of your communications 
 with him. I suppose they must have related to my 
 affairs. They were not likely to have been anything 
 improper for me to know," with a suspicion of a 
 frown on his brow; "but I do not wish to intrude 
 myself into your confidence, nor into that of Mr. 
 Ferguson." 
 
 "Dear papa," said Eleanor, earnestly, "do not re 
 proach me so. What real secret can I ever have 
 from you ? I may have done wrong in not telling 
 you all about it at once; but I thought I was spar 
 ing you from pain, perhaps from danger, by saying 
 
IN WHICH THE CALDRON BEGINS TO SIMMER. 179 
 
 nothing for the present. Indeed, I meant to tell you 
 all in time." 
 
 " Well, well, my dear," he answered kindly, for, 
 though quick of temper, he was the most placable 
 of men, " I dare say you can explain it all. I have 
 never thought you wrong yet, and I shall be slow 
 to begin now." 
 
 The explanation I understood to be adjourned only 
 till I was out of the way; and I was accordingly 
 about to make another demonstration of departure, 
 when Colonel Allerton said, before I could rise, 
 
 "But, Eleanor, you have not read yet the letter 
 of which Osborne here was the courier. I dare say 
 it has nothing in it which he may not see. He 
 ought certainly to be paid postman s wages; and 
 perhaps he will be content to take it out in kind. 
 Had you not better see what it says ? " 
 
 Eleanor looked up suddenly from the carpet at 
 which she had been gazing, and, glancing first at 
 her father, and next at me, and last of all at the 
 letter, which had lain in her lap all this while, she 
 took it up and opened it. After running her eye 
 over it she handed it to her father, who read it out, 
 to this effect : 
 
 " It is essential that I should have the interview 
 with you I have so long solicited. It cannot be de 
 layed, and it must be had. I have that to say which 
 is of vital importance to you, and if it be of greater 
 weight with you to your father. Time presses with 
 me ; and the interview I solicit must be at noon this 
 
180 WENSLEY. 
 
 day, or not at all. I will be at the Sachem s Seat at 
 precisely twelve. If you object to coming alone, you 
 can bring your maid with you, or the lad (lad indeed !) 
 1 saw with you when we met, who I understand is 
 your cousin if he be discreet." 
 
 " I cannot conceive," said the Colonel, studying 
 the note closely, as if to extract its hidden meaning, 
 " what Ferguson can have to say to you about me 
 or yourself that he might not just as well certainly 
 say to me in person. However, my dear, I should 
 not be afraid to make you my plenipotentiary; and 
 I think he would not make this request without 
 some reasonable motive. So you had better get 
 your bonnet, and take Frank s arm, since he is per 
 mitted to share in this mystery, and make haste ; 
 for," he added, looking at his watch, " it wants but 
 a quarter to the try sting hour." 
 
 While Eleanor was gone for this purpose, he went 
 on to me, " So you have seen Mr. Ferguson, it seems." 
 
 " Yes, sir," I answered. " I saw him for a moment 
 on the afternoon when he drew my cousin out of the 
 water, as she has told you. Indeed," I added, recol 
 lecting myself, " I did see him for a literal moment, 
 when I was in Boston, on the top of the New York 
 coach." 
 
 " Ah, yes," he replied ; " I knew he had been at 
 the South. I did not know he had returned until 
 this morning. Did not you think him a handsome 
 young fellow ? " 
 
 Handsome ! I thought him as ugly a monster as 
 
IN WHICH THE CALDRON BEGINS TO SIMMER. 181 
 
 I had ever seen. And young ! Why, the wretch 
 could not have been less than five and thirty. But 
 seventy and nineteen have different eyes for such 
 things. I did not trust myself to speak, and only 
 made a bow oracularly enigmatical. He went on, 
 without waiting for further answer : 
 
 "You may have inferred from what has passed this 
 morning that there have been some former dealings 
 between him and us. Indeed, I may say to you in 
 confidence, as one of the family (I made a bow here 
 of unequivocal gratitude), that he was an old admirer 
 of hers (old enough, I parenthesized to myself) in 
 England. Had she liked him, I should have been 
 well pleased ; for I did. But, as she did not, there 
 was nothing to be said. She has a rooted dislike 
 to him, apparently, which I cannot understand ; but, 
 right or wrong, it is something to be considered in 
 the matter of marriage." 
 
 " I must say, sir," I put in, "that it seems to me 
 that my Cousin Eleanor is the last person in the 
 world to form an unreasonable prejudice. She is 
 candor and sweetness personified." 
 
 " She is a good girl, sir, a good girl," he resumed ; 
 " but the best of them take the bit between their 
 teeth sometimes. And then there s nothing to be 
 done but to give them their head. If they re good 
 blood, they 11 bring up safe enough when they ve 
 had their fling. But here she comes ; and it is high 
 time you were off." 
 
 We accordingly passed out at what Lord Castle- 
 
182 WENSLEY. 
 
 reagh might Lave called " the back-front " door, 
 which let us out in the direction of the avenue 
 celebrated in the last chapter. We paced again 
 down the length of the walk, and then left it by 
 a path through a belt of trees skirting round the 
 clearing, which connected it with the aboriginal for 
 est, or what remained of it. At no great distance 
 within the wood, but still far enough to be out of 
 the reach of interruption or eavesdropping, was a 
 small opening, of less than a quarter of an acre in 
 extent, either natural or of a very old formation, as 
 there was no trace of stumps or roots among the 
 short, soft grass. It was believed to have been 
 made by the Indians; and a large stone, which had 
 something the look of having been rudely shaped 
 into a sort of chair, was called the Sachem s Seat. 
 
 Tradition said that this was the sacred stone on 
 which the great King Miantowusett, so formidable to 
 the Puritans before King Philip s days, used to sit 
 and rule his tribe. I can only say that, if he were of 
 like passions with other men, his majesty must, like 
 many another sovereign, have sat uneasily upon his 
 throne. Eleanor said nothing to me during our walk. 
 To be sure, it was soon over; for we walked fast. 
 But she seemed to be absorbed in the anticipation of 
 what was before her ; and the only sign she gave of 
 being conscious of my presence was the way in which 
 she rather grasped than leaned on my arm, as if it 
 were done rather to steady her mind than to support 
 her steps. 
 
IN WHICH THE CALDRON BEGINS TO SIMMER. 183 
 
 When we entered the cleared space we found 
 Ferguson walking up and down its narrow diameter, 
 holding his watch in his hand. When he saw us he 
 returned it to his pocket and saluted us, or rather 
 Eleanor, with a politeness which was rather punctili 
 ous than easy. She made as slight an acknowledg 
 ment of his bow as could be and be any at all; while 
 I unglued my hat from my head just as much 
 as I thought my share of his courtesy demanded. 
 Eleanor dropped my arm, and advancing by her 
 self, sat down upon the Seat of the Sachem as Portia 
 might have assumed the judgment- seat, had it been 
 hers of right. 
 
 I admired the spirit and grace of the movement, 
 while I thought I understood its motive. She was 
 resolved, at at all events, to have the firm support of 
 this seat before she suffered herself to be subjected to 
 the agitation or provocation of what this man had to 
 say. I dropped modestly back towards the alley by 
 which we had come in, and left the stage to the two 
 performers. Ferguson took a stride or two more on 
 the greensward ; while Eleanor said, as calmly and 
 coldly as if a statue had spoken, 
 
 " I am here, sir. What may your pleasure be with 
 me ? " 
 
 " My pleasure is," said he, pausing in his walk and 
 turning towards her, "my pleasure is to do you 
 good, if you will let me." 
 
 She answered only by the haughtiest inclination of 
 her head, which spoke more of scorn than of gratitude. 
 
184 WENSLEY. 
 
 " You think, perhaps," he went on, eyeing her with 
 no amiable expression of face, " you think, perhaps, 
 madam, that I offer more than I can perform, when I 
 say I wish to do you good." 
 
 " If I can put any faith in the letters with which 
 you have annoyed me for so long," she replied, "I 
 must suppose that you can do me some hurt, though 
 you have not been pleased as yet to indicate how or 
 why." 
 
 " And if that be true," he returned, " even in the 
 offensive sense in which you choose to take my wish 
 to serve you, is not the refraining from doing a hurt 
 sometimes a positive good ? " 
 
 " I did not come here, sir," she replied, " to enter 
 into any discussion with you, or to hold any conver 
 sation not essential to the business, whatever it may 
 be, which has made you call me to this place. If 
 you have anything to say to any purpose I will listen 
 to you ; otherwise I will return as I came." 
 
 "Eleanor Miss Allerton," he went on, after a 
 pause, in a softened tone, "you know that I have 
 had but one motive in following you to America 
 but one in seeking you here. I do not pretend to 
 the romantic folly of seeking your happiness apart 
 from mine. I hope to deserve my own by securing 
 yours. Is there no service that can purchase hope ? 
 I ask no more as yet." 
 
 " I thought, sir," she replied with a coldness which 
 might have frozen quicksilver, "I thought, sir, that 
 all this was at an end long ago. If I have ever done 
 
IN WHICH THE CALDRON BEGINS TO SIMMER. 185 
 
 anything to make you think that fresh importunity 
 would make me think better of what I said when we 
 parted in England, it has been my misfortune, and 
 not my design. I never give hopes, sir, which I do 
 not mean to fulfil." 
 
 She made a motion as if about to rise and retire ; 
 but Ferguson made a restraining gesture and said, 
 
 " You have, indeed, done nothing to give me heart ; 
 but perhaps others have. Circumstances may have 
 happened which may alter even your resolution. 
 Your father " 
 
 " My father ! " she interrupted. " You do not pre 
 sume to say that you sought this interview with his 
 knowledge ? " 
 
 " Oh, no indeed," he replied ; " he knows nothing of 
 it. I did not choose he should at present, or I should 
 not have communicated secretly with you, as I have 
 done. You know he would have made me welcome 
 to his house, if I had seen fit to come openly." 
 
 She bowed an unwilling sort of assent and said, 
 " What of him, then, sir ? " 
 
 " He is a gentleman of a distinguished position, of 
 an honorable name, of unblemished honor, of a large 
 estate." 
 
 "Well, sir," said Eleanor, somewhat anxiously, 
 " what of it ? I believe none of these things have 
 ever been disputed." 
 
 " Perhaps not," he answered, fixing his eye, which 
 was generally looking down, on hers, as if by an 
 effort. "Certainly not. But you know that there 
 
186 WEXSLEY. 
 
 have been men as happy as he in all these particulars 
 who have lost them all." 
 
 "No doubt there have been many," said Eleanor, 
 suppressing an intense interest as well as she might. 
 " But what is that to me or to my father ? " 
 
 "Suppose his entire estate in England were lost 
 and confiscated." 
 
 "Well!" said Eleanor, growing almost breathless 
 as he proceeded. 
 
 " Suppose his honor were blasted, his place among 
 men obliterated, and his name infamous." 
 
 "Well!" 
 
 " Suppose him condemned to drag out his life in 
 poverty and disgrace, an exile from his country, from 
 which he is shut out by the absolute certainty, if he 
 returned, of dying the death of a forger ? " 
 
 " Well ! " in a low voice, and pale as ashes. 
 
 " And then suppose one, who can bring all this 
 down upon the father, lays his power at the daugh 
 ter s feet, and seeks, as his chiefest good, to identify 
 himself with the life, honor, and prosperity of the 
 one, and to devote himself to the happiness of the 
 other." 
 
 " And this was what you have been hinting to me 
 through the letters you have forced upon me," said 
 Eleanor, her color returning, and her eyes kindling 
 with some strong emotion or other. 
 
 " Precisely this," he answered ; " though I was not 
 prepared till now I did not see fit to tell you 
 the exact truth." 
 
IN WHICH THE CALDRON BEGINS TO SIMMER. 187 
 
 " The exact truth ! " she exclaimed in a tone of the 
 most derisive unbelief. " Had you told me all this 
 at first, you would have spared me some anxious fears 
 which your black suggestions conjured up. I thank 
 you for relieving me of them all." 
 
 And she rose with a deal of scorn, looking beautiful 
 " in the contempt and anger of her lip/ and was mov 
 ing towards me, when Ferguson laid a detaining hand 
 upon her arm, which she shook off as if it had been 
 some crawling reptile. 
 
 " Stay a moment," said he. " I do not blame you 
 for rejecting what I say at the first hearing. It would 
 be strange indeed if you did not. But do you sup 
 pose I would commit myself in this way if I had not 
 facts and evidence behind me ? I do not ask for my 
 reward till I have established my claim by indispu 
 table proof of the service." 
 
 " Service ! reward ! facts ! " ejaculated Eleanor, as if 
 she could not quite put her thoughts in order. But 
 presently she said, very collectedly, " And I can pur 
 chase exemption for myself and for my father from 
 all this misery by taking you as my husband ? " 
 
 " Not purchase exemption," he replied ; " but re 
 ward fidelity and devoted service." 
 
 " Fidelity ! " she exclaimed, starting up from the 
 stone on which she had seated herself again. " And 
 if I reject your offer, you will let it loose upon our 
 heads ? Am I to understand that to be the alterna 
 tive ? " 
 
 " I believe it to be inevitable as death," said he in 
 
188 WENSLEY. 
 
 reply. " Your fate and your father s is in your hands. 
 It lies with you to decide whether it shall be life or 
 death, honor or infamy. And you must decide at 
 once." 
 
 " It will not take me long," said she, her eyes flash 
 ing, and her voice tremulous with anger. " I give no 
 credence to what you say. I believe you capable of 
 any villany, of contriving any plot, to compass any 
 end you have in view. But do you suppose I will 
 believe my father capable of what you charge him 
 with ? And even were he " 
 
 " Had you not better wait," interrupted Ferguson, 
 " until you know, whether capable of it or not, what 
 the case against him is ? " 
 
 " The case ! " she exclaimed, stamping her little 
 foot. "I care nothing for your case! You have 
 proved yourself a villain by the proposal you have 
 made me ; and I am sure my father would sooner die 
 on as you say, than suffer me to purchase his life 
 so infamously." 
 
 He looked as black as midnight, and scowled at 
 her as he said between his teeth, "You reject my 
 offer, then ? " 
 
 " Eeject it ! " she said, with a look of utter loath 
 ing. " I spurn it ! I trample on it ! I spit upon it!" 
 
 " Then take the consequences ! " he said struggling 
 against a furious passion. " The ruin of your father, 
 which you might have prevented, be on your head ! 
 And perhaps," he added, after a pause, in a quieter 
 tone, but one steeped in malignity, "perhaps the 
 
IN WHICH THE CALDRON BEGINS TO SIMMER. 189 
 
 world will believe other rumors touching other per 
 sons. I have helped suppress them. Perhaps it will 
 be impossible any longer. Mr. Markham has been 
 seen in this neighborhood, I believe." 
 
 Eleanor blushed deeply with just anger at this 
 insolence ; and I stepped forward and said, 
 
 " Sir, I accompanied this young lady hither by her 
 request and for her protection. You will repeat your 
 impertinence at your peril ! " 
 
 " At my peril, you monkey ! " he thundered out in a 
 towering passion, which he was glad to vent upon 
 somebody ; and he advanced upon me with uplifted 
 hand. I was but a mouthful to him; but I hap 
 pened to take up, mechanically, as I came out with 
 Eleanor, the cane which I usually carried. It had a 
 blade in it, as college canes were very apt, foolishly 
 enough, to have in those days. I drew it in an in 
 stant, and shortening it as he approached, exclaimed, 
 
 " Lay a finger upon me, sir, and by , it will be 
 
 the last mischief you will do ! " 
 
 Perhaps my eye was a little wicked ; but at all 
 events, he stayed his hand a moment, while Eleanor 
 screamed aloud and was rushing between us, when 
 we were all brought to our bearings by a quick rus 
 tling among the branches behind me, instantly fol- 
 owed by Colonel Allertori s voice of command. 
 
 " What s this ? " he said sternly to me. " Put up 
 that gimcrack, sir. What in God s name is the mean 
 ing of this disturbance ? " looking first at one and 
 then at the other. 
 
190 WENSLEY. 
 
 " It means, sir," said I, " as far as I am concerned, 
 that that rascal there (perhaps the noun was qualified 
 by an expletive now better far removed ) insulted 
 Miss Allerton, and when I interfered he offered to 
 strike me ; and I was only giving him to understand 
 that he would n t do it more than once." 
 
 " Ferguson ! Eleanor ! " he said, in a great amaze 
 ment. " What is the meaning of this ? Eleanor, is 
 it true that he insulted you ? Frank must be beside 
 himself." 
 
 " Insulted me ! Yes, indeed, sir," said she, " and 
 you too." 
 
 " Me ? Impossible S" cried the father. " In what 
 way, pray ? " 
 
 " Miss Eleanor," Ferguson put in, as if to give her 
 time to reflect and withhold her communication, " re 
 gards the renewal of my unfortunate addresses as an 
 insult to her and you. But I hope, sir, you may not 
 regard it so seriously when you know my motives for 
 my presumption." 
 
 " Don t believe him, papa ! " cried Eleanor. " He 
 is a liar, and the truth is not in him. What do you 
 think," she continued, going up to him, and resting 
 her hand on his shoulder, and looking up into his face, 
 "what do you think this wretch has been saying 
 about you ? that you had committed some horrid 
 crime, forgery, I believe, and that it depends on 
 him to save you or to " and she burst into tears 
 on his shoulder. 
 
 "Yes," said I; "and the price of his silence, of 
 
IN WHICH THE CALDRON BEGINS TO SIMMER. 191 
 
 your life, I believe, was to be Eleanor s hand in 
 marriage." 
 
 " Ferguson, are you mad ? " said Colonel Allerton 
 to him. " Can you have said these things ? " 
 
 " Mad ! " cried Ferguson, who did seem nearly be 
 side himself with rage and disappointment. " Mad 
 indeed ! Well for you if I were ! Can I have said 
 these things ? I have said them, and they are TRUE!" 
 
 " True ! " exclaimed the Colonel. " Mr. Ferguson, 
 you know such charges as these must be brought to a 
 strict account." 
 
 " Strict enough, sir/ replied Ferguson with a dev 
 ilish sneer: "you may be assured of that. But it 
 must be by twelve men, and not by twelve paces. 
 Satisfaction, sir, is the due of a gentleman, and not a 
 FELON." 
 
 " Scoundrel ! " cried the Colonel ; and, shaking off 
 Eleanor, he snatched my blade, still unsheathed, and 
 made a step towards the other. Eleanor clung again 
 to his arm, and I stepped between them ; while Fer 
 guson said, laughing loudly, 
 
 " Come on, by all means, sir. Add murder to your 
 other crimes. A man can be hanged but once ! " 
 
 " Tush ! " cried Colonel Allerton, tossing down his 
 weapon. "I meant nothing, Eleanor, my girl. It 
 was an involuntary movement. Let the rascal go. 
 I would n t touch him." 
 
 " I humbly thank you, sir," cried Ferguson, taking 
 off his hat, and making a mock bow to the party, with 
 eyes full of hatred and malice ; " and, since I have 
 
192 WENSLEY. 
 
 your gracious permission, I will go, as I have business 
 elsewhere. Good-morning." 
 
 And, turning round, he stooped under the branches 
 of the trees in the side opposite to the entrance on 
 our side, and disappeared. As we stood looking after 
 him, we could hear him crashing his way through the 
 undergrowth and the interlacing boughs of the forest. 
 
CHAPTER XI. 
 
 IN WHICH WILL BE FOUND WHAT CAME NEXT. 
 
 T T 7E stood in silence for a moment after Ferguson 
 * * disappeared under the branches. I scarcely 
 knew which way to look ; but, without knowing it, I 
 found myself glancing out of the corner of my eye at 
 Eleanor, who had remained standing during all the 
 last part of this singular scene. She stood gazing 
 earnestly at her father, whose eyes were not yet with 
 drawn from the place where Ferguson had vanished, 
 with an expression upon his face in which a towering 
 passion seemed to contend with an extreme astonish 
 ment. Presently, however, as if controlling himself 
 by a strong effort, he turned to Eleanor, and taking 
 her arm under his, without saying anything, hastily 
 proceeded to the avenue, and thus on to the house. 
 I followed at a proper distance, so that they might 
 have spoken together, had they chosen to do so, with 
 out fear of being overheard by me. But they made 
 no use of the opportunity, both appearing to be ab 
 sorbed in their own thoughts ; or, rather, the father 
 seemed plunged in a moody cloud of meditation, while 
 the daughter was anxiously considering him and his 
 conditions. Though she stepped firmly, and kept pace 
 13 
 
194 WEXSLEY. 
 
 with her father in his hurried walk, I could see that 
 her arm trembled upon his, and that she was trying, 
 as she had opportunity, to get an unsuspected glance 
 at his face. 
 
 That I felt a profound curiosity, as well as interest, 
 about what I had seen, need not be said ; though I 
 could not help feeling that my presence, although 
 fairly and honestly brought about, might be intru 
 sive and unwelcome. So I was meditating a sudden 
 and secret retreat as soon as we approached the 
 house, thinking, that, as my room might be better 
 than my company, it was very likely my compan 
 ions would not notice my sudden substitution of the 
 one for the other. Just as they entered the house, 
 however, through which it was necessary for me to 
 pass to make a dignified retreat, Eleanor said a few 
 words to her father, with a glance at me over her 
 shoulder. I pretended to drop my cane, and lingered 
 behind so as to leave them free to say what they 
 liked about me ; when Colonel Allerton stopped, and, 
 turning round to me, said, 
 
 " Frank, step into my room, if you can spare the 
 time. I should like to have your advice in a matter 
 of some importance." 
 
 I felt greatly flattered, of course, and looked on 
 myself as promoted to be a middle-aged man at a 
 jump, or at least as having received the brevet 
 rank of five and twenty. I passed on through the 
 hall, and went into the library, the father and daugh 
 ter remaining in conference near the hall-door, while 
 
IN WHICH WILL BE FOUND WHAT CAME NEXT. 195 
 
 I seated myself before the fire that was never quenched, 
 and gazed up at the white wig, rubicund face, and 
 wild, protuberant eyes of his late Majesty, who re 
 turned my look with a half-frantic expression not 
 altogether out of keeping with the queer doings of 
 the last hour. Presently I heard Eleanor s step as 
 cending the stairs, and immediately afterwards that 
 of her father approaching the door of the library. I 
 rose as he entered ; but he made me a sign to take 
 my seat again, and then walked two or three times 
 up and down the room in silent thought. Then seat 
 ing himself on the sofa, which made an angle of 
 some sort (I never was much of a mathematician) 
 with the fireplace, he turned to me with the cordial, 
 confiding air which marked his manner, whatever 
 might have been the reserve it covered, if Mr. Bulk- 
 ley s theory was right, and began, 
 
 " Well, Frank, you will have a lively scene to 
 describe in your next letter to the Deipnosophoi. 
 Quite a godsend to your journal, by Jove ! \ r ou 
 could hardly have hoped for anything so animating 
 in such an out-of-the-way corner of the world as this. 
 I am sure I little thought what was coming when I 
 walked down the avenue to meet you as you came 
 back, and to make Ferguson come along with you." 
 
 " I will not deny, sir," I replied, " that I have 
 been deeply interested in what I have seen this morn 
 ing, and in what has come under my notice before as 
 to this Mr. Ferguson, if that be his name ; but I beg 
 to assure you that nothing I have seen or heard will 
 
196 WENSLEY. 
 
 ever be told to any living soul, unless it be the wish 
 of my Cousin Eleanor and yourself that the facts I 
 have been witness to should be truly stated at some 
 future time." 
 
 " Thank you, thank you ! " he answered. "I believe 
 you to be a discreet lad. And perhaps it may be as 
 well not to make this adventure a topic of gossip just 
 yet. It is quite likely it may become such, however ; 
 and in such case I am quite willing to leave your tes 
 timony in your own keeping, to be used or withheld 
 at your own discretion. And I am sure Eleanor would 
 feel the same. She has a high opinion of you, Frank, 
 my boy ; though the little accident by which you 
 were brought into Parson Bulkley s keeping did not 
 argue vehemently in favor of your prudence and 
 steadiness of character at first." 
 
 I blushed to the very soles of my boots to hear 
 this opinion of Eleanor in my favor ; though, had I 
 known as much as I do now, (the more s the pity !) I 
 should have known that prudence and discretion are 
 not always the best recommendations of a man to a 
 woman. Luckily for me, however, these virtues have 
 not always been so inconveniently preponderant as to 
 stand materially in my way. 
 
 "I am much obliged to my Cousin Eleanor and 
 to you, sir," I said, half laughing, at the conclusion 
 of his speech, " for your good opinion of me. I am 
 sure that I shall always look on the accident you 
 speak of as one of the luckiest things that ever could 
 happen to me ; as, without it, I should have never 
 
IN WHICH WILL BE FOUND WHAT CAME NEXT. 197 
 
 known you, or her, or Mr. Bulkley. I do not pretend 
 to be wise above my fellows ; but I have sense enough 
 to know the value of such friends as you all have 
 shown yourselves." 
 
 " I thank you for our share of the compliment," 
 said the Colonel, "and the rather, considering the 
 character which you have just heard an older ac 
 quaintance than yourself bestow upon me, and the 
 fate he was obliging enough to suggest as my due." 
 
 " His may be an older acquaintanceship than mine, 
 sir," I replied ; " but I know that mine is the better 
 of the two ; for it is enough to make me laugh at 
 any such ebullition of spleen as that." 
 
 " I was taken by surprise this morning, myself," 
 he resumed, " and was nearly as much astonished as 
 you could have been at what Ferguson said. I have 
 always thought well of him, and, had Eleanor fancied 
 him, I should have been very well content to have 
 had it a match. But she seems to have known him 
 better than I did. By Jove ! these women have an 
 instinct which is a surer protection to them than 
 the knowledge of the world we men brag so much 
 of." 
 
 " She certainly had an escape, sir," I interpolated, 
 as he paused ; " for he must be a precious scoundrel, 
 besides having a devil of a temper." 
 
 " You are right undoubtedly," he went on ; " though 
 I was not clear-sighted enough to read him so. I 
 thought him a sincere friend in the vexation in which 
 I was involved through your friend Markham s etour- 
 
198 WKNSLEY. 
 
 derie ; and I liked him all the better for it, because he 
 was a rejected admirer of Eleanor s. But no doubt, 
 as I always supposed indeed, he hoped thus to rec 
 ommend himself to her." 
 
 He paused, and, as I knew nothing of the circum 
 stances of which he spoke, I had nothing to say, 
 excepting a confused observation to the effect that he 
 would have been a fool, as well as a rogue, if he had 
 failed to do his endeavor in such a cause. But the 
 Colonel did not heed what I stammered out, but went 
 on as if no break had taken place in the chain of his 
 ideas. 
 
 " However that may be," he continued, " there is no 
 doubt now as to his villany ; and I only wish that I 
 knew the extent of it. Angry as he was, and carried 
 by his passion beyond his self-control, he bad some 
 meaning in what he said. It was miching malicho, 
 as Hamlet says, and meant mischief. I dare say he 
 would give his ears (I wish to God they were nailed 
 to the pillory, as they deserve to be ! ) that he had 
 kept his tongue between his teeth. But, as he was 
 surprised out of what he did not mean to say, I must 
 make my advantage of it. And the first thing I must 
 do is to get back to England as soon as I can to 
 confront his charges ; for I have no doubt that he is 
 already on his way thither to make them, whatever 
 they may be." 
 
 " To England, dear papa ! " said Eleanor, who 
 entered by the door behind him as he was uttering 
 the last sentence ; and she laid her hand caressingly 
 
IN WHICH WILL BE FOUND WHAT CAME NEXT. 199 
 
 on his shoulder. " To England ! And why to Eng 
 land ? " 
 
 " Because, my love," he replied, taking her hand in 
 his as he spoke, " because it is there I must be 
 hanged, if Mr. Ferguson be a true prophet. I really 
 don t recollect having done anything worthy of death 
 since I came to America. Ferguson is not a fool ; 
 and he did not talk in the way he did, though he was 
 in a passion, without some vicious meaning or other. 
 He has some design, and it must be put into execution 
 in England ; and there I must be to counteract it." 
 
 She passed round the corner of the sofa where he 
 sat, still holding his hand, and seated herself by his 
 side. 
 
 " No, no, dear papa ! " she said, in a voice full of 
 tender emotion: "do not put yourself within the 
 reach of that villain. You do not know his ability in 
 wickedness. You will find it more than a match 
 for your innocence and the simple honesty of your 
 way of dealing. Pray, do not go ! Stay here with 
 me!" 
 
 " What ! my dear," he said to her half reproachfully, 
 but all tenderly, " you surely would not have me stay 
 here, and admit by default whatever slanders he may 
 have concocted ? That is not like my Eleanor. For 
 my own part, I had rather mount the drop at Newgate 
 next Monday morning than live under such an im 
 putation. I will at least show my own confidence 
 in my innocence, whatever happens. But you shall 
 remain here until the whole thing is settled." 
 
200 WENSLEY. 
 
 "I remain here!" she exclaimed, her eyes filling 
 with tears, which she hastily brushed off her long 
 lashes before they fell, "I remain here, papa, while 
 you go to difficulty, if not to danger ! That \vould be 
 like ine, indeed ! You know that I was not thinking 
 of myself. But I have a dread of this man s power 
 of mischief which I cannot help. He has haunted 
 me for more than two years ; and I am afraid of 
 him, I confess. If we are beyond his reach here, for 
 God s sake, sir, let us stay here till he is out of our 
 way." 
 
 " For more than two years, Eleanor ! " said her 
 father in a tone of surprise. " What do you mean, 
 my dear ? How comes it that I have never heard of 
 this before ? " 
 
 Eleanor blushed deeply, and, looking divinely 
 downwards, said, after a moment s pause, " I could 
 not tell you, papa : indeed I could not. I could not 
 trust you ; for the man " She paused a moment, 
 and then added, as if witli pain and difficulty, " The 
 man insulted me. And " 
 
 " Insulted you ! " exclaimed her father, starting up, 
 with a deeper imprecation than I had ever heard come 
 from his polished lips. " Why did you not tell me of 
 this on the instant ? But it is not too late to overtake 
 him yet." And he had his hand upon the bell-pull, 
 when Eleanor seized his arm, exclaiming, 
 
 " Dearest papa, this man is not worth your anger : 
 he is beneath your resentment. What, what, are you 
 going to do ? " 
 
IN WHICH WILL BE FOUND WHAT CAME NEXT. 201 
 
 " Do ! " he exclaimed. " I am going to order my 
 horse and be after him. I can be in Boston as soon 
 as he." 
 
 " And what then, papa ? " Eleanor persisted, still 
 holding on to his arm. 
 
 " Leave that to me, my dear. T will find a way to 
 chastise him for his insolence. Have no fears on that 
 score," said the veteran ; and he glanced significantly 
 at me. 
 
 " Ah, dear papa ! " expostulated Eleanor, in a tone 
 that might have disarmed Sir Lucius O Trigger him 
 self, " surely you would not put your life on a level 
 with that wretch s, if that is what you mean ; for 
 you can hardly hope to inflict any chastisement in 
 any other way. And now you wonder that I did 
 not tell you all this two years ago. You have a 
 pretty way, have n t you, of coaxing my confidence ? 
 Come, now, sit down by me again, arfd ask Cousin 
 Frank there, if he does not think you a choleric, 
 testy, foolish old gentleman." 
 
 Bluebeard could not have withstood such entrea 
 ties and the blandishments that accompanied them ; 
 and Colonel Allerton did sit clown again, evidently 
 growing cooler and cooler, and said, " Well, and what 
 does Cousin Frank think on the subject ? " 
 
 " I think, sir," I replied, " that you do well to be 
 angry for such a cause ; and I can find no fault with 
 your wish for satisfaction, if it were a case in which 
 it could be had. But, putting aside the question of 
 whether this man is entitled to be treated like a gen- 
 
202 WENSLEY 
 
 tleman, I suppose he could use this accusation, what 
 ever it is, as lie has already suggested this morning, 
 as a reason for refusing to meet you, if he chose. 
 And besides, sir, you \vill remember this is not Old 
 England ; and the ordeal by combat is not one our 
 Puritan notions accord with." 
 
 "Very true, very true, Frank," he said, quite 
 calmed down again. " I was an old fool to have 
 thought of such a thing. And then he might say 
 that I wanted to rid myself of my accuser in this 
 extra-judicial way. So go on, my love, and tell mo 
 how he has continued to annoy you since " 
 And his eyes flashed again, and his hand clinched, 
 at the thought he did not utter. 
 
 " He hinted to me before we left England," she 
 resumed, " substantially what he said to-day, that 
 he had your honor, if not your life, in his hands. 
 And he made me believe that he actually prevented 
 your arrest, when we were on the eve of sailing, by 
 putting the officers on a wrong scent." 
 
 " And why did you not tell me all this, my child ? " 
 said her father. 
 
 " Perhaps I was wrong, papa," she answered ; " but 
 I did what seemed to me for the best. I knew you 
 well enough to know that nothing would prevent you 
 from staying, and facing any hazard if you knew of it ; 
 and I was weak enough to wish you safe on this side 
 the water. I knew that the perplexity into which 
 Mr. Markham s imprudence had thrown you was 
 capable of being put into a bad shape ; and I was 
 
IN WHICH WILL BE FOUND WHAT CAME NEXT. 203 
 
 sure that this man was capable of twisting it into 
 any shape that suited him best. So I let things 
 take their course. But, if I have done wrong, I 
 have been fully punished ; for I have suffered tor 
 tures of mind the last two years." And she closed 
 her eyes, and pressed her hand to her forehead, as if 
 in severe bodily pain. 
 
 " My poor Eleanor," said her father, tenderly tak 
 ing her hand, "you would have done better to have 
 told me all this. I could have convinced you that 
 his assertion about the arrest must have been a lie, 
 and that so his others most likely were." 
 
 " Could you, indeed, sir ? " said Eleanor. " He 
 told it to me connected with so many circumstances 
 which I knew to be true, and actually pointing out 
 the officer, that I thought that was certain, if nothing 
 else." 
 
 " Had you been acquainted witli affairs, my dear," 
 he returned, " you would have known that an arrest 
 of such a character could not be initiated without a 
 degree of notoriety which would have followed us 
 here, and that the subsequent legal measures could 
 not be done in a corner. But no matter for that 
 now. Let me know what you have had to do with 
 Ferguson since then." 
 
 "He wrote to me several times from England, 
 proposing to renew his addresses to me, and on 
 that condition to hush up the ugly business/ as he 
 called it. The next time I knew anything of him 
 was when we saw him together at the river," she 
 
 UN IV.:: 
 
204 WENSLEY. 
 
 said, addressing herself to me. And then, after briefly 
 reciting the adventure to her father, she proceeded, 
 "One other letter, under cover to Petchell (as, in 
 deed, all his letters were sent), came while Cousin 
 Frank was in Boston. It was postmarked Wash 
 ington. But I was on the lookout for this ; and as 
 soon as it arrived, without opening the outer sheet, 
 I sent it back to him at Boston, where I knew he 
 would be before leaving the country." 
 
 "And that was the reason, no doubt," said her 
 father, " why he enclosed the letter of this morning 
 to Frank here. He thought it would be more sure 
 of being opened, if it came through him ; though, to 
 be sure, it might have met with no better luck than 
 its precursors, had it not been for Frank and me." 
 
 " It certainly would not," she replied. " But I 
 am very glad now it happened so, though I was 
 not very well pleased with it at first, as you may 
 have surmised," turning to me (she was quite right 
 I had so) ; " for I am now rid of the first secret I 
 ever kept from you, papa ; and it shall be the last, I 
 promise you." 
 
 And she put her arms round his neck, and kissed 
 him twice. Great Heavens ! why was not I sixty- 
 five years old and a papa ? Sir Walter Scott some 
 where feelingly complains of the affliction caused " to 
 us male creatures " by the sight of the caresses which 
 the ladies are so fond of wasting in such unnecessary 
 profusion upon one another. I am not sure that it is 
 any better to see them thrown away upon heavy 
 
IN WHICH WILL BE FOUND WHAT CAME NEXT. 205 
 
 fathers and stupid brothers. However, it is a part 
 of the discipline of this mortal life ; and I had to 
 submit to it in this instance, as in a many since. 
 Colonel Allerton presently resumed : 
 
 " But still, darling, I am not clear that I ought 
 not to return to England to show that I am not 
 keeping out of the way of his accusations. What 
 think you, Frank ? " 
 
 Eleanor gave me an imploring look; and, as I 
 certainly had no wish to give an answer that should 
 send them out of the country, I replied, 
 
 " I cannot give you any opinion, sir, on the subject. 
 I do not know enough about it to have formed one." 
 
 " Is that so ? " he replied. " I have been talking 
 to you all this while under the belief that Eleanor 
 had made you her confidant, and told you all about 
 our affairs." 
 
 I assured him that I had not been thus happy. 
 And Eleanor, while she confirmed my statement, was 
 good enough to say that she had determined to do so 
 at the very first opportunity that offered itself. 
 
 " I did so long for a friend to talk with about these 
 things, which I could not tell whether I ought to 
 keep to myself or not ! I was so in want of advice 
 and comfort ! " she said, and sighed. 
 
 Oh, why had she not yielded to this impulse ? I 
 do not know how I might have answered as a friend 
 and comforter, but I am sure I should have done 
 my best; and at any rate it would certainly have 
 been a very great comfort to me. 
 
206 WENSLEY. 
 
 " You would have done right," replied her father. 
 "Frank is entitled to our thanks and our confidence; 
 for he has shown himself truly discreet and friendly, 
 as I understand it, and he shall have both." I bowed, 
 and he continued, "In fact, there is not much to tell 
 you. Just as I retired from the army, now more than 
 twenty years since, old Vinal Grayson, who had been 
 the agent for the loyalists ever since the year 80, 
 died ; and, as it was important that the post should 
 be held by some person having some knowledge of 
 the Colonies and the people claiming relief from time 
 to time, I was persuaded by Lord Hobart, then colo 
 nial secretary, to act in that capacity, though much 
 against my will. For, though a limitation of time 
 was prescribed in the bill for the compensation of the 
 loyalists, still the government was very liberal and 
 considerate in the admission of claims in cases of 
 special hardship which might be strictly barred by 
 lapse of time." 
 
 "The British Government stood handsomely by 
 those who stood by them, I have always heard," 
 said I. 
 
 "You have heard the truth," lie replied. "Of 
 course it was impossible to satisfy the demands of all 
 that made them ; nor could the real losses we sus 
 tained be made good. But the successive ministries 
 all behaved as well as they could, I believe. But 
 this liberality exposed the government to the danger 
 which, indeed, is incident to all systems of com 
 pensations and pensions of fictitious and forged 
 
IN WHICH WILL BE FOUND WHAT CAME NEXT. 207 
 
 claims. This could hardly be avoided with the great 
 est diligence, especially as many of the pensioners 
 had returned to this country, and the distances over 
 which they were scattered made it very hard to keep 
 a strict eye upon them all." 
 
 " That is plain enough," said I. " I should think 
 it must have been out of the question." 
 
 " We did our best," he went on. " But it was hard 
 to guard against all the devices of the enemy. Some 
 three years ago, or thereabouts, I was strongly suspi 
 cious that an extensive fraud had been carried on 
 for some time. In the course of rny investigations I 
 had consulted with this Ferguson, as I had done 
 frequently before, regarding him as a shrewd legal 
 adviser, and as one particularly well qualified to act 
 as such from his own connection with the loyalists. 
 Young Markham, too, who was frequently at my 
 offices in London with his father, and who was just 
 then about to be entered at the Inner Temple, was 
 also taken into confidence, and employed in a sub 
 ordinate capacity from time to time." 
 
 "What was the nature of the fraud you sus 
 pected ? " I asked. 
 
 "It was a claim purporting to be of one Michael 
 St. John," he replied, " for a large seizure of specie 
 and goods which he was transferring from New Jer 
 sey to New York, at the beginning of the Ee volution, 
 for protection from the British troops, and taken by 
 the rebels. With interest upon interest, it was made 
 to amount to near fifty thousand pounds. It seemed 
 
208 WENSLEY. 
 
 so well supported by vouchers and affidavits, and the 
 case as stated appeared so hard a one, that Mr. Per 
 ceval (for it happened during his short rule) consented 
 to allow the man a pension of five hundred pounds a 
 year for his life, provided Mr. Jackson, then minis 
 ter at Washington, should certify to the necessary 
 facts. This was done ; and, as soon as the certificate 
 arrived in due form, it was all settled, as I supposed ; 
 and all I had to do was to remit the money to New 
 York every year on receiving the regular evidence 
 that the man was alive." 
 
 " And how long did this go on, sir ? " I inquired. 
 
 " For eight or nine years," he answered. " And it 
 would never have been suspected that there was any 
 thing amiss, had I not had occasion to look into some 
 American despatches in the foreign office on another 
 matter relating to my department ; and, to my sur 
 prise, I found no record, at the time the certificate of 
 the identity of St. John was sent over, of any such 
 transaction. Mr. Jackson was dead, and his secretary 
 at one of the Northern courts, and there was no im 
 mediate way of sifting it. I looked farther back, and 
 found several other cases of like nature (of less 
 amount, but very considerable in the aggregate), all of 
 which were payable to the same agent in New York 
 who held St. John s power of attorney." 
 
 " And what did you do then, sir ? " I asked, nat 
 urally interested in the story. 
 
 " I at once sent for Ferguson," he answered, " who 
 seemed as much perplexed and amazed as I was ; 
 
IN WHICH WILL BE FOUND WHAT CAME NEXT. 209 
 
 and he advised me to say nothing, for the present, to 
 the colonial secretary, but to lay a trap for the rogue 
 at New York, so as to get his testimony as to the 
 origin of the business." 
 
 " And you did so, I suppose ? " I suggested. 
 
 "Yes, I am sorry to say I did. It was the grand 
 mistake I made. I ought to have reported the whole 
 thing at once ; for, when it transpired in that quarter, 
 as it very soon did, through Markhain s impru 
 dence or ill luck, it had an ugly look." 
 
 " And how was that, sir ? " I inquired of him. 
 
 " Why," said he, " Markham had a brother who was 
 a clerk in the colonial office ; and he happened to be 
 there one morning when the secretary came through 
 the room where he was. He remembered that Mark- 
 ham had been sent to him by me on business once or 
 twice, and called him into his private room to ask 
 him some questions on a matter to come before Par 
 liament that day, that he supposed he might know 
 about. I can t tell you how the cross-purposes oc 
 curred ; but Markham, supposing he was speaking of 
 this matter, of which his own thoughts were full, 
 made answers which aroused the curiosity of the 
 minister, and he did not release him till he had 
 learned all he had to tell." 
 
 " That was unlucky, certainly," said I. " But it 
 was rather poor Markhain s misfortune than his 
 fault." 
 
 " So I have tried to persuade papa," Eleanor put in, 
 blushing, and looking down ; " but he " 
 
 14 
 
210 WENSLEY. 
 
 " All ! but you forget, my dear, that, although lie 
 was taken by surprise at first, he admitted that he 
 went on deliberately afterwards in his account of the 
 matter, thinking, forsooth, that it was best for all par 
 ties ! He think, indeed ! * 
 
 "But perhaps he was right, papa," said Eleanor, 
 growing a little warmer as she went on. " You say 
 that you were mistaken in not doing this very thing 
 at first : why, then, are you so very severe on poor 
 Mr. Markham?" 
 
 " He and I were very different people, my dear," he 
 replied; "and the conduct which might have been 
 wise in me was uncalled for and impertinent in him. 
 And that is harder to forgive than an intentional in 
 jury, of which I have never suspected him. Had 
 he held his tongue, we should have been at Walford 
 to-day, instead of Wensley." 
 
 I really could not find it in my heart to bear him 
 malice for that ; though I did not think Miss Eleanor 
 had any occasion to blush so when she named him. 
 I only said, however, " And what was the upshot, 
 sir ? " 
 
 " Why, the upshot was, as you might suppose, that 
 the minister was high, and I was as high as he. He 
 spoke of the whole business in a way that I could 
 not stand, sir, and I threw up the office on the spot. 
 His lordship made no objections to receiving my 
 resignation, and soon afterwards appointed this very 
 Ferguson my successor." 
 
 " Ferguson ! " I exclaimed. 
 
IN WHICH WILL BE FOUND WHAT CAME NEXT. 211 
 
 " Oil, yes ! " he replied ; " and a very proper appoint 
 ment it seemed to me then," Eleanor lifted up her 
 eyes arid hands as a slight protest. " Well, there was 
 no reason I knew of why it was not, my dear ; and I 
 made no quarrel with Ferguson on that score." 
 
 " But how was this connected with your coming to 
 America, sir, if I may ask ? " said I. 
 
 " Very naturally," he answered. " As these frauds 
 had occurred during my incumbency, I felt myself 
 bound to do my best to get to the bottom of them, and 
 to bring the perpetrators to justice. It was due to 
 the government and to my own character ; and the 
 most direct way seemed to be to look into them in 
 person and on the spot. And so I came over ; and, 
 as this foolish girl would not be left behind, I had to 
 bring her with me." 
 
 " And what success have you had, sir?" I inquired- 
 
 " Indifferent enough," was his reply. " The con 
 spirators on this side the water must have had timely 
 notice of the discovery : for I have got no trace of 
 them yet, and I fear I never shall now. But I had 
 resolved never to go home until I had cleared this 
 mystery up ; and nothing but some imputation on 
 my honor and character, such as Ferguson threw out 
 to-day, would shake iny resolution." 
 
 " Perhaps, sir," I suggested, " what he said was a 
 mere burst of spite and vexation ; for I must say that 
 my cousin s reception and treatment of him were not 
 of a gratifying description. Will it not be time enough 
 to decide and to act, after you have some definite in- 
 
212 WEXSLEY. 
 
 formation as to what he means to do and say ? Pos 
 sibly you may never hear from him again." 
 
 " I do not think that at all likely," he rejoined. 
 " But, as you say, perhaps there is no hurry about it. 
 At any rate, I will be ruled by a girl and boy to the 
 extent of taking time to consider before I do any 
 thing further." 
 
 And Eleanor thanked him again in the manner 
 heretofore protested against by Sir Walter Scott and 
 myself. I added, when this was over, 
 
 " And I wish, sir, you would take the boy s advice 
 in another particular. 
 
 " Ah ! and what is that ? " said he, smiling gra 
 ciously. 
 
 " I wish you would take Mr. Bulkley into your 
 counsels. He is odd, but kind, and a genuine friend 
 to this house, if faith may be given to his words 
 behind your backs. And he is shrewd and wise in his 
 generation, and as true as Toledo steel ; and I know 
 that your confidence would be very gratifying to 
 him." 
 
 " Oh, I, have the highest value for the good Parson," 
 he replied good-naturedly, " and would trust him with 
 my soul, body, and estate. I do not imagine he can 
 do much for us ; but, if you should like to take 
 him into counsel, I have no objection. Have you, 
 Eleanor ? " 
 
 " No, indeed, papa ! " she replied ; " and I think he 
 is a very knowing old man. Perhaps, as Cousin Frank 
 says, he may make some useful suggestion. At any 
 
IN WHICH WILL BE FOUND WHAT CAME NEXT. 213 
 
 rate, he will be a kind and good friend ; and surely 
 we have no superfluity of such." 
 
 " You may tell him what you think best of our 
 affairs, then, * the Colonel said, in conclusion, " when 
 ever he comes home, and say I should like to talk 
 matters over with him. And now, come, take Elea 
 nor into the dining-room ; for you must be ready for 
 your dinner by this time." 
 
 And so, in truth, I found myself, as soon as I could 
 descend to consider the matter ; and, as the hour 
 when poor Jasper had spread his table for me was 
 long past, I made no resistance to this hospitable 
 suggestion. I don t know whether I ought to put it 
 on record or not ; but the fact is, that, notwithstanding 
 the agitations of one kind and another we had under 
 gone, we gave all the evidence good appetites could 
 imply of good consciences. During dinner we talked 
 on indifferent subjects ; and the servant who waited 
 on us could not have suspected from our ways that 
 anything out of the common course had occurred 
 that morning. Such are the funny conditions of the 
 human microcosm. After dinner, I returned to the 
 parsonage, and applied myself to my classics with 
 what appetite I might. 
 
CHAPTER XT I. 
 
 FRIENDS IN COUNCIL. 
 
 "D Y the encouragement of Colonel Allerton and 
 * Eleanor I was almost daily at Woodside until 
 the return of the good Parson, which was delayed 
 several days beyond the time he had fixed for it. 
 And, so curious is the mechanism of humanity, it 
 seemed to me that I had never seen them so much at 
 their ease as since the adventure of the Sachem s Seat. 
 Eleanor, particularly, seemed as if she had thrown a 
 load from off her heart ; and its shadow, which used 
 too often to steal over her features, had disappeared 
 with it. There was certainly a little flush of excite 
 ment often on her cheek ; but the air of abstraction 
 and revery was gone entirely. Her manners to her 
 father were more caressing and tender than ever, and 
 to me as open and affectionate as a friend could desire. 
 Colonel Allerton retained his old calmness of exterior, 
 and looked, as he said he was, as if he were waiting 
 for the next move. Eleanor spoke freely to me of 
 the relief she felt at having this mystery, which had 
 been haunting her for so long, take a definite shape, 
 so that she knew what it was she had to fear, and 
 at the restoration of entire confidence between her 
 
FRIENDS IN COUNCIL. 215 
 
 father and herself. I had a full intellectual sense of 
 the rascality of Ferguson ; but I could not but feel 
 that he had done me the best of service by putting 
 me into these confidential relations with the people 
 I valued the most on earth. 
 
 Things went on thus for some days, until the min 
 ister at last returned. I was standing ready to assist 
 him in alighting from the coach, which arrived just 
 before tea-time. I noticed that he did not seem so 
 cheery and lightsome of mood as he usually was ; 
 but I attributed it entirely to the fatigue of the 
 journey, which even he might feel more than he 
 would choose to admit at seventy years. At tea I 
 asked him as to the issue of his onslaught on the 
 Hog s Neck ; and he told me, that Mr. Hayley had 
 given him in writing just such an opinion as he ex 
 pected, and which he was sure he could use to restore 
 peace within the walls of Jericho. But, still, he did 
 not treat the matter in the jocose and airy strain with 
 which he was wont to encounter such oddities of 
 adventure. Indeed, he did not seem to be thinking 
 about it even while giving me this account of his 
 success. I thought, too, that I could observe him 
 regarding me, when he thought I was not noticing 
 him, with an air of deep sympathy and commisera 
 tion. In short, he had a good deal the air and man 
 ner of one of those fearful friends who have some 
 piece of bad news for you which they keep back in 
 order to prepare you for the shock, but which they 
 can t help from peeping out from the corners of their 
 
216 WENSLEY. 
 
 eyes and mouth, and which frightens you ten times 
 more than the baldest and rudest display of the facts 
 would do. 
 
 Ye gods, avert 
 
 Such plagues from righteous men ! " 
 
 When Jasper had withdrawn the tea-things and 
 gone about his business to some other part of the 
 domain, I said to Mr. Bulkley, 
 
 " My dear sir, you do not seem yourself this even 
 ing. You are not usually so done up by a journey 
 of twenty odd miles, are you ? You have heard some 
 bad news I am afraid, sir." 
 
 "Bad news!" he repeated. "Why so? why should 
 you think I had heard bad news? I have heard 
 none that affects myself or you particularly." And 
 I could see that he was eying me with the look of 
 a tender-hearted surgeon (if such an anomaly exist) 
 just before cutting off the pet leg of his intimate 
 friend. 
 
 " Perhaps, then, it relates to the Allertons," I sug 
 gested. " I don t know who else there is that we 
 have any common interest in." 
 
 " The Allertons ! " he replied, still looking kindly 
 but mournfully at me. " And why should you think 
 of them and bad news together ? Have you any 
 reason to suppose that any such may be likely to be 
 heard of them ? " 
 
 " Perhaps I have, sir," I answered ; " and I will not 
 imitate their reserve, of which I have heard you com 
 plain, if you will be as open with me." 
 
FRIENDS IN COUNCIL. 217 
 
 " I have little to tell, my dear boy," said he, with 
 strong marks of surprise and interest in his face ; 
 "and that is merely the gossip of Boston, which 
 may have no foundation whatever. So, pray, tell 
 me what it is you mean." 
 
 Thus urged, I proceeded to tell him all that I have 
 already told the world in the foregoing pages, arid 
 especially the final explosion, not forgetting the per 
 mission they had given me to take him into the 
 secret and the request of Colonel Allerton for his 
 counsel. 
 
 " The secret ! " said the minister, after he had lis 
 tened with the most earnest attention to all that I 
 had to say. " I am afraid that there is no longer 
 any secret to be admitted into. This business was 
 the talk of Boston this morning. I do not mean 
 that all the details you have given were blown; but 
 there was a vague rumor that Colonel Allerton had 
 fled his country for some great crime which had 
 only been recently discovered. As to my advice 
 and assistance, if I can afford any, God knows all 
 I have is at their service. But, Frank, you seem 
 to have been taken into their confidence in a re 
 markable sort of way. I should have been most 
 glad to have known it before this mischief devel 
 oped itself." 
 
 I assured him that my being admitted into their 
 counsels had been owing to inexorable circumstances, 
 and that I had received no more confidence from 
 them than had been extorted by the necessities of 
 
218 WENSLEY. 
 
 the case. He shook his head and said, sadly, after 
 a short pause, 
 
 " I am an old fool, I suppose. But I had been 
 building a castle in the air for you and Eleanor, I 
 confess ; and I was made unhappy, I admit, by the 
 thought that this scandal would probably blow it sky 
 high. I never made a match for myself ; but I have 
 always been making matches planning them, that 
 is for other people. To be sure, I have been 
 oftener disappointed than not in rny schemes." 
 
 " This scandal, sir," I replied, determined to keep 
 a good face, though I caught my breath a little as 
 I spoke, "this scandal would have nothing to do 
 with your castle ; for I am afraid that I am not 
 the man Eleanor has chosen to inhabit it with her. 
 But had it been otherwise, and should even this 
 slander be proved to be truth, I should have scorned 
 myself if I permitted the fault of a father to influence 
 my feelings or my conduct towards such a daughter, 
 had I any species of claim upon her, which I cer 
 tainly have not." 
 
 " You are right, Osborne," he replied, still look 
 ing sadly and kindly at me, which I pretended not to 
 observe, " you are right, and speak as a man of 
 honor and just feelings should. But suppose we 
 walk up to Woodside at once. We shall find them 
 just done tea." 
 
 Of course I made no objection to this proposal ; 
 and we were soon on our way thither, only making 
 a forced halt at the post-office, where the Parson 
 
FRIENDS IN COUNCIL. 219 
 
 was intercepted by Major Grimes, Deacon Holt, and 
 several of the other dignitaries of the village, and 
 compelled to disburse the latest news from town. 
 He then received, in his turn, their contributions 
 as to the condition of the parish, particularly as to 
 health and sickness ; for I believe I have forgotten 
 to tell, among other particularities of Wensley, that 
 the Parson was not only its lawyer, but its doctor 
 to boot. Whether it was owing to his skill in 
 medicine (for he had dabbled a little in that as 
 in almost everything else) or to his very moderate 
 exhibitions of the same, Wensley was always in 
 a state of rude health truly disheartening to any 
 young and enterprising practitioner ; so that the 
 few that had ever pitched their tents there had 
 soon struck them again and departed for more hope 
 ful fields of labor. 
 
 Jasper was Mr. Bulkley s main assistant in his 
 medical practice ; for he had learned to breathe a 
 vein during the war, with perfect accuracy, when 
 in attendance for a while on the hospital depart 
 ment; and, as phlebotomy was still a main arm of 
 the war service against disease at that time, he was 
 an invaluable auxiliary. In cases of a critical char 
 acter, to be sure, he would call in the famous Dr. 
 Whittredge, of Sandover, who was his ancient friend 
 and willing adviser, and almost as great an oddity 
 as himself. When I was last in Wensley there 
 were more doctors signs even than meeting-houses, 
 regular and irregular, allopathic, homoeopathic, hydro- 
 
220 WENSLEY. 
 
 pathic, botanic : all systems had their zealous pro 
 fessors, ready to dispense life and health to all who 
 had the faith and knowledge to come to them. I 
 wonder whether Wensley is better in body and 
 soul now than it was when Priest Bulkley lorded 
 it there, with gentlest despotism, in things tempo 
 ral and eternal ? 
 
 We were most kindly received on presenting our 
 selves at Woodside, and the good Parson cordially 
 thanked for the promptitude of his visit. If there 
 were any embarrassment on either side at the meeting, 
 it was on ours. Colonel Allerton and Eleanor pos 
 sessed their souls in the same calm and imperturbable 
 equanimity which generally marked their manners, 
 and which I alone had been permitted to see dis 
 turbed. We talked over the Ferguson business with 
 perfect openness, and discussed its various bearings 
 freely, or rather the elders did ; for Eleanor and I were 
 only listeners, for the most part. 
 
 They did show some sensibility, indeed, when Mr. 
 Bulkley told them that their affairs were the town 
 gossip in Boston that day; for who can know that 
 their conduct is the theme of common talk and vulgar 
 discussion, however blameless they may know them 
 selves to be, without a feeling of wounded pride and 
 a bitter sense of injustice to feel that, at that very 
 moment of time, hundreds of strangers, or, which is 
 worse, professing friends, are engaged in exclaiming, 
 wondering, and conjecturing about your affairs, and in 
 tearing your character to shreds, extenuating noth- 
 
FRIENDS IN COUNCIL. 221 
 
 ing, and setting down everything, if not in malice, at 
 least with a good nature, which is an excellent imita 
 tion of it ? However, they swallowed the momentary 
 pang, and the conversation proceeded. 
 
 " The essential thing to be done," said Mr. Bulk- 
 ley, " seems to be to discover the agent who was em 
 ployed to receive the moneys in New York. Have 
 you no clew to him ? " 
 
 " None whatever," replied Colonel Allerton. " I 
 made it my first business to inquire him out ; but he 
 had disappeared past recovery. He had no domicile, 
 apparently, there, but came to the city as the remit 
 tances were expected." 
 
 " That is strange," said the Parson. " But does it 
 not occur to you as possible that some trace might be 
 got of him by the way of this St. John you speak of 
 the man in whose name the pension stood ? Of 
 course he is probably dead ; but there must have been 
 such a man, I take it, and somebody must remember 
 him." 
 
 " I don t know that," replied the Colonel. " I could 
 hear nothing of him in all the inquiries I could 
 make after him. Did you ever hear of such a 
 person ? " 
 
 " No" said the minister ; " I never did. But, then, 
 I have no acquaintance in the Jerseys ; nor do I know 
 anybody that has. But stop a minute," he continued, 
 putting his finger to his forehead ; " I m not so sure 
 of that. There s my Jasper; he s a Jerseyman. It s 
 barely possible he may remember such a person ; for 
 
222 WENSLEY. 
 
 he never forgets any one, and especially a Tory," 
 laughing as he spoke. 
 
 "It is not at all likely," replied the Colonel, "that he 
 should have put his rehel memory to so good a use as 
 this, especially as it would be to oblige another Tory ; 
 but it can do no harm to ask him the question." 
 
 " Another thing," said Mr. Bulkley. " Has it ever 
 suggested itself to you that this Ferguson may have 
 had some cognizance of this matter ? He seems ras 
 cal enough for it." 
 
 " I certainly never thought anything of the sort," 
 returned the Colonel, " until the other day. Since 
 then, I confess, it has occurred to me ; but I have no 
 ground of suspicion except my ill opinion of him." 
 
 "But what are his connections in this country ?" 
 asked the minister. " You said, I think, that he was 
 of Tory blood. That may give us some inkling to 
 guide us." 
 
 " His family were from the Middle States some 
 where," answered the other ; though I believe his 
 mother was from New England. But she died before 
 I knew anything about them. His father was Colonel 
 Eobert Ferguson, who died in Jamaica about the year 
 five. I knew him there ten years before." 
 
 The minister s countenance fell. After a brief 
 pause he asked, in a constrained voice, 
 
 " He was receiver-general there, was he not ? " 
 
 " Eeceiver or registrar general, or something of the 
 sort," replied the Colonel, little thinking how rude a 
 wound he was giving his old friend. 
 
FRIENDS IN COUNCIL. 223 
 
 I comprehended the whole in a moment. It 
 flashed into my mind at the same moment it did 
 into Mr. Bulkley s that this Ferguson must he the 
 son of the fair, the frail, the unworthy Julia Mansfield, 
 his first and only love, whose unworthiness he had 
 mourned more bitterly than her scorn or her death. 
 This man was the inheritor of her blood her repre 
 sentative ! 
 
 Mr. Bulkley sat in silence for a few minutes as if 
 to recover from the shock, as I saw. Our companions 
 did not remark it; for, though they had heard the 
 story of the good Parson s cross in love, they had 
 paid no particular attention to the names of the 
 parties and had probably forgotten them entirely. 
 Presently he rose and took leave, saying he would 
 come again the next day and talk over the matter 
 further. 
 
 " And if you will give me leave," said the Colonel, 
 as we were leaving the house, " I will walk down to 
 the parsonage to breakfast to-morrow and hear what 
 Jasper has to say on the St. John matter, if the day 
 be fine." 
 
 Of course this suggestion met with a cordial ac 
 quiescence; and Mr. Bulkley and I passed out into 
 the night. It was cold for the season ; but the chill 
 air seemed to refresh him. He drew a long breath 
 and set off rapidly towards home. Then he slack 
 ened his pace and then quickened it again, as if un 
 conscious of what he did. I felt his arm tremble upon 
 mine, and knew that deep feelings and strong passions 
 
224 WENS LEY. 
 
 agitated his aged bosom. I reverenced his sorrows 
 and paid them the homage of perfect silence. His 
 was a heart that never could grow old ; and out of its 
 warm recesses what were the images that glided forth 
 and walked with him through that glimmering night ? 
 What eye but his could see the phantom in all the 
 loveliness, and innocence, and gayety of fifty years 
 ago evoked by the necromancy of a chance word that 
 stirred his being to its depths ? What visions of 
 youth, and love, and hope waited upon her ! What 
 memories of disappointment, of despair, of grief, 
 harder to bear than either, followed after her ! Who 
 but he could tell ? 
 
 I could not tell what was the procession of shadows 
 that passed before him as we walked side by side ; 
 but I felt that it was sweeping by, and I religiously 
 forbore to disturb it by a loud breath. I had no sense 
 of the fifty years that separated us. Something there 
 was (I wonder what it could have been ? ) that con 
 temporized us, to use a word of Sir Thomas Browne s 
 coinage. The sympathy I felt with him was that of 
 youth with youth, and not of youth with age. He 
 felt, too, that I understood him, though, no words had 
 passed between us ; and his grateful pressure of my 
 hand, as we stood on the door-stone, told me so and 
 thanked me for it. He took the candle from Jasper, 
 who opened the door for us, and went directly into 
 his bedroom, and we saw him no more that night ; 
 though the great Bible lay open on his study table, 
 with the lights, all ready for prayers. 
 
FRIENDS IN COUNCIL. 225 
 
 Jasper looked at me as I went in and took up one 
 of the candles, and said, shaking his head, " Some 
 body s been a- talking to him about that Tory Mansfield 
 girl?" 
 
 I nodded acquiescence ; and he went on : "I 
 knowed it as soon as I see him. It s been just so 
 this forty odd year that I Ve lived with him. Ah ! 
 Master Frank," he continued, in a truculent tone, " a 
 woman s bad enough, anyhow ; but a woman that s 
 a Tory too is the devil ! " 
 
 With this apothegm he made me his military salute 
 and left me to my meditations. And he had certainly 
 given me a text for them too. I could not help feel 
 ing, as I lay in bed thinking the day over, that I 
 knew an individual of the kind, and with the specific 
 difference he had thus denounced, whom yet I could 
 not consent to refer to the order in the spiritual hier 
 archy to which he had reduced all such in a lump. 
 While still engaged in these commentaries I fell 
 asleep. 
 
 The Colonel was as good as his word the next 
 morning, and arrived before Jasper had laid the table 
 for breakfast. Mr. Bulkley and I were walking up 
 and down the gravel walk which bisected the garden, 
 enjoying the clear light and bracing breath of a fine 
 October morning, when he passed through the house 
 and joined us. He seemed not quite as well at ease 
 as he had done the evening before ; and, after saluta 
 tions had been exchanged, he said, 
 
 " My walk has been productive of more enlighten- 
 15 
 
226 WENSLEY. 
 
 ment as to the state of my affairs than I had ex 
 pected when I proposed coming here." 
 
 Of course we both of us begged to know from what 
 direction this illumination had come. 
 
 " By a natural way enough," he replied. " As I 
 was passing the post-office, old Kim ball came run 
 ning after me with a letter, which he said had fallen 
 aside yesterday afternoon when Snell went for the 
 letters. It is from the British Minister at Washing 
 ton." 
 
 We neither of us knew precisely what to say ; and 
 so prudently waited till he was ready to proceed, 
 which he presently did. 
 
 " It is a private and friendly, not an official letter. 
 He is my very old friend, and, as such, wishes to give 
 me all the help he possibly can. But, as it might be 
 misrepresented, perhaps it is better that the circum 
 stance should not be mentioned." 
 
 We assented, and he gave Mr. Bulkley the letter, 
 who read it out as we walked. It was friendly in its 
 tone, but diplomatic in its terms, and gave no more 
 information than was necessary for his object. Begin 
 ning with expressions of regret at what he had to tell, 
 his excellency informed Colonel Allerton that charges 
 and evidence had been forwarded to England by the 
 packet of the sixth which might give rise to a crimi 
 nal prosecution against him, but which he, the Minis 
 ter, was sure Colonel Allerton was fully prepared to 
 meet and explain. He thought it not improper, con 
 sidering their ancient friendship, to state to him these 
 
FRIENDS IN COUNCIL. 227 
 
 facts, in order that Colonel Allerton might take such 
 measures for his exculpation as the case demanded. 
 And he felt it the more incumbent upon him, as a 
 personal friend, to give him timely notice, inasmuch 
 as Colonel Allerton must be aware that his property 
 in England would be taken possession of by the gov 
 ernment, to await the final issue of the affair. 
 
 " It s very odd, by Jove ! " said he, when the read 
 ing of the letter was done, " that I had never thought 
 of that before. But of course it is a fact ; and I must 
 reduce my establishment within the limits of my 
 American property, which, unless your general court 
 sees fit to let go its gripe on the Clarke estate, is lit 
 tle enough. But, luckily, I have just received the 
 balance of my half-yearly settlement with my agent 
 at home ; so that I am not absolutely without the 
 means of carrying on the war for a while." 
 
 Our consideration on this point was presently 
 interrupted by Jasper, who appeared to announce 
 breakfast. While we were engaged in discussing the 
 admirable results of his morning s labors (and he had 
 an artist s pleasure in making the work of art before 
 us as perfect as possible) Mr. Bulkley said to him, 
 
 " Jasper, in what part of New Jersey did Colonel 
 Cuyler live ? " 
 
 "Up north, sir," he replied, "among the mountains, 
 on Marking s Kill, three or four miles west of Wil- 
 liamsboro , near the Pennsylvany line." 
 
 " Very good," responded the minister. " And did 
 you ever happen to know a man in Jersey named 
 
228 WENSLEY. 
 
 Saint John Michael Saint John ? " giving out the 
 name of the evangelist with emphatic distinctness, 
 and laying particular stress on the title which Chris 
 tendom in general agree to prefix to it, (though he never 
 used it in his public services, regarding it as a rag of 
 Romanism,) so as to impress the name strongly on 
 Jasper s mind and to recall the man if possible. 
 
 Jasper took time to consider, during which we 
 hung upon his lips in anxious expectation ; but he 
 shook his head and said, 
 
 "No, sir; I never knew r any such man there, nor 
 nowhere." 
 
 All our countenances fell a little at this, as we had 
 all entertained a faint hope that we might get some 
 glimpse of light from our dark friend. Even Colonel 
 Allerton looked rather disappointed ; though he af 
 firmed that he had reckoned nothing on this most 
 remote and unlikely possibility. So we presently re 
 sumed our conversation and pursued it as if this in 
 terruption had not taken place, and went over again 
 the Saint John mystery, as men will talk over a hope 
 less business, as it discussion gave relief, if not hope. 
 We none of us minded Jasper s presence; both be 
 cause we knew that he might be trusted with an 
 absolute confidence, and because there seemed no par 
 ticular reason for making any more of a mystery of 
 the matter than it was in its own essence. After 
 breakfast Colonel Allerton took his leave and pro 
 ceeded towards the village, leaving the minister and 
 me to our morning tasks. 
 
FRIENDS IN COUNCIL. 229 
 
 We had not been long engaged upon them when 
 Jasper came into the room from the garden, whither 
 he had repaired after disposing of his breakfast things, 
 and said to Mr. Bulkley, 
 
 " I beg your pardon, sir ; but I have just been 
 thinking that I used to know another man in Jarsey 
 that you were talking of this morning." 
 
 " Another man ! " said the Parson, rubbing his fore 
 head. " I don t remember. Whom do you mean ? " 
 
 " Why, I used to know a Mr. Sinjin there before the 
 war. I don t know whether you care about him, sir." 
 
 " Bless your soul ! " cried the Parson, jumping up. 
 " And was his name Michael ? " 
 
 " I believe it was, sir," replied Jasper ; " though 
 I m not sure of that. But there was a Mr. Sinjin 
 lived the other side of the Kill, about two miles off. 
 My master had n t much to do with him latterly ; for 
 he was a bloody Tory, and went down to York before 
 we went to the wars." 
 
 " It must be he ! it must be he ! " exclaimed the 
 minister, making the historian Tacitus describe a som 
 erset in the air quite out of keeping with his usually 
 staid and saturnine temperament ; and then, clapping 
 his hands, added, " It must be the very man, Osborne, 
 must n t it ? " 
 
 I assented to the probability. 
 
 " Do you know anything of him since then, Jas 
 per ? " he continued. 
 
 " No, sir," Jasper answered. " I have never heard 
 of him or about him for better than forty year." 
 
230 WENSLEY. 
 
 "Never mind, never mind," the sanguine Parson 
 proceeded. " We have found the first track ; and it 
 will be hard if we don t follow it up. You could 
 direct us to the very place, I suppose, could n t 
 you ? " 
 
 " Lord bless you, yes, sir," answered Jasper. " I 
 could find my way there in the dark if you ll put me 
 down at Williamsboro ." 
 
 " To be sure you could ! " said the minister ; " to 
 be sure you could ! This comes of the English habit 
 of eating up proper names. The Colonel shall not 
 hear the last of it soon, I promise you. Sinjin, 
 indeed I " 
 
 " Perhaps, sir," I suggested, " he may have some 
 thing to say to you ; for, if you had given the name 
 as he did, Jasper would have known what you meant. 
 He was the judge of how the name was to be pro 
 nounced, you see, after all" 
 
 " Ah, but you see the man was a Tory," said the 
 minister, in high spirits ; " so it s no wonder he 
 did n t know how his own name should be pro 
 nounced, is it, Jasper ? " 
 
 " He was a Tory," answered Jasper, simply, as if 
 that was the gist of the matter, as he left the room. 
 
CHAPTEE XIII. 
 
 IN WHICH GREAT PROGRESS IS MADE. 
 
 I SUGGESTED to Mr. Bulkley that it would be 
 well to lose no time in apprising Colonel Allerton 
 of what Jasper had said. He assented to the general 
 proposition, but added, 
 
 " It will be soon enough after dinner. This is news 
 that will keep cold. And as our studies have been 
 somewhat interrupted of late, I think we will hold by 
 them this morning, if you please." 
 
 Of course I had to comply, whether I pleased or 
 not ; and we resumed our lecture, though to what 
 degree of edification I do not think I can precisely 
 testify at this distance of time. The morning was 
 over, however, at last, and dinner was despatched, and 
 a proper interval allowed for the difference of dinner 
 time at Woodside. Then the Parson told me I had 
 better proceed on my errand by myself, as he must 
 make a journey to Jericho to settle the rights and 
 wrongs of the Hog s Neck. So I set off alone, not 
 unwillingly. On arriving at Woodside I entered the 
 hall-door, which was standing hospitably open, it be 
 ing *a fine day, though well on in October, without 
 
232 WENSLEY. 
 
 giving any warning of my presence. My habits of 
 intimacy at the house also authorized me to enter the 
 parlor where Eleanor usually sat without ceremony. 
 
 The room was never very light, owing to the shadow 
 of the piazza and the climbing and drooping plants 
 that festooned it ; and on that afternoon the curtain 
 of the second window to your right was let down to 
 keep out the blaze of the westering sun. As I entered 
 I saw, as I thought, Eleanor and her father seated at 
 the very end of the room in earnest conversation 
 so earnest indeed, that they did not at once notice my 
 approach. I advanced hastily, full of my news, when 
 the pair rose in evident haste and embarrassment on 
 perceiving me. I had my message on my lips, when, 
 my eyes turning from Eleanor to her companion, I 
 was astonished at seeing that it was not her father, 
 but Mr. Harry Markham. My own confusion eclipsed 
 theirs when I perceived this conjunction, which my 
 heart misgave me boded me no good. 
 
 The feeling that mine was a most unwelcome intru 
 sion crimsoned my cheeks for a second; but a bitterer 
 pang soon drove the blood back to my heart. A flash 
 of light seemed to search the closest coverts of my 
 being, and I saw myself as I never did before. I 
 had never said, even in my secret thoughts, " I love 
 Eleanor Allerton ! " till now that I felt that she was 
 lost to me forever. It seemed as if years had passed 
 over my heart since I entered the house a few mo 
 ments before. I was a youth no longer. The passions 
 of a man burned fiercely in my heart, and the simplici- 
 
IN WHICH GREAT PROGRESS IS MADE. 233 
 
 ties and follies of boyhood shrivelled and vanished in 
 the flame. 
 
 I was conscious that my agitation of mind was 
 written in my face. I felt that my knees trembled 
 and my throat was parched ; and I waited a moment 
 till I was sure of commanding my voice before I 
 spoke. But I was master enough of myself to see 
 that I was not the only embarrassed one of the party. 
 Whether it were the sight of my emotion, or the con 
 flict of strong feelings of her own, the alternations of 
 Eleanor s countenance (and its expression changed 
 continually) had a painful, suffering air as she looked 
 at me, which I thought I could read plainly enough. 
 
 " She is sorry for me poor foolish lad ! " I said 
 bitterly to myself ; and I felt as if I could eat my 
 heart with rage that she should know that I was to 
 be pitied. 
 
 " And does lie, too, extend his tender compassion 
 to me ? " I continued, within my teeth. 
 
 I could not tell ; but I thought, on thinking it over 
 afterwards (I could only see and feel then), that his 
 thoughts were not on me. Why should they be ? 
 He was not a demonstrative person at any time, and 
 his face was not a book easy to be read. But it did 
 not express a mind at ease. A mind at ease ! Dis 
 turbed, perhaps, at the very height of his drearn of joy, 
 and hardly knowing whether it were a dream or a 
 reality, how could it be at ease ? It must be so. And 
 I I had discerned where my lite of life was garnered 
 up, just as it was scattered to the winds. It was 
 
234 WENSLEY. 
 
 a cruel moment for me a moment into which an 
 eternity was crushed together. 
 
 As soon as I could somewhat command my voice 
 I stammered out, in a huskyish tone, "I I beg 
 pardon ; but but I had a message for your father ; 
 and and I thought I should find him here. Is he 
 in his library ? " And I made towards the door by 
 which I had entered. 
 
 Eleanor advanced towards me and said, not without 
 agitation of look and voice, " Stay here, Cousin Frank ; 
 I will call him. He will be glad to see you ; and we 
 will hear your message together, if there be no 
 objection." 
 
 And she disappeared through the arched doorway 
 which led into her father s room. Left alone with 
 Markham, he came up to me and offered me his hand, 
 which I could not refuse ; and we exchanged a few 
 sentences of mutual inquiry, though I have no recol 
 lection of what it was now, if I had any perception of 
 it at the time. I stood in a whirl of thoughts and 
 emotions which I could not analyze. I could not 
 reason ; I could only feel that the lamp of my life 
 was trampled out just as I discerned the shrine before 
 which it burned, and that I was doubly orphaned 
 from that hour forward. 
 
 I had not long to wait however ; for, as we were 
 talking, I heard the quick step of Colonel Allerton 
 moving about in his room ; and almost immediately he 
 entered, alert and erect as ever, followed by Eleanor. 
 After giving me a friendly greeting he said, 
 
IN WHICH GREAT PROGRESS IS MADE. 235 
 
 " And so you have a message for me, Eleanor says. 
 And what has the good Parson to say now ? You 
 need n t mind Markham here. He knows all that 
 we do." And he gave him an open, cordial, friendly 
 look, very different from the frigid politeness of his 
 address when I saw them last together, but which 
 stung me to the heart. What could be the meaning 
 of it ? Was there to be a mystery always brooding 
 over this house ? 
 
 I told my story as collectedly as I could, but with 
 very little of the animated interest which I had 
 brought with it from the parsonage, but which I had 
 laid down at the threshold of that room. Luckily it 
 was not a very complicated narrative, or I should 
 have bungled it ; for I was thinking but little of what 
 I was saying. My statement, however, greatly 
 interested Colonel Allerton; and he succeeded in 
 making the other two talk it over with him as a 
 circumstance which might possibly grow to some 
 importance in their affairs. I took no part in the 
 conversation, and found it hard to express the interest 
 I ought to feel, and really did at bottom, when any of 
 them addressed themselves to rne. I could see that 
 Eleanor was privily observing me, which did not 
 assist me in concentrating rny ideas ; but Markham 
 was clearly so full of what concerned himself and his 
 friends, for such they now plainly were, that he had 
 no thought to bestow on me. Colonel Allerton, 
 however, was more observing ; and after the matter 
 had been discussed and put in all probable points of 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
236 WENSLEY. 
 
 view, and not much more remained to be said, he 
 turned to me and said, 
 
 " But what ails you, Frank, my boy ? You are not 
 like yourself this afternoon. Are not you ill ? " 
 
 I confessed to a headache, (though I apprehend 
 that the seat of the disease was not the head,) and 
 rose to depart, to cover myself from further observa 
 tion. 
 
 " Nay, but stay and spend the rest of the afternoon 
 with us," the Colonel hospitably urged. " You have 
 not seen Markharn this long time; and I prescribe 
 his good company and Eleanor s as excellent for a 
 headache. I have tried half the mixture," he con 
 tinued, looking at Eleanor, " often myself, and have 
 always found it a sovereign remedy." 
 
 I tried to laugh ; and I thought, though I did not 
 say so, that the remedy was like to be worse than the 
 disease. So I resolutely excused myself, alleging that 
 Mr. Bulkley would expect me and that I must go. 
 
 " Then come again this evening," persisted the Colo 
 nel ; " and be sure and bring him with you. I want 
 to hear his opinion about it." 
 
 I was going to decline again on my own account ; 
 but, looking at Eleanor, I saw her eyes fixed on me, 
 while her lips expressed rather than uttered, 
 
 " Do come ! " 
 
 So I half muttered and half bowed an assent and 
 hurried away. Still, as I walked homewards I again 
 resolved that I would not return to Woodside again 
 while Markham was there. I could not endure it. 
 
IN WHICH GREAT PROGRESS IS MADE. 237 
 
 It was plain, that, however it had been brought 
 about, the displeasure which Colonel Allerton had 
 felt towards him, and in which his daughter had cer 
 tainly appeared to share in a lesser measure, was 
 now removed. He was there apparently on familiar 
 and intimate terms. Could it be possible that the 
 change in their circumstances had bent the proud 
 spirits of the father and daughter, and made them 
 willing to accept addresses for her now which they 
 had spurned in more prosperous days ? That his 
 name had been connected with hers, that there had 
 been a closeness of connection and intimacy between 
 them enough to excite remark and gossip, I knew 
 from Ferguson s insolence, which compelled my in 
 terference, at the Sachem s Seat. I had observed, 
 too, her embarrassment on more than one occasion 
 when he had been spoken of, and her attempts at a 
 partial defence of him from the strictures of her 
 father. 
 
 I soon rejected all that was unworthy of Eleanor 
 and her father in these surmises. I blushed that I 
 had ever entertained them. It lowered me in my 
 own eyes. But still, the main result of my confer 
 ence with myself on the subject was the same. 
 Everything confirmed it. His coming to America 
 at this time; his reserve on my first acquaintance as 
 to his relations with her ; the particularity of these 
 relations at some former time, proved by the very 
 coldness and distance of his treatment at his first 
 visit as well as by what Ferguson had said; her 
 
238 WENSLEY. 
 
 own looks and language when lie was in question ; 
 this sudden change of demeanor towards him ; the 
 earnest tete-a-tete I had interrupted, all, all proved . 
 beyond a peradventure that whatever had parted 
 them was removed, that Markham was the favored, 
 the accepted lover of Eleanor Allerton. 
 
 "Well, suppose he was. Was it anything to me ? 
 Could she ever be anything to me more than the 
 kindest of sisters and friends ? I cursed the idea of 
 sisterhood and friendship. An hour before, I should 
 have blessed them. The scales had fallen from my 
 eyes, and I saw that they were not what I wanted. 
 I cursed the hour that brought me to Wensley ; and 
 the next moment I cursed myself for the thought, 
 and could have wept to think of never having known, 
 though but to lose her forever. In short, I was furi 
 ously in love and furiously jealous, and was guilty of 
 as many follies as my predecessors and successors in 
 that category. Follies are they ? Perhaps they are ; 
 but there is a good deal of what passes current for 
 wisdom that one would exchange for them if one 
 could ay, and give boot into the bargain. 
 
 I had some time to torment myself with these 
 thoughts and imaginations before the Parson re 
 turned. But at last he arrived, chuckling over the 
 success of his mission, which, it seemed, had resulted 
 in the renewal of the family compact between the 
 two dynasties, to be consolidated by the marriage of 
 Jerry and Sukey and confirmed by the sacrifice of 
 the Hog s Neck. Mr. Bulkley was so full of his 
 
IN WHICH GREAT PROGRESS IS MADE. 239 
 
 story that he did not remark the slight attention I 
 gave to it, though it was garnished by many of his 
 best imitations and attended by a running accompa 
 niment of his merriest laugh. At last, however, 
 when he was entirely done, and had wiped the tears 
 from his eyes, which always waited on his best 
 laughs, tears like those of Matthew, " of one worn 
 out with mirth and laughter," he suddenly seemed 
 to catch sight of my face as of some new thing. 
 
 " Bless me, Osborne ! " he exclaimed. " What is 
 the matter with you ? Has anything happened at 
 Woodside ? Nothing wrong there, I hope." 
 
 " Everything is wrong there for me, sir," I re 
 plied, bitterly; and then, yielding to an impulse 
 which seemed to urge me on whether I would or 
 no, I told him the whole history of the afternoon, 
 of the revelation which it had made to me of myself, 
 and of the cruel despair in which it had left me. I 
 have said before that the minister was a chosen 
 confidant of love troubles within his own juris 
 diction ; and I now felt the influence upon my own 
 mind which made him such. I do not think that 
 there was another human being to whom I could 
 have made that confession. But there was a sweet 
 ness and sympathy of soul about that blessed old 
 man that invited and drew forth perfect confidence. 
 I never could have said the same thing to any of the 
 Deipnosophoi. No, indeed. The sense of the ridi 
 cule which is so often, though so cruelly, made to 
 wait on a hopeless passion, bad enough in itself, 
 
240 WENSLEY. 
 
 heaven knows, would have sealed my lips upon the 
 rack But such an idea could not be associated with 
 that of my dear old friend. Were there many such 
 priests as he, I should accept the sacrament of con 
 fession. He listened to my story with the tenderest 
 interest and tried to give me what comfort he could. 
 But I thought I could discern, under all the conso 
 lation and encouragement he gave me, that he was 
 of my opinion in the matter. Indeed, he gave me 
 no direct encouragement ; only he soothed my 
 irritation of spirit so wisely, and showed me how I 
 might have been too hasty in my conclusions, after 
 all, that it had the effect of comforting me. 
 
 At tea-time I could hardly help laughing through 
 all my distress to see how the good old man pressed 
 upon me the best of everything on the- table, and 
 made Jasper bring out his choicest stores, reserved 
 for solemn occasions. If the very .best tea in the 
 house, and preserves, and marmalade, and diet bread 
 (as sponge-cake used to be called in those days) 
 were a specific for a wounded spirit, mine would 
 have been whole on the instant. I did my best, 
 however, to satisfy his kind intentions ; and soon 
 after he had released me from my endeavors, which 
 hardly came up to his wishes, I reminded him that 
 Colonel Allerton wished to see him at Woodside. 
 I was still inclined to remain at home; but he would 
 not hear of it, and insisted on my accompanying him. 
 
 We arrived before the Woodside party had risen 
 from their tea table. And here I saw again that the 
 
IN WHICH GREAT PROGRESS IS MADE. 241 
 
 relations of the parties around it were changed since 
 I last assisted with them at that evening sacrifice. 
 Here was no lap tea, but a well-spread, sociable 
 board, around which the three sat as friends, with 
 every appearance of entire cordiality. I was sorry 
 I had agreed to come. But it was too late then; 
 and I took my share of the welcome extended to us 
 with the best grace I could assume. I could feel 
 with " the sixth sense of love " that Eleanor s eyes 
 were often fixed upon me with a melancholy earnest 
 ness when I was looking another way ; but they 
 were dropped or withdrawn before mine could meet 
 them. I despised myself for being the object of her 
 pity ; and I could see that Mr. Bulkley was covertly 
 watching us ; and this did not assist in the preser 
 vation of my equanimity. 
 
 We soon adjourned to the Colonel s room, where 
 his wood fire gave out a cheerful, crackling, dancing 
 light, in which we sat and talked over what was 
 most in our minds, (or rather in theirs,) and never 
 thought of ringing for candles till it was nearly time 
 to break up the session. I did not attend much to 
 what was going forward ; but I could perceive that 
 the talk was chiefly on the possibility of making 
 some use of the glimmer of light Jasper had thrown 
 upon our darkness, and whether it might not show 
 us a way out of our perplexities. After a brown 
 study of some duration, during which I sat with 
 my eyes fixed on the blazing logs and listening 
 rather to the spattering hiss with which the sap 
 16 
 
242 WENSLEY. 
 
 exuded from them upon the hearth than to the 
 discussions going on around them, I was aroused 
 from it by hearing the minister say, 
 
 "An excellent plan, indeed! And I ll tell you 
 what Osborne shall go with you. He is entitled 
 to have a run for a week or two ; and 1 11 be 
 answerable for him to the authorities at Cam 
 bridge." 
 
 " With all my heart," replied Markham ; for it 
 appeared that the remark was addressed to him ; " it 
 is just what I should have proposed myself if the 
 plan went forward. What say you, Osborne ? Will 
 you go with me ? " 
 
 " Yes certainly ; that is," I stammered out 
 rather uncertainly, " if I can be of any use if 
 Mr. Bulkley thinks best." 
 
 " Oh, I do think it best, by all means," the minister 
 replied ; " so consider that as a settled. thing." 
 
 As I thought I might as well know what the 
 settled thing was of which it seemed I was to be 
 a component part, I rallied my thoughts and tried 
 to fix them on what was going on ; and before we 
 parted I had gathered that Mr. Bulkley had inspired 
 the Colonel with a portion of his own confident 
 belief that Jasper s information might be followed 
 up to some good result; and they had agreed that 
 Jasper had better be sent to the spot with some 
 judicious person, who might pursue the game which 
 he might by possibility set on foot. Markham at 
 once volunteered to be the judicious person afore- 
 
IN WHICH GREAT PROGRESS IS MADE. 243 
 
 said, and offered to set off on the shortest notice ; 
 and it was as an amendment to this suggestion that 
 the minister moved that my name, too, should be 
 put into the commission. As soon as I understood 
 how it was I fell in with the plan with a feverish 
 eagerness ; for I was just in the state of mind 
 when motion and change of place are hungered 
 and thirsted after. I felt a burning, longing wish 
 to be anywhere away from Wensley, and was com 
 forted to hear that we should set out the follow 
 ing day. 
 
 It soon grew to be time to go ; and we took leave 
 at the same time Mrr Bulkley, Markham, and I 
 and walked to the turning to Grimes s together. I 
 took a hasty leave of Eleanor and her father, and 
 resolutely pushed out of the room first, so as to give 
 Markham a moment with her without the Parson 
 and me as spectators, which I considered (and do 
 still consider) a handsome thing on my part. But 
 he followed very soon after us, which might have 
 surprised rne had I not reflected, that he would 
 probably walk up the next morning to renew the 
 "sweet sorrow" of farewell. This hypothesis did 
 not tend to concentrate my thoughts on what was 
 passing between my companions ; and I am not sure 
 whether it was during this walk, that the Parson ex 
 tracted from Markham the secret of his altered rela 
 tions with Woodside, or whether it was during the 
 next day s journey to Boston. But the facts were 
 briefly these. 
 
244 WENSLEY. 
 
 Markham s brother, the clerk in the colonial office, 
 had just written to him, that it had transpired in 
 the office that it was Ferguson himself who had given 
 Lord Bathurst the hint touching the trouble in Col 
 onel Allerton s department, which had induced his 
 lordship to enter upon the cross-examination the 
 result of which had drawn down Colonel Allerton s 
 displeasure on poor Markham s head ; and Ferguson 
 it was that had persuaded Markham that it was 
 best for all concerned that the facts should be made 
 known to the secretary, though it was done so skil 
 fully, that he could deny it with a good face if laid 
 to his charge ; and Markham now remembered, that 
 it was Ferguson that contrived the accident which 
 took him to the colonial office that particular morn 
 ing. Having received this intelligence, and hearing 
 of the rumors about Colonel Allerton before they 
 had got wind fully, he sent it at once to Wensley 
 with all these explanations. He at once received a 
 cordial invitation to repeat his visit, which he lost no 
 time in doing, and had a very different reception 
 from the one he had before, the Allertons looking 
 upon him as the innocent instrument of the same 
 man who had wound his toils about themselves. 
 They acquitted him of all blame, even for indiscre 
 tion, and felt the desire natural to generous minds 
 to make more than amends to one whom they had 
 treated with injustice. So he said to us. " Amends 
 with a vengeance ! " said I to myself. 
 
 The next morning we were unable to take the 
 
IN WHICH GREAT PROGRESS IS MADE. 245 
 
 Haverford coach, as we had to apprise Jasper of his 
 unexpected expedition, and to make all our prepara 
 tions. Jasper entered into the plan very readily, 
 only doubting how his master would get on by him 
 self. But when he found that this difficulty had 
 been provided against by the Allertons insisting upon 
 his becoming their guest during the absence of the 
 grand vizier (or wuzeer, as they ridiculously spell it 
 now) on foreign service, his scruples were at once at 
 an end, and he lost no time in putting the house in 
 order for so extraordinary an event. As we wished 
 to make what despatch we could, we resolved not 
 to wait for the Pentland coach, which came along 
 towards night, but to put Black Sally into the Major s 
 covered wagon, and get over the ground before night. 
 When we had come to this conclusion Mr. Bulkley 
 suddenly expressed his determination to accompany 
 us as far as Boston. He should like the excursion, 
 he said ; and he thought he could manage to drive 
 Sally back again by himself the next day or the day 
 after. Of course we were glad enough to have his 
 society at least I was ; for I did not care for a 
 tete-a-tete journey with Markham after all that had 
 passed. And I shrewdly suspect that it was the 
 feeling that this was the case, that induced him to 
 volunteer his company. 
 
 We arrived before dark, and, after putting our 
 horse up at the Exchange Coffee House stables, and 
 bespeaking our passage by the Providence coach for 
 the next morning, I proceeded at once to Mr. Moul- 
 
246 WEKSLEY. 
 
 ton s, accompanied by Mr. Bulkley, to obtain his 
 permission for the expedition. There was no great 
 difficulty in procuring this on the representations of 
 the good minister, for whom my guardian had con 
 ceived a warm regard. I did not pay much attention 
 to the reasons he urged in my favor ; but I well un 
 derstood in my secret soul, that the real ones which 
 induced him to make the original suggestion were 
 not so much the expectation of good to the Allertons 
 as of good to myself, which might accrue from this 
 diversion of thought and passion. However, the 
 consent was granted, and Mr. Bulkley prevailed upon 
 to be Mr. Moulton s guest for the night. Markham 
 did not come, though I had invited him. He is 
 writing to Eleanor, said I to myself; and the 
 glass of wine I had at my lips (though it was the 
 famous old Suffolk Madeira) almost choked me at 
 the thought. 
 
 The next morning came in due season. Who does 
 not remember, that is old enough, the morning of a 
 journey to New York in those days before railways ? 
 I had slept but little during the night ; and was just 
 fairly asleep, about four in the morning, wheu a 
 thundering knock at the hall-door and a violent ring 
 at the bell announced that the coach would soon 
 come lumbering along. Then the dressing in the 
 dark, the half-awake, slipshod servants, making a 
 pretence of getting you some breakfast, which was 
 always just too late ; the dressing-gowned and slip 
 pered friends (Mr. Moulton and the Parson in my 
 
IN WHICH GREAT PROGRESS IS MADE. 247 
 
 case) stumbling out upon you to see you off in spite 
 of your entreaties overnight, that they would do no 
 such thing. Then the long, hot or cold, dusty or 
 muddy, never pleasant journey to Providence. And 
 then the old Fulton steamer. How we used to admire 
 her ! What a marvel of speed and comfort that ill- 
 contrived old hulk seemed to our innocent minds, 
 not as yet sophisticate with the later luxuries of loco 
 motion ! To be sure, it was better than the week s 
 hard coaching, which was necessary to bring the two 
 cities together before her time. And New York 
 itself, Newest York now, how changed since 
 that my first visit ! Her very caravanserais have 
 fled, like the sojourn ers of a day. Where is Bunk 
 er s ? Echo, if she could make herself heard above 
 the roar of traffic, might answer, if she had nothing 
 better to say, Where ? And where is the City Hotel ? 
 Oh, Chester Jennings, art thou indeed forever fled ? 
 And the Park Theatre too ? But I forbear. 
 
 We hurried through New York and put ourselves 
 on the road to Williamsboro with all the speed we 
 could command in those more deliberate days. But 
 it took us nearly two days, as the roads were bad, 
 and the wagons, bearing the local rank of coaches, 
 yet worse. But here Jasper made our fatigues less 
 with the stories he had to tell, suggested by almost 
 every point of our route; for he was now among 
 familiar scenes. There, a mile or two on this side 
 of Hackensack, he had first smelt gunpowder, one 
 cold autumnal night, in a slight affair of outposts. 
 
248 WENSLEY. 
 
 Farther on, it was coming out of that house that he 
 had first seen General Washington. And at Morris- 
 town, where we spent the night, he showed us, not 
 only the head-quarters of the commander-in-chief, 
 but the very baker s shop over which he himself had 
 been billeted. And it happened, oddly enough, that 
 the business was still carried on by the baker s son, a 
 boy at that time, but who perfectly remembered the 
 sable guest of his father. The next day we got more 
 and more, as we advanced into his own country, and 
 he had a history for almost every house we passed. 
 It seemed to have been a region fertile in Tories ; 
 for his narratives were mostly of that tribe, which 
 was to him as that of Barabbas. We arrived at 
 Williamsboro too late to push on to the scene of 
 our inquiries that night. 
 
 The next morning we took an open wagon and 
 pair and proceeded onward. Jasper s interest in all 
 the scenes about him now grew intense. He had not 
 seen them for nearly fifty years ; and he seemed to^ 
 remember them and to cling to their memory with 
 the strong local attachment of his race. We sympa 
 thized so strongly with his feelings, that, though in 
 impatient haste ourselves, we proposed a stop at the 
 house of the Cuyler family, where he was born. 
 But here he was doomed to disappointment. The 
 house was there, to be sure ; but it was degraded 
 into a mere farm-house, and not a well-appointed one 
 neither. It had a decayed, tumble- down look; and 
 the out-buildings and fences were sadly out of repair. 
 
IN WHICH GREAT PROGRESS IS MADE. 249 
 
 A shrewish-looking woman, not over clean, sharply 
 asked our business ; and her inquiry was enforced by 
 half a dozen hungry, snarling curs, who opened mouth 
 upon us in full cry ; while a swarm of dirty children 
 clustered about the door, staring over one another s 
 heads at the rare spectacle of strangers. She did 
 not seem particularly well satisfied with the account 
 we had to give of ourselves ; and, though she called 
 off the dogs and did not order us to leave the prem 
 ises, she kept a suspicious eye upon us as we looked 
 about them. 
 
 But there was not much to detain us. The only 
 thing that recalled the former state of the Cuylers 
 was the old chariot of the family, which stood rot 
 ting to pieces in a dilapidated coach-house with one 
 door off its hinges, and which, if not a habitation for 
 dragons and owls, was clearly one for cats and chick 
 ens a litter of kittens garrisoning the inside ; while 
 the outworks bore unmistakable evidence of being a 
 roosting place for poultry. There had plainly not 
 been energy enough to clear away this old piece of 
 lumber, as it must have seemed to the occupants. 
 The woman of the house rather apologized for its 
 toleration by saying that the children liked to play in 
 it. But she had no knowledge of its former owners. 
 She came from Pennsylvania, she said, and had never 
 heard of the Cuylers. The very name of the family 
 seemed to have died out even upon their ancestral 
 acres. We left the place almost as sad as Jasper 
 himself. 
 
250 WENSLEY. 
 
 We hastened on, and, crossing the Kill, soon ar 
 rived at the house where the Michael St. John, the 
 unconscious cause of so much trouble to us all, had 
 lived. Jasper led us directly to its door, as he had 
 said he could, without inquiry or hesitation. And 
 here we received a very different welcome from our 
 last from John McCormick, its present owner. He 
 was a hale, middle-aged man, of a cheerful and intel 
 ligent countenance, and well disposed to give us what 
 information and assistance he could. It did not seem 
 to be much, however. St. John had never returned 
 to that part of the country, the father of McCormick 
 having bought the farm of the State, by which it 
 had been confiscated; and he knew nothing of the 
 particulars of his fate. This seemed to be death 
 to our hopes. We looked with blank disappoint 
 ment in one another s faces; and Mr. McCormick 
 went on: 
 
 " There has been inquiry made about this St. John 
 before ; and if my father and I had not possessed this 
 farm for more than forty years, I should think there 
 was some design upon it." 
 
 "And, pray, when and by whom was there ever 
 inquiry made about him ? " asked Markham, with 
 the air of a man catching at a straw. 
 
 "It was ten or a dozen years ago," McCormick 
 replied. "There was a man came from York way 
 who hunted up everything that could be found out 
 about him from town records, parish registers, and 
 what not. He didn t make much noise about it ; but, 
 
IN WHICH GREAT PROGRESS IS MADE. 251 
 
 as I thought it might concern my title-deeds, I kept 
 an eye on him and found out what he was at." 
 
 "And do you know his name ?" asked Markhain, 
 eagerly. 
 
 " His name ? Yes," he answered. " Let me see. 
 Yes, his name was Abrahams ; he was a sort of Jew 
 lawyer, I believe." 
 
 Markham and I looked at each other. It was the 
 name of the agent in New York who used to draw 
 the pensions. 
 
 "Abrahams ! " said Markham. " Arid do you know 
 anything further about him, or where we should be 
 likely to find out where he is ? " 
 
 But he knew nothing on the subject ; and we were 
 in the dumps again. We liked the appearance and 
 frankness of McCormick so much, that, after a con 
 sultation of looks between Markham and me, he 
 briefly stated to him our case and how important it 
 was to us that this man should be found, he being 
 unquestionably the accessory to the fraud on this side 
 the water. He could give us no clew to what we 
 wanted ; and we talked over the matter in a spirit of 
 despair. Presently Jasper said, 
 
 " You say he was a Jew, sir ? " McCormick as 
 sented. " And his name was Abrahams ? I wonder 
 if he* could be the son of Aaron Abrahams, who was 
 a commissary in the year seventy-seven ? " 
 
 " His name was Aaron, I remember," said McCor 
 mick ; and so did we. 
 
 " Did you know him ? " said I. 
 
252 WENSLEY. 
 
 " Know him ! " repeated Jasper. " I guess I had 
 reason to know him. I know he almost starved us ; 
 and would quite, had not a lot of our men threatened 
 to burn his house down about his ears for him. They 
 tried to do it, too. Ben Sinipkins was hanged for it, 
 poor fellow ! " 
 
 " Then you know where he lived ? " asked Mark- 
 ham and I in a breath. 
 
 " I guess I do," he answered, laughing. " I mounted 
 guard there for a month after poor Ben was hanged. 
 And I lived well, too, I tell ye ; for they was awfully 
 frightened." 
 
 " And where was it ? " we all asked at once. 
 
 "It was down Monmouth way," said Jasper, "not 
 far from Horseshoe Inlet, near where the Falmouth 
 was wrecked. It was an awful wrecking- place, and 
 old Abrahams s house was full of cabin furniture and 
 things. Folks said he had got rich by wrecking. He 
 was rich, any way. But I don t believe such riches is 
 any good to people." 
 
 We looked at one another again and with more 
 hopeful faces. To be sure, it was not much to hope 
 about ; but it was better than nothing. Jasper seemed 
 really to be our guardian angel ; though poor Tom 
 might have called him a black one. We held a con 
 sultation over this hint, and resolved, as we did not 
 know what better to do, that we would follow it up 
 and see whether we could get any trace of Abrahams 
 in that neighborhood. It was the faintest of possi 
 bilities ; but, as we had been disappointed in our 
 
IN WHICH GREAT PROGRESS IS MADE. 253 
 
 discoveries at this place, we were impatient to be try 
 ing after them in some other. I felt relief only in 
 motion, and was in haste to be off. 
 
 McConnick pressed us to stay until after dinner ; 
 in which case he agreed to accompany us, with a 
 reasonable compensation for his time, the rather as the 
 heaviest of the harvesting was now over. Markham 
 had made this proposition to him when it first occurred 
 to us to continue our search, inasmuch as it would be 
 convenient, if not essential, to have some one of the 
 party able to identify Abrahams if he could be over 
 taken. So we yielded to his hospitable urgency and 
 partook of a plentiful Jersey farmer s dinner, presided 
 over by his eldest unmarried daughter, a fine girl of 
 eighteen, his wife having been dead for several years. 
 He was urgent, furthermore, that we should spend the 
 night there and commence our journey fresh in the 
 morning. But we would not hearken to this proposal ; 
 and, according to our first plan, we set off about two 
 in the afternoon, our host with Markham in his own 
 wagon and pair of stout black horses, and Jasper and 
 I in the one we had brought from Morristown hav 
 ing first sent information of our intentions to the 
 owner, so that we need not have the hue-and-cry after 
 us as horse-thieves. 
 
 In this order we traversed nearly the entire length 
 of the State. It took us nearly three days to accomplish 
 it. I had purposely chosen Jasper as my companion, 
 because I could talk with him or be silent as I pleased. 
 I was moody enough for the first part of the way ; 
 
254 WENSLEY. 
 
 but, when we got upon the line of operations of the 
 campaigns of 76 and 77, I could not help being 
 diverted from the gloomy train of my own thoughts 
 by the lively reminiscences of my companion. He 
 was familiar with the whole of the ground ; and it 
 was like having been part of those movements one s 
 self to hear his account of them. It was the little 
 personal details proper to himself that gave this De- 
 Foeish air of reality to his narrations. 
 
 When we were passing over the battle-field of 
 Monmouth, for instance, " It was about here," said 
 he, " that I was coming up with the reserve when 
 General Washington came riding back from the front, 
 where he had been on a lookout. It was an awful 
 hot day ; and he pulled up by me and says, says he, 
 Jasper/ says he (for he had seen me often with Col 
 onel Cuyler when he was alive, and had slept under 
 the same tent with me, bless you, the night before we 
 got to Morristown), Jasper, says he, what have you 
 got in your canteen ? Rum and water, sir, says I. 
 Very good, says he ; let me have some. I took it 
 off and reached it to him. Take a drink first your 
 self/ says he (that, you know, was because somebody 
 had tried to poison him just before). So I took a 
 pull ; and so did he, a good one too, after me ; and 
 then we went into action." 
 
 Farther on towards the sea-coast, too, his knowl 
 edge continued fresh ; for he had been stationed in 
 that quarter to keep the Tories in order during the 
 spring of 77, after the successes at Trenton and 
 
IN WHICH GREAT PROGRESS IS MADE. 255 
 
 Princeton (in both of which he partook) had in 
 duced Sir William Howe to evacuate the Jerseys. 
 Towards night on the third day we reached a shabby 
 little village, or rather hamlet, not far from the shore, 
 called Sinkers a place of a very evil reputation as 
 the head-quarters of wreckers of the worst description, 
 who in those days, not to say in these, too, infested 
 that " shipwrecked coast." At the wretched tavern 
 which dispensed their daily rum to these worthy citi 
 zens, and at which we were compelled to put up, we 
 directed Jasper to try and find out what he could 
 about this tribe of Abrahams without exciting notice. 
 This he easily did while busy about the horses in the 
 stable ; and he soon came to us with the unexpected 
 intelligence that the commissary was yet living at his 
 old house, though much reduced from his former flagi 
 tious prosperity, as Jasper had esteemed it. 
 
 Encouraged beyond our hopes by this news, we 
 sent him forward that night to reconnoitre his old 
 ground and find how matters stood. When he returned 
 he reported that he had attempted an entrance, but 
 had been repulsed by the very commissary whom he 
 had helped to guard in former days. He could not, or 
 would not. remember any such service ; and refused 
 to acknowledge any gratitude for it or to admit him 
 to whom he owed it into his house. 
 
 " There was sickness there," he said ; " he could not 
 come in. There was a tavern at Sinkers ; he might 
 go there." The noise of this discussion brought up 
 the effective reserve of Mrs. Abrahams, an aged 
 
256 WENSLEY. 
 
 matron among the daughters of Israel, who opened a 
 fire of flying artillery upon him, which soon made him 
 beat a retreat. " What business had he to come there 
 at that time of night disturbing them, and they with a 
 son at the point of death in the house ? If he did n t 
 take himself off they d let fly the blunderbuss at him 
 for a black rascal as he was." And much more of 
 the same sort. 
 
 So Jasper did take himself off, and reported pro 
 gress as above. Matters seemed now to be in the 
 train we had long wished for. We considered what 
 step to take next, and agreed that the time had come 
 for the interposition of the civil arm if we could get 
 hold of it. We were for looking up the nearest mag 
 istrate ; but McCormick dissuaded us, on the ground 
 that it would be better to procure one from a little 
 farther off the coast. So we gladly assented to his 
 proposal that he should mount one of his horses and 
 ride back to Monmouth and apply to " an honest 
 lawyer," as he termed him, whom he had had deal 
 ings with, to come over and help us. The next 
 morning early he accordingly appeared with this 
 phenomenon, Mr. Sturdevant by name, and an offi 
 cer, in case of need. About ten o clock we pro 
 ceeded to the scene of action. We left the large 
 covered wagon at the foot of the steep, sandy hill, 
 just on the other side of which Abrahams s house 
 stood, and walked up it, both for the sake of speed 
 and secrecy. Jasper was to bring it slowly after 
 us. 
 
IN WHICH GREAT PROGRESS IS MADE. 257 
 
 Arrived at the door of the house, it was some min 
 utes before we could effect an entrance. We were 
 aware that we were reconnoitred; and it was not until 
 we made an assault on the door that threatened to 
 bring it down that it was at length opened by old 
 Abrahams himself. He would fain have held parley 
 with us ; but we pushed by him into the room at our 
 right, of which the door was open, and which proved 
 to be the kitchen, but yet the apartment usually 
 occupied by the family. Here we made a stop, and 
 the old man had time to ask us our business. To 
 this, under the circumstances, not unreasonable re 
 quest, Mr. Sturdevant stated that our business was 
 with his son Aaron, whom we knew to be in the 
 house. He denied the fact, and fortified his denial 
 by a volley of imprecations more appropriate to the 
 character of a Christian than of a Jew. 
 
 Mr. Sturdevant intimated to him that he had the 
 necessary process and officer, and should proceed at 
 once to satisfy himself by a search of the premises. 
 Old Abrahams seemed greatly alarmed at this infor 
 mation ; and, changing his tone, begged to know why 
 it was that this perquisition was set on foot. He was 
 informed that it was on a charge of being concerned 
 as principal or accessory in an important forgery. 
 This naturally enough increased the old man s dis 
 tress ; but he still persisted in maintaining that his 
 son was not there, but with less voluble assurance. 
 At this point the wife, the very heroine who had routed 
 Jasper and put him to flight, came in by a door 
 17 
 
258 WENSLEY. 
 
 opening into the kitchen, and said, disregarding the 
 signals telegraphed to her by her husband, 
 
 " And what do you want here ? What business 
 have you to disturb an honest man s house in this 
 way ? Are you the gang of that black rascal that 
 tried to break in here last night ? Don t you know 
 that there s a sick man in the house ? Get off with 
 you, or you 11 be the death of my poor son. He s 
 been plagued enough already this morning, poor 
 fellow, and you 11 finish him ! " 
 
 This is a very faint copy of the tirade with 
 which she favored us, and which seemed to pro 
 duce more effect on her husband than on us. He 
 stamped with his feeble foot, and clinched his 
 fist impotently, more at her than at us, but said 
 nothing. 
 
 "We must see your son, ma am," said Mr. Stur- 
 devant, kindly, but firmly. 
 
 "You shall do no such thing," the dame re 
 sponded as resolutely, setting her back against the 
 door. 
 
 " It must be done, ma am," he continued, in the 
 same tone; "but it shall be done as quietly and 
 with as little disturbance to him as possible." 
 
 He then gently removed her, though she strug 
 gled violently and made a resistance which saved 
 the credit of her courage and spirit, although she 
 had to yield to a superior force. We pushed 
 through a narrow passage, at the end of which was 
 a door opening into a bed-chamber, where lay the 
 
IN WHICH GREAT PROGRESS IS MADE. 259 
 
 man we were in search of, propped by pillows, 
 and testifying by his looks to the truth of what 
 we had heard as to his condition. As soon as we 
 had looked at him, our eyes all involuntarily 
 turned upon McCorinick, who signified by a nod 
 and look that he was the man we were after. 
 
 Having received this confirmation, Mr. Sturde- 
 vant approached the bedside of the sick man to 
 open his business. Just at this moment we heard 
 a loud noise, in which Jasper s tones were dis 
 tinguishable, as if there were some difficulty on 
 his line of inarch. At Markham s request, Mc- 
 Cormick went out to see what the matter was, 
 while we remained to see the main play played 
 out. Mr. Sturdevant had not advanced very far 
 in his cautious statement of the reason of our 
 bein " there, when we heard loud voices and foot- 
 
 o 
 
 steps approaching the house. Jasper s and McCor- 
 mick s voices were soon heard in the kitchen ; and 
 Markham and I forthwith went thither to see what 
 had happened. Jasper we found sitting on a rush- 
 bottomed chair, with one arm over the back, look 
 ing very faint, while a stream of blood was drib 
 bling down from the ends of his fingers upon the 
 floor. But this spectacle did not hold us long when 
 we looked at the third person of the party. 
 " Ferguson ! " exclaimed Markham. 
 I was too much amazed to say anything, 
 " Yes, sir, Ferguson ! " the other repeated fiercely. 
 "And I should like to know whether it was you 
 
2GO WENSLEY. 
 
 that set this black ruffian upon me as I was peace 
 ably upon the highway." 
 
 Markham and I looked at each other, not know 
 ing exactly what to say, when the magistrate came 
 out of the sick-chamber, and we briefly explained 
 the facts. He turned to McCormick, who only said 
 that he had found Jasper and this man struggling 
 together on the ground, the former wounded and 
 bleeding, and had merely interposed and brought 
 them both along to the house; which he was quite 
 competent to do, though Ferguson was a strong man. 
 We all now turned to Jasper, who said, rather 
 feebly, 
 
 "First tie a handkerchief tight round my arm, 
 just below the shoulder." This was done at once. 
 " Now, Master Frank," he went on, " put your 
 walking-stick through the bandage and give it a 
 hard turn, and hold it so." I did as I was di 
 rected ; and this extemporized tourniquet, which 
 Jasper had learned in the hospital, stopped the 
 bleeding. A small exhibition of brandy, of which 
 medicine McCorrnick happened accidentally to have 
 a moderate supply about him for emergencies, re 
 stored poor Jasper to the speaking point. 
 
 The amount of his information was, that as he 
 was slowly coming down the sandy hill, having 
 stopped for some time on the top to rest the horses, 
 he saw a window of the Jew s house open, and a 
 man jump out of it and hurry up the hill towards 
 himself. It immediately occurred to him that this 
 
IN WHICH GREAT PROGRESS IS MADE. 261 
 
 must be the very man we were after ; and, accord 
 ingly, he appointed himself to the service of cutting 
 off his retreat. This he found to be one of no lit 
 tle difficulty and of some danger, inasmuch as his 
 antagonist drew a knife after they had closed, and 
 stabbed him in the arm ; and, had not McCormick 
 come to his assistance, the enemy would have made 
 good his escape. 
 
 "Well, gentlemen," said Ferguson, "this is all 
 true enough ; but what objection have you to make 
 to what I did? I merely defended myself when 
 attacked, without provocation, on the highway." 
 
 But Mr. Sturdevant intimated that his sudden 
 exit from Abrahams s window, taken in connection 
 with the known circumstances of the case, would 
 justify his detention for further inquiry. 
 
 "Very well, sir," said Ferguson ; " you know that 
 you act at your own peril ; and you may be assured 
 I shall exact all the redress I can get." 
 
 Mr. Sturdevant merely bowed his acquiescence, 
 and said, " But you also know, sir, that I must have 
 your person searched. Anything not bearing upon 
 this case will be immediately returned to you." And 
 he called the officer from the bed-chamber. 
 
 At this announcement Ferguson turned pale as 
 death, and, hastily putting his hand in his pocket, 
 drew out a crumpled packet of papers and threw 
 them on the fire. Luckily it was an economical 
 household, and the fire was but newly kindled. 
 Ferguson sprung forward to strike them into the 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
262 WENSLEY. 
 
 coals with the heel of his boot, but was held back 
 by McCormick ; while I snatched them, only a little 
 singed from the flames. This authorized more em 
 phatically his being taken into custody, which was 
 formally done. But the papers did not afford us 
 much light at the first glance, as they were writ 
 ten in cipher, and were Sanscrit to us. After a brief 
 consultation aside, Mr. Sturdevant returned alone to 
 the sick Jew s chamber, taking the manuscripts with 
 him. We remained busy in taking care of poor 
 Jasper, who seemed very weak, and in keeping guard 
 over Ferguson. But his spirit seemed to have de 
 serted him. He appeared as one stunned, and sat 
 in gloomy silence at the table, leaning his head on 
 both his hands. Markham and I exchanged looks 
 of congratulation" believing, though we did not 
 know how, that a way of deliverance was opened 
 before us. 
 
 It was long before Sturdevant returned to us, so 
 long that we had despatched McCormick for a sur 
 geon, who had dressed Jasper s arm and departed be 
 fore the magistrate appeared. But we had not waited 
 in vain. I have not time to go into the detail of all 
 the particulars ; for it is high time that the thread, 
 too long spun out, of this narrative should be snipped 
 off. But of course everybody whose memory (Heaven 
 pity them ! ) can extend back thirty years will remem 
 ber all about the story, which made a nine days 
 wonder in this country, and a week s even in Eng 
 land. Any one that will take the trouble to consult 
 
IN WHICH GREAT PROGRESS IS MADE. 263 
 
 a file of the London Times of that date will find all 
 the documents, letters, and affidavits, with the offi 
 cial exoneration of Colonel Allerton, at full length. 
 As near as I remember them, for my mind was 
 not entirely engrossed by them even at the time, 
 they were substantially these : 
 
 Ferguson, from his knowledge of that department 
 and of the parties likely to obtain relief from the gov 
 ernment, had planned this St. John forgery, and 
 several other lesser ones, and had found an apt in 
 strument in Mr. Aaron Abrahams. This gentleman 
 had transacted the American part of the business 
 more to the satisfaction of his employer than his own, 
 inasmuch as he did not think he was allowed his full 
 share of the booty. The communications between 
 them were carried on in cipher after the very begin 
 ning, which was arranged when Ferguson was in New 
 York on a former visit undertaken for the purpose. 
 After the suspicions of Colonel Allerton had been ex 
 cited, Abrahams, who had received instant notice of 
 them from Ferguson, took himself out of the way until 
 the storm should blow over this being undoubtedly 
 Ferguson s object when he advised a delay in com 
 municating the facts to the secretary. So effectually 
 had Abrahams done this, that Ferguson himself had 
 great difficulty in tracing him ; for he seems to have 
 had no great confidence in his English confederate ; 
 and it was not until his illness took him back to his 
 father s house that he fairly came up with him. 
 
 The object he had to gain was twofold : first to 
 
264 WENSLEY. 
 
 arrange Abrahams s testimony so that it should throw 
 the whole blame on Colonel Allerton ; and, secondly, 
 to get possession of the letters in cipher, which con 
 tained his instructions to his agent during the whole 
 transaction. In these laudable pursuits he had been 
 engaged for a day or two at such times as he could 
 have access to the sick man, and in these he was busy 
 when our opportune arrival interrupted him ; and he 
 had succeeded so far as to induce Abrahams to pro 
 duce the letters (which he always kept with him) on 
 some pretence, but with the unquestionable purpose 
 of getting possession of them by force or fraud. When 
 the alarm was given of our arrival, and he actually 
 saw Marklmm and me, he snatched the documents 
 and made his escape as described by Jasper. 
 
 The principal difficulty Mr. Sturdevant had to con 
 tend with on the part of the excellent invalid was to 
 persuade him on which side his interest lay. But it 
 being made clear that whatever hope of favor or re 
 ward the case admitted of lay with us, he ingen 
 uously stated the whole matter, and gave the key to 
 the cipher, which made it perfectly clear as to where 
 the guilt rested. This he was the more willing to do 
 from his discontent with his principal, nothing al 
 layed by this last operation of his which plainly was 
 intended to leave him without proof of any connec 
 tion between them. 
 
 Before we left the house Markham and I had the 
 satisfaction of shaking hands upon the entire success 
 of our expedition ; and our satisfaction was increased 
 
IN WHICH GREAT PROGRESS IS MADE. 265 
 
 by knowing that the relief of our friends had been 
 greatly hastened by it. Although it was Mr. Stur- 
 devant s opinion and our own that such a web of 
 fraud and perjury could not have stood the test of an 
 English investigation, still it was much better to 
 avoid it with all its gossipings, and scandals, and 
 lifelong suspicions. Ferguson was committed to the 
 county jail to await the decision of the higher au 
 thorities as to the jurisdiction to which his crime be 
 longed ; while an officer was put into the Jew s house 
 to keep guard over Abrahams. We returned to the 
 inn, taking with us poor Jasper, who was not fit to be 
 removed farther for a few days. 
 
 My mind being now at liberty to dwell on rny 
 own affairs without distraction, I was half frantic at 
 this delay, and felt that I must know how matters 
 stood between Eleanor Allerton and Markham or die. 
 Sometimes I hoped that things were not advanced as 
 far between them as I had feared. He certainly did 
 not seem inordinately happy ; but then he was part 
 ed from Eleanor. Then again I was quite sure that 
 he had had no letter from her. To be sure, it was 
 hard to hit us, as we always were on the wing ; but I 
 think I could not have pardoned Eleanor, were she 
 my lady-love, had she not contrived to do it. 
 
 The suspense was intolerable. I was haunted by 
 a thousand insane imaginings. I was afraid I should 
 be taken ill, too ; perhaps I should die, arid never 
 see her again. And it was Markham himself that 
 relieved me from my distress at last. He it was that 
 
266 WENSLEY. 
 
 proposed that I should be the messenger of our glad 
 tidings. He wished to wait on the spot until the 
 whole business in regard to Ferguson was settled. 
 "Is this a happy lover?" said I to myself; and I 
 felt a foolish sort of comfort as I said it. The only 
 difficulty was about poor Jasper; and this was settled 
 by McCormick agreeing to stay with him till he was 
 able to travel, and then to see him to New York, 
 and, if necessary, to Wensley. 
 
 Things being thus arranged, I did not surfer the 
 grass to grow under my feet. I set out at daybreak 
 the next morning, and got on to New York as fast as 
 men and horses, urged by money, and, I am afraid, 
 by Newark whips, could take me in those days. 
 But I did not reach the city till the next day. For 
 tunately, the Fulton sailed that evening ; and I was 
 at Providence about three o clock the next afternoon. 
 I would not wait till the stage coaches could describe 
 the two sides of the triangle, but pushed on over the 
 base line, which I had just mathematics enough to 
 know must be less than the sum of the other two. 
 I spared neither money, pains, nor horse flesh, and 
 hurried on across the country to Wensley. I had to 
 stop over night at Wexboro ; but, early the next 
 day, I was on my hot way again. I came in sight of 
 Wensley about eleven o clock in the morning of a 
 delicious Indian-summer day. The haze, that was 
 not a haze, gave a dreamy beauty to tree, and hill, 
 and stream. At the gate I leaped out of the open 
 wagon which had brought me my last stage and has- 
 
IN WHICH GREAT PROGRESS IS MADE. 267 
 
 teued up the sweep. I entered the house. I passed 
 on to Eleanor s parlor. I opened the door. She was 
 sitting at the farther window, and alone. When she 
 saw me she started up and exclaimed only, 
 
 " Frank ! " 
 
 " Eleanor dear Eleanor," said I, " all is well ! 
 Everything is cleared up, and all is safe ! " 
 
 I had nearly crossed the room before I had fin 
 ished my sentence. She gave me a look never to be 
 forgotten; and, coming forward a step or two to 
 meet me, fell upon my neck and burst into tears. 
 Aha ! it was not Fairy s neck this time. It was my 
 turn now. And these were tears of joy. 
 
 Presently I led her to the sofa, and, still holding 
 her hand, (she let me, by Heaven !) told her as briefly 
 as I could the whole story. When this was done, 
 and we paused a moment from the subject, I looked 
 into her eyes (how could I have ever thought them 
 hard to read ?) and said, 
 
 " Eleanor, then it was not Markham, after all ? " 
 
 " No," she replied, her lip quivering and her eye 
 lids drooping under my gaze; "no, Frank, it was not 
 Markham." 
 
 Ah, Sir Walter Scott, Sir Walter Scott, it was well 
 for your peace of mind that you were not within eye 
 shot just then ! 
 
CHAPTEE XIV. 
 
 BEING THE CONCLUSION OF THE WHOLE MATTER. 
 
 r I ^HERE is really no occasion for this chapter. 
 -* The little more I have to say could be stitched 
 on to the last one just as well as not. But, then, I 
 do think that chapter ends well; and, moreover, I 
 would not have this story of mine rounded by a 
 thirteenth chapter. No, indeed ; I would as soon 
 have had thirteen guests round my wedding supper 
 table. So we will have chapter fourteen as L Envoi, 
 if only for luck. 
 
 Well, well, it seemed a good while before that 
 marriage supper was spread. But it came at last. 
 And it has been a good while longer since, only it 
 has not seemed so. Not that we had any very cruel 
 opposition to encounter. Had I been writing a novel 
 I should have been a dunce to have allowed Eleanor 
 to have had so good-natured a papa. But I cannot 
 help the fact ; and in real life such characters are 
 not uncommon, and by no means unpleasant, if un 
 interesting. Colonel Allerton only laughed at us, and 
 refused to recognize any engagement for a year or 
 two, thinking that it was only right a boy and girl 
 of nineteen (for I found that I had imagined Eleanor 
 
BEING THE CONCLUSION OF THE WHOLE MATTER. 269 
 
 older than she was, as boys are apt to do in such 
 cases, and that I was, in fact, just eleven days her 
 elder) should have a full opportunity to change their 
 minds. But as he allowed us perfect freedom of in 
 tercourse personally and by letter, we consoled our 
 selves by resolving to show him that we could not 
 change our minds. At any rate, we did not. 
 
 Mr. Bulkley was, of course, the first person out of 
 that family to whom I communicated all the good 
 news I had to tell, withholding nothing. The whole 
 story gave him the extremest pleasure, but none so 
 exquisite as the part which told that I was the ac 
 cepted lover of Eleanor. His joy was not profuse of 
 words ; but it glistened in his eye, and seemed to per 
 vade his whole nature and to glow in his whole life. 
 I believe he loved us both dearly, and rejoiced from 
 his heart that we loved each other. And then a con 
 stitutional match-maker feels an artist s pride in the 
 match he has planned and helped to make. 
 
 I thought he would be more distressed than he 
 seemed to be at Jasper s mishap. But he treated it 
 very slightly. He seemed still to hold to General 
 Wolfe s doctrine, that it was the business of a soldier 
 to die ; and, of course, that includes being wounded. 
 Only he was glad that he had done his duty and 
 been mentioned with distinction in the despatches. 
 This was also very much Jasper s own opinion, when 
 he arrived soon after in the company rather than in 
 the care of the good McCormick, who came on with 
 him to see the Allertons, at their earnest request and 
 
270 WENSLEY. 
 
 at their charges. Major Grimes told me Jasper said 
 " that a fellow that made a campaign in the Jarseys 
 must be willing to run the risk of being stuck by a 
 Tory." As the story was told to me, the future state 
 of the Tory was somewhat distinctly intimated. But, 
 as Jasper had lived so many years in a minister s ser 
 vice, I cannot but hope that the qualifying participle 
 was an interpolation of the gallant narrator. 
 
 The remainder of my exile from college soon 
 passed away, and I returned thither with much more 
 reluctance than I had left it; and I returned much 
 older in heart and mind. I was a boy then ; I felt 
 that I was a man now. My pursuits were modified 
 by the change in my feelings ; and if I did not 
 absolutely forsake the Deipnosophoi (which would 
 have been ungrateful in view of my obligations to 
 them), at least their ritual services absorbed a very 
 small part of my thoughts or my time. Encouraged 
 by the hope of showing myself worthy of the love 
 of Eleanor arid of the good opinion of her father 
 and Mr. Bulkley, I gave myself to study as I had 
 never done before ; and I believe that, when I came 
 to take my degree, I neither disgraced myself nor 
 disappointed them. 
 
 Within a year after my graduation, having then 
 attained my majority, Mr. Bulkley joined Eleanor 
 and me in holy wedlock at Wensley. It was an oc 
 casion of mixed joy and sorrow, of smiles and tears, 
 as all such momentous crises must be to those that 
 reflect and feel. The greatest grief that clouded that 
 
BEING THE CONCLUSION OF THE WHOLE MATTER. 271 
 
 happy hour was the thought that it foreshadowed 
 the sad hour of separation from Mr. Bulkley and 
 Wensley ; for almost immediately after our marriage, 
 we accompanied Colonel Allerton back to England, 
 where we lived until his death, which occurred about 
 three years afterwards. There our friendly relations 
 were renewed with Markham, who had returned home 
 almost immediately after the events of the last chap 
 ter and succeeded to the office left vacant by the dis 
 mission of Ferguson, which he held until it expired, 
 not long since, with the gradual extinction of the 
 unfortunate class it regarded. I never knew what 
 passed between Eleanor and him at the time of his 
 visit at Woodside. 1 never asked her, and she never 
 told me. 
 
 After the death of her father, Eleanor and I re 
 turned to America and lived a year or two at Wens- 
 ley. But the climate of New England did not agree 
 with her health; and we removed to Pennsylvania, 
 where we live to this day. Our house stands finely 
 on a spur of one of the Appalachians, just where the 
 mountain range begins to melt into the champaign 
 country below. Behind us the mountains stand in 
 everlasting yet ever-changing beauty ; while, before 
 the rushing river foams and flows through a delicious 
 country of meadows, pastures, cornfields, and wood 
 lands, dotted with cattle and sprinkled with villages, 
 until it is lost to sight in the blue distance. It is 
 situated in the township of St. Philipsburgh and the 
 county of Monongahela, about three miles off the 
 
272 WEXSLEY. 
 
 state road from Harrodstown to Foxley, to the west. 
 There we have lived for many years and have had 
 but as Miss Martha Buskbody said to Mr. Peter Pat- 
 tieson, when he was about to make a minute statement 
 of the felicities of the married life of Henry Morton 
 and Edith Bellenden, " It is unnecessary to be partic 
 ular concerning our matrimonial comforts." 
 
 As long as Mr. Bulkley lived we never failed to 
 pay him a visit of two or three months every sum 
 mer, and for that purpose retained Woodside until 
 after his death. This took place about twelve years 
 from the time of our marriage, at the age, as the in 
 scription on the monument erected by the Wensley 
 Sewing Circle informs us, of eighty-four years, seven 
 months, and five days. It was, as he had always 
 wished it should be, instantaneous. I chanced to be 
 in New York when it happened ; so that I was able 
 to reach Wensley in time to lay his head in the Min 
 ister s Tomb. Eleanor mourned him as another father, 
 and I as the only one I had known. He left a mod 
 erate property, as he had had a captain s pay for sev 
 eral years under the last pension act. This he left to 
 the town, the income to be paid to Jasper during his 
 life. His books he bequeathed to me ; also his sword 
 and firelock, which, as I write, are crossed over the 
 fireplace of my library as they were over his. His 
 cocked hat, wig, and goldheaded cane I bought at the 
 executor s sale at a moderate figure, and still preserve 
 them with filial reverence. 
 
 Jasper survived his master nearly ten years, and 
 
BEING THE CONCLUSION OF THE WHOLE MATTER. 273 
 
 was a good deal past ninety when lie died. He was 
 " a prosperous gentleman " in his last days ; for, 
 besides Mr. Bulkley s bequest, he had savings of his 
 own, as he was a pensioner under the first act, and 
 received his ninety dollars a year till his death. He 
 suffered me to give him the use of a cottage near the 
 borders of a pretty little wooded lake, which is 
 known as Jasp s Pond to this day. I was never in 
 Boston without going to see him ; and, though I was 
 at home when he died, I honored his memory with 
 a marble headstone, according to a promise made 
 to him during life, and which seemed to reconcile 
 him more than anything to the idea of dying. The 
 Minister s Tornb is in the north-east corner of the 
 burying-ground, and Jasper lies buried a little to the 
 west and south of it. You would know the place by 
 a fine larch which grows near it. 
 
 I have been so busy with the memories I most love 
 that I had almost forgotten to tell what became of 
 Ferguson. After the first joy of the discovery of his 
 villany was over, I could see plainly that the minister 
 was depressed by the idea of his undergoing any 
 shameful punishment. I mentioned this to Colonel 
 Allerton; and he, too, felt no disposition to pursue 
 him to extremities. This he intimated to Mr. Sturde- 
 vant, who informed him that he should promote his 
 wishes the more readily from the great doubt he enter 
 tained whether Ferguson could be prosecuted to con 
 viction. He could not be sent to England for trial ; 
 and it was more than doubtful whether the original 
 18 
 
274 WENSLEY. 
 
 instigation of the crime, when in this country, could 
 be proved, after the death of Abrahams, which soon 
 followed the scenes at his bedside. So he was dis 
 charged from custody by the consent of all parties. 
 His spirit was thoroughly broken, however, as may be 
 inferred from this fact. When the negotiations 
 relating to his release were going on, Mr. Sturdevant 
 received from Boston an anonymous letter, containing 
 a draft for five hundred dollars, to be given to the 
 prisoner on his discharge. This he must have sup 
 posed to have come from Colonel Allerton, the man 
 he had tried to ruin ; and yet he took it. We knew 
 that it was an offering to the memory of Julia Mans 
 field. Ferguson went to South America, where the 
 revolutions were then raging, and nothing definite 
 was ever heard of him. If the rumors which reached 
 us were true, his life and death were miserable 
 enough. 
 
 And now I do wish to Heaven that I had the least 
 spice of invention in my whole composition. I 
 always thought that these facts, simple and natural 
 as they are, were capable of artistic treatment in 
 proper hands. And here I have bungled the whole 
 thing, because all I could do was to tell them in the 
 order in which they occurred. I had not the least 
 intention of saying anything about myself or my 
 concerns, except with respect to Parson Bulkley and 
 Jasper, when I began. And yet I have told you this 
 long story, of which, after all, I seem to have blun 
 dered into being the hero much against my will. 
 
BEING THE CONCLUSION OF THE WHOLE MATTER. 275 
 
 But I could not help myself; I could not arrange 
 and improve my incidents. All that I can claim is 
 the humble virtue of strict and literal fidelity in my 
 narrative of facts. I believe the faculty of imagination 
 was left out when I was put together. 
 
 Then, again, I wonder whether this is "A STORY 
 WITHOUT A MORAL " or not. I am sure I did not 
 mean that it should have any. I have been taken in 
 so often by false pretences, and found that I had 
 bought a tract against Catholicism or against Protes 
 tantism, in favor of free trade or of protection, of high 
 church or low church, when I thought I had been 
 buying a novel, that I was determined, when asked 
 by my intrepid publishers to furnish something for 
 their press, that it should be something not in the 
 remotest degree edifying or instructive. I don t 
 know how I have succeeded ; but I have done my 
 best. I was horribly afraid, however, when I first 
 saw the name in print, that it might turn out, after 
 all, a " MORAL WITHOUT A STORY." But I don t think 
 it has. The only moral I can discern in it is, that, 
 if a young gentleman gets into a row and is 
 sent away from college, he will be rewarded with the 
 most charming of young women as a wife. But I 
 really think this is too violent a generalization ; and I 
 would earnestly entreat the academic youth of America 
 not to act upon it as a settled principle. If my story 
 have any moral, it is because one is the inevitable 
 attendant upon all the events of human life. I will 
 only say, at parting, that I shall be amply rewarded 
 
276 WENSLEY. 
 
 for my pains in telling it if I have succeeded in 
 exciting for a brief moment in the minds of my 
 readers a portion of the interest and pleasure which 
 is ever renewed in my own breast by the name of 
 WENSLEY. 
 
MOUNT VERNEY. 
 
MOUNT VERNEY; 
 
 OR, AN INCIDENT OF INSURRECTION. 1 
 
 " Rise like lions after slumber, 
 In unconquerable number ! 
 Shake to earth your chains, like dew 
 Which in sleep had fallen on you! 
 Ye are many ! they are few ! " SHELLEY. 
 
 IT was towards the close of an April day (how dif 
 ferent from those he had left behind him !) in the 
 year 1773, that a gentleman of some political promi 
 nence in the town of Boston found himself riding 
 up the approach to Mount Verney, an estate lying 
 in one of the midland counties of South Carolina. 
 The visit of Mr. Langdon (by which name it is our 
 sovereign pleasure that our traveller shall be known) 
 to the Southern Colonies was partly of a personal, 
 and partly of a political nature. His physicians had 
 doomed him to expiate his intemperate excesses of 
 study and professional application by some months 
 
 1 I had my grandfather, Josiah Quincy, jun., in mind, as the 
 motive of the description of Mr. Langdon. This story has a ground 
 work of historical truth. There was such an insurrection in 1739, 
 in South Carolina. 
 
280 MOUNT VERNEY. 
 
 of exile from New England ; and the stirring char 
 acter of public affairs at that time induced him to 
 select the more important of the Southern provinces 
 as his place of banishment. The signs of an ap- 
 pr<3aching collision with the mother-country were too 
 plain to be mistaken; and Massachusetts Bay, as 
 the ringleader of the gathering revolt, was naturally 
 anxious to know to what extent the other Colonies 
 were ripe for the conflict, and how far she might 
 rely upon them for assistance in the last appeal. 
 
 It is no part of my purpose to give any particulars 
 of his success or ill success in his demi-public capa 
 city. I will only say, that though his mission looked 
 towards "Disunion," and even towards the possible 
 contingency of "cutting their masters throats," his 
 reception and treatment were very different from 
 that extended a year or two since by the same sov 
 ereignty, to an accredited ambassador of Massachu 
 setts, who visited it for the purpose of instituting a 
 suit-at-law, before the tribunals of the nation, to 
 settle a question of personal liberty. Nor will I 
 embrace the opportunity, though a tempting one, to 
 remark upon the folly of the Northern provinces, even 
 at that early day, in reaching after the broken reed 
 of Southern alliance, which has from that time to 
 this only pierced the hand that leaned upon it for 
 support. My only object in giving these particulars 
 is to satisfy the constitutional craving of my country 
 men, which would not be content without a sufficient 
 explanation of the circumstance of my traveller being 
 
MOUNT VERNE Y. 281 
 
 in the avenue to Mount Verney on the day and year 
 I have indicated. 
 
 There he was, however, and, as he walked his tired 
 horse along the picturesque road that wound its way 
 up the side of the gentle hill upon which the house 
 stood, he could not help contrasting the scene and 
 the climate with what his native land was affording at 
 that moment Though it was early in April, the lux 
 uriance of the vegetation put to shame the leafiest 
 summer of his colder clime. The sides of the -hill he 
 was ascending were hung with tufted woods of the 
 tenderest green, stretching far away upon the plain. 
 Though the primeval forest was in some sort cleared 
 from the hillside by which the planter s mansion- 
 house was approached, still there were left clumps 
 of forest-trees and thickets of flowering shrubs, with 
 here and there a single tree of colossal dimensions, 
 which threw sharply defined shadows upon the bright 
 est and freshest of greenswards as the sun hastened 
 to his setting. Delicious perfumes, wafted from a 
 thousand blossoming trees and shrubs, and myriads 
 of birds of strange plumage and new song, and the 
 balmy sweetness of an atmosphere which it was luxury 
 to inhale, made the traveller feel that he was indeed 
 transported leagues away from his bleak native coast, 
 and borne nearer to the sun. 
 
 Following the windings of the road along the park- 
 like slope of the hill, Mr. Langdon at length drew 
 rein before the chief entrance of the mansion. It was 
 a building of no particular pretensions to architectural 
 
282 MOUNT VERNE Y. 
 
 beauty, excepting such as it might derive from its 
 adaptation to the climate. Deep piazzas, their slen 
 der pillars garlanded with creeping plants of an ever- 
 changing variety of flower and fragrance, lent to the 
 lofty hall and spacious apartments a shade and cool 
 ness deeply delicious. The rankness of the vegeta 
 tion gave to the grounds in which it stood a somewhat 
 uutrimmed and neglected aspect ; yet the place .had 
 a distinguished air and a look of tropical elegance. It 
 seemed to be an abode where the mere pleasure of 
 animal existence, and the delights which dwell in the 
 senses, might be enjoyed in their highest poignancy. 
 
 The rare event of a visitor at Mount Verney was 
 soon made known by the clamorous uproar of an in 
 finity of dogs of every degree, and by a bustle, scarcely 
 more intelligent, of troops of curious negroes jostling 
 one another in their anxiety to see, under the pretence 
 of serving, the new arrival. The master of the house, 
 to the monotony of whose life any interruption would 
 have been a relief, hastened out to welcome his guest 
 with hospitable earnestness. He had heard that Mr. 
 Langdon was in Charleston, and had written to him 
 to beg him to take Mount Verney in his way. His 
 prominence among the disaffected of the Colony, his 
 intelligence, and his wealth, made Mr. Langdon think 
 it worth his while to accept the invitation, although 
 it took him somewhat out of his way. Mr. Verney 
 ushered him into the house, and heaped upon him 
 every hospitable attention. 
 
 Mr. Verney was a bachelor of some forty years, 
 
MOUNT VERNEY. 283 
 
 " or by r lady " inclining to five and forty. He lived 
 alone with his slaves, without the solace or the care 
 of female society. Like most men of such habits of 
 life, he had an older look than belonged to his years, 
 and there was, besides, that indefinable air about him, 
 which gives one an instinctive consciousness that he 
 who wears it is not a happy man, that melancholy 
 and depression are his abiding guests. But, though 
 these fiends might not be far remote, they were cer 
 tainly exorcised for a season by the magic of excit 
 ing and intelligent companionship. He was all 
 animation and festivity of spirits under the stimulus 
 of the congenial society of a man fresh from the 
 world of life and action. He was full of questioning 
 curiosity about that world from which he chose to 
 live remote, and seemed to relish the rare luxury 
 of conversation with all the keenness which long 
 abstinence could give. 
 
 The evening wore away in various talk, for which 
 their common friends at Charleston, the newest gos 
 sip of the town, and the latest public news, afforded 
 topics enough and to spare. Supper-time came, and 
 they were ushered by a sable seneschal into the 
 dining-room, the size of which was curiously dispro- 
 portioned to the number of the party. The appoint 
 ments of the table indicated the wealth of the host 
 in the affluence of plate and china they displayed. 
 The viands were rather barbaric in their profusion, 
 perhaps, than recherche in their preparation ; but they 
 were none the less welcome to a hungry traveller. 
 
284 MOUNT VERNEY. 
 
 This repast, in those days and latitudes, was the 
 principal meal of the day. The chase and other 
 sylvan sports, which formed the chief business of the 
 planters, furnished their tables with every variety of 
 game. The yet unexhausted soil yielded, almost 
 without labor, the choicest vegetables and fruits. 
 The " murdered land " had not as yet begun to haunt 
 its assassins with the spectres of poverty and want. 
 Those were the golden days of Carolina. 
 
 The repast was accompanied and succeeded by 
 flowing cups. The cellar of Mount Verney was bid 
 to yield up its most treasured stores in honor of 
 this hospitable occasion. Punch, too, the most 
 seductive and deceitful of beverages, was there in a 
 brimming bowl of the daintiest of china, a libation 
 with which that generation welcomed, speeded, and 
 crowned the business of every day. Neither the 
 health nor the habits, however, of Mr. Langdon per 
 mitting the indulgence which was the approved 
 custom of that day, the circulation of the bottle and 
 the bowl was made to give place to animated dis 
 course, which was prolonged late into the night. 
 
 As the large hours began to melt into the smaller 
 ones, they gradually concentrated their discourse on 
 the serious temper of the times and the portentous 
 events which seemed impending. The probabilities 
 of an actual contest with England, and its chances, if 
 it could not be avoided, were fully discussed. The 
 weight of the several Colonies in the scale of battle, 
 should battle come, was considered and calculated, 
 
MOUNT VERNEY. 285 
 
 which could be relied upon as firm in the faith, 
 which were wavering, which strong, and which weak, 
 in the prospect of the coming struggle. Mr. Verney 
 did not hesitate to indicate the radical weakness of 
 the Southern Colonies. 
 
 "Our slaves," said he, "will be a continual drag 
 upon us. The British will forever have an army of 
 observation, and of occupation too, if opportunity 
 serves, in the very heart of our country, cantoned 
 about in all of our houses, and quartered upon our 
 estates." 
 
 " You do not think, then, that the slaves are to be 
 depended upon, in case of an invasion ? " 
 
 " Depended upon ! Were slaves ever, since his 
 tory was, to be depended upon when they had a 
 chance to be even with their masters ? Yes, they 
 may be depended upon for our deadliest and bloodi 
 est enemies. 
 
 " I cannot but think," replied Mr. Langdon, " that 
 you do not take sufficiently into consideration the 
 force of long habits of obedience, and the personal 
 affection of the slaves for their masters." 
 
 " Their personal affection for their masters ! My 
 dear sir, had you lived your life among slaves, as I 
 have done, you would know what reliance to put on 
 that head ! God knows that I have had an experi 
 ence against which no theory and no philosophy can 
 stand." And as he spoke a deep shade of melan 
 choly clouded his features. 
 
 After a pause Mr. Langdon proceeded, "What 
 
286 MOUNT VERNEY. 
 
 you say is an argument fatal to the defence of your 
 slavery. It shows it to be incompatible with the 
 existence, or at least the safety, of any common 
 wealth where it is permitted." 
 
 " To be sure it is ! " replied Mr. Verney. " None 
 but a fool or a villain would attempt to defend it on 
 its merits. But what are we to do ? "We have the 
 wolf by the ears, and we can neither keep him, nor 
 let him go." 
 
 "It is hard to say, indeed," said Mr. Langdon. 
 " But could you not first tame your wolf, and then 
 let him go ? A wolf may be tamed : a negro may 
 be civilized. Educate your slaves, prepare them for 
 freedom, and then there can be no danger in giving 
 it to them. Does not a wise foresight point this out 
 as the only feasible precaution against consequences 
 terrible to think of ? " 
 
 " My friend," replied his host, in a voice agitated 
 by strong emotion, "you talk of you know not what. 
 Belax your hold upon the wolf, as you must if you 
 would tame him, and he will bury his fangs in your 
 vitals for your pains. No, no ! such an attempt 
 would be full of ruin. My whole life has been but 
 too bitter a commentary on your philosophy. God 
 forbid that the curse of an unreasoning philanthropy 
 be visited upon other innocent heads ! " 
 
 Mr. Langdon saw that his new friend was deeply 
 moved by some uncontrollable emotion. He knew 
 nothing of his history, and consequently could not 
 divine its cause. He felt a strong curiosity to know 
 
MOUNT VERNEY. 287 
 
 what it was ; but politeness, and a sense of what was 
 due to the evident mental sufferings of his host, 
 forbade any expression of it. He accordingly waited 
 in silence. 
 
 After a short pause, Mr. Verney recovered his equa 
 nimity, and, turning to his guest, said, " But I ought 
 to apologize for keeping a tired traveller so long 
 from his rest. Shall I show you your chamber ? " 
 
 Mr. Langdon assented, and, following his host, was 
 ushered into his apartment. 
 
 The room into which Mr. Verney conducted his 
 guest was on the same floor with the dining-room 
 and parlors, as they were called in those days, before 
 drawing-rooms. It had the look of having been 
 intended, and of having been formerly used, for the 
 reception of company. The furniture, though evi 
 dently of an age anterior to that of the inhabited part 
 of the house, was of a style and description better 
 befitting what our ancestors used to call a "day- 
 room " than a bed-chamber. The height and size of 
 the room, however, made it a very fit place for the 
 invocation of slumber in the climate of Carolina. 
 A journey of thirty or forty miles on horseback gave 
 it a very inviting air to the tired traveller, and he 
 thought he had seldom seen a more tempting object 
 than the ample. and luxurious bed, to be ascended 
 only by a pair of steps, which reared itself in one 
 corner, as if the appointed altar of Morpheus himself. 
 
 Mr. Yerney shook hands with his guest at the 
 
288 MOUNT VERNEY. 
 
 door, and, wishing him a good-night, left him to his 
 repose. Mr. Langdon was too tired and sleepy to 
 take much notice of anything the room contained, 
 excepting his couch ; but he could not help observ 
 ing, as he was undressing, two large portraits, nearly 
 full-lengths, of the size of life, w r hich occupied cor 
 responding panels on the side of the room opposite 
 to the bed. The one nearest the bed was of a gentle 
 man in the dress of the days of Queen Anne, or of 
 George the First, his dark intelligent face looking 
 out from the fullest of full-bottomed wigs ; and the 
 other, of a lady in a fancy dress, which made it more 
 uncertain as to the age in which so charming a 
 shepherdess had predominated over the two sheep 
 which seemed to make up her flock. Mr. Langdon 
 took but a hurried glance at them as they looked 
 down upon him from their elaborately carved frames 
 of tarnished gold. He bestowed one wondering 
 thought upon them as he climbed up to his repose, 
 marvelling that two old family portraits of the ap 
 parent consequence of these pictures, were suffered 
 to hang neglected in a place where they must be so 
 little seen. But sleep soon banished all thought of 
 his neighbor s affairs, or of his own, from his mind. 
 
 It was broad day the next morning when he 
 awoke (for early rising was not one of the vices of 
 Mount Verney), and, when he looked at the pictures 
 again in the light of the sun, he felt yet more sur 
 prised than he had done the night before, to think 
 that they should be relegated to a remote bed-chain- 
 
MOUNT VERNEY. 289 
 
 ber. He was no connoisseur, as he had had few 
 opportunities of seeing good pictures ; but a correct 
 natural taste, assisted by personal intimacy with 
 Copley (then in the prime of his genius), and famil 
 iarity with his works, made him sensible that they 
 were paintings of no common merit. Especially in 
 the picture of the gentleman did he think he perceived 
 the hand of a master. Upon taking a more minute 
 survey of his apartment, his surprise was yet further 
 increased by the discovery of a picture opposite to 
 these, of three beautiful children two boys and a 
 girl; the boys, apparently, from seven to ten years 
 old, drawing the little girl, of four or five, in a 
 garden carriage, or rather the elder drawing, and 
 the younger pushing it from behind in all the 
 glee and romping spirits of childhood. There was a 
 quaintness about the look of the children, dressed, 
 according to the fashion of that day, in the costume 
 of men in miniature, that struck Mr. Laugdon, whose 
 passion was children, even more than the elder 
 portraits. 
 
 After breakfast, by Mr. Verney s invitation, he rode 
 with him the rounds of his extensive plantation. 
 He inspected the fields of rice and of indigo, on which 
 depended the profits of the proprietor, and surveyed 
 the plantations of Indian corn, yams, sweet-potatoes, 
 and other esculent vegetables for the support of 
 the negroes and the supply of the great house. He 
 visited " the quarter " where the slaves lived, and 
 saw how slavery looked in the shape of womanhood, 
 19 
 
290 MOUNT VERNEY. 
 
 of worn-out old age, and of childhood, more hopeless 
 and melancholy than old age itself. Although the 
 arrangements for the slaves were as good, or bet 
 ter, than he had seen on the other plantations he 
 had visited, still there was that about the home that 
 was no home, sordid, cheerless, melancholy, 
 of the negroes, that struck a deeper horror of the 
 system through the t veins of the stranger than all 
 the burning toils of the field. The gardens and 
 grounds about the house were viewed the last. At 
 each stage of their excursion, the economy of a great 
 plantation was explained and illustrated by Mr. 
 Verney, whose strong native sense, joined to his long 
 experience, eminently qualified him for such a lecture. 
 
 The ride occupied the chief of the morning, and 
 dinner was announced soon after their return home. 
 As they were sitting over their wine, after dinner, 
 it was next to impossible that they should talk of 
 anything but slaves and slavery. Mr. Langdon had 
 a natural abhorrence of the system, which was not at 
 all diminished by what his own eyes had seen of it. 
 His zeal for liberty was a principle universal in its 
 nature and in its application, and he was deeply 
 sensible of the disgraceful inconsistency of a contest 
 for freedom carried on by the masters of slaves, and 
 trembled lest this element might prove fatal to the 
 whole movement. Mr. Verney assented to all his 
 general principles, and had nothing to say against his 
 deductions from them. 
 
 " What you say, my friend, is all unquestionably 
 
MOUNT VERNE Y. 291 
 
 true. But here are we, and there are the slaves, and 
 what are we to do ? " 
 
 "I will tell you what you may not do, if you 
 really wish to be rid of this horrid curse, and that 
 is nothing. You are in the mire, I admit ; but 
 you can only get out of it by putting your shoulder 
 to the wheel, and, the sooner you begin, the better 
 for you." 
 
 " It is easier to say that something must be done 
 than to say what that something should be. We find 
 ourselves bound up with the blacks in this infernal 
 spell, and how to break it passes my art, I must 
 confess." 
 
 "Were it not," replied Mr. Laugdon, with some 
 hesitation, " that the suggestion last night seemed to 
 give you pain, I should insist on what I then said, 
 that you cannot expect your slaves ever to be in a 
 condition to receive their liberty, unless you begin 
 to put them in a condition to receive it. Pardon 
 me," he continued, seeing a cloud again begin to 
 brood over the brow of his friend, " pardon me, if 
 there be anything painful or improper in what I have 
 said ; for you must know that I can have no design 
 to give you pain." 
 
 " There can be nothing improper," Mr. Verney 
 replied, " in so natural a suggestion as yours ; but I 
 will not affect to deny that it is painful, deeply pain 
 ful, to me. If I have reason to know anything on 
 earth, it surely is the fallacy of your proposition. 
 It does indeed touch me nearly." 
 
292 MOUNT VERNE Y. 
 
 Observing Mr. Langdon looked concerned and inter 
 ested, he proceeded, 
 
 " I see that you are curious to know what all this 
 means, and, having raised your curiosity, it is no 
 more than right that I should gratify it, though it be 
 a task that I would willingly decline." 
 
 Then, silencing with a hasty gesture a polite attempt 
 on the part of his guest to waive the subject, he 
 added, - 
 
 " Nay, what I have to tell is no secret : it is part 
 of the history of the Colony. And it is a weakness 
 in me to shrink from what I am liable to hear of, and 
 do actually hear of, from almost everyone (but that 
 is not a great many) that comes to see me. Did 
 you observe anything in particular in your bed 
 chamber last night or this morning?" 
 
 " You can hardly think me so blind," replied Mr. 
 Langdon, hoping that here was an opportunity of 
 saving his host from an unpleasant personal narra 
 tive, " as not to have observed and admired the ad 
 mirable family pictures that hang there. I only 
 wondered at their being there instead of here or in 
 the hall. By whom, pray, were they painted ? " 
 
 "They are what I meant," said Mr. Verney, with 
 a forced calmness eloquent of deep emotion. " They 
 are all that remain to me of my house, once an 
 honored one in two countries, my father, my 
 mother, my brothers, and my sister, all united in one 
 horrible destruction, and I left alone, of the happiest 
 of households, the last of my name and race. You 
 
MOUNT VERNE Y. 293 
 
 can hardly wonder, my friend, that I do not choose 
 to have such mementos always before my eyes. 
 You will wonder the less when I shall have told 
 you of their fate." 
 
 I shall give the substance of Mr. Verney s narra 
 tive, as it remains among the papers of his guest, in 
 my own words, for the sake of the succinctness and 
 brevity which the inexorable limits of this volume 
 demand. I believe that I have omitted nothing 
 material to the story, though I have left out many 
 conversational digressions, and explanations of the 
 way in which the narrator obtained his knowledge 
 of incidents which did not come under his personal 
 observation. I only hope, that, in laboring to be 
 brief, I may not become obscure. 
 
 Colonel Verney, the father of our acquaintance, 
 was the grandson of the first emigrant of the family 
 to the New World. His grandfather was a French 
 Huguenot, of a noble family, who was one of the mul 
 titudes dragooned out of his native country after the 
 revocation of the Edict of Nantes. The Yicomte du 
 Verneuil and his ancestors had always been among 
 the pillars of the Protestant faith in France. Their 
 blood had helped swell the orgies of the feast of St. 
 Bartholomew, and had been poured out on almost 
 every battlefield during the long wars of religious 
 ascendency. For the century, nearly, that the Edict 
 of Nantes remained in force, they were always active 
 in the intestine broils which disturbed the reign of 
 
294 MOUNT VERNEY. 
 
 Louis XIII. and the minority of his successor, and 
 in the later intrigues which gave to religious bigotry 
 the air of statesmanship, in the act which expelled 
 half a million of the best subjects of France from 
 her soil. The representative of this turbulent house, 
 therefore, had no claim for exemption, had he wished 
 it, from the common fate of his faith. 
 
 M. du Verneuil first took refuge in England. He 
 was kindly received, as were all his unfortunate 
 countrymen who escaped thither. But his very 
 superiority in point of rank made his position more 
 irksome to him than the humbler artisans, who easily 
 obtained employment, and melted into the mass of 
 the laboring population, found theirs to be. He had 
 brought away with him a remnant of his property, 
 which, though relatively large, was very inadequate 
 to support him and his family in the style they 
 deemed essential to their dignity. He was soon 
 obliged to cast about for some mode of living which 
 would save his pride and his dwindling estate at the 
 same time. 
 
 About this period, public attention in England was 
 strongly directed towards the proprietary Colony of 
 Carolina. The noble proprietaries were endeavoring 
 to revive on those distant shores the decaying feu 
 dality of the Old World. They had called philoso 
 phy to their aid, and, in making John Locke the 
 Lycurgus of their infant realm, the fantastic spirit 
 of Shaftesbury thought they had imitated the wis 
 dom of the ancients, who made their philosophers 
 
MOUNT VERNE Y. 295 
 
 their lawgivers. But the experiment redounded as 
 little to the credit of philosophy, as the incorporation 
 of negro slavery with the institutions he ordained 
 did to the honor of the philosopher. But at the first 
 establishment of the constitutions of Carolina, their 
 defects were not developed, and their fanciful struc 
 ture attracted more general attention, doubtless, than 
 a more rational plan would have done. But there 
 was one great want yet to be supplied. Palatines, 
 landgraves, and caciques, chancellors, chamberlains, 
 and admirals, there were good store ; but the proprie 
 taries sadly lacked common people over whom these 
 dignitaries were to predominate. Accordingly, they 
 did their best to promote emigration by every means 
 in their power. 
 
 The tide of industrious and worthy emigrants 
 which now flowed from France came very oppor 
 tunely for them, and they endeavored, with success, 
 to direct it in part towards their new Colony. The 
 names of many of the principal families in Carolina 
 
 Manigault, Petigru, Legare, Gaillard, DeSaussure 
 
 still bear witness to that great emigration to her 
 shores, as the names of Bethune, Eevere, Deblois, 
 Amory, Bowdoin, Faneuil, and many others, testify 
 to our own share in it. M. du Verneuil, as a man 
 of some property, was a very desirable recruit. His 
 attention was drawn to this Eldorado of the West by 
 the Earl of Berkeley, and all its real and imaginary 
 advantages set forth in golden phrase. It seemed to 
 be what he wanted, and he was easily persuaded to 
 
296 MOUNT VERNE Y. 
 
 embark himself, and all the fortunes of his house, in 
 the hazardous adventure. He set sail for the New 
 World, and arrived with his wife and only child, a 
 youth of about sixteen, at Charleston, in November, 
 1686. 
 
 It need hardly be said that his golden expectations 
 were disappointed. He found a scene as different 
 from that whence he came, as can well be imagined. 
 But with the elasticity of spirit, and power of adap 
 tation, of his nation, he soon conformed himself to 
 his new circumstances, and became one of the most 
 prominent men in the rising Commonwealth. Ma 
 dame de Verneuil died soon after their arrival in the 
 Colony, having sunk under the strange hardships and 
 discomforts of her new lot ; but his son, the grand 
 father of Mr. Langdon s host, took kindly to his 
 adopted country, and throve apace in it. He married 
 early, and established himself, after his father s death, 
 at Mount Verney, then on the frontiers of the prov 
 ince. His name, the pronunciation of which had 
 long been an offence to English tongues, was finally 
 corrupted, and Anglicized into Verney, a change to 
 which he readily consented. As the Colony flourished, 
 he grew rich, and increased in goods, and like a patri 
 arch, as he was, he had gold and silver, men-servants 
 and maid-servants, and much cattle. 
 
 His contentment with his lot, however, did not 
 blind him to the disadvantages of his position for 
 the education of children. He accordingly sent his 
 only son at an early age to England, to receive his 
 
MOUNT VERNEY. 297 
 
 education there. As his body-servant, and in some 
 sort his companion, he sent with him a young slave, 
 who had had charge of him from his earliest years. 
 Arnold, for so the slave was named, from his original 
 master, was not many years older than young Ver- 
 ney ; but he had shown a discretion and consider- 
 ateness so much beyond his years, and evinced so 
 genuine and tender an affection for his young charge, 
 that Mr. Verney was perfectly content still to intrust 
 the care of his personal safety and comfort to him. 
 Arnold, as well as his young master, looked forward 
 with delight to the new and strange scenes in store 
 for them, and he felt a sense of trust and responsi 
 bility which raised him sensibly in his own estima 
 tion. 
 
 To England they went early in the last century. 
 Young Verney, still accompanied by Arnold, pro 
 ceeded from Eton to Oxford, and from Oxford to the 
 Inns of Court. Wherever he went, Arnold was still 
 a prime favorite both with his master and his young 
 companions. His imperturbable good humor and 
 lightness of heart were a continual letter of recom 
 mendation, while his sterling excellences of charac 
 ter won for him genuine respect. He availed himself 
 of such snatches of instruction as he could seize 
 by the way, with such success, that it was a com 
 mon saying among Verney s companions, that Arnold 
 knew more than his master. However this might 
 be, he was singularly well instructed for one in his 
 condition of life, and might have passed muster very 
 
 OF THF 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
298 MOUNT VERNEY. 
 
 creditably among persons of much higher pretensions 
 than he. In his zeal for knowledge, he was encour 
 aged and assisted by his young master, who seemed 
 to feel as if all the intelligence of his sable satellite 
 was but the reflected radiance of his own. 
 
 At length the time of return arrived, and some 
 where about 1720, Verney, accompanied by Arnold, 
 sailed for home. It was a great change for Verney 
 that from the crowds and gayeties of London to the 
 solitude and monotony of his father s plantation. 
 But it was a yet greater change for poor Arnold, who 
 found himself transported from a land of freedom 
 to a land of slaves. The kindness with which he had 
 been uniformly treated, and the circumstance that in 
 England he was rather better treated than worse, 
 on account of his color, had almost made him forget 
 that he was a slave. His return to Carolina was to 
 him almost like a reduction from absolute freedom 
 to hopeless slavery. His eyes had been opened, and 
 he saw his own condition, and that of his race, in all 
 its horrors. The abominations, the cruelties, the 
 debasement, which necessarily attend upon slavery, 
 shocked him as they never could have done, had he 
 remained always surrounded by them. The thought 
 that he, too, was one of the victims appointed by 
 an inexorable fate to this dreadful destiny, filled 
 him with anguish and despair which could not be 
 uttered. 
 
 Gloom and despondency settled down upon his 
 soul. The change which had come over him was 
 
MOUNT VERNEY. 299 
 
 obvious to "all, and the old planter easily divined the 
 cause. 
 
 " You have spoiled that boy, Jack," said he to his 
 son : " you have made him above his business. You 
 had better let Jones put him into the field for a 
 while. There s nothing like hard work and flogging 
 to take the sulks out of a nigger." 
 
 His son, however, refused to take this humane 
 advice, and still kept Arnold about his person, as his 
 body-servant, contenting himself with forbidding him 
 the use of books and writing-materials. He prided 
 himself much upon his sagacity in devising this nota 
 ble remedy, when it appeared at last to be crowned 
 with success. After a long period of depression and 
 melancholy, the cloud seemed suddenly to pass off 
 from Arnold s countenance, and the weight to be re 
 moved from his heart. He addressed himself to his 
 duties with all his former assiduity, if not with all 
 his old gayety of spirit. Had his master been an acute 
 physiognomist, he would have seen that the look out 
 of his eye, the air of his head, the carriage of his body, 
 were all different from what they were of old. But 
 he only observed that he was cured of the sulks, and 
 congratulated himself on his wise prescription of ab 
 stinence from books and pen and ink. 
 
 But this change had deeper springs than the phi 
 losophy of Verney dreamt of. It proceeded from the 
 reception of a great idea, the adoption of an absorbing 
 and abiding purpose for which to live. While he 
 was plunged in the depths of his despondency, 
 
300 MOUNT VERNE Y. 
 
 despairing for himself and his race, a thought 
 flashed into his darkened mind, and illuminated its 
 gloomiest recesses. 
 
 "Why," thought he, "are my people and myself 
 slaves ? Why do we remain slaves ? Is there, in 
 deed, no remedy ? Is it a necessity, that when we 
 outnumber our tyrants four to one, and every one of 
 us is a match for four of them in strength, is it a 
 necessity that we remain slaves forever ? " 
 
 The thought nerved his mind anew. His gloom 
 passed away. He saw clearly the relative strength 
 of the masters and slaves. He remembered that the 
 Spaniards were at hand in Florida, ever ready to sow 
 dissension in the Colony, and to breed discontents 
 among the slaves. He felt that a blow might be 
 struck, which would give all the broad lands of Caro 
 lina to those hands that extorted wealth from them 
 for others. He felt that a mind only was wanting to 
 watch and guide events in order to conduct such a 
 revolution to a triumphant issue. He was proudly 
 conscious that his was a mind capable of this great 
 task. He looked upon the advantages of education he 
 had enjoyed as something providential, and designed 
 for a mighty end. He saw himself the appointed 
 leader of his people in their exodus out of the land of 
 bondage. In his excitement of thought, he saw the 
 whole process of deliverance pass, as it were, before 
 his eyes, and he beheld his nation free and happy in 
 the homes they had wrested from their oppressors. 
 He accepted this natural operation of the mind as a 
 
MOUNT VEKNEY. 301 
 
 prophetic intimation of duty and revelation of success. 
 His destiny was fixed. He devoted himself to the 
 rescue of his miserable race. A deep calm brooded 
 over his soul. He was conscious to himself that he 
 was equal to the work he had undertaken, and he was 
 at peace. And he had yet another seal of his fitness 
 for his mission, he was willing to wait. 
 
 Long years he waited ; but the purpose of his 
 soul was fixed. The deliverance of his race became 
 the absorbing, the overwhelming passion of his being. 
 The degradation in which he saw them plunged, the 
 vices which were forced upon them, the barbarities 
 which they endured, made his life bitter to him, and 
 his only relief was in the distant hope of rescue and 
 retribution. His character was obviously changed ; 
 but, under the quiet gravity with which he performed 
 his offices about his master s person, nothing was 
 suspected to lurk, except the desperate contentment 
 of a hopeless slave. 
 
 As time passed away, the usual changes which it 
 works were wrought in the condition of Colonel 
 Verney ; for such was the rank which Arnold s 
 master held in the colonial establishment. Death, 
 marriage, and birth had bereaved and blessed him, 
 according to the common lot of man. He succeeded 
 his father in the possession of Mount Verney, he won 
 the chiefest of Carolinian beauties to share it with 
 him, and he was girt with growing infancy, the charm 
 of the present moment and the hope of future years. 
 His political position was eminent and influential. 
 
302 MOUNT VERNEY. 
 
 His plantation was a mine of still increasing wealth. 
 He seemed to have nothing left to desire. 
 
 The public duties of Colonel Verney took him 
 regularly every winter to Charleston, and frequently 
 to various and distant parts of the Colony. On all 
 these expeditions he was attended by Arnold as his 
 body-servant. The opportunities which were thus 
 given to the restless observation of the slave to dis 
 cern the strength or the weakness of the different 
 portions of the province, and to select the disaffected 
 spirits among the servile population on whose co 
 operation he could rely, were faithfully improved. 
 His manner of life, too, was eminently favorable for 
 watching the signs of the times, and for seizing the 
 moment which they should pronounce auspicious. 
 He bided his time in patience, well aware of the 
 momentous issues of the enterprise he revolved in 
 his mind, and determined not to endanger its success 
 by any premature or ill-considered action. 
 
 Nearly twenty years had thus glided away since 
 Arnold first accepted what he considered a call to be 
 the deliverer of his people, and the favorable moment 
 had not yet appeared. At last the conjunction of 
 events seemed to portend the hour at hand. The 
 relations between England and Spain became every 
 day more and more disturbed. The aggressions of 
 Spain upon English commerce and English rights 
 were the favorite topics of one of the mightiest oppo 
 sitions that an English minister ever had to encoun 
 ter. Sir Robert Walpole lingered out with difficulty 
 
MOUNT VERNEY. 303 
 
 his wise and pacific policy, with continually dwin 
 dling majorities, against such antagonists as the elder 
 Pitt, Pulteney, Wyndham, and Lyttelton in the Com 
 mons, and Bathurst, Carteret, and Chesterfield in the 
 Lords. But the public mind of England was at 
 fever-heat, burning for a Spanish war. It was ob 
 vious that the only chance of the pilot at the helm 
 of state to retain his hold upon it was to shape his 
 course with the tide, whose current was too mighty 
 for him to resist. A Spanish war was inevitable. 
 
 The relations of the Colonies of Carolina and of 
 Florida were among the vexed questions which were 
 to be adjusted by the sword. The Colonies, in those 
 days, were ever the pawns of the royal chess-players 
 of Europe, the first to be moved, and the first to 
 suffer, as the " unequal game " of war proceeded. 
 The Spanish governor of Florida, Don Manuel de 
 Monteano, was a man that well understood the na 
 ture of the move required of him. His theatre was a 
 narrow one ; but he was an actor that gave dignity to 
 the boards he trod, and he was resolved to grace his 
 narrow stage with action worthy of the widest scene. 
 Long before affairs were ripe for war, he had been busy 
 in forecasting preparation for it. His emissaries had 
 been dispersed, in various disguises, over Carolina. 
 The relative strength of the whites and blacks, the 
 false security of the former, and the necessary disaf 
 fection of the latter, were well known to him. He 
 had that greatest of gifts in the craft of government, 
 a wise choice of instruments with which to work. 
 
304 MOUNT VERNEY. 
 
 His most confidential agent was one Da Costa, 
 a Jew of Portuguese extraction, who fixed his head 
 quarters in Charleston, where he lived unsuspected, 
 as a pawnbroker, and dealer in small wares. The 
 character of his traffic was such as brought him 
 without suspicion into constant communication with 
 the slaves, and gave him opportunities of judging 
 which were the fittest tools for his purposes. He 
 was too keen an observer not to single out Arnold, 
 at almost his first casual interview with him, as the 
 man of men for whom he had been long in search. 
 A short acquaintance made them thoroughly under 
 stand each other, and they became of one mind and 
 of one heart in the work that lay before them. They 
 digested their plans ; they assigned to each other and 
 to the few confederates they could trust the parts 
 they were to play. A general insurrection was to 
 be sustained by a Spanish invasion. The freedom of 
 the slaves was to be guaranteed, and the Colony was 
 to be governed by the blacks, as a dependency of 
 Spain. It was a good plot, well conceived and well 
 arranged, and there seemed to be no reason why it 
 should not succeed. 
 
 A part of Arnold s business was the encouragement 
 of an extensive system of evasion into Florida by 
 the slaves. This was done to such an extent that 
 one entire regiment of escaped slaves was mustered 
 into the service of his Catholic Majesty, armed, 
 equipped, and paid on the same footing with the 
 rest of the Spanish army, and officered by the picked 
 
MOUNT VERNEY. 305 
 
 men of their own number. The colonelcy of this 
 regiment was offered to Arnold ; but he justly con 
 sidered that the post of danger and of honor in such 
 a perilous enterprise as this was in the heart of the 
 insurrection, and not at the head of the invasion. So 
 he voluntarily remained a slave, though escape was 
 easy, and though freedom, distinction, rank, and equal 
 society were within his grasp, that he might be 
 a more faithful and effectual servant of his injured 
 race. 
 
 Notwithstanding, however, the intimate relations 
 of Arnold with Da Costa, he was far from giving 
 him his entire confidence. He had no faith in the 
 abstract zeal of the Spaniards for human rights, and 
 he believed that their real purpose was only to sub 
 stitute Spanish for English masters. He foresaw 
 that his end could only be achieved by another ser 
 vile war, under much less favorable circumstances, 
 following upon the one impending, unless he could 
 guard against this danger. He meditated the sub 
 ject long and deeply ; and his conclusion was one 
 that startled and dismayed himself. He could dis 
 cern but one way of permanent peace and safety for 
 the blacks ; and that was the utter extermination 
 of the whites. 
 
 He could not escape from the terrible presence of 
 this dreadful necessity. His heart died within him 
 when it first stood revealed to his sight. It haunted 
 him by day and by night. It was almost enough 
 to stagger his resolution, and make him abandon his 
 
 20 
 
306 MOUNT VERXEY. 
 
 design with horror. The images of his master, 
 the* companion of his youth and the unaltera 
 bly kind friend of his manhood ; of his mistress, 
 the beautiful, the gentle, and the good ; of the gener 
 ous Arthur ; of the frolic, mischief-loving Edward, 
 his especial pet ; of the little Alice, of all of 
 whom he was ever the chosen playfellow and bosom 
 friend these phantoms made him quail for a 
 moment as they rose before his mental sight in that 
 fearful midnight when this ghastly idea first startled 
 him with its apparition. He had neither wife nor 
 child. All his affections centred with passionate 
 intenseness in his master and his children. They 
 were all he had to love. "Was this terrible blood- 
 offering required at his hands ? His own life he was 
 ready to pour out. He foreboded that he should not 
 survive the coming struggle. But must he sacrifice 
 lives infinitely dearer to him than his own? He 
 flung himself in an agony of despair upon his face, 
 and wept long and bitterly. 
 
 But presently a wail was borne upon the air 
 through the open casement, distant, but fearfully 
 distinct. It was the chosen hour for punishment. 
 He started to his feet. It was a woman s voice, 
 shrill and shrieking, that reached his ear from the 
 remote "quarter." It sounded like the "exceeding 
 bitter cry " of his race, whose wrongs he had forgot 
 ten, reproaching him for his weakness. He thought 
 of their blood and tears crying to Heaven for 
 vengeance : a vision of chains and whips and brand- 
 
MOUNT VERNEY. 307 
 
 ing-irons, and an endless procession of enslaved 
 generations, rushed upon his soul. Was this great 
 deliverance to be wrought without the dearest sacri 
 fice ? Was it to be purchased without a price ? He 
 would not shrink from his part of it, dreadful as it 
 might be. But God grant that he might not survive 
 the victory it was to buy ! 
 
 This necessity was felt by all the blacks who were 
 admitted into his confidence. It was agreed upon 
 that the massacre should be universal, and the future 
 exclusion of the white race from the province the 
 condition of its submission to the Spanish power. 
 
 Everything was ready. England and Spain were 
 at war. The Spanish auxiliaries were at hand. The 
 day approached it arrived. It was a Sunday, and 
 one of the loveliest of autumnal days. Arnold re 
 paired early to the slave-quarter, and harangued the 
 slaves upon a case of surpassing cruelty they had 
 witnessed the night before. A tumult of excitement 
 was gathered around him. The alarm spread. Jones, 
 the iron-haired, iron-featured, and iron-hearted over 
 seer, approached, with two assistants, to suppress the 
 disturbance. Seeing Arnold, whom he hated because 
 beyond his usual authority, he rode up to him with 
 savage glee and uplifted whip. In a moment he was 
 stretched lifeless on the ground. His assistants met 
 with the same fate in the twinkling of an eye. 
 
 The taste of blood and of revenge had been given, 
 and Arnold knew that the appetite would grow with 
 " what it fed on." He mounted the overseer s horse, 
 
308 MOUNT VERNE Y. 
 
 and, sending messengers to the neighboring planta 
 tions, led the crowd of slaves towards the great 
 house. As they rounded the offices, and came in 
 sight of the house, Colonel Verney was seen hastily 
 approaching them. His commanding figure and mili 
 tary bearing, acting upon their habit of subordination, 
 checked the progress of the slaves, and they stood in 
 decisively looking at him and at each other. Arnold 
 saw that this was the moment on which all would 
 depend. He rode in front of the confused crowd. 
 
 " Why, Arnold ! " exclaimed his master, " what is 
 all this ? How came you on Jones s horse ? and what 
 means this disturbance?" 
 
 " It means, sir," answered Arnold, " it means lib 
 erty to slaves, and death to tyrants ! " 
 
 " Tyrants, you rascal ! " replied Colonel Verney. 
 " Dismount this instant, and I will soon thrash this 
 insolence out of you." 
 
 Arnold dismounted, and approached his master with 
 a firm step, while the gaping crowd stood awaiting 
 the issue. As soon as he was within reach, Colo 
 nel Verney lifted his cane, and aimed a blow at his 
 slave s head. Arnold closed with him. In an instant 
 he had wrested the cane from his master s hand. A 
 slight motion made the scabbard fly far off upon the 
 lawn ; the blade which it had concealed glittered in 
 the air for a moment, and in the next it was buried 
 deep in the heart he loved most on earth. 
 
 " Ungrateful slave ! " exclaimed the dying man as 
 he fell heavily to the ground. 
 
MOUNT VERNEY. 309 
 
 " No," replied Arnold, more to himself than to his 
 master. " A slave cannot be ungrateful." 
 
 I state facts : I do not propose examples. As an 
 historian I tell the doom which slavery once brought 
 upon its victim tyrants. As an abolitionist I show 
 the only method by which such horrors may be avert 
 ed. But let no one who boasts of blood shed in the 
 battles of freedom affect a horror at such scenes as I 
 have described. If ever blood was spilt righteously 
 for the vindication of rights or the redress of wrongs, 
 that which has flowed in servile insurrection is the 
 most hallowed of all. And let no one whose classic 
 enthusiasm kindles at the story of a Brutus or a Timo- 
 leon, whose love of country and of freedom was too 
 mighty for the ties of sonship or brotherhood to hold 
 them back from imagined duty, brand as foul and 
 unnatural murder the sacrificial act of Arnold the 
 slave. 
 
 The blow was decisive : it turned the tide of feel 
 ing at once. The negroes rushed forward with shouts 
 of triumph, over the dead body of their master, 
 towards the house. Arnold checked them, and found 
 them willing to listen to his directions. He hastily 
 told them that they must make all speed towards 
 Stono, a small settlement about five miles off, where 
 there was a warehouse full of arms and ammunition. 
 Ten were detailed for the bloody business to be de 
 spatched at Mount Yerney, under command of the only 
 confederate Arnold had on the plantation, one whom 
 he could rely upon to see that there was no superfluous 
 
310 MOUNT VERNEY. 
 
 cruelty committed. All the rest, following Arnold, 
 who had remounted his horse, hurried iii the direc 
 tion he had indicated. 
 
 As they hastened along the high road, they were 
 continually re-enforced by parties from the neighboring 
 plantations, so that, by the time they reached Stono, 
 they were four or five hundred strong. The little 
 settlement was soon carried and sacked, every white 
 put to death, and a large supply of muskets and car 
 tridges secured. Arnold now called a halt and reduced 
 his promiscuous multitude to something like order. 
 The guns and ammunition he distributed, as far as 
 they would go, among those of his followers on whom 
 he could most depend. The rest were armed with 
 axes, scythes, clubs, or whatever other weapons their 
 hands could find. A quantity of white cloth furnished 
 them with banners. Drums and fifes were also in the 
 warehouse, and musicians are never wanting where 
 Africans are to be found. Arnold knew human na 
 ture too well not to avail himself of these appliances. 
 So they took up their march towards Jacksonburgh, 
 with drums beating and banners flying, in some show 
 of military order. 
 
 Long before this, the tragedy was over at Mount 
 Verney. The party to whom it was confided did 
 their work quickly and thoroughly. I will not har 
 row up the hearts of my readers, nor my own, by the 
 details which my materials afford. Humanity natu 
 rally revolts at the horrors of slavery, whether they 
 are administered by the masters or by the slaves, 
 
MOUNT VERNEY. 311 
 
 according as the one or the other have the power in 
 their hands. It is enough to say that Mr. Langdon s 
 host, then a child of six years old, was the only white 
 left alive in the house. And his escape was owing to 
 the affection and presence of mind of his nurse, who 
 by affecting zeal in the work, and pretending to de 
 spatch this part of it herself, managed to deceive the 
 destroyers until they had left the bloody scene, and 
 hastened after the main body of the insurgents. The 
 terror of the child might well extend its influences 
 over the whole of life. The ghastly spectacles which 
 blasted his infant sight when he was released from 
 his hiding-place changed the current and the com 
 plexion of his being. He was thenceforth what these 
 cruel calamities had made him. Such a cloud passes 
 not away with the morning of life, but sheds its bale 
 ful shadow over its noontide and its evening hours. 
 
 Meantime the insurgent force moved successfully 
 on towards their destination. They destroyed every 
 house on their way, and put every white person they 
 met to death. Unfortunately for them, they found 
 abundance of liquor in the houses they sacked. Their 
 chief in vain urged upon them the necessity of entire 
 sobriety for their safety and success. The temptation 
 was too strong to be resisted, and Arnold saw with 
 dismay an element of failure developing itself, on 
 which he had not counted. He hurried them on, in 
 hopes of engaging them in some active service before 
 they became unfit for it. Presently a small party of 
 gentlemen were seen riding rapidly towards them. 
 
312 MOUNT VERNEY. 
 
 They stopped suddenly on perceiving the strange 
 sight before them, and anxiously reconnoitred the 
 armed mass. Arnold at once recognized in the chief 
 of the party Governor Bull, with whose person he was 
 familiar. The Governor saw the whole truth in a 
 moment, and, wheeling about, galloped off with his 
 companions in the opposite direction. Arnold, who 
 had retained his horse for such an emergency as this, 
 pursued them at full speed, accompanied by a few 
 other mounted slaves. They fired upon the flying 
 horsemen, but without effect, and were soon obliged 
 to give over the pursuit, as the Governor and his 
 company were much better mounted than they. Here 
 was another untoward occurrence, ominous of ill 
 success. 
 
 A large congregation was assembled at the little 
 village of Wiltown, in the Presbyterian church, to 
 hear the famous Mr. Archibald Stobo preach. The 
 preacher was in the midst of his sermon, when a 
 sudden noise of horses hoofs drew the attention of 
 the audience from him. They looked towards the 
 door, and to their surprise they saw Governor Bull 
 enter. They rose to receive him, and Mr. Stobo 
 paused in his discourse. Acknowledging their civili 
 ty with a slight wave of the hand, his Excellency 
 exclaimed, standing at the door of the church, " Gen 
 tlemen, a large body of insurgent negroes is close at 
 hand. They have fire-arms, and it looks like a seri 
 ous matter. Make a stand against them here, while 
 I ride on to Jacksonburgh for re-enforcements." 
 
MOUNT VERNE Y. 313 
 
 In another moment he was off; but the scene of 
 confusion that he left behind him passes description. 
 The men sprung to their arms, which they were re 
 quired by law to carry with them to church, and 
 issued forth upon the green. The screaming women 
 and children were left within its walls for protection. 
 Captain Bee, the principal gentleman of the neighbor 
 hood, assumed the command, and led the small force 
 out of the village towards Stono. His own house 
 stood on an eminence about half a mile off, and the 
 first thing he saw was that it was in the possession 
 of the insurgents. They had evidently got at his 
 wine-cellar, and showed unquestionable marks of in 
 toxication. A negro on horseback was busy among 
 them, riding from group to group with earnest ges 
 tures of exhortation. 
 
 It was none other than Arnold, who found his 
 forces becoming more and more untractable and in 
 subordinate at the very time when order and disci 
 pline were needed the most. He in vain endeavored 
 to prevail upon them to move upon the enemy. 
 Presently the enemy moved upon them. Captain 
 Bee led his men rapidly along the road, and, guided 
 by his knowledge of the country, posted them so as 
 to command the insurgents on the lawn, while they 
 were sheltered by the trees that skirted it. Arnold 
 saw their danger, and ordered the small body of 
 sober men that obeyed his directions to fire upon the 
 enemy in their covert. As soon as their fire was 
 thus drawn, Bee and his men issued from their cover, 
 
314 MOUNT VERNE Y. 
 
 and, passing by Arnold and his few without notice, 
 poured a volley with deadly effect into the drunken 
 and dancing crowd on the lawn. The panic was in 
 stantaneous and complete. They dispersed in every 
 direction, throwing away their arms as they fled. 
 
 Arnold now drew off his command to a thicket 
 that bounded the lawn on one side, and bade them 
 sell their lives as dearly as they could. The numbers 
 were now more equal, and the conflict was long and 
 desperate. At last, on the road from Wiltown, a re-en 
 forcement was seen approaching, which the Governor 
 was leading to the battlefield. Seeing his chance 
 of maintaining his ground gone, Arnold rushed out 
 at the head of his surviving friends, to cut their 
 way through the enemy s ranks, before the succors 
 arrived ; but it was too late. A body of horsemen 
 galloped upon the ground. The negroes, with Ar 
 nold at their head, fought desperately, but in vain, 
 He was cut down, and as he fell, a dozen sabres were 
 uplifted to make his fate certain. But Governor Bull 
 dashed into the circle, exclaiming, 
 
 " Stop, gentlemen ! This fellow must not die yet. 
 He knows things which we must know first." 
 
 He was taken from beneath the horses feet, and 
 carried to the town, where his wounds, which were 
 not dangerous, were dressed. This done, he was 
 thrust into a den of torment, called a slave-prison, 
 belonging to a private person, to spend the night. 
 And what a night it was ! 
 
 The next morning he was brought out and exam- 
 
MOUNT VERNE Y. 315 
 
 ined ; but no word of knowledge could they extract 
 from him. He acknowledged and justified his own 
 part in this rising ; but he utterly refused to impli 
 cate any others, or to give any information as to the 
 extent of the conspiracy. He was tied up and flogged 
 (for the first time in his lifej until he fainted from 
 loss of blood ; but no syllable of information, or cry 
 of pain, could be extorted from him. This ordeal 
 was repeated for three days, with fresh inventions 
 of torture ; but all in vain. His firmness was un 
 shaken. Then they spoke of pardon and favor as the 
 reward of frankness. But the only reply they could 
 obtain was a bitter laugh, which mocked the delusive 
 offer of the cruelest torture of all. At last, wearied 
 with their vain attempts, and fearing lest he might 
 die of exhaustion, they dragged him to a tree in the 
 public square, and hanged him like a dog. 
 
 He died ; but his memory, spectre-like, long haunted 
 the Province. His talents and his endurance, which 
 his examination and torture had displayed, alarmed 
 the planters even more than the bloody effects of the 
 insurrection. At the very next session of the colo 
 nial Legislature (1740), the instruction of slaves was 
 made a highly penal offence. The alarm was uni 
 versal. Every man feared lest he might have an 
 Arnold on his estate. 
 
 And there was reason for their fears. Notwith 
 standing the cruel examples which were made of the 
 captive insurgents, the spirit of Arnold seemed to 
 walk in the Province. Partial insurrections, the fruit 
 
316 MOUNT VERNE Y. 
 
 of his labors, were frequent for several years after 
 his death, and it was not till after the peace with 
 Spain that the Colony regained its former tran 
 quillity. 
 
 " Was I not right," said Mr. Verney, with a mourn 
 ful smile, when he had finished the narrative of 
 which this is an imperfect sketch, " was I not right 
 in saying that I had had an experience that refuted 
 your theory of educating slaves for freedom ? " 
 
 Mr. Langdon could make no reply to such a ques 
 tion after such a story. He wrung his friend s hand 
 in silence. He had nothing to say ; for philosophy 
 had not as yet taught men by examples, that the 
 safe, sufficient, and only possible preparation for free 
 dom is EMANCIPATION. 
 
 The next morning he took leave of Mr. Verney, 
 and pursued his journey homeward, a sadder if not 
 a wiser man. He hated slavery more than ever for 
 this dreadful picture of its works. But, while his 
 heart bled for the blight which it had shed upon the 
 life of Verney, he could not disguise from himself, 
 standing as he did on the brink of a civil war for 
 liberty, that his deepest sympathies were with Arnold. 
 
 When the Revolution broke out, Mr. Verney joined 
 the arrny, and rose to the rank of lieutenant-colonel 
 in the line. He fought in many of its battles with 
 the desperation of a man for whom life has no charm, 
 and death no terrors. But he survived all the great 
 battles in which he had a part, to fall at length in 
 
MOUNT VERNEY. 317 
 
 a partisan expedition on which he had volunteered, 
 when on a leave of absence, in his native State. 
 
 As he died without children or kindred, his estate 
 escheated to the sovereign people. It has passed 
 through many hands, and has been racked and " mur 
 dered," like many another. I am told by one who 
 lately visited its neighborhood, that it is now a 
 barren sandhill, its house in ruins, its trees cut 
 down, its fields a desolation. The pictures which 
 elicited this story alone remain to recall it. But it 
 is only for their merit as pictures that they are 
 valued ; the portrait of Colonel Verney being, per 
 haps, the only original Kneller (except one of Jere 
 miah Dummer, in Boston) in the country. They 
 are preserved in a public collection in Charleston, 
 and admired by multitudes, as works of art. But 
 their history is fading from memory, and it is only 
 to a few old men whose daily life is in the past, that 
 they recall the pride, the sorrows, and the ruin of 
 MOUNT VERNEY. 
 
WHO PAID FOR THE PRIMA DONNA? 
 
WHO PAID FOR THE PRIMA DONNA? 
 
 I 
 
 " T F anything could make a man forgive himself for 
 i being sixty years old," said the Consul, holding 
 up his wineglass between his eye and the setting 
 sun, for it was summer-time, "it would be that 
 he can remember Malibran in her divine sixteenity at 
 the Park Theatre, thirty odd years ago. Egad, sir, 
 one couldn t help making great allowances for Don 
 Giovanni, after seeing her in Zerlina. She was be 
 yond imagination piquante and delicious." 
 
 The Consul, as my readers may have partly inferred, 
 was not a Eoman Consul, nor yet a French one. He 
 had had the honor of representing this great republic 
 at one of the Hanse towns, I forget which, in Pres 
 ident Monroe s time. I don t recollect how long 
 he held the office ; but it was long enough to make 
 the title stick to him for the rest of his life with the 
 tenacity of a militia colonelcy or village diaconate. 
 The country people round about used to call him 
 " the Counsel" which, I believe, for I am not very 
 fresh from iny schoolbooks, was etymologically 
 21 
 
322 WHO PAID FOR THE PRIMA DONNA? 
 
 correct enough, however orthoepically erroneous. 
 He had not limited his European life, however, with 
 in the precinct of his Hanseatic consulship, but had 
 dispersed himself very promiscuously over the Con 
 tinent, and had seen many cities, and the manners of 
 many men and of some women, singing-women, 
 I mean, in their public character ; for the Consul, 
 correct of life as of ear, never sought to undeify his 
 divinities by pursuing them from the heaven of the 
 stage to the purgatorial intermediacy of the coulisses, 
 still less to the lower depth of disenchantment into 
 which too many of them sunk in their private life. 
 
 " Yes, sir," he went on, " I have seen and heard 
 them all, Catalani, Pasta, Pezzaroni, Grisi, and all 
 the rest of them, even Sonntag, though not in her 
 very best estate ; but I give you my word there is 
 none that has taken lodgings here," tapping his fore 
 head, "so permanently as the Signorina Garcia, or 
 that I can see and hear so distinctly when I am in 
 the mood of it by myself. JRosina, Desdemona, Cin 
 derella, and, as I said just now, Zerlina she is as 
 fresh in them all to my mind s eye and ear as if the 
 Park Theatre had not given way to a cursed shoe- 
 shop, and I had been hearing her there only last 
 night. Let s drink her memory," the Consul added, 
 half in mirth and half in melancholy, a mood to 
 which he was not unused, and which did not ill 
 become him. 
 
 Now, no intelligent person who knew the excel 
 lence of the Consul s wine could refuse to pay this 
 
WHO PAID FOR THE PRIMA DONNA? 323 
 
 posthumous honor to the harmonious shade of the 
 lost Muse. The Consul was an old-fashioned man 
 in his tastes, to be sure, and held to the old religion 
 of Madeira, which divided the faith of our fathers 
 with the Cambridge Platform, and had never given 
 in to the later heresies which have crept into the 
 communion of good-fellowship from the south of 
 France and the Ehine. 
 
 " A glass of champagne," he would say, " is all 
 well enough at the end of dinner, just to take the 
 grease out of one s throat, and get the palate ready 
 for the more serious vintages ordained for the solemn 
 and deliberate drinking by which man justifies his 
 creation ; but Madeira, sir, Madeira is the only stand 
 by that never fails a man, and can always be depended 
 upon as something sure and steadfast." 
 
 I confess to t having fallen away myself from the 
 gracious doctrine and works to which he had held so 
 fast ; but I am no bigot, which, for a heretic, is some 
 thing remarkable, and had no scruple about uniting 
 with him in the service he proposed, without demur 
 or protestation as to form or substance. Indeed, he 
 disarmed fanaticism by the curious care he bestowed 
 on making his works conformable to the faith that 
 was in him ; for partly by inheritance, and partly by 
 industrious pains, his old house was undermined by a 
 cellar of wine such as is seldom seen in these days of 
 modern degeneracy. He is the last gentleman that 
 I know of, of that old school that used to import 
 their own wine and lay it -down annually themselves, 
 
324 WHO PAID FOR THE PRIMA DONNA? 
 
 their bins forming a kind of vinous calendar sug 
 gestive of great events. Their degenerate sons are 
 content to be furnished, as they want it, from the 
 dubious stores of the vintner, by retail. 
 
 " I suppose it was her youth and beauty, sir," I 
 suggested, " that made her so rememberable to you. 
 You know she was barely turned seventeen when she 
 sung in this country." 
 
 " Partly that, no doubt," replied the Consul, " but 
 not altogether, nor chiefly. No, sir, it was her genius 
 which made her beauty so glorious. She was won 
 derfully handsome, though. She was a phantom of 
 delight/ as that Lake fellow says," - - it was thus pro 
 fanely that the Consul designated the poet Words 
 worth, whom he could not abide, " and the best 
 thing he ever said, by Jove ! " 
 
 " And did you never see her again ? " I inquired. 
 
 "Once only," he answered, "eight or nine years 
 afterwards, a year or two before she died. It was at 
 Venice, and in Norma. She was different, and yet not 
 changed for the worse. There was an indescribable 
 
 o 
 
 look of sadness out of her eyes, that touched one oddly, 
 and fixed itself in the memory. But she was some 
 thing apart and by herself, and stamped herself on 
 one s mind as Rachel did in Camille or Pliedre. It was 
 true genius, and no imitation, that made both of them 
 what they were. But she actually had the physical 
 beauty which Rachel only compelled you to think she 
 had, by the force of her genius and consummate dra 
 matic skill, while she was on the scene before you." 
 
WHO PAID FOR THE PRIMA DONNA? 325 
 
 " But do you rank Malibran with Eachel as a dra 
 matic artist ? " I asked. 
 
 " I cannot tell," he answered. " But if she had not 
 the studied perfection of Eachel, which was always 
 the same, and could not be altered without harm, 
 she had at least a capacity of impulsive self-adapta 
 tion about her which made her for the time the char 
 acter she personated, not always the same, but such 
 as the woman she represented might have been in 
 the shifting phases of the passion that possessed 
 her. And to think that she died at eight and 
 twenty ! What might not ten years more have made 
 her !" 
 
 " It is odd," I observed, " that her fame should be 
 forever connected with the name she got by her first 
 unlucky marriage in New York ; for it was unlucky 
 enough, I believe was it not ? " 
 
 " You may say that," responded the Consul, " with 
 out fear of denial or qualification. It was disgrace 
 ful in its beginning and in its ending. It was a 
 swindle on a large scale ; and poor Maria Garcia was 
 the one who suffered the most by the operation." 
 
 "I have always heard," said I, "that old Garcia 
 was cheated out of the price for which he had sold 
 his daughter, and that M. Malibran got his wife on 
 false pretences." 
 
 " Not altogether so," returned the Consul. " I 
 happen to know all about that matter from the best 
 authority. She was obtained on false pretences, to 
 be sure ; but it was not Garcia that suffered by them. 
 
326 WHO PAID FOR THE PRIMA DONNA? 
 
 M. Malibran, moreover, never paid the price agreed 
 upon, and yet Garcia got it, for all that." 
 
 " Indeed ! " I exclaimed. " It must have been a 
 neat operation. I cannot exactly see how the thing 
 was done; but I have no doubt a tale hangs thereby, 
 and a good one. Is it tellable ? " 
 
 " I see no reason why not," said the Consul. " The 
 sufferer made no secret of it, and I know of no reason 
 why I should. Mynheer Van Holland told me the 
 story himself, in Amsterdam, in the year 35." 
 
 " And who was he ? " I inquired, " and what had 
 he to do with it ? " 
 
 " I 11 tell you," responded the Consul, filling his 
 glass, and passing the bottle, " if you will have the 
 goodness to shut the window behind you, and ring 
 for candles ; for it gets chilly here among the moun 
 tains as soon as the sun is down." 
 
 I beg your pardon did you make a remark? 
 Oh, what mountains ! You must really pardon me ; 
 I cannot give you such a clew as that to the identity 
 of my dear Consul, just now, for excellent and suffi 
 cient reasons. But, if you have paid your money for 
 the sight of this Number, you may take your choice 
 of all the mountain-ranges on the continent, from 
 the Rocky to the White, and settle him just where 
 you like. Only you must leave a gap to the west 
 ward, through which the river also anonymous for 
 the present distress breaks its way, and which 
 gives him half an hour s more sunshine than he 
 would otherwise be entitled to, and slope the fields 
 
WHO PAID FOR THE PRIMA DONNA? 327 
 
 down to its margin near a mile off, with their native 
 timber thinned so skilfully as to have the effect of 
 the best landscape-gardening. It is a grand and 
 lovely scene ; and when I look at it, I do not wonder 
 at one of the Consul s apothegms, namely, that the 
 chief advantage of foreign travel is, that it teaches 
 you that one place is just as good to live in as 
 another. I imagine that the one place he had in 
 his mind at the time was just this one. But that 
 is neither here nor there. When candles came, 
 we drew our chairs together, and he told me in 
 substance the following sstory. I will tell it in 
 my own words, not that they are so good as his, 
 but because they come more readily to the nib of iny 
 pen. 
 
 II. 
 
 NEW YORK has grown considerably since she was 
 New Amsterdam, and has almost forgotten her whilom 
 dependence on her first godmother. Indeed, had it 
 not been for the historic industry of the erudite 
 Diedrich Knickerbocker, very few of her sons would 
 know much about the obligations of their nursing 
 mother to their old grandame beyond sea, in the 
 clays of the Dutch dynasty. Still, though the old 
 monopoly has been dead these two hundred years, 
 or thereabout, there is I know not how many fold 
 more traffic with her than in the days when it was in 
 full life and force. Doth not that benefactor of his 
 
WHO PAID FOR THE PRIMA DONNA ? 
 
 species, Mr. Udolpho Wolfe, derive thence his im 
 mortal or immortalizing Schiedam Schnapps, the 
 virtues whereof, according to his advertisements, are 
 fast transferring dram-drinking from the domain of 
 pleasure to that of positive duty ? Tobacco-pipes, 
 too, and toys such as the friendly saint, whom Prot 
 estant children have been taught by Dutch tradition 
 to invoke, delights to drop into the votive stocking, 
 they come from the mother-city, where she sits 
 upon the waters, quite as much a Sea-Cybele as 
 Venice herself. And linens, too, fair and fresh and 
 pure as the maidens that weave them, come forth 
 from Dutch looms ready to grace our tables, or to 
 deck our beds. And the mention of these brings me 
 back to my story, though the immediate connection 
 between Holland linen and Malibran s marriage may 
 not at first view be palpable to sight. Still it is a 
 fact that the web of this part of her variegated des 
 tiny was spun and woven out of threads of flax that 
 took the substantial shape of fine Hollands ; and 
 this is the way in which it came to pass. 
 
 Mynheer Van Holland, of whom the Consul spoke 
 just now, you must understand to have been one of 
 the chief merchants of Amsterdam, a city whose 
 merchants are princes, and have been kings. His 
 transactions extended to all parts of the Old World, 
 and did not skip over the New. His ships visited 
 the harbor of New York as well as of London ; and, 
 as he died two or three years ago a very rich man, 
 his adventures in general must have been more re- 
 
WHO PAID FOR THE PRIMA DONNA? 329 
 
 munerative than the one I am going to relate. In 
 the autumn of the year 1825 it seemed good to this 
 worthy merchant to despatch a vessel, with a cargo 
 chiefly mad-e up of linens, to the market of New 
 York. The honest man little dreamed with what 
 a fate his ship was fraught, wrapped up in those 
 flaxen folds. He happened to be in London the 
 winter before, and was present at the debut of Maria 
 Garcia at the King s Theatre. He must have ad 
 mired the beauty, grace, and promise of the youthful 
 Rosina, had he been ten times a Dutchman ; and if 
 he heard of her intended emigration to America, as 
 he possibly might have done, it most likely excited 
 no particular emotion in his phlegmatic bosom. He 
 could not have imagined that the exportation of a 
 little singing-girl to New York should interfere with 
 a potential venture of his own in fair linen. The 
 gods kindly hid the future from his eyes, so that he 
 might enjoy the comic vexation her lively sallies 
 caused to Doctor Bartolo in the play, unknowing 
 that she would be the innocent cause of a more 
 serious provocation to himself in downright earnest. 
 He thought of this himself after it had all hap 
 pened. 
 
 Well, the good ship " Steenbok " had prosperous 
 gales and fair weather across the ocean, and dropped 
 anchor off the Battery with some days to spare from 
 the amount due to the voyage. The consignee came 
 off and took possession of the cargo, and duly trans 
 ferred it to his own warehouse. Though the advan- 
 
330 WHO PAID FOR THE PRIMA DONNA? 
 
 tages of advertising were not as fully understood in 
 those days of comparative ignorance as they have 
 been since, he duly announced the goods which he 
 had received, and waited for a customer. He did not 
 have to wait long. It was but a day or two after the 
 appearance of the advertisement in the newspapers 
 that he had prime Holland linens on hand, just re 
 ceived from Amsterdam, when he was waited upon by 
 a gentleman of good address, and evidently of French 
 extraction, who inquired of the consignee, whom we 
 will call Mr. Schulemberg for the nonce, " whether he 
 had the linens he had advertised yet on hand." 
 
 "They are still on hand and on sale," said Mr. 
 Schulemberg. 
 
 "What is the price of the entire consignment?" 
 inquired the customer. 
 
 " Fifty thousand dollars," responded Mr. Schulem 
 berg. 
 
 "And the terms?" 
 
 "Cash on delivery." 
 
 " Very good," replied the obliging buyer. " If they 
 be of the quality you describe in your advertisement, 
 I will take them on those terms. Send them down 
 to my warehouse, No. 118 Pearl Street, to-morrow 
 morning, and I will send you the money." 
 
 " And your name ? " inquired Mr. Schulemberg. 
 
 " Is Malibran," responded the courteous purchaser. 
 
 The two merchants bowed politely, the one to the 
 other, mutually well pleased with the morning s 
 work, and bade each other good-day. 
 
WHO PAID FOR THE PRIMA DONNA ? 331 
 
 Mr. Schulemberg knew but little, if anything, 
 about his new customer ; but, as the transaction was 
 to be a cash one, he did not mind that. He calcu 
 lated his commissions, gave orders to his head clerk 
 to see the goods duly delivered the next morning, 
 and went on Change, and thence to dinner, in the 
 enjoyment of a complacent mind and a good appe 
 tite. It is to be supposed that M. Malibran did 
 the same. At any rate, he had the most reason, at 
 least, according to his probable notions of mercantile 
 morality and success. 
 
 III. 
 
 THE next day came, and with it came, betimes, 
 the packages of linens to M. Malibraii s warehouse 
 in Pearl Street ; but the price for the same did not 
 come as punctually to Mr. Schulemberg s counting- 
 room, according to the contract under which they 
 were delivered. In point of fact, M. Malibran was 
 not in at the time ; but there was no doubt that he 
 would attend to the matter without delay, as soon as 
 he came in. A cash transaction does not necessarily 
 imply so much the instant presence of coin as the 
 unequivocal absence of credit. A day or two more 
 or less is of no material consequence, only there is to 
 be no delay for sales and returns before payment. 
 So Mr. Schulemberg gave himself no uneasiness about 
 the matter when two, three, and even five and six 
 days had slid away without producing the apparition 
 
 OP THK 
 
 CTNIVERSITT 
 
332 WHO PAID FOR THE PRIMA DONNA? 
 
 of the current money of the merchant. A man who 
 transacted affairs on so large a scale as M. Malibran, 
 and conducted them on the sound basis of ready 
 money, might safely be trusted for so short a time. 
 But \vhen a week had elapsed, and no tidings had been 
 received either of purchaser or purchase-money, Mr. 
 Schulemberg thought it time for himself to interfere 
 in his own proper person. Accordingly, he inconti 
 nently proceeded to the counting-house of M. Mali- 
 bran to receive the promised price, or to know the 
 reason why. If he failed to obtain the one satisfac 
 tion, he at least could not complain of being disap 
 pointed of the other. Matters seemed to be in some 
 little unbusiness-like confusion, and the clerks in a 
 high state of gleeful excitement. Addressing himself 
 to the chief among them, Mr. Schulemberg asked the 
 pertinent question, 
 
 " Is M. Malibran in ? " 
 
 " No, sir," was the answer, " he is not ; and he will 
 not be, just at present." 
 
 " But when will he be in ? for I must see him on 
 some pressing business of importance." 
 
 "Not to-day, sir," replied the clerk, smiling ex 
 pressively. " He cannot be interrupted to-day on any 
 business of any kind whatever." 
 
 " The deuce he can t ! " returned Mr. Schulemberg. 
 " I 11 see about that very soon, I can tell you. He 
 promised to pay me cash for fifty thousand dollars 
 worth of Holland linens a week ago. I have not seen 
 the color of his money yet, and I mean to wait no 
 
WHO PAID FOR THE PRIMA DONNA? 333 
 
 longer. Where does he live ? for, if he be alive, I 
 will see him, and hear what he has to say for himself, 
 and that speedily " 
 
 "Indeed, sir," pleasantly expostulated the clerk, 
 " I think, when you understand the circumstances of 
 the case, you will forbear disturbing M. Malibran 
 this day of all others in his life." 
 
 "Why, what the devil ails this day above all 
 others," said Mr. Schulemberg somewhat testily, " that 
 he can t see his creditors, and pay his debts on it ?" 
 
 " Why, sir, the fact is," the clerk replied, with an 
 air of interest and importance, " it is M. Malibran s 
 wedding-day. He marries this morning the Signo- 
 rina Garcia, and I am sure you would not molest 
 him with business on such an occasion as that." 
 
 " But my fifty thousand dollars ! " persisted the 
 consignee. " And why have they not been paid ? " 
 
 " Oh, give yourself no uneasiness at all about that, 
 sir," replied the clerk, with the air of one to whom 
 the handling of such trifles was a daily occurrence. 
 " M. Malibran will, of course, attend to that matter 
 the moment he is a little at leisure. In fact, I im 
 agine, that, in the hurry and bustle inseparable from 
 an event of this nature, the circumstance has en 
 tirely escaped his mind ; but, as soon as he returns 
 to business again, I will recall it to his recollection, 
 and you will hear from him without delay." 
 
 The clerk was right in his augury as to the effect 
 his intelligence would have upon the creditor. It 
 was not a clerical error on his part when he sup- 
 
334 WHO PAID FOR THE PRIMA DONNA? 
 
 posed that Mr. Schulemberg would not choose to 
 enact the part of skeleton at the wedding-breakfast of 
 the young Prima Donna. There is something about 
 the great events of life, which cannot happen a great 
 many times to anybody, 
 
 " A wedding or a funeral, 
 A mourning or a festival," 
 
 that touches the strings of the one human heart of us 
 all, and makes it return no uncertain sound. Ski/lock 
 himself would hardly have demanded his pound of 
 flesh on the wedding-day, had it been Antonio that 
 was to espouse the fair Portia. Even he would have 
 allowed three days of grace before demanding the 
 specific performance of his bond. Now, Mr. Schulem 
 berg was very far from being a Shylock, and lie was 
 also a constant attendant upon the opera, and a 
 devoted admirer of the lovely Garcia. So he could 
 not wonder that a man on the eve of marriage with 
 that divine creature should forget every other con 
 sideration iii the immediate contemplation of his 
 happiness, even if it were the consideration for a 
 cargo of prime linens, and one to the tune of fifty 
 thousand dollars. And it is altogether likely that 
 the mundane reflection occurred to him, and made 
 him easier in his mind under the delay, that old 
 Garcia was by no means the kind of man to give 
 away a daughter who dropped gold and silver from 
 her sweet lips whenever she opened them in public, 
 as the princess in the fairy-tale did pearls and dia- 
 
WHO PAID FOR THE PRIMA DONNA ? 335 
 
 monds, to any man who could not give him a solid 
 equivalent in return. So that, in fact, he regarded 
 the notes of the Signorina Garcia as so much collateral 
 security for his debt. 
 
 So Mr. Schulemberg was content to bide his rea 
 sonable time for the discharge of M. Malibran s 
 indebtedness to his principal. He had advised Myn 
 heer Van Holland of the speedy sale of his consign 
 ment, and given him hopes of a quick return of the 
 proceeds. But, as days wore away, it seemed to him 
 that the time he was called on to bide was growing 
 into an unreasonable one. I cannot state with precis 
 ion exactly how long he waited. Whether he dis 
 turbed the sweet influences of the honeymoon by his 
 intrusive presence, or permitted that nectareous satel 
 lite to fill her horns, and wax and wane in peace, 
 before he sought to bring the bridegroom down to 
 the things of earth, are questions which I must leave 
 to the discretion of my readers to settle, each for 
 himself or herself, according to their own notions of 
 the proprieties of the case. But at the proper time, 
 after patience had thrown up in disgust the office of 
 a virtue, he took his hat and cane one fine morning, 
 and walked down to No. 118 Pearl Street, for the 
 double purpose of wishing M. Malibrari joy of his 
 marriage, and of receiving the price promised long, 
 and long withheld of the linens which form the 
 tissue of my story. 
 
 " The gods gave ear, and granted half his prayer : 
 The rest the winds dispersed in empty air." 
 
336 WHO PAID FOR THE PRIMA DONNA ? 
 
 There was not the slightest difficulty about his 
 imparting his epithalamic congratulation ; but as 
 to his receiving the numismatic consideration for 
 which he hoped in return, that was an entirely dif 
 ferent affair. He found matters in the Pearl Street 
 counting-house again apparently something out of 
 joint, but with a less smiling and sunny atmos 
 phere pervading them than he had remarked on his 
 last visit. He was received by M. Malibran with 
 courtesy, a little overstrained, perhaps, and not as 
 flowing and gracious as at their first interview. Pre 
 liminaries over, Mr. Schulemberg, plunging with 
 epic energy into the midst of things, said, " I have 
 called, M. Malibran, to receive the fifty thousand 
 dollars, which, you will remember, you engaged to 
 pay down for the linens I sold you on such a day. 
 I can make allowance for the interruption which has 
 prevented your attending to this business sooner ; but 
 it is now high time that it was settled." 
 
 " I consent to it all, monsieur," replied M. Mali- 
 bran with a deprecatory gesture. " You have reason, 
 and I am desolated that it is the impossible that you 
 ask of me to do." 
 
 " How, sir ! " demanded the creditor. " What do 
 you mean by the impossible ? You do not mean 
 to deny that you agreed to pay cash for the 
 goods ? " 
 
 " My faith, no, monsieur," shruggingly responded 
 M. Malibran. " I avow it ; you have reason ; I prom 
 ised to pay the money, as you say it ; but, if 1 have 
 
WHO PAID FOR THE PRIMA DONNA ? 337 
 
 not the money to pay you, how can I pay you the 
 money ? What to do ? " 
 
 " I don t understand you, sir," returned Mr. Schu- 
 lemberg. " You have not the money ? And you do 
 not mean to pay me, according to agreement ? " 
 
 "But, monsieur, how can I, when I have not 
 money ? Have you not heard that I have made 
 what you call it ? failure, yesterday ? I am grieved 
 of it thrice sensibly ; but if it went of my life, I 
 could not pay you for your fine linens, which were 
 of a good market at the price." 
 
 " Indeed, sir," replied Mr. Schulemberg, " I had 
 not heard of your misfortunes ; and I am heartily 
 sorry for them, on my own account and yours, but still 
 more on account of your charming wife. But there is 
 no great harm done, after all. Send the linens back 
 to me, and accounts shall be square between us, and 
 I will submit to the loss of the interest." 
 
 " Ah, but, monsieur, you are too good, and madam e 
 will be recognizant to you forever for your gracious 
 politeness. But, my God ! it is impossible that I 
 return to you the linen. I have sold it, monsieur 
 I have sold it all ! " 
 
 " Sold it ? " reiterated Mr. Schulemberg, regardless 
 of the rules of etiquette, " sold it ? And to whom, 
 pray ? and when ? " 
 
 "To M. Garcia, my father-in-the-law," answered 
 the catechumen blandly ; "and it is a week that he 
 has received it." 
 
 " Then I must bid you a good-morning, sir," said 
 22 
 
338 WHO PAID FOR THE PRIMA DONNA? 
 
 Mr. Schulemberg, rising hastily, and collecting his 
 hat and gloves ; " for I must lose no time in taking 
 measures to recover the goods before they have 
 changed hands again." 
 
 " Pardon, monsieur," interrupted the poor but 
 honest Malibran. " But it is too late ! One cannot 
 regain them. M. Garcia embarked himself for Mex 
 ico yesterday morning, and carried them all with 
 him." 
 
 Imagine the consternation and rage of poor Mr. 
 Schulemberg at finding that he was sold, though the 
 goods were not ! I decline reporting the conversa 
 tion any further, lest its strength of expression and 
 force of expletive might be too much for the more 
 queasy of my readers. Suffice it to say that the 
 swindlee, if I may be allowed the royalty of coining 
 a word, at once freed his own mind, and imprisoned 
 the body of M. Malibran ; for in those days impris 
 onment for debt was a recognized institution, and I 
 think few of its strongest opponents will deny that 
 this was a case to which it was no abuse to apply it. 
 
 IV. 
 
 I REGRET that I am compelled to leave this exem 
 plary merchant in captivity ; but the exigencies of 
 my story, the moral of which beckons me away to 
 the distant coast of Mexico, require it at my hands. 
 The reader may be consoled, however, by the knowl 
 edge that he obtained his liberation in due time, his 
 
WHO PAID FOR THE PRIMA DONNA? 339 
 
 Dutch creditor being entirely satisfied that nothing 
 whatsoever could be squeezed out of him by passing 
 him between the bars of the debtor s prison, though 
 that was all the satisfaction he ever did get. How 
 he accompanied his young wife to Europe, and there 
 lived by the coining of her voice into drachmas, as 
 her father had done before him, needs not to be told 
 here ; nor yet how she was divorced from him, and 
 made another matrimonial venture in partnership 
 
 with De B . I have nothing to do with him or 
 
 her, after the bargain and sale of which she was the 
 object, and the consequences which immediately 
 resulted from it ; and here, accordingly, I take my 
 leave of them. But my story is not quite done yet : 
 it must now pursue the fortunes of the enterprising 
 impresario, Signor Garcia, who had so deftly turned 
 his daughter into a shipload of fine linens. 
 
 This excellent person sailed, as M. Malibran told 
 Mr. Schulemberg, for Vera Cruz, with an assorted 
 cargo, consisting of singers, fiddlers, and, as aforesaid, 
 of Mynheer Van Holland s fine linens. The voyage 
 was as prosperous as was due to such an argosy. If 
 a single Amphion could not be drowned by the 
 utmost malice of gods and men, so long as he kept 
 his voice in order, what possible mishap could befall 
 a whole shipload of them ? The vessel arrived safely 
 under the shadow of San Juan de Ulua ; and her 
 precious freight in all its varieties was welcomed 
 with a tropical enthusiasm. The market was bare 
 of linen and of song, and it was hard to say which 
 
340 WHO PAID FOR THE PRIMA DONNA ? 
 
 found the readiest sale. Competition raised the 
 price of both articles to a fabulous height. So the 
 good Garcia had the benevolent satisfaction of cloth 
 ing the naked, and making the ears that heard him 
 to bless him at the same time. After selling his 
 linens at a great advance on the cost-price, consider 
 ing he had only paid his daughter for them, and 
 having given a series of the most successful concerts 
 ever known in those latitudes, Signer Garcia set 
 forth for the Aztec City. As the relations of meum 
 and tuum were not upon the most satisfactory footing 
 just then at Vera Cruz, he thought it most prudent 
 to carry his well-won treasure with him to the capi 
 tal. His progress thither was a triumphal procession. 
 Not Cortes, not General Scott himself, marched more 
 gloriously along the steep and rugged road that leads 
 from the seacoast to the table-land than did this 
 son of song. Every city on his line of march was 
 the monument of a victory, and from each one he 
 levied tribute, and bore spoils away. And the van 
 quished thanked him for this spoiling of their goods. 
 Arrived at the splendid city, at that time the lar 
 gest and most populous on the North American conti 
 nent, he speedily made himself master of it, a 
 welcome conqueror. The Mexicans, with the genu 
 ine love for song of their Southern ancestors, had had 
 but few opportunities for gratifying it such as that 
 now offered to them. Garcia was a tenor of great 
 compass, and a most skilful and accomplished singer. 
 The artists who accompanied him were of a high 
 
WHO PAID FOR THE PRIM A DONNA ? 341 
 
 order of merit, if not of the very first class. Mexico 
 had never heard the like, and, though a hard-money 
 country, was glad to take their notes, and give them 
 gold in return. They were feasted and flattered in 
 the intervals of the concerts, and the bright eyes of 
 senoras and senoritas rained influence upon them on 
 the off nights, as their fair hands rained flowers upon 
 the on ones. And they have a very pleasant way, 
 in those golden realms, of giving ornaments of dia 
 monds and other precious stones to virtuous singers, 
 as we give pencil-cases and gold watches to merito 
 rious railway-conductors and hotel-clerks, as a testi 
 monial of the sense we entertain of their private 
 characters and public services. The gorgeous East 
 herself never showered " on her kings barbaric pearl 
 and gold " with a richer hand than the city of Mexico 
 poured out the glittering rain over the portly person 
 of the happy Garcia. Saturated at length with the 
 golden flood and its foam of pearl and diamond if, 
 indeed, singer were ever capable of such saturation, 
 and were not rather permeable forever, like a sieve of 
 the Danaides, saturated, or satisfied that it was all 
 run out, he prepared to take up his line of march 
 back again to the City of the True Cross. Mexico 
 mourned over his going, and sent him forth upon his 
 way with blessings, and prayers for his safe return. 
 
 But alas ! the blessings and the prayers were alike 
 vain. The saints were either deaf or busy, or had 
 gone a journey, and either did not hear or did not 
 mind the vows that were sent up to them. At any 
 
342 WHO PAID FOR THE PR1MA DONNA ? 
 
 rate, they did not take that care of the worthy Gar 
 cia which their devotees had a right to expect of 
 them. Turning his back on the halls of the Monte- 
 zumas, where he had revelled so sumptuously, he 
 proceeded on his way towards the Atlantic coast, as 
 fast as his mules thought fit to carry him and his 
 beloved treasure. With the proceeds of his linens 
 and his lungs, he was rich enough to retire from the 
 vicissitudes of operatic life to some safe retreat in 
 his native Spain or his adoptive Italy. Filled with 
 happy imaginings, he fared onward, the bells of his 
 mules keeping time with the melodious joy of his 
 heart, until he had descended from the tierra caliente 
 to the wilder region on the hither side of Jalapa. 
 As the narrow road turned sharply, at the foot of a 
 steeper descent than common, into a dreary valley, 
 made yet more gloomy by the shadow of the hill 
 behind intercepting the sun, though the afternoon 
 was not far advanced, the impresario was made un 
 pleasantly aware of the transitory nature of man s 
 hopes and the vanity of his joys. When his train 
 wound into the rough open space, it found itself 
 surrounded by a troop of men whose looks and ges 
 tures bespoke their function without the interme 
 diation of an interpreter. But no interpreter was 
 needed in this case, as Signor Garcia was a Spaniard 
 by birth, and their expressive pantomime was a 
 sufficiently eloquent substitute for speech. In plain 
 English, he had fallen among thieves, with very little 
 chance of any good Samaritan coming by to help him. 
 
WHO PAID FOR THE PRIMA DONNA? 343 
 
 Now, Signer Garcia had had dealings with brigands 
 and banditti all his operatic life. Indeed, he had 
 often drilled them till they were perfect in their 
 exercises, and got them up regardless of expense. 
 Under his direction they had often rushed forward 
 to the footlights, pouring into the helpless mass 
 before them repeated volleys of explosive crotchets. 
 But this was a very different chorus that now saluted 
 his eyes. It was the real thing, instead of the make- 
 believe, and in the opinion of Signer Garcia, at least, 
 very much inferior to it. Instead of the steeple- 
 crowned hat, jauntily feathered and looped, these 
 irregulars wore huge sombreros, much the worse for 
 time and weather, flapped over their faces. For the 
 velvet jacket with the two-inch tail, which had 
 nearly broken up the friendship between Mr. Pick 
 wick and Mr. Tupman, when the latter gentleman 
 proposed induing himself with one, on the occasion 
 of Mrs. Leo Hunter s fancy-dress breakfast, for 
 this integument, I say, these minions of the moon 
 had blankets round their shoulders, thrown back in 
 preparation for actual service. Instead of those 
 authentic cross-garterings in which your true bandit 
 rejoices, like a new Malvolio, to tie up his legs, per 
 haps to keep them from running away, these false 
 knaves wore, some of them, ragged boots up to their 
 thighs, while others had no crural coverings at all, 
 and only rough sandals, such as the Indians there 
 use, between their feet and the ground. They were 
 picturesque, perhaps, but not attractive to wealthy 
 
344 WHO PAID FOR THE PRIMA DONNA ? 
 
 travellers. But the wealthy travellers were attrac 
 tive to them : so they came together, all the same. 
 Such as they were, however, there they were, fierce, 
 sad, and sallow, with vicious-looking knives in their 
 belts, and guns of various parentage in their hands, 
 while their captain bade our good man stand and 
 deliver. 
 
 There was no room for choice. He had an es 
 cort, to be sure ; but it was entirely unequal to the 
 emergency, even if it were not, as was afterwards 
 shrewdly suspected, in league with the robbers. The 
 enemy had the advantage of arms, position, and num 
 bers ; and there was nothing for him to do but to 
 disgorge his hoarded gains at once, or to have his 
 breath stopped first, and his estate summarily ad 
 ministered upon afterwards, by these his casual 
 heirs, as the King of France, by virtue of his Droit 
 d Aubaine, would have confiscated Yorick s six shirts 
 and pair of black silk breeches, in spite of his elo 
 quent protest against such injustice, had he chanced 
 to die in his Most Christian Majesty s dominions. 
 As Signor Garcia had an estate in his breath, from 
 which he could draw a larger yearly rent than the 
 rolls of many a Spanish grandee could boast, he 
 wisely chose the part of discretion, and surrendered 
 at the same. His new acquaintances showed them 
 selves expert practitioners in the breaking-open of 
 trunks and the rilling of treasure-boxes. All his 
 beloved doubloons, all his cherished dollars, for the 
 which no Yankee ever felt a stronger passion, took 
 
WHO PAID FOR THE PRIMA DONNA? 345 
 
 swift wings, and flew from his coffers to alight in the 
 hands of the adversary. The sacred recesses of his 
 pockets, and those of his companions, were sacred no 
 longer from the sacrilegious hands of the spoilers. 
 The breastpins were ravished from the shirt-frills, 
 for in those days studs were not, and the rings 
 snatched from the reluctant fingers. All the shining 
 testimonials of Mexican admiration were transferred 
 with the celerity of magic into the possession of the 
 chivalry of the road. Not Faulconbridge himself 
 could have been more resolved to come on at the 
 beckoning of gold and silver than were they, and, 
 good Catholics though they were, it is most likely 
 that Bell, Book, and Candle would have had as 
 little restraining influence over them as he professed 
 to feel. 
 
 At last they rested from their labors. To the 
 victors belonged the spoils, as they discovered with 
 instinctive sagacity that they should do, though the 
 apothegm had not yet received the authentic seal 
 of American statesmanship. Science and skill had 
 done their utmost, and poor Garcia and his compan 
 ions in misery stood in the centre of the ring, 
 stripped of everything but the clothes on their backs. 
 The duty of the day being satisfactorily performed, 
 the victors felt that they had a right to some relaxa 
 tion after their toils. And now a change came over 
 them which might have reminded Signor Garcia of 
 the banditti of the green-room, with whose habits he 
 had been so long familiar, and whose operations he 
 
346 WHO PAID FOR THE PRIMA DONNA? 
 
 had himself directed. Some one of the troop, who, 
 however "fit for stratagems and spoils," had yet music 
 in his soul, called aloud for a song. The idea was 
 hailed with acclamations. Not satisfied with the 
 capitalized results of his voice to which they had 
 helped themselves, they were unwilling to let their 
 prey go, until they had also ravished from him some 
 specimens of the airy mintage whence they had 
 issued. Accordingly the Catholic vagabonds seated 
 themselves on the ground, a fuliginous parterre to 
 look upon, and called upon Garcia for a song. A 
 rock which projected itself from the side of the hill 
 served for a stage as well as the " green plat " in the 
 wood near Athens did for the company of Manager 
 Quince, and there was no need of " a tiring-room," 
 as poor Garcia had no clothes to change for those he 
 stood in. Not the Hebrews by the waters of Baby 
 lon, when their captors demanded of them a song of 
 Zion, had less stomach for the task. But the prime 
 tenor was now before an audience that would brook 
 neither denial nor excuse. Nor hoarseness, nor ca 
 tarrh, nor sudden illness, certified unto by the friendly 
 physician, would avail him now. The demand was 
 irresistible ; for, when he hesitated, the persuasive 
 though stern mouth of a musket hinted to him in 
 expressive silence that he had better prevent its 
 speech with song. 
 
 So he had to make his first appearance upon that 
 " unworthy scaffold," before an audience, which, mul 
 tifold as his experience had been, was one such as 
 
WHO PAID FOR THE PRIMA DONNA? 347 
 
 he had never sung to yet. As the shadows of even 
 ing began to fall, rough torches of pine-wood were 
 lighted, and shed a glare such as Salvator Bosa loved 
 to kindle, upon a scene such as he delighted to paint. 
 The rascals had taste ; that the tenor himself could 
 not deny. They knew the choice bits of the operas 
 which held the stage forty years ago, and they called 
 for them wisely, and applauded his efforts vociferously. 
 Nay, more, in the height of their enthusiasm, they 
 would toss him one of his own doubloons or dollars, 
 instead of the bouquets usually hurled at well- 
 deserving singers. They well judged that these 
 flowers that never fade would be the tribute he 
 would value most, and so they rewarded his merito 
 rious strains out of his own stores, as Claude Duval 
 or Richard Turpin, in the golden days of highway 
 robbery, would sometimes generously return a guinea 
 to a traveller he had just lightened of his purse, to 
 enable him to continue his journey. It was lucky 
 for the unfortunate Garcia that their approbation 
 took this solid shape, or he would have been badly 
 off indeed ; for it was all he had to begin the world 
 with over again. After his appreciating audience 
 had exhausted their musical repertory, and had as 
 many encores as they thought good, they broke up 
 the concert, and betook themselves to their fastnesses 
 among the mountains, leaving their patient to find 
 his way to the coast as best he might, with a pocket 
 as light as his soul was heavy. At Vera Cruz a con 
 cert or two furnished him with the means of embark- 
 
348 WHO PAID FOR THE PRIMA DONNA ? 
 
 ing himself and his troupe for Europe, and leaving 
 the New World forever behind him. 
 
 And here I must leave him, for my story is done. 
 The reader hungering for a moral may discern, that, 
 though Signor Garcia received the price he asked for 
 his lovely daughter, it advantaged him nothing, and 
 that he not only lost it all, but it was the occasion 
 of his losing everything else he had. This is very 
 well as far as it goes ; but then it is equally true 
 that M. Malibran actually obtained his wife, and 
 that Mynheer Van Holland paid for her. I dare say 
 all this can be reconciled with the eternal fitness of 
 tilings ; but I protest I don t see how it is to be 
 done. It is " all a muddle " in my mind. I cannot 
 even affirm that the banditti were ever hanged; 
 and I am quite sure that the unlucky Dutch mer 
 chant, whose goods were so comically mixed up with 
 this whole history, never had any poetical or mate 
 rial justice for his loss of them. But it is as much 
 the reader s business as mine to settle these casuis 
 tries. I only undertook to tell him who it was that 
 paid for the Prima Donna and I have done it. 
 
 V. 
 
 " I CONSIDER that a good story," said the Consul, 
 when he had finished the narration out of which I 
 have compounded the foregoing, " and, what is not 
 always the case with a good story, it is a true one." 
 
 I cordially concurred with my honored friend in 
 
WHO PAID FOR THE PRIMA DONNA? 349 
 
 this opinion, and if the reader should unfortunately 
 differ from me on this point, I beg him to believe 
 that it is entirely my fault. As the Consul told it 
 to me, it was an excellent good story. 
 
 "Poor Mynheer Van Holland," he added, laugh 
 ing, "never got over that adventure. Not that the 
 loss was material to him, he was too rich for that, 
 but the provocation of his fifty thousand dollars 
 going to a parcel of Mexican ladrones, after buying an 
 opera-singer for a Frenchman on its way, was enough 
 to rouse even Dutch human nature to the swearing- 
 point. He could not abide either Frenchmen or 
 opera-singers all the rest of his life. And, by Jove ! 
 I don t wonder at it." 
 
 Nor I, neither, for the matter of that. 
 
 University Press, Cambridge : John Wilson and Son. 
 
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